Dusting the photographs on the marble mantelshelf Meggie looks with affection at Lily sitting on her pony. Proper little maid she was when she was small, and how she loved that Buttons. It’s a shame she’s moved so far away, but Meggie has a pretty good idea why she’s gone – apart from the very good job she was offered out there in New Zealand. One evening, a few years before his accident, down in Plymouth in a pub with his mates after he’d been to the football, Phil had seen Lily with a friend – a girlfriend. She hadn’t seen him and he made sure to slip out before she noticed him.
So when Meggie said not long after, ‘It’s funny how that little maid never has boyfriends and her so pretty,’ Phil said, ‘I don’t think it’s boys she’s interested in,’ and told her how he’d seen the two of them together. He shrugged good-naturedly when she’d looked surprised. ‘Takes all sorts,’ he said.
Meggie stands the photograph of Lily and Buttons back in its place and gives a little sigh. Annabel never speaks of her daughter now, though Meggie sometimes asks after her just to see the look of annoyance on Annabel’s face. Miles is different. He still likes to talk of Lily; what she’s doing, where she’s living.
He comes in behind Meggie now, goes over and picks up the estate agents’ details and slips them into the drawer.
‘So how’s Lily?’ Meggie asks him. ‘Happy, is she?’
He smiles at her. ‘I think she is, Meggie.’ He hesitates, slightly lowers his voice. ‘I’m hoping to see her before too long.’
Before she can answer, Annabel’s voice can be heard again, shouting for someone, and he shrugs, smiles and goes out. Meggie plugs Henry in, switches it on so she can’t hear Annabel, and gives it a little kick.
‘And don’t go getting caught on the sofa,’ she warns it, and begins to vacuum.
Andy drives slowly down the track, parks and climbs out. There is no sign of Liv’s car but, even as he glances around him, Baz comes out of the Beach Hut and waves to him.
‘I’m in the doghouse,’ he calls. ‘I went out early but didn’t do the right sort of shopping. Liv and the twins have dashed into Kingsbridge. She wasn’t quite sure what time you might arrive.’
‘I made an early start,’ Andy says. ‘Decided to get going before the grockles all get on the move.’
He gives a silent sigh of relief. He’s been wondering how he might get Baz alone and now the opportunity has been handed to him without any problem.
‘Coffee?’ Baz is asking. ‘I gather you’re staying the night?’
‘I might,’ says Andy, following him into the Beach Hut. ‘Things are a bit fluid at the moment. I need a word with you, Baz.’
There’s no point beating around the bush. Liv could return at any moment and every minute is crucial. Baz turns to look at him, puzzled.
‘Why, what’s up?’ He smiles, looking at the younger man as if sizing him up. ‘You’re looking in good shape. How are things?’
‘Well, a bit odd, actually. I went to see Matt yesterday.’ He hesitates, then carries on. ‘Those paintings, Baz, that Matt’s hung in the bistro. How well do you know Maurice Leclos?’
Baz’s smile fades; he grows very still and his eyes are wary.
‘Why do you ask?’
‘Because there was a third person at the bistro with us who seemed very interested in those paintings. She was fascinated by the subject. The market traders and those two boys stealing from the stall-keepers. She asked about Maurice Desmoulins and when I said that it was a name associated with the French revolution and the Terror it seemed to ring a bell with her. She seemed to be putting two and two together and coming up with some rather scary results. When she was young, she said, she worked at an investment bank where there was a very important person nicknamed Maurice “Terror” Leclos.’
‘Who is she?’ Baz’s voice is cool but his expression is grim.
‘Her name’s Catriona. We’ve known her since she was a child and she is a tricky, clever, dangerous woman. Her history with our family isn’t a happy one. I thought that everyone was a bit unfair to her when I was younger, and we were an item for a very short while, but I came round to their point of view. She’s out to cause trouble. She tried with Matt but it hasn’t worked and then she spotted the paintings.’
‘And you thought that I should know?’
