CHAPTER 22
‘Darling!’ she said as Sofia came down the path wearing a pink and white checked seersucker dress and dragging a heavy wheeled suitcase in her wake.
‘Let me help you with that.’ She picked up the bag and resisted the temptation to ask how long Sofia was staying or what she had in there.
‘It is so very lovely to see you,’ she continued.
‘You look well.’ She kissed her on both cheeks. ‘Really well.’
‘Sorry about the suitcase.’ Sofia smiled. ‘I didn’t know what to wear, what the vibe was, so I packed the lot.’
‘No problem,’ Pat puffed as she hoicked the bag over the threshold.
‘Hi, hi, hi,’ said Sofia with a little wave as she walked into the kitchen and dumped her pale cashmere wrap and a large paper bag in the middle of the table.
‘I’m Sofe,’ she said, going straight to give Prichard a hug.
‘So very nice to meet you.’ She squeezed him tightly, while Prichard stood stiffly with his arms by his sides, his ear lobes turning scarlet.
‘Oh Mum,’ she exclaimed, turning back to watch Pat battling to squeeze her suitcase into the kitchen, ‘I had forgotten quite how homey this little cottage is. It is so sweet, so cute, so totally homey. Here,’ she said, opening the paper bag on the table and bringing out a glass-based Tupperware with a blue plastic lid.
‘I made you a little lemon drizzle cake with hand-candied curls.’ She unclipped the lid and the room instantly filled with the sweet, sticky, sharp scent of sugar and lemons.
‘It’s all organic,’ she added as she flopped down at the kitchen table. ‘Gosh it’s nice to be here.’
‘How was your journey?’ asked Pat, turning on the coffee machine.
‘Boring, long, tedious. Gosh, it’s miles from London, isn’t it? Miles. All the way down here. I had to listen to a whole podcast to pass the time so I didn’t fall asleep. How are you? What have you been up to?’
‘Oh, you know, this and that,’ said Pat, collecting three mugs together. ‘The usual, really, it’s quite busy at work actually.’
‘And you, Prichard?’ asked Sofia. ‘You live down here, don’t you?’
‘I do,’ he nodded. ‘Not very far away.’
‘Mum said. I haven’t been here for ages. It’s nice to properly meet you.’
They all sat down around the table with their cups of coffee, and Sofia sliced up some of her cake and offered Prichard a slice, which he devoured within a minute.
‘Oh my goodness,’ he said, a few escaped crumbs still clinging to his lips. ‘That is a sensational drizzle. Where’s that recipe from?’
‘It’s Nigella’s lemon syrup loaf cake, but I made it round. I always think cakes should be round.’
‘Oh, I adore Nigella for cakes, but also Nigel, he does a lemon cake with pistachios, have you done that one?’
‘No, but it sounds marvellous. Didn’t he do one with lemon confit on the top as well?’
Pat sat at the table, blowing on her hot coffee as she listened to Sofia and Prichard discuss the merits of which lemon cake recipe was better.
Nigella or Nigel? The jury was out. Sofia was animated as she spoke, her hands carving the air with familiar movements; the echo of Martin was unmistakable.
Pat took a sip of her coffee and watched, struck not just by the likeness but by how patterns seemed to outlive context.
The gestures, the timing, even the cadence: inherited or absorbed, it was hard to tell.
Sometimes people weren’t so much blank slates as layered manuscripts, stories written over stories, filled with echoes of those who came before.
Sofia in that moment was more Martin than Martin ever managed to be.
She looked well. She had dyed her hair a bit blonder, Pat noticed, with some stripy highlights, and plucked her eyebrows, and her skin was looking good, all glowy.
But that was the fashion these days, wasn’t it?
It was all flat and matt and black when Pat was young.
But now you had to look like you were straight out of a sauna.
She was smaller than Pat, at least four inches shorter, slimmer, more of a pear shape than her sturdy mother.
Pat smiled as she observed every minuscule detail of her daughter’s face. It was good to see her.
With great tact, Prichard said he’d got a hundred things to do – he really did need to run a feather duster over his diecast car collection – and then it would be time for the art competition judging in the village hall.
Pat had already declared her lack of interest in the outcome of that, and her painting was definitely not going to win. Prichard left them to it.
After he’d gone, Sofia pointed to the noticeboard. ‘What’s that?’ she asked. ‘Didn’t it used to have my baby photos on it?’
‘Yes, yes,’ said Pat. ‘That’s all over there on the side. Don’t worry, I would never throw those out.’
‘Good. That would be awful.’
‘I’m not completely heartless,’ she said, laughing as lightly as she could. This was an age-old accusation. Along with the Pat was never home story.
‘So is it some kind of game?’
‘Kind of. I’m investigating a murder.’
Sofia’s eyes widened. ‘What?!’ She sat up and stared up at the wall, her mouth slightly open. ‘Who?’
‘Well, actually it isn’t a game. His name was Henry, and he was a client of mine.’
‘Oh my gosh.’
‘I know. It hasn’t been exactly fun.’ Pat smiled briefly. ‘Maybe you could help?’ She stood up.
‘Me? Help you?’ Sofia’s voice was raised in surprise. Pat could see her furiously trying to decipher the Post-it notes.
‘You might see something I missed.’ Pat nodded. ‘Your fresh eyes, you’ll have a different take on events, see things from a different angle, which would be very helpful, as we’re stuck.’
‘Right,’ said Sofia, putting her elbows on the table. ‘Go on then.’
Pat started from the beginning. She went on to fill in as many blanks as she could, finishing up with the altercation by Fi’s tumble dryer and the breaking and entering of the shepherd’s hut.
Sofia was intrigued and asked all sorts of questions about why Henry was in Westlinke in the first place and what would Derek have to gain by killing him.
‘Surely he was in a good situation? Free flat? Boyfriend? Why rock that boat?’
‘True, but Henry was getting a cease and desist order out on him, and they were splitting up and Derek was being kicked out of the flat in London.’
‘Were they really, though? Splitting up?’ Sofia shrugged.
‘We’ve all heard that before. They’d broken up and got back together many times over; why was this time different?
Henry had already consented to the date night in the lighthouse.
Derek didn’t turn up, but Henry would have forgiven him anyway, he’d always done so before.
’ She paused. ‘I don’t think Derek is your guy. It doesn’t make sense.’
‘Well, he did threaten me and then my office was broken into. It doesn’t sound like a coincidence, does it?’
‘True,’ agreed Sofia. ‘But I still don’t think he’s got enough of a motive. It seems too … obvious.’ She pointed to a curled yellow Post-it. ‘Tell me more about this Dorna Braddon.’
‘I’ve met my match with her,’ replied Pat. ‘She wants to pave over the Downs. She’s got this awful development called Boho Golf of course it was going to be busy.
Over half a million tourists visited a year, and today they all seemed to have come at once.
‘I had no idea this place was so popular,’ said Sofia, watching the hordes lining up to have their photographs taken at the cliff edge.
‘And why are there so many tourists? Is that a Korean flag?’ She pointed at a tour guide who was holding the flag on a long stick, trying to regulate the photo queue.
‘South Korean,’ Pat corrected. ‘It’s something to do with a pop band who filmed a video here with the Seven Sisters in the background. They’ve been coming ever since.’
‘They must be a very popular band,’ remarked Sofia, looking up and down the cliff. ‘Kind of like One Direction,’ she added.