‘Yes,’ he said quietly.
‘Expect us on Thursday.’
After Jonathan had hung up, Dominic stood in silence until there was a knock on the study door.
‘Dom. Are you coming through to eat?’ said Julia, poking her head into the room.
‘I think I should probably go,’ he said, hardly glancing up at her.
Julia pushed the door open and came inside.
‘Is everything okay?’ she asked, putting a reassuring hand on the sleeve of his jacket.
Dominic nodded gratefully.
‘Are you sure? The phone call . . . it wasn’t bad news, was it?’
He looked at her and felt as if a fog was lifting.
‘It’s the call I’ve been waiting for my whole life,’ he said with a smile.
Chapter Thirty-Six
Rosamund Bailey had never been to the west coast of Ireland before, and standing at the window of her small hotel in Clifden, Connemara’s largest town, she wondered why. After Dominic’s disappearance, all she’d seemed to do was travel, from California to Kathmandu, mostly in the name of work, sometimes to simply broaden her horizons, but now, letting her gaze settle over the gentle misty hills, she realised that sometimes you ignored the beauty and pleasure on your own doorstep.
A faint knock on the door shook her from her thoughts and sent a flutter of nerves coursing around her belly.
‘Come in,’ she said, knowing that it was unlocked.
Abby Gordon was holding a piece of toast and smiling at her.
‘We should go,’ said the younger woman reassuringly.
Ros glanced at herself in the mirror. She didn’t feel ready. She was wearing a red dress, bought specially from Jaeger the previous morning, because she knew how much Dominic had liked her in the colour. It had seemed a bold and passionate choice when she had tried it on, and in the changing rooms it had looked flattering. But this morning, as the cool Irish light cut through the window pane, she felt old and gaudy, mutton dressed as lamb.
‘Are you ready?’ pressed Abby. ‘Jonathon is waiting for us in the breakfast room.’
Ros had heard the expression ‘run for the hills’, but never had it felt more apt.
She took her coat from a hook on the door and put it on. It was now too late to change her dress, so she fastened the buttons to cover it, grateful for the tepid early August weather.
Abby was waiting patiently. Ros was grateful that her new friend had travelled with her to Ireland. She knew Abby had her own life, her own problems, but she had been there every step of the way.
Not much surprised Ros any more. She’d been a Fleet Street journalist for fifty years: she’d watched a man set foot on the moon, witnessed a wall go up – and then come down – through the middle of Berlin, and seen a black man become President of the United States of America, something that had seemed quite unthinkable that summer of 1961, when race riots raged in the Deep South. But never had she been more taken aback than when Abby Gordon had phoned her thirty-six hours earlier with the news that Dominic was still alive. At first she thought it was some cruel trick, or that Abby had gone mad through the stress of her divorce. It was only when Jonathon Soames had also contacted her to confirm the news that she had believed it, and felt a tide of joy so strong she thought it would knock her over.
‘Before we go, I just wanted to say thank you,’ she said, touching Abby on the arm. ‘Thank you for finding the photograph, for helping me, for believing in Dominic and for making an old woman happy.’ She felt her eyes moistening. ‘You didn’t have to do any of that, but you did, and I will never forget it.’
Abby didn’t say anything. She just smiled and nodded, like a sage old owl, then made her way down the stairs, checking every few seconds that Rosamund was following her.
Jonathon Soames was waiting for them in the lobby. Ros was still mad with him, of course. She had fallen out of touch with him many years before, but she still couldn’t believe that he had known all along that Dominic was alive and had not put her out of her misery. She’d asked him about it a dozen times on the flight over to Ireland, but he had been frustratingly vague and had simply said that it was for Dominic to explain.
He linked arms with her as they walked outside, and any anger that she had felt towards him began to soften. They were here now, and she was going to see Dom; that was really all that mattered. It mattered so much.
‘Should I drive?’ asked Abby after helping Ros into the back seat.
‘Yes, I suppose that’s best,’ smiled Jonathon wearily. ‘People get nervous seeing an eighty-six-year-old at the wheel.’
‘Where are we going?’ asked Ros as Abby started the engine.