Theywerestrangers to each other.Priddy had no excuse for his pang ofdisappointment, for the reflection that Merou hadn’t seemed likethat kind of guy.Maybe his disappearance was just as well.For allhis many foul-ups so far, Priddy had managed to steer clear ofmarried men.
Whatwould he do if Merou turned up again now?Priddy’s virtue wasuntried.No really attractive married man had pursued him.Thestrange parchment disintegrated and blew away in a handful ofglittering dust.Holding the bundle of clothes to his chest, Priddymade his way slowly back to the car.
She wasboiling hot inside, as if the summer day Merou had conjured stilllingered there.Priddy opened the passenger door as well as hisown, then flipped up the boot.Stood staring, one hand claspedtight on the lid, at the wickerwork basket inside.
It waslike a bloody fairy tale, or a children’s yarn from one of thebooks his mum kept in a box in the loft, dog-eared relics of herown childhood, stories from a world where kids were sent off for aday in the country with enough food in a hamper to stop an ox.Carefully Priddy lifted the red-and-white checked tablecloth.Beneath it, inexplicably packed in straw, was a bottle ofelderflower cordial and a handsome green-glass goblet—just one, asif Merou had known that Priddy would end up alone.A brown paperpacket opened at his touch to reveal the kind of sandwiches he’dused to yearn for while his mum slapped peanut butter on MightyWhite and tartly told her offspring to like it or bloody well maketheir own—a big ciabatta bun sliced in half, well stuffed with goodCheddar and, from the smell of it, a little Parmesan.Marmitehelping the butter to stick it all down.A string of jewel-likecherry tomatoes, glistening fresh on their vine, and just to placea mundane crown on all this glory, a bag of Quavers crisps.Strawberries in a wooden punnet, mysteriously perfect despite theheat, and a pot of Rodda’s best clotted cream.
Hisfirst thought was that Merou had tracked down and interrogated Kit.No-one else knew the half of what Priddy might like, in an idealworld, to find beneath the lid of a picnic basket.But Kit wasn’talways discreet, and not even to him had Priddy confided hispenchant for ciabatta and parmesan.Tastes like those would havegot him lynched in the lunch room at Land’s End Secondary.Meroucouldn’t possibly have known.
But thewhole bloody thing was impossible.Briefly Priddy entertained avision of Merou leaping naked into the Vauxhall while he slept,racing back down to the village and acquiring this little feastfrom the Costcutter.Well, he could’ve got the Marmite and crispsfrom there.Everything else...Priddy gave up on the concept ofeverything else, on the entire mystery.The food was there and sowas he.Further, he was hungry, just as he had been at breakfast,his insides clamouring to be nourished and not just left to ache inpeace.
Priddyspread the cloth, in honour of the day and his vanished friend.Itwas really too cold to sit outside, but he settled cross-leggedwith the picnic basket beside him, poured a big glass of thecordial and held it up to the sun.
Chapter Six
FlightLieutenant Trewin looked very different out of uniform, an ordinarymiddle-aged man in jumper and jeans.He was eyeing the lighthousestairs apprehensively, as did most of Priddy’s rare guests.“It’sall right,” Priddy said.“No-one climbs that lot if they don’t haveto.There’s a couple of chairs and a table in the little porchthrough there, and I’ll grab you a cuppa from the keeper’s cottage.Won’t take five minutes.”
“Don’t worry about the tea.I do want to talk to you,though.”
“Come on through.”Priddy led him into the glass-topped lean-toon the leeward side, where previous and more enterprising keepershad grown their tomatoes.Maybe he’d have a go himself.It was sadto see the pale brown skeletons decaying in their pots, althoughuntil now it had never struck him that way.Not that he could evercompete with cherry tomatoes on the vine, so fresh and firm they’dpopped on his palate like grapes.What were tomatoes in French?Hewondered what name Merou would’ve made up for those, to tease himand keep him guessing...
“Priddy?”
Herecollected himself sharply.“Sorry.Sit down, please.”
“Thanks.Is Mr Merouac still here?”
Priddy banged a palm down on the table, making Trewin jump.Two days had passed since his picnic on the cliffs.He’d spent agood deal of that time playing back Merou’s visit, wondering if itloaned itself to aSixth Senseplot denouement.He’d forgotten about Trewin.“Ofcourse!You saw him too.”
“I beg your pardon?”
“Merou.Merouac, I mean—you saw him, met him.Talked tohim.”
Trewinscratched his head.“Yes, I did.”
“He isn’t here now, I’m afraid.He had some family stuff tosort out.”Priddy paused, then added, because coming from Merou ithad sounded worldly, man-to-man, “You know how it is.”
Trewinjust looked puzzled.“I do indeed, Mr Priddy.But—”
“Oh, don’t call me that, please.Makes me think you’re talkingto my dad.”
“Should I call you Jem, then?What would youprefer?”
Mountain king.Blue-eyes.Daisy-brained sweetheart.NeverPriddy-boy, because I’m more than that, more than the pretty boy ofRosewarne Cove.“Just Priddy,please.”
“All right.Listen—someone from the police will be calling totalk to you soon, but I live just upcoast by Carn Galver, so Ithought I’d look in on you on my way home.Merouac’s definitelygone?”
Priddynodded.Then he caught himself, afraid he’d dropped Merou in it.“Iknow he was meant to report to Hawke Lake or something.Didn’t hedo that?”
“No, he didn’t.”
“He had to leave suddenly.It sounded like a familyemergency.”
“Priddy, there is no-one called Jacques Merouac listed as aregistered boat-keeper.Parts of the vessel that ran ashore here onFriday have been recovered, and she’s called theSweet Rose, notLyonesse.There were fivecrew on board, all still missing.”
Priddytook this in.He tried to, at any rate.He liked Trewin.But hiswords were like crows in a greenhouse, flapping impotently,bouncing off the glass.They’d got in here by mistake.Onlyparakeets would do in Priddy’s lighthouse conservatory, where hegrew tomatoes and delicious, juice-packed pommes de mer.But he hadto get a grip: most likely Trewin and his SAR crew had spent theirlast two days in high winds and heavy seas, scouring the waters offHagerawl for the missing sailors.“What does this have to do withMerouac?”
“I don’t know.That’s what the police will be hoping you’ll beable to help them find out.Meantime, I’m concerned that I left youalone with him, and I want you to be careful.”
