“I think that if Quincy Delacourt is too stupid not to forgive a good woman who did something misguided and emotional because of demons she’s grappling with that he should help her to fight and not leave her on her own to fight them, then he deserves to lose that good woman,” Jack answered then finished, “And that, Lila, is what I think.”
“I’m in complete agreement,” Lila stated through a smile, her eyes dancing.
“Do you think I can go and find my fiancée now?” Jack asked politely.
It was Lila who threw her hand out toward the door this time and offered, “Have at it.”
“Thank you,” Jack muttered and headed to the door.
“See you at lunch,” she returned and headed down the steps.
Jack didn’t bother to tell her she wouldn’t. It was Sunday. He was on his way to find Belle, gather his dogs, load them all into his car and head to her cottage in St. Ives. This was after he found Olive and told her to clear his schedule for the next week. Her head might explode but after it did, she’d pull herself together and do it.
He was two feet from the door and deciding to ask Olive to clear two weeks when it was pulled open and Angus raced out, eyes wild, kilt swaying madly around his knees.
“Ghosts in Leeds!” he boomed. “Nasty beasties! Must dash!”
Then he darted down the steps to his beat up white van in the drive.
Jack watched over his shoulder as Angus’s white van coughed to life, reversed on a trail of exhaust smoke that gave testimony to the fact that Angus didn’t waste precious ghost hunting time by bothering with MOTs and finally he watched the van speed down the lane.
He did this noting that Angus McPherson never said good-bye. And he did this thinking this was likely because Angus McPherson might leave but he was never gone for long enough to make the unpleasantness of a farewell worth it.
Jack strode through the door Angus left open, closed it behind him and had taken four steps into the hall before Jensen prowled in, spied him and instantly started in.
“Dude! The party last night, a bust. And if you think I’m puttin’ on another monkey suit, think again. Not… gonna… happen. Once in my life was enough and I did that when I married Belle’s Momma. Against my will, I did it again last night and, seriously, Jack, I relive another last night, I wanna be wearin’ my ol’ standbys. Jeans and a tee.” He came to a stop at Jack and announced, “So, tonight, engagement party take two. And I’m takin’ care of the whole thing. And there won’t be a bowtie or a high heel anywhere near this f**kin’ place for my shindig.”
“Belle and I are leaving in approximately half an hour and we won’t return for two weeks,” Jack replied and Jensen swayed back, his eyes getting big.
“Two weeks?”
“Maybe three,” Jack stated.
“Dude,” Jensen muttered.
“After that, when we return, by all means, throw a party. Do whatever you wish. The only thing you can’t do is invite people around whom Belle isn’t completely comfortable.”
Jensen threw his hands up in the air, shouting, “Right on!”
Jack shook his head but grinned doing it.
Jensen took in his grin, dropped his hands but socked Jack in one arm and declared, “You’re all right, Jack.”
“I find your acceptance somewhat disquieting, Jensen,” Jack shared honestly but, as expected, Jensen took no offence.
Instead, he burst out laughing, turned and shouted to a woman who was nowhere near, “Rachel! Baby! Party!” and he strode swiftly from the hall.
But in the wrong direction.
Jack didn’t inform him of this.
He moved through the hall but only managed to get five more steps in before Mickey Dempsey, who was descending the stairs, captured his attention.
Jack stopped, crossed his arms on his chest and waited.
Dempsey approached him and stopped three feet away.
“Called a taxi,” he announced. “It’ll be here in a minute.”
“Safe journey back to London,” Jack replied and Dempsey nodded.
“You’ll tell Belle good-bye?” Dempsey asked and Jack noted he only wished his farewell was known to Belle, not any of the others currently under his roof.
“Of course,” Jack muttered.
Then Dempsey strangely whispered, “Killing me, mate.”
“Pardon” Jack asked.
“This is the story of the century. Fuck, the millennium.”
“Dempsey, do you honestly believe, even if you could write it, that anyone would believe it?”
Dempsey grinned. “No way in hell. Probably why all the shit that Scot spouted last night over whisky never made the papers. It happens, no one says shit because, if they did, anyone listening would think they’re ‘round the bend.”
“Precisely,” Jack agreed.
“Still pissed off I missed all the action. The end was good but the rest of it sounded phenomenal.”
“As an onlooker, perhaps. As a participant, trust me, it wasn’t that fun.”
Dempsey grinned again.
Jack held his eyes.
Then he said quietly, “Your assistance is appreciated.”
“First, you paid me. Second, I didn’t help much.”
“You helped and it was appreciated,” Jack reiterated.
Dempsey’s gaze stayed locked to Jack’s then he nodded.
“Good-bye, Mickey,” Jack said.
“Cheers, Jack,” Dempsey replied then Jack turned and watched Dempsey walk across the entryway and out the door.
When he closed it behind him, he turned and caught Olive striding down the hall toward him.
“Good,” he called, “I don’t have to find you.”
“Oh Lord, I don’t like the look on your face,” she observed.
She was going to like what he was going to say a whole lot less.
“I need to you to clear my schedule for two weeks,” he told her and her eyes bugged out. “For the week after that, maybe two, make it light in case plans change and Belle and I remain on holiday.”
“Jack Bennett,” she started, “are you telling me, on a Sunday at eleven o’clock in the morning, to clear your schedule for a holiday you’ve given me exactly six working hours on a non-working day to clear?”
“That’s what I’m telling you.”
She looked to the ceiling but told Jack, “You’ll be the death of me.”
“Cut the drama, Olive, you’d be bored stiff if I didn’t hand you a challenge and do it with frequency and increasing difficulty.”