The Keeper of Lost Things(74)
Eunice took a sip of her drink, and hugged the biscuit tin closer to her side as though she might lose it again.
“The little boy sat in his seat poking his tongue out at me just until his mother was out of sight and then leaped to his feet and made a run for it. Sod’s law helpfully ensured that this was just as the train was pulling into a station, and I wasn’t quick enough to stop him jumping off the train when the doors opened, and so I was forced to follow him. I had my bag over my arm, but by the time I realized I had left Bomber in his seat, it was too late.”
Eunice shuddered at the memory.
“I’m sure you can imagine the pandemonium that followed. The mother was beside herself, wildly accusing me of kidnapping her son. Frankly, I was only too glad to give the little bugger back. I was absolutely frantic about leaving Bomber on the train and reported it straightaway, but by the time the train had reached Brighton, he was gone.”
Laura topped up their glasses.
“It’s an unusual name, Bomber.”
“Oh, that wasn’t his real name. His real name was Charles Bramwell Brockley. But I never knew anyone to call him that. He was always Bomber. And he would have loved you,” she said to Carrot, gently stroking his head, which was by now resting in her lap. “He loved all dogs.”
“And he was a publisher, you say? I wonder if he ever crossed paths with Anthony. He was a writer; short stories in the main. Anthony Peardew.”
“Oh yes,” Eunice replied. “That’s a name I remember well. His is a great story, you know; Anthony and Therese, the study full of his collection, the website. There has to be a book in it.”
Laura thought about her schoolgirl dreams of being a writer and smiled wistfully. Too late for all that now.
Eunice was still hugging the biscuit tin tightly to her side.
“Do you still work in publishing?” Laura asked her.
Eunice shook her head.
“No, no. My heart wasn’t in it after Bomber . . .” Her voice trailed away. “But if you’re ever interested in giving the book a go, I’d be very happy to help. I still have contacts and I could recommend you to some agents.”
The two women sat in silence for a while, enjoying their drinks, the scent of the roses, and the peace and quiet of a sunny afternoon.
“And what about you, Laura?” Eunice finally spoke. “Do you have someone in your life—someone you love like I loved Bomber?”
Laura shook her head.
“I did, until a few days ago. But we had a fight.”
She paused, thinking about what had actually happened.
“Okay. I started an argument; a pathetic, ridiculous, puerile argument. Well, it wasn’t even an argument, because he didn’t argue back. He just stood there listening to me rant on like a hysterical half-wit before I flounced off. I haven’t seen him since.”
Laura was slightly surprised at the relief she felt from simply saying it out loud.
“My name is Laura and I’ve been a complete bloody idiot.”
“You’re very hard on yourself, my dear.”
Eunice squeezed her hand and smiled.
“But you love him?”
Laura nodded miserably.
“Then talk to him.”
“I’ve tried. But he never answers his phone and I can’t say I blame him. I was spectacularly horrible. I’ve left messages saying I’m sorry, but he obviously isn’t interested anymore.”
Eunice shook her head.
“No, that’s not what I meant. Talk to him, not his phone. Find him and tell him to his face.”
Suddenly Eunice reached inside her bag and took out a small box.
“I almost forgot,” she said. “I brought you something for the website. I found it all those years ago on the way to my interview with Bomber. I’ve always kept it as a sort of lucky charm. I never really gave a thought to the person who must have lost it. But now it seems only fair that you should have it. I know it’s a long shot, but maybe you might be able to find whom it really belongs to.”
Laura smiled. “Of course, I’ll try. I just need to make a note of any details you can remember.”
Eunice didn’t even need to think about it. She rattled off the day, date, time, and location without hesitation. “You see,” she said, “it was one of the best days of my life.”
Laura took the box from Eunice.
“May I?” she asked.
“Of course.”
As Laura took the medallion from the box, she knew for just a moment what it felt like to be Sunshine. The object in her hand spoke to her just as surely as if it had a voice of its own.
“Are you all right?” Eunice sounded as though she was very far away, speaking down a bad phone line. Laura scrambled to her feet, unsteadily.
“Come with me,” she said to Eunice.
The door to Therese’s bedroom swung easily open and Laura placed the Communion medallion, with its tiny picture of St. Therese of the Roses framed in gold, on the dressing table next to the photograph of Anthony and Therese. The little blue clock, which had stopped, as usual, began ticking again of its own accord. Laura held her breath, and for a moment the two women stood in silence. And then downstairs, in the garden room, the music began, softly at first and then louder and louder.
The Very Thought of You.