A Bitter Feast(102)

“Can’t you just tell us?” asked Doug. “We can let the search party know—”

“No. I need to do it,” Kit said, his urgency mounting.

“We should check with your parents first,” said Melody. She and Doug exchanged a look Kit recognized. It didn’t mean that they thought he couldn’t find Grace—it meant they were afraid he’d find something bad if he did.

Kit swallowed and used his most reasonable voice. “She could be hurt. And Ivan says there’s more rain coming.”

“The lad’s right,” said Ivan. “I’ll go with him. I’ve got an emergency torch and supplies in the Land Rover. Tell me where we’re going, lad.”

“Behind the inn. The footpath.”

“Ah.” Ivan nodded. “That’ll be nasty enough in the dark, never mind the rain. Let’s get on with it, then.”

“I’m coming with you,” said Doug, but Kit could tell he wasn’t thrilled.

Melody nodded, however. “I’ll hold the fort here. Check in with me right away if you find her. Or any sign of her,” she added quietly to her dad.



They went single file, Kit leading the way, Ivan bringing up the rear. They each had a torch, and Ivan carried an emergency pack. “Always good to be prepared when you live in the country, lad,” Ivan had said. He’d talked steadily to Kit as he prepared. Kit thought it was Ivan’s way of trying to keep him from worrying.

The lights had been blazing in the manor house across the road as they entered the footpath, but after the first twist of the path they were plunged into a darkness that seemed absolute. The torches were necessary but disorienting. Kit found that if he didn’t hold his steady he felt woozy. The surface under their feet was slick with a coating of mud. And worse than mud.

“Horse shit,” Doug muttered, and he wasn’t swearing. The pungent smell caught in Kit’s throat.

“It’s a bridle path along this bit.” Ivan seemed unperturbed. “Grace!” he called out. His voice seemed to boom back and forth between the trees pressing in on either side. They all stopped, listening, but there was no answer.

“The river goes under just here,” Kit said when they reached the little crossing. He was beginning to think he’d been wrong. But they had to go the whole way, in case Grace was somewhere between here and the pasture.

Then, as they neared the spot where he and Grace had scrambled under the last fence and slid down the steep bank onto the path, he thought he saw something. “Grace!” He ran ahead, barely managing to keep his footing. “It’s her!”

She might have been a bundle of rags, caught in the glare of the torch, and for a moment Kit’s heart nearly stopped. “Please,” he whispered. “Please be okay.”

Then the bundle moved, resolving itself into Grace’s white T-shirt and dark jeans, with a flicker of safety yellow from the reflective bits on one of her trainers. The other shoe lay to the side of the path. She was huddled into the bank, but her sock-clad foot stuck out at a funny angle.

“Mum?” she said groggily, squinting into the light.

“No, it’s Kit, Grace.” He sank to his knees beside her. “We came to find you.” He swallowed hard, afraid he was going to cry like a bloody baby.

Ivan knelt beside him. “Looks like you’ve hurt your ankle, love,” he said gently. “Can you stand?”

Grace shook her head. “No. I slipped. My ankle—I was running. After I dropped my mobile in the pasture, Bea—she was looking for me—” She pushed herself back into the bank, the whites of her eyes glinting in the torchlight.

“Bea can’t hurt you, Grace. The police have her.”

“But—” Grace seemed to have trouble taking it in. “But Mark—”

“He’s fine, too. Don’t you worry. I reckon that you ringing your mum saved his life.”

“Oh. I was so scared— I thought he was— I’m so cold . . .” Grace sighed, her eyelids drooping closed. Kit was afraid she’d fainted, but then he saw the tears on her cheeks. Kit’s face was damp, too, he realized, but not with tears this time. The rain had begun.

“Let’s get you out of here, lass,” said Ivan, scooping her up in his arms as if she weighed no more than Charlotte.

“I want to go home,” whispered Grace. “I want my mum.”





Chapter Twenty-Five

December 2007

Blindly, she left the restaurant and turned towards the river. The Albert Bridge beckoned, its lights bright as a web of tiny stars against the hard winter sky. Her feet seemed to take her past the old gingerbread guardhouse and up the incline of the bridge of their own volition. She stopped at the apex, gripping the railing, looking down at the dark mass of the Thames swirling below.

What was she going to do? Pregnant, jobless, her mother ill, her rent due on the first of the month. Terror made her heart pound painfully against the wall of her chest. Her head swimming, she gripped the railing tighter and tried to breathe, tried to look away from the water.

“Excuse me, miss,” said a voice in her ear. Startled, Viv looked up. A man in a bulky overcoat stood beside her, his face creased with concern. “Are you all right?” he asked. “It’s just that you looked a bit . . . lost.”