days in Dorset. Lovely little village called Kimmeridge. She seemed relaxed for the first time in ages.’
Elena had been strikingly beautiful. Long blonde hair framing a heart-shaped face with angular cheekbones. Dark brown eyes. A slight smile curved a rosebud mouth.
‘That’s odd,’ said Cat, peering at the picture. ‘I hadn’t thought about that before.’
‘What’s that?’
She pointed at the photo. ‘See? The ring?’
Alex looked. Elena was holding one hand up to the camera. She might have been waving or telling her mother not to take the picture. On the fourth finger of her right hand was an oddly shaped silver ring. ‘Looks like one of those his and hers eternity rings. Seems as though there should be a partner to it, doesn’t it?’
‘That’s what I said to Elena when I saw it. I think she was given it by somebody for her birthday. She gave me one of her mysterious smiles so I backed off. Didn’t want to interfere. I wish I’d asked her more.’
Oh, Alex knew all about not interfering. Sometimes, though, you had to. ‘And?’
‘She was wearing it all summer holidays, wouldn’t take it off. And she kept stroking it when she thought I wasn’t looking. It was obviously very important to her. The thing is …’ she paused, ‘there was no sign of it in any of her stuff they gave back to me.’
‘Maybe she lost it.’ Or perhaps it had come off her finger as her body was battered by the sea.
‘Maybe.’ Cat was thoughtful. She traced the outline of her daughter’s face. ‘I had the impression it was something she would keep through thick and thin. As I say, something really important.’ She shrugged. ‘Oh well, maybe it’s nothing. Maybe she did lose it.’
The traffic was heavy now as she passed through some of The Broads villages before arriving at the real flatlands of Norfolk and she knew she wasn’t too far away from Hallow’s Edge. She could feel the lightness of air, the big sky above, the space around her, and she remembered why she loved East Anglia so.
After saying goodbye to Cat and Mark, Alex made a call and then went to Streatham, to an ordinary residential road. The house she was looking for was halfway up and part of a row of terraces with each tiny front garden having at least two wheelie bins. Number 102 had a decrepit armchair as a garden feature as well. A blanket hung across the ground floor window in place of curtains. She walked up the path and knocked.
A tall thin woman of about twenty-five whose pallor indicated she hardly ever saw daylight opened the door. She was wearing faded jeans and a tee-shirt with the dates of a long-gone music tour inscribed on it.
‘Hey, Honey,’ said Alex.
‘Yeah. It’s early, y’know?’
Alex grimaced. ‘Sorry, I do know. But I wanted to get it to you as soon as.’
Honey rubbed the top of her head making her ginger crop stand up in spikes. ‘Sure.’ She yawned, widely, showing two sets of perfect teeth. ‘I’ll do my best.’ She held out her hand. ‘Give it here.’
Alex handed over Elena’s laptop and phone. ‘I need them back in pristine condition, Honey,’ she warned.
‘Come on, Alex, you know me. No one will ever know I’ve been in there.’
Alex smiled. She really did trust this hacker who’d somehow almost managed to stay below the radar of the authorities since she was sixteen. The one (and seemingly only) time she’d come a cropper was when Alex had found her after a tip-off for a story she was doing at the time about cyber security, and she’d managed to get Honey off the hook with the coppers in return for information. Honey had been grateful ever since.
She was on the road that wound along the Norfolk coast, sometimes going near enough to the sea, most of the time winding through flat acres of fields. Eventually she saw a signpost for Hallow’s Edge and turned into the narrow road with hedges either side. For about half a mile there was nothing, then she spied a farm set back from the road, a couple of flint cottages and a modern bungalow. It really was as if she was entering a time warp. She drove slowly, praying she wouldn’t meet a tractor coming the other way, and stopped the car by a curved flint wall before getting out. The heat hit her like a sledgehammer.
There it was. The Drift. Elena’s school. A school for the privileged. Beautiful. It was at the end of a long gravel drive, lined with lime trees, that swept up to the front of the house. Two of the four brick and flint wings of the house made a graceful curve. Large wooden front door in the middle. Magnificent thatched roof. Heavy on the insurance. Alex knew there were two other wings curving at the back with beautiful views over the coastline and the sea. Shaped like a butterfly, it was built during the Arts and Craft movement. She knew all this because she’d looked it up online, and the pictures had been fantastic. She’d had to look up about the Arts and Craft movement, but, hey, that was what Wikipedia was for.
Alex breathed in deeply. East Anglian air. More specifically, North Norfolk air with its taste of salt and freedom and sense of space. There was a reason why everybody talked about the wide East Anglian skies – the world seemed to go on forever. She closed her eyes, continuing to breathe in the air that, despite its heat, felt cleaner and fresher than the diesel, spices, and dirt of London. She had missed this. For all the ghastly events of two years ago, she had missed this. Of course, this trip to find out more about Elena’s death was another burst of conscience easing, but, who knew, maybe some good could come of it, if only to help Cat.
‘Hi.’
She turned towards the voice and found herself looking at a boy – teenager, a young man – who could only be described as beautiful. Thick dark hair was brushed away from his forehead, cheekbones were sharp, top lip was slightly fuller than the bottom. Chocolate-brown eyes that were fringed by long, girlish lashes appraised her. He held a cigarette loosely between his fingers. For a moment Alex felt awkward, gauche even. Then she told herself not to be so silly. This was an adolescent. A beautiful one, but one who was about Gus’s age. Younger. ‘Hallo,’ she said, smiling.
‘Did you want some help? Only …’ The boy raised his eyebrows. Looked her up and down, slowly.
She felt discomforted. ‘Only what?’
‘You looked … lost, that’s all.’ He smiled back at her. Dazzling.
‘No, not lost,’ she said. ‘Only looking. It’s a beautiful building.’
‘What?’ He followed her gaze. ‘Oh, yeah. That.’ He shrugged. ‘It’s school, that’s all I know.’
‘You a pupil?’ Though she had guessed this, and not only because she could see books protruding from the rucksack slung over one shoulder.
‘Yeah, just. Exams. Then I’m outta here. Maths. Do you want to know where to go? Directions? That sort of thing?’
She shook her head. ‘No. Really, I’m fine, thank you.’
He stared up the drive. ‘Y’know, I never really look at the building. I know it’s beautiful; a great example of some sort of architecture yadda yadda, but hey, to me it’s school. Even if I live in a sixth form house and can wear my own clothes, go out at lunchtime, even smoke.’ He grinned. ‘As long as they don’t find out, of course; it’s still school with all its petty rules and regulations. I’m so past it.’ He threw the butt down and ground it under one trainer-ed foot. ‘But you don’t want to know that, mystery lady. Good to see you.’
‘And you.’
‘Name’s Theo, by the way.’
‘I’m Alex,’ she said.
‘Yeah.’ He sauntered off, lifting a hand as he went. ‘Ciao.’
Ciao? Didn’t that go out in the eighties? And what did he mean, ‘yeah’? Had he recognized her? But it was two years ago, and the newspapers had not only wrapped fish and chips but would have been