Page 129 of The Last Kiss Goodbye

‘Come in,’ he said, looking a little embarrassed. ‘A pot of coffee is on.’

‘I need it. It was Anna’s hen night yesterday.’

‘I hope Suze was suitably badly behaved,’ he grinned.

She looked at him, wondering for a moment if he had heard from Ginny about their showdown, but he clearly hadn’t.

‘Speaking of badly behaved, I have just stolen something from the archives.’

Nick frowned. ‘Fancied wearing Livingstone’s pith helmet for the wedding?’ he asked.

He went to fetch the coffee and Abby perched on the edge of a new-looking sofa. Everything in the place looked temporary, as if it had been furnished on the cheap. She knew it had been hurriedly rented and probably chosen for its proximity to Nick’s office, which was close to the Imperial War Museum. But she didn’t miss the stack of estate agents’ particulars peeping out from under a music magazine on the table. She wondered if the details for the Cornwall B&B were among them. She doubted it.

‘Do you want me to make you a fry-up?’ he asked, running his hand through his hair.

‘It’s fine. I just wanted to talk to you about something. About what we discussed at Alba the other night.’

He sat down next to her, and as his bare forearm brushed against hers, she flinched away.

‘So what have you found?’ he smiled.

‘A picture of Dominic Blake.’ She took it out of its envelope and showed it to him. ‘I think he knew he was going to die,’ she said, pointing at Dominic’s expression. The same expression of guilt and sadness she had recognised on Nick’s face in the Cotswolds photo.

‘He knew he was going on a dangerous expedition,’ said Nick, sipping his coffee. ‘He knew there was a chance he wouldn’t make it out alive.’

‘Soames gave me his business card when we met for lunch, so I’m going to call him,’ she said more urgently. ‘This afternoon. You said you could trace his calls . . .’

She expected him to laugh at her, or to dismiss her suggestion. She suspected that he regretted volunteering his help at the pizzeria, but she felt she was so close to discovering the truth, and Nick, not Elliot Hall, was the person she trusted to make that happen.

‘Don’t call him this afternoon,’ said Nick, glancing up. ‘Wait until tomorrow.’

‘Why?’ said Abby. She just wanted to get it done now.

‘It’s going to take me twenty-four hours or so to set this up.’

‘Of course. How much will it cost?’ she asked suddenly. She hadn’t stopped to think about that, and whilst Rosamund had said she would pay for any expenses incurred in the investigation, Abby knew she couldn’t take anything from her.

Nick rubbed his stubble. ‘Don’t worry about it. There are some people who owe me a few favours.’

‘So you’ll call me when it’s okay to phone him?’

He nodded.

‘I’ll email you later with everything I can find out about him. When I went for lunch with him, he mentioned that he still lives where he did in the sixties. I’m going to call Ros now and see if she knows his address.’

‘It’s not hard to find these things out,’ Nick said with quiet confidence.

Abby put the photo back in its envelope and into her bag, and they sipped their coffee in silence. Nick seemed anxious, on edge, and she knew she should go.

‘What are you doing today?’ she asked as she stood up to leave.

‘Not much. I might go for a run.’

He opened the front door and she turned around to say goodbye. It seemed a natural thing to hug, and for a minute they just stood there holding each other.

She felt Nick rest his chin on her head, and the air that she breathed in seemed to smell of him. His clean, soapy scent. She closed her eyes and remembered how good it used to be, how happy he used to make her feel. A thousand memories ran through her head. Waking up next to him in her little flowery pink tent in Glastonbury, holding his hand as they jumped into a lagoon on their honeymoon, spending lazy Sunday mornings together in bed, the duvet covered with toast crumbs and newspapers – all the

good memories in her life seemed to involve Nick.