‘Two hundred and twenty miles, three and a half hours,’ Strover adds. ‘Maybe a bit less with blues and twos?’
17
Kate
‘Tell me exactly what happened,’ Rob says, his voice calm but concerned.
‘It was a lot of fuss about nothing,’ Kate says.
She’s back at the house, lying on her bed and talking to Rob on the phone. Not on FaceTime like they usually do, just an old-fashioned call. He didn’t seem to mind that they couldn’t see each other when she rang him, didn’t ask any questions, and she didn’t offer an explanation.
She doesn’t want to see his face, not right now, but it feels good to hear his voice, reassuring. He sounds like the Rob she knows and loves. She’s still fragile after what happened in the harbour and she’s looking forward to Bex’s arrival. She was meant to pick Bex up from Truro station, but she’s only just been given the all-clear by the paramedic who checked her over on the harbour slipway beside the café.
‘I was having a swim, like we always do,’ she continues telling Rob. ‘Out to the platform.’
‘And then?’
‘I got cramp in my legs, that’s all.’ She’s trying to downplay it as much for her benefit as his. She doesn’t want to dwell on how close she might have come to dying.
‘And nearly drowned. Doesn’t that worry you?’ he asks.
It terrifies her. But if she admits as much to Rob, he will rush down to see her and she can’t cope with that right now.
‘I must still be in shock,’ she offers. Her calf muscles are almost too tight to walk.
‘What were you doing before the swim?’ he asks.
‘Having a coffee. Like we always do.’
‘And what did you have?’
This is too weird. Rob interrogating her about her coffee choices. Now would seem the obvious time to quiz him about his own choices, but she can’t bring herself to ask. It suddenly seems so petty.
‘A flat white.’ She pauses. And then she can’t resist. ‘Ever tried one?’
‘Sometimes. When I’m missing you.’ His turn to pause now. ‘It’s like I’m tasting you in my mouth.’
She blushes. And feels so foolish. He had that flat white at Paddington because he was missing her.
‘I had some flapjack too,’ she adds, overcome by a sudden welling-up of love for him. ‘I was famished, hadn’t had lunch.’
‘Were you sitting with anyone?’
‘Just the local village stud. We’re inseparable when you’re away.’
‘I’m serious.’
‘What’s this about, Rob?’ She’s irritated now. Must be another symptom of shock. ‘All these questions.’
He hesitates before speaking. ‘Have you seen the papers today?’
‘Not yet.’ His weekend Financial Times, delivered this morning, is still lying unread on the chair in the hallway, folded like crisp pink linen.
‘There’s been a big trial in Swindon. Modern slavery, people trafficking. The organised crime gang was sentenced yesterday.’
‘And?’ But she knows already what he’s going to say.
‘The judge said the original arrests were made on the basis of identifications by Wiltshire Police’s super-recogniser unit. Singled it out for special praise.’
‘Mention any names?’
‘No.’
That’s something, at least. Working on that case was addictive – and particularly draining. She knew that the trial would be coming up soon, but she’d put it out of her mind. Blanked it from her memory. That whole world is behind her now, part of another life.
She props herself up on one elbow and thinks about the man in the café, whose face was turned away from her. She feels a pang of unease. It was just cramp, nothing more.
‘There was a man sitting near me,’ she says slowly. ‘I didn’t see clearly who it was. I just thought he was someone on holiday.’
‘What did he look like?’
An image of the side of his face comes into focus. ‘Big forehead, dark, slanting eyebrows, receding hairline. Late forties, maybe early fifties.’
‘Familiar?’
‘I’m not sure.’
She always used to be so certain.
‘It doesn’t add up, Kate, that’s all I’m saying,’ Rob says.
‘How do you mean?’
‘You’re a strong swimmer. You’d had something to eat. And then all of a sudden you get cramp so badly you nearly drown.’
‘I’ve had cramp attacks before,’ she says. But they both know she’s never had one like that. She’s still in denial.
It’s a few seconds before he speaks again. ‘Did you leave your coffee unattended?’
Jesus. She starts to panic. Was she poisoned? Stretch senses her anxiety and tries to hop onto the bed. She scoops him up and holds him close to her chest. He was in a state when Mark from the gallery dropped him round a few minutes ago. And now it’s catching up with her.
‘When I went to get the flapjack,’ she says, frightened by where he’s going with this, ‘I left my unfinished coffee, yes. For a minute, no longer than that.’
Silence. Rob is annoyed, she can feel it. Eyes closed, he’s trying to control his frustration. She thinks of the café again, scared by the thought of someone spiking her coffee here in idyllic Cornwall.
‘You’ve got to be more careful,’ he says, gently now. ‘I’m coming back down. Tonight.’
‘It’s fine, really,’ she says, trying to disguise another wave of panic. She’s not ready to see him in person. She just wants to be with Bex, on her own, give herself the chance to process everything that’s been going on. She’ll tell Bex about the cramp attack, see what she thinks, whether Rob’s being paranoid.
‘I could drive,’ he offers.
‘Honestly, I’m OK.’
She tries to tell herself that Rob is worried about her because he’s a naturally cautious person, safety conscious. It’s one of the things she dislikes about wealth. It seems to make people more fearful, oblige them to live behind high walls and locked doors.
But she knows his worries run deeper. Rob thinks she’s in danger from the people she recognised when she worked for the police. She hasn’t told him all the details of her old job. She’s not allowed to. But he is aware that her memory for faces was instrumental in convicting some deeply unpleasant people.
‘You really think someone spiked my coffee?’ she asks, determined to downplay the possibility.
‘Maybe.’
‘Why would anyone do that?’ She laughs nervously, but before he has a chance to answer, she hears a car pulling up outside.
‘Bex is here,’ she says, grateful for the interruption.
‘Keep the doors locked,’ he says.
‘I always do,’ she lies.
‘And remember to set the alarm.’
‘I promise,’ she says, but this time she means it.
18
Jake
Jake closes his laptop and looks down the narrowboat to the bedroom at the far end. There’s not much in there these days. He had a big clear-out after Kate left. A purging of sorts. The lighting is low and for a moment he thinks he sees her engrossed in a book, lying on the bed. She liked it down there, away from the noise of the engine. In the early days, she used to be his first reader, annotating embarrassing sex scenes with perceptive comments about emotional intelligence.