The Darkness and the Deep by Aline Templeton Page B

fox in a trap gnawing frantically at its foot in an effort to escape. There was only one thing now that gave him any respite from the agony of his fears. He glanced out of the window at the livid sky, heard the rushing of wind and water; it was tempting fate on a night like this, but, he told himself, if he didn’t take something that would calm his nerves, he’d be useless anyway. He fumbled in his pocket for the tin and the cigarette papers.
    Jackie saved his tea for him in the oven but the bridie, beans and chips were pretty well welded to the plate by the time he got home. Not that he cared much.
    The pub wasn’t the sort of place Ashley Randall normally frequented, with its shabby paintwork and the lights of gambling machines flickering through the windows. Indeed, she couldn’t remember having been in a place like this since her student days when you went wherever the beer was cheapest. She parked as close to the door as she could, then pulled a soft scarf over her head and ran for shelter from the teeming rain. Inside, she pulled it off and shook it, looking round for Ritchie.
    He had chosen a table in the corner farthest from the bar; it wasn’t exactly cosy, with an uncurtained window beside it rattling in the force of the wind, but he was certainly right that here they were unlikely to be recognised. It was Friday night and there was a raucous group clustered round the bar, celebrating something or other; Ritchie was served by a young barmaid who barely glanced at him, delivering the vodka and tonics as if irritated by this intrusion on her social life.
    When he came back he set them down on the smeary zinc top of the table with a grimace. ‘The tonic came out of a pump, I’m afraid. It’s probably disgusting.’
    Ashley gave him a glinting smile. ‘I’m not really here for the beer.’
    ‘No,’ he agreed. ‘No, nor am I.’ He looked down at his hands, rolling the glass between his fingers. ‘Ashley, I haven’t long, and I don’t suppose you have either. They’re expecting me at the site and I’ve told Joanna that’s where I’ll be.
    ‘We’re trapped by circumstances at the moment. I know that I don’t want it to go on like this,’ he indicated their seedy surroundings with distate, ‘and I know it could all get hideously messy if this comes out accidentally. What I don’t know is what you want – is this meant to be just a casual affair, or do you feel the way I do?’
    He looked around him again, and grimaced. ‘This isn’t exactly how I’d choose to do this. I’d have preferred the whole soft lights, sweet music, vintage champagne bit before I went down on one knee with the solitaire in my hand.’ He was still nervously playing with his glass.
    She looked at him from under her lashes, then leaning across the table covered his restless hands with her slim, manicured one. ‘Later will do,’ she murmured.
    He stared at her, those very blue eyes suddenly wide. ‘Ashley – oh God, Ashley! You’ll marry me? That’s fantastic—’
    His phone rang. They both jumped. It had an irritating, chirpy da-da-dee-da, da-da-dee-da ring and he swore savagely as he took it out of his pocket.
    ‘A thousand to one that’s Joanna. She has a talent that amounts to genius for being a pain in the arse. Oh! No, it’s – hello?’
    His face, dark with irritation, had changed. ‘What? For God’s sake, on a night like this?’
    Immediately Ashley was bolt upright, staring at him as if that might enable her to hear the conversation at the other end. Ritchie’s eyes met hers soberly as he listened in silence for what seemed a long time. Then he said, ‘I see. What’s the forecast? Right.’
    He put his hand to his furrowed brow and closed his eyes briefly. His voice was heavy as he said reluctantly, ‘I can’t do anything other than agree. Carry on.’
    Ashley was on her feet before he had disconnected. He explained rapidly. ‘It’s a Spanish trawler. Fishing in the Irish Sea, ran before the