“Frank knows of an auction house that may be able to help. And solicitor Reggie Ramsbottom is advising me on the sale of the manor. Both such charming gentlemen.” She smiled.
From the corner of his eye, Benedict saw Estelle waving to tell him that their food was ready.
“I have to go, but it was nice to see you again,” he said.
“You, too, Mr. Stone.”
Alistair carried the pies over for Benedict and Estelle but forgot the knives and forks. Alexander batted him over the head with a napkin, and the two boys reappeared seconds later with Alistair bringing the forks and Alexander the knives.
Estelle and Benedict tucked into their food, and when Nicholas came over to ask if they were enjoying their meal, Estelle proclaimed it was “Absolutely delicious.”
As Nicholas mumbled his thanks, his cheeks flushed as red as the small carnelian in his pocket.
Benedict and Estelle stayed in the pub after their meal and joined in a quiz. Estelle answered a tricky one about David Hockney’s swimming-pool paintings, and she nodded, impressed, when Benedict knew the answer to one about Blue Jack.
They placed first, and Alistair and Alexander Ledbetter sidled over. The teenagers nudged each other before Alistair handed Benedict and Estelle their prize envelope. Inside was a handwritten note inviting two people to sample Nicholas’s new Christmas menu.
“Oh, yeah, Mr. Stone,” Alexander said before he walked away. “We have a spare ticket for a gig over in Applethorpe and we wondered if Gemma wanted to come? Nicholas is driving us there and we’ll get a taxi back.” He took a crumpled piece of paper from his pocket and offered it to Benedict.
The ticket was for Restore the Hope.
Benedict’s heart flipped. Could today get any better? “I think she’d love that,” he said. “Thanks, lads.”
* * *
“Do you think that Gemma will be okay at a concert?” Estelle asked as Benedict walked her back to Veronica’s apartment.
“The ticket states that over sixteens are allowed,” Benedict said. “Gemma did travel here from America on her own, so she’s really independent.”
“Still, those places can get very crowded.”
“I’m sure she’ll be fine,” he said. “She’ll be so excited when I tell her.”
They reached the apartment block, and Estelle took her keys from her handbag. Benedict glanced at a couple who were locking lips on the steps of the community center. He remembered how he and Estelle had kissed that first time on the canal towpath. It had been such an innocent moment, without any hint of what troubles might lie ahead in their future.
“Thanks, Benedict. It was so lovely of you to display my work,” Estelle said. “I had no idea you were planning such a thing, and the shop looked wonderful.”
“The paintings brought it to life.” Benedict stuck his hands in his pockets. “I always saw the shop as just mine, but it could be our family business...”
Estelle smiled and selected her key. “There’s a lot to think about. I still need time. But thanks again.”
She reached out and opened the door, then stepped back and gave him a peck on the cheek.
“Night, Estelle,” he said. Then he added “I love you,” so quietly that he didn’t think she’d hear.
“And I love you, too, Benedict,” she said over her shoulder.
27.
ONYX
gives strength, old sorrows, letting go
THE FOLLOWING EVENING, Benedict asked Gemma a dozen questions and gave lots of instructions before she went to watch Restore the Hope.
“What time will the gig finish?” he asked as she sat at the kitchen table, in front of Estelle’s makeup mirror, trying to apply black eyeliner. She wore jeans, a baggy black T-shirt and her too-large denim jacket. She’d backcombed her hair so the roots were mussy.
“Around 10:00 p.m.”
“Do you usually wear that stuff around your eyes?”
“No. Aunt Estelle gave it to me.”
“Make sure that the taxi drops you off right at the door. No walking anywhere,” he said. “And no drinking alcohol—you’re underage.” He wrote down his mobile number on a piece of paper and passed it to her. “Put this in your pocket.”
“Stop fussing, Uncle Ben. It’s just a gig.”
Benedict felt that he still didn’t have the authority to tell her what to do and what not to do. “Just take care, okay?”
