‘Boo!’ Ryan said in her ear. Leah jumped, gasped audibly.
‘You prick,’ she snapped at him, and marched out through the heavy swinging doors, angry at how easily she rattled.
She strode briskly up two flights of stairs and followed the smell of chips and coffee to the college’s cafeteria. Pouring herself a paper cupful, she noticed that her hands were shaking. She sank into a plastic chair by the window and stared out at the landscape. Flat and grey and brown, just as England had looked when she left. A neat row of gaudy crocuses lining a pathway only highlighted the drab of everything else. Her own reflection in the glass was pale – pale skin, pale lips, pale blond hair. The dead man in the cellar had more colour, she thought ruefully. Belgium. Suddenly she yearned to be somewhere, anywhere, rather than here. Somewhere with bright sunshine to etch outlines onto the landscape, and warmth to soak into her bones. Why on earth had she agreed to come? But she knew why. Because Ryan had asked her to. He walked right out of her thoughts and sat down opposite her, frowning.
‘Look, I’m sorry, OK?’ he said, contritely. ‘Having you here isn’t easy for me either, you know. You make me nervous.’
‘Why am I here, Ryan?’ Leah asked.
‘I think there could be a great story in it for you – really. The lost soldier, anonymous and unmourned all these years …’
‘You don’t know he was unmourned.’
‘True enough. Undiscovered, then. And I know you think I’m flippant about it, but I’m not. It must have been a bloody miserable way to die, and I think the guy deserves some recognition, don’t you?’
Leah eyed him suspiciously, but he seemed sincere. His hair had grown since she’d last seen him. It was hanging in loose tawny curls at either side of his face, matching three or four days’ growth on his chin. His eyes were the colour of dark honey. Leah tried not to look too deeply into them.
‘Why me?’ she asked.
‘Why not you?’ he countered. ‘I don’t know that many freelance journalists.’ He looked down at his hands for a minute, picked at one ragged thumbnail where the skin was already raw. Leah’s own fingers twitched, from the long habit of trying to stop him doing it.
‘That’s all?’ she pressed.
Ryan frowned, took a short, irritable breath. ‘No, that’s not all. What do you want me to say, Leah? That I wanted to see you? Fine – there you go,’ he said, abruptly.
Leah smiled a small, wintry smile. ‘You never were very good at saying what you’re feeling. It always was like getting blood out of a stone.’
‘I didn’t get much chance to improve before you walked out.’
‘I had a bloody good reason, and you know it,’ she said.
‘So why did you come, then, if I’m such a nightmare and you don’t want to see me?’
‘I never said …’ Leah sighed. ‘I’m not sure why I came,’ she concluded. ‘I haven’t had a good idea for a story in ten months. I haven’t written anything worth reading in I don’t know how long. I thought you might actually have something for me to work on, but an unidentifiable soldier? What am I supposed to investigate – the work you’re doing for the War Graves Commission? What happens to these men once you’ve dug them up? It’s worthy, of course, but it’d be a pretty dry piece …’
‘Well, there’s not nothing to go on, actually,’ Ryan said, leaning towards her and smiling his pleased, boyish smile again.
‘What do you mean? Peter said—’
‘I was going to tell you downstairs, but you stomped off.’
‘Well, what is it?’
‘Have dinner with me tonight and I’ll show you,’ he said.
‘Why not just tell me now?’ she suggested cautiously.
‘Dinner would be far more fun.’
‘No. Look, Ryan, I don’t think you and I should be … spending too much time together. Not like that.’
‘Oh, come on, Leah. Where’s the harm in it? We’ve known each other long enough …’
‘Apparently, we didn’t know each other quite as well as we thought,’ she said, glancing up. Anger sharpened her gaze, and she saw him flinch.
‘Just … have dinner with me tonight,’ he said, more softly. Leah swigged the last of her coffee, grimacing at the wan, bitter taste.
‘Bye, Ryan. I wish I could say it was good to see you again.’ She got up to go.
‘Wait, Leah! Don’t you even want to know what it is that we found on him? I’ll tell you – then you can decide whether or not to stay. Leah! He had letters on him – they’ve survived ninety-five years in the ground! Can you imagine? And these are no ordinary letters either,’ Ryan called after her. Leah stopped. There it was, that tiny sparkle; the shimmer of curiosity she felt before she began to chase down a story. Slowly, she turned back towards him.