I nod slowly, as if hearing this news for the first time.
“A watch?”
“Yeah.” His gaze holds mine. “Good make, wind-up one, bit of an antique maybe. Like I said, it’s not really worth anything but it means a lot to my dad.”
Shaun’s visit starts to make more sense: his dad knows the Rolex is worth a few thousand, and yet he can’t find it. So he’s sent his son on this errand to retrieve it.
It’s not really worth anything.His lie, to match mine.
“Belonged to your grandad, did it?”
“Yeah.” He takes another slurp of tea. “So… have you come across anything like that?”
Coco ambles back to her basket and lies back down with ahuffof contentment.
I could just go upstairs and retrieve the rest of the stuff from the annex, the rings, the old key, the old phone, and everythingelse—hand it all over to him. Simply lie about the wristwatch, pretend I’d never seen it. But then I’d never know what it all meant; I’d never solve the mystery of the little room.
More importantly, there’s still something about this stranger—about his story—that doesn’t feel quite right. I just can’t figure out what it is yet.
“Doesn’t ring any bells,” I say, shaking my head. “Sorry.”
His face falls. “That’s a shame. You’re sure?”
“Pretty sure. Leave me a number. I’ll get in touch if anything turns up.”
I take my phone out and type in the digits he recites. Casually, as if I’m still typing in his name, I switch the phone to silent and select the camera, taking a surreptitious picture of the man sitting opposite me. If he notices me doing it, he doesn’t give anything away.
I’m about to give him my number in return when the doorbell rings.
Eileen Evans greets me on the doorstep. She’s dressed in a dark-green belted raincoat and matching bucket hat, despite the sunny weather, a long purple skirt, and thick-soled black pumps. A circular white cake tin with an orange lid is clasped carefully under one arm.
After a brief greeting, she says: “I hope you like Victoria sponge? A little moving-in present for you and your lovely family.”
“That’s very kind,” I say. “Thank you. The kids will love that.”
She holds out the cake tin in both hands.
“No allergies, intolerances, vegans, or other food-related nonsense in the household, I hope?”
I shake my head. “No, they’re definitely cake fans. Especially Callum, he could eat—”
“Good,” she says. “Glad to hear it. Far too much of that kind of nonsense around today, in my opinion.”
“Thanks again, Eileen, it really is a lovely gift.” I gesture behind me toward the kitchen. “Listen, I’m really sorry but I’ve actually got someone here at the moment? I should probably…”
“I see,” she says curtly. “In that case I’ll let you get back to your guest. I do hope you enjoy the sponge cake.”
When I come back Shaun is standing near the back door, his empty mug on the kitchen counter.
“Thanks for the cuppa.” He glances back toward the hall. “Actually, could I just quickly use your toilet before I head off?”
“Sure.”
He walks back into the entrance hall, slowly, eyeing first the closed door to the den, then the cupboard under the stairs.
“Top of the stairs,” I say. “Then turn right.”
He gives me a sheepish thumbs-up and disappears up the staircase.
