My whole body fizzes with adrenaline as the pieces of the puzzle finally click into place. When I went to visit Irene she said how she’d missed Bobby so much and something about all those wasted years.And if it wasn’t for her, I wouldn’t have missed out on all those years with him. All those wasted years.They would only have been wasted years if she knew she could have spent them with him.
At the time I’d dismissed it as her not realizing he was dead. But what if Irene had seen Bobby recently? Harry and I had both spotted a smartly dressed older gentleman near the villa. And Lila saw the man in the woods that day. Was that Bobby? What if Annette had lied to Dorothea about his death so that she had a hold over her?
What if Dorothea hadn’t killed Bobby at all?
59
Rene
February 2024
When he sauntered down her path that crisp, cold morning she thought she must be hallucinating. But no. It was him. All the flesh and blood and bones of him. After nearly fifty long years, there he was. Her brother.
He looked surprisingly well – all that sunshine, she imagined. Living it up on a beach somewhere. He still had his thick head of hair, grey now instead of golden brown. But he’d kept his looks, albeit with more lines and jowls. He was dressed in a beautiful cashmere coat with a satin teal lining and polished brogues that looked handmade.
He’d always resembled a movie star, had her Bobby.
When he disappeared that summer of 1976, she hadn’t asked too many questions, even though she suspected it had something to do with Dorothy and her allegations.
‘You need to promise me, Reney,’ he had said as he called her from a phone box in the countrysidesomewhere, ‘not to tell anyone you’ve heard from me. Not even Edwin. You gotta promise. I’m being paid handsomely to disappear. It’s what I want. What I need.’
She knew Dorothy didn’t have the money or the means to pay him off. And she never really got to the bottom of what had gone on between them. But she’d kept her promise; not that anyone came looking for Bobby. That was what had surprised her the most. Nobody reported him missing. Everyone just assumed he’d left his job and his marriage and buggered off somewhere.
But Rene blamed Dorothy for all of it. She was the one who had sent her brother away. She was the reason why they’d only had sporadic contact over the last five decades. Rene had no choice but to watch in disgust as Dorothy Falkner, née Bird, became Dorothea Roe, a famous artist. The resentment had burned and burned inside her.
And now here he was at last.
When she opened the door she fell into his arms, pressing her face into his soft coat, taking in the expensive scent of tobacco and Marc Jacobs.
‘Oh my Gawd,’ she cried. ‘I can’t believe it’s really you.’
‘Surprise,’ he laughed. ‘Can I come in?’
She ushered him inside out of the cold. She’d been lonely since Edwin had passed on five years ago and her world had become very small. She was hoping Bobby was back for good, to give her a new lease of life.
‘What are you doing here?’ she exclaimed, taking his coat and fussing over him, making him tea and then cranking the heating up. ‘After all this time.’
‘I had some unfinished business to attend to,’ he said with a wide smile showing off a perfect set of white teeth. ‘And I could use your help, Reney.’
She clasped his hand between hers. ‘Anything,’ she said. ‘As long as you promise to stay.’
‘Tell me everything you know about my ex-wife,’ he said, his eyes lighting up. ‘I’m thinking of paying her a visit.’
60
Imogen
Irene opens the door and doesn’t look surprised to see me. Her gaze travels over my wayward hair, my jeans that smell faintly of petrol, and the duffel coat I hurriedly threw on to walk Solly. She looks pristine in a beige-and cream-toned outfit, similar to what she’d worn the other day, and a face full of make-up.
Her eyes narrow. I can see that her fingers are nicotine stained. ‘I knew you’d be back,’ she says. ‘You better come in.’
The same expensive wool coat is hanging over the end of the banister. As I pass it I take the opportunity to peel the corner back so that I can see the lining. It’s torn, a patch of teal satin is missing.
‘Is Bobby alive?’
She arches an eyebrow. ‘Of course he’s bleedin’ alive. He’s in the living room.’
My stomach flips. I’d been half-expecting this, but excitement surges through me at the prospect of seeing him.
