Oscar was now talking about his family in the States.
‘Why didn’t you stay in New York? There must be lots of companies and productions there,’ Roxanne asked.
‘I was born in London but we moved to the States when I was a toddler so I don’t have many recollections of time in the UK. As I got older, I became curious about England – afternoon tea, red post boxes, double-decker buses, the royal family, Buckingham Palace – they all seemed so romantic and very British. I took up ballet classes in New York from an early age at one of the best schools – Joffreys. I was a natural and ballet fast became my passion. I could have stayed and enjoyed a career there but Europe seemed much more alluring so I cajoled my folks into letting me study in London. My ballet tutor suggested I apply to the Royal Ballet School and to cut a long story short, I was accepted and came over here. Mom and Pop helped me find an apartment and made sure I had enough money to start off. They were great about everything. I stay in touch with them all the time. They plan to visit London this year and come to see Swan Lake. It’ll be such a buzz to see Mom and Pop sitting in the front row looking proud. I’m a lucky guy.’ He gave a wide smile.
Bertrand removed the soup tureen and returned with warmed plates for everyone. The woman placed a large dish of fish in tomato and covered with sour cream in the middle of the table.
‘This is called la lotte à l’Armoricaine. You call it monkfish in American sauce. It is a traditional French recipe from coastal Brittany.’
‘Delicious,’ murmured Jim, licking his lips.
‘Bon appétit!’ Bertrand bowed before leaving the group once more.
‘Truly awesome,’ agreed Oscar.
Jim’s eyes twinkled as he regarded the dish. ‘Did you know monkfish is also known as poor man’s lobster? I haven’t had monkfish for years. I enjoy a nice piece of fish but I don’t like cooking fish much. It’s the smell. It pervades the entire house and sends the cat crazy.’
Roxanne sat up with interest. ‘You have a cat? I’ve got one too. Mine’s a Persian. A right pampered puss.’
Emptying his mouth first, Jim continued, ‘Our cat’s a stray. It found us. It sat outside our back door one wet afternoon a year ago and cried for over an hour until I let it in, then it made a beeline for Cathy and jumped onto her lap where it spent the rest of the day purring. Poor little creature is as bald as a coot. It’s called a Sphynx cat and it’s got no fur, only a pelt the same colour as skin. I’ve never seen an uglier cat but my goodness, it is affectionate.’
‘Is it an Egyptian breed?’
‘No, it’s a breed from Canada. Apparently, they’re becoming increasingly popular. I’m not that fond of it but as I said, Cathy adores it and the little ’uns love it too.’
‘How old are your grandchildren, Jim?’
‘Poppy’s ten, Daisy’s eight and little Rose is six. They’re cracking kids. Would you like to see a photograph of them?’ asked Jim. He replaced his cutlery onto the plate, wiped his mouth and moustache with his serviette and, twisting around, extracted his wallet from the pocket of his blazer hung tidily on the back of his chair. He gazed at the photograph, adoration etched all over his face, and passed it to Professor Potts.
Professor Potts glanced at it briefly, mumbled ‘Lovely,’ and gave the picture to Roxanne.
She was more enthusiastic with her praise. ‘They’re so cute. I can see why you’re so proud of them.’
‘I’m blessed,’ said Jim. ‘They’re such clever girls too. I’d like to get some money together to help them through university. I’ll have to try out for a few more quiz shows before I’d be able to do a lot to assist them but I have time, so who knows.’
‘I think they’re equally blessed to have such a loving grandfather,’ Oscar added.
Jim took the photograph from Roxanne, studied it once more with a blissful look on his face. ‘Those little girls are my world. And Cathy’s too. They make both our lives worthwhile. Hearing them laugh is worth more than all the diamonds in a diamond mine. You really can’t beat family,’ he said with heartfelt sincerity.
With those words, Bryony was suddenly overwhelmed by sadness. She could not face any more of this conversation, and the wine she had just sipped tasted sour.
‘I know it’s mid-meal but would you mind if I left you all? I’m suddenly ever so tired. I can hardly lift my fork and I’m not hungry any more.’
Roxanne threw her a concerned look. ‘You okay?’
‘Yes. It’s been a long day. See you tomorrow morning.’
