5
When Lyssa awoke the next morning, she lay still for a while, listening to the muted sounds that leaked in from outside.
A river boat hooted at someone – probably a student rower who hadn’t seen them coming – whilst a blackbird was singing in one of the silver birch trees that had been planted in a nearby garden.
The traffic noise, even during rush hour, was little more than a mild susurration, and she forced herself not to roll over in the double bed and touch the empty, cold side where Kyle had once slept.
Instead, she got up on her side of the bed, had a quick shower, checked on the state of the day outside – which was sunny and bright – and chose a white cotton skirt and a vintage cheesecloth top in rainbow colours that she’d discovered at a village fete many years ago.
Putting up her long black hair in its usual high ponytail, on a sudden whim she tied a colourful orange ribbon around its base and let its long silken strands ripple down to her back along with her hair.
She made herself a cup of coffee, and was about to start work on the preliminary notes for the first draft outline of Wild Thing, complete with a first-chapter synopsis, when the doorbell rang, and she detoured on her way to her workstation to answer it.
‘Hello sweet ’ums, you do look lush this morning,’ Jason greeted her, walking in and holding out a bag that smelled of something delicious. ‘I’ve been down to that deli on the corner and got a couple of bacon butties. It was either that or something really wholesome and vegan.’
‘Bless you,’ Lyssa said, almost falling on his neck to kiss him. ‘I can’t remember the last time I had bacon.’ She walked to a kitchen cupboard and brought out two plates, a bottle of brown sauce and two paper napkins which she transferred to the kitchen table.
Jason pulled out one of the chairs tucked neatly away underneath it, and parked himself happily, taking a massive bite out of his bap. He then pulled up the top half of the bun, splodged in a dollop of extra sauce, and took another bite. Naturally, the sauce oozed out of the sides.
‘Sheer bliss,’ he moaned, then mimed pouring out a cup of coffee. Lyssa rolled her eyes at him but went to the coffee machine and obliged.
‘I’ll bet you’re wondering what I’m doing up at this unearthly hour,’ he said, dabbing at his lips with the napkin.
‘It’s gone nine o’clock,’ Lyssa pointed out gently.
Jason faked a shudder. ‘Is it really as early as that? It’s Carter’s fault – he’s always up with the dawn and makes a hell of a racket. Anyways, I’ve come bearing more than one gift.’
‘Should I be looking you in the mouth?’
‘Undoubtedly! But in this case, I’m no knock-kneed old nag but a genuine white steed, the kind that knights are supposed to ride in on.’
‘If you say so.’
‘Remember I told you that I thought my family knew the Montroses, back in the day? Well, I was right,’ Jason said, gaining Lyssa’s serious and undivided attention now.
‘Last night, I rang Mummy dearest, who demanded to know what I wanted, on account of my only phoning her whenever I want something.’
‘Naturally,’ Lyssa slipped in.
‘Usually it’s money, or the loan of the Bentley, or asking her to put up friends for a couple of weeks in the crumbling ancestral pile. I had to do that once when I was trying to butter up some Japanese business types, the kind who find ancient ruins quaint.’
‘I can imagine your mother was delighted to have strangers foisted on her at short notice.’
‘She didn’t speak to me for three years, which was a real bonus,’ Jason said, sounding genuinely pleased at the remembrance, then waved a hand in the air.
‘Anyway, that’s not important. You can imagine how relieved she was when I told her that this time all I wanted was to know if anyone in the old family lineage was still alive and kicking who remembered Amelia Montrose, and if so, could she tell me who. ’
Lyssa felt her heart begin to beat a little faster. ‘And since you’re here now and looking like a cat that’s eaten a whole smorgasbord of canaries, I take it that it means that your poor mother came up trumps yet again?’
Jason nodded. ‘She did indeed. Apparently, I have an aunt called Edna – and before you ask, don’t blame me.
My family is rife with so many forgotten uncles and formerly unknown cousins and great-great-great-grand whatnots, that it’s hardly a surprise to find I have an Edna lurking about in the family cupboards.
Anyway, this particular aunt is now ninety-four apparently, but don’t despair, according to Mummy dearest she’s still as sharp as a pin.
For some reason known only to herself, she married a chap called Frobisher who was something in frozen peas. ’
Lyssa nearly choked on her coffee. ‘Frozen peas?’ she managed to repeat.
‘Yes – he owned deep-freezing plants or something. I don’t know, do I?
’ he said, his voice rising a few octaves as he robustly defended himself.
