“I wanted to talk to a bloke, okay? Sometimes I just need to talk man-to-man with someone. I spotted Gilbert in there having a full English breakfast with some big blokes in suits. I couldn’t believe he was here, in Rowan Thorp. He was moaning about his ‘good-for-nothing nephew’ who was making life hard for him. Trying to block his plans for the hotel and get him to let us stay. He’s come down to have it out with Joe, face-to-face.”
“Christ on a bike!” exclaimed Simone.
“I don’t think there’s much love lost between them,” Patrick went on.
“If I might be allowed to interpose,” Betty began, in a tone that implied she was going to whether she was allowed or not, “I think you’ll find this Gilbert fella doesn’t have the right to turn the building into a boutique hotel.”
“That’s not really our main concern at the moment, Betty,” Simone said a little snappishly.
“I beg to differ,” Betty challenged.
Simone huffed out a breath. “Whether he turns the place into a hotel or a bloody casino doesn’t change the fact that he owns the property and is evicting our sister. I’ve a good mind to go over there myself and give him a rollicking.”
“He owns the leasehold,” Betty replied simply.
“What difference does that make?” Simone’s voice was rising, but Evette motioned at her to be quiet.
“Go on, Betty,” Evette urged.
“Gilbert owns the lease but not the freehold. The freehold is owned by the North estate.”
There was a stunned silence, which felt as though it might stretch on indefinitely. Finally, Star asked, “How do you know this, Betty?”
Betty sniffed and jutted out her chin. “I am a member of the Rowan Thorp chapter of the Women’s Institute, it’s my business to know. And if you North girls hadn’t been so flippin’ secretive about the eviction, I could have stepped in before any of this nonsense.” She cast a reproachful look at Star and Simone, who quelled beneath her gaze. “For heaven’s sake! I’ve known you all since you were babes in arms. Why in god’s name didn’t any of you come to me?”
“Sorry, Betty,” said Star, rubbing the toe of her boot along the flagstone floor.
“Yes, sorry, Betty,” added Simone in a tone so meek that Evette did a double take.
“Well then.” Betty smoothed down her apron. “I’ll call an emergency meeting of the WI and let’s see if we can sort this out. Gilbert and his cronies are still in the pub, you say?” Patrick nodded. “We need to keep them there. You, young man, Duncan. Get yourself over there and tell Troy what’s going