Page 35 of One Last Gift

Tom’s scream, the one that made him wake at night drenched in cold sweat, was still there, vibrating through him. Had he screamed when he fell? He’d never had the guts to ask Toby.

“You all right, Sam?” Toby asked, still frowning at him.

“Yeah.” His voice came out a little husky, so he cleared his throat. “Yeah, sorry.” He looked at Sophia. “You OK?” Because it would be odd now not to ask, since he’d jumped to his feet to…what, save her? Jesus, he needed to get a grip.

“I’m fine,” she said, glaring at Toby. But those bedroom eyes turned considering, as she took in Sam. “But maybe I need a bit of help getting back, so that this one…” she shot Toby another look, “doesn’t try anything.”

Toby chuckled. “Sure you do.”

Sophia didn’t give him much of a choice as she came up next to him, linked her arm through his. He caught a whiff of her perfume, a musky scent, undeniably sexy. “Come on, handsome, let’s go have some fun.”

Toby raised his eyebrows at Sam over Sophia’s head so that Sam knew he’d make an excuse for him if he didn’t want to come back inside, where music was now blaring, the voices louder as the champagne started to flow. But Sophia’s arm was through his, her body pressed next to him. It was easy, so easy, to fall into the pattern. And it would be nice, wouldn’t it, to lose himself, just for a bit, to forget how well and truly fucked his life was.

So he gave Toby a little shrug and allowed Sophia to pull him along. Took a glass of champagne when it was handed to him. Allowed the music, the sound of laughter, to wash over him. And when Sophia smiled that sultry smile at him over the rim of her glass, he smiled back.

Chapter Sixteen

“Here you go.” Ted, one of the longest-standing barmen at Cassie’s hotel, smiled as he set down two frothy cappuccinos in front of Cassie and Amy. “Get you anything else?”

“No, that’s great, Ted, thanks,” Cassie said, pulling the coffees toward her. “You’ve put it on my tab, yeah?” Ridiculous, really, that they weren’t even allowed coffees for free here.

“That I have, and I even snuck you a chocolate mint each,” he said with a wink, gesturing at the little gold-wrapped chocolates on the side of the saucers.

“It’s definitely decaf, right?” Amy said, her eyes flitting between the two coffees, like she’d be able to tell which was which just by looking. Cassie hadn’t realized Amy was so worried about caffeine. Maybe it was a recent thing. From the looks of her, she hadn’t been sleeping well—there were purple shadows under her eyes, and her face was pale, even though her cheeks were a little flushed now that she was inside the hotel rather than outside in the cold April rain.

Spring. It was definitely spring now, and ten days since Cassie had read Tom’s clue: One spring day the teams will meet…

She tried to ignore the squirm of anxiety that she still hadn’t figured it out as Ted smiled at Amy, pushing the nearest coffee over to her. “This one is, hon.” With a quick smile for Cassie, he left them where they were, perched on high red stools at the end of the chic wooden bar, and went off to see to another customer.

Amy picked up her stirrer—which also doubled as a chocolate stick—and absentmindedly swirled the froth. She looked like a shadow of the person Cassie had once known—hunched in on herself, wearing a sweater that looked like it might have once been Tom’s over leggings. Her curls looked less springy than usual, hanging around her heart-shaped face, a yellow headband atop them being the only nod to the old Amy—the vibrant girl Cassie used to know.

She recognized the way Amy looked, the cloud she carried with her. Not too long ago, that was her. And in some ways, she still felt it—but trying to work out the clues, even if she was terrified she wouldn’t figure this one out in time—it was giving her a focus, a distraction. A reason to keep going.

“So how are you, Amy?” Cassie asked, when it was clear Amy wasn’t going to start the conversation.

“I’m…” Amy put her drink down. “God. I don’t know. A mess?” She laughed scathingly, while Cassie grimaced sympathetically. She should have contacted her before now, Cassie thought. Should have tried harder to stay in touch, to realize that Amy might have wanted—needed—to talk to someone who knew Tom, someone else who was grieving. Cassie had Hazel and Linda, but Amy had no one, really. No one who knew Tom in the same way. It had taken Amy contacting her for Cassie to remember that. It was unforgivably selfish of her, she thought now.

“And you?” Amy said, cupping her hands around the coffee, as if she was desperately trying to take some of the warmth from it.

Cassie picked up her own cup and glanced along the length of the bar. No sign of Robert. “I don’t know either,” she said. “I’m coping, I guess.” And, for the first time since Tom’s death, it didn’t feel like a lie.

“How’s work?” Cassie asked. Pointless small talk, she knew, but she thought they both needed it.

“Yeah, it’s OK. I’ve been promoted to commissioning editor.”

“Really?” Cassie had no idea what that meant, but it sounded good. “That’s great.”

“Yeah.” She sounded more tired than thrilled about it.

“Does it mean you get to go to more fancy launch parties?”

Amy laughed, and an echo of her lightness came back to her face. “Not quite. And the launch parties aren’t fancy, you know—mostly just warm white wine in bookshops, nothing like what you do.” The smile faded slowly. She’d met Tom at a launch party, Cassie remembered. One of Tom’s friends was celebrating a book release and Tom had gone along to the launch. He’d always seemed to have an endless stream of successful friends, and Cassie often wondered where he picked them up, but then, Tom had been the type of person who could be chatting to someone in the pub one moment and be invited to a party the next. He drew people to him, to that energy and warmth.

“So, Amy,” Cassie began, trying to think of a polite way to phrase it, “did you, umm, want to meet me for something specific?” She cringed a little at the overly formal tone of her voice. But she wanted to know. The only thing that drew them together was Tom, and she couldn’t help think that the reason Amy had wanted to meet had something to do with him.

“Well, actually…”

“Cassie?”