Bea watched as Isla let go of her boys’ hands and they began to run towards the woman. Her arms were stretched open wide, and a tsunami of tears was flowing down her cheeks. Having hugged both little boys, the woman stood up and embraced Isla, the two women clinging to each other.
Bea grabbed Nolan’s arm. ‘Nolan, the woman. It’s the woman from last night I couldn’t place.’
‘What woman? What are you talking about?’
‘She’s been here, on the boat. I couldn’t place her accent but it’s New Zealand. That must Gwen – Isla’s mum and Martha’s daughter.’
‘Ah, so the headscarf is a disguise in case Martha clocks she’s back before the big reunion. That’s a massive secret to keep. Good job it’s not for much longer,’ added Nolan.
Bea turned around and looked at the painting of Morgan and Patsy. ‘Call it a hunch but I think Hemingway and Fernsby are back on the case.’
‘You’re talking in riddles. Spit it out,’ encouraged Nolan, intrigued.
‘Last night, I saw Gwen arrive at the B&B and she seemed familiar but I couldn’t figure out why.’ Bea walked over to the painting. ‘She’s been on the boat and asking questions about this painting and I see now that the reason she looks so familiar is because she looks like Patsy … and I don’t mean just looks like her, she could be her.’
‘She can’t be the woman in the painting, she’s way too young.’
‘I know, so think about it.’ Bea looked back at Gwen and Isla, who were walking down the jetty and about to get a river taxi. ‘Call yourself a detective? I think the woman in the painting is Martha.’
‘But that’s Patsy,’ Nolan said, gesturing towards the painting.
Bea took out her phone and searched Google, then passed the phone to Nolan.
He read, ‘“The name Martha is biblical. First popular in France, then after the Reformation, in England. There, it evolved, being shortened to Matty as well as Patty. American colonists then transformed it further into Patsy.” It’s not that much shorter,’ he remarked, ‘just one letter, but anyway, you really think this is Martha?’ He stared at the painting.
‘Yes, I do and I think Gwen recognised her mother too. The question is – what are you going to do about it?’ asked Bea.
‘There’s only one thing to do, ask her.’
* * *
After a day of selling paintings, Bea was sitting in The Little Blue Boathouse preparing for her meeting. People were due to start arriving at 7pm so for the next hour she would be full steam ahead.
Felicity and Rona would be arriving with refreshments any time soon and Julia and Flynn were bringing chairs from the conference room at Starcross Manor. Bea wondered how everyone was going to fit inside the Boathouse but Nolan had pointed out that since it was such a glorious warm night, they could set up the chairs outside, which was a perfect solution.
Bea rehearsed over and over again what she was going to say at the meeting. After the conversation with Felicity, she felt a renewed sense of strength. If she could get the villagers on board with her idea, Heartcross would be a safer place for everyone. She knew it was all about the number of volunteers and the money they could raise to get the project up and running, but surely that would be doable with the likes of Flynn and celebrity chef Andrew Glossop living in the village. With the power of social media and the local press, surely they would be able to create awareness? All she could do for now was hope.
Hearing an engine sputter to a stop, she walked outside to see Julia waving at her through her van window. As soon as Julia jumped out of the van, she exclaimed, ‘No crutches!’
‘I know! It feels okay at the moment,’ replied Bea, looking down at her ankle.
‘We have the chairs,’ said Flynn, opening up the back of the van.
‘Perfect. Nolan has suggested we have the meeting outside, on the other side of the Boathouse.’
‘Brilliant idea. Also, we thought this might come in handy.’ He handed her a battery-operated microphone.
‘Thanks, I think.’
‘You’ll be great. I’m looking forward to hearing what you have to say.’ Flynn began passing the chairs to Nolan and Julia, who lined them up in rows facing the river. Flynn hammered a sign into the ground outside the entrance with an arrow directing the residents to the far side of the Boathouse, whilst Bea stood in front of the chairs, imagining the sea of faces that would be looking back at her in around an hour’s time. Her heart began beating nineteen to the dozen.
Nolan appeared at her side and smiled warmly at her. ‘You’ve got this. What you have to say is important and once you get in your stride, the nerves will disappear.’
‘I hope so,’ she said, placing the microphone down on a small trestle table that Julia had put in front of the rows of chairs, along with a jug of water and a glass.
‘Shall we set up the tea, coffee and refreshments outside too?’ asked Flynn, looking towards Bea and Julia. ‘It might make it easier?’
They both nodded and Flynn and Nolan disappeared inside to bring out the aluminium urns.
