Page 36 of A Change of Location
“I wasn’t talking to you. Clive, Gram’s Burmese cat, is in crouch position, about to leap onto the kitchen table.” She eyed the tensed mound of gray fur on the adjacent chair. “It’s a lovely offer, Martin, and generous. I’m grateful. But I can’t accept.”
“What’s more, our annual Flower Fete is coming up. You can experience the madness—I mean, the fun of it.”
“You might get in trouble for harboring a fugitive. Hartcliffe Studios sponsored my work visa, and I no longer work there. Meaning I’m in breach of Britain’s immigration laws.”
“No better hideout than the Milver Vale. The authorities will never think to look for you here.”
Accustomed to his stubborn persistence, she didn’t feel ready to capitulate. She heard the front door open and close, signaling her grandmother’s return.
Martin’s silence made her wonder if her phone signal had failed, until he prompted, “Well?”
She was heartened by evidence that she wasn’t entirely friendless on this side of the Atlantic Ocean. “I’ll think it over and let you know in a day or so.”
“Even better, text your train details as soon as you work them out. I’ll collect you from Newbridge railway station. See you soon.”
Gran stepped into the kitchen and saw her put down the phone. “Are they calling you back to work?” She tied on her pinny, printed all over with calico cats.
“A friend invited me to stay.” Hannah picked up a spud and the peeler. “I haven’t decided whether I’ll go.”
“It’s been a treat, having you here, but I’ve got plenty to keep me busy.”
“Oh, I know. Book group leader. Secretary of the Outing Club. RSPCA volunteer. My presence is surely cramping your style.”
One dry, cool hand reached down to cup her cheek. “Don’t be daft. Spending time with my clever and successful grandchildren is a rare treat. Our Will is an accomplished orchestra musician, making a name for himself in London. You’re rising high in the movie business. No granny could be prouder.”
Hannah’s conscience chewed at her. Informing Gran about her jobless status ensured it would be communicated to her parents. A few days ago, she’d phoned to tell them her whereabouts but felt too emotionally raw to stir up a family drama.
After scheduling her flight to Boston, she’d let them know she was no longer working on Forsaken Fortune. She didn’t have to explain why.
Gran’s house felt more like home than Bear Knoll. Since her toddler years she’d been crossing the ocean. While Mum toured Britain to promote her books and design client gardens, Hannah had stayed in Portishead with her grandparents, accompanying them to Montgomery to visit her great-grandparents and Great-uncle George and Great-aunt Barbara. She’d spent a memorable childhood Christmas in Wales, staging a legendary meltdown when refused a glass of port like the adults drank while viewing the Queen’s Speech on television.
The predictability of her days with Gran was a pleasant change from constant travel and regular confrontation with the unexpected. After breakfast—whatever the weather—they strolled to the shops clustered around the Georgian town square and visited the library. In the afternoon, Hannah jogged up to the castle ruin and back, or to the vineyard. Sometimes she trudged across a section of the Offa’s Dyke trail. At night she sat on the sofa, stroking Clive the cat as long as he wanted her to. Gran, an avid crime series viewer, sat a cushion away with her knitting.
Gran filled a basin with water, and they both sliced the peeled potatoes, placing each wedge into the bath.
“How is your uncle managing, now that he’s out of prison?”
Hannah reached for a naked spud. “At Christmas he got a part-time job in Old Town, at the canoe factory. And he’s doing community service on the Indian Island Reservation.”
“I remember him during your parents’ wedding week, quite the liveliest and most popular person at every party and gathering. So different to Neil. Given the age difference, they scarcely seem like brothers.”
“He’s a firecracker, for sure. Or was.” Hannah pushed back her hair with damp and starchy fingers. “Grampa needs more help with the boat. Not enough younger people take up lobstering or scalloping, and the ones he hires don’t stick around long. Dad used to go out with him on Sunday, when the vet practice is closed. But after he injured his hand, Grampa wouldn’t take him on board.”
“I didn’t know about that.”
“Nothing too bad. A bruised wrist and a shallow cut that didn’t even need stitches. We’re hoping Chase will move back to Falmouth, but nobody’s going to pressure him.”
“How would the community react, do you think?”
“Everybody knows he didn’t kill with intent. He was charged with manslaughter, not murder. He participated in the University of Maine’s Prison Education Partnership, taking business courses. When he goes home, he’ll be just fine.”
She hoped her prediction wasn’t overly optimistic.
***
Martin, standing in the Newbridge railway station car park, watched Hannah efficiently steer her wheeled case around the rain puddles on the platform. During her prior visit to Stanwell, he’d become acquainted with a diligent, work-obsessed location manager. He didn’t doubt that he’d enjoy the company of this different model, unemployed and stranded, just as much.
“Any trouble on the railways?” He stowed her single piece of luggage in the boot of his car.
