Austin shook his head. ‘My own parents died a year ago, and it was my mother who knew Lara’s mother. We have a family friend who’s worked with us for years. Mum might have told her something. It’s worth asking, I guess.’
Brendan turned as several students walked in. ‘I’d better get back to work. I’m sorry I couldn’t be more help. If I think of anything else, is there any way I can contact you?’
Austin scribbled his mobile number. Ten minutes later, he and Nina were back in the car.
Nina took Austin to her parents’ restaurant in the centre of Bath. It was large, but with plenty of atmosphere: paintings of Tuscan landscapes on the wall, Italian pop songs playing in the background, and red tablecloths on each of the twenty or more tables. Most of them were full. Nina spoke briefly to her parents, her father in the kitchen and her mother looking after a large party of diners. She introduced Austin as Lara’s brother, without going into detail about why he was there. He noticed Nina had inherited her mother’s bright eyes and her father’s big smile. They were too busy to talk long, waving Nina across to a spare table in the back section of the restaurant.
Over a pizza and a glass of red wine he filled her in on all he knew about Lara’s early years.
Nina listened intently. ‘I’m sorry I didn’t ask her more questions when she was leaving, Austin,’ she said when he’d finished. ‘She seemed so matter of fact about it. Packed her suitcase. Said something about family business and off she went. And you know, with flatmates, you have to keep some distance, respect each other’s privacy.’
‘We might be onto something with the Irish sites. I’ll know more after I’ve phoned Gloria tonight.’
‘But just because she was looking at Irish sites doesn’t mean that’s where she’s gone, does it?’ Nina asked.
‘I don’t know. I’m probably jumping to conclusions …’ He tailed off. It had seemed much more certain in the college than it was now. And Nina was right. There were lots of places Lara could have gone. And lots of reasons why.
‘So is Ireland where her parents are buried? If they were killed there? Or were their bodies flown home to Australia?’
‘I don’t know. I don’t think so.’ Surely he would have remembered if Lara’s parents’ bodies had been flown home to Australia? Wouldn’t there have been talk about it? And they would all have gone to the funerals, wouldn’t they? The difficulty was there had never been much talk at home about Lara’s parents, except on the memorial days his mother had instigated.
‘Was Lara in the car with them when they had that crash in Ireland? Would she have memories of it? Maybe that’s what’s happened, it’s brought back some trauma. What’s it called – post traumatic stress disorder? That might be why she disappeared like that. I thought she seemed focused, but perhaps it was shock.’
Austin shook his head. ‘No, she wasn’t even in Ireland when it happened. Her parents were over fixing up something about a family estate, I think. Lara’s grandmother had died a few weeks earlier. I don’t really know all the details.’ He couldn’t remember why Lara hadn’t gone with them. He only remembered people saying it was lucky that she hadn’t, or she probably would have been killed too.
‘Don’t you know anything about where Lara came from? She arrived to live with you and none of you asked anything about it?’
He wished Nina would stop asking him such awkward questions. ‘We weren’t that sort of family. My mother, especially. She thought it was best not to dwell on any of it too much, in case it upset Lara. We had to be as kind as we could to her.’ He could hear his mother saying it.
‘So she was a charity case?’
‘No. Not for a minute. We never treated her like that.’ Even as he said it, he had a memory of Harriet wanting to treat Lara like that. Like one of her school ‘be kind’ projects. But that had passed, surely? And he and James had always thought of Lara as an extra little sister. It hadn’t been a big deal at all.
‘No need to be defensive, Austin. I’m sorry, I touched a raw nerve.’
He calmed. ‘No, you didn’t. It’s a fair enough question. I suppose it must look unusual from the outside, but really, she just became part of the family.’
Nina reached over and refilled their glasses. ‘Maybe that’s it. She didn’t want to be a part of your family any more. She wanted her own family.’
‘I don’t think it’s that. She would have said something, to Harriet, or to me. One of us anyway.’
Nina shrugged. ‘Then maybe she just wanted to go away for a while. Have some time to herself. Maybe it’s as simple as that.’
Austin found himself fighting an urge to start tapping. ‘Maybe it is,’ he said.