“What are you doing tonight?” she asked. “Are you seeing Estelle?”
“I’m staying here, waiting for you to come home safely.”
She gave him a look that said really? “You should look out for Lord Puss. Kids are setting off fireworks early and he might be afraid.”
“I’ll keep him inside.”
“Good. Well, I think I’m ready to go.”
A car horn sounded outside and Benedict pulled aside the curtain to see Nicholas’s car pull up. Benedict waved to the chef and he felt a small lump in his throat. It was the same feeling he got when he’d waved Charlie off on his first day at high school.
Don’t worry, he told himself. She’ll be back soon, safe and sound.
* * *
Lord Puss didn’t like the fireworks. He wedged himself into a corner of the sofa and his eyes were wide. “There’s hardly any going off tonight, you soft cat,” Benedict said. “Wait until Bonfire Night, and then things really go with a bang.”
Benedict had forgotten what it was like to have the house to himself. He never enjoyed being alone with its creaks and crackles and squeaks. But tonight he relished it. He took a bottle of Budweiser from the fridge and helped himself to an apple. He kicked off his loafers and put his feet up on the coffee table. Turning on the TV, he started to watch a program about ancient Egyptian jewelry and discovered that Tutankhamen’s burial mask was inlaid with turquoise, lapis lazuli and carnelian.
After a few minutes, Lord Puss edged toward him. He stood on the cushion, and then he lifted and pressed one foot against his leg. Benedict looked at the cat and Lord Puss stared back at him. “Do you want to sit on my knee?”
Lord Puss winked.
Benedict moved the TV remote control to allow the cat to climb onto his lap. Lord Puss circled twice then settled down. The cat began to purr, and Benedict flicked the channels on the TV. This is it, he thought. This is what it feels like to be satisfied.
In an ideal world he’d have a proper family—a wife, a child and a pet. Instead he had a distorted model of that—a wife living in her friend’s apartment, a stray American niece and a lodging cat. But that was okay. He was determined to enjoy it for what it was.
A firework went off and Lord Puss pricked up one ear. “It’s okay, puss,” Benedict said and placed a reassuring hand on his back. “Nothing to worry about.”
The cat looked around him warily, but when the next bang came, he jumped off and backed under the coffee table.
“Come here.” When Benedict reached out for the cat, the TV remote control slipped onto the floor with a thud and the noise startled Lord Puss. The cat ran out of the door and into the hallway.
“Sorry,” Benedict called out. He followed the cat, but he wasn’t there. His heart skipped a beat as he saw Lord Puss sitting by the front door. It was ajar and the white cat peeked furtively through the gap.
“Come on, puss. I’ll look after you,” Benedict said. “Gemma mustn’t have closed the door properly when she left.” He padded toward the cat, whose ears were now pinned right back to his head. Reaching out, he felt his fingers brush lightly against white fur.
There was another blast of noise outside. Lord Puss jumped and then he was gone. The white tip of his tail vanished out of the open door as he fled into the garden.
“Damn it,” Benedict said and looked around for his burgundy loafers. “You come back
here.”
He followed the cat outside. Lord Puss ran across the lawn, under the gem tree and out the other side. Benedict felt stupid shouting out “Lord Puss,” so instead he hissed, “Come on, kitty.”
There was a flash of white and the cat squeezed under a bush in the corner of the garden. Benedict trekked after him. “Cecil will kill me if I lose you.”
He crept toward the bush so he wouldn’t startle the cat. Through a gap in the leaves he saw Lord Puss pressed up against the wall. Benedict knelt down and the damp grass soaked through the knees of his trousers. He held his face away from the scratchy branches and reached in with his hand. His fingertips skimmed the cat’s chest. “Damn cat.”
He tried again but Lord Puss edged backward, wedging himself farther against the wall. It was then that Benedict noticed something else, furry, beneath the bush. It seemed to hover a couple of inches above the ground. It was small with long arms, a creature with a smiling face.
