Stef watched as the door at the top of the metal stairway slammed and the woman in the blue athletic gear glared at it, before tucking her car keys in her bag and marching up the street and into a shop.
His gazed moved on to the place that the crazy woman and her kid had disappeared into, with tables and chairs set outside.
So now he’d seen them: Robina and Rufus Gordon. Till now just names on Honor’s lips.
Not surprising that Honor hadn’t opened up to a mommy like that. Robina Gordon was a spitting wildcat with poison-tipped claws.
His head swivelled back as Martyn’s front door banged open and he stormed back down the stairs, cast Stef a freshly honed glare, then set off down the street in the opposite direction and crossed the busy road at the bottom. He’d changed into running gear and paused on the stretch of grass beyond the road to stretch out his hamstrings. Then he ran towards some railings and disappeared from view.
Stef thought toxic thoughts, shaken by a daylight viewing of Martyn. He saw that Martyn was what women would calla hunk. That was bad.
But toxic thoughts, however satisfying, were unlikely to have any actual effect. Thoughtfully, he straightened, and began to saunter towards the collection of chairs, tables and flowerpots through which Robina and Ru had made their way. Above the little white door was a sign that saidEastingdean Teapot.
Inside, apparently one of the day’s first customers, he chose a round wooden table and a chair with its back against thewall, facing the kitchen where a red-eyed Robina was drinking from a thick white mug, both hands wrapped around it, as if for stability. She was listening to the whisperings of a woman with pink hair. The kid, Rufus, was making cutlery scratchy noises at the back. After a minute, the kid emerged to take Stef’s order.
Stef glanced at the menu and was glad to see that an English tearoom actually served coffee. ‘I need black coffee, please.’ Ru flicked him a curious look when he heard the American accent but filled the order without comment.
The coffee was good and rich, maybe Costa Rican, and Stef breathed in the steam as he watched kitchen activity step up as customers arrived, calling greetings, and some of them even nodding to him, a stranger. Here, next to the ocean in this small place, folks were friendly. On his one previous visit to England Stef hadn’t really cared for it, maybe because Honor acted as if ‘England’ were another word for ‘paradise’. Or maybe it was because they’d never left London and he wasn’t a city boy, let alone thrilled by history, like Honor and Garvin. For him, old soon got old.
By the time he’d drunk two cups of coffee he’d thought things through. Robina had begun to work, albeit with nothing of the frantic pace set by the pink-hair lady. Nearly every table was occupied and Rufus threaded backwards and forwards with the orders. Stef stopped him as he breezed by. ‘Would you please ask the owner if she’d spare me a moment?’
Rufus looked suspicious.
Stef smiled. ‘Tell her that I won’t keep her long.’Brother-in-law.
Shrugging, Rufus swung back into the kitchen, tearing an order from his pad as he paused to speak to Robina.
After a lengthy and evidently dubious sizing up, Robina emerged from behind the counter. ‘Can I help you?’ It was difficult to believe that this was the same woman who had beenscreaming the F word up and down the street not much more than an hour ago.
Stef rose, extending his hand and making his voice low and rueful. ‘You certainly can. My name’s Stefan Sontag and I’m having awful trouble with my wife, Honor. I know that you’ve had trouble with her, too, and I’m hoping that between us, we can persuade her to come home to America with me.’
Robina’s eyes widened. ‘Honor’shusband?’
Stef took his seat again, making his movements relaxed and non-threatening, smiling boyishly. ‘That’s me.’
Slowly, Robina slid into the chair on the opposite side of the table. ‘I didn’t know Honor was married.’
Stef made his smile wobble. ‘She seems to have forgot, doesn’t she? Maybe—’ He lifted his hands in a gesture that said,I’m looking for ideas.‘Maybe if you could tell me something about this Martyn Mayfair guy she’s . . . with? It would be a huge help to me to know what I’m up against.’
The spark of curiosity in Robina’s eyes ignited into a flame of eagerness. ‘I can probably tell you more about him than you’ll ever need to know.’
* * *
When Stef finally left the Eastingdean Teapot he’d drunk enough coffee to float a boat and eaten a chunk of incredible cake.
In his room above the bar of the Fig Leaf pub, he fired up his laptop, opened a new document and began to tap, retrieving from his agile mind just about every detail that Robina Gordon had told him about Martyn Mayfair, adding in his own observations about Martyn’s property and lifestyle.
Plenty to work with.
Chapter Thirty-Two
Since yesterday and Ru’s visit, Honor hadn’t seen a soul she knew; not anybody from the Eastingdean Teapot nor any of the Mayfairs. Not even Stef. And especially not Martyn.
The day had been long and tense, not helped when she — belatedly — logged on to her email account and found a message from her dad:Stef’s jail time is over early. He’s looking for his wife and I think he knows where to look. I assume you’re in England, searching for your mother? That’s what we all thought when you took off. Did you find her? Is she still a flake? I’m afraid that if you’re looking to Robina to solve all your life problems, you’re in for a disappointment, unless she’s changed a lot.
But I’m still here, honey. Nothing will change my love for you. Nothing at all.
She’d had to blink back tears. Typed,Good guess, Dad. And coming to England’s not a decision I can regret. Except that, yeah, Stef’s here . . .
