Page 23 of Watch For Me By Candlelight

Anyway, Kate hadn’t seen Tom for months, so she was looking forward to the trip. It did make it a lot more convenient that she could stay at Chris’s and not have to pay for accommodation. And despite the fact that Chris was working, the intention was that the three of them would all head out for dinner that evening, so that would be nice too.

Kate walked down the front stairs on the Sunday evening, all ready to throw her suitcase into the back of her car and start the journey down to Chiswick. As she turned the key in the lock, the clocks started chiming again in the reception area. She hadn’t heard that for weeks — not since Theo had driven off to his campsite.

Kate unlocked the door and stuck her head back inside, her heart hammering against her chest. But there was nothing to see, and certainly nothing to hear. Everything was ticking away nicely, the cuckoo behaving himself and the Hall clock sitting there all smug.

She had to admit it — she was a little disappointed.

* * *

Chris’s house had always felt wrong to Kate. It was an Edwardian two-bedroom end-of-terrace house — very nice and very beautiful. It had an en-suite bathroom and a private back garden with a high fence. It also had perfectly polished floorboards in a big, airy bay-windowed lounge, and a downstairs cloak room.

However, at the back of the house was a great big glass extension, which seemed very out of place to Kate. It was possibly because she was a stickler for history and the way things should look traditionally, and to walk into what should be a kitchen and be faced with nothing but a massive glass wall always threw her. It was super-clean and super-clinical as well. Much different to her little kitchen, which usually smelled of burnt toast and permanently had a pile of dishes on the draining board. If she got her breakfast dishes washed and put away before the next morning, it was something of an achievement. Having said that, if she had a cleaner like Chris did, then maybe her kitchen would not be so hovel-like.

The terraced house had looked quite different when she lived there. It was almost as if every trace of her had been eradicated, and she had been pushed to one side. She cringed as a memory came into her mind of one of Chris’s interminable business dinners just after she’d left:

‘Oh, yes, Kate used to live with me, she used to work in the British Museum, you know? Yes — I know. I have no idea why she decided to move up to Suffolk.’ An amused, sidelong look at her. ‘Kate’s a country girl at heart, I think. I know! She won’t find very exciting exhibits up there, but it’s what she wants to do, so . . .’ A shrug of the shoulders and an apologetic smile. ‘I’ve got to support her, haven’t I?’

Ugh. It had caused a massive argument when they got home, but he’d talked her round and apologised, and she’d reluctantly forgiven him.

And his terrace was a beautiful house — just not to her taste, unfortunately.

Kate’s mind drifted back to the blacksmith’s cottage at home. She’d always felt comfortable there, and she’d always felt welcomed by the Hall, whether she’d gone in as a paying guest or popped in to see Elodie or Cassie in the private wing. She had thought it odd how a person could just connect to some places and not others.

She unlocked the door to Chris’s house and carried her case in. She didn’t dump it in the lounge as she usually did at home; she kicked her shoes off and carried the case straight upstairs. There she unpacked everything, hanging her clothes up in the wardrobe, shunting along the stuff she already had there, folding other things neatly into the drawers. Her toothbrush was still there, and she had her own toiletries, along with some bits and pieces of make-up so she didn’t feel like she was packing for a holiday, just to see her boyfriend. She didn’t bother with make-up much at home; just a slick of lip-gloss and some mascara, along with a dusting of blusher and she was good to go. They usually went out for dinner when Kate came to stay with Chris though, and she felt as if she needed to make more of an effort in that respect.

Only when her case was unpacked and hidden in the spare bedroom Chris used as a study, did she go downstairs and shed her coat. Chris had texted her and said he’d be in about seven o’clock. It would be a quick turnaround as their meal was booked for eight-thirty, so Kate’s plan was to have a shower — well, go on, a nice, deep bubble bath, as he had the most amazing bathroom — and pamper herself until he came home.

Kate looked at her mobile and wondered whether she risked phoning him to tell him she was here. It would only go to voicemail if he couldn’t answer; it wasn’t as if he would be disturbed in a meeting.

The phone rang three times before he answered it. ‘Kate?’ he asked, sounding flustered.

‘The very same.’ She frowned. ‘Is everything okay? I only called to tell you I’m here. If it’s a bad time I can call back.’

‘No, it’s not a bad time, exactly.’ He laughed, a little shortly. ‘It’s just not a great time. I’m supposed to have a conversation with this client in the US and my computer has crashed. The tech guys are here now. I can’t really risk letting the client down, so I feel a bit screwed, to be honest.’

‘Is it Skype?’ Everything seemed to be Skype at the moment — Kate’s brother was a great advocate of it; and to be fair if he’d never told Kate about it, she probably wouldn’t have known what it was herself.

‘Yes. That’s right. Hang on.’ There was a crackle and a thump as, Kate assumed, the mobile was thrown onto the desk and Chris began a muffled conversation with someone who sounded as if their native tongue was Russian or something. A tech guy, perhaps.

‘Chris!’ Kate shouted down the phone. ‘Hellloooo! Chris!’

She had hung on for a few seconds feeling really silly, when he eventually came back to her.

He sounded pretty panicked. ‘The mother board’s gone, he says. I’m well and truly shafted. Bloody hell. Bloody, bloody hell—’ That was followed by some rather less innocent swear words. Then, finally, ‘Look — I’ll have to go and see if I can sort this out. I’ll see you later . . . Oh, God — that’s what I meant to tell you — I can’t get home for seven. I’ll meet you there. Just get a taxi. It’s The Arch, Great Cumberland Place, okay? The taxi-driver will know where he’s going.’

This wasn’t altogether unexpected. It happened on a regular basis. Kate had, in fact, acquired a sort of pet taxi driver who she usually asked for when she rang the company. She knew she could trust him and he always took the shortest route, which was obviously excellent news for her.

‘Okay.’ She tried not to let the resentment show in her voice. ‘I’ll see you there.’

‘Yep, see you. Sorry — I’ll have to go. Bye.’

‘Chris—’ she said, but he’d already hung up.

So much for exploring new technology for a virtual office in Suffolk — he couldn’t even cope when it failed in London when he had a raft of tech guys to sort it all out for him. He’d probably have a heart attack if the Wi-Fi dropped out in Hartsford and be on the first train down to London to get a more reliable signal.

* * *

The taxi driver dropped Kate off in front of what had originally been a row of Georgian houses. They’d been converted into a boutique hotel, not far from Mayfair, and looked stunning. She was to meet her brother in the champagne lounge, then Chris was meeting them in the restaurant.