‘Do you know where I can find Fiona?’
‘That’s me,’ she said cautiously.
‘Can I give you this?’ he asked, his voice brimming with casual indifference as he picked up a cardboard box and thrust it her way. Fiona squinted at him, her instincts on high alert. The box felt light, almost as if empty, and curiosity gnawed at her. ‘How long will you be?’ he asked.
She read the labels. There were two. The larger label gave the pub’s address and a smaller one just said ‘Fiona’, with no surname. ‘How long will I be?’ she asked curiously.
‘Yes,’ he said, rolling his eyes at her, ‘I’ve got a long drive back up to London.’
‘To where precisely?’
As he mentioned the name of a wine company – one known for acquiring rare and valuable wine – her throat tightened, and she fought for breath. The injustice boiled within her. Someone was definitely trying to frame her.
‘What’s in the box?’ she asked, trying to keep her voice steady despite the growing urgency in her chest.
He shrugged, a nonchalant gesture that only deepened her suspicions. ‘Just a delivery. Nothing special.’
The words lingered between them, heavy with what he had not said.
‘Why are you really here? Who are you really looking for?’ she pressed, her instincts screaming at her to be cautious.
He hesitated, the corners of his mouth twitching. ‘Look, I’m just doing my job,’ he replied, but there was a flicker of uncertainty in his eyes.
In a moment of clarity, she realized she needed to check the contents of the box. She shook it, then felt his hands snatch it back from her.
‘You’re part of this, aren’t you?’ she accused, her voice sharp. But before she could say anything more, he and his motorcycle had roared off, taking the evidence with them.
Without thinking, she sprinted down the alley, her breath coming in quick bursts. She had to get away. As she ran, adrenaline coursed through her veins, dulling the surrounding cold. The sound of her heart thundering in her ears drowned out the world.
Halfway up the hill, she cursed herself for not trying harder to hold on to that box. She should have destroyed it. Or at least opened it to find out what was inside. What if the courier turned around again and delivered it to the pub, when she was safely out of range?
She panted up the rest of the hill. At the top of the village,she paused and stared at her aunt’s cottage, before rushing past, out onto a footpath she had often taken with Ivy – the Tarka Trail, which meandered around the coast, then snaked inland through the glorious Devon countryside. For over an hour, Fiona wandered, listening to the waves crash with a steady beat.
She now understood how the thief had disposed of the wine. When she’d shaken the box, she had felt the rattle of light but bulky plastic inside, confirming her suspicions. There would have been thick protective plastic pouches inside the box for someone to stuff with wine bottles. Despite his shifty look, the courier was most probably an innocent pawn. There was no hint that the wine was stolen – it was just being collected from a pub which wanted to sell surplus stock.
The thief must have requested Fiona’s name be added to the address slip, and had presumably been planning for Rose to take delivery of the box, see Fiona’s name and put the final nail in the sommelier’s coffin. Fiona wished she had grabbed that box and destroyed it. If he hadn’t already done so, the courier would return later, planting more evidence linking Fiona to the crime.
She turned to retrace her steps, mulling over what she had discovered. A brisk wind whipped her hair round her face, and she stopped to untangle it. She might have unravelled the clues regarding how the thief was selling on the wine, but that brought her no closer to unmasking the culprit. She slowed her pace and looked down at Brambleton Beach, where seashells and driftwood littered the golden sand. The summer crowds were gone, leaving the shoreline peaceful and serene. At the far end of the bay, a group armed with litter pickers were collecting washed-up plastic.
Fishing a strand of hair from her mouth, Fiona watched the litter team pick its way along the shoreline. If only clearing away her own mess was as simple. She lumbered on, listening to the waves crash with a steady beat, the wind whipping herhair round her face. She pictured the police knocking on Ivy’s door and fear gripped her. Fiona had tried, but she couldn’t do this alone; she needed help. Surely now Ivy would break her confidence and rescueher niece. She switched on her phone, intending to warn Ivy, but she let out a groan: no signal.
As she walked into the village, Fiona’s phone pinged. She pulled it out and saw a message sent an hour earlier from Ivy. ‘Where are you?’ There were also four missed calls. All from Ru. Her heart dropped like a stone through dark water. Too late to return his calls now. He would be prepping for evening service and have his own phone switched off. In her mind’s eye, she saw them: Ru and Kim on the narrow staircase, her hand on his arm. A hollow ache settled in her chest.
The phone vibrated in her hand. She glanced down. A message from Ru. Was this a vitriolic parting shot beforeheblockedhernumber? How ironic that the tables were now turned. She crossed her fingers, knowing that wouldn’t be like him. Maybe he didn’t want to part badly either. Fiona opened the message.
Once George has found a replacement, I’m heading back to London.
That was it. No beating heart emoji, not a single kiss, no request she meet him before he left, or a suggestion she go with him. The pain in her heart felt unbearable and she slumped, clutching the phone, tears coursing down her cheeks.
She loved him so much and she’d been so wrong. Ru should never have gone behind her back to the investors, but his motive for doing that was his instinct to protecther, not to protect his career. Ru had accepted that what he had done was wrong, and then he had put his own future on the line, risked upsetting his backers to come and work in Devon, not because he wouldn’t take no for an answer, but because he really loved her. Shehadn’t needed to earn his love by passing that exam; he had given it freely. Now she had lost it forever, but what cut deeper was that she had lost his respect.
Before she could turn her key in the lock, the front door opened, and Fiona found herself looking into Ivy’s troubled face. Had the police already been? ‘I’ve been worried. Where have you been all afternoon?’
Fiona pushed past her, tore off her coat and threw it at a peg. ‘I went for a walk. I need to break free from this. I can’t study!’
Ivy pulled a sceptical face. ‘Well, that’s no bad thing. Burying yourself in books won’t solve your problems.’
‘I tried.’ Fiona could feel tears pricking at her eyelids. She gulped. ‘I went to see Rose.’
