CHAPTER 21
It’s a Wednesday, five days after we moved in, and it still feels like we’re just visiting.
The house still very much feels like Dorothea’s, especially as it’s filled with all her furniture.
Josh has an app so he can assess the camera footage, and he’s promised he’ll show me how to set it up on my phone as well – not that he’s done it yet.
He has snuggled right up to where I’m sitting on one of Dorothea’s velvet sofas, the dogs laid out on the faded Persian rug, and he’s getting closer despite me angling my phone away.
‘What you looking at?’ he asks, moving even closer.
‘Oh, just scrolling.’ I try and sound nonchalant, not wanting him to know I’m researching Rosemary because of the initials on the lighter.
I’ve already found her address and now I’m looking into her background.
I’ve discovered her on Companies House – she’s had numerous small businesses since investing in the art therapy centre with Dorothea, Annette and Maisie, but there are no red flags.
If it was her secret Dorothea wanted to expose, then it doesn’t look like anything financial judging by what I’ve seen.
There are no CCJs against her name, no criminal convictions.
She’s never been married but there is another name on the electoral roll under her address. Someone called Peter Bryce.
I close the page I’ve been reading and move away from Josh. He flops back against the sofa. ‘Anyway, I’d better take the dogs out for their evening walk,’ I say. ‘Want to come?’
‘Nah, I’ll make a start on dinner. Remember the security firm is coming back tomorrow to check a few things, so I’ll work from home.’
I try not to look disappointed. ‘Twice in one week! What will your boss say?’ Josh never worked from home when we lived in the flat and neither did I.
There was only one bedroom and just not enough space.
I hope he’s not going to suddenly make this a regular thing now we live here.
He’ll only get under my feet while I’m trying to investigate what happened to Dorothea.
‘He’s on holiday this week, so what he doesn’t know can’t hurt him.’ He chuckles. ‘I bought a book on Agas as I have no idea how to use one.’ He stands up too and loosens his tie. ‘I was going to do something on the hob. One-pan chicken and rice okay for you?’
Things I love about Josh: his caring nature. How he cooks so I don’t have to.
‘Thanks,’ I say, kissing him quickly and then heading out the room. I can hear him follow me into the hallway.
‘Don’t be too long.’ He hands me the dogs’ leads. ‘It’s getting dark already because of the bad weather.’
‘Okay. See you in a bit.’ I throw on my raincoat and head outside, being pulled roughly by both dogs.
‘Maybe I should come with you …’ he says from the doorway.
‘No, it’s fine. I won’t be long,’ I call back. I give Josh a little wave and leave through the side gate, the dogs pulling ahead.
The lane is pretty and tree-lined with hedgerows on one side and detached and semi-detached Georgian properties lining the pavements on the other, all in the same creamy Bath stone.
At the end of the lane is a small church and then beyond that fields with views of the Royal Crescent and the city of Bath.
I take the dogs to the field via a kissing gate and let them off their leads.
I stand looking at the view as a fine rain dusts my hair and jacket.
The rain stops but the sky gets darker and I’m aware I’m out here alone.
I call the dogs and head back down the lane.
As I pass Mick and Sue’s house, I see someone in the driveway.
The gates are open and a man around my age walks towards me.
‘Imogen? Is that you?’
‘Harry!’ My heart twists. He’s taller and even better looking than I remember since I last saw him all those years ago, his dark curls stylishly tamed, and the roundness of his teenaged face has disappeared into a well-defined jaw and prominent cheekbones.
But he still has that toothy grin that I’d once fallen for.
He is wearing a knee-length overcoat over jeans, a maroon scarf tucked into the collar.
He has a college student air about him. He’s holding a pile of books in his arms and I’m pleased to see his love of reading hasn’t changed.
I remember how many hours we spent in the woods that summer discussing books and arguing over whether we preferred His Dark Materials to Harry Potter.
His smile is broad yet I instantly feel like that awkward, gawky fourteen-year-old I’d been the last time we saw each other. So much has happened since.
‘Mum said you’d inherited Dorothea’s house,’ he says. ‘So tragic what happened to her. I’m so sorry. I didn’t realize you’d stayed in touch.’
‘We didn’t. It’s a long story. Do you still live at home, then?’
‘Only temporarily. My girlfriend and I split up, and Bath’s so bloody expensive and the rent on my flat was costing me a fortune.’ He shifts the books to his other arm.
