by Sarah Mason
“Maybe you needed things to come to a head before you could let him go. Besides, you wouldn't have done your around-the-world trip, and perhaps something better is waiting for you on the job front.”
I smile at him, feeling happier about the situation than I have done for a while. “Maybe it is. So what about you and Charlotte?” I ask shyly after a moment. Sam pauses to look at some signs. My heart thumps madly in direct contrast to the slow and deliberate way I am looking at him.
“Charlotte is a really nice girl,” says Sam firmly and gesticulates toward the sign for the garden which indicates a left turn. This is not really the sort of information I am looking for. I am looking for something along the lines of I-thought-I-liked-her-until-I-spent-some-time-with-you but this is clearly not forthcoming. Perhaps I am barking up the wrong tree. Or maybe just plain barking.
We enter a beautiful garden full of exotic cacti. There are still more steps and when we reach the summit of the garden the views are absolutely breathtaking and well worth the climb. The crooked rooftops of Eze lie at our feet and the whole of the Côte d'Azur is spread before us. We sit for some minutes and survey the scene in silence.
“Tell me more about Barney's girlfriend,” says Sam after we have begun the climb back down again. “You don't really think it could be Catherine Fothersby, do you?”
“I bloody well hope not! My father knows who it is, but won't say.”
“How does he know?”
“I think he saw Barney and this girl together and guessed.”
“I can't think why Barney wouldn't tell me.”
“Maybe because he knows you would try and talk him out of it?”
“Not if I thought that's what he truly wanted.”
“Even Catherine Fothersby?”
“Well. Maybe her.”
“You see? It's got to be someone really awful if he hasn't told you. You're his best friend.”
“I'm going to talk to him as soon as we get back to Cornwall.”
I groan. “Do we have to talk about going back to Cornwall? I don't want to go back to work.”
“Nor do I.”
“I think you work too hard.”
“I think I do too. I'm going to make a conscious effort to cut back. Are you going to find a new job when we get back?”
“I don't think I'll get a choice. Mr. Trevesky will have definitely fired me.”
“Be the best thing for you. Just don't become an actuary. You'd be rubbish.”
I open my mouth to jokingly reply but then I glimpse a figure ahead. He does look like . . . I squint and bob my head from side to side in an attempt to gain a better view.
“What?” says Sam.
“I think that might be . . .” I stand on tiptoe but people are obscuring my vision and he's disappeared. “It looked like Martin Connelly.”
“Do you think it was?”
“I don't know. It looked like him.” I shiver as the sun goes behind a cloud. “Let's get back to the hotel.”
Although my possible Martin sighting casts a shadow over the morning, I can't help but think how nice it has been to spend some time with Sam. I look over at him crunching gears and swearing madly. God, he is gorgeous. Is this one of the last times we'll ever be alone together? I feel a bit disappointed because if he had any feelings for me whatsoever then surely this would have been a good time to say something? Apart from the fact that he needs to concentrate on the road.
When we arrive back at Cap Ferrat, Madame looks absolutely thrilled to see us and greets us like long-lost friends. She looks quite teary-eyed at the sight of us together and for a worried second I wonder if she is going to cry. I quickly ask her if she has seen my parents to distract her and she points us toward the restaurant.
We find my parents and Morgan there. They have ordered themselves lunch and they ask the waiter for some more menus. I sit down at one of the place settings and help myself to some bread and butter while we're waiting.
“Darling! Did you have a nice morning?” asks my mother. “You'll never guess who I saw strolling past the window a second ago without a care in the world!”
“Another Cabinet member?” asks Sam.
“How did you know?”
“Just a lucky guess. Clemmie thought she saw Martin Connelly.”
“My God!” says my father. “Did you really? Where was this?”
“At Eze. We were just having a walk round.”
“This is getting really out of hand. I'm not having this man following my family around. I'm going to call James again, see if there is something we can do.”
Just as my father says this, I hear a familiar voice in reception talking to Madame. I leap up and, still carrying my bread, walk out into the foyer.
There are Holly and James, standing with a little wheely case between them.
I let out a squeal of excitement and they turn around. I don't think I have been so pleased to see anyone in my life. I suppose it's quite nice that Holly's here too, but James is the one I'm concentrating on. All six-foot police officer of him.
I run over to them, give Holly a big hug and manage to smear butter on her shoulder. “Ooh, sorry. I'm sure we can sponge it off,” I say as I wipe it with an oily finger. “Hello James!” He gives me a kiss on the cheek. “I am so glad to see you! Did you bring any back-up?”
“Do you count Holly?”
“No.”
“Well then, I didn't.”
He is distracted by Sam and my parents and strolls over to greet them. I link arms with Holly as we walk over to join them. “Does he carry a gun?” I whisper to her.
“Er, no.”
“A knife?”
“No.”
“A truncheon?”
“I don't think so.”
“Oh. Did you fly over?” I ask out of sheer politeness a moment later.
“James decided we ought to come down. He thought the situation might be getting a bit out of hand.”
“Oh, it is. It is. What's he going to do?”
“Try and find Martin Connelly, I think.”
