Adam had barely stepped through the door before things escalated. He’d kissed Rowan hello and she’d pressed against him without thinking, wanting the reassurance of his solidity, his weight and warmth.
They were still getting dressed when the taxi driver texted to say he was outside. Earlier she’d had the idea that she should cook – it would take concentration, she’d be forced to focus on something other than the constantly looping anxiety – but when she’d suggested it to Adam, he’d texted back to say he’d booked a table at Chiang Mai. ‘It was a nice idea, cooking dinner,’ he said now as he bent to pick up the wallet that had fallen from his jacket pocket in their rush to bed, ‘but to be honest, I don’t want to spend any more time here than I have to – at the house, I mean. Every time I’m here, I imagine her lying out in the garden and . . .’ He shook his head. Rowan crossed the room and pulled him into a tight hug. ‘While the pictures are still here,’ he said, his words warm in her hair, ‘it makes sense for me to come to you but as soon as they’re moved, I can stop.’
She felt a jolt of alarm. ‘Do you know when that’ll be?’
‘I wanted to ask you. I spoke to James today and he’s been able to free up space for them in storage until they need to be shipped to New York. When we give him the word, he’ll come and pack them.’
She jumped as his phone rang but it was the driver again, calling to make sure they’d got his text. She ran her hand over the bed until she found the earring she’d mislaid and they went downstairs but as they came on to Banbury Road, the cab taking the turn so sharply they slid against each other on the shiny back seat, Adam returned to the subject.
‘How have you been getting on with your work?’ he asked. ‘How much longer do you think you’ll need with the archives?’
‘I’m not sure,’ she hedged. ‘There’s one more collection of papers I want to see but until I get a proper look at them, it’ll be hard to say.’
He reached over and rested his hand on her thigh. ‘It’ll be much better when you’re back in London,’ he said. ‘Easier. It means I’ll be able to see you without having to face this place. And the journey – people commute from Cambridge to London every day.’
Every day. Rowan smiled then remembered her shoddy, down-at-heel flat. She would have to move, find a way to afford something better. She couldn’t let him see her there.
‘You could come and see me in Cambridge,’ he said, as if he’d read her mind.
Chiang Mai Kitchen was located in three little wood-panelled rooms in a centuries-old building in Wheatsheaf Passage, a narrow, overhung cut between the High and Blue Boar Street that had always reminded Rowan of Pudding Lane before the Great Fire. Once, in her first year at college, she remembered, she’d been brought here for dinner by a man she hadn’t liked at all and she’d spent the evening imagining it was Adam across the table instead. As they climbed the sloping spiral staircase, she wondered if Cory had ever eaten here. He would have liked it, too: the old wood and odd angles, the lingering shades of other lives.
Cory. By the time she’d fallen asleep last night, it had been four o’clock and she’d woken at ten-thirty to find incongruous sunlight cutting into the room. For a few seconds, her mind had been gloriously empty but then it had all come streaming back. She’d got up at once, gone down to the kitchen and turned on Jacqueline’s radio. If a body had been found in the river, it would certainly be reported on the local news. Then, with a nauseating twist in her gut, she’d remembered that while a body in the river would be local news, Michael Cory’s body in the river would be national news. International.
The waitress took their menus and Rowan ran the chain of her necklace between thumb and forefinger. ‘Did you manage to catch up with Michael Cory?’
Adam frowned and shook his head. ‘I’ve called him twice, left a message, but he hasn’t called me back.’
‘Hmm.’ Relief flooded her. Among her nocturnal terrors had been the possibility that Cory might have reached him yesterday morning, before they’d gone down to the river. ‘I called him as well,’ she said, ‘we were supposed to have a cup of coffee this afternoon, but I got voicemail, too. He hasn’t rung me back, either.’
‘Is that unusual?’
‘Yes. I mean, as far as I know. I’ve only met him a few times but he’s never stood me up before.’ Her heart was beating so hard she was afraid Adam would hear it in her voice but as far as she could tell, she sounded steady enough, and if he noticed the flush in her face, she hoped he’d put it down to the room’s over-zealous heating.
‘Artists,’ he said. ‘Mazz used to go AWOL for days on end – weeks, sometimes – when she was in the thick of something.’