49

 

HURRICANE POINT, FRIDAY

Gwen left the Lab at three. The weekend couldn’t start early enough for her. On Tuesday morning, Messenger had forgiven her outburst, handed back the laptop with a sardonic raising of an eyebrow. She reckoned she’d managed to act the distracted and naïve academic as the week wore on, tapping away on the laptop, playing with Zeus, getting into the guts of the model, trying to offer up more rainfall. But she found out no more about Gabriel Messenger.

She hoped to rectify that this weekend at the Half Moon Bay with Dan.

She parked up outside her house, changed into her running kit, and set off with Leo. She walked down the hill, her dog windmilling his tail in sheer joy. No growling today. Had she imagined the threat last night? Had it just been a skunk or a fox? Lit by the sun the sloping grass, the cliffs, the sea beyond all looked peaceful, devoid of threat.

It could all change in an instant—she knew that—like a quiet sea ravaged by a rogue wave, like one car slamming into another.

One hour later, pouring with sweat, purged, Gwen knocked on Marilyn’s door.

Her friend pulled open the door with a smile. It seemed to Gwen that in the few weeks since she’d seen her, the old lady had become a tad more stooped. But the pale blue eyes were still as sharp and as warm as ever.

“Well hi there absent friend,” said Marilyn in her soft voice, pulling the door open, standing back to allow Gwen in.

“I have been, haven’t I?” said Gwen. “I’m sorry. It’s this job. When I get home I tend to just flake.”

“That’s all right, honey, long as it’s going well. Sit.” Marilyn gestured to a sagging but comfy sofa adorned with hand-embroidered cushions that sat in the kitchen, always for others to sit in while she baked and fussed around them.

Gwen knew the drill. She sat. Marilyn poured them both glasses of her homemade lemonade, then pulled out a straight-backed chair and lowered herself into it.

Gwen drained the lemonade with a sigh of bliss. “Still OK for Leo to come to you for a sleepover?” She’d rung to ask a few days ago.

Leo was already lying by Marilyn’s feet, as if he too knew the drill. Marilyn bent stiffly to ruffle the dog’s ears.

“’Course! He’s good company.”

Gwen wondered whether to tell Marilyn about last night’s fears, decided not to frighten the old lady so baselessly.

“So, where’re you off then?” asked Marilyn.

“The Half Moon Bay hotel.”

“Nice! With that very fine young man you went swimming with?”

The naked swim; Gwen almost blushed. “Yes, actually. God Marilyn, you didn’t look, did you?”

Marilyn planted her hands on her hips. “’Course I did. Don’t get to see sights like that at my age. Fine-looking man. Didn’t even need my telescope.”

“Marilyn!”

The old lady laughed in delight. “You go to that ritzy hotel with that handsome man and you have yourself a good time. “’Bout time you did.”

“I don’t know about that.”

“What’s to know? You’re both young, free, single I assume?”

“All true. And he is gorgeous, funny, intelligent, kind, a good surfer.”

“And your problem is?”

“He’s just too perfect. He arrived in my life like that”—Gwen clicked her fingers—“like magic. One day nowhere; next day, in my life.”

“Sometimes fate offers us a gift,” said Marilyn softly. “And the grateful and the wise take it.”

Gwen got up, walked over to Marilyn, and kissed her cheek. “You could be right,” she said, musing silently that all gifts, even from fate, still had a price.