My parents chivvy everyone through to the restaurant because Holly and James booked on a low-cost airline and haven't had much to eat. Sam and my father pull up two extra chairs and we all sit down. My mother is thoroughly overexcited at seeing them.
“My darlings! I am so pleased you came down! Just think of all the fabulous things we can do now you're here!”
We all look at her incredulously. “Sorrel, I think they're here to sort out the Martin Connelly situation,” says my father.
“Who?” I really think she has forgotten about him. I wish I could do the same.
“Martin Connelly.”
“Oh. The psychologist.”
“That's the one.”
My mother seems thoroughly bored by this and looks out of the window.
“Well, I have to say, James, that we are extremely glad to see you,” says my father.
“Sir Christopher called me and, combined with your worries about the girls, I thought it was best that we flew out and sorted things once and for all.”
“So are the police involved now?” I ask.
“No, I'm officially on holiday.”
“How's everything at the paper?” I whisper to Holly as James starts to discuss things with my father and Sam.
“It's okay. Sir Christopher seems to have calmed down but Joe is still mad and I've got to file copy for ‘High Society' by tomorrow.”
“How's it looking? Did you find those notes on Emma's PC that I told you about?”
“They are pretty thin. Just jottings really. Did you manage to get anything else out of Emma?”
“Em, no. Not really.”
“God, Clemmie. You've got to help me find something.”
“I'll try,” I say, looking doubtful. “What sort of thing are we looking for?”
“Anything! Parties, fashion, that sort of thing.”
I pull a face at her and change the subject. “It's good of James to co
me.”
“Dad has been so worried about the situation.”
“So you and James must be okay if he's flown out here to help?” I nudge her slightly.
“I think he's more worried about you than me, Clemmie,” says Holly dryly.
I smile and reassure her that it can't possibly be true. It is so nice to see her and I am incredibly tempted to tell her all about my rather sudden crush on Sam. I open my mouth to do so but James stops me by getting up.
“Where are you going?” asks Holly.
“I'm going to Martin Connelly's B and B to try to talk to him.”
Rather him than me.
None of us are sure how long James will be because he says that if Martin isn't there he will simply wait for him. So we hang about nervously in reception, undecided as to whether to go out or stay put.
Holly goes back to her room to make a phone call to the paper, and I am just about to pop upstairs to my room to retrieve a book when Sam, who has been peering through the glass doors at the entrance, suddenly says, “James is coming back.”
“I suppose he decided not to wait after all.”
“No, I think Martin Connelly is with him.”
Oh God. I peer out from behind Sam, “Oh shit. It is Martin Connelly. Why the hell is he bringing him here? Have we time to hide?”
“Don't be silly, Clemmie,” says Sam, grasping hold of my arm. “I'd quite like to meet him.”
“I've already met him,” I hiss, but it's too late. James and Martin are already mounting the steps to the hotel.
I make an effort to release myself from Sam's hold but he's too strong for me and after a brief struggle we have to make out that we're holding hands as James and Martin swing through the door. Our knuckles are absolutely white but Martin probably just thinks we've got very firm grips. I plaster an over-bright expression on my face. “Hello!” I greet them jollily as though Martin is a long-lost friend and I am extremely glad to see him.
James eyes me suspiciously. “I met Martin in the street and we thought we would come back here.”
“Did you?” I say, sounding rather hysterical.
“Hello, Clemmie,” says Martin in a strained voice. “I take it you all know I'm here then.” He looks from me to Sam and I wonder fleetingly whether I should be introducing them or something.
“Yes, we saw you the other night,” I say quietly. Will he be cross that we've blown his cover?
“Shall we sit down?” says James, gesturing toward the normally very inviting sofas in the reception area.
I make to sidle away but Sam pulls me toward a sofa. Madame waves at me from behind the reception desk and I smile hopefully back. Will she come and rescue me? Sam obviously sees me looking in her direction and planning my escape as he heftily pulls me down off my feet and onto the sofa. Martin clearly thinks we are going out with each other as we have been pinned together since he arrived. We both smile in a forced manner.
“So, Martin. Do you want to tell me what's been going on?” says James in a dangerously friendly manner.
“I want to find Emma. I want to apologize to her. I know I've been acting crazy and I apologize for my behavior, but I really want to make amends.”
“Do you?”
“Yes. I've treated her badly. Very badly and I want to say I'm sorry. I've become quite . . . fond of Emma over the last few months.” He hesitates.
“Go on,” says James. Holly returns, her eyes opening wide at the sight of Martin, but she sits quietly down on a sofa. She takes no notice of Sam and me, who are still holding hands and practically sitting on top of each other.
“Imagine me in prison. I was due to go to Oxford, you know. I had a great future ahead of me and it was all ruined because of one mistake.” He looks defiantly at us and I can suddenly see an arrogant schoolboy who fervently believes he has done nothing wrong.
“Your girlfriend died,” says James quietly. Please don't rile him James.
“She knew the risks and she paid the price. It was nothing to do with me.”
“Martin, I'm not here to argue about your case.”
