‘Maybe that’s why I feel safe with you. I can talk to you, be open and not fear that you’re going to judge me. If you disagree – that’s fine – that’s no problem, but it’s your manner that I find so heart-warming. It’s something to do with respect. How can I put it?’ He leant his elbow on the steering wheel, looking at me. ‘I think you’re a beautiful person – on the inside as well as the outside.’
I didn’t know where to look. ‘That’s probably the nicest thing anyone has ever said to me.’
‘You see?’ He held up his palms as if to say I rest my case, then put a fingertip on my cheek. ‘And now I’ve made you cry.’
I didn’t know a tear had escaped. ‘Sorry,’ I said.
‘No – don’t apologise.’
I managed a crooked smile. I could barely believe what I’d just heard. ‘You said there was also a question?’
‘Ah, yes. It follows on, really. I wanted to ask if you thought there might be a possibility you could feel something similar. It’s early days, I know, and things are messy my end – and we live at opposite ends of the earth – but am I…you know, in with a chance, do you think?’
I gave him an answer without hesitation ‘Yes,’ I said. ‘I think you might be...’
He reached across to me, searching my face. He must have found what he was looking for and sank his mouth into mine. I closed my eyes and in that instant, images of Charlie and the lake dissipated into oblivion.
I don’t know how many minutes passed as we remained locked together in one long, sumptuous embrace. It was the voices of young children approaching that forced us to separate.
‘Let’s go in,’ I suggested, reaching for the door handle. ‘We can continue this particular conversation later…’ I turned and gave him a coy smile.
‘Why not?’ he patted his pockets, collecting himself. ‘Don’t think I’ve ever had such a meaningful discussion in a car park.’
As Stuart had promised, the lunch was delicious and my appetite was gradually tiptoeing back. The restaurant specialised in organic, local produce and I managed nearly half of probably the best winter pheasant stew I’d ever tasted. Stuart had a sticky-toffee pudding all to himself and we moved to a comfy sofa by the log fire.
I thought of how far we’d come since the doubts and unspoken accusations of yesterday evening, but hanging around in the back of my mind I knew there were parts of his story he hadn’t yet told me. I hated the idea of pulling our romantic moment into darker waters, but I needed to know the rest of it.
‘You said there was more to tell about your nephew and…Karen…’
He turned to me and took both my hands, pressing them together between his. ‘How’s it going at the cottage?’ he asked.
‘Karen’s worrying me. She’s been good to me in the past, but she’s not the fun-loving, bright spark I remember.’
It was true – and not just since the terrible business with Charlie. Karen had seemed different; she’d been distant and tense from the start.
‘She’s got her daughter back after a long life-threatening illness and you’d think she’d be over the moon. But she doesn’t seem happy. It’s as if she’s had her good qualities – the vibrant colours of her personality – washed out of her.’
‘Why do you think that is?’
‘I’ve no idea. I had no contact at all with her for about six years. I don’t know anything about her life now – a lot must have happened during that time. You reckon she’s lied about those years since Uni, don’t you – popping up out of nowhere with what now looks like a made-up story about being in Hollywood…?’
He bowed his head. ‘Has she done anything else to make you distrust her?’
The muscles in my neck had gone rigid. ‘Tell me what’s going on,’ I said.
‘Okay.’ He leant closer and lowered his voice. ‘This is going to be hard,’ he warned. I kept perfectly still. ‘Jim Cohen, the private detective I told you about, has done a lot of background work trying to track Charlie down. Charlie doesn’t have a criminal record, but seems to have friends on the wrong side of the law and Jim came up with a bunch of names in connection with his search. Karen Morley is one of them.’
‘O-kay,’ I said slowly. ‘What does that mean?’
‘Jim followed as many avenues as he could to try to find a link to Charlie – he’s costing me a fortune, but he’s doing a thorough job. Apparently, Charlie is pally with Don Rees; he’s married to Pamela Rees, who was in Holloway prison until earlier this year.’