Chapter 19

Inside, Lara paid for the untouched coffees and they left the restaurant. There was Flynn’s car, parked just across the road.

“What do you want to do now?” He indicated the car. “Can I drop you anywhere? Or if you want to go home and get on to the computer, I could give you a lift.”

“I’ve got an appointment at one. A job interview. God, I wish I didn’t. All I can think about is that woman, Jo. I can’t concentrate on anything else.”

“Here, just sit in the car.” Guiding her across the street, he opened the passenger door. A Volvo drew up beside them, the driver keen to park in their space. Even in her agitated state Lara couldn’t help secretly loving the way Flynn shook his head at the man, indicating with a minimal hand gesture that they wouldn’t be leaving. There was just something about his capacity for being masterful and taking control.

The inside of the car smelled of leather and sunlight and aftershave and toast. Lara breathed it in and wished her own car could smell this nice. Maybe if her car seats weren’t plastic and she took to wearing Acqua di Parma aftershave it might stand more of a chance.

“Here. Why don’t you send her a message now?” Flynn was offering her his phone.

“I want to, but I don’t think I can.”

“Why not?”

Lara held out her hands to show him how much they were shaking. “She’d get an email saying Yabi orntstrib, kizzr prym slerky. And then she might think I’m weird.”

“I’m saying nothing.” His eyes glinted. “But I can do the sending if you want to dictate.”

Grateful to him, Lara said, “Sounds like a plan.” She closed her eyes, breathed in the toasty leathery smell, and thought about what she’d like to say.

“Right, ready?”

“Fire away, Boss.”

“Hi, Jo, this is Lara, Barbara’s daughter. I’ll email you properly later but just wanted to say how fantastic it is to have found you. I’d really love to speak to you about my mum. I have so many questions. Thanks so much for replying to Flynn’s message. He worked very hard to find you. OK, I have to go now. Speak later. Very best wishes, Lara Carson xx.”

“Send?”

“Send.”

The message was dispatched. He said, “It’s ten to one. Where’s your interview?”

“Not far from here. I can walk it. Thanks for everything.”

“No problem. Let me know what happens.”

See? He could be so nice sometimes. “I will. Can I ask a question?”

“Go ahead.”

“Why does it smell of toast in here?”

Flynn looked mystified. He shrugged. “Does it? I don’t know why. No idea.”

Lara paused. There was such a thing as looking a little too mystified.

“Anyway,” said Flynn. “You haven’t told me yet about this job you’re applying for.”

Hmm, a bit too mystified and a bit too keen to change the subject.

She leaned forward, sprang the catch on the glove compartment, and watched it fall open.

Inside sat a blue china plate with a thick slice of buttered toast on it.

Flynn raised his hands in defeat. “What are you, some kind of bloodhound?”

“You always did have a thing for toast.”

“I still do.”

“But it’s cold!” She picked the slice off the plate and watched it droop. “It’s all soggy and bendy!”

“Don’t criticize it. That’s how I like my toast.”

“And when were you planning on eating this?”

“Whenever I want to. When I get hungry. It’s handy when you’re stuck in a traffic jam.”

It was time to leave. Lara opened the passenger door and said, “That’s a weird habit you have there.”

Flynn gave her a look. “Says the woman who keeps spare roll-on deodorants lodged under her arm.”

She handed him the plate with the bendy toast on it. “Here, you enjoy your gourmet lunch. Bye.”

***

Temple and Son, Fine Jewelers, was situated on York Street, the windows shielded from the elements by striped mulberry and blue awnings. Inside the shop, glass-fronted cases contained good-quality items, the walls were covered in mulberry and gold flocked wallpaper and there were photos of old Hollywood movie stars hung everywhere.

Don Temple resembled Mrs. Tiggywinkle without the frilly cap. In his early sixties, he was small and round, with beady eyes, a pointy nose, and short spiky gelled hair. He was wearing a gray shirt, immaculately pressed trousers, a red waistcoat, and dainty black patent leather shoes.

“…so the thing is, I’m fine now, the tablets are keeping everything under control, but my doctors have told me I need to take things easier, cut down on the hours, give up the back-to-back triathlons.” His hedgehoggy eyes twinkled. “That’s a joke, by the way. Now, enough of me and my weak heart. Your turn to tell me about you.”

He had to be gay. Did he really have a son?

