‘All right, do it,’ Walker agreed. ‘It looks like we’re going to have to reschedule our flights anyway. Go and find her and see what she has to say.’
Three hours later, Maggie was no closer to getting back to London. The airline representative at Palma airport had put her on standby but wasn’t hopeful of a seat becoming free.
‘It’s a Thursday night in June, one of the busiest times of the year,’ she’d said. ‘The chances of you getting home tonight are pretty much on a par with Ryan Gosling asking me to marry him.’
Maggie had asked at the other airline desks but it was the same story – there were no spare seats on any flights and she’d have to wait on standby.
Now, sitting on a hard plastic seat nursing her third coffee of the night on the wrong side of passport control, Maggie was wishing she hadn’t excitedly called Umpire on her way to the airport to say she was coming back. Her plan had been to get a hire car at whatever airport she landed in, drive to his house in Trenton to spend the night with him, then head into London first thing to track down Lara. She had a feeling the woman wouldn’t have ventured too far from home and that she was probably in a hotel in central London. Somewhere large and anonymous, where she could hide in a crowd.
She’d also texted Mike Steadman to say she was heading back and asked him to ring in the meantime if he had any update about his wife’s whereabouts.
Maggie yawned and stretched her legs out in front of her. It was gone midnight and she was shattered. Flights ran until the early hours though, so she had to stay put, just in case a seat came up. She closed her eyelids for a moment and wondered if she could get away with taking a nap.
‘Keeping you up, are we?’
Her eyes snapped open to find George Pope standing over her, grinning. He was in a suit, his shirt collar undone beneath it, and had a leather overnight bag slung over his shoulder.
Maggie scrambled to her feet, embarrassed at being caught resting her eyes but grateful she hadn’t reached that point of a snooze where she was slack-mouthed and dribbling.
‘What are you doing here?’ she asked.
‘I could ask you the same question. But seeing as you got yours in first, I’ll tell you. I’ve just landed from London. I had to go back today for work.’
‘Your mum said you probably weren’t coming back.’
‘My trial has been postponed. Would you have minded if I hadn’t?’ he asked, staring at her intently.
She didn’t reply.
‘I’m sorry for what I said to you the other day about you not being a good FLO. It was awful of me. You’ve been amazing with Mum and Dad, but especially Mum. I know she’s not the easiest person to deal with. I was upset that day and I shouldn’t have taken it out on you.’
‘Thank you for the apology. I’m sorry too, for upsetting you.’
As George already knew about Lara because of the email, she wasn’t breaking any confidences by telling him the reason she was waiting for a flight home.
‘I think it’s great you’re going back to find her, but I don’t rate your chances of flying tonight,’ he said. ‘Why don’t you come back first thing and get an early flight out?’
‘There’s no point. I haven’t got anywhere to stay in Palma overnight and our budget won’t stretch to a hotel.’
‘Can you pay for yourself? There must be somewhere nearby where you can get a cheap room. Look, I could do with a drink and I know a great late-night bar we could get a taxi to from here, then we can look online for somewhere for you to stay. If you wait here all night, you’ll be too exhausted to do your job, and it sounds like this Lara needs you on it.’
He had a point.
‘Shouldn’t you be getting back to Saros though?’
‘I will, after I’ve had a drink and sorted you out.’
Maggie laughed. ‘I don’t need looking after.’
‘I know. But I want to make sure you’ve got somewhere safe to crash. Come on, what say we get that drink?’
Doubt twisted her stomach into a tight knot. Deep down she knew that going for a drink with him was a bad idea and that she should walk away now.
‘It’s only a drink, Maggie. You won’t get into trouble with Walker.’
As their eyes locked, she knew that wasn’t the kind of trouble she was worried about.
62
Friday
Philip slipped out of bed as quietly as he could so as not to disturb his still-sleeping wife. It was early, before six, but he hadn’t been able to conjure up nearly enough sheep to count, so gave up trying and got up.
