Please write or call or something. I can’t do this by myself!
Mx
‘The last one is postmarked a year later,’ he said.
Dear Gérard,
You have a daughter. She’s beautiful and smiles all the time, and – well, she’s perfect.
It would be good if you would acknowledge her. For her sake. Doesn’t she deserve the chance to know her father?
Mx
Dorothy finished reading and removed her glasses. ‘So you want to know who sent them?’
He nodded.
‘Why?’ she asked, her shrewd gaze fixed on him.
‘Isn’t it obvious? Wouldn’t anyone want to track down family they’d never known they had?’ He had a sibling out there somewhere and that mattered to him. ‘When I read those letters, I felt something. Here.’ He held a fist to his heart. ‘She sounds so desperate, so dignified. And if I’m right – that he never replied – then I have to go to her and explain. Apologise. I can’t change the past, but perhaps I can make amends.’
He felt passionately about putting right the wrongs his father had done. He just wanted to make things right, prove that he wasn’t like his dad.
He stilled. Prove it to whom?
To himself.
He shook his head, startled by this realisation. Was it really so important? Yes. Yes, it was. He was like his father in so many ways – the racing, the winning, the drive and ambition, the risk-taking. He needed to prove that he wasn’t an unreliable, fickle bastard too.
And the best way to do that would be to find his sister and atone for their father’s wrongdoings.
‘Very noble,’ muttered Dorothy, approvingly. ‘How do you know he never replied to them?’
‘I can’t be certain, but when he died our family lawyer made us aware that there had been other women in his life.’ He cleared his throat. ‘None of them was British or had a child.’
‘I see,’ said Dorothy.
‘You don’t look shocked.’
She smiled and a gold tooth glinted. ‘Oh, at my age, dear, I’ve seen it all. Although, I must admit, perhaps not quite on this scale. But your father was wealthy, wasn’t he? Most of us are limited by our circumstances. It’s not so easy to hide a secret lover if you’ve lived in the same village all your life and have no money to spare.’ She picked up her knitting and the needles began to click rhythmically. ‘It is interesting that your father kept these letters, though, don’t you think?’
‘I found them in a folder of other documents relating to that time. I’m not sure he intended to keep them, and he certainly didn’t treasure them. It looked as if the folder hadn’t been touched for a long time.’
‘Ah.’ She shook her head sorrowfully. ‘I’m afraid I don’t know who your mystery woman could be. There have been a few surprise pregnancies over the years, but I can’t think of anyone whose name began with M.’
‘You don’t recognise the handwriting?’ It was a long shot, he knew.
She shook her head. ‘But, then, why would I? I worked at the grocer’s. I wasn’t a schoolteacher or a—’ She put down her knitting. ‘You should go and see Peter. He worked in the post office for years.’
Luc had been right, Alex thought. He had to start talking to people. Perhaps someone would remember something. ‘Yes. Perhaps my father visited. Perhaps someone from Willowbrook spent time in France or abroad, had an interest in motorcycle racing.’
‘Perhaps. Try Peter. And if I think of anything else I’ll call Liberty.’ She reached for her tea and took a sip. Then a thought seemed to occur and her eyes glinted with mischief. ‘You know your landlady is about the right age, don’t you?’
‘Liberty? It’s not her. Natasha told me her father died when she was small, and he had red hair.’ He pictured his landlady’s beautiful long tresses.
Dorothy put the cup down. ‘I don’t mean that. Liberty is the right age to have been friends with your half-sister. Perhaps they were at school together.’
‘How old is she?’
‘She had her thirtieth birthday at the end of November. Did she tell you about the mystery flowers?’
He shook his head.
She tutted. ‘Liberty receives a bouquet every year on her birthday – sent anonymously – and this year she chased after the florist to ask who they were from.’
‘Chased?’ His lips twitched.
‘Yes. In her car.’
He couldn’t help smiling because he’d seen how slowly and carefully she drove. ‘Did she find out?’
‘Why don’t you ask her yourself? You won’t get very far with your detective work if you don’t see what’s right under your nose.’