Benedict frowned. What was it? He turned his attention away from Lord Puss and reached out to touch the furry thing. Under the orange glow of the streetlamp, he saw it was a small cheeky-faced chimpanzee attached to a key ring. His fingers crept along it, over its body and face, until they touched something ridged and shiny. He patted around and it felt like sequins. There was a loop of fabric, a strap.
He used it to pull the item toward him and it swept out of the bush, bringing a few leaves and twigs with it. It was a large black purse. It had a zip and a single wrist strap. Benedict frowned at it and wondered how it had got into his garden.
Perhaps someone at the airport had found and returned Gemma’s purse, he thought. Though why hadn’t she told him about it?
Lord Puss edged out and sat beside Benedict.
“I’m not playing games with you. You can do what you like.”
The cat licked his paw and brushed it over his face.
Benedict unzipped the purse. Inside were dollar notes, folded around something else. He eased them out and found himself looking at a passport and a phone.
Opening the passport, he saw the person in the photo staring back at him. She was younger and her hair was a little darker and shorter, but her chin, triangular bushy eyebrows and the ears that poked through her hair were the same. Gemma.
He leafed to the back page, and the contact address wasn’t for Maine or New York. He frowned and pushed it back inside the purse. As he held the bag against his chest, his heart felt as though it had dropped down to his stomach. “We should go back inside,” he said to Lord Puss distractedly. “Let’s keep you away from the fireworks.”
As if obeying him, the cat stood up and trotted ahead.
Benedict set the purse down on the coffee table and rubbed the back of his neck. How had anyone at the airport got in touch with Gemma? He’d given his own contact details when he called them.
He took out the phone again. It was shiny and white, an old-model iPhone. The screen was dark, blank. He pressed the button on top of it, not expecting anything to happen, but rows of icons appeared.
One of them was green with a white speech bubble, and there was a small number five beside it. Benedict hesitated as he paced out of the room and into the kitchen. He switched on the kettle but didn’t make a drink. If this was Gemma’s phone, who had been trying to get in touch with her? Would she be able to tell if he stole a quick glance at her messages? Perhaps it wasn’t hers, but why was it stored with her passport?
He caught his breath in the back of his throat. Had his niece been using her phone the night she said she was talking to herself in her room? He thought about the phone charger he’d seen, wrapped around her gray vest, on the top of the chest of drawers in the studio.
As if it was a cupcake that Benedict couldn’t resist, he pressed on the icon. A list of text messages appeared and they were all from the same name.
Dad.
His hand trembled as he pressed the top message. It opened up and he read it.
Gemma. Please let me know that you’re safe. Where are you? Dad x.
Just leave me alone, okay? I’m fine. Will be back when I’m ready, Gemma replied.
Benedict read the other four messages in the inbox and each was from Charlie. One apologized to Gemma for shouting at her, and another said that he was thinking of contacting the police. As Benedict read them, his throat tightened and he thought he might retch.
Gemma had lied to him yet again.
He returned to the front room, edged back toward the sofa and sank into it. He set the phone on his lap and stared at it. He switched off the TV so the room was silent apart from the tick of a clock and the electric motor of the fridge whirring on and off. Lord Puss gave a bored yawn, showing off his pink tongue. He smacked his lips then headed off to his food bowl.
Whether Gemma had truly lost her purse at the airport, or whether she’d placed it under the bush the very first night she arrived, Benedict didn’t know. What he did understand was that somewhere, maybe on the other side of the world, his brother might be sitting in the very same position that Benedict was now. Worried, bewildered and waiting for Gemma to come home.
Gemma had assured Benedict she’d told him everything, the truth, about why she was here. But now he knew that she’d been lying to him from the very first moment she’d knocked on his door. When he’d confronted her about her words in the journal, she could have told him the truth about her passport and phone then, that they hadn’t been stolen. But she’d carried on misleading him.
