The Retreat(43)

Sunlight dragged me from sleep. Groggy and hung over, I got dressed and headed outside, hoping a kick of cold air might make me feel more human.

Ursula was in the front garden, by the fence that Rhodri had fixed, wearing an expensive-looking red coat. She saw me and waved me over, smiling broadly. It was a bright, mild morning. Low clouds hung over the distant mountains, and the trees in Julia’s garden were alive with blossom. Birds passed overhead, returning from hotter climes. Apart from their calls, a hush hung over the land.

‘Such a wonderful place, isn’t it?’ Ursula said. She was, I noticed, almost shaking, giving off the air of someone who’d just won the lottery. ‘I knew it . . . I knew if I came somewhere quiet, away from the city . . .’

‘Sorry, you’ve lost me,’ I said.

Her eyes shone. ‘Last night. Phoebe spoke to me. Oh, it was so wonderful to hear her again! I thought I’d lost my gift, that I was being punished for sharing the secret with the world and benefitting materially from it.’ She grabbed my wrist. ‘But she’s back. She’s back!’

For a moment I thought she was about to fall to her knees and raise her face to the sky, to give thanks. Despite my cynicism about such things, her excitement was contagious.

But then she said, ‘Phoebe told me about you, Lucas. About your loss.’

I stared at her.

‘You deserve to be happy, and maybe you could make Julia happy too.’

‘How do you know about . . . ?’ I stopped myself. Perhaps she didn’t really know anything, but was fishing, making guesses like those self-proclaimed clairvoyants who make broad statements and convince their victims they have real insight.

Then again, she might have found a story about Priya online. I had forbidden my publicist from telling anyone about my girlfriend’s death because I didn’t want it to look like I was capitalising on tragedy. I’d worried it might leak, that a journalist would find out and write a story: TRAGIC PAST OF BESTSELLING AUTHOR. But, fortunately, the press weren’t interested in authors and books, not unless your name was J. K. Rowling. The only explanation, if she wasn’t guessing, was that she’d called her agent or publisher and asked about me.

It made me feel violated.

‘I don’t have time for this,’ I said.

I half-jogged back to the house, Ursula’s words ringing in my ears. Suddenly, I had a bad feeling about her coming here. I muttered a curse to myself as I entered the kitchen.

‘Are you all right?’

It was Julia. She was seated at the breakfast bar, writing in a black ledger. I couldn’t think of a suitable response. I didn’t want to worry her by telling her about my nocturnal intruder. And I definitely didn’t want to recount my conversation with Ursula.

She filled the silence. ‘You seem a bit out of it.’

‘Do I? I didn’t sleep well, and I can’t find my phone. I feel lost without it.’

‘I’m sure it will turn up.’ She carried on making notes for a minute, then said, ‘I saw you in the garden, talking to Ursula. I told you she was a character.’

‘That’s one way of putting it.’

‘You don’t like her?’

I hesitated before saying, ‘I felt sorry for her at first. But now I think . . . well, I think she’s dangerous.’

Julia put down her pen, which I squinted at to check it wasn’t mine. ‘That’s a bit extreme, isn’t it?’

‘No. She—’

‘Hang on, she’s coming.’

Ursula entered the kitchen. ‘Has the kettle just boiled? I could murder a chamomile.’

Julia smiled at my grimace. ‘Coming right up.’ She reached for a box of herbal teabags. ‘I’ve got some biscuits here somewhere. Shortbread.’ She opened a cupboard and frowned. ‘That’s weird.’

‘Can’t you find them?’

‘No. They were definitely here yesterday. Maybe one of the guests took them.’ She tutted. ‘Someone’s been helping themselves to my tampons out of the bathroom too.’ She picked the teabags up again.

I was about to tell Julia about Karen’s missing sandwich when Ursula said, ‘I just saw a little girl outside.’

Julia dropped the box of teabags. They scattered over the counter. ‘What did you say?’ All the colour had drained from her face.

Ursula gestured towards the window. ‘There was a little girl, just beyond that field beside the house, on the edge of the woods.’

‘How old was she?’ Julia said. ‘What did she look like?’

‘Well, my eyesight isn’t what it used to be . . .’

‘Tell me!’

‘About ten, I think. Brown hair. Skinny as a pole.’

Julia dashed out of the kitchen and through the front door. Ursula stared after her, then turned to me.

‘What the hell are you up to?’ I demanded.

‘I’m not up to anything, dear. Simply reporting what I saw.’

I shook my head, then followed Julia out the door. I found her standing by the fence at the far end of the garden, gazing across the field of overgrown grass.

‘Lily was always searching for Chesney in this field,’ she said. ‘Michael told her something about there being rabbits here – not that I’ve ever seen one – and Lily became convinced it was Chesney’s hunting ground.’