sleep?”
Rachel gave her a weak smile. “Not a lot.”
“Thought you might want a cuppa. I hope you don’t mind it unsweetened. Used up the last of the sugar yesterday. There’s milk though. I keep a cow on the island. Margaret. Named after one of your countrywomen in fact.” Leah handed her the mug and Rachel took it with her good hand.
“Margaret?” Rachel was puzzled.
“Olley.”
“Oh, the painter. I love her work.” Rachel smiled, pleased at the fact that they might have something, however tenuous, in common.
“Bingo.”
“And do you paint?” she asked, remembering the multi-colored stains on Leah’s clothes.
“I used to. Wasn’t too bad once. But now . . . now I just dabble and try not to mind that somewhere along the way my talent deserted me.” Her tone was light, but Rachel sensed an undertone to the throwaway comment.
She took a sip of tea. It was hot and comforting. “I see.”
“I doubt you do, but never mind that. I won’t have anyone feeling sorry for me.”
“I’ll do my best not to,” she said firmly.
“Good. As we’re going to be stuck with each other for the next five days . . .”
Rachel gave a loud, involuntary sigh as she thought again of the time she would lose.
“May I continue?” Leah fixed her with a glare and she nodded mutely.
“I’ve not had a houseguest before, but there will be certain rules if we are to get along—I am probably rather too used to my own company. I suggest you stay right here for the day.” Leah held up a hand as Rachel started to protest. “That’s a nasty sprain and you look like you could do with more rest. Then, you’re welcome anywhere in the house, with the exception of my studio upstairs. That’s strictly no entry. I’ll be in there most afternoons, but in the mornings I milk Margaret, see to the vegetables, and generally try and do a bit of maintenance about the place. If you do decide to go for a walk, just let me know, as I don’t fancy scouring the island for you if I can’t find you.”
Rachel was about to say that she rarely got lost, but then remembered how in fact she’d ended up on the island and thought better of it.
“I’d welcome some help in the kitchen, if you think you can manage it, as the one thing I do get sick of is my own cooking,” Leah continued.
“How do you like tuna pasta?” Rachel asked with a grin.
“I like it just fine. You’ll find the ingredients you need in the pantry. I’d also better give you the guided tour at some point today.” Leah had shown her the bathroom the night before, but the rest of the house remained a mystery. “I’ll dig out some clothes for you, but I’ll get the fire lit first. Can’t have you getting cold again.”
Once the fire was going, Leah disappeared and Rachel heard the scrape of something being drawn across the ceiling, followed by a thump and a loud bang. “Everything okay?” she called out uncertainly.
“It will be,” came a muffled reply from somewhere above her.
More banging, another thump, and then Leah reappeared. In her arms was an old-fashioned suitcase, dark brown leather, with rusted brass locks. Her forearm flexed under its weight and Rachel could see that her muscles were well-defined. Leah might be slight, but she was strong. Just as well, thought Rachel, or she probably wouldn’t be sitting there.
Leah placed the suitcase on the floor next to her with a heavy clunk. “There’s a few things in here. They might not be your style, but beggars . . .”
“Where did it come from?”
“The attic. Before that, buggered if I know. It’s been here since I’ve lived at Embers. I had a quick look a while ago, but when I saw the clothes would drown me, I left it where it was. You’re welcome to anything you like.”
“Who lived in the house before you?”
“No one permanently, well, not for about fifty years anyway—the place was almost a ruin. I got it on the condition I did a bit of fixing up. Which is a never-ending job.”
Leah bent down and popped the latches, which gave way with a rusty click.
Rachel peered inside. It was lined in emerald-green moiré silk, faded in places, and her nose wrinkled at the pungent smell of mothballs that wafted toward her. Neither moths nor silverfish would have stood a chance. She could make out a dark wool jacket—or possibly a