Charlie and Janice having a baby together was going to mean a huge change to her life and he understood why she might need to get away from home, to think things through. Yet he felt so stupid, too. After all their conversations, and poring over the gemstone journal together, he now felt as if he didn’t know her at all.
He’d thought that they were family, but she had played him for a fool.
For a moment, he considered phoning Estelle to see if Gemma had told her anything. But this would stoke his wife’s suspicions and it would become apparent how little Benedict knew about his niece’s arrival. And if he confronted Gemma again, she would probably spin him more lies. He imagined that she’d have a ready reason about why her phone and passport were hidden in the garden.
He ran his finger over the sequins on the purse and felt that he didn’t have a choice.
He remembered his brother’s words in the letter in which Charlie told Benedict that he never wanted to hear from him again. But he had to do this. Whatever bond he had with Gemma, the one with his estranged brother was still greater.
He picked up Gemma’s phone and copied Charlie’s number into his own mobile. Then he pressed Dial. It rang several times and Benedict was about to hang up, when he heard his brother’s voice for the first time in eighteen years. Benedict gazed into space as a slug of sadness hit him. How could he have hurt his brother so badly?
“Hey, this is Charlie Stone. Leave me a message, yeah?”
Benedict pulled the phone away from his ear as if it was scorching hot. His mouth suddenly felt as dry as sandpaper, and he ran his tongue around inside his mouth. He felt torn apart, wanting to demand that Gemma tell him what was going on. But he also wanted to find out directly from Charlie.
He covered her purse with a newspaper so he couldn’t see it.
He just wanted to hear the truth. He was so weary of all this and he needed to try to take back some kind of control.
Just as he made a snap decision when he returned Amelia’s kiss, Benedict made one again.
“Charlie.” He cleared his throat. “It’s Benedict. Gemma is staying with me, and I think she may have been lying to both of us... We desperately need to talk. Please call me back...”
28.
AMETHYST
inner strength, transition, sobriety
THE NOISE WAS a squealing sou
nd, like kids make when they’re on holiday and run into the sea. There was a girl’s voice and Benedict heard deeper ones, too. They were coming from the garden. He swiftly stood up and Gemma’s mobile phone slid to the floor with a thud that seemed to echo around the room. He picked it up and tucked it into his jacket pocket.
He switched off the light so he could see outside more clearly and edged over to the window. Lord Puss lay asleep on the windowsill with his tail and whiskers twitching. As Benedict’s eyes adjusted to the darkness, he saw three figures in the garden—Gemma, Alistair and Alexander. His niece stood still with her back to the house as the two boys ran around the garden, shouting to each other.
The sound of his niece laughing made his neck bristle. She had lied to him, yet she was acting as if nothing was wrong. Was she laughing with her friends at him, thinking that he was stupid?
The security light outside pinged on and off intermittently, so sometimes the scene was illuminated and sometimes not. The boys both wore skinny black jeans and their arms were bare in their Restore the Hope T-shirts. They used a rolled-up sweater as a rugby ball, throwing it to each other. Gemma tried to join in, too, making small attempts to reach out and catch it.
Benedict hesitated for a moment, wondering if he should tell her to come inside. He unfastened the catch on the window and opened it by an inch so he could hear more clearly what was going on in the garden. He told himself that he’d done the right thing by calling Charlie.
“Hey, what’s this dangling from the tree?” Alexander shouted.
Benedict watched as the branches of the gem tree bowed and then sprang back into place with a rustle. He heard Gemma say something but couldn’t make out her words.
The tree arched again and this time there was a crack as a branch broke. Alexander wrestled with it, tugging it away from the tree. He brandished it like a sword and chased his brother, thrashing the broken branch at him. Again, Gemma just watched.
Benedict felt something snap inside him as he witnessed the damage. He couldn’t stand and watch his family history being vandalized. He yanked the window shut, hurried to the front door then flung it wide open. “Stop that right now,” he yelled. “Gemma, get inside.”
Rise and Shine, Benedict Stone Page 22