I arrived home to find Vic coming in from the back garden, his face wreathed with worry.
‘I was starting to wonder where you were,’ he said, pulling me into a bear hug and kissing my hair. ‘I’d rather drive you around until we know you’re safe.’
‘I’m fine.’ I ducked out of his embrace feeling hot and flustered. ‘Honestly, Vic, you could have stayed at the hospital. I’ve got my alarm with me.’
‘I couldn’t concentrate.’ He followed me into the kitchen. I was starving, but could hardly make something to eat when I’d supposedly had lunch with Marianne. I grabbed a yoghurt from the fridge. ‘I thought you’d eaten,’ he said.
‘I’m still hungry, OK?’ I couldn’t tell him about my encounter with Katya, or my theory that she was possibly behind the threats. I needed to be sure, and I wasn’t. She hadn’t sounded like someone who wanted to harm me, but something was clearly wrong. She needed help and I had to go through the appropriate channels. I couldn’t discuss it with Vic. ‘I’ve got a headache,’ I said, putting the yoghurt back. It wasn’t a lie. I felt as if a giant hand was squeezing my skull.
‘Again?’ Vic’s voice leapt into concern. ‘I suppose it’s not surprising, with everything that’s going on. You know how stress gets to you.’
He was referring to the reason I’d turned up in his consulting room in the first place, when it turned out my symptoms weren’t the brain tumour I’d feared. Maybe he’d have found another way into your life, if you hadn’t wound up at the hospital that day.
‘Shall I get you some ibuprofen?’
Banishing Emma’s voice, I shook my head. ‘I’ll be fine,’ I said, adding more gently, ‘I’m definitely going to start a new painting today.’
‘Why not leave it until after we’ve been away?’ I turned to see him standing right behind me. ‘You could take some photos while we’re there,’ he said, stroking his thumb down the side of my face. ‘Get some fresh inspiration.’
‘I need to do something, Vic.’ I twisted away. ‘It’s the only way I can switch my brain off.’
He held up his hands and stepped back. ‘I’ll be outside if you need me.’
I noticed he’d changed into a pair of jeans and the checked shirt he wore for gardening. ‘There can’t be much more to do out there,’ I said, injecting lightness into my tone.
‘Not according to Pam.’ His face flickered with a smile. ‘She’s keeping an eye on me over the hedge.’
Upstairs, I went into my painting room and sat on the wooden stool in front of my easel, going over and over my conversation with Katya, looking for clues, trying to decide on the best course of action.
On impulse, I texted Rosa.
Any news on what we talked about? There couldn’t be or she’d have called, but maybe she needed prompting.
I jumped when my phone rang straight away and I recognised Jamie’s number.
‘What was that message about?’
My heart stalled. ‘What do you mean?’
‘I didn’t know you’d exchanged numbers with Rosa.’
My mind scrambled. ‘Why do you have her phone?’
‘She left it in the van when I dropped her at the station this morning.’
A vision of her boarding a train popped up, then I realised he meant the police station. ‘I only noticed when your text came through.’
‘Should you be reading her messages?’
‘Probably not,’ he admitted. ‘When I saw your name on the screen, I couldn’t look away.’
A chill swept through me. ‘Isn’t her phone locked?’
‘We know each other’s passwords,’ he said. ‘We don’t have secrets.’ The words At least, I thought we didn’t crackled between us, unspoken. I wondered whether he’d seen the photo of the footprint from my studio, but didn’t like to ask.
‘It’s … about the robbery next door to Mum and Dad,’ I said, remembering the break-in and stolen lawnmower. ‘I was worried whoever it was might get into my studio.’ A nerve twitched under my eye.
‘Scared your paintings might get stolen?’
For once, I was glad to hear him mocking me. ‘I know they’re not priceless works of art, but I am quite fond of them.’
‘Why keep them there, then?’
Good question. ‘I won’t be for much longer,’ I said. There was no point mentioning the exhibition. He wouldn’t be interested. I was surprised he was even speaking to me, after our recent exchanges. ‘Not busy today?’
‘Stop changing the subject.’
‘I was hoping Rosa had looked into it, that’s all.’
‘I’m sure she’ll be in touch when she has.’ There was a note in his voice that I couldn’t decipher.
‘Please talk to me, Jamie.’
‘I’m talking, aren’t I?’
‘Talk properly, I mean.’
‘I’m not one of your patients, Beth.’
My patience snapped. ‘You know what, Jamie? You need to get over yourself. And stop checking your girlfriend’s phone. Some things should be kept private.’
A stunned silence met my outburst. ‘You won’t tell her, will you?’ He sounded tense.
‘I thought you didn’t have secrets.’
He gave a hollow laugh. ‘Yeah, well, I’ve never actually put it to the test until now.’ There was a second’s pause. ‘And whatever you think, I don’t have any deep, dark secrets I’m keeping from you.’
I closed my eyes, weariness falling through me. ‘I’ve got to go.’