‘No …’ He cleared his throat. He hadn’t been scolded like this since his schooldays.
‘So now, young man, what are you waiting for? You have a mystery to solve, and Liberty might be just the person to help you solve it.’
Liberty was having her lunch in the back room when Evie came in. She’d been to the wholesaler’s and was laden with bags and boxes, which she put down with a clatter.
‘Hey, I’ve heard the news!’ she said to Liberty. Her dimples appeared as she smiled and her cheeks were flushed from the cold so they almost matched her cherry-red coat.
‘What news?’
‘That you came to work on a motorbike this morning.’
Liberty groaned. It must have spread round the village like wildfire. But that shouldn’t surprise her. ‘Who from?’
‘Marjorie next door.’ She held up the sandwich she’d bought from the bakery. ‘I take it you did it for your challenge? Was it fun?’
‘It was terrifying. And cold.’ Liberty grinned. ‘But, yes, lots of fun.’
Evie laughed. ‘I’m so glad. This challenge is going to make you fearless.’
‘I hope so. But I was so scared beforehand that I’m wondering if it might count for a week’s worth of challenges. What do you think?’
Evie tried not to smile. ‘It’s your challenge, Lib. Your rules.’
She thought about it. ‘Just one day then, but it means I don’t have to experiment with lunch.’ She looked guiltily at her coronation chicken sandwich and vanilla slice. ‘So much for trying new things, eh?’
‘Don’t beat yourself up about it,’ said Evie, as she took off her coat and hung it up. ‘If you make the challenge too difficult it’ll feel like a punishment – or, worse,’ she wrinkled her nose, ‘a diet – and you’ll give up before the month is over. One challenge per day is plenty and I’m proud of you for going on a motorbike.’
‘You’re right.’ Evie was like a cup of hot chocolate: she made you feel warm and everything in the world seem sweeter.
Liberty took another bite of her sandwich. Without the guilt it tasted so much better.
‘Want to see what I bought?’ asked Evie, as she unpacked the bags she’d brought in. ‘I’ve got lots of cushion pads to sell with our starter kits, and look at these layer cakes.’
Liberty examined the packs of ten-inch squares cut from coordinating fabrics. They were modern with quirky designs like postage stamps and handwritten script. ‘I love those. The colours are so fresh and zingy.’
‘And I also got a couple of mini Christmas trees,’ Evie said, as she sliced open a box. ‘We can put one in the window and one by the till, and hang our felt decorations from them.’
‘Great idea.’ The heart- and star-shaped confections had been so popular last year that Evie had started making them in January ready for this Christmas.
Liberty helped to assemble the trees, but her mind was stuck on that morning’s excitement and she kept wondering if she was brave enough to take Alex up on his offer.
When they’d set up the first tree by the till, she pulled out her phone and gave Evie a bashful smile. ‘Alex said I could call him if I want a ride home tonight. I think I might.’
Evie clapped her hands. ‘I said it – you’re fearless now! So, he’s not as bad as you first thought?’
Libe
rty called his number. ‘The jury’s still out.’
Alex answered almost immediately, but he sounded breathless. ‘Liberty. I’m just on my way to see you.’
‘You are? Why?’ He must be walking, she realised.
‘Une minute. I’m nearly there …’ The shop door swung open and there he was, still in his leathers, helmet in hand, hair ruffled and messy as always. But there was something different about him, too. He didn’t look as scowly. He seemed more … relaxed.
Evie’s eyes widened. Her mouth worked, but no sound came out. She was clearly speechless – which was a first. She grinned at Liberty.
‘Alex,’ said Liberty. ‘What brings you here?’
‘You tell me first – why did you call?’
‘Oh – ah – to ask if I could have a ride tonight. Please?’ She smiled at the irony: she who’d been set against the motorbike was now asking for a second turn.
The glint in his eyes told her he’d had the same thought. ‘On one condition,’ he said.
Evie muttered something about giving them privacy and disappeared into the back room.
‘What is it?’ asked Liberty.
‘You have dinner with me.’
