“Maybe.” Maybe I needed more time. Maybe she did.
* * *
“That should stopthe ivy from growing back – hopefully.” I put down the tools I’d been using.
“It’ll be back. It always returns.” Nan sat down. She looked tired. Her new great-granddaughter had been keeping them awake and I knew she was worried about Anya.
“Maybe not. I’ll keep an eye on it in spring and see if it starts to grow back. If it does, I’ll try something else.”
“You’re definitely staying then?”
I studied her. So this was what this conversation was about.
“That’s the plan.”
“I heard the island council had commissioned you to do the refurb on old Lyme Manor.”
“News really does travel fast.” I’d only heard about it myself two days before
Nan grinned. “Wasn’t sure if it was true but you’re incapable of telling a lie. How long will that take you?”
“Months, if not a year. We don’t really know the extent yet of what can be saved so there will be a few stages of planning. And once that’s underway, I’m looking at the hall that’s on the same site.”
“What’s it going to be used for?”
“Museum, new library. Then artists’ studios and a shopping outlet, but for independent traders. That’s all I’ve been told so far and it could change.” I wasn’t telling her anything more than what would be available in the public domain in the next day or two, and I didn’t know any more. Only the first phase of restoring the manor was one hundred percent certain.
“So you’re becoming an islander?”
“I thought it took twenty years to become an islander.” Morris Glenworthy, who ran a local baker’s, was still referred to as a newcomer even though he’d been there fifteen years.
“It depends. And once you’re an islander you can leave and come back whenever. Like Anya.” Her eyes glittered.
“She said the interview went well.” I’d had a text yesterday, when she’d gotten into her taxi to head back to the train station. She’d solely travelled for the interview, and then had to get straight back to London as there was a function she’d had to attend, an awards ceremony. I’d been at the council putting forward a proposal for the building that I’d probably worked three days straight to get in on time, after only hearing about the commission at short notice.
It had felt like a return to old days as I’d swapped ideas and banter with my partners. And we’d talked about Ryan, what he would’ve said, what ridiculous ideas he would’ve suggested that when we broke them down, would’ve worked.
I could talk about him without being tugged under a tidal wave of guilt. For months, more, I’d avoided work conversations or trying to remember him with other people. Now I could. I was allowed to miss him. We all were.
“It did. She hasn’t said whether or not she’s been offered the job yet. I found the letters Marcy and Donald wrote to each other. Shall I pass them to you to tell Anya about?” Nan stood up, now looking a lot less tired.
“Sure.” I’d read all of Marcy’s letters, most of them before Anya had gone to London, some of it through screen shots she’d taken of the remaining pages. It ended before Julia’s death, so we never found out what actually happened that day. I’d sent off for the death certificate and managed to dig up the police reports. All the other people on board the boat verified that Donald had not been anywhere near Julia when she’d gone overboard. He’d been with Marcy and three others, sitting on the deck, playing cards.
“Follow me.”
Nan led me into the guesthouse. I felt like I knew every inch of it now, with Janie spending the summer here and Anya. The kitchen was still busy, the rooms mainly full. I’d moved into one for a couple of weeks while the older part of my house was completed, the barn having a renovation at the same time into a gallery.
A couple of guests were in the lounge, a bottle of something on the table between them, both reading. One of the guesthouse’s cats, Marley, had slipped in and was basking in the sunlight that cascaded through the window. I’d been drawing her occasionally, then using the image in a picture.
Nan went into a bureau that needed a key and pulled out a large envelope, not overly thick, and handed it to me.
“I think there will be more somewhere. There are still a few more boxes to look through that are in the attic. But these might answer some of your questions. Give Anya a call and tell her, will you? I’d do it myself but I think she’d rather hear from you. But if she tells you about the job, make sure you don’t keep it a secret.”
“I’m not promising anything.” I took the envelope and headed to a seat near the window, my knee invaded by Marley.
Inside the envelope were several thick pieces of paper, almost like parchment, some covered with the fluent cursive script I was familiar with. Others were written in a heavier hand, the style less natural.
I took one of Donald’s letters, seeing that the date was roughly six months after Julia’s death. One of Nan’s afternoon staff dropped a coffee next to me and a plate of sandwiches. It made me smile. I’d arrived here with just a bag and the wish to be carried off into the sea and yet somehow this island had become my saviour.