‘Me too.’ He hated me having the upper hand; had to have the last word. Too tired to take issue with his childish rejoinder, I let him cut the call and aimed a frustrated kick at my bag on the floor. It toppled and a book slid out; the one Katya had given me. I checked the time. Half an hour until I had to pick Hayley up. I glanced out of the window and saw Vic leaning on a spade. He’d begun digging a border by the fence, no doubt egged on by Pam who was hanging out washing and saying something to him over her shoulder.
Slightly soothed by the sight, I picked up the book. Maybe I would find some inspiration inside. I’d never gone this long without painting something. Usually, faced with a canvas, I only needed to start – a brush of colour, a shape, even a single line and an image would start to flow. Maybe being told to make the most of your final birthday would be a motivator for someone else – an opportunity to squeeze in as much as possible and live every day as though it was the last. I’d never subscribed to that. I would prefer to live each day as though I had plenty more.
Tightness gripped my chest and my vision blurred.
Determined not to give in to a wave of panic, I opened the book, fixing my eyes on the first seascape I came to; a striking image in oils of blurry waves and a stormy sky. The artist had used unusual shades, deep and dark with flashes of white, to create a sense of movement and atmosphere.
Not bothering to put a shirt over my clothes, I put the book down and opened my box of paints. I picked out a tube of raw umber and squeezed a worm of colour onto my palette, then added some ochre. Selecting a brush from my jar at random, I swirled it through the paints but the shade still wasn’t quite right.
Putting my brush down, I returned to the book, but it had fallen open on a different page. There was a slip of paper tucked inside, acting as a bookmark. As I took in the image, my heart picked up pace. It was a painting called ‘Gathering Storm’ and the artist, Doris Bridges, had perfectly captured the absinthe-green of waves whipped up by the wind, the gunmetal sky and an arc of foamy spray. I immediately felt the icy grip of water, tasted salt in my mouth as it dragged me under, flooding my nostrils. Hardly breathing, I let my gaze fall to the paragraph underneath and felt a beat of shock. Two words had been crudely highlighted in pink. Perran Cove.
I could barely process what I was seeing, or what it meant. Katya must have done this, but how did she know? I’d never mentioned Cornwall to her, or the place where I’d nearly drowned. Had she been digging into my past? Or, had she asked Marianne, the only person at Fernley House who knew what happened there? But Marianne wouldn’t reveal a confidence, and definitely not to a client, however persistent. It would have raised a massive red flag.
Katya often asked personal questions, most of which I deflected. Maybe she’d hoped I would open up and talk to her; was hurt that I hadn’t and this was her way of telling me she knew about Perran Cove and the man who drowned.
I leapt with fright when my phone pinged. I slammed the book shut and shoved it on the shelf with a pile of others. Half-dreading looking at my phone, I was relieved to see Emma’s name, but my stomach dropped when I read her message.
Have you talked to Vic yet?
Blunt and to the point. She clearly wasn’t about to let this go.
My fingers dithered over the screen. I could call her; tell her the woman she’d seen him with was no one important, and tell her about the art book, the highlighted text, the painting of Perran Cove. But would she turn it around and say that Vic was responsible? I hadn’t shown him the book. I’d left it in my bag. In truth, I’d pushed it to the back of my mind and forgotten about it. I sensed movement, a presence behind me.
‘What are you supposed to talk to me about?’
I screamed and dropped my phone. ‘Jesus, Vic!’ I spun round, heart pounding with fright. ‘You scared me.’
He pulled back, hands up. ‘I thought you’d heard me come upstairs.’
‘You read the message?’
‘I just glanced over your shoulder,’ he said. ‘I wasn’t trying to be sneaky.’
‘I didn’t mean that. It was about the woman Emma told me she’d seen you with …’
‘It’s OK. I shouldn’t have looked,’ he said. ‘I’m sorry.’ He looked unusually dishevelled, a smear of dirt on his forehead, a tuft of hair sticking up at the front. ‘I came to say it’s almost time to pick Hayley up.’
My insides were a mass of nerves. ‘Vic, I actually don’t think we should go away.’
His face emptied out. ‘Why?’
‘Emma’s worried it might affect me badly.’ I made myself meet his eyes. ‘What if she’s right?’
‘What do you think?’
Relieved he hadn’t immediately tried to discredit Emma, I shrugged. ‘I honestly don’t know anymore.’
‘Fine.’ He wiped his face with the back of his hand. The room was stuffy and his skin had a sheen of perspiration. ‘I’ll ring up and cancel,’ he said mildly. ‘The last thing you need is more pressure. After what’s been happening, returning to Perran Cove is the last thing you need.’
Now he’d shown he was willing to call off our trip – that he understood – I felt a perverse need to face the challenge after all; to go back to the place where my life had diverged, the place where it all began. Maybe there, I’d find some answers.
As Vic retreated to the landing, I made my mind up. ‘Vic, wait.’
He turned, a quizzical frown on his face. ‘What is it?’
‘Don’t cancel,’ I said. ‘We’re going.’