‘So it should be a fairly clean break.’ It was a statement of fact rather than a question.
‘Yes, I suppose it will be.’
‘And have you thought about what it would be like never to see him again?’
‘Of course. But it’s not like you and Dominic. I know that’s what you’re thinking.’
‘No, Abby. Nick would not be dead, but he’d still be gone, and you have to ask yourself how you’d feel about that. How you’d feel about seeing him across the street one day with another woman, his new wife, children. How you’d feel seeing him live a life that was nothing to do with yours.’
Please turn right in one hundred metres, said a robotic voice, as Abby’s hands gripped the wheel of her Fiat 500 and she tried to dismiss the image that Ros had planted in her head. An image of the B&B in St Agnes, the shutters painted bright blue, a shabby-chic shack built on to the side of it. She could see Nick, his hair a little longer than it was now, waxing down a surfboard, a woman in a bikini rubbing suncream into a small tanned child, an adorable genetic mix of the two of them. A perfect family living a perfect life by the coast. The life she had always wanted.
She mounted the kerb, the car shaking as she navigated it back on to the road. Ros jolted in surprise and flashed her a look to say that now was not the time to be thinking about it.
Appledore was a care home, but unlike any other Abby had seen around London – those huge converted Victorian houses on busy main roads that always struck her as depressing places to see out your final days. This home was as pretty as its name – a large Arts and Crafts building in endless acres of manicured grounds. Driving the Fiat down the long approach, she saw a sign to an orchard, another to a walled garden, and when Ros wound down the window, letting in the scent of freshly cut grass and roses, Abby thought it smelt as good as it looked.
As they approached the house, she turned her stereo off, as she did when she drove past a church or a cemetery. It was something she had learnt from Nick; a little sign of respect, he used to say.
‘So when was the last time you saw Victoria Harbord?’ asked Abby as she slowed the car to park outside the house.
‘Over fifty years ago,’ said Rosamund quietly, her eyes trailing out of the window, her thoughts lost in time.
‘Were you close?’
Ros shook her head. Abby had suspected that would be the answer. When they had left the National Archives, Ros had immediately suggested that Dominic’s good friend Victoria Harbord might know the identity of the EZ mentioned in the archive document. Victoria apparently knew everyone in the heady days of the fifties and sixties. But the pinched and cold way in which Rosamund had spoken about the great society hostess had suggested that she did not like her very much.
Abby turned off the engine and stretched her arms out in front of her. She expected Ros to make a move, but the old woman just sat there with her handbag on her lap, staring out in front of her.
‘I think you should probably talk to her,’ said Ros finally.
‘What’s wrong?’ frowned Abby, turning to look at her and noticing an unfamiliar look of nervousness in her expression.
‘Vee and I never saw eye to eye,’ Ros said quietly. ‘She might be confrontational, obstructive if I’m there. It’s best if you conduct the interview.’
Abby waved a hand. ‘Come on, Ros. It was all a long time ago. I’m sure she’ll be glad to see you.’
‘No,’ said Rosamund, shaking her head.
Abby looked at her with exasperation. She knew that Ros had spent the past twenty-four hours trying to track down Victoria; she couldn’t believe she had cold feet now that they were minutes away from meeting her.
‘Ros, we’ve come all the way to Kent to see this woman.’
‘Victoria Harbord tried to sabotage my relationship with Dominic. I was convinced she was a little in love with Dominic herself and didn’t like the Jewish interloper making off with the grand prize. I always swore that if I ever saw her again in my life it would be too soon.’
‘But she might know who EZ is,’ said Abby, feeling duped and angry. She felt more confident with Ros by her side, in the same way that she had enjoyed the Chronicle investigation working alongside Elliot. Anything else made her feel painfully aware of her position as a novice, a fraud.
‘Come on, Ros. If you want to find out the truth about Dominic, you have to come with me now.’ Her stern tone surprised even herself. She had no idea what had happened to the mousy archivist; Abby felt as if she was kicking ass.
‘You speak to her,’ s
aid Ros just as firmly. ‘I’ll wait in the car.’
‘Ros, please. We’ll only be ten minutes.’
‘Just go,’ she said with a look that told Abby she was not going to budge.
Abby sighed as she got out of the car, and looked back at Ros sitting defiantly in the passenger seat. She knew she might have a point. If there was bad blood between the two women, that might colour the interview. As she studied Ros’s expression – the lines on her face creasing a little deeper, the anxious downturn of her mouth – her reluctance to come face to face with her old rival was clear to see. It made Abby think about what it would be like if she were to confront the woman that Nick had had sex with in Stockholm.
She walked into the house and announced herself at the nurses’ bay. A woman in a blue uniform introduced herself as Tracey and asked Abby to follow her down the corridor.