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
The Willoughby group was on board the bus, en route to Padstow, a forty-mile journey from St Ives. Willoughby himself hadn’t actually set foot in the town during the series, but Mrs Lamerton had seen the harbour village featured on TV and insisted a trip to a celebrity chef’s restaurant be included in the itinerary.
James had suggested in his notes that Harriet lead the group in a fish-themed bus-trip singalong but Harriet had tucked that suggestion away at the back of the folder. As they came into the harbour town, Harriet glanced at his script again – Once one of Cornwall’s principal fishing ports, Padstow is now famous for its gourmet restaurants and sandy beaches – and put it away too. There was so much chatter and laughter in the bus she wouldn’t have been able to make herself heard, microphone or not. Mrs Lamerton’s laugh was loudest of all. She had managed to get the seat next to Patrick again. Harriet was reminded of the bellowing sounds of a water buffalo, happily splashing in mud.
Her mobile beeped twice just as Clive pulled into the car park beside the Padstow harbour. A text message had arrived. She didn’t check it immediately, first opening the door and as usual helping her group down onto the ground. They were all in high spirits. Mr Fidock practically leapt off the step. Mrs Lamerton ignored Harriet standing at the foot of the stairs, putting on a girlish voice and asking Patrick to help her.
‘Of course, Mrs Lamerton.’ He smiled at Harriet as he came down the step.
Mrs Lamerton alighted, taking Patrick’s hand. She didn’t let go once she reached the ground, holding his hand high as though they were about to do a stately dance. Patrick had no choice, unless he was going to shake her away. Harriet did her best not to smile as the pair of them went hand in hand across the car park towards the restaurant. It looked like Mrs Lamerton would be sitting next to him at dinner, too.
As she watched, he stopped and turned. ‘Harriet, will we wait for you?’
Harriet could tell Mrs Lamerton wasn’t pleased. ‘No thanks, Patrick. You go ahead. I’ll be right there.’
Once everyone was off the bus, she took out her phone and read the text message. It was from Austin. Am with Lara’s flatmate. On her trail. All for 2nite. Will keep you posted. A x
She turned off the mobile and put it back in her bag. The feeling of confusion returned. Wanting to know about Lara, but not wanting to know. Wanting to stay in the cocoon of the tour, not having to think about her real life, enjoying all of this so much, the travelling, the group, Patrick …
‘Harriet?’
It was Miss Talbot. She’d come back for her. ‘Is everything all right? You look like you’re miles away.’
‘I’m sorry, Miss Talbot. I was just daydreaming.’
‘Oh, don’t be sorry. I love daydreams myself. I go to all sorts of places in my daydreams. It’s good for the soul.’ She lowered her voice. ‘Were you daydreaming about Patrick?’
‘Miss Talbot!’
‘Well, I would, if I were you. Who else is there? Clive? Mr Fidock? Mr Douglas?’ She made a disgusted face. ‘Perhaps that could be Turner Travel’s next theme tour, Harriet? A cruise for elderly singles like myself. We could call it the Old Love Boat.’
‘That’s an excellent idea.’ It was, too. Melissa would jump at it. ‘Will we do it together? I could be your chaperone
.’
Miss Talbot nodded eagerly. ‘Yes please.’
Harriet took Miss Talbot’s arm as they made their way to the restaurant. The group had gathered outside, already studying the menu in a glass frame on the wall. The restaurant was in a two-storey corner building, looking out onto the harbour crammed with commercial fishing boats and smaller, colourful craft. Inside the tables were wooden, the ceilings high, the atmosphere welcoming, the walls and table decorations coordinated in blue and white. There was no formal seating arrangement at their long table. They took seats as they came in. Harriet had Miss Talbot on one side and Mr Douglas on the other. At the other end of the table she saw Mrs Lamerton take a seat next to Patrick. Harriet turned away, making a point of settling Miss Talbot into her chair, helping to stow her silver handbag on the back of her chair and then reading the menu to her. She couldn’t help herself, though. She looked over in Patrick’s direction. He was looking at her too.