Chapter Eight
It was Liberty’s second blind date, and as she drove there she was pleased to find she wasn’t at all nervous. In fact, her mind wasn’t on the evening ahead, but playing back this afternoon’s happenings in the Button Hole, wondering why on earth Alex wanted to have dinner with her.
When she’d told him she was busy tonight, he’d looked disappointed. ‘Are you free tomorrow instead?’ he’d asked.
She lifted a finger to her lips and pretended to think. ‘The thing is, Alex,’ she teased, ‘I distinctly remember you telling me you didn’t want to eat with me.’
He had the good grace to look ashamed. ‘I shouldn’t have said that. I’m sorry. I – I’ve had stuff on my mind.’
Stuff? She peered at him, curious. His gruff arrogance did seem to have been smoothed away, but why? ‘What’s changed?’
He rubbed a hand over his face. ‘I saw Luc this morning and …’ he weighed the helmet in his hand ‘… he told me I’ve been behaving like un imbécile.’
She tried not to laugh. Stripes of colour touched his cheekbones and he looked genuinely contrite. ‘In what way have you been an imbécile?’
‘I’ve not been … friendly.’
‘No, you haven’t.’ She was enjoying this more than she should.
‘So – will you have dinner with me?’ he asked. ‘I’ll cook for you.’
Her heart beat a little faster. She tilted her head to one side. He seemed almost … desperate to make amends. And he had taken her out on his bike, even before his dressing-down from Luc.
Still, she couldn’t resist teasing him just a little. ‘I usually have pizza and watch a film on Saturday night …’ she began apologetically. His shoulders sagged in defeat. ‘… but I’m willing to make an exception this weekend.’
His smile lit his eyes and looked so heartfelt it was completely disarming.
Now, Liberty turned into the car park and found a space. Her date tonight had suggested they meet in a restaurant she didn’t know, but she found it without any problem. She pushed open the door and was hit by a blast of noise and faces. The restaurant was heaving, which was only to be expected on a Friday night in one of the trendiest new places in town, but that made it difficult for her to spot her date.
Fortunately a waiter approached. ‘Can I help you, madam?’ he asked.
‘I’m meeting a man called Sean.’
‘Ah, yes. He’s waiting for you. Follow me, please.’
Sean looked relieved when he saw her approaching. A nervous smile flickered across his features.
The waiter pulled out her chair for her, then left them with menus.
‘You’re Liberty, right?’ said her date.
‘That’s right.’ She smiled and was pleased with the first impressions: he was good-looking and seemed friendly. This was hopeful.
They ordered wine and food, then exchanged a shy glance. Liberty fiddled with the hem of her napkin and tried to think of something else to say or ask. She wished she could skip the awkward getting-to-know-you part of dating and whizz straight to the close-friends-and-more stage. It would make life so much simpler. Since she’d turned thirty she’d had a nagging consciousness of time passing and it was making her impatient. ‘Do you live nearby?’ she asked.
‘Yeah.’ He described where his flat was in town. ‘I moved recently. I was sharing before. Now I’m renting on my own.’ There was a dejected air about him as he fiddled with his cutlery.
‘You don’t like your new flat?’
‘It’s okay … I haven’t been there long. I suppose it doesn’t feel like home yet.’
She wondered why he kept glancing at the door. Was he planning his escape?
‘What about you?’ he asked. ‘Where do you live?’
She gave him Brownie points for showing an interest in her. But when she described Willowbrook and Damselfly Cottage he barely seemed to listen.
The waiter brought their food.
When they were alone again, Liberty asked, ‘Is this your first date, Sean?’
‘What? Oh – yeah.’ His smile was crooked. ‘You can tell, then?’
‘You just seem a little nervous,’ she said warmly. But inside she sighed because she’d been here before with the chef. Was this going to be a repeat?
‘I’m just …’ He shook his head. ‘I was in a relationship for a long time – until recently. So I guess I’m out of practice.’
Understanding dawned. ‘Ah. When did—’
‘Sean!’ someone gasped.
