Chapter Fifty-One

He that hath an ear, let him hear what the Spirit saith unto the churches; To him that overcometh will I give to eat of the tree of life, which is in the midst of the paradise of God.

Revelations 2:7

Sunday 18th November: Trish Hartnett watched her husband swim back and forth in the pool in their back garden - the covered pool had been winterised for the season.

Seemed a rarity these days, their both being home together. She looked at his well muscled shoulders as he powered, arm over arm, through the water. This had been her man. Her feelings for him still ran hot and heavy. She was sitting nursing a Margarita. She watched as he completed one last lap, then used the momentum to help haul himself from the pool in one slick movement. Trish caught herself thinking, "He's a poser, this man of mine." But she didn't mind. That was the least of it. She even liked him for it. Men with low self-esteem were, in Trish Hartnett's worldview, energy sapping and tedious.

Sean was surprised, almost, when Trish offered him a towel with as much nervous reverence as a refugee with a white flag. Then she spoilt the moment. "Do you believe in the sanctity of marriage, Sean?" she was saying.

Sean looked up at her. A momentary wave of anger engulfed him. He snapped at her as he took the towel. "You gonna fucken' lecture me Trish?"

But whilst his eyes were red with chlorine, hers were red with tears. And he saw that as in the same moment he noticed how the green silk sheath of the dress she was wearing seemed to mold itself to every curve in her body. He asked her then without consideration, but not awkwardly or unkindly, "Those fucken' killings Trish. They down to you?"

And she shook her head. "You could believe that?" she asked. "Of me?"

And she watched him as he dried himself off. He was always alert, always watching out for her, when he was around. She'd trust him with her life - but never again would she trust him with her heart. In a moment of insight she found herself thinking, "I love this man, but I don't like him."

"So many deaths, Sean. Mary Young's suicide. Bob Young's murder. And now little Maria, the Hanlin's maid. They even tried to kill Father Seb. At first it all seemed make-believe. But then you realise the deaths are real. These are people you know."

Sean moved to her then, still wet from the pool. His hands caressed her. How she had wanted this moment. She felt him unzip her dress, felt it slide to the floor.

By the time they were both naked her whole body was shaking. She felt his flesh on her flesh, the cold dampness of him. She didn't know how they moved to the bedroom but he stripped aside the quilt and she lay back on the bare sheets. She didn't say a word, not daring lest it break the spell. Instead she moaned as she offered him all she had in this act of sexual healing, giving him her body, and with it the very heart of her. His mouth sought hers and covered it as he stretched across the bed and bore down on her with all of his weight. Later she watched him as he came inside her. She stroked his head, grateful for this act of love.