Once they finished their main courses, everyone in the tour group started moving around the table. It seemed perfectly natural for Harriet to go to Patrick’s end of the table and check that everything was fine with him. It made perfect sense, too, when he very nicely asked Mrs Lamerton if she could move up a little so he could put a chair for Harriet there beside him. It was quite crammed so it also felt right for him to casually place his arm around the back of her chair as they talked. It also seemed natural that he should later visit Harriet’s end of the table to talk to the people seated near her. He stood behind her, with his arm resting against the back of her chair, close enough so her head was touching his arm. The chair beside her became free. He sat down and it also felt right that her leg was touching his, and that his arm was along the back of her chair again. Once or twice she reached for her wine glass at the same time he reached for his. Their hands touched. A glance.
‘After you, Harriet.’
‘No, you first.’
‘Please, I insist.’
As he had a lively conversation with Mr and Mrs Douglas across the table, she couldn’t stop noticing more details about him. The way he used his hands to express himself. The long fingers and square-cut nails. The silver watch on his wrist. The sprinkling of dark hair on his arms. The tanned skin on his chest, where the top button of his pale blue shirt was undone. The dark hair there, too.
She was very conscious of her body next to his. The feel of the silk material of her dress against her skin. Even the feel of her fingers against the stem of the glass. Every movement seemed charged with something. Anticipation.
They returned to the bus, everyone in great spirits. They had drunk a lot of wine. Mr Fidock insisted on taking the microphone and performing an Elvis-style version of ‘I do like to be beside the seaside’ as they left Padstow. Harriet expected half the group to go straight to their rooms when they returned to St Ives, but she was wrong. The hotel boasted an old-fashioned disco once a week. The receptionist had promised it was perfect for the age group. More Tom Jones than they’ll be able to shake a hip replacement to, she’d laughed. All of them, Clive included, came into the function room. It had been transformed with flashing lights and clusters of armchairs, overseen by a man with an obvious toupee behind a DJ desk.
Harriet danced with Mr Fidock, Mr Douglas and even Clive. She waltzed with Miss Talbot who was feather-light on her feet. She danced with everyone except Patrick Shawcross. She knew it didn’t matter whether she danced with him, or whether they talked to each other some more that night or not. It had gone beyond that. Somehow, at some stage during the night, something unspoken had been agreed between them. He hadn’t said anything. Neither had she. It was the strangest sensation, as though the entire time they were talking to other people, involved in other conversations, standing at other sides of the room, they were somehow connected, as if by invisible wires. She was intensely and completely aware of him, and knew that he was aware of her. Even when she was talking to Mrs Kempton, or dancing with Mr Fidock (and having to first laughingly and then firmly ask him to keep his hands to himself) she knew if she looked up Patrick would be watching her.
It felt so good. Exciting. Exhilarating. And something deeper, sexier than that. One part of her brain was clear, telling her all the reasons why it wasn’t making sense. He was thirteen years older than her. He was the special guest on their tour. Melissa would surely have something to say about fraternisation between guides and tour guests. But obstacles like that seemed a long way away, connected to the side of herself she was trying to leave behind. This new, exciting feeling belonged with the freedom she’d been sensing as her confidence had grown the past few days, as she discovered she was able to cope, make decisions, take care of a group of people. She wanted something to happen between them. It was almost a need inside her.
Just before midnight she was helping a tipsy Miss Talbot out of the disco and up to her room when she heard her name being called. She turned. It was him.
‘Harriet, are you leaving?’
Miss Talbot spoke before Harriet had a chance. ‘She’s helping me to bed, Patrick. I’ve had one too many Fluffy Ducks. I’m a disgrace.’
‘You’re not a disgrace,’ Harriet laughed, holding Miss Talbot’s arm firmly. ‘You’re just exhausted from all that dancing.’
‘Can I help?’ Patrick said.
‘No, thanks anyway.’ She smiled at him. ‘We’ll be fine.’
‘Could I speak to you before you go up?’
‘Talk away, Harriet,’ Miss Talbot said, sinking into the armchair beside them. ‘I’ll just sit here for a while. It will do me good. That carpet is making me dizzy.’
They moved towards the door. His voice was quiet. ‘I know it’s too late to look at the videos tonight —’ She felt a faint shimmer of disappointment. ‘— but there is something I need to talk to you about. Would you be able to call to my room instead, do you think?’
‘Tonight?’
‘If that’s all right? If it’s not too late?’