‘Sorry to hear about your relationship ending.’
He shrugs. ‘Thanks. Just one of those things. So, what have you been up to over the years? Mum said she saw your byline a couple of times. So you ended up in journalism after all? I remember you said you wanted to be a writer.’
‘Yes. I’ve been working for a news station in Bristol but I’m … well, I’m on leave at the moment.’ I look down as I dig the toe of my boot into the gravel, guilt tugging at the lie.
‘Oh, is that a good thing? It doesn’t look like it from your expression.’
I’d forgotten how direct Harry could be.
I glance up at him. ‘Not really. I suppose I was a bit of a workaholic and now I hate having all this time on my hands.’
‘I can understand that. So, um … are you living at Dorothea’s villa alone, then?’ He’s definitely fishing. ‘Apart from the dogs, that is?’ he adds with a laugh, glancing at Solly and Cady at my feet. ‘Wait, isn’t that Dennis’s dog?’
‘Yes. I’m looking after her.’ I’m grateful to change the subject. I realize I don’t want to talk to him about Josh. ‘Did you hear what happened to Dennis? He’s in intensive care.’
His face falls. ‘Oh, yes, Dad told me. It’s awful. Is he going to be okay?’
‘I don’t know. I hope so …’ I trail off, realizing I can’t say more without revealing the bunker and the sculpture. There’s an awkward beat of silence before I ask, ‘So, what did you end up doing jobwise?’
‘I’m a book editor. Hence why I’ve got all these.’ He adjusts them in his arms. ‘I work for an indie publisher in Bristol. Non-fiction. I specialize in history.’
‘Oh, Harry, that’s amazing.’ I feel a burst of pride. ‘So you did it. You said you always wanted to.’
‘Well, it was always that or an astronaut.’
‘I think a book editor is safer.’ I laugh.
‘I’m also writing my own history book. World War One. Trying to do that around work, but it’s taking me a long time. Lots of research.’
‘I can imagine.’
He falls silent and his eyes soften as he adds, ‘I was so very sorry to hear about your mum. I wish I’d been …
better … you know, after. I wanted to reach out so many times, but I was this stupid teenage boy who had no clue how to handle anything deep or my feelings …
’ He glances down at his trainers and blushes.
He looks so guilty that I rush to reassure him that I understand.
‘Harry. God, it was a messed-up time. I was living in Keynsham, and back then, you and Dorothea and this place all seemed a world away from what I was living through.’
‘Dorothea was so worried about you …’ He looks up at me. ‘She tried, you know. She tried to see you but your sister sent her away.’
I stare at him in surprise. ‘What?’
‘Your sister told Dorothea that she shouldn’t contact you. That it would be better for you if she left you alone. I’m sure she did what she thought was best,’ he adds quickly, noticing my bewildered expression.
‘Alison never told me …’
‘I’m sure she was just trying to protect you.’
My already complicated feelings towards Alison darken.
I swallow and try and brush away my discomfort.
‘I better be going,’ I say, suddenly noticing it’s already dark.
And then, as he steps back, the spine of one of the books he’s holding catches my eye: A WOMAN IN TURMOIL?
The unauthorized biography of Dorothea Roe.
‘What’s that?’ I point to the book.
He looks down. ‘Ah, yes, this one.’ He pulls it carefully from the pile and hands it to me. ‘It’s a proof copy. For reviews, et cetera. It’s not actually published until July. I’m not the editor but I promised to provide notes as a fresh pair of eyes, and also someone who knew her.’
I move both the dogs’ leads to one hand so I can take the book with the other. It’s a white paperback with red writing and a photograph of a young Dorothea on the front. ‘Did Dorothea know about this?’
His cheeks redden. ‘Yes, she did. She wasn’t happy about it. She asked me so many times if I could give her any info on the author, but obviously I wouldn’t be allowed to do that.’
A surge of excitement rushes through me.
‘I’ve made some notes in that version, so I need it back …’
My face grows hot. ‘Oh, yes, of course. Sorry, I wasn’t trying to steal it …’ I laugh but I don’t hand it back.
‘I’d give it to you otherwise. But I can get you a copy? From work. You could pop into the office or we could meet for a coffee? Have a proper catch-up?’
I hesitate. I don’t want to give Harry the wrong idea. I should have told him about Josh.
His green eyes are hopeful, and, as his gaze meets mine, my stomach does this strange swoop. I glance down at the biography in my hands, feeling disconcerted by the effect he’s having on me all these years later.