Andy shrugs. ‘She seemed very surprised to know that you had once worked in investment management in London at about the same time as Maurice Leclos. She thought that the boy in the painting looked like Matt but I wondered about that. I wondered if Maurice Leclos might be a short dark man, just as you are a tall, fair one, and that he was having a little bit of fun with those two boys.’
Baz stares at him. ‘How very astute of you.’
For a moment Andy sees a quite different Baz: cool, quick, tough.
‘I was thinking,’ Andy says rather diffidently, ‘about how Cat might be deflected from further investigations.’
‘And?’
‘And I know that she would really like to work in a New York investment bank. So far she’s been denied the chance, not because she’s not up to it but because she makes enemies. I’ve been checking. Maurice Leclos is on the board of quite a few companies. One is in New York.’
‘I should never have let Matt hang those paintings,’ says Baz. ‘But who would imagine …?’
‘“Of all the bars in all the world …”’ misquotes Andy softly.
Baz looks at him keenly. ‘It’s amazing that you should have been so quick on to this.’
Andy stares back, keeping his cool, not admitting to sneaking a peek at Baz’s texts.
‘Cat had no idea to begin with, she just liked the paintings, and by the time she realized that there was something really odd I’d begun to make a few assumptions myself. And I’ve got form from the past with Cat.’
Baz is silent, as if debating with himself, and then seems to come to a decision.
‘You’ve a right to know why,’ he says at last. ‘The public story is that Matt’s mother died in childbirth. It isn’t true. She had the child but he didn’t thrive and it was discovered that he had cancer and only a very short time to live. She was heartbroken. So was I. I tried to comfort her but she was beyond any help I could give her. It was a terrible time. Matt went to my mother in Bristol whilst Lucy and I tried to cope. The doctors gave her Valium to help her depression. This was a common practice back then, before anyone knew of the long-term effects it had. But the depression got worse. Then one day she smothered the baby and took an overdose. I came home and found them together.’
Andy is too horrified to speak. He simply raises both hands towards Baz, who nods, as if accepting his gesture of compassion.
‘I was off my head for a long time. Then Maurice came to me with this crazy suggestion. It was almost a dare. A silly prank. He gave me the information, I bought the shares on a falling market and then sold them on when the price went up again. By now my mother had suggested that Matt and I might go to live with her in Bristol and I should run the gallery. Maurice and I agreed that I would buy paintings from him as and when he needed money so that he received his share. I gave my share to a cancer research charity.’
He falls silent and Andy is at a loss for words.
‘I thought I was striking back, you see,’ Baz says at last. ‘At life. At fate. I don’t know what. I didn’t see it as a criminal act, back then. Finding them like that, the baby in her arms and covered with vomit. I was off my head, like I said. But that’s no excuse, is it?’
‘No,’ says Andy gently. ‘I suppose not. Not really.’
‘Maurice tries to tempt me from time to time, almost as a kind of tease. I’ve known him since we were at school together. He’s a bit older than I am and he always had style. A kind of glamour. He was a little guy and I was tall and the other boys used to call us “The long and the short of it”. But Maurice always had the upper hand. He still likes to twist my tail so I’ve never really escaped from it. And now, after all this time, this
girl could bring us down.’
‘If Maurice is well-known in the banking world then she could certainly cause a very unpleasant scandal, on social media if nothing else,’ admits Andy. ‘But if she were to be … distracted? Who knows?’ He shrugs.
Baz sits down at the kitchen table and puts his head in his hands.
‘You can never escape from it,’ he says. ‘One foolish mistake. One appalling misjudgement.’
‘Well, perhaps you should warn Maurice of this danger and see if it could be deflected. I think I’d be seriously unhappy for you to be brought to judgement by Cat.’
Baz looks up at him. ‘You think she could be … bought off?’ His lips twist in self-contempt at the idea of it.
‘We all do things we regret. Greater or lesser things. Cat really wants to work in New York. If she’s offered a job at Maurice’s bank she’ll be less likely to spill the beans. It’s worth a try. For all our sakes.’
‘Won’t she guess? Might it not give her further ammunition?’
‘Perhaps Maurice can be clever about it. It’s got to be worth a try.’
