The Unseen(150)

Just then the door opened, and Ryan smiled down at her.

‘I thought I heard a car. You’re bang on time, as ever. Come in. Did you find out who our mystery man is? I’m dying to know,’ he said.

‘I … did,’ Leah said, suddenly breathless. Her eyes scoured his face, the familiar, wonderful lines of it. And something seemed different. Something she couldn’t put her finger on. He looked unreal, somehow. Counterfeit. His scruffy hair and playful, schoolboy smile too young for him; only skin-deep.

‘I’m so glad you’ve come, Leah,’ he said softly, as if sensing her hesitation. He tapped the file she carried with one finger. ‘Is this it? What you’ve found out? Come in, why don’t you – don’t hang about on the step.’ Leah took one heavy step over the threshold, but then stopped again.

‘Yes. Yes, it is. Ryan, I … I need to talk to you. About what happened in Belgium …’ she started to say, but suddenly a tumbling female laugh and a flash of chestnut hair further along the hallway stopped her. She saw Ryan’s face tighten, the smile grow slightly strained. Saw him watching her carefully.

‘Is that Anna?’

‘Leah, don’t start—’

‘Don’t start? Don’t start?’ Anger flashed through her like a lightning strike. ‘You didn’t say she’d be here. I thought she was still in the US?’

‘She was – she is. But she was hardly going to miss her father’s birthday party, was she?’

‘Her step-father’s birthday party,’ Leah corrected. ‘Quite an important distinction, wouldn’t you say?’

‘Not in this instance. Look, Leah. My parents really want to see you. They’ve missed you – we all have. Won’t you just come in and … forget about the other stuff? Now is not the time to make a scene.’ He used the gently cajoling tone she would once have found impossible to resist. That she had found impossible to resist in his room in Belgium. Now it sounded wheedling, pathetic. He took her hand and ran his thumb over her knuckles. She waited for the burning sensation of his touch, for the shivers it would send flooding out over her skin. They didn’t come.

‘You’re right,’ she said, calmly now. She pulled her hand away. ‘I’ve no more scenes to make. Not for you, anyway. You were sleeping with your step-sister behind my back the entire time we were together, and then you bullied me into keeping it secret for you. Into lying to your whole family – who, I might add, I’ve always liked and respected, and who certainly don’t deserve to have a son like you. What kind of arsehole are you, Ryan?’ She shook her head, incredulously. Behind them there was movement in the corridor, and the shocked silence of somebody who’s heard something they can hardly believe.

‘Leah, keep your voice down for fuck’s sake!’ Ryan hissed furiously.

‘Too late, by the looks of it,’ she said coldly. ‘Goodbye, Ryan. Don’t expect to hear from me, and really – really – don’t contact me again.’ She turned her back on him and his incredulous expression, walked down the steps and towards the gate. There she paused, and turned. ‘The soldier’s name is Robin Durrant. He was a convict. You can trace any remaining relatives from that information, but I doubt there’ll be any. And for the rest – you’ll have to wait until my book comes out!’ she shouted.

She didn’t look back again. Her legs felt elastic, stretching into long, purposeful strides as she walked away. She felt desperate, impatient, but as she walked she realised it wasn’t Ryan she was desperate to get away from, but somebody else she could not wait to return to. Hoping it wasn’t too late, she got her phone out of her bag and started to dial, her fingers clumsy with nervous excitement. She hit the wrong key and had to start again, swearing under her breath. A car horn blared from across the street and startled her. She looked up to see a familiar muddy Renault, parked twenty yards from the house. Mark waved to her from behind the wheel, his eyes anxious but a grin on his face. A wide smile of relief welled up and lit Leah’s face, and she waved back. With happiness making her footsteps light, she crossed the road and ran to where he was.





1911


The weather is turning, autumn stealing in with a noticeable chill to the morning air, and touches of bronze, gold and brown on the trees all around. Tess walks along the towpath into Thatcham with two letters of Mrs Canning’s to post. She rehearses the directions carefully in her mind, worried about losing her way, about not finding The Rectory again on the way back. She has only been in her new position for a fortnight, and everything is still strange. From the wide open spaces all around, to the quiet and the calm; and the good, hot food after months of the cruelty and deprivations of Holloway and Frosham House. She can’t help but eat everything that’s put in front of her, and already the hollow between her hip bones is filling out again, her stomach and arms growing rounder. Sophie Bell seems pleased at this. The cook says little, her moon face careworn, but she smiles at Tess, pats her on the shoulder from time to time, and treats her well. Most of the woman’s attention is showered on a little black and white cat, a scrawny stray that appeared at the kitchen door several weeks earlier, and which Sophie has adopted with an almost superstitious devotion. She feeds it cream from a saucer, and saves the kidney trimmings for it when she makes a pudding. But Sophie Bell hasn’t given it a name, simply calling it ‘cat’, so Tess secretly names it Tinker.