He decided to go for a walk along the beach. The shutters were still down at Annika’s restaurant as he walked past, as was to be expected at such an ungodly hour, but he hoped that by the time he reached the marina one of the cafes would be open for him to buy a coffee. Right now he was fatigued down to his bones and needed a strong shot of caffeine to bolster his energy levels.
He was used to feeling tired, a symptom of the insidious creep of old age. Not that he was old old: he would be turning sixty-one in the coming November. In his mind, however, he felt a decade further along and he knew he looked it too. Grief had done that to him – it had robbed his body of its vitality and gouged out deep lines to leave its mark on his face.
Early retirement had also played a part in his physical decline. He hadn’t wanted to give up working when he turned sixty but Patricia had begged him to. His job as a Curatorial Fellow at the National Gallery had given him purpose, and walking between its vast rooms and up and down its wide staircases had kept him fit. The gallery had offered him a part-time associate position when he had tendered his resignation but Patricia had dismissed the idea. They didn’t need the money, so why on earth should he continue? But gainful employment had meant so much more than the salary it provided, especially after Katy died. Getting lost amongst his ‘beauties’ – how he referred to the paintings in his care – was his escape. The worst moment of his day was at five minutes past five in the afternoon, when he would step outside the gallery into Trafalgar Square to venture home and the grief would again hit him as hard as if Nelson himself had toppled off his column and landed on his head.
A woman walking a small dog that looked more rat-like than canine smiled as she passed. Philip smiled back. The interaction made him aware of his surroundings again and he realized he was at the point in the promenade where a semi-circular jetty jutted out into the sea. He walked up to the edge of it and spent a few moments watching shoals of small silver fish darting through the shallows, marvelling at the uniformity of their movement. When he finally looked up, he saw something in the bay ahead that made him stop and stare.
It was Johnnie, in a small, motorized dinghy.
Philip’s first inclination was to laugh – in all the years he’d known Johnnie, never once had he known him to rouse from his bed before eight in the morning, even on a school day. He was famously sloth-like, which is why it had come as no surprise to anyone, least of all Johnnie’s parents, that he resisted pursuing a career that would require him to present himself at a reasonable hour and instead had chosen to roam the world, picking up odd jobs along the way to fund himself.
As the dinghy bobbed across the harbour, Philip frowned. It was travelling back towards the mooring where Johnnie’s boat was, not away from it. Which meant Johnnie had been up even earlier than this to venture somewhere.
Curiosity mounting, Philip hurried the quarter of a mile to reach the jetty Johnnie’s boat was moored closest to. By the time he got there the dinghy was tied up next to it and Johnnie, ponytailed hair tucked beneath a red baseball cap, was busy at work on the deck, sluicing it down with water. Philip didn’t want to shout across in case people were sleeping in the neighbouring crafts, so he called Johnnie’s name as loudly as he felt respectable, which wasn’t very loud at all, and it took four or five goes before Johnnie heard him and looked up.
For a second he looked confused to see Philip standing there, but then a wide smile split h
is face. He went round the other side of the boat and unfolded the gangway so Philip could come aboard.
‘What are you doing up so early?’ he asked.
‘I could ask you the same thing,’ Philip chuckled. ‘It’s so unusual to see you awake at this hour that I had to check I wasn’t seeing things.’
Johnnie casually motioned to a vast cool box on the deck. ‘Oh, I’ve been fishing. I’m not paying the mark-up these restaurants charge when I can catch it for myself.’
‘Does that mean we’re invited to lunch?’
Johnnie looked uncomfortable. ‘Um—’
‘I’m sorry, how rude of me to impose ourselves.’
‘It’s not that,’ said Johnnie hurriedly. ‘It’s just that I have plans already.’
‘Oh?’
‘An old friend; you don’t know them. But we could do dinner tonight instead?’
Now it was Philip’s turn to falter.
‘Actually, Patricia and I are going ahead with the memorial at sunset. You’re invited, of course. It’s going to be just us, you, George and Declan. After everything else that’s happened, we feel it best to keep it exclusive this time.’
