‘Given that there’s no clue to solve, I could have kept going till Pamplona,’ remarked Grace as she followed the satnav’s instructions.
‘It would’ve been a long drive,’ Deira pointed out. ‘Extra tiring on your own.’
‘I guess.’ Grace slowed down and allowed a van to overtake her. ‘I still wonder if Ken really expected me to do all this by myself.’
‘You were doing it by yourself until I latched on,’ Deira pointed out.
‘True.’ Grace turned and smiled at her. ‘I’ve got so used to your company already that I’d kind of forgotten that.’
The two women grinned and then Grace shrieked and stamped on the brakes as another van cut in front of her. ‘Honestly,’ she said, ‘you can’t afford to let your concentration lapse for a second.’
The hotel that Ken had booked was in a built-up area but had an easily accessible car park, which, said Grace, must have been why he’d selected it. ‘Like I said before, he rarely drove into cities.’
‘Maybe he thought you’d be better at it than him,’ Deira said as Grace parked the Lexus in the first available space. ‘You’re an excellent driver.’
‘Thanks.’ Grace switched off the engine, and they took their bags from the boot and went to reception, where they checked in.
‘Would you mind if we went our separate ways tonight?’ she asked after they’d been given their keys.
‘No problem,’ Deira told her. ‘I’m sure you need a bit of down time without me hassling you.’
‘You’re not hassling me at all,’ Grace assured her. ‘All I want to do this evening is call the children, then chill out.’
‘I want to make some calls myself,’ Deira said. ‘So that’s fine. We can meet up after breakfast. Have a good evening, Grace.’
‘You too.’
The first person Grace FaceTimed was Aline, who picked crumbs out of her son’s hair as she talked to her mother. She said that she was delighted that Grace seemed to be enjoying herself, but expressed some anxiety about her hooking up with Deira.
‘You’re a very trusting woman, Mum, and I don’t want anyone taking advantage,’ she warned.
I trusted your father to take care of us, thought Grace. I trusted him not to break our hearts. I’ll never trust anyone again. She didn’t say the words out loud. Instead she told Aline that Deira was a good travelling companion but she’d watch out for any attempts by the younger woman to hit her over the head and make off with the Lexus.
‘You know that’s not what I meant,’ said Aline.
‘I do. I’m just teasing you.’
Aline’s face disappeared from the screen for a moment as she chased after Declan, who’d wriggled out of her hold. ‘Sorry,’ she said. ‘He was climbing up the back of the sofa.’
‘You’ve got your hands full,’ said Grace. ‘I’ll leave you to it.’
‘Have a good time, Mum,’ said Aline. ‘Take care of yourself. Stay safe.’
‘I will,’ said Grace. ‘Love you.’
‘Love you too.’ And Aline disappeared to deal with her son again.
It was almost midnight in Beijing but the ideal time to catch Fionn, who was watching YouTube videos in the apartment he shared with two of his colleagues.
‘You look well,’ he told her. ‘This trip is obviously good for you.’
‘I’m enjoying it,’ said Grace, suddenly realising that she was speaking the truth and not having to pretend for the sake of her son. ‘The weather is great and the driving has been easy enough. La Rochelle was lovely.’
They spent a pleasant couple of minutes reminiscing about the times they’d been there as a family, and she told him about buying old copies of classic books, which made him smile and comment that she was more like his father than she knew. Unlike Aline, he wasn’t bothered by the fact that she was travelling with a woman she’d met for the first time on the ferry, although he did ask her to be careful when she was driving and to keep in touch.
‘Of course,’ said Grace. ‘I’ll send you a message every day.’
As she ended the conversation by telling him that she loved him, she vowed she would never stop telling her children how much they meant to her.
And how lucky she was to have them.
Her final call was to Regan, who was eating a roll at one of the big wooden tables on the tiled terrace of the ranch. Regan was the most happy-go-lucky of the three, thought Grace, as her younger daughter brought her up to date on life in Argentina; she was the sunniest in outlook too.
