Chapter Fifty-Four
Dylan was old-fashioned enough to open the passenger door for me.
I sank into the depths of the BMW and tucked my legs in. As he walked around to the driver’s side, my mobile began to ring.
‘Is that you or me?’ asked Dylan, as he started up the engine.
‘Definitely me,’ I said, rummaging within my bag.
A glance at the screen told me the caller was Freya. Uh-oh. That could mean only one thing. She was after me going over to Mum and Dad’s.
I felt a flash of irritation. No, I wasn’t complying. Not tonight. I’d spoken to Dad earlier when I’d been at Bluewater. He’d insisted all was well.
I sent my sister’s call to voicemail, then switched the phone to silent. There were going to be no interruptions by Freya or anyone else this evening. The only person claiming my attention tonight was the man sitting by my side.
I suppressed a shiver of excitement. Dylan noticed.
‘Cold?’ he asked.
‘Hardly,’ I shook my head. ‘Not in the middle of July.’ I wasn’t going to confess the real reason behind that quiver. Delicious anticipation. ‘It was one of those moments where you could say someone had walked over your grave. That’s a very strange expression when you stop to think about it. I wonder where it came from.’
‘Folklore probably,’ said Dylan.
My phone began to vibrate within my handbag.
‘You’re popular this evening,’ said Dylan.
‘Indeed,’ I frowned. ‘Excuse me for a sec.’
I peered at the screen. Freya again.
‘It’s my sister,’ I said, unable to hide my irritation.
Once again I sent her call to voicemail.
‘Problem?’ he asked.
‘Unlikely.’ I shook my head. ‘After all, she hasn’t left a message.’
With that, the phone lit up with a WhatsApp notification. I briefly caught sight of Freya’s message before the screen went dark.
Where the bloody hell are you, Maggie? I have a bone to pick with you.
I didn’t click on the message. I didn’t want Freya knowing I’d read it. Otherwise she’d give me a hard time for not picking up. If she wanted a rant about something, it could wait.
Nonetheless, I was perplexed. My sister’s choice of words indicated she was aggrieved. I wondered what about. Had I failed to do something for our parents? I mentally checked the parents’ calendar entries against my own.
Both parents had recently had dental check-ups. Tick. One had visited the podiatrist. Tick. The other had seen the nurse for a blood test regarding iron levels. Tick. I’d renewed Dad’s car insurance. Tick. Organised the car’s MOT and service. Tick. Taken Mum to the hairdresser, and Dad to the barber. Tick, tick. I’d also recently driven them both to the next county to visit my uncle – Dad’s brother – who was now in a care home. Tick. Finally, there had been that visit to the solicitor to tie up loose ends. Tick.
My conscience was clear. For now, I’d done my bit. Over to you, Freya! Take your bone of contention and deal with it!
When my phone began to vibrate for a third time, I switched it off.
‘Are you sure you don’t want to speak to your sister?’ said Dylan. ‘After all, it might be important.’
‘It really isn’t,’ I said emphatically. ‘Now, never mind Freya,’ I smiled. ‘Tell me where we’re going.’
I let my hand move across the space between us and placed my palm on Dylan’s thigh. I resisted the urge to stroke it. But later, I would. Along with other body parts. I mentally hugged myself. Oooh, the anticipation. Of everything. It was so lovely!
‘We’re heading back to my part of the world,’ said Dylan. ‘West Malling.’
‘What?’ I squeaked. ‘We won’t bump into Jill, will we?’
‘No chance,’ he laughed. ‘I left her in front of the telly. She was prattling on about finding a nice film for us to watch while I went out to get a takeaway. I slipped out with Charlie. Together we made our getaway.’
‘Is your overnight bag in the boot?’ I asked.
Dylan pointed to the inside pocket of his jacket.
‘Toothbrush.’ He then patted his jacket’s side pocket. ‘Clean pants.’
‘Is that all you’ve taken?’ I said, eyes wide. ‘You’re joking, right?’
