“Mrs. Winthrop. Glad to hear from you, dear. I’ve not found anything—”
“How’s Cecil?” I touch my hair, my dress.
“Just fine, I expect. He’s a boy, with little to trouble him.”
I squeeze the cord. “Please do check on him, would you? Poor chap might need a friend.”
“I presume that isn’t why you rang.”
I lean my forehead on the booth. “Mr. Gould, I want you to look into a man for me.” What I’ve just seen suddenly eclipses so many other concerns. “Please tell me whatever you can about his position, his family, any of it. I’ll ring you again this time tomorrow to see what you’ve found.”
“Twenty-four hours? I’ve other clients, you know.”
“None half as interesting.”
A grumble. “Who is it?”
I force myself to say it. “My husband. Ansel James Winthrop.”
Silence. “You can’t be serious.”
“It was you who told me not to trust anyone. See what you can find, won’t you?” Before he asks more, I pivot. “Is there any news on the case?”
“Not good. Sabine’s had you followed and petitioned to permanently terminate your rights to manage Cecil’s fortuneandto gain your inheritance. She claims you’ve slept in a cave, gone for a dip in—”
“You’re so clever, Mr. Gould. I’m certain you’ll find a way to stop her.” Sabine’s agent has seen us. That’s the only way word could have reached her.
“You’re not giving me much to work with. Especially if she finds out any ofthis.”
“Surely you’ve handled worse cases.”
“Even the worst are simpler than this mess. You must return soon, my dear. The hearing is on the 18th of September.”
Two weeks. That’s a mere fortnight to untangle the mess my life once was…and has become. “And if I’m not there?”
“Sabine wins by default. See to it you’re here.Withyour memories intact.”
“Look after Cecil, will you?” I whisper. “I’ll ring soon.” I return the receiver to its stand and exit with a quick wave of thanks toward the publican. The last thing I wish to do is return to that cramped old telephone booth on the morrow and hear what Gould has to say about AJ.
But I won’t miss that appointment for anything. Because if there is one thing I desperately need, it’s the truth.
Chapter 20
AJshouldbeeasyto spot, but when I leave the Sloop, there’s no sign of his familiar suspenders over a white shirt. Only the groan of rigging and the gulls crying. The heavy questions I have for him drive me forward with bold, eager steps along the wharf, but it’s as if he disappeared—or I imagined the whole scene.
I keep walking, head down. A shadow moves along the shore below—a solitary figure, barefoot, his white shirt tugged by the wind, and I know it isn’t AJ. And yet…
My scalp prickles. The dream hovers in my peripheral vision like a moth I cannot quite see.
Is it? Can it be him?
I climb down to where the massive sea pummels the empty shoreline then innocently recedes in foamy shallows, over and over again. I squint, trying not to stare at the lone man on the beach, but unable to look away. Gulls scream overhead.
But his face is not familiar. This is an aged man, more father than suitor. A book is tucked beneath his arm and he stands forfar too long, staring out across the water as if he sees something I do not.
I sit on a flat boulder and lean back, closing my eyes, trying to breathe. More than ever, I need my memories back. I need solid footing to face whatever I find about my husband. Fine sand sprays my bare arm and I tuck my hair away in a move that’s so familiar I want to cry. I close out the world and let my senses take over.
A deep breath, and suddenly I hear in my head the songs that could only belong to this place.