‘I hope you’re not overdoing it,’ said Grace when her daughter had finished.
‘I’m always overdoing it.’ Regan’s wide smile filled the screen. ‘But I love it. How about you?’
Grace told her the same things she’d told both Aline and Fionn and, like her brother, Regan couldn’t help reminiscing about their childhood holidays. She asked a bit more about Deira too, and said that she was pleased her mother had someone to keep her company.
‘It must be odd visiting places you’ve been with someone else.’ Her voice faltered a little.
‘It’s different,’ said Grace. ‘But we’ll be heading to other places shortly, so I won’t have those memories at the back of my mind. Of course it’s not the same without you guys with me. Still, I’m glad you have those memories and that you’ve all become independent people.’
‘And you?’ asked Regan. ‘How are you doing?’
‘It’s a struggle sometimes.’ Grace had always found it easier to confide in her youngest child than in either Aline or Fionn. ‘But don’t worry about me. I’ll be fine. How about you?’
‘The horses help,’ said Regan. ‘All the same, I wish it had been different. And I want you to be all right, Mum.’
‘I’ll be fine,’ said Grace again. ‘And I’m always here for you, Regan, you know that.’
‘I know. I love you, Mum.’
‘I love you too.’
When she ended the call, Grace stretched out on the bed and closed her eyes.
If nothing else, she thought, she had three great children. A precious gift from Ken. And she was very grateful for that.
Deira had changed her mind about phoning anybody. Initially she’d thought about calling Tillie for a chat, and then had been filled with a sudden urge to confess everything to Gavin, but in the end she hadn’t felt like doing either. She felt disconnected from Ireland and her life there, even though she’d only been away for a few days. And she felt disconnected from what had happened to the Audi too, as if the fire and its aftermath had nothing to do with her at all. In fact there was a part of her that was in denial about everything to do with taking the car and driving it to France, as though it had all happened to a different Deira, someone else entirely.
So instead of making phone calls or sending texts, she changed into a pair of shorts, pulled on her trainers and headed outside. Twenty minutes later, she’d reached the embankment of the Garonne, where many of the town’s inhabitants were strolling in the afternoon sunshine or eating ice creams at one of the small cafés. She continued to walk at a steady pace along the river. Walking along the Grand Canal on Saturday mornings had been a thing for her over the past few years as she tried to make her target of ten thousand steps a day (she never succeeded, though she did feel better after the walks). But ever since Gavin’s bombshell, she hadn’t wanted to walk anywhere. She hadn’t wanted to leave the house.
Now, as she headed along the Quai Richelieu, she felt her energy levels increase and found her rhythm again. She’d missed this, she thought. She’d missed feeling like herself. Deira O’Brien. A woman who knew who she was and what she wanted from life. A woman comfortable in her choices.
And then she saw the man walking towards her, holding the hand of a small boy, and she felt the visceral stab of longing that had pierced her every day since Gavin had left her. The man was tall and well built, his skin mocha brown, dark hair neatly buzzed to his scalp. His arms bulged beneath the short sleeves of his grey T-shirt, and
his legs – visible because he was wearing shorts – were muscled and strong. Could he be the one? Deira wondered as she pictured herself in bed with him, imagining him moving inside her, slowly at first and then faster and faster. Could he give her what she needed? She could already see the baby that would grow inside her, a beautiful girl, perhaps, in contrast to the boy beside him now.
Then the man waved and let go of the little boy’s hand. The child immediately ran towards a tall, slender woman holding three ice creams.
‘Merci, Maman!’ Deira heard as the man kissed the woman and the boy took an ice cream cone.
She released the breath she’d been holding and wrapped her arms around her body, as though by physically holding herself together she could do so mentally as well. She walked over to one of the wooden benches facing the water and sat down. The man, the woman and the boy disappeared from view.
