‘I didn’t realise she carried a torch for you either. Seems we were both wrong.’
For a few moments, a look crossed his face that she recognised, as he weighed up pros and cons.
‘No,’ he said. ‘She’s your friend. This is about you and me. Not Terri.’
‘Up to you.’
‘I’d better go.’ He took a couple of paces away from her, before halting, as if he half-expected her to call him back. Typical man, Hannah thought. Hope sprang eternal. ‘I parked down the lane.’
‘Goodnight, Marc.’
She fished out her keys and walked up to the front door. Not trusting herself to speak, far less to look back over her shoulder.
‘You may not believe this, but I’ve changed.’
‘I’m sorry about your miscarriage, Hannah, more than I ever said. Heartbroken. But we can start again.’ He paused. ‘Try for a baby.’
She caught her breath.
‘Hannah.’ His voice was clear as he walked away; in the quiet of the evening, it seemed unnaturally loud. ‘Don’t forget one thing. I love you.’
The key rattled in the lock. She felt clumsy and juvenile. Her hands began to tremble.
‘
‘You don’t have to,’ Purdey said. ‘I’m telling you what he told me. And I happen to believe it’s true.’
‘You’re making it up!’ Sham blurted out. ‘He never said anything about it to me!’
Purdey shrugged. ‘So?’
Gareth said, ‘I think you’d better tell us the whole story.’
For once, he sounded stern and humourless, like the Victorian paterfamilias who stared down from the opposite wall. Daniel snatched a glance at his fellow diners. Kit and Glenys looked bewildered, Bryan displeased, Sally agog and open-mouthed, hungry for fresh revelations. Hurt and angry, Sham had turned the colour of beetroot. Louise was frowning with concentration, keen not to miss anything. Only Fleur’s expression — or lack of it — gave nothing away. Perhaps her studied indifference was a clue; why make such an effort to appear unfazed? Daniel found himself admiring her gift for hiding what she really thought.
‘Yes,’ Purdey said. ‘Mike Hinds was his father, and Aslan had come back to check him out.’
‘Check him out?’
‘Correct. They’d never met, and Aslan was afraid he wouldn’t be welcome if he turned up on his father’s doorstep and introduced himself.’
‘Never met?’ Bryan was bewildered. ‘But if you’re trying to say that this man is Callum Hinds, then-’
‘I’m not saying that!’
She was dragging it out, Daniel thought, relishing her fifteen minutes of fame in the family circle.
‘What, then?’
‘Aslan wasn’t Callum. His mother met Mike Hinds in a bar. They had a fling, and Aslan was the result. By the time he was born, his mother had left Keswick for Carlisle, and before long she went back home to Turkey. Mike Hinds never knew anything about the child.’
‘This is bizarre.’ Gareth shook his head in disbelief. ‘I know Mike was a womaniser in his younger days, but …’
Sally said, ‘How on earth did you find this out?’
‘I met Aslan when I called in at St Herbert’s. Aunt Fleur asked me to drop off some financial statements for the principal. Aslan and I got talking. He invited me to meet up for a drink at a bar in town that night, and since I had nothing better to do, I agreed. That was when he told me his story; it only took a few drinks to loosen his tongue. He swore me to secrecy, but I think he wanted to impress me with his exotic life story. An illegitimate son of a Keswick farmer, raised in Istanbul, who has roamed the world for years and is now back in Cumbria in search of his roots. Fascinating if you like that sort of thing, but he wasn’t my type. When he invited me back to his flat, I made it clear I wasn’t interested.’
‘I bet,’ Sham muttered.
‘What do you mean?’ her mother asked.
‘Oh, come on, Mum, don’t tell me you haven’t worked it out. Why do you think she was so upset when Dad’s secretary Lily went back home to Australia?’
Purdey said quietly, ‘Keep your nose out of my life, Sham. It’s nothing to do with you. Besides, you ought to be grateful. I told Aslan he’d stand a much better chance with you. If he fancied easy pickings.’
‘You cow!’ Sham banged her spoon on the wooden tabletop. Her lower lip was thrust out, making her resemble an infant losing her temper at mealtime.
‘Purdey, Sham, you’re not teenagers any longer, behave!’ Gareth was seething. ‘I’ll speak to you both later, when our guests have gone home. Your private lives aren’t for public consumption. All I want to know right now is whether there’s any truth in this incredible story that Mike Hinds has an illegitimate son he knows nothing about.’
‘He had no reason to lie,’ Purdey said sulkily. ‘Everything he told me seemed perfectly believable. He hadn’t contacted Mike Hinds at that time; he’d heard from his mother, and also by asking around, that Mike has a vicious temper. I told him he needed to choose his moment carefully if he wanted a reunion. Time it wrong, and Mike would be getting out his shotgun. I said I wasn’t sure Mike would be thrilled to discover he had a long-lost son.’
‘But he’d lost Callum,’ Sally said.
‘I don’t think he’d see Aslan as a straight swap, Mum,’ Purdey said with exaggerated patience. ‘It’s not as simple as happy ever after.’
‘The real question is whether this tale he told you is true,’ Bryan said. ‘It seems extraordinary, like something out of one of Orla’s fairy stories.’
‘It could be true,’ Kit Payne said. ‘Niamh told me about some of Mike’s affairs. The ones she knew about, anyway. A girl from Eastern Europe was among his conquests, I remember.’
‘So Aslan really is Mike’s son?’
As Gareth lingered over the question, his brain seemed to be stepping up a gear. Like everyone else, Daniel thought, he must be computing what he’d learnt, trying to figure out the implications.
‘Well, well,’ Bryan said. ‘The prodigal has returned, after all.’
‘But not the prodigal everyone hoped for,’ Fleur Madsen said.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
Saturday morning in Keswick, and Market Square was crammed with bargain hunters swarming around stalls that sold pies and paintings, clothes and crafts, and pretty much everything else you could wish for. Traders’ raucous cries punctuated the hum of a hundred conversations, smells from the fishmonger’s wafted through the warm air, mixing with those of home-made preserves and pungent cheeses. Marooned in the pedestrianised area was Moot Hall, with its sturdy tower and one-handed clock. Over the years, it had served as a courthouse, a prison and a town hall. Now it housed a tourist information office, with posters, leaflets and videos extolling Keswick’s various delights: Derwent Water, the Theatre by the Lake, Skiddaw, Blencathra — and a pencil museum.
The temperature was rising as Daniel smeared a dollop of sunblock on his face and neck. He’d arrived early, but he was hopeless at waiting, and found himself inventing a dozen reasons why Hannah might not show up. At last he spotted her through the crowd, handing over money at a stall that sold belts and bracelets. The bag under her arm bulged with purchases. A single woman with a busy job didn’t have much time for shopping, and she’d made the most of the market. A short-sleeved blue top and denim jeans clung to her. Since their last encounter, she’d lost weight, he thought, even though she’d never had much to lose. From a distance, she looked scarcely old enough to have left police college, let alone take charge of a cold case squad. His spirits rose as she caught sight of
