Page 61 of Eternal Surrender

Sebastian started laughing though soon stopped, realizing no one else was. “Right then, it’s been great meeting you. . . both.” His expression became strained as though wanting to continue, but the awkwardness threw him.

“You can’t leave,” Alex said.

“What my brother’s trying to say. . .” I glared at Alex. “Would you like to stay the night?”

“I should go.” Sebastian quick-footed it through the foyer toward the front door.

“The tide’s in.” I followed him. “Use the rowboat.”

Alex caught up. “We don’t have a boat.” He smiled but it fell away quickly. “Anymore.”

I reached for the doorknob.

“I chopped it up for firewood,” Alex added, “with an axe.”

I opened the door and stepped out, scrutinizing the harbor. “Seriously, where’s the boat?”

“Wouldn’t recommend swimming at this time of night,” Alex offered. “Tide’s deadly.”

Sebastian suddenly saw the funny side and started chuckling. Alex scratched his head and eventually broke into a laugh.

“Is this your way of making me not feel guilty about staying?” Sebastian asked.

“Absolutely.” Alex raised an eyebrow.

I guided Sebastian off toward the kitchen.

As soon as we were out of his sight, Sebastian said, “That brother of yours has quite the sense of humor.”

I wondered how Sebastian would react when he realized there was no food in the house.

He opened yet another kitchen cupboard and peered inside, then reached for the small teacup. I filled the kettle with tap water and then rested it on the countertop, studying the plug.

Sebastian took it from me and plugged it into the power socket and flicked it on. “You’re not here to serve me,” he said.

I sat down on one of the six bar stools that encircled the central marble countertop.

“Do you like to cook?” Sebastian asked, looking around.

Having spent no time in here, I too found myself fascinated with the red stove, the dark green pots and pans hanging from the brass crook above the central isle and the other modern appliances installed to represent normality.

“You probably have a chef,” Sebastian said, though it wasn’t a question. “Cornwall has, what, twenty castles?”

“Nineteen.”

“Has your family always lived here?”

“Yes.” I went to answer that I’d been born here, but that truth was now skewered.

He opened the tin filled with teabags, removed two and dropped them into the teacup. “No mug?”

“Um, no.”

His attention fell on Renoir’s self-portrait hanging on the far wall and then his gaze slid over to the silver wine goblet resting on the corner oak table.

“A gift to Anne Boleyn.” I gestured to it. “On her wedding night, from her mother.”

“No doubt her mum knew Anne would need a drink before bedding Henry the Eighth.” He rolled his eyes. “That marriage didn’t end well.” Sebastian took a seat on one of the opposite stools. “What’s that?” Sebastian pointed to the book on the kitchen counter.