Epilogue

Posie and Richard stood together by the railing overlooking the quayside. Patsy was back at the hotel, being looked after at reception. Rufus was back in the Giant’s Fireside Bar of the Mermaid, drinking, being watched over by Sergeant Fox.

It was completely dark now, and the snow had stopped.

They were eating fish and chips from paper cones and enjoying every bite. At Posie’s feet was the trunk bequeathed her by her mother.

They hadn’t spoken for several minutes.

At last, it was Lovelace who broke the companionable silence. ‘Can you explain that message on the key, Posie? About checking the shoes? I still don’t understand who wrote it, or how . Because without it you would never have insisted on counting those dancing shoes…’

Posie took a breath. ‘It wasn’t ‘check the shoes’, darling, was it? It was ‘check the pairs’. So anybody could have written that, and about anything.’

In purple ink .

In her mother’s hand .

Well, it was possible it had been about something else entirely. Something mundane, domestic.

Apples, pears, tights, laundry, earrings.

Dancing shoes.

‘And who or what was the woman in purple?’ asked Richard, eating a last mouthful, and scrunching up his paper forcefully.

‘It wasn’t the mysterious Violette, as I had imagined, and it wasn’t the murderous Dulcie. Oh, by the way, I heard tonight that they’ve managed to hoist the Lagonda up. But it will be morning until they can search it.’

Posie didn’t believe in ghosts. Didn’t want to. Didn’t believe she had the sort of personality which attracted them.

‘I don’t know who that woman was, or is. Probably the sort of person who makes a nuisance of herself, turning up at strangers’ weddings; the sort who is always looking for drama. But she was helpful. She helped me establish what had happened, didn’t she? Vallance told me she was there from the moment my mother died, buried shabbily by the bins at a closed café. So I pieced it together from there onwards.’

But there was something about the edges of places - cliffs, mountains, seas - which worried Posie. Border zones .

They seemed to attract a sort of magic, a peculiar chemistry of slipping between states, between dimensions.

Once, by the sea near Dover, Posie had been convinced she had seen an ex-boyfriend, certainly dead and drowned, walking along the cliffs. It gave her the shivers, even now, to remember it.

Could that have been her mother on those cliffs? Trying from some other far-off place to bring attention to a heinous crime which had been committed against her; trying to bring attention to where her body was lying?

‘I knew about your mother, darling,’ said Richard, gently, after a few minutes more silence.

‘I knew she was going by the name of ‘Rossoli’ and that’s why mention of the name gave me such a start. I’m probably the most informed man in England, you know. No point in having secrets from me. I knew she had left your family in Norfolk, started afresh somewhere else. I had no idea it was here , though. And I didn’t know about Dulcie being your sister. Or that she wrote to you…’

Posie stared at him through the darkness.

He often surprised her. In a good way.

‘You never spoke of my mother, Richard. Didn’t you want to ask me about her?’

‘Why would I? I thought you might bring it up in your own sweet time.’

‘She ran away. Did you think I would do the same?’

‘Of course not. Everyone is different. No two mothers are alike. And you are wonderful. Our children are so lucky to have you.’

Posie had never wanted to be a mother, had come to it rather by accident, actually. But something very strange had happened.

This year, in July, Posie had discovered she was pregnant again.

And even though Kit was only tiny, she had been flooded with joy and hope and a sense of complete wonder. She had been filled with a longing anticipation for this new child.

And then had come a kind of tragedy, right on top of what had happened to Dolly, when Posie had lost the baby in September.

And she had got sick, and then sicker, and a sort of darkness had come into Posie’s life which simply didn’t shift.

It had been terrifying.

And it was hopefully now gone. But it had taken time.

Until now, in fact.

‘Darling,’ said Richard, at her side, looking out at the black, black flatlands.

‘It doesn’t matter if we don’t have another baby. We have so much. And even if we didn’t have Phyllis, or Katie, or Kit, I’d be the luckiest man in the world to have you .’

Posie smiled and looped her arm through his, squeezed him tightly.

Along the quayside a man was throwing things onto a huge bonfire.

A few people were grouped about, watching. Its orange flames ripped up into the sky and spotted the air with twinkles.

