This time, purely out of curiosity, he did.
OK, it possibly had something to do with Maddy Harvey, but he thought it would be nice to see how the place looked, find out if it had changed much in the last ten years.
With the evening sun now low in the sky, Kerr put on his dark glasses and switched off the stereo as he approached the outskirts of the tiny town. There was the primary school — his old school — on the right. Slowing, he passed over the hump-backed bridge that crossed the River Ash. Ahead of him, he saw the war memorial. To the left lay Main Street; to the right, Gypsy Lane. Turning left, he drove even more slowly past the Fallen Angel and an assortment of shops — some he recognised, others he didn’t. There was the Peach Tree Delicatessen where Maddy worked, then a couple of antiques shops, the small supermarket ... Carrying on up Holly Hill, Kerr reached the outskirts of the town where a new housing development had been built. He turned and headed back down the hill, this time concentrating on the row of craft and workshops on the left hand side of Main Street. There was the sign for Harvey’s Caskets, Jake’s business. And now he was passing Snow Cottage where Maddy lived with Jake and his daughter; ridiculously, he found it’ hard to tear his eyes away from the low, honey-coloured Cotswold stone building. It was like being a teenager again, wondering if Maddy was in there, but he couldn’t stop, mustn’t draw attention to himself. Instead he carried on, turning into Gypsy Lane, mentally bracing himself for the moment when he would follow the winding road round to the left and reach the spot where the accident had happened.
There it was. And he hadn’t even realised he’d been holding his breath. Exhaling slowly, Kerr saw that the wild flowers planted by Marcella Harvey were still there, marking the place where her beloved stepdaughter had died. Strangers arriving in Ashcombe might wonder about the story behind this sudden burst of colour along an otherwise undistinguished stretch of roadside. He knew that April was buried in the churchyard, and that her grave would bear a profusion of flowers too.
Continuing up the narrow lane, he saw the figure of a woman ahead, walking a dog. With her back to him, wearing a baggy grey jogging suit and a baseball cap on her head, it was impossible to gauge the identity of the dog-walker.
Of course if this was a Hollywood movie, the dog would lurch suddenly off the pavement and into the road, dragging its owner after him. Kerr, paying attention, would brake in plenty of time but the juggernaut screaming down the hill at sixty miles an hour wouldn’t be able to stop or swerve to avoid them. If he hadn’t leaped out of his own car at superhuman speed and snatched the woman — and her dog
— to safety, they would have been killed outright. And — this still being a film — it wouldn’t be until the woman turned to face him, gibbering with tearful gratitude and thanking him for saving her life, that he’d realise it was Marcella Harvey .. .
Well, it was a nice fantasy. Kerr smiled wryly to himself as he passed the woman with the waddling, overweight bulldog huffing to keep up. Beneath the peak of her cap he couldn’t see much of her face, just enough to let him know that she was white, and younger than Marcella.
At the top of Gypsy Lane he swung the car round yet again. Heading back into the town, as he approached the entrance to Dauncey House, he saw the girl and her dog turning into the driveway. This time she briefly turned to look at him and he felt a flicker of recognition. A momentary glimpse of profile wasn’t much to go on but he was almost sure it was Kate Taylor-Trent.
Putting his foot down, Kerr sped past. He had an early start tomorrow, and wall to wall meetings in London. Time to head back to Bath.
When he was out of sight, Kate turned and stared down the empty, tree-lined lane. Had that been Kerr McKinnon? God, had it really? But what was he doing here in Ashcombe? As far as she was aware, he’d moved to London years ago and stayed there.
Then again, if his mother was still living in the same house, he must have to visit her sometimes. Although no one seemed to know for sure if Pauline McKinnon was still alive; according to Estelle, nobody had clapped eyes on her for years.
Kerr McKinnon, driving a dark blue Mercedes and wearing dark glasses. It had been quite a while –
OK, a decade – since they’d last seen each other, but Kate knew instinctively that it was him. Her heart was still beating like a tom-tom inside her ribs. She felt overheated and frozen at the same time. And Norris was at her feet, giving her the kind of world-weary look that signified he knew exactly what was going through her head.
She was fairly sure Kerr hadn’t seen the scars. She certainly hoped he hadn’t seen them – although this was a pointless exercise if ever there was one. If she was never going to see Kerr McKinnon again, what did it matter? And if they did meet up, well, sooner or later there was a chance he was going to notice her spooky new resemblance to Quasimodo.
Oh, forget it. If it wasn’t for her accident, she’d have been overjoyed to see Kerr again, may even have waved and gestured for him to stop the car. She had been smitten with him once and, modesty aside, he’d been pretty interested in return. Who knew, if he hadn’t left to go back to university at the end of that summer .. .
Anyway, too late now. The accident had happened, and unexpectedly bumping into old boyfriends was no longer a joyful experience.
‘Who’s uglier, Norris? You or me?’
Snuffling, Norris gazed up at her.
‘Except it’s easier for you.’ Kate gave his lead a let’ s-get going tug. ‘You’ve always looked like that.’
Estelle greeted them at the door with a beaming smile on her face.
‘Darling, fantastic news! Guess who just rang?’
Kate couldn’t help it; for a split second her thoughts flew back to Kerr McKinnon. He’d recognised her ... been too shy to stop ... reached for his mobile and dialled directory enquiries, then rung their number ... If she hadn’t spent the last ten minutes gazing after him in the lane before dawdling back up the drive, she’d have been here to pick up the phone herself .. .
‘Daddy!’
‘Oh.’ Bending, Kate unclipped Norris’s lead and watched him waddle like John Wayne through to the kitchen in search of food. Oh well, served her right for getting carried away. And in all honesty, since when had Kerr McKinnon been shy?
‘He’s coming home tomorrow,’ Estelle gabbled on, overdoing it as usual, ‘for a whole week! Isn’t that brilliant?’
‘Brilliant.’ Dutifully, Kate forced herself to smile. Not that she didn’t want to see her father, but it was hardly the most earth-shattering news in the world. Like most business tycoons, he was a workaholic, spending most of his time in London and jetting off at a moment’s notice around the world. When he was at home, he was constantly on the phone. It wasn’t as if she was suddenly going to have a dad to play endless cosy games of Monopoly with. Oliver Taylor-Trent preferred to play Monopoly with real money and proper hotels.
‘He’ll be here around midday, and he’s sorry he couldn’t get down before now, but he’ll make it up to you tomorrow.’ Her eyes sparkling, Estelle confided, ‘I think he’s bought you a present.’
It was like being seven again. Her father never changed.
‘You mean he’s told his secretary to pop into Harvey Nichols and buy me a present.’ But Kate couldn’t be cross, she was too used to it. Besides, it might be shoes. God knows, anything that drew attention away from her face had to be worth a try.
Chapter 11
The next morning was even hotter. With Oliver due home at lunchtime, Estelle had rushed into Bath to do a big supermarket shop. It wasn’t Marcella’s day to work. Finding herself alone in the house – well, apart from Norris, who didn’t count – Kate had changed into a pink bikini and wandered out to the pool. Now, after a few desultory lengths, she was stretched out on one of the recliners soaking up the sun. Swimming alone was no fun.