“I grew up here in Bath.” Lara already knew she liked him. “Moved up to the Lake District when I was sixteen, and now I’m back. I’ve spent the last seven years working in a jewelers in Keswick. If you want to give them a call they’ll say nice things about me. I’m good with customers and easy to work with. I love the old Hollywood movies… Doris Day, Cary Grant, Rock Hudson, Sophia Loren—”

“Who starred in An Affair To Remember?” Don interrupted her.

Lara smiled, because he was testing her. “Cary Grant and Deborah Kerr. He played Nickie Ferrante.”

“Good girl!” He clapped his small, well-tended hands. “Sorry, but I had to check you weren’t spinning me a line. Favorite film?”

“Buona Sera, Mrs. Campbell.” She’d first watched it on TV with Nettie before Gigi had been born and had seen it countless times since.

“Ah, heaven! Gina!” His whole face lit up.

“And Phil Silvers and Telly Savalas.” Ironically the film had been about three American ex-servicemen all believing they were the father of Gina Lollobrigida’s daughter. It had struck Lara at the time that some babies were born with a surplus of fathers and others with none at all. It could have upset her, but she’d been won over by its warmth and charm.

“And Shelley Winters. What a woman. What a broad.” Don shook his head, lost in admiration as he unlocked one of the cabinets. He chose three items of jewelry and laid them out on a strip of black velvet. “Well then, let’s see how well you do with these. Talk me through them, darling. Sell them to me.”

“OK. May I?” She nodded at the loupe in his other hand and he passed it to her. Holding it to her eye, Lara examined the first ring he’d chosen. “Hmm, nice. Well, it’s a brilliant-cut diamond, one carat, set in platinum. Secondhand, good condition.”

“Color? Clarity?”

“G. And there are a few small inclusions. I’d say VS1.”

“Correct.” Don looked pleased. “Next.”

She moved on to the second ring. “Older. Art Deco. Eighteen-carat white gold, old transitional cut central diamond surrounded by square French-cut diamonds. G or H. Probably VVS2. Beautiful.”

“And finally…” He handed her the pendant.

“Victorian, eighteen-carat yellow gold setting. Five-carat natural blue opal surrounded by sapphires. The chain’s very pretty but it has a weak link…”

“What?” Don took back the loupe and peered at the chain. “Bloody hell, you’re right. I didn’t spot that.”

“They’re all gorgeous,” said Lara, “but that Art Deco ring is the one you should buy. It’s a showstopper, a real statement piece. People would notice you wearing that. And see how the shape of the ring suits your hand… it has elegance…”

“OK, you’re good.”

“I know.”

“I have other people to see.”

“Of course.” You can see them, just please don’t give them the job.

“But I like you.”

“I like you too.”

“I think we’d work well together.”

“We could talk movies,” said Lara. “When there aren’t any customers, of course.”

“Can you tap dance?”

“No.” He looked so hopeful she hated to disappoint, but it wasn’t the kind of thing you could bluff your way through.

“Shame. Anyway, I’ll let you know by the end of the week.” He led the way to the door.

“Can I just ask,” said Lara. “The shop’s called Temple and Son. Do you have a son?”

“No, no children. I was the son.” His currant eyes crinkled at the corners. “I’m single.”

Of course.

“It’s been lovely to meet you anyway. Oh,” Lara added as an afterthought, “and I’ve done first aid. Just so you know. In case it makes any difference.”

***

Back at home, Lara changed out of her interview outfit into jeans and a T-shirt, ready to start wallpapering the bedroom. First, though, she sat down at the computer, found Jo Finnegan’s blog, and began to type.

An hour later one wall was finished. Lara made herself a cup of tea and went back to the computer. Miraculously, a reply was waiting in her in-box:

Hello, my darling girl, I may not have all the answers to your questions but hopefully I shall have one or two. How wonderful that you’re back in Bath now. Here’s a suggestion—I fly home every couple of months to see my elderly parents and was due to come over ten days from now, but I can easily bring the date forward to this week. Would you like me to do that? Let me know if you’d be free on Tuesday. If you are, we could meet up. Or leave it until next weekend if that’s easier. Either way, it would be lovely to see you again. Let me know!

The answers. Not all of them, but hopefully one or two. One or two didn’t sound like many, but it was better than none at all.

Hi again Jo.

Yes please! This Tuesday would be perfect for me—the sooner the better. Can’t wait!

Another hour, another wall. Another email. Jo Finnegan had booked her ticket and would be landing at Bristol Airport at midday on Tuesday. Lara typed:

Fantastic. I’ll be there to pick you up. XX