Tomorrow — he looked at his watch:today— he would take his machine into his computer whizz in Brighton and get it checked out for viruses. But he was at the limits of his patience, endurance and talent and until then the machine could stay off.
He texted Ace to tell him all the dials should now be set to zero, texted Ru:Really sorry, I know it wasn’t you, I just lost my temper.Then rang Honor and, again, got her voicemail.
Ru replied:Yeh OK cd c u were freaked.Martyn squinted at his watch. Past four in the morning? He checked with the clocks in the kitchen, incredulous when they said the same. And felt worse than ever that his text had probably woken Ru up.
But the time didn’t stop him pulling on his shoes and setting off for the bungalow, knowing that he’d hardly be welcome when he got there. But hemust get to Honor.He knew Stef wouldn’t still be at the bungalow. If Honor had found him, she would have phoned Martyn. So she was hiding out from him. And he couldn’t blame her. And he hated himself for making her feel like that.
Breathing much faster than the exertion demanded, he made the distance in two minutes, scarcely noticing the palest blue-and-apricot dawn and the steely sea. His feet slowed as he reached the drive. There were no lights on in the bungalow and, unlike the houses either side, no closed curtains. Taking the stairs in three giant strides, he pressed on the bell and pounded on the door.
Nothing stirred.
He tried Honor’s phone again.It has not been possible to connect your call . . .
Cursing, he cut the connection, pressing so hard that the screen bowed. He rang Clarissa. She sounded alarmed. ‘Martyn? What’s the matter?’
‘I need the key to the bungalow.’
‘Now? It’s the middle of the night, Martyn, has Honor locked herself out? What about . . . ?’ She trailed away.
‘Exactly,’ he agreed. ‘What about her husband, who got into the bungalow without her permission? What about if Honor’s locked in there with him and he won’t let her answer the door?’
‘I’ll come right down.’
‘Good. Because in ten minutes, I start smashing windows.’ Martyn paced the patio and glared at the hawthorn bushes that filled the space between the bungalow and its neighbours, almost impossible to penetrate, squeeze past or climb over. As a key was about to arrive, he decided against trying to scale fences in and out of neighbouring gardens or doing anything else to wake the neighbours. The last thing he needed right now was a patrol car wailing up with its lights flashing.
Bad enough that the key arrived clutched in the hand of Clarissa, who had woken up enough to want to cling on to it whilst she hissed an interrogation into the early morning hush. Martyn listened for five seconds, decided that that was about four too long, and snitched the key out of her fingers. ‘You stay here,’ he instructed, jamming the key into the lock. But, of course, she followed him in.
It didn’t take him long to race through the few rooms, seeing them neat, clean . . . and empty. In the bedroom, he threw open the wardrobe and the drawers. Empty. Empty. Empty.
Fighting the urge to roar with rage, he picked up a note from the floor.See you in Hamilton Drives, babe.
Bastard.
Underneath Stef’s words, Honor had written,It’s time for me to go home. xxx
She’d known that he’d come looking — the message was undoubtedly for him.
It seemed as if the world had hit the pause button.
Clarissa came up quietly and, without a word, he showed her the note, hot with shame.
She made a small, inarticulate noise of pain. ‘Martyn, what I did was wrong—’
He shook his head. He’d done enough blame shifting. He did something he should do more often and put his arm around Clarissa. ‘It’s my fault that she’s gone.’
Chapter Thirty-Eight
Honor felt as if she hadn’t slept for days. In fact, she calculated fuzzily, battling a luggage cart that wanted to travel in circles, it was only about a day-and-a-half. It just felt like more. After lying awake all night at the hotel, she hadn’t been able to sleep on the flight, staring at movies without taking them in and picking at the airline food, tension banging inside her head.
Still, it was good to be home. Even if it was odd to be home.
Most of the voices around her were American, but she’d grown used to the pecking English accent and the ironic humour. And everyone was dressed for summer here because there would definitely be one, unlike the crazy English weather that would fry you one day and drown you the next.
Exiting the Arrivals hall she sagged, wishing she’d booked her transportation between the airport and Hamilton Drives ahead. But then she heard her name and suddenly there was long-haired Jessamine in shorts, waving, and even grinning Zach home from Texas, looking too big and manly in black denim cut offs to be her little brother.
And her dad, buttoned up in a tan golf shirt, who crossed the polished floor, yanked her from behind her luggage cart and into a bear hug. ‘When Will rang last night and said that Stefan had just gotten home, alone, I nearly lost my mind. If Jessamine hadn’t found out about the same time that you were on your way, too, I would have jumped on the first plane to England.’
He sounded so fiercely protective that Honor felt fresh tears prickling. ‘Well, here I am,’ was all she could whisper.