She leaned forward so that her head was almost touching her legs. The pain was raw and physical, like an open wound exposed to the elements. Every single day was a battle with a body that screamed at her that it wanted a child. And it was relentless. Until Gavin had left her – and except for the couple of weeks when she’d felt broody and desperate – she’d barely given pregnancy a thought. Now it was ever present. Back then, her choice to stay childless had been more than simply acquiescing; she’d agreed with Gavin that adding a baby of their own to the volatile mix that was his relationship with Marilyn and the girls would have been a mistake.
But a mistake for whom? Her or him?
She reminded herself, as she so often did, that she’d accepted it. That she’d thrived as a career-focused woman. She’d done well in her chosen field. She’d succeeded. She’d been happy.
Until he’d told her about Afton.
And now all she felt was anger and bitterness and jealousy.
And she simply couldn’t let it go.
Chapter 20
Bordeaux to Pamplona: 289 km
Grace and Deira met up at breakfast the following morning. Over fruit and pastries they gave each other upbeat accounts of their activities the night before, neither admitting to any moments of melancholy or doubt. Then Deira took out her phone and googled the route from Bordeaux to Pamplona.
‘It’s a little over three hours,’ she said.
‘I’ve never driven this way before,’ said Grace as she studied it. ‘But it looks straightforward.’
‘We could share the driving if you like,’ offered Deira. ‘My ribs are a lot better now and I think I’d be OK for an hour or so behind the wheel.’
‘Are you sure?’ asked Grace.
Deira nodded. ‘I’ve been sitting in the passenger seat like the Queen of Sheba while you do all the work,’ she said. ‘I’d like to earn my keep.’
‘You already have,’ Grace said. ‘You’ve pointed me in the right direction on the clues. I’d never have got this far without you.’
‘I bet you would.’
‘Perhaps,’ conceded Grace. ‘Still, you’ve been invaluable.’
‘And I can be even more useful if I drive,’ said Deira. ‘What time do you want to set off?’
‘It’s ten thirty now,’ said Grace. ‘Half an hour or so?’
‘Perfect.’ Deira finished her coffee. ‘I’ll get myself organised.’
She took the lift to her room, where she brushed her teeth and her hair, then packed her toiletries into her bag. After that, she took out her phone.
Nobody had been looking for her. A few months ago, she’d have been horrified not to have any calls or messages. Now all she felt was relief. But Gavin was due home the following day, and she knew she couldn’t let him arrive back to an empty parking space. She might have done if she was safely driving the Audi around France. But not when she was with Grace in Spain and it was a charred mess somewhere in Nantes.
She took a deep breath and started typing.
Grace also did her packing, and then took out her own phone. She didn’t have any messages either, although she sent one to Aline telling her that she’d call her from Pamplona later that evening. It was daft, she thought, to think that her children might be worrying about her. She was the one who was supposed to be doing the worrying. But Ken had changed all that, had shifted the responsibility from her to them. It was another thing she found hard to forgive. Aline, Fionn and Regan had their own lives to lead. She didn’t want them fretting about hers. Especially when the only thing she had to be concerned about right now was getting to Pamplona.
Pamplona.
There was something about the name that resonated with her far more than Bordeaux or La Rochelle had done. Perhaps it was that she’d been reading Hemingway and could already feel the heat of the Navarre sun and taste the richness of the red wine. Truth was, red wine made her sneeze, so she hardly ever drank it. But the novel had been so full of heat and wine that she couldn’t help feeling as though she was already there. She was looking forward to her visit and to working out the complete solution to the clue. She was totally involved in the treasure hunt now, even if it did mean that Ken was still controlling her life. At least for a little while longer.
Deira was enjoying driving the Lexus, although the scenery in this part of France was dull and unchanging – almost an hour of straight road through a pine forest that formed part of a natural park. But by the time they were close to the border with Spain and the foothills of the Pyrenees, the landscape had become a more vibrant green, and pretty chalets with shuttered windows and gently sloping roofs dotted the sweeping mountains ahead.
‘Do you want to change over?’ asked Grace when she spotted a sign for services.