‘Um, could I just borrow this copy? I’d be super careful with it and give it back to you tomorrow?’ I know it’s cheeky to ask, but I can’t bear the thought of giving it back to him. I need to read it straight away.
‘Ah, I’m sorry, but I need to finish it tonight so I can give my colleague notes in the morning. But I’ll get you a copy ASAP.’
Disappointment gnaws at me but I smile and say thanks anyway.
His fingers briefly brush mine as I hand the book back to him.
We lock eyes and the years fall away, so that I feel like that teenager again, until I step back from him, clearing my throat, breaking the spell.
So much has happened. We aren’t the same people, I remind myself. I need to get home. To Josh.
‘Anyway, I’d better go …’ I say.
‘Can I have your number?’ he says at the same time and we both laugh awkwardly and exchange numbers.
‘Don’t forget about the book,’ I say, backing away with the dogs. ‘I’m desperate to read it.’
‘I won’t. See you soon, I hope.’
I can feel his eyes on me as I almost run back to the villa.
The rain slashes down as I let myself into the side gate with the new code.
But when I reach the patio doors, expecting to see Josh in the kitchen, the room is dark and the doors are locked.
That’s weird. I head back around the house to the front porch and ring the old-fashioned doorbell.
I can hear it chiming through the house but still no answer.
Josh’s car is there. Unease tugs at my insides. Has something happened to him?
I pull out my mobile from my coat pocket and see that he’s tried to phone me three times. My stomach drops. I call him back but it goes straight through to voicemail.
I ring the bell again, more urgently this time, and then, to my relief, I hear footsteps in the hall. The door is wrenched open to reveal Josh standing there, his expression full of fury.
‘Oh, so you’ve decided to come back then?’
‘I haven’t been gone that long, have I?’ The dogs run past him into the hallway and I chase after them to unclip their leads and usher them down the stairs to the kitchen.
I turn on the light, shrug off my wet coat and hang it over the chair.
I’m soaked through and freezing. He follows me.
An empty bowl and pan sit in the butler sink.
‘Your dinner is in the bin,’ he announces.
I turn to stare at him, shocked at this sudden, cold change in him.
‘Don’t look at me like that. What do you expect? I’m not your sodding chef.’
‘I’m sorry. I lost track of time. I bumped into … next door …’
He crosses his arms. ‘Yes. I saw. I came out looking for you but you didn’t notice me as you were too busy flirting.’
Has he been spying on me? I feel a burst of indignation. ‘No, I wasn’t. That’s Harry. He was my friend when we were kids. When I stayed here with Dorothea that summer …’
His eyes harden. ‘Was he your boyfriend?’
‘No. Not really. I was fourteen and he was a year older, so we just … you know, hung out.’
‘So you never kissed?’
Why do I get the impression he already knows? ‘Well, yes, once or twice, towards the end … but it was all very innocent.’
‘You never mentioned him before.’
‘You never asked.’
He shakes his head. ‘Well, it’s obvious where your priorities lie and they’re not with me. What a fool I am. You can sort yourself out.’
I notice the look of spite and righteousness on his face and anger sears through me. He left me outside in the cold and rain on purpose. ‘Josh,’ I begin, trying to keep calm. I don’t want to say something I’ll regret. ‘It’s …’
But he stalks out of the room and I know better than to follow him when he’s like this.
I slump onto one of the chairs and bury my head in my hands, knowing there will now be a bad atmosphere between us for days.
The last time Josh acted this way was when he came to pick me up from work a few months ago, saw me leave the station with a male colleague, and so drove off in a rage, leaving me to get the bus home.
He didn’t speak to me for nearly a week.
I thought things would be different after moving in here.
A fresh start. But deep down I know Josh will never change.
I glance at the photograph on the wall of a young Dorothea.
Strong, feisty, determined. ‘I need to be more like you,’ I whisper.
I can’t imagine she’d let a man treat her like this.
I get up and feed the dogs, refusing to let Josh occupy my head any longer.
Instead my thoughts turn to Dorothea’s biography, wondering how quickly I can get it from Harry.
I google the author Sidney S. Crane and can’t find anything about him apart from a short paragraph on the publisher’s website referencing a history book he’d written before.
He’s not on Instagram or Facebook, although A Woman in Turmoil? is available to pre-order on .
What secrets are buried in that biography, and how does this Sidney S. Crane know about them?