‘You know me and commerce,’ Jason said, beginning to look cross.
‘The only thing I can do with money is lose it or spend it. Don’t keep distracting me.
Where was I? Oh yes, good ol’ Aunt Edna.
Anyway, according to Mummy, she knew Monty’s sister very well and they spent a lot of time at the Montrose family pile when they were both giggling schoolgirls or whatever.
And she remembers all the fuss surrounding Amelia’s blackening of the family escutcheon by running off with a rocker.
By the way – what exactly is an escutcheon?
I’ve been accused so many times by various kith and kin of being a blot on it, that I’ve often wondered. ’
Lyssa, who was nothing if not a wordsmith, opened her mouth to happily tell him, but seeing this he hastened on before she had a chance to do anything so terrible as actually educate him.
‘Poor Amelia caused quite a stir, apparently,’ he swept on.
‘I got the feeling from reading between the lines that it rather tickled Aunty, even if it didn’t quite have the same effect on the Montroses.
Well, you wouldn’t expect it to, really, would you?
I daresay if Aunty Edna had been the one running off with a rocker, then my great-grandmother would have had a hissy fit too. ’
‘Just tell me your dear old aunty is willing to talk to me, and I’ll loan you the use of my Bentley anytime you like,’ Lyssa said fervently.
‘You don’t have a Bentley.’
‘Don’t nitpick.’
‘Fine, fine, and yes, the dear old girl seems dead keen to chat to you. Says she likes to talk about the old times, and the Swinging 60s were a hoot. And that’s a direct quote from Mummy dearest, who had it direct from the horse’s mouth.’
‘I could kiss you.’
‘Please don’t.’
‘When can I see her?’
Licking brown sauce off his fingers, Jason pulled a rather grubby piece of paper from the pocket of his jeans and handed it over.
‘Here are her contact details. It seems the frozen pea king left her well off when he popped his clogs, and she’s now living in the lap of luxury in Basingstoke or Bracknell or something beginning with a “B” anyway. ’
Lyssa, who was quickly jotting down the details in one of her ubiquitous notebooks, said mildly, ‘It’s Brockenhurst, actually, or a small village not far from there. That’s the New Forest, I think.’
Jason gave another mock shudder. ‘Rather you than me, darling heart. Personally, I wouldn’t go into a forest if you paid me.’
Lyssa rolled her eyes at him. ‘Go on, then, I’ll bite. Why not?’
‘Because I was frightened stiff by that song “The Teddy Bears’ Picnic” when I was four years old. Never was able to stand teddy bears after that. I always insisted on having an Action Man figure instead. Well, that’s what I told Mummy dearest anyway.’
Lyssa had to endure that and other nonsense for another ten minutes or so before Jason checked his Rolex (last year’s Christmas gift from Carter), gave a little shriek of alarm, claimed that he was going to be late for a meeting with a man about a dog, and lit out.
Closing the door behind him with some relief, she instantly picked up her landline phone (since her mobile was still charging) and dialled the number Jason had given her. It was answered almost immediately by a young cheerful voice that couldn’t possibly belong to a ninety-four-year-old.
‘Hello? I’m hoping to speak to a Mrs Edna Frobisher? My name is Lyssa Moore. Mr Jason Howerd-Pitt, her nephew, says she’s willing to talk to me about a book I’m writing?’
‘Oh yes, that’s right. His mother phoned last night and told us about it. Mrs Frobisher is very excited about it; she likes having a good old natter about the old days. I’m Cassy Dalton, by the way, Mrs Frobisher’s live-in help. I’ll just get her for you – she’s still in bed.’
‘Oh no, don’t disturb her,’ Lyssa said quickly. ‘I was just hoping to set up a time and place for me to come down and talk to her. Will she mind if I record it, do you think?’
‘I shouldn’t think so for one minute,’ Cassy said with a laugh. ‘She’ll probably demand that you play it back to her so she can hear it for herself. She’s as curious as a cat about everything still. Marvellous for her age, she is.’
‘And her memory is good, is it?’ Lyssa asked, crossing her fingers.
‘Oh yes. Well, about years and years ago it is. Just don’t ask her what I cooked for her dinner yesterday though!’
‘Fair enough,’ Lyssa said happily. ‘When will be a good time for me to visit?’
‘Oh, anytime. We don’t get out much nowadays.’
Lyssa gave a quick check through her diary and set a time and a date.
‘See you then,’ Cassy Dalton said cheerfully, and hung up.