Page 47 of Mirrors of the Past

‘Oh my God!’ She stared at the screen. In front of her was a group photograph of so many people that she wondered how the photographer had got them all to stand still for so long. In the centre was, of course, Elsie and Louis. This time she had a full-length shot of Elsie’s gown, which helped a lot in her quest for a copy of the dress. In front of them were a little girl and, strangely, a dog. Ranged to either side, was a collection of young women and young men. Rarely had she ever seen such a depiction of sheer beauty in those faces — whoever they were they all had bloody good genes.

The girl who seemed to be maid of honour, by virtue of the fact she was standing closest to the bridal party, had dark hair and a striking, if fairly haughty, expression. Something about that didn’t sit quite right with Tegan, though. If this was Viola, she was nothing like she’d imagined.

That’s because I wasn’t maid of honour!

The computer flickered and the lights in the office blinked on and off. Tegan shot out of her seat and stood up.

‘What the hell?’

I wasn’t maid of honour! The press liked to make things up so us New Yorkers sounded more important.

The lights flashed again and then went off completely. Her hands shaking, Tegan managed to right-click on the page and bookmark the link before the computer switched itself off completely.

I mean, I looknothing like the maid of honour! It’s clearly not me!

Out of the shadows in the room, the figure of a young woman appeared, quite small, fair-haired, wearing a long dress and clutching a smaller bouquet, walking slowly towards Tegan.

The thing was, though, it seemed that she was silently laughing. Almost, it seemed, at the ridiculousness of the report.

This is me. This is who you’re looking for . . .

Tegan thought she was going to faint. The room started swimming and going in and out of her vision, then to compound matters, another figure materialised close by the woman — a man, this time. Tall, dark and, even though his back was towards Tegan, she knew he’d be handsome.

Did I tell you how beautiful you looked that day?Tegan heard the man ask. He held his hand out to the girl.

No, she said simply. You didn’t . . .

Then Tegan’s phone rang and the lights came back on, and, thank God, the spell was broken.

Good God . . .

She sat down, shaking. She’d missed the call and for one bizarre moment she thought that it was going to be a voice from beyond the grave speaking to her. When she managed to fumble the phone towards her and saw an unknown number and a voicemail icon blinking, she was almost afraid to listen to it.

Nervously, she clicked the button and had to use both hands to hold it up to her ear. Part of her wanted to run out of the office, but another part of her was frozen to the spot. While she listened to the call connecting, she stared at the area the girl had appeared from. Nothing was there, and, of course, with the lights back on, it didn’t look sinister at all.

‘Tegan. Hi. Um. It’s Ryan. Can you call me back? There’s something I need to tell you.’ There was a beat. ‘Something — weird. Yeah. Thanks. Talk soon.’

It was almost as if he couldn’t find the words to describe what he needed to tell her, judging by the pauses and breaks in the message.

There was only one thing to do. She needed to speak to a human and really didn’t think Coren was the best choice right now. She looked at the call log and her finger hovered over Angelo’s number. But then she moved her finger up, pressed the unknown number and called Ryan back.

* * *

Ryan had found Tegan’s number in the notes Sybill had given him. He hesitated several times before finally calling her. It was work — sort of. Despite how weird it all sounded. And despite that it seemed like he’d lost his mind — or at least himself — for a few minutes as he’d walked through Pencradoc, his feet seeming to know exactly where to go.

His first thought had been to speak to Sybill. She was, to be fair, probably the best-placed person to talk to. Her knowledge of the two families at Pencradoc and Wheal Mount seemed, at times, encyclopaedic. She was bound to know, or at least have a good guess at, the provenance of the note — who, for example, in the Teague or Pencradoc families used to enjoy writing, and who, possibly more importantly, was involved with Viola.

Sybill was, he thought, unlikely to believe his story of where he’d found the notes and would probably know that it was a lie when he trotted out his cover story of how he’d discovered them. There were, of course, tons of hitherto undiscovered boxes and trunks and cases in the attics — part of his job was, he knew, to go through them all and log everything. But even though he was prepared to tell Sybill he’d discovered the papers there, he knew he had one of those faces where he couldn’t lie without it showing.

He actually wondered how he’d managed to keep his Glasgow job application secret from Sybill these last few days.

But, if he called Tegan, a) he wasn’t looking right at her when he said he’d discovered the papers in a trunk, and, b) she possibly already knew something of this Viola. Especially if she knew she’d been a bridesmaid at Elsie and Louis’ wedding.

He talked himself in and out of calling her several times before he finally took a deep breath and dialled her number.

Typically, though, there was no answer. He wondered if it was because she knew it was him calling and was deliberately ignoring the call — then logic took over and he reminded himself that they had never exchanged numbers and there was no reason why she’d ignore him when his name didn’t actually come up on the call log. Especially as Tegan did not seem the sort of person who would have already programmed the Wheal Mount contacts into her phone.

She rang back a few moments after he’d left a message and at first he wasn’t sure it was her. She sounded completely different on the phone. Guarded and edgy and insecure. And pretty nervous, actually.