will come back to me soon.’
He let his hand drop onto his lap as he scrutinised me closely with a frown of surprise. ‘You can’t remember anything?’
I shook my head.
‘Umm,’ he murmured, obviously thinking things over. His eyes drifted over me and I watched his face as he came to a decision. ‘Well, whoever you are, you are welcome to stay here until the weather clears and we can find some proper help for you.’
Breathing a sigh of relief I began to relax. But then he seemed to remember his manners and reached his hand rather abruptly towards me again in welcome. Keeping the blanket in place with one hand I stretched the other hesitantly towards his. I found I was holding my breath as our hands met; this was my rescuer, the man who had carried me through the snow. I don’t know quite what I expected, but his handshake was dry, firm and unremarkable. Perhaps I had dreamed the whole thing. No flashing lights, ringing bells or electrical currents passed between us; nothing to indicate we were soul mates greeting one another. I felt something inside me plummet. I relinquished his hand and inwardly berated myself for my foolishness. It was just that after he had rescued me in the blizzard I had thought…what had I thought?
‘So you have no idea what you were doing out there in that snowstorm?’ he asked, intrigued now. He sank back onto the chair and glanced past me towards the kitchen. Was he looking for a means of exiting without giving offence, or watching for his ever-vigilant housekeeper?
‘I have no idea at all.’ I hauled my thoughts back. ‘I remember coming to at the side of a road and feeling the cold eating into me. I don’t know how I got there, but I do remember having a cat with me.’ The memory brought a new flood of anxiety rushing through me. ‘You don’t know what happened to it, do you? It was in a pet carrier. I was trying to carry it to safety, but it was so heavy and my hands were so cold I think I dropped the poor thing into the snow.’
‘I don’t know anything about a cat, but I’ll ring round some of the locals, see if anyone knows anything about one.’
‘It was in a plastic carrier,’ I persisted. ‘It’ll die out there in this weather.’
‘I’m sorry, but there’s nothing we can do now. It’s still snowing heavily and it’s pitch-dark outside. You should try to get some rest and not worry about it. And when the snow clears we should get you to a hospital.’ He rose to his feet.
Resting my head back against the arm of the couch, I found I was suddenly overwhelmed by the events of the day. My head was throbbing, my hands and feet still ached and I felt bone weary.
Vincent paused as if sensing my misery. ‘Look, you were huddled in the snow up on Adam Jenkins’ top field, next to the footpath. It’s possible the cat is still there so I’ll give the farmer a ring and ask if he could look for it in the morning, OK?’
I nodded resignedly.
He hesitated just before he left the room. ‘You can use the room my mother normally has when she stays with us. Tara will show you where it is. Get a good night’s sleep. Things never seem so bad in the morning.’
‘Thank you,’ I said quietly.
Listening to his footsteps receding on the polished wooden flooring, I took a great steadying breath. I was alone for the moment and had an opportunity to take in my surroundings. This felt and smelled like an old house, the faint aroma of the soup mixed with the more ingrained scents of wax polish and wood smoke from the fire. What I could see of it from the couch seemed warm and cosy, like a much-loved pair of old slippers. If it hadn’t been for my strange circumstances I was sure I would have felt quite at home here.
I closed my eyes and tried to force my mind back. Surely, I thought, I must be able to remember something of my past, anything at all that could give me a hint as to who I was or what I was doing in this place. But my mind remained obstinately blank as if there was a curtain drawn across it, sealing off my former life and keeping my memories elusively out of reach on the other side.
‘You’ve finished your soup, then.’ I jumped as Tara appeared to take my tray, her lips pursed in what I took to be disapproval. ‘Vincent said you could use the guest bedroom when you’re ready to go up.’
I noticed she was no longer referring to her employer by his surname and wondered if she’d been listening in on our conversation. Looking at my watch, I gasped to find it was almost nine o’clock in the evening. It had felt like some time in the early afternoon when I’d woken in the snow. Where had the rest of the day gone? I rubbed a hand over my eyes and tried not to feel too sorry for myself as the thought erupted from nowhere: where had the rest of my life gone?
My hands and feet felt defrosted now and I was about to offer to help Tara with the tray when I remembered I was still wrapped in a blanket. She must have seen my move.
‘You stay right there while I take this to the kitchen,’ she instructed, some of the earlier hostility returning to her voice. ‘I can bring you some magazines or you could watch TV, if you like, until you’re ready to go upstairs.’
I guessed she would have liked to add, ‘And think yourself lucky you’ve been allowed to stay here at all,’ but she contented herself with handing me the TV controls and opened a neat mahogany cupboard in the far recess beside the fireplace before hurrying off.
The TV showed pictures of raging blizzards, cars abandoned on motorways and a well-muffled news reporter being buffeted by the storm while snowploughs battled through the suburban roads behind her. My gaze drifted to the narrow shelf above the TV cabinet where a family photo stood in pride of place. Leaning forward, I made out Vincent with Jadie and Tara; all three of them smiling into the camera. I scanned the room and saw another photo of Tara, standing in what looked like a park, her hands resting on the handle of a pushchair out of which peeked a toddler wrapped up in blankets. Whether it was Jadie or her sister I couldn’t tell, but I did understand that Tara had been part of this family for a long time.
‘Could you tell me where the loo is?’ I called, hearing footsteps behind me.
‘Down the hall there at the very end, next to the room that’s full of boots and coats,’ she called back.
Getting awkwardly to my feet, I hugged one of the blankets round me and followed her directions. There was an ancient oak staircase behind the couch, which opened directly into the sitting room. Beyond that the rest of the house disappeared round a corner, the whole house appearing to be a huge reverse L shape. I padded through the wood-panelled sitting area, my bare feet slapping on the cold wood flooring as I passed the bottom of the staircase. The rest of the rooms led off the long arm with a boot room and downstairs toilet at the furthest end, opposite a back door, presumably opening on to a garden.
As soon as the loo door closed behind me, I turned to face the small mirror that hung over the washbasin and stared at my features for several long minutes. Running a hand over tawny shoulder-length hair, I peered into a stranger’s hazel eyes, trying to find something familiar in my reflection. My fingers traced the outline of the butterfly plaster Tara had used on my cut. It wasn’t too awful, despite the blossoming blue bruise surrounding it. It was an odd feeling looking at that face: I realised I hadn’t expected to look like this…Who was I and what was my name?
I crept back along the length of the L, tiptoeing past three doorways. The nearest door was open a crack, with light spilling out. I peeped in to see Vincent sitting at a wide desk, his features in profile, studying a computer screen; he had a telephone pressed to his ear. I tiptoed quickly past. The light in the passage spilled into the next darkened room where I glimpsed a formal dining table surrounded by elegant chairs. The last room, the one nearest the sitting room, was the kitchen. Pausing in the doorway, I took in the warm domesticated scene. This was obviously the hub of the household. A modern cooker stood against the far wall with a huge pan resting on the hob, a soup ladle protruding. A cloth-covered table still showed signs of where the family had eaten their last meal. A doll with flaxen hair lay on a chair next to the table, but otherwise there wasn’t much to show that a six-year-old child lived here.
‘Will