Liberty dropped her fork. A woman with long tight curls had been walking past, but suddenly stopped and made a beeline for their table. She was beautiful, perfectly made up and wearing a sparkly dress that showcased her incredibly long legs, but she was glaring at Sean as if she wanted to murder him.
He clearly wasn’t surprised, and Liberty remembered how he’d been darting nervous glances at the door all evening.
‘Jessie—’
‘What’s this?’ the woman spat, gesturing at their plates of food.
A couple of diners turned, and a prickling sensation crept over Liberty.
‘What does it look like?’ he said carefully.
Liberty frowned. He looked defiant yet guilty – she didn’t understand why. What was going on?
The woman’s anger seemed to mushroom. ‘You said you wanted to try again. You begged me to give you another chance. You said it was over with her.’
Liberty stared at them both in turn. This was his ex? He’d been unfaithful?
The scary woman turned to her. ‘Maybe you can tell me what the hell is going on.’
‘Me?’ Liberty swallowed. She glanced at Sean for guidance or an explanation, but he ducked his gaze away. ‘Um – we’re just having dinner.’
‘You’re having dinner with my man.’ The woman pointed a finger at him.
The room had hushed completely. Heads turned, the waiters had all stopped, and Liberty’s cheeks flooded with lava-like heat. Oh, great. Now she must look as guilty as Sean. ‘There must have been a misunderstanding,’ she said. Again, she turned to Sean to clear this up, but he was staring at Jessie. In fact, he seemed pleased with himself. Why?
She sat up tall and tried again. ‘Listen, I’ve no idea who you are or what’s going on, but this is our first date and—’
‘So you admit it, then? You’re dating him? And don’t think for a second that I believe you about the first date thing. I know what you did.’
‘What?’ Sean, the dirt bag, continued to ignore her. ‘That’s not—’
‘You’re a man-stealing witch!’ Jessie’s expression was venomous, and the restaurant was completely silent now. ‘You two did this on purpose, didn’t you? You knew this was my favourite place, you knew I’d be here tonight and you came here deliberately to �
� to flaunt yourselves in my face!’
Beneath the table, Liberty’s legs were shaking. This was mortifying.
‘Jess—’ he began.
She held up her hand to silence him, and turned back to Liberty. ‘You cheated with him and now you think you can have him all for yourself, do you?’
Her eyes were black with rage.
‘No. You’ve got it all wrong.’ Liberty turned to Sean in desperation. ‘Tell her. Tell her we’d never met before tonight.’ She could feel the other diners’ stares burning into her. Everyone in this room would think she was guilty.
‘So you do feel something,’ Sean said quietly, his gaze on Jessie.
The penny dropped. He’d set this up to make his ex jealous. Liberty felt sick. She’d been used, she’d—
A waiter approached and said to Jessie, ‘Madam, I have to ask you to leave now.’
A wave of relief washed over Liberty.
Sean stood up and placed a hand on Jessie’s arm. ‘He’s right. Come on, Jess.’
She shook it off. ‘I’ve not finished!’
Sean and the waiter steered her, still yelling, towards the exit. ‘That witch needs to know she can’t go round stealing other people’s men! She’s a—’
The door swung shut behind her and the room became quiet again. Everyone was staring at Liberty.
She smoothed the napkin on her lap and waited for Sean to come back. But time ticked by and he didn’t appear. Liberty looked around. This had to be the most embarrassing situation she’d ever found herself in. How had it happened? Her skin prickled, and she decided she didn’t want to stay: she wasn’t interested in hearing Sean’s explanation even if he did come back.
The waiter appeared. ‘Are you all right, madam?’
‘Yes,’ she whispered, and moved to get up. It was clear Sean wasn’t returning. ‘I – er – I think I’ll go too.’
‘I’ll get the bill,’ he said firmly.
‘The bill?’ She blinked hard.
The waiter’s features hardened. He gestured at the wine and plates of barely touched food. ‘I need payment for this.’
‘But he— That’s not fair. He should pay for what he ordered.’
The waiter remained hard-nosed. ‘He’s not here, madam.’
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