Was he making the right decision, splitting them up? Or was this what he was meant to do? Was he reacting to decisions that had already been made?
Later that afternoon, two cars came to the house. One would take Pedro and Scott to Arequipa, the famous “White City” in the south of Peru. They would have to stay there overnight before flying to Cuzco. Because of the thin air high up in the Andes, planes were only able to take off and land in the morning. Two of the Incas would go with them and then escort them up through the cloud forest to Vilcabamba.
Jamie, Richard and Matt had a shorter drive to Nazca airport where a private plane was already waiting to fly them up to Miami. They would wait in Miami until Matt’s new passport arrived and then they would cross the Atlantic to England. If things went well, they would only be apart for a few days.
Matt took one last look at the professor’s house. The town children would probably raid it in the next few days, stripping it of anything of value. He had been there for a long time. He had almost begun to think of it as his home but now it was nothing. Burned out. Broken. Empty.
Richard loaded their bags into the boot.
“Vilcabamba,” Matt said.
“Vilcabamba,” Pedro agreed.
The two of them shook hands. Scott and Jamie said nothing – but Matt knew that they were communicating even so.
It was all over very quickly. The four boys climbed into their different cars and went their separate ways.
THE HAPPY GARDEN
In London, Scarlett Adams was trying to get back to her old life.
The doctors had decided there was nothing wrong with her. The police had asked more questions but had finally given up. Maybe she had suffered from amnesia. Maybe the whole thing about her disappearance had been a schoolgirl prank – but either way they had better things to do. Even the press had decided to leave her alone. A new president, a man called Charles Baker, had just been elected in the USA, and according to all the reports, there had been something strange about the way the votes had been counted. It was turning into a huge scandal and that left no room in the papers for a girl who had been missing for less than a day.
Just forty-eight hours after he had flown all the way to England, Paul Adams went back to Hong Kong.
Scarlett understood why he couldn’t stay with her. He had only recently started his new job, working in the legal department of a huge company involved, amongst other things, in the manufacture of computer equipment and software. It hadn’t made a good impression, shooting off to London at such short notice. He had to get back again.
Back to Nightrise.
Paul Adams took Scarlett out to dinner on his last night at home. The two of them went to a little Italian restaurant that he liked in Dulwich. He ordered half a bottle of wine for himself and a lemonade for her and the two of them sat facing each other trying to think of things to say. Paul was wearing expensive jeans and a jersey that didn’t really suit him. The truth was that he was only really comfortable in a jacket and tie. It was like a second skin to him. Maybe it was his age. He was forty-nine years old and he had been a lawyer for more than half that time, devoting his life to contracts, complicated reports and charts. It was hard to imagine what he had been like as a teenager.
“Are you going to be all right, Scarly?” he asked.
“Yes.” Scarlett nodded.
Neither of them had spoken very much about St Meredith’s. Paul Adams seemed to have accepted her story. She had fallen ill. She had forgotten whatever had happened. Scarlett wondered why she hadn’t confided in him. He had always been kind to her. Why was she lying to him now?
“I’m sorry, Dad,” she said.
“There’s nothing to be sorry about.” Paul Adams paused and sipped his wine. “Do you really have no idea what happened to you?”
“I wish I did.”
“You could tell me, you know. I wouldn’t be cross with you. I mean, if there’s some sort of secret or something you’re afraid of…”
Scarlett shook her head. “I told the police everything.”
Paul Adams nodded. Then the waiter arrived with spaghetti carbonara for him, a pizza for Scarlett. There was the usual business with the oversized pepper grinder, the sprinkle of parmesan cheese. At last they were on their own again.
“How’s the job going?” Scarlett asked. She had deliberately changed the subject.
“Oh. It’s not too bad.” Paul Adams twirled his fork in the spaghetti. “Do you want to come to Hong Kong for the Christmas holidays? I’ve spoken to your mother and she’s happy for me to have you this year. I’ll get a few days off and we can travel together.”
“I’d like that,” Scarlett said, although she wondered what it would be like, travelling, just the two of them. They seemed to have grown apart so quickly.
They ate in silence. Paul Adams didn’t seem to be enjoying his food. He left half of it, then took off his glasses and began to rub them with his napkin. Looking at him just then, Scarlett thought how old he had become. It wasn’t just his hair that was going grey. It was all of him.
“I’m sorry, Scarly,” he said. “I’m afraid I’ve rather let you down, haven’t I? If I’d known that Vanessa and I weren’t going to stay together… maybe we should have thought twice about adopting a child, although of course I’m glad we did. I think the world of you. But it hasn’t been fair. Leaving you on your own with Mrs Murdoch.”
“It was my decision,” Scarlett reminded him.
“Well, yes. I suppose it was.”
“Why do you have to work in Hong Kong?” Scarlett asked.
“It’s a wonderful opportunity. Not just the money. Nightrise has offices all over the world and if I can work my way up the ladder…” His voice trailed off. “I’ll only be there a couple of years. I’ve told them already. Then I want them to transfer me to the London office and we’ll be together again.”
“Don’t worry about me, Dad. I’ll be all right.”
“Will you, Scarly? I hope so.”
He left on the early flight the next day.
Scarlett had already gone back to school – and that hadn’t been easy either. The headmistress, a grey-haired woman who looked more severe than she actually was, had made a speech in assembly, telling everyone to leave her alone, but of course they had been all over her, bombarding her with questions, desperate to know where she had really been. Scarlett had been on TV. She was a minor celebrity. Some of the younger girls had even asked her for an autograph. On the other hand, some of the teachers had been less than happy to see her – Joan Chaplin in particular. The art teacher had taken some of the responsibility for Scarlett’s disappearance and she in turn blamed Scarlett for that.
The next couple of days passed with the usual routine of lessons and games. There were piles of homework and rehearsals for the Christmas play. Everything had returned to normal – at least, that was what Scarlett told herself. But in her heart, she knew that nothing was really normal at all. Maybe it never would be again.
She had already decided that there was only one person she could talk to and tell the truth about her disappearance. Not her father. Not Mrs Murdoch. It had to be Aidan. He was her closest friend. He wouldn’t laugh at her. She had already texted him and the two of them met after school and walked home together, taking their time, allowing the other school kids to stream ahead.
She told him everything: the door, the monastery, Father Gregory, the escape. She was still talking as they turned into Dulwich Park, opposite the art gallery, taking the long way round past the playground and across the grass.
“Do you think I’m mad?” she asked, when she had finished. There had been times when she had begun to wonder herself. Could it be that the official version of events was actually true? Had she somehow hit her head against a wall and dreamed the whole thing?