Read Online Blood And Water by Siobhain Bunni - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Siobhain Bunni
Tags: Suspense, Classics, Crime, Mystery, Mystery; Thriller & Suspense, Contemporary Fiction, Women's Fiction, Poolbeg Press, Murder Death, Gillian Flynn, Bestselling author of dark mirrors
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he had earned her respect.
The house was perfectly peaceful without Ciara buzzing round. She and Robert had done an amazing job restoring it from the ruins of its former and neglected years. An old gate lodge set into the shadows of the imposing oak trees on the eastern peripheries of a fine old manor house, it had long been a forgotten and tarnished jewel in its original owner’s crown. Although beautiful, refurbished as a home with all the comforts of a five-star retreat – and she would never admit this openly to Ciara – it wasn’t really Enya’s preference. She could never cope with its isolation so far away from the city. Today, however, in the aftermath of her relationship break-up and her decision to stay, she was enjoying its comforting seclusion. She poured herself the last of the coffee and sipped it, savouring the silence while exploring the gallery of family photographs that lined the walls and decorated the various table-tops around the bright, open-plan living space. There was no doubt that despite their differences the Bertrams were a handsome group, she noted proudly, meandering from one image to the next, smiling with each memory the trail of pictures evoked. But only one picture, set into a beautiful but plain silver frame, stopped her dead in a sunlit corner of the room.
She peeped out from the photograph. Her baby girl. The abrupt and unexpected recall of those perky pigtails as she posed innocently in her party dress made Enya’s heart race. Instinctively she clutched at her chest, grasping the pain that tore through it. That dress: it had been her favourite with its blue frill around the collar that matched the sapphire blue of her eyes. Enya tried to complete the dynamic memory of that moment timelessly caught in that single photo. The smell of the three candles that danced on her princess cake, the shrieks of delight as she opened her presents and her feather weight as she eventually slept in Enya’s arms, exhausted from the excitement of the day. Picking up the picture as if holding it in her hand would bring that moment back to life, she closed her eyes to again feel those beautiful pigtails and the soft caress of her baby’s breath against her cheek as she snored through the rest of the afternoon safe in the arms of her mother.
There wasn’t a day that passed when she didn’t think of her beautiful daughter Lia. But it was so long since she had looked at a physical image of that perfect little face, seeing it now, so surprising, so beautiful, there was no stopping the tears that fell freely down her cheeks. She didn’t even try.
After Lia died, in the height of the drama, she had spat furiously at her father, “This is all your fault!” and, while in her heart she knew there wasn’t a grain of truth in it, still she had continued to shriek, urgently needing someone to blame, “I only went with him because you forbade me to! And now look. Now look where I’m at!”
That was true: her father had forbidden her to see Cathal O’Neill.
They first met at a fundraiser for one of her father’s earlier political campaigns which Cathal had attended with the sole intention of inciting William. A member of the opposition and running in the same constituency, at the time Cathal was considered the front runner, a young whippersnapper, biting at the heels of the established set and branded as the one who might just usurp the esteemed, deep-rooted and old-style William Bertram from his seat. Working the room, Cathal spied a very bored-looking Enya and when she took a seat at one of the tables he deviously seized the opportunity to antagonise his already piqued rival by making a beeline for the vacant seat right beside her.
Just as the introductions were underway William approached the table.
“Apologies, ladies, gentlemen,” he nodded to the group, making sure there was no eye contact with Cathal, “may I be so rude as to steal my daughter away for just one minute?”
Enya felt
The house was perfectly peaceful without Ciara buzzing round. She and Robert had done an amazing job restoring it from the ruins of its former and neglected years. An old gate lodge set into the shadows of the imposing oak trees on the eastern peripheries of a fine old manor house, it had long been a forgotten and tarnished jewel in its original owner’s crown. Although beautiful, refurbished as a home with all the comforts of a five-star retreat – and she would never admit this openly to Ciara – it wasn’t really Enya’s preference. She could never cope with its isolation so far away from the city. Today, however, in the aftermath of her relationship break-up and her decision to stay, she was enjoying its comforting seclusion. She poured herself the last of the coffee and sipped it, savouring the silence while exploring the gallery of family photographs that lined the walls and decorated the various table-tops around the bright, open-plan living space. There was no doubt that despite their differences the Bertrams were a handsome group, she noted proudly, meandering from one image to the next, smiling with each memory the trail of pictures evoked. But only one picture, set into a beautiful but plain silver frame, stopped her dead in a sunlit corner of the room.
She peeped out from the photograph. Her baby girl. The abrupt and unexpected recall of those perky pigtails as she posed innocently in her party dress made Enya’s heart race. Instinctively she clutched at her chest, grasping the pain that tore through it. That dress: it had been her favourite with its blue frill around the collar that matched the sapphire blue of her eyes. Enya tried to complete the dynamic memory of that moment timelessly caught in that single photo. The smell of the three candles that danced on her princess cake, the shrieks of delight as she opened her presents and her feather weight as she eventually slept in Enya’s arms, exhausted from the excitement of the day. Picking up the picture as if holding it in her hand would bring that moment back to life, she closed her eyes to again feel those beautiful pigtails and the soft caress of her baby’s breath against her cheek as she snored through the rest of the afternoon safe in the arms of her mother.
There wasn’t a day that passed when she didn’t think of her beautiful daughter Lia. But it was so long since she had looked at a physical image of that perfect little face, seeing it now, so surprising, so beautiful, there was no stopping the tears that fell freely down her cheeks. She didn’t even try.
After Lia died, in the height of the drama, she had spat furiously at her father, “This is all your fault!” and, while in her heart she knew there wasn’t a grain of truth in it, still she had continued to shriek, urgently needing someone to blame, “I only went with him because you forbade me to! And now look. Now look where I’m at!”
That was true: her father had forbidden her to see Cathal O’Neill.
They first met at a fundraiser for one of her father’s earlier political campaigns which Cathal had attended with the sole intention of inciting William. A member of the opposition and running in the same constituency, at the time Cathal was considered the front runner, a young whippersnapper, biting at the heels of the established set and branded as the one who might just usurp the esteemed, deep-rooted and old-style William Bertram from his seat. Working the room, Cathal spied a very bored-looking Enya and when she took a seat at one of the tables he deviously seized the opportunity to antagonise his already piqued rival by making a beeline for the vacant seat right beside her.
Just as the introductions were underway William approached the table.
“Apologies, ladies, gentlemen,” he nodded to the group, making sure there was no eye contact with Cathal, “may I be so rude as to steal my daughter away for just one minute?”
Enya felt
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