‘Whatever’s open.’
After hanging the coats in a hall cupboard, Andee took a bottle of French Merlot from a well-stocked rack, uncorked it and filled two glasses.
‘Heaven,’ Joely declared, taking a first sip and feeling the wine’s warmth and flavours running through her like liquid comfort. She looked up and finding Andee watching her a surge of emotion threatened to overwhelm her. ‘God it’s good to see you,’ she said, ‘I think I feel better already.’
Andee smiled. ‘It’s good to see you too.’ Putting her glass on the coffee table, she threw more logs onto the fire and folded her long legs under her as she settled into the opposite sofa. ‘So where do you want to start?’ she asked gently.
Joely’s eyes widened, feigning surprise, but then they wandered to the flames as she shook her head. ‘Not with them,’ she replied, trying not to see Callum and Martha in her mind’s eye. ‘I told you the worst of it on the phone, and going over it won’t change anything. I’m so glad to be away for a while. Except it travels with you, that sort of thing, doesn’t it? I guess it’s just good to know that he won’t be dropping in whenever he feels like it.’
‘Does he do that a lot?’
‘Less now – and goddamn him, I’m starting to miss it.’ She sighed and took another sip of wine. ‘He came yesterday, actually. I told him I’m going to change the locks and I think I should.’
Andee sat quietly watching her, and Joely felt her cheeks start to glow in the warmth of the fire. She couldn’t put into words how much she missed Callum, how wrong this break-up felt, but she was sure being left never felt right for the person it had happened to. And it would serve no purpose to talk about it, other than to keep him there in her mind, and what was the good of that?
In the end, clearly picking up on Joely’s thoughts, Andee steered them away from the subject, and said, ‘You asked if I miss being a detective. Now it’s my turn to ask if you miss being a journalist?’
Joely’s eyebrows arched as she looked down at her wine. Everything always came back to Callum, for he’d been a journalist too. Still was, in fact, although he was the co-owner these days of a highly regarded independent production company. However, he’d been a reporter once, on a paper, like her. ‘Not really,’ she replied, mentally shaking herself. ‘The job changed and not in good ways. Everything happens online now, almost no human interaction, and the paper’s new owner is much more interested in snappy celebrity chitchat or scandal than in-depth investigative reports.’ She smiled wryly. ‘I’m not into soaps, I’m afraid, and as for delving about in social media looking for stories … It wasn’t what I wanted to do.’
‘So you became a ghostwriter and you already have quite a few successes under your belt. Sportsmen, a celebrity cook, a national treasure, and now this intriguing new project.’
Enjoying the prompt, Joely stretched out her legs and let her head sink against the side wing of the sofa. It was so cosy here, felt so like home that she already wished she was staying longer. ‘And now you’re going to ask me who it is,’ she smiled.
Andee waited, her eyes filled with teasing expectation.
Joely said, ‘Please tell me you’ve heard of F.M. Donahoe.’
Andee looked impressed. ‘The writer? I have to admit I haven’t read much of his work, but there was a TV adaptation of one, wasn’t there? I remember finding that, dare I say easier than the book?’
Joely had to laugh. ‘I agree, the books are definitely cultist – and actually he’s a she, but don’t worry I wasn’t sure myself until her publisher called to sound me out about the job.’ She took another sip of wine. ‘Turns out her name is Freda, she’s a very private person and she lives just outside of Lynton and Lynmouth, so not a million miles from here. It’s actually one of the reasons I took the job, knowing it would give me the chance to see you, but I have to confess I’m curious to find out why Ms Donahoe wants a ghostwriter, given that she’s never used one before. It could be what she’s really after is some help with research. We’ll see.’
‘So is it another novel? A biography, maybe?’
‘Her publisher, Sully – Sullivan Thorpe – says she wants to write a memoir focusing on a certain period of her life. I don’t know any more than that at the moment, although it seems her aim is to right a wrong, set the record straight, reveal the truth about something that happened when she was younger. She’s invited me to stay at the house, which, to quote Sully, is amazing – better not give him a job as an estate agent – and I’ll have the use of a car, which is why I came by train.’
‘So how long will you be there?’
‘About a month, Sully thinks, maybe longer depending on how many hours my client wants to work in a day. I’m not sure how old she is, Sully isn’t certain either, but somewhere in her sixties, possibly seventy. There’s surprisingly little about her personal life online. I had to dig pretty deep for an entry that gives her full name and confirms she’s female.’
‘Any idea why she’s so reclusive?’
‘Sully thinks it’s probably all tied up in the tragedies she’s experienced in her life – nothing about that online either, or not that I’ve found so far. However, he says I’m not to worry about her being morbid or frail or deaf or bitter or any kind of weird. He says she’s very sociable when she wants to be, quite eccentric, and she always gives the impression of enjoying having company when he goes there, so he sees no reason why it would be any different for me.’
‘Does she live alone?’
‘Yes, but she has a housekeeper who goes in most days and a handyman who keeps an eye on things and drives her if she wants to go anywhere. She offered to send him to the station to pick me up, but I said I’d find my own way there.’
Andee sat forward to top up their glasses.
‘Do you know Lynton and Lynmouth?’ Joely asked, swallowing a yawn. ‘Aren’t they twinned in some way?’
‘They’re on the coastal edge of the moor,’ Andee replied, ‘Lynton, which is more of a town, is at the top of the cliff, and Lynmouth, which has the harbour and beach, is at the bottom. There’s a funicular – a kind of Victorian railway carriage – that runs up and down the rock face to connect them. My kids used to think it was better than a fairground ride when they were small.’
Joely smiled. ‘Sounds quaint. Actually, from what I’ve read about it, the whole place sounds lovely, although I wish I was going at a different time of year. I imagine deep winter can get quite savage thrashing itself out between the sea and the moor.’
‘I won’t deny it,’ Andee replied. ‘But don’t worry, if there’s a storm, or the funicular isn’t running for some reason, there’s a road that connects the two. It’s steep and winding, and you can even walk it, but personally I’d only do it going down.’
‘And if it snows I guess the whole place gets cut off?’
‘Almost certainly, but they’re used to it and they keep up with the forecasts to make sure they have what they need.’