‘No.’
‘I knew it. Oh darling, be careful. It’s all very well being a career girl and letting the hotel take over your life, but work isn’t everything. Love’s important too.’
‘I’ll be OK. I’m fine.’ This wasn’t true; the only person she loved was someone she couldn’t have. Shay was involved with Caz Holloway and she had a horrible feeling theirs was a relationship that was going to last. Caz was crazy about Shay, and why would he want to finish with someone as adorable as her?
‘You don’t look fine.’ Her mother’s gaze was frankly appraising. ‘You’ve lost weight.’
This time last year, Maura had informed her that her bum was too big. Didi said, ‘Isn’t that supposed to be a good thing?’
‘Not when it doesn’t suit you. No one likes a scrawny woman.’
Her mother had always been honest to the point of bluntness. By way of retaliation, Didi pointed at her normally flawless French manicure. ‘Nobody likes dirty fingernails either. What have you been doing, Mum? Don’t tell me you’ve taken up gardening in your old age.’
‘I was helping Red with a pot plant.’ Maura quickly hid her less-than-immaculate nails from view. With a touch of asperity she said, ‘And I’m not old, either.’
Chapter 38
‘Oh, hello!’ Harry looked taken aback when he opened the door and saw Layla on the doorstep. ‘This is a surprise.’
‘I had a meeting with a client in Cheltenham, thought I’d drop by on my way back.’ She hopped from one foot to the other. ‘I’d have called to let you know, but my phone’s died. And I’m bursting to use the loo . . . Can I come in?’
For a split second she wondered if he had another girl with him. Then he broke into a smile. ‘And there was me thinking you couldn’t wait to seduce me. Of course you can come in.’ He moved aside and Layla raced up the stairs ahead of him. As she reached the landing, she couldn’t help pausing to glance through the half-open door into his bedroom. No, of course there was no naked female in his bed; there was just a metal box lying on top of the crumpled duvet, next to an open notebook with writing on it and . . . hang on, was that her own name? She faltered, but Harry was behind her and he had a bit of a thing about privacy, plus her bladder had sensed she was within seconds of finally being allowed to pee, and once it knew that, there was no stopping it.
By the time she emerged from the bathroom two minutes later, there was no sign of either the metal box or the notebook.
‘Did I catch you in the middle of writing your diary?’ she teased Harry. Maybe he’d been saying lovely things about her.
‘Oh, you mean the blue notebook?’ He shrugged easily. ‘No, I just use it for work to keep track of my clients’ training schedules.’
But that night, lying beside him in bed, Layla found herself unable to sleep. Yesterday morning, over a coffee and a catch-up, Didi had asked to see the photo of Harry on her phone. Having studied it, she’d said with an air of triumph, ‘Yes, that’s him, I knew it. I saw him going past in a red Mercedes on Saturday evening. So he does come to Elliscombe occasionally.’
Layla had been startled. ‘Was he driving?’
‘No, he was in the passenger seat. I couldn’t see who was behind the wheel.’
‘And it was definitely him?’
‘Yes. Well, ninety-nine per cent sure.’
But when Layla had asked Harry the next day, he’d laughed and said, ‘I must have a doppelgänger, because it wasn’t me. I told you, I was up in Sheffield.’
And when he’d said that, she’d ninety-nine per cent believed him. Because he was so believable. But deep down, she’d begun to waver, and wonder, and take a metaphorical step back in order to focus more clearly on the tiny inconsistencies that over the weeks had begun to add up. Maybe it was time to acknowledge them.
In his sleep, Harry shifted his hold on her, moving his arm from around her waist and rolling onto his other side. When his breathing had settled once more, Layla slid out of bed and silently searched the room. There weren’t many places to hide something the size of the box she’d seen, and it didn’t take her long to find it, hidden in the back of the wardrobe beneath an old sports bag. It was secured with a hefty padlock. Lifting and tilting it, she could feel the notebook sliding around inside.
Returning it to its hiding place, she covered it back up. Finding the key that would fit the padlock would be a far trickier task.
She crept through to the kitchen, noiselessly slid open the junk drawer and found the spare front door key tucked between a ball of string, several pencils, assorted batteries and a penknife. When she’d got here early the other week and been forced to wait outside for an hour until Harry arrived home from work, she’d wondered if he might give her his spare key. But he hadn’t.
Stealthily she closed the drawer and dropped the key into her shoulder bag. Seconds later, Harry’s voice called out, ‘Where are you?’
‘Just getting myself some water. I’m thirsty.’ She ran the tap and filled a tumbler. ‘Do you want one too?’
He sounded sleepy. ‘No, I missed you, that’s all. Come back to bed.’
In the morning, they left the flat together at ten to eight. Having apparently borrowed the money for his new motorbike from a friend, Harry now headed off on it and Layla crossed the road to where Will was waiting in his cab.
‘Morning.’ He smiled at her, returning his iPad to the glove compartment.
‘Hi.’ She double-checked that the motorbike was out of sight. Harry was on his way to visit a client in Chipping Camden. ‘Actually, I’ve forgotten something. I’ll be back in two minutes . . .’
‘No worries,’ said Will, unruffled.
Her hand shook as she fitted the stolen spare key into the lock. Not stolen, borrowed. Up the stairs, into the bedroom, pull out the metal security box. It was too big to fit into her handbag, which meant she’d have to put it in a supermarket carrier bag. Luckily whenever she’d brought food over here, she’d left the bags in the cupboard under the sink so they could be reused.
And now one of them was finally getting its chance.
Back downstairs, hyperventilating with the stress of what she was doing, she let herself out of the flat and hurried back to where Will was waiting with the engine running, for all the world like a getaway driver.
As she was clambering into the passenger seat, a small rip in the bottom of the plastic carrier suddenly expanded and the sharp-cornered box tumbled out onto the pavement.
‘Whoopsy!’ A woman in her sixties hurried over, picked up the box and handed it to Layla before she could reach it herself. ‘Can’t trust a plastic bag, can you? There you are!’
‘Thanks.’ Scarlet, Layla wondered if the woman lived here in Bourton. Did she know Harry, and was she likely to say something to him in all innocence?
‘Get yourself a canvas bag. They’re much better!’
‘I will.’
They drove off. When they’d left the village behind them, Will said mildly, ‘All OK now?’
He’d seen her pale complexion, her trembling hands. ‘Fine.’