‘Didn’t realise I had to do the polite chit-chat with you, Clare,’ comes the retort, which has the tiniest thread of attrition.
‘And while I’m at it, since when did I have to answer to you as to what I choose to do with my spare time? Spare time that I didn’t want, I might add. Either I’m working and am accountable for my hours or I’m on gardening leave and can do as I bloody well please.’ I feel quite proud of myself for standing up to Leonard.
‘Well, that’s me told,’ he says. I imagine him looking rather startled at the telephone for a moment. ‘So, are you okay?’
‘Yes, I’m fine, thank you,’ I say, the indignation leaving me and experiencing genuine appreciation of the obvious concern in his voice.
‘What exactly are you doing in America?’
‘I needed to sort a few things out. Please don’t worry. I’m flying home tomorrow night. How did you know I was here, anyway?’
‘Your mother told me,’ he replies. ‘She also told me about the new evidence. CCTV footage.’
‘It wasn’t me.’
‘Do you need any help? Legal help or otherwise?’
‘No. It’s okay. I can sort this out myself, but thank you, anyway.’
‘It won’t look good for the business if anything comes of this,’ says Leonard, his voice taking on a more businesslike approach.
‘Nothing will come of it. I didn’t do it. Don’t worry, I won’t sully the reputation of the firm.’ I scold myself at my own tetchiness. ‘I’m sorry, I’m just a bit tired and on edge, if I’m honest.’
‘It’s not like you at all. That’s why I called, really. Your mum asked me to,’ says Leonard softly. ‘She’s desperate for things to work out well with Alice.’
‘I know. All these years, she’s just been marking time, going through the motions of life, as she waited for her daughter to come back. The thing is …’ I stop myself short, not wishing to say what I fear out loud. Not yet anyway.
‘Don’t be quick to judge,’ says Leonard. ‘It’s just as hard for Alice as it is for you. Whatever is it you’re hoping to find by poking around over there in America, will only cause a lot of hurt.’
‘Has Mum changed her will or anything to do with the trust fund?’ I ask, taking the conversation off at a tangent.
‘You know I can’t divulge any information about your mother’s finances. Client confidentiality and all that.’
‘But you could tell me, as your business partner. I take it I am still your partner?’
‘Yes, of course you are, but there’s also conflict of interest. Whatever conversations I have with my client, regardless of the fact she’s your mother and how they may affect you are, at this point, strictly confidential. Not even you can be party to them.’
‘What about Alice? Has she spoken to you about anything?’
‘Alice? No, why would she?’
‘I don’t just mean professionally, but personally. She’s not asked for your advice about anything?’ I close my eyes as I think of Tom telling me he’d seen Martha and Leonard at the café. I can’t bear the fact that Leonard might be lying to me. ‘Even just casually, as a one-off?’
‘What’s this all about?’
‘I’m just asking.’
‘You’re worrying me, Clare. Stop being so bloody paranoid about everyone and everything. Now, I’m going to end this call before we fall out with each other. I suggest you get a good night’s sleep, get yourself on that aircraft tomorrow, get yourself back here and get your life back on track.’ With that he hangs up.
I spend the next few minutes staring at the telephone, wondering whether I should call home again and try to speak to Luke. In the end I decide against it.
I head out to the diner opposite the motel. It’s a quiet night, from what I can tell, and I sit undisturbed while I eat a burger and chips I don’t really want and drink a beer that I do want.
When I came over to Amelia Island just two days ago, I wasn’t sure what I would find. I knew there was more to Alice than met the eye, but what I didn’t know was the full extent of it. And now I do. Again, I have to banish the thought of might have happened to Alice Kennedy, my sister. I can’t let myself go there, not yet.
When I get back to my room, I check my rucksack to make sure I have my passport, tickets and bank card all ready for tomorrow’s journey home. I wonder if Luke will call me back. He probably hasn’t even looked at his phone. I have to say that about my husband, he’s not one for constantly checking social media, uploading pictures of his dinner or pictures of the girls. To Luke a phone is a necessity for communication verbally or via text, nothing more. Still, I wait up just in case he does call. When he doesn’t, I put it down to him being busy sorting the girls out for bed. I don’t want to acknowledge the notion that he might actually be avoiding me.
When my phone rings just after midnight, I immediately think it must be Luke after all. My heart gives a little flip of relief. At last someone I can talk to, who I trust. I pause. I do trust him, don’t I? Another thought to banish. Of course I do. I was just overreacting about Alice or Martha, whatever the hell her name is.
I grapple with the bedside light and snatch at my phone.
Home calling, I’m informed by the screen message. Strange. Why would Luke call on the house phone? I answer it.
‘Hello, Luke?’
‘It’s me.’
I struggle for a second to think who it could be. The voice is lowered to almost a whisper. It’s definitely not Luke. ‘Mum?’ I try the next logical person, although something tells me logic is not applicable here.
‘No, it’s not your mother.’
‘Alice?’
‘Who else?’
‘Why are you calling me?’
‘Listen, Clare, listen carefully.’ There’s a hardness to her voice I haven’t heard before. It puts me on alert. I wait for her to continue. ‘I don’t know what you’re doing in America and I don’t know what you think you may or may not have found, but I’m warning you, whatever it is you think you know, you’d be wise to keep it to yourself.’
‘What are you talking about?’
‘You know exactly what I’m talking about.’
‘And why, exactly, would I want to keep it to myself – presuming I know anything?’
‘Don’t get involved, Clare. You’ll regret it.’
‘Are you threatening me?’
‘Things have gone too far. It’s out of my hands now. You need to drop it.’
‘Do you really think for one minute that I’m scared of you?’ I frantically search my phone for the ‘record’ app. I quite often record work conversations so I can go back and check the nitty-gritty detail. I have a feeling this is going to be useful.
‘It’s not me you need to be frightened of.’
‘What?’ I hit the ‘record’ button, but it’s too late. The line has gone dead. ‘Shit.’
I try to ring back but the call doesn’t connect. I suspect she’s unplugged it from the wall. I check the ‘record’ app on my phone but all I have managed to get is me saying ‘What?’