Johnnie’s expression darkened. ‘I still don’t get why you’re letting Morris be involved.’
‘Please don’t start. I know you two don’t see eye to eye, but he was Katy’s boyfriend—’
‘—who was screwing around behind her back with her best friend. Oh, come on, Philip, don’t give me that look. You’d guessed what he was up to with Tamara but you chose to look the other way.’
‘I did no such thing.’
‘Well, Patricia definitely did. She was more into Declan than Katy was.’
Philip felt obliged to defend his wife.
‘Patricia always acted in what she thought were Katy’s best interests.’
Johnnie shook his head peevishly.
‘For crying out loud, why can’t you be honest for once, Philip? I know you said the other day you now regret encouraging Katy to keep their relationship going. George told me.’
Philip bristled at his son for sharing what he thought was a private conversation.
‘Where was this concern for Katy when she was alive?’ he retaliated. ‘I don’t recall you battering down our door to convince us she was unhappy, but suddenly it’s all you can talk about.’
Johnnie looked pained. ‘You’re right, I should’ve said at the time. Maybe if I’d spoken some sense into Patricia back then she might have let Katy alone.’ He paused. ‘I told Katy I loved her.’
Philip was agog. ‘When?’
‘The Christmas before she died.’ Johnnie’s eyes brimmed with tears. ‘I loved her so fucking much. She was the most perfect, most beautiful, most amazing girl I’ve ever met. It killed me that Morris couldn’t see how lucky he was. So I decided to tell her. I said she should be with me, because I loved her and always had.’
He shook his head sadly, which Philip interpreted as disappointment. Katy must’ve turned him down. He gave Johnnie’s shoulder a tender squeeze.
‘For what it’s worth, I would’ve been very happy if she’d reciprocated. There was a time when I did think you might end up together.’
There was the longest pause as Johnnie stared out to sea. When he turned to face Philip again, tears were streaking down his cheeks, wetting his blond stubble.
‘We were together. The baby was mine.’
Philip sank down heavily onto the moulded plastic bench that edged the deck. Johnnie was the one who got Katy pregnant? It was unthinkable, and yet one look at Johnnie’s face told him it was true. In all the years he’d known him, Johnnie had never given him any reason to disbelieve him, so why would he now.
‘Do you remember that Christmas? Mum and Dad had come here, to Saros, so I spent it with you. Declan had gone home to see his family and that’s when Katy and me got together. I told her I loved her and she said she felt the same. We carried on in secret for a couple of months and she was going to finish it with Declan, but then she got pregnant.’
‘How can you be sure it was yours?’ Philip could barely get the words out.
‘The dates added up. I said she should get rid of it because we were both too young, she had university to look forward to, and a baby would change everything. Katy agreed, but because she was terrified Patricia might find out we’d been sleeping together and be furious, she decided to say it was Declan’s,’ said Johnnie desolately. ‘I hated him thinking it was his.’
‘He still thinks that.’
Johnnie nodded. ‘The other day at the restaurant, when he said Katy told him everything, I thought he knew then. But he didn’t.’ He let out a tremulous sigh. ‘After the baby was gone, Katy couldn’t bear to be around me. Making her have the termination was the worst mistake I’ve ever made. We should’ve had our baby and made a go of it, because afterwards she hated me.’
Johnnie dropped to his knees and cried like an anguished animal, howling his grief around the marina, but still Philip couldn’t move to comfort him. He was pinned to the spot. He couldn’t believe that Johnnie, who he loved like a son, had forced poor Katy into aborting her child. It was unforgivable.
His anger mounting, Philip rose to his feet and stumbled across the deck to the gangway. In his haste he knocked into the cool box and sent it flying. The box landed on its side and the lid burst open, sending a cascade of ice skidding across the deck – along with a pair of large, gold hoop earrings and some scrunched-up chewing-gum wrappers.
Bewildered, Philip turned to Johnnie.
‘Where are all the fish you caught?’