Baz hesitates. ‘I’ll speak to Maurice.’
‘Do it now,’ says Andy. ‘Don’t waste any time. Here.’ He seizes a notebook lying on the kitchen table, scribbles something and passes it to Baz. ‘This is her name and where she works. Just try it.’
Baz gets up. ‘Yes, I see that I should get on with it. I’ll have to go up on the cliff path to get a signal.’
He takes the paper, picks up his phone and goes out. Andy sits down at the table. He is upset by Baz’s disclosure and, though he’d guessed the truth about the insider trading, he is still shocked at the thought of it.
Poor devil, he thinks. He’s carried this for all these years and yet he’s such a good, kind, generous man. But who knows what any of us might do in those circumstances? How dreadful for him to lose his wife and child like that.
He hears a car engine and stands up to look out of the window. Liv is getting out of the car, releasing the twins, who are shouting with excitement at the sight of Uncle Andy’s car. Pulling himself together he goes out to meet them.
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
LIV HURRIES TO greet Andy. She puts her arms around him and hugs him tightly. All this morning she’s been worried about him, as if he’s been on the edge of some disaster, and she’s so relieved to see him looking his usual self.
‘Hey,’ he says, smiling down at her. ‘What’s all this?’
‘I don’t know,’ she says, feeling foolish. ‘I was just kind of worried about you.’
The twins rush at him, clasping him around the knees, and he ruffles their hair and then goes to his own car. They watch, suddenly quiet, eyes bright, as he fetches out a bag. He opens it slowly and brings out two brightly coloured plastic clockwork boats.
‘These are for the rock pool,’ he tells them. ‘You can have races. Come on, let’s try them out.’
They cross the beach together, carrying the boats, and Liv pats him on the back.
‘Nice one, Uncle Andy,’ she says.
‘I hope so,’ he answers. ‘I’m just praying that it doesn’t interfere with the ecology. Frighten the crabs or something.’
‘I’m glad we didn’t have all these worries when we were small,’ says Liv. ‘Where’s Baz?’
‘Oh, I think he went up on the cliff to take a call or something.’
Andy sounds vague. He kneels down with the twins, helping them to wind up the boats and set them to sail on the large pool. Liv watches them affectionately, gratefully. Whatever was weighing on her heart has lifted, the danger has passed, and she revels in the warmth of the salty air, the endless blue of the sky, the sound of the waves on the shore. She sees Baz descending the cliff path and waves to him. He raises a hand in return and Andy stands up and walks to meet him. Liv watches as Baz drops a hand on Andy’s shoulder, gives him a little smiling nod, as if to say that all is well, and carries on towards the Beach Hut.
‘Is Baz OK?’ she asks as Andy comes back to them. A tiny shadow of unease brushes her again like a cloud passing over her skin.
‘He’s fine,’ says Andy casually, as if puzzled by the question. ‘Why not? He was just checking up on a friend, he said. Hi, you guys,’ he calls to the twins. ‘Who’s winning?’
‘I’ll go and put the shopping away,’ she calls to them. ‘It’s nearly lunchtime.’
She goes back to the car, fetches the shopping bag and carries it inside. Baz is standing in the atrium, staring at nothing in particular, and once again she feels the shadow touch her. He looks somehow diminished, vulnerable, and she drops the bag and takes his arm.
‘What’s wrong?’ she asks anxiously.
He smiles down at her, and it is the old Baz again: reassuring, strong, generous.
‘Wrong?’ he asks. ‘What could be wrong on such a day?’
‘I don’t know,’ she answers uncertainly. ‘You just looked a bit odd.’
‘Oh, just a few ghosts from the past,’ he says lightly. ‘Nothing we need to worry about now.’
She squeezes his arm sympathetically and carries the bag into the kitchen.
‘Did you ask Sofia about coming to lunch?’ she calls to him.
‘I think she thought tea would be a better plan,’ he answers. ‘I don’t know if Dave and Janet had other arrangements. Anyway, she’ll be along later.’
‘Good,’ says Liv.
