My pulse quickens. ‘Why do you ask?’ I take the cup Annette was drinking from and place it in the butler sink.
‘I could tell you were trying to speak to her quietly, but you were interviewing her, weren’t you? I thought you were going to leave it?’
‘I’m just interested, that’s all.’
‘Because of the arson?’ He turns to me and narrows his eyes suspiciously. There is a part of me that wants to tell him the truth about Dorothea, about the possibility she was pushed down the stairs, the hidden sculpture she left for me to find, but it feels too late. I’ve kept too much back from him already.
‘Yes, partly, but also because Dorothea was important to me once.’
He laughs cruelly. ‘Like, a million years ago. There’s more to this, Ims. Admit it.’
‘No, there isn’t.’
‘Then why did Harry give me this to pass on to you?’ He reaches under the table and pulls out a dog-eared paperback that must have been on the chair next to him. He throws it at me. I make a clumsy attempt to catch it but it falls at my feet. I already know what it is before I’ve had the chance to see the cover.
I bend down to pick it up.
‘Well? It’s her autobiography, isn’t it?’
‘Biography,’ I mumble, unable to meet his eye.
I open my mouth to say something else but he snaps, ‘Save it. I don’t want to hear any more of your lies.’
Before I’ve had the chance to reply, he’s left the room. I race up the kitchen stairs after him, wanting to explain, but I’m just in time to see the front door slam and the roar of a car engine. I pull open the door. Josh is backing his car out of the drive, leaving me stranded here alone.
At least I can read Dorothea’s biography in peace, I think as I settle into one of the sofas, the dogs at my feet. I try and push away the uneasy feeling about my relationship with Josh. Things seem to have taken a turn for the worse since we’ve moved in here.
I open the book and despite my worries I experience a thrill. There is a short foreword detailing the author’s credentials and some of the biographies he’s published before, mostly on historical figures. I flick to the backbut there is no author photo and the final page just says ‘acknowledgements to come’. I’ve never read a proof copy of a book before. Inside the cover it states that the biography will be published in hardback, but this is a soft copy, cheap and flimsier than a regular paperback you would buy in the shops. I devour the first chapter. Sidney Crane has an easy, accessible way of writing so that I’m immediately transported to Dorothea’s childhood, learning about her growing up as Dorothy Bird in the small textile town of Clayton Rocks. It has more details about her father’s physical abuse towards her mother which Dorothea had mentioned briefly in the interview with Maria Hensley. It jogs a memory of that summer, one that I had forgotten until now.
It was a day or so after I first arrived at the villa. I had been terrified – I’d been so shy at fourteen and suddenly there we were in this big old house with a woman I had only met a handful of times before: usually when I’d been off school or had an inset day and Mum had taken me to work with her. I’d hidden in my bedroom most of that first day, even though my mum had tried to coax me out, but then, lured in by the most gorgeous cat I’d ever seen, I found my way into Dorothea’s studio. She was standing by the glass doors in a slant of sunshine that picked out the champagne tones in her blonde hair. ‘Come in,’ she’d said, smiling kindly. She’d noticed my eyes on the cat and she scooped him up into her arms. ‘He’s very gentle. His name’s Casper. Here, sit on this chair and you can have him on your lap. He loves a cuddle.’ I did as she saidand immediately the warmth and weight of Casper in my lap centred me and I felt my anxieties ebbing away. The studio was just on the right side of messy with canvases propped up against white walls, and even now I find the warm smell of acrylics soothing. Dorothea had sat on the chair opposite and told me to think of the place as my home. And then she reached across and patted my arm and said, ‘I was in your shoes once. I always wished I had somewhere to escape to so I want this to be your sanctuary. A place you can always come when things get tough. Okay?’
My eyes smart at the memory and I experience that familiar ache of regret that we didn’t stay in touch after my mum died. It’s something I want to ask Alison about, if only we were talking. She never replied to my snotty message and I’m still angry at her for going to see our dad in prison. I force my sister from my mind. Her betrayal still hurts. I’m reading on about Dorothea’s tough upbringing when my phone rings. Dennis’s name flashes up on screen.
‘Dennis! How are you? Are you home from the hospital?
‘Yes.’ He gives a little cough. ‘I’m all good. I was wondering if you would mind bringing Cady home. It’s so kind of you to have looked after her for me, but I miss the old girl.’
‘Of course. I’ll bring her over now. Do you want me to walk her first for you? Saves you going out?’
‘That would be grand if you don’t mind?’
‘Not at all. I’ll bring her over in about forty-odd minutes.’
‘Thank you, my dear. You’ve been a life saver. Quite literally.’ He laughs softly. ‘See you in a bit.’
I’ll miss Cady, it’s been lovely company having the dogs with me. But at least I get to keep Solly. I’ve found a joy I never thought I needed, just tramping over the rough terrain of the fields with the dogs, a kind of calmness despite the biting wind. It doesn’t stop my racing brain but it at least gives me an outlet for my energy.
As I lead the dogs through the kissing gate that exits the fields and leads to the lane, I spot Harry emerging from the driveway of his parents’ house. When he sees me his face brightens and he strides towards me. He bends down to make a fuss of the dogs and then his eyes meet mine. ‘How have you been?’
‘I’m good. How are you? Thank you so much for the book,’ I reply, noting how polite, how slightly awkward we are with each other, no longer friends, exactly, but more than acquaintances.
‘I was hoping to run into you, actually. I wanted to have a chat about Dorothea, but you’ve caught me on my way out, unfortunately. Perhaps we could arrange to meet up some other time?’ He checks his watch. ‘Sorry, I really must be off now. I’m supposed to be viewing a flatshare.’
I experience an unexpected kick of disappointment.
I watch as he gets into his car and then I walk past his house towards Dennis’s.
Cady starts pulling at the lead as soon as we head down Dennis’s garden path, and Dennis is at the front door before I’ve even knocked.