63
Her eyelids flickering open, Maggie became aware of a noise and wondered vaguely what the sound was and where it was coming from. It was an unwelcome accompaniment to the banging in her head that was heralding the start of what she could tell was going to be an epic hangover. Gin-laced, mostly, but with at least three shots of tequila thrown in.
Groaning, she flopped onto her back and stared up at the ceiling – and that’s when it hit her.
The sound was George Pope whistling as he showered in the en-suite bathroom.
Maggie sat bolt upright, pulling the sheet up to cover herself. Her clothes and underwear were strewn across the floor where George had removed and dropped them.
She drew her knees up and buried her face into them as guilt burned through her and tears pricked her eyes. She was a horrible, despicable person for cheating on Umpire and, worse, for wanting to.
She and George had both known what was going to happen. The cocktails, the flirting, the air between them crackling with electricity – it was all foreplay. When he offered to walk her to the hotel they’d found online, she didn’t decline. When he offered to see her to her room, she didn’t decline. And when they went inside the room and he pushed her up against the wall to begin kissing her, she’d kissed him back. She had wanted him as much as he’d wanted her.
Now, in the cold light of day, she felt terrible. She checked the time and jolted when she saw it was nearly nine. She should’ve been back at the airport hours ago, checking for a flight home.
She jumped out of bed and looked around for her bag and, more importantly, her phone. Damn it, where was it? She was on all fours, scrabbling beneath the bed for her bag, when she heard a voice behind her.
‘Now there’s a sight.’
Maggie spun round to see George standing in the doorway to the bathroom, naked except for the smallest towel imaginable wrapped around his waist. Despite how she was feeling, she found herself laughing.
‘You’re wearing the bathmat,’ she said.
He looked down at himself, grinning. ‘I thought it was a bit small.’ To her shock, he whipped it off and used it to rough dry his hair. She didn’t know where to look.
‘I need to go,’ she stammered. ‘I’m running late.’
‘Really?’
She clawed her bra and knickers across the floor towards her. ‘I need to get dressed.’
&nb
sp; George said nothing and she was relieved when he reached for his own clothes. When they were both fully dressed, he crossed the room and gently held her shoulders. She could feel the warmth coming off him after his hot shower.
‘Hey, it’s okay.’
Her eyes swam with tears.
‘No, it’s not. I have a boyfriend who I love very much.’
‘I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have come on to you like I did.’
She shook her head. ‘No, it’s not your fault. I wanted it to happen as much as you did.’ She rested her forehead against his chest. ‘I’m sorry too.’
George wrapped his arms around her and stroked her hair as she cried.
‘It’s okay. No one ever needs to know. It can be our secret.’ He kissed the top of her head. ‘I won’t deny I’m sorry there won’t be a repeat, though, because I do think you’re lovely and beautiful and sexy—’
She pulled away from him. ‘Please don’t, it’s not fair.’
‘If there wasn’t someone else, would you be keen?’
A flashback came to her, of warm lips and tongues intertwining, a hand in her hair, pulling her closer – and a feeling that she never wanted it to stop. Choking back tears, she managed a smile. ‘I wouldn’t be standing here with my clothes on, let’s put it that way.’
‘And there’s me hoping you liked me for my intellect,’ he joked. ‘Look, the last thing I want is to cause you trouble. I promise you it shall remain our secret. Consider it forgotten.’
But Maggie couldn’t forget. She’d slept with another man and while George might be able to file it away, it crushed her to think how upset Umpire would be if he ever found out. Her betrayal was unforgivable. Lou would have a field day too knowing Maggie had been disloyal again.
‘I promise you I won’t tell a soul,’ he reiterated.
‘Thank you.’ She had no alternative but to trust him at his word. ‘I should call for a taxi.’
‘We can share one. I’ll drop you off, then I’ll carry on back to Saros.’
‘I don’t need chaperoning.’
‘How about I stalk you then and follow in the taxi behind?’
Dead Guilty Page 23