She’s really hoping that Sofia and Andy might hit it off. It would be so good to get Andy settled down. Liv goes back to the atrium to discuss this with Baz, remembering that when she mentioned it before he was about to go to the barbecue. But Baz is nowhere to be seen, so she returns to the kitchen and begins to prepare the lunch.
The twins are happy. They race their boats, running alongside the rock pool, with Jenks barking encouragement, though neither truly wants to win. They don’t feel quite right unless they are united. And so first the yellow boat wins, then the red one, and after there have been races they decide they must build a boathouse out of stones like the shed in which Baz keeps his dinghy. They are engrossed in this when Mummy comes to tell them that lunch is ready and they protest that they can’t come; not now: not yet.
But Mummy says that they must come or their fishfingers will get cold, and Uncle Andy, who is lying stretched out on the sand beside them, says that he didn’t know fish had fingers and they shout with laughter and say, ‘Good grief, Charlie Brown,’ just like Baz does.
Uncle Andy gets up and says, ‘Come on. I’ll race you. If I get there first I get to eat the fishfingers,’ and they have to run after him to make sure that he doesn’t eat their lunch.
Mummy has put lunch on the table outside, under the awning, which is their favourite place, and they sit one each side of Uncle Andy, who pretends to snatch their fishfingers until Mummy tells him to behave himself and says that Sofia will be coming later for tea.
Uncle Andy doesn’t know Sofia so Mummy tells him about her and the twins eat their lunch, sometimes using their fingers, which they’re not allowed to do, and Baz sits very quietly, smiling at them.
After lunch Baz decides to take himself off somewhere. Lunch has been a strain, pretending nothing has happened, reliving that terrible time in the past, that crazy canter with Maurice, and wondering how he is going to cope with seeing Sofia in the light of it all so freshly disinterred.
‘I’ll deal with it,’ Maurice said. ‘Give me the girl’s name. If she wants New York she will have New York.’
‘I hate this,’ Baz said. ‘Supposing she suspects something?’
‘I have many contacts,’ Maurice said. ‘Head-hunting is a perfectly normal procedure. Stop panicking, mon vieux. Go back to your family. I shall call in a few favours, she’ll get an offer she can’t refuse and then she won’t want to make waves. It’s all a long time ago, Baz, and it would be very difficult to prove.’
Suddenly, Baz knows that he can’t face Sofia yet; that he needs to think about things carefully. He
calls to Liv that he’s going for a walk, crams his old linen hat on his head, and wanders out on to the beach and up the path to the cliffs. He strolls slowly, his hands in the pockets of his jeans, screwing up his eyes against the brilliance of the light. The sky and the sea, diffuse and brilliant, fill the horizon; seagulls tilt and balance on warm currents of air. He has no idea where he should go or what he should do, or if he has the right to involve Sofia in this tangled web. The happy dream in which he has lived for these past five days seems to have dissolved into the bright air all around him.
The cliff path dips, curving inland beside a stand of yellow gorse, and there, sitting with her sketchbook and her rucksack, is El.
Baz gives a gasp of relief: she is the one person to whom he can talk. It is as if she has known and is waiting for him. He sinks down beside her and simply lies out flat on the short turf.
El continues to sketch, she makes no comment, and Baz allows the peace of her presence to wash over him. Presently she puts the sketchbook aside and opens her rucksack.
‘We’ll have to take turns with the cup,’ she says. ‘I wasn’t expecting guests.’
Baz rolls over and props his chin on his hands.
‘“Old sins cast long shadows,”’ he quotes softly. ‘Who said that, El?’
‘It’s a proverb. Probably early twentieth century. Not attributed.’
He laughs. He can never catch her out.
‘Is it significant?’ she asks. ‘Or are you just feeling maudlin?’
She offers him the cup from the top of her Thermos and he takes it, smiling at her.
‘You know how Lucy died, El. You’ve been the only person who knew the truth about it.’
El bows her head, acknowledging it. ‘You have told me that.’
She doesn’t say that she is touched by his confidence, that is not her way, but he is aware of the trust between them and is grateful for it.
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