‘Night, Bryony,’ called the others.
Professor Potts picked up his wine glass and gave her a cursory wave. ‘See you tomorrow, Bryony. Hope Lucas enjoyed his run.’
CHAPTER THIRTY FOUR
THURSDAY, 27 JULY – EVENING
Lewis was staring out of the window, his shoulders bowed. He turned towards her and gave her a tired smile. His wavy hair was damp with perspiration and the light stubble on his chin enhanced his good looks.
She dropped onto the chair. ‘Hey!’
He rubbed his chin. ‘Shouldn’t you be at dinner?’
‘I couldn’t eat any more. Besides, I have some news for you. I’ve discovered that smarmy Potts is no longer seeing Maxwell.’
‘I know,’ he replied flatly.
‘How? I’ve only just found out from the horse’s mouth.’
‘I went for a run down a road that led to the town. I stopped to catch my breath and spotted an Internet café. I didn’t want to turn around and run back immediately so I went in and logged onto my emails to see if I’d got any more contracts or enquiries. There was an email from Maxwell.’
Bryony stared at him, eyebrows raised.
‘She wrote that she’d broken up with Potts and wished she’d never met him. Her email was full of remorse and regret. She wants me to visit her and discuss what to do about her staying in the flat – it’s up for sale at the moment – and possibly make amends. I didn’t get much time to read it through properly. The café was closing and I was asked to leave.’
Bryony felt a wrench in her stomach. She ought to be delighted for Lewis. He had been through so much but she did not feel Maxwell deserved to have him. What if she discarded him again when another celebrity or similar crossed her path? Lewis might not cope with rejection a second time.
‘Are you going to see her?’
Lewis looked out towards the pond. The sun had disappeared. The sky had turned a deep navy studded with stars. The moon high and full was reflected in the waters of the garden pond. ‘I’m not sure. I’ll have to give it some thought,’ he replied. ‘Circumstances have changed. I’ve changed and Maxwell has probably changed too. I need to consider a lot of things.’
Bryony drew her knees up and clasped them with trembling hands. It was not for her to interfere even though she wanted to scream out for him to let Maxwell get on with it alone. She recalled his face earlier that day – the pain etched across it – and decided she was being selfish. She was letting her fledgling feelings for him get in the way. Lewis should do what would make him happy. If he wanted to give it another go with Maxwell, then he should.
‘I really hope it works out for you, Lewis,’ she said, hoping he heard the sincerity in her voice. ‘You deserve to be happy. You’re a terrific friend and a really cool guy. And it doesn’t matter what you look like, what you wear, whether you put on weight or not, you are huge fun to be with. I hope she recognizes that fact. She was dumb to not see it before.’ She avoided his eyes and rose. ‘Did you eat at the café?’
He shook his head.
‘Would you like something? I can nip downstairs and ask Bertrand for some cheese and bread and maybe a bottle of cider. Don’t want you fainting with hunger tomorrow. I need all your brain synapses firing on full power. I can’t do this without you.’
She stood expectantly like a puppy eager to please. Creases appeared around his eyes.
‘Thanks. I am a little peckish after that run.’
‘Grab a
shower and I’ll sneak back down and collect some grub from the kitchen.’
‘You’re a star!’
In a robotic voice, she announced, ‘Stars – hot bodies of glowing gas that start their life in nebulae. Next question, please.’
Lewis laughed out loud. ‘Funny lady. You can test me on my general knowledge when you return. My grey cells need igniting in readiness for tomorrow.’
She put her hands together and bowed before leaving the room and tiptoeing down the stairs once more. The door to the dining room was shut but she could make out Oscar’s exuberant giggle followed by Jim’s hearty chuckle. She had developed a fondness for the other contestants and knew she’d be genuinely pleased for them if they won the competition.
She ducked into the kitchen and whispered her request to Bertrand, who scurried about the kitchen preparing a tray for Lewis. She thanked him and left as quietly as she could. There was less laughter to be heard in the dining room now. A soft cough alerted her to someone on the stairs behind her. She turned to see Oscar standing at the bottom of the staircase, cradling his dog.
‘Lewis okay?’ he hissed, concern arching his eyebrows.