Deira hadn’t been going to say anything, because she felt she owed it to Grace to drive for as long as possible, but her side was starting to ache again and she welcomed the idea of a rest.
‘I feel so hopeless,’ she said as they got out of the car and stretched their legs. ‘Driving for a couple of hours wouldn’t normally bother me at all.’
‘Bruised ribs are the worst,’ Grace told her. ‘I did mine on one of our holidays years ago. I was wiped out for the entire fortnight.’ Fionn had accidentally hit her with an oar in a boat they’d hired on the first day. The bruises she’d sustained were the stuff of family legend.
She slid into the driver’s seat and continued along the route through the mountains, occasionally hitting patches of low-level cloud that engulfed the car and transported them to a different, less hospitable world. But these moments were fleeting, and by the time they reached the outskirts of Pamplona, the sun was blazing high in a cobalt sky.
‘This is the tricky bit,’ murmured Grace as she followed the satnav’s instructions. ‘I hope my maps are up to date.’
Deira was hoping the same thing, as they seemed to be driving through a mainly pedestrian zone of narrow streets that clearly formed part of the old town. She was worried that the local police would suddenly appear and stop them. But then the satnav announced that they were arriving at their destination, and they saw a wide plaza ahead of them.
Both women were surprised at the modernity of Pamplona’s main square. Deira had imagined it as a sepia-tinted image from Hemingway’s books – small and dusty, surrounded by dark and equally dusty bars. The reality was different. The bars were there, along with cafés and restaurants. But they were bright and welcoming, and the centre was filled with young people in shorts and T-shirts, backpacks beside them as they took the obligatory selfies.
‘Maybe it’s because Hemingway isn’t exactly cheery himself that I thought it would be more drab,’ she remarked to Grace as they got out of the car. ‘This is lovely.’
Grace nodded and busied herself with her bag. ‘You’d better take yours too,’ she told Deira. ‘There’s valet parking, and heaven knows where the car will end up.’
‘Living the life.’ Deira grinned.
They walked into the cool marble interior of the hotel, where Grace checked in and gave the car keys to the concierge.
‘I fee
l bad that you’re not staying here too,’ she said to Deira. ‘As though I’m leaving you to find your own way in an unfamiliar place.’
‘My hotel isn’t far,’ Deira assured her. ‘Don’t worry.’
‘Will we meet up later and talk through the clues?’ asked Grace.
‘Of course,’ agreed Deira. ‘Text me when you’re ready.’
Once in her room – or, to be more accurate, the suite named for Ernest Hemingway that Ken had reserved for her – Grace called Aline to let her know she’d arrived. She held the phone at a distance so that her daughter could see the elegance of her surroundings as well as the Hemingway memorabilia. Aline was impressed, and said that booking Grace into such a beautiful hotel showed how much Ken had loved her.
Did it? wondered Grace as she recalled the loveliness of the Fleur d’Île. Had Ken thought that she, on her own, deserved better than they’d shared together? Or was it because he’d stayed in this same room himself when he’d done his lecture tour five years earlier – in which case he’d been treated very well indeed by his hosts. He hadn’t said anything to her about his accommodation in either Pamplona or Alcalá de Henares, where he’d also lectured as part of the series he’d given on Hemingway’s influence on modern literature. The success of his talks had led to him being asked to fulfil additional engagements in Toledo and Granada, both also part of her treasure hunt itinerary. Maybe all the hotels he’d stayed in were equally upmarket and had triggered an interest in the better things in life even if they’d never shared them together.
Grace looked around the room again. She’d clearly undervalued Ken’s work and the esteem with which his colleagues had regarded him. She’d let him down.
She tuned back in to Aline, who was suggesting that the two of them should take a girlie break together sometime.
‘Why don’t you join me in the apartment later in the summer?’ said Grace. ‘September, perhaps?’
‘Are you planning to be there till September?’ Aline was shocked.
‘Of course not. I’ve a return berth on the boat in five weeks. But I may go back later. By plane, though.’
The Women Who Ran Away: Will their secrets follow them? Page 18
