Chapter 32
Charlie rolled up outside the shop at a little before six the following morning in Jojo’s deep burgundy two-seater sports car, soft-top down.
Kate had spoken only to Liv about her escape plan, assuring her sister that the whole trifle incident wasn’t a big deal in the grand scheme of things.
It wasn’t necessarily true—Fiona was hopping mad, but the publishers seemed to be running with the “no publicity is bad publicity” chestnut.
Things had certainly gained traction overnight.
It was turning into just the kind of story social media loved, micro-scandal on top of micro-scandal, with the ongoing mystery of who actually wrote the book constantly fueling the fire.
The book community was ablaze with it, names being tossed back and forth, timelines being spliced together, amateur sleuth senses on high alert trying to be the one to get to the bottom of it.
Kate had exhausted herself reading threads into the small hours, a dead weight of anxiety lodged firmly in her chest. Her name was being well and truly trashed, her online absence since the reveal the subject of hot debate.
People assumed she’d run shamefaced for the hills when she’d been exposed, like a scammer trying to steal someone’s life savings.
She raised her hand to let Charlie know she was on her way down, wheeling her overnight case to the door and standing for a second before closing it behind her. She was exhausted, her angel wings tattered from being so tightly folded around the book.
The small flat had become her haven from the world since the divorce, but it was time to swap one temporary sanctuary for another.
“I can imagine Jojo channeling his inner James Bond driving this,” she said, wheeling her case out onto the street.
He loaded her bag into the back seat beside his own.
“Or his inner Bond villain, depending on who he was trying to make an impression on,” Charlie said. “It was one of his many props.”
Kate settled into the cocoon of the ivory-leather passenger seat, already warmed by the morning sun.
“You look knackered,” he said, glancing at her as he pulled away on the quiet street.
“I didn’t sleep so well,” she said, not needing to add what had kept her awake.
Charlie reached an arm behind her seat and handed her a rolled plaid blanket. “Why don’t you close your eyes?”
She unraveled the blanket over herself and sank into the seat, resting her head back. The theme from A Summer Place played on the radio, big band music that felt somehow more in keeping with Jojo than Charlie.
“Couldn’t bring myself to change stations,” he said, catching her looking at the radio set into the center console.
She studied his profile as he lowered his aviators against the glare of the sun, his tanned hands assured on the leather-wrapped steering wheel, then closed her eyes and fell into a deep, dreamless sleep.
—
She woke as Charlie eased the car into a space beside the River Thames.
“God, I’m sorry,” she said, blinking her eyes open. “I can’t believe I fell asleep so fast. I was planning to stay awake and keep you company.” She twisted her head from side to side to ease the crick in her neck. “I blame the blanket.”
“You went out like a light,” he said. “You must have needed it.”
“It’s hard to believe we’re only an hour out of London,” she said, looking around at the bucolic riverside scene. “It feels as if I’ve woken up in a completely different world. Did you come here much as a kid?”
He shook his head. “I’ve never actually been to the apartment before. In fact, I didn’t even know he owned it until after he died.”
She turned to him, shocked. “You didn’t? When did he buy it?”
Charlie surveyed the pretty riverside scene, cascades of flowers along the railings, relatively few people around at the still-early hour except dog walkers and runners.
“Ten years ago, according to the paperwork.”
She couldn’t work out if he sounded pissed off. She’d built up an impression of their father-son relationship based on everything he’d said over the last few months, and this seemed completely at odds.
“Must have come as a bit of a shock?”
“Just a bit,” he said.
“And you’ve never wanted to come and see it?”
He sighed, thinking before he spoke. “I’ve wanted to, yeah. But…I don’t know. I’ve put it off, I guess.”
He seemed perplexed by his father’s secrecy and relieved to not be there alone. The lot of an only child, no one to share the burden.
“Right,” she said, taking charge. “Which one is it?”
He nodded toward an old converted warehouse, once a place of industry, now a screamingly cool apartment block with glass-fronted river-view balconies.
“Somehow it doesn’t look very Jojo,” she said, squinting up at the building through the windshield. Not that Jojo wasn’t a man fond of his luxuries, but he’d been more old school in his tastes, if his car, his captain’s chair, and his penchant for bow ties were anything to judge him by.
“I guess you never know everything about someone,” Charlie said, getting out of the car. “I’m sure he had his reasons.”
He’d brought her here to get away from her problems, and in doing so he seemed to be walking toward one of his own.
“So no one has been here since your father died?” she said, stepping out onto the pavement.
“Just the cleaners,” he said.
She was relieved to hear it was serviced, no fridge full of rotten food or unchanged beds to deal with. This was an important window into his father’s world, one Charlie had never looked through before; he didn’t need to contend with unmade beds and moldy food.
“Thank you for bringing me here,” she said.
It wasn’t a platitude. It was an expression of deep relief, especially now she knew the emotional cost for him.
It wasn’t as if she could leave her troubles behind her, yet it felt as if she’d gained some distance from them for a short while.
Perspective, perhaps. She was at least guaranteed not to see Fiona or any marauding T-Rex.
He patted the roof as he folded it up. “It’s a good chance to blow the cobwebs off this old girl.”
“You’re not talking about me, are you?” Kate laughed for what felt like the first time in days. Reaching for the handle of her case, she wheeled it toward the entrance.