Reluctantly Home(52)
‘But surely not the diary,’ the man said. He sounded truly desperate.
Audrey gave a little shrug in acknowledgement. ‘We wouldn’t usually put a diary out for sale unless it was of particular significance,’ she conceded.
The man seemed to brighten. ‘So where might it have gone? If it wasn’t put out for sale, I mean.’
‘Well, as I am the manager of the shop, any such items would be brought to me. And it wasn’t. I’m terribly sorry, Mr . . .’ She paused.
‘Mountcastle,’ he muttered.
Audrey seemed to do a little double take, but the gesture was so small that Pip might have been mistaken.
‘I’m terribly sorry, Mr Mountcastle, but I don’t seem to be able to help you.’
The man gave a huge sigh, and Pip felt sick. She should just tell them what she’d done. What did it matter if she had broken Audrey’s rules? Who cared about them except Audrey anyway? Then again, if she gave the diary up now, she might never get a chance to speak to Evelyn and then she would never find out the answers to all her questions. The diary was her way into that house. Even more so now she knew Evelyn clearly wanted it back.
‘Well, if it turns up, could you contact me?’ the man said, fishing a wallet out of his jacket pocket and extracting a business card, which he placed on the counter in front of Audrey.
Then he turned and left the shop.
As soon as he had gone, Pip breezed out of the back room, a pile of clothes in her arms.
‘What was that all about?’ she asked casually, as if she had no interest in the reply but was just making conversation.
‘Things given away in error,’ said Audrey. ‘People are so careless with the items they profess to hold dear to their hearts.’
‘He seemed terribly upset,’ said Pip. ‘Poor chap.’
Audrey just harrumphed and bustled off to put the kettle on.
Pip picked up the business card from the countertop and slipped it into her jeans pocket. Now she faced a quandary. The obvious thing to do was ring the man – Nicholas Mountcastle, according to his business card – and tell him she had the diary. But if she did that, then he would just take the diary from her and she would lose her opportunity to meet Evelyn.
Alternatively, she could turn up on Evelyn’s doorstep and say she had heard that this Nicholas chap was looking for the diary. The trouble with that plan was that it raised the question as to why she hadn’t just given it back to him. Also, Evelyn might not even be aware her diary was missing, so that would get Nicholas into all kinds of trouble. She didn’t actually care about that, but she liked that it supported her third, and preferred, option: she should ignore the fact that she now knew they were looking for the diary and just turn up at the house with it, as she had already planned to do. That way she would get to see Evelyn, hopefully, and could pretend she wasn’t aware of Nicholas’s visit to the shop.
She would go after she’d finished work, she decided, and then realised she didn’t have the diary with her. It would have to be the following day, Saturday – not a day she generally went to the shop. She could go in the morning and try to blag her way into the house, using the diary as bait. It wouldn’t be her finest hour, preying on defenceless old ladies, but needs must, and anyway, she wasn’t intending any harm to Evelyn. She just wanted the chance to talk to her. Old women liked to talk; she knew this. So hopefully Evelyn would welcome the opportunity. She would have to pretend she hadn’t actually read the diary, though, which would make questioning her difficult. Pip shook her head. She was a barrister, for goodness’ sake. What she didn’t know about getting information out of witnesses wasn’t worth knowing. How hard could it be to get a lonely old lady to engage in a touch of nostalgic chat?
Pip busied herself amongst the racks of clothes so she wouldn’t trigger Audrey’s idleness radar. Since getting over her feelings of revulsion at handling the cast-off clothes of strangers, she was able to find a kind of affection for these pre-owned, pre-loved things. Sometimes, to pass the time, she even imagined little backstories for the garments, trying to picture the people who had bought them, worn them for something special and then passed them on to be worn and loved by someone else. She didn’t want to buy the clothes herself but perhaps she could understand the process a little more. It was as if her sharp edges were being gradually smoothed, just as the perpetual rush of the sea smooths a jagged rock face.
Pip tried to visualise Nicholas Mountcastle. He had been quite tall and rangy, although most people would look rangy when standing next to Audrey. His hair was the colour of gingerbread and long enough to reveal curls. He’d worn it pushed away from his forehead, which made his face look very long, too, and his nose matched. In fact, that was Pip’s overall impression of him – long. Did he look like Evelyn, she wondered? It was hard to say what the woman in the window had looked like at all, let alone whether there was a family resemblance.
He’d been quite desperate to get the diary back, she thought, which either meant he felt bad at losing it or Evelyn was formidable and he was scared of her. From the way he had spoken to Audrey, Pip had the impression that it might be the latter, but this didn’t quite chime with her own impression of Evelyn. Maybe she’d hardened in the years since Scarlet’s death, though. Perhaps she had grown into a bitter spinster, surrounding herself with cats and rebuffing any offers of help or compassion.