‘He’s fine. I’m going to make sure he eats and gets plenty of rest before tomorrow,’ she replied.
‘I had to go. I was getting so cheesed off with Professor Potts. He keeps making inane remarks and he’s hitting on Roxanne. He’s not as cool or witty as he comes across on television,’ said Oscar in a hushed tone, motioning towards the dining room. ‘He only reads out what’s written for him on the autocue, and he mostly gets that wrong,’ he continued in a conspiratorial fashion. ‘None of it is from him at all. He’s a fake. I shall have to tell Mom she needs to find a different celeb to drool over.’ Biggie wriggled out of his arms and snuffled at the wooden banister. ‘Got to take this little bad boy out for a wee, then I’m going to grab some sleep. The professor’s leaving soon. He’s waiting for the driver to collect him and Roxanne. I think he’s gotten bored with us. He keeps yawning and checking his watch. Jim seems very relaxed though. You were right. He’s having a good time just being here.’ He blew her a kiss and left her to take the tray upstairs.
* * *
Bryony prepared for bed in the en-suite bathroom while Lewis ate his food. She removed her make-up, careful not to drag on her skin around her eyes and the scar that jagged upwards from her right eyebrow into her hairline – a permanent reminder of the accident. She’d become accustomed to seeing it and over the years it had become less angry, less raised and slightly less noticeable. Nowadays, practised use of concealer and a lengthy fringe that hung over that side of her face ensured the scar was not visible to others. Nevertheless, she was conscious of it. She had many other scars on her legs and back, and a long one over her hip into her right thigh. They were now pale in colour, and since she invariably wore trousers, they bothered her less. She tugged on a long T-shirt and returned to the bedroom.
Lewis was propped up on the bed, a look of concentration on his face.
‘I’ve been thinking,’ he stated.
‘About tomorrow?’
‘Of a fashion. I was trying to work out if there was anything more we could do to help you to find your sister. That is if this plan doesn’t work. If we fail the task tomorrow, we won’t be able to get in front of the camera again and speak up about Hannah. My expertise is in website design and social media so I could drive traffic to the Facebook page you set up for finding Hannah. I also thought Oscar and Biggie Smalls would help with it. They must have thousands of fans on Instagram and Twitter.’
‘He’s already appealed to his fans. He did it during the winners’ interviews.’
‘Has he? That’s great news. We could tweet major television stars to help out. I know quite a few of them thanks to going to events with Maxwell. I would expect they’d remember me. I’ll draw up a list and set to work on it when we get out.’
‘Really?’ she answered, dropping onto the bed and facing him.
‘Social media is a perfect medium for this. I know you’ve tried to get your message into cyberland but it needs more impetus and I’m probably the person to give it that push. We should put up a new photo of you, a description of Hannah and maybe a picture of her too. Do you have one?’
‘I have a couple. There used to be lots of pictures of her about the house until dad had his breakdown. Gradually, they disappeared from view and now my mum keeps them in a box in her wardrobe. They both lost faith in Hannah ever returning. Mum is convinced something dreadful happened and she’s dead, and Dad, he’s so confused these days he often thinks I’m Hannah. It hurts to see the pain in his eyes when I correct him.’
‘It must be really difficult for you,’ he replied. He studied her distraught face, reached out to her and placed a comforting hand on her shoulder.
‘I never really got the hang of the whole social media thing. I’ve only got about fifteen friends on Facebook and I don’t spend much time on it. Melinda tried to help me out but she’s not into it much more than I am. She suggested the blog for Hannah which is essentially a series of letters to her, reminding her of our life together and letting her know how much I miss her…’ She faltered. Lewis waited for her to continue.
‘I thought she might stumble across it. I had such high hopes for the blog but nothing has come of it. I’ve no idea if more people have been visiting it since I came on the show or if they’re completely disinterested. I’d love to know if anyone’s tried to contact me about Hannah. All I can do is keep saying the same thing, night after night and hope people begin to talk about her.’
Lewis’s face changed. ‘Oh shit, Bryony. I’m so sorry. I ought to have looked on your behalf when I was in the café, not logged onto my emails. What was I thinking of? I was so pissed off about Potts and messing up the challenge today for you and losing you the opportunity to speak again about Hannah, it didn’t cross my mind. What a total shit! I logged onto my emails when I should have Googled the show to read the reactions to it or find out how your appeal was going. I could go back down to the village first thing before the challenge begins. The café might be open then.’
