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Chapter 13
While we are driving, listening to Phil Collins, Ted pretending to wince at every new song that comes on, I text Suki:
It’s coming together well. I’m moving to the beach to get a more local angle on the travel article. It’s stunning here, our followers will love it!
Then I send her a picture of the view from Gerry’s patio.
She sends back a photo of a skinny Frappuccino, I assume referring to the fact that I am still on thin ice. The Love Life Instagram account has hundreds of notifications, and I open it to see photos of people at the community fete who have tagged #LoveLife, #ShopLocal, and #GenuineJersey. There’s a beaming photo of Jenny behind an empty trestle table.
‘Oh, look, Ted, people must have gone to the fete after I posted about it. Jenny sold out of jam!’
‘That’s because your broadcast was so inspiring,’ he says. I glance across at him, looking for the sarcasm, but there is none.
While I have a moment, I also message Gran and have a painfully slow back and forth with her over WhatsApp.
Laura: Is now a good time to talk, Gran?
Gran: Just heading to the tip. Mike Johnson from five down agreed to help me take my Amazon boxes. We’re getting a pasty on the way. Did I tell you about the new pasty shop on Grave’s End Road?
Laura: No. Silly question, but Mum didn’t have phobias, did she? Of the dark and seagulls?
Gran: No. Where did you get that idea?
Laura: I thought not. Don’t worry, we’ll chat later.
As we drive, Ted points things out to me, the honesty boxes at the side of the road where you can leave your money in exchange for freshly grown fruit and veg; Elizabeth Castle, the fortress in the sea I noticed yesterday. Ted tells me you can walk to the castle at low tide, but once the sea comes up, it can only be reached by boat. I love hearing these details about the island, and it seems too soon that we arrive at our destination – a large granite farmhouse on the outskirts of town.
Mill Manoris engraved on the stone gatepost, the lettering painted in gold. Through the gate, a circular drive winds around an old stone cider press, filled with orange dahlias. The house itself has wisteria and white roses covering half of the front wall.
‘Right, this is Maude’s place. Maybe you’ll get some answers from her,’ says Ted, nodding towards the house. ‘There’s a car in the drive and the front door is open, so someone must be home. Are you impressed with my detective work?’
‘So impressed, Ted,’ I say, biting back a grin. ‘I did leave her a message, but she hasn’t called me back. Maybe I had the wrong number, maybe these Le Maistres all have some kind of phone aversion.’
‘Well, this way you can at least ask to see some photos of her son – see if this treasure hunt of yours is going to be worth the effort,’ says Ted, a mischievous glint in his eye.
‘Ha ha, I do need to get my case back, you know. This isn’t all about him being a potential—’
‘Kablammo.’
I wish I hadn’t told Ted about the kablammo.
‘It’s not all about the kablammo either,’ I say, rolling my eyes at him.
‘Sure,’ Ted nods slowly.
‘It’s not!’ I push him on the arm. ‘Do you want to come?’
‘I think I’ll leave you to dazzle your prospective mother-in-law. I need to pick up some things for Dad’s party tonight. You can walk into town from here – just take this road down the hill and you’ll end up at the harbour. Shall I meet you outside your hotel in an hour?’
‘OK, thank you so much, Ted.’
Our eyes meet again. He was so quiet at the house, but now, back in the car, on our own, he’s different again, a new energy to him. There’s suddenly so much I want to ask him; about being a doctor, why his wife left, if he’d take her back tomorrow if she came home. I like hearing him talk. No doubt it’s the journalist in me, always keen to get ‘the story’. I have to stop myself trying to bite into the core of Ted’s tale.
I get out on the drive, and watch him drive away, then I walk towards the house, the case trundling along the gravel behind me.
‘Hello,’ I call from the front step. The door opens onto a large open hallway, with several doors off each side. ‘Hello?’ I call again.
There’s no answer, so after a few minutes I decide to walk around the side of the house – maybe Maude is in the garden and can’t hear me. The lawn to the side stretches around to a beautifully kept garden, split onto terraces, flower beds laden with white roses and giant purple daisies.