‘Nope.’ He shook his head. ‘Sadly, I wasn’t able to bring a tin of Chum for Charlie.’ He gave a deprecating smile. ‘Hopefully Bess won’t mind sharing her breakfast with him.’
‘Yes, that’s fine,’ I said faintly. Wow. He really had snuck off.
‘Sooner or later, Jill will realise Charlie isn’t about, but likely presume I’ve taken him for a walk. It will probably be a couple of hours before she susses that I’ve done a bunk.’
‘It all sounds horribly…’ I trailed off.
‘Horribly horrible.’ Dylan finished my sentence.
‘No, I was going to say horribly domestic.’
‘It really isn’t.’ Dylan shook his head. ‘I’m a free agent with an unwanted houseguest. And, actually, I have some good news. I was going to tell you in the restaurant – we’re going to The Swan again by the way – but as the subject has come up, I shall reveal all now.’
And with that Dylan told me all about the two-up-two-down he’d found in the heart of Little Waterlow. Catkin Cottage had been offered to the market for a six-month letting. It was the perfect stopgap for him to rent while Gardener and Stewart Solicitors dealt with Jill’s eviction order.
‘Catkin Cottage,’ I said thoughtfully. ‘I know the property. It’s chocolate-box pretty and not without a history of drama.’
‘Oh?’
‘One of the village’s biggest rumourmongers lives further along the lane.’
Dylan groaned.
‘Don’t tell me. Will Mabel Plaistow be a neighbour?’
‘Yup,’ I said, trying to not giggle. ‘She and husband Fred make gossip a national pastime. The owner of Catkin Cottage is a woman called Sophie Fairfax. She now lives in Italy. Mabel told anyone and everyone that Sophie divorced her new husband after he got drunk and his false leg fell off.’
Dylan raised his eyebrows.
‘A whole new meaning to getting legless,’ he said dryly.
I snorted.
‘Sophie was apparently so traumatised, she spent her honeymoon alone.’
‘And where was that?’
‘The Amalfi Coast.’
‘I’ve been to that part of Italy,’ said Dylan. ‘It’s beautiful. Absolutely stuffed with lemon groves, the likes of which you’ve never seen.’
‘Maybe Sophie felt like a bit of a lemon, because she never returned to England. According to Mabel Plaistow–’
‘You do realise that your info is likely highly inaccurate,’ Dylan pointed out.
‘I’m sure,’ I chuckled. ‘Nonetheless, according to Mabel Plaistow, Sophie rented the cottage out to someone called Lottie Lucas.’
‘I know that name,’ Dylan frowned. ‘But I don’t know why I know.’
‘I can tell you,’ I said helpfully. ‘Lottie shot to fame as a crime-writer. She wrote one of her bestselling novels at Catkin Cottage. Her books always dominate the Amazon charts. One of them has even been made into a movie.’
‘You’re right!’ Dylan clicked his fingers. ‘I’ve seen the trailer. Looks brilliant too. We’ll have to watch it.’
I wriggled with happiness in my seat. It was so good to be making plans with a man again. Just the simple idea of watching a movie together was giving such a thrill.
‘Lottie now lives in Cornwall’ – I continued – ‘but before she left Little Waterlow, Mabel Plaistow did her usual thing and spread rumours. Mabel told anyone who’d care to listen that the reason Lottie could write a good thriller was because she’d killed her ex-husband.’
‘Blimey,’ Dylan gasped. ‘And did she? Please don’t tell me I’ll be living in a house with a body under the patio.’
‘No, silly!’ I giggled. ‘For a long time, Lottie had no idea where her ex was. I believe he came out of the woodwork when he heard his former wife was suddenly in the money.’
‘Ah, a gold digger,’ said Dylan. We were now heading along West Malling’s High Street. ‘Oh look. A spare parking bay. Result!’
The car dipped into the space. Dylan then hastened around the BMW to open the passenger door for me.
‘I could get used to this,’ I joked, as he helped me out.
He squeezed my hand.
‘I hope you do,’ he said gruffly. ‘Because I’m loving every moment of being with you.’