Bryony wasn’t at all upset with him, in fact, she was touched by his genuine dismay at not thinking of checking up for her. ‘No, don’t do that. It’s really not an issue. It’s Friday tomorrow and we’ll soon be going back home. I can wait a couple of days to find out what’s been happening. Besides, I don’t want to mess up my performance on the show. We’ve got general knowledge quizzes next and I’ll be completely thrown if hardly anyone’s visited Searching for Hannah. I won’t be able to concentrate and I don’t think I could bear to know this has all been in vain. If this hasn’t worked I’ll try anything else, Lewis. I have to give everything a go. I’m scared I’ll run out of options and then what? I can’t face the thought of failure. This is all my fault and I have to get her back, especially now when Dad needs her more than ever. It tears me apart looking at my parents’ faces every time I visit them, knowing I’m the root of their misery. Some days, I wish I hadn’t survived the accident and then maybe Hannah would never have left.’
‘No. That would have been much, much worse. You poor, sweet girl.’ He rubbed her shoulder gently. His eyes travelled her face and rested on the scar. He lifted a finger and traced it ever so gently. Bryony held her breath. He seemed completely unfazed by this deformity. She sensed rather than heard the electricity between them as it fizzed and crackled and filled her body with heat. Time stood still, then he leant into her and brushed the scar with his soft lips. He pulled back slightly. She felt his breath on her skin. His finger descended to her cheek, then to her jaw where he pressed slightly to tilt her face towards his. Their lips touched without any sense that either had initiated it – a soft, satisfying kiss full of tenderness. She drew back a little. ‘Are you sure about this?’
‘Very sure.’
A gentle moan escaped from somewhere inside and she surrendered to his warmth and passion, allowing each cares
s to dissolve the pain she had carried inside for so long.
CHAPTER THIRTY FIVE
FRIDAY, 28 JULY – MORNING
‘Come on, sleepyhead,’ she heard. ‘Time to smash this contest.’
She looked up. Lewis was washed, dressed and leaning over her. He kissed her, his breath minty and fresh. She responded eagerly.
‘Oh-oh, better stop that or we’ll never get downstairs in time,’ he said, grudgingly pulling himself up from her. ‘I’ll fetch you a croissant and you can get ready while I’m downstairs. That way, I won’t get so distracted I’ll have to make passionate love to you again.’
He blew her a kiss and left the room. Her face, still rosy from their lovemaking, broke into a wide grin. She eased herself from the bed and collected the T-shirt discarded the night before. She could smell him on her skin and taste him on her lips. She had never felt so contented. The first time they had made love, it had been the desperate, frenzied affair of two lonely souls who needed to heal. Afterwards they had lain side by side, legs entwined, holding hands. They had talked about their lives, their likes and France, but mostly they had enjoyed silence – the contented calm of two people who have exorcised demons. He had run his hands over her stomach and down her hips. Then he had followed the pale lines left by scars with his lips and the second time they made love, it was with a delicious passion. Afterwards he had kissed her goodnight and wrapped a protective arm around her. For the first time in years, she didn’t endure a night punctuated by anxious dreams and moments of wakefulness. She benefitted instead from a deep, dark slumber that left her body revitalized and a sense every cell was buzzing with life.
Lewis rushed back into the room as she was putting the finishing touches to her make-up, face contorted as she brushed her lashes with a second coat of mascara. He placed a cup of coffee and a croissant on the shelf above the sink.
‘Get that down you, Brainy Bryony. The minibus is outside. I’m pumped and ready to win this quiz!’ She screwed the top back on her applicator and replaced it in her make-up bag. Before she could reach for the coffee, he grabbed both of her hands in his own. ‘I’ve been thinking. It’d be best if no one suspects we’re together. I don’t want “us” to overshadow what you’re trying to do. It’s not that I don’t want to shout out about it, I just think it would be prudent to keep it quiet for now. We have to keep the public focused on finding Hannah. It might be better to keep this under wraps… just until we’ve won.’
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