I look up at Ted, who is trying not to laugh.
“It’s not funny, Ted,” I say, my hands clenched onto the edge of the table.
“It’s not Laura’s jumper,” Ted explains, unable to stifle his mirth. “She borrowed it from her mystery suitcase man.”
“That explains it,” says Gerry. “Scamp probably smelled a rival male in the house, loyal little bugger he is.”
“Scamp is Dad’s dog,” Ted says, “but Sandy and her husband, Ilídio, are taking him in once Dad moves.”
“No dogs allowed in Alcatraz,” Gerry says, in a voice of mock horror.
“Dad, it’s assisted living, not Alcatraz.” Ted gives his father a disapproving look.
“We’re going to need to go back to puppy school,” Sandy says, shaking a finger at Scamp’s nose.
I don’t want to make a fuss and make Sandy feel worse than she already does, but that’s now two things in the case I’ve lost or damaged, and I can’t help but feel my good mood punctured. What am I going to say to J. Le Maistre when I find him? “Hi, I think you’re my soulmate, sorry I destroyed all your possessions.” I take the mauled jumper back from Sandy and lament the tragic end of my Ryan Gosling sweater fantasy.
“I’m going to lock him in our kitchen, it’s the only way he’ll learn,” says Sandy, picking up Scamp and carrying him over the low garden wall with her.
“He can sense change in the air, I’m afraid,” says Gerry, pressing a shaking hand onto his bandaged arm.
“Please don’t give it another thought,” I say, trying to compose my face so that no one but me feels bad about this.
“Laura, if I take you back to town to check out of your hotel, we could go via Maude Le Maistre’s place,” Ted suggests. “I looked up where she lives, it’s on the way.”
“Ted, I would never have asked you to ferry me around all day if I’d known you had so much going on here. I’ll happily find a bus—”
“Oh, let him drive you, Laura, maybe some of your sparkle will rub off on that dour face of his,” Gerry says, looking as though he’s struggling to stand. “He’s been so—”
Ted cuts Gerry off before he can say any more. “Dad, let me help you, do you need to go inside?” He takes Gerry’s arm and helps him to his feet.
“I’m not totally decrepit yet,” Gerry says to me. “It’s just chairs I can’t get on with, or out of.”
* * *
* * *
Sandy returns with the key to the cottage and takes me for a tour of the pocket-size house. Inside it has the feel of a well-kept ship’s cabin. There’s one main room, with a window looking out to sea, a tiny en suite, and a kitchenette with a washer dryer. The place has been decorated beautifully, with nautical curtains and sky-blue bed linen.
“You could wash your dress here, get the Scamp out of it,” says Sandy, pointing to the washer dryer. “I’m so sorry again, about the jumper.”
I wave away her apology, then open the suitcase on the bed to see if there is anything else that I can borrow, just while I put my dress through a quick spin cycle. It crosses my mind I could ask Sandy for a change of clothes, but I have only just met her, it feels too much to ask. There’s the white work shirt and belt in the bag—I could probably fashion that into a dress, just to take me to town and back. Sandy has positioned herself on the bed, and I’m not sure I know her well enough to strip down to my underwear in front of her, so I nip through to the bathroom to change.
“Lucky you climbed into Ted’s cab then, hey?” she says through the door.
“He’s been so helpful. I didn’t realize he wasn’t a proper cabdriver—well, not that he’s not proper—just that he only does it here and there.” I’m babbling.
Looking at my makeshift shirtdress in the narrow mirror, I’m pleasantly surprised—it looks good. I don’t feel too guilty about borrowing it; he’s the one holding my case and all my clothes hostage. Though I do feel guilty about the trainer and the jumper.
“Did he tell you he’s a doctor in his other life?” Sandy asks, interrupting my thoughts about clothes.
“A doctor? Who?” I come out of the bathroom and do a little twirl.
“Nice. I like what you’ve done with it. Jeez, if I had legs like those, I’d just walk around in my knickers all day,” Sandy says with a sigh.
I laugh, surprised by the compliment.
“Well, I might be forced to walk around in my underwear if I don’t get my suitcase back soon.”
Sandy draws her eyes back to my face and blinks.
“What were we talking about before your ridiculously long legs? Ah yes, Ted being a doctor. He’s training to be a surgeon, you know.” Her voice lilts into a sigh. “He’s had a bit of an unusual career path, worked in conservation in his twenties, traveled all over; he was a right hippie. Then he had this epiphany about being a doctor, cut his long hair and enrolled in medical school. I have a lot of respect for anyone who goes back to studying in their thirties.”
A surgeon, wow. I feel strangely indignant Ted hasn’t told me any of this himself. But then I don’t know why he should have. Plus, we’ve covered quite a lot of other topics in the short time we’ve known each other. With his calm demeanor, I can see him as a doctor, but in another sense, I can’t—not with that beard.
As though reading my mind, Sandy says, “He hasn’t always been so scruffy. He’s just having a little”—she pauses, searching for the right word—“time-out. Trust me, underneath it all, Ted’s a real looker. Once upon a time, every girl in Jersey was in love with Ted Palmerston.” She watches my face for a reaction.
“Not you, though?” I ask, looking into the small mirror, shaped like a ship’s porthole, and pulling my hair up into a scruffy bun.
“Nah, he’s like a brother to me. You can’t fancy someone when you’ve seen them play air guitar with their winkle at the age of eight.”
I choke on my laugh and Sandy stands up to pat me on the back.
“Well, he’s clearly a man of many talents,” I say, keen to steer the tilt of this conversation elsewhere. “He’s been very helpful in the search for my lost suitcase.”
Sandy shakes her head and sits back on the bed. “I’m not convinced by this tale of yours, about the suitcase man.”
“You don’t believe in serendipity?” I hold a bobby pin in my mouth, before using it to pin down some flyaway strands of hair. “How did you meet your partner?”