Chapter Twenty
The previous night, after their late return from the restaurant meal Abra had organised to celebrate Angel and Louis’s fortieth anniversary, Rafferty had told her about his and Cyrus’s conversation in the pub. It was another humid night and they’d thrown the covers off along with their clothes.
Rafferty lay, admiring the curve of Abra’s thigh, as she admitted she felt as embarrassed as he did that Cyrus and the others had picked up on their less than wholehearted welcome.
‘Let’s try, then, during the remainder of their stay, to make sure they have a good time,’ she said. ‘I suppose I have been a bit mean. And he’s a nice enough bloke. He just talks too much.’
‘I can take Cyrus out again, give you a break. I thought a pub-crawl with my brothers? Maybe I’ll even invite Nig
