clear, there was no reason to hope he’d kill anyone else and McKendrick’s plan would fail.
But there was no mistaking that stunned contempt in McKendrick’s eyes and in his voice. A lot of things can be feigned, but Horn didn’t believe anyone was that good an actor. He’d seen contempt in people’s eyes before, he knew what it looked like. “I—I’m sorry,” he stumbled. “I thought … I’m sorry.”
“So I should bloody well think,” grunted McKendrick. He sounded almost breathless, as if the very idea had knocked the wind out of him.
“Then … what is it you want me to do? You might as well tell me. We’re neither of us going to live long enough for it to be of more than academic interest.”
McKendrick considered. He still hadn’t forgiven Horn. “That sounds like a good reason for not telling you.”
Horn shrugged. “Your choice. But if you can’t or won’t talk to Beth about it, and you do want to get it off your chest, I’m your only option. At least if you tell me, you know I’m not going to tell anyone else. If I did, they wouldn’t believe me.”
McKendrick’s eyebrows climbed. “You think I need someone to hear my confession? And that, if I did, I’d choose you?”
“They say everyone needs someone to hear their confessions. It’s what most people have friends for. Actually, it’s not true. I haven’t had a friend since Patrick. You can manage without. I think you’re a man without many friends as well. Not the kind of friends you can share your darkest fears and secrets with. I’m not your friend either, but we seem to be in this together.” Horn sniffed sourly. “If I got it wrong about William, at least I was right about you looking for me. Wasn’t I?”
McKendrick looked away as if he deemed Horn unworthy of attention. “I don’t owe you an explanation.”
“No? You saved my life last night. And I thought it was incredible that a man would do that for someone he didn’t even know. Only you did know me, didn’t you? At least by repute. And you had a job for me, something important enough to be worth the cost of tracking me down, and the potentially greater cost of hanging on to me. Yes, I’m pretty sure you owe me an explanation.”
“Don’t flatter yourself,” sneered McKendrick. “There’s nothing special about you, except that I knew enough about you to recognize the qualities I was looking for: youth, self-importance, and no morals. But that’s nothing to be proud of. The best that can be said of you is that you can’t help being young.”
But Horn was pretty sure this was his last chance to know what he was doing here and wouldn’t be put off. “You chose me for this job because you thought I killed Patrick. That’s what you want to believe—it suits you for me to be that man. Anyone else would be glad to think that Patrick Hanratty took the decision for himself, but you weren’t. You were horrified. Why? If you don’t need my help with William, what is it you want me to do that only a man with no morals would agree to?”
McKendrick smiled. He’d locked the anger away, and with it any chance that he might—inadvertently or in spite—say more than he wanted to. He was back in control, of himself if not the situation. “You’re wrong,” he said, “and so are they. I have plenty of friends, and I don’t need anyone to confess to. See this?” A glance around the kitchen encompassed by implication the whole castle and more. “I made this.” He didn’t mean he built it stone by stone. “My father was a farmer. He called himself a gentleman farmer, but that just meant he was better at opening fêtes than milking cows, and he ended up having to sell the land to pay his debts. He was bankrupt and an invalid by the time he was sixty.
“What I have, I made from scratch.” McKendrick said it with a pride so adamant you could break your knuckles on it. “And I didn’t do it by cultivating other people’s opinions. I need someone to pour my heart out to like a seal needs roller skates. I’ve taken my own decisions since I was fifteen years old. I don’t need someone to bounce them off, or talk them through with, and I certainly don’t need anyone to advise me. And if by any chance I did,