“No. That's already been done for me and I lost because of McKellan. Day after day, month after month in that prison. My mum used to send me the Gazette to keep me up to date with the local news, what was going on in Bristol. Sometimes my old classmates were mentioned. And one day I noticed that those diary pages were written by Emma McKellan and I wondered if she was a relation of his. And then she mentioned him in those pages, some charity bash they had been to together. Her father. Sir Christopher McKellan. And that's when I started to think about how I could get my own back on him. Through Emma.”
I open my mouth to say something but Sam pinches me so hard that I'm forced to draw my breath in instead.
“Of course, you know what I did. It all went perfectly to plan at first, but then I started to grow fond of Emma. As our wedding day grew closer and closer, I realized I couldn't go through with it so I started to think of how I could call the whole thing off. I thought I could just leave her a note telling her I can't have children and that it would be too cruel to make her marry me, and then disappear so she would never be any the wiser. It would have been infinitely kinder than my original plan.” He gives a bitter little laugh and doesn't seem to notice the frozen expressions that have come over our faces.
“Can't have children?” says James lightly. “Is that true?”
Martin looks up at him. “Yes, it is, actually. Had mumps as a kid. I hadn't told Emma because I didn't want to give her a reason not to marry me. Ironic, isn't it?”
Chapter Twenty-Three
Can't have children? So who the bloody hell is the father of Emma's child?
I can't stop a little noise escaping my lips as we all stare at Martin. James notices the noise and looks at me sharply. “Don't you have to be meeting your parents, Clemmie? Holly?”
“Hmm?”
“I think you should go now.”
He is clearly worried that I might let slip about Emma. And he's absolutely right because I think I might explode any second. I must be using up countless calories keeping my face absolutely rigid. I think my eyes are starting to water.
Neither Holly nor I move but James looks over to Sam and something unspoken passes between them. Probably something along the lines of get-these-two-gobmouths-out-of-here. Sam hauls me to my feet. When I don't want to stay he makes me, and when I don't want to leave he makes me.
Martin barely notices us leave. Sam escorts Holly and me over to the restaurant where my parents are still having coffee and releases us just as we step inside. I realize it's been quite nice to have Sam so close to me. But no time to think about that now, more pressing issues are at hand. We stand just inside the door and look open-mouthed at each other.
“But Emma is pregnant!” I say, rather stating the obvious.
“Not by Martin Connelly she isn't.”
“Bloody hell!” says Holly, neatly summarizing everyone's feelings.
Still in a state of shock, we wander through to the veranda where my parents are sitting. My mother has lit up a cigarette and is trying to blow smoke rings. I sit down on one of the wicker chairs while Sam has a stab at trying to explain the saga so far. Just as I am thinking we could be here for quite some time, my mother surprises us all by grasping the concept quite early on.
“So who on earth is the father?” she asks.
We all look at each other.
“Holly?” I ask because, after all, she knows Emma the best.
Holly shakes her head. “Haven't a clue. I thought she was supposed to be overwhelmingly in love with Martin.”
“Emma is certainly turning out to be very interesting,” says my mother.
“Do you think she knows that he can't have children? Does she know the baby isn't his?”
“He said he hadn't told her.”
“And Martin Connelly has been going to all this effort to find her because he feels sorry about what he's done?” asks my father disbe
lievingly. “Are you sure this isn't just another plan? Maybe he knows she's pregnant.”
“I don't know. I don't think so. James is still out there with him.”
“Tell me what he said. Exactly,” says my father.
By the time we have repeated the whole of Martin's conversation word for word, and gone over it twice for my mother, James joins us.
“James, what on earth is going on?” asks my father as soon as he reaches the table. “Do you really think he wants to apologize? It's not just another scam?”
“I believe him and he certainly doesn't know she's pregnant,” says James. “Of course, we're not going to tell him where she is. I told him we haven't got a clue where Emma is and so I think you can be sure that he is going to stop hounding the girls. All he is interested in is finding Emma. To apologize. We can all go home.”
My father looks intensely relieved at this.
“I don't know how long he is going to keep trying for. Sir Christopher will have to decide whether he wants to move Emma again or not.”
“So what shall we do?” asks Holly.
“Obviously Sir Christopher will warn Emma that Martin Connelly is here, but I, for one, would like to find out what the bloody hell is going on. So I think we should find out where they live and go up there,” says James.
“Me too!” says my mother. “We'll all come!”
“We can't all go!” protests my father.
“I think Emma at least owes us an explanation,” I protest. “She has run circles around us. Holly has laid down her job and reputation for her. Mr. Trevesky is extremely pissed off with me and even James is here trying to protect her. So I would quite like to hear her story firsthand. I'd like to see her wriggle out of this one.” I feel righteously indignant.
“We'll go tomorrow,” states my father firmly. “Now I don't know about the rest of you but I am sick to death of this whole business. Your mother and I have reservations at the Colombe D'Or and we're going for a drink in St. Paul de Vence first.” He gets up and holds his hand out to my mother, who looks as though she would much rather stay here and gossip with the rest of us but reluctantly takes it, scoops up Morgan, who was having a comfy little nap under the table, and off they go.