‘No. Of course it’s not. In half an hour?’
‘Good. Yes. That’s good.’ He smiled at her. That was all. But it felt like a promise.
Forty minutes passed before she was able to go to him. Most of the group had started going to their rooms. As Harriet was helping Miss Talbot to bed, Mrs Kempton poked her head out of her door, just down the corridor.
‘Harriet, I’m sorry to bother you but I don’t seem to be able to find my reading glasses. Would you be able to come and help me look?’
‘Of course, Mrs Kempton. I’ll just settle Miss Talbot.’
Miss Talbot took less than five minutes to settle. She tipped into the bed and was snoring gently in the time it took Harriet to take off her shoes.
Mrs Kempton was waiting at her door. ‘I am a silly sausage, aren’t I? I can’t find them anywhere.’
The glasses were on the bedside table, in full view of the door. ‘Here they are, Mrs Kempton.’
‘Oh Harriet, you’re an angel. While you’re here, would you be able to undo the buttons at my neck for me? I’m having such trouble with them.’
Harriet undid the row of tiny buttons. Mrs Kempton favoured old-fashioned clothing and this blouse wouldn’t have looked out of place in a period drama, with its high neck and puffy sleeves.
‘Thank you, Harriet. And not just for this. You’re looking after us so well. We were all talking about it and we all think you’re lovely.’
She felt her cheeks go warm. ‘Thank you, Mrs Kempton. I’m glad you’re enjoying it.’
She was almost at her door when she was summoned by Mrs Lamerton from her doorway further down the same corridor, needing help with the lock on her case. That was a first. Mrs Lamerton was normally the most independent of them.
Harriet didn’t have any trouble with the lock. It snapped open immediately.
‘Thank you, Harriet. You must have a knack.’
‘Years of practice, Mrs Lamerton. I hope you enjoyed today?’
‘Yes, thank you. It’s all coming to
gether well, isn’t it? All the hard work Lara and I put into it in the planning stages, I suppose.’
‘I’m sure that’s it. I’m really pleased you’re happy.’
‘Well, goodnight, Harriet. Still no chance of Lara turning up?’
‘I’m afraid not, Mrs Lamerton. I understand her other commitments got very demanding. Goodnight. See you in the morning.’ She was at the door when the older woman spoke again.
‘So what will you do now?’
‘I beg your pardon?’
‘What will you do now?’
‘It’s after midnight. I’ll probably go to bed.’
Mrs Lamerton nodded. ‘Goodnight then.’
Harriet went to her room, checked her make-up, her hair, realising her hands were shaking. She took a moment to breathe slowly, to calm herself, as she stood in front of the mirror. Her eyes looked very bright. She wasn’t nervous. It was anticipation. Excitement. And a feeling that this was meant to be. As if everything had been meant to happen. James’s accident. This tour. Even the dinner tonight. All the tiny details coming together to this point so she would feel like this, look like this, want what she knew was going to happen with Patrick. What she wanted to happen. She stepped out into the corridor.
She didn’t see Mrs Lamerton’s door open or see her peer out and watch her leave.
Harriet only had to knock twice, softly, before he opened the door. He smiled. ‘Harriet, come in.’
He had taken off his jacket and rolled up the sleeves of his shirt. His room looked inviting. The bed through the doorway, the table and chairs in the centre, the door to the balcony open a little way. He had turned on all the lamps in the room and switched off the main light.
‘Can I get you a drink? Some wine? A coffee? A brandy?’
‘A brandy would be lovely, thank you.’
She walked out onto the small balcony and put her hands on the rail, looking out over the beach and the dark sea. The sky was thick with clouds, only a few stars visible.
She could hear him fixing the drinks. Another time she would have felt the need to talk, to make conversation. Not now. There was the sound of the waves hitting the sand, traffic noise, tyres on the wet roads behind the hotel, a car horn. Murmured voices from the cafe on the beach below them, staff tidying up, bottles being taken outside. As she stood there, it started to rain again, a faint drizzle. She felt it against her face, the water swirling into the wind. There was water everywhere she looked. Sea, rain. Water equalled sex. She stepped inside the room again as he came towards her. He wasn’t carrying any drinks.
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