At Posie’s feet was the trunk and she kicked at it gently. She’d had in mind to throw it in the water, and Richard, eyebrows raised quizzically, had carried it out for her unquestioningly.

They moved, rather hypnotically, towards the fire, and watched it for a few minutes.

They would be returning home in the morning.

‘You can’t have a fire as big as this in London, can you?’ Posie asked.

She was pulling open the trunk now, and stepping closer to the fire, and reaching into the trunk and pulling out handful after handful of her mother’s unsent letters, watching the dry old paper with all that lost love, spilled ink, spilled tears and wasted time splinter and curl in seconds; sending up scurrying sparks of orange into the blackness.

You will always be my mother , Posie thought to herself.

She suddenly remembered Evans talking about the missing mermaid ship-prow, and how the name lingered on. Perhaps the same could be said of her unusual mother?

‘When the legend of something is strong enough, it doesn’t matter if the original is long gone. It lives on anyhow .’

But her mother had been right. Posie did need to move on.

There is so much to do .

Christmas.

And presents.

She promised herself suddenly that tomorrow morning, before leaving, she would walk to the gallery on the High Street and buy the painting she had seen of Rye. She would treat herself to it, hang it in her office, and use it as a way to remember her mother. In a good way.

And next, she would have to address Dolly’s disappearance. Go to Paris.

I have to find Dolly .

But Richard was talking again. Posie couldn’t hear him properly above the roar of the fire.

‘What, darling?’

‘I said I hope you’re not going to leave me, Posie.’

She looked at him, askance. She saw his mouth, mock serious, trying not to laugh.

‘Why would I leave you?’

‘I think you will want to go to Paris fairly soon. To look for Dolly. Perhaps you’ll go off with an eighteen-year-old French lad, at the same time? A Count, eh? And a handsome one at that. I’d better watch my step.’

Posie’s face burned a shameful red in the heat of the fire. ‘Listen, I never wrote him a thing, Richard. And how the blazes do you know about…’

Richard laughed. ‘I told you, I’m the best-informed man in England. I haven’t ever read anything of yours, darling. I just know these adoring missives exist.’

‘I see. Well, not for much longer.’

And then Posie was digging in her carpet bag and taking out the letters she had been meaning to get rid of for ages. Anatole’s silly love letters.

She threw them on the fire and they made a satisfying hiss.

For a second Posie thought she saw a woman with a sparkling, purple, sequined hat like a turban, and dark eyes trying to catch her eye, standing on the other side of the fire, with her back to the water of the canal, a slender umbrella in her hand, like a walking stick.

And then, looking further along the quayside, in the dim glow of a street-lamp, Posie thought she saw a couple dancing, close together, two dark heads in unison, a purple dress flowing in the cold night wind, a flash of cheap paste jewels, a flick of a feather boa. The man in a brown suit.

But Posie turned away quickly, her heart beating fast.

Next I’ll say I’ve seen mermaids swimming in the bay .

And as they turned to walk back up Mermaid Street, with Richard carrying the empty trunk, it seemed that life and love had come together very nicely right now, and that anything out there on a border zone – anything remotely magical – could stay exactly where it was.

Until the next time, anyhow.

‘Oh, Posie darling?’

‘Mnnn?’

‘Fox told me he heard Rufus on the telephone, in reception, before we left the Mermaid for our fish and chips earlier. Seems the Earl is so distraught about losing his Lagonda that he’s already ordered himself a new one.’

‘That’s jolly nice.’

‘Isn’t it? And Fox said the order was for two . The second Lagonda is to be delivered to you. So, it seems you’ll be driving for real soon again, after all, eh? Not just in those pesky dreams of yours. Super, eh? I’ve always fancied being driven in a fast car by a beautiful woman…’

And as they went in under the sign of the caged Mermaid, swinging slightly in the wind which was getting up, Posie couldn’t take the grin off her face.

She hadn’t felt so good in ages.

But perhaps, after all, she was slightly like her mother, she realised now.

She would never, ever run away from her children.

But she did have this perverse desire to get away sometimes. To leave everything, however wonderful, behind.

I want to drive again , she whispered to herself.

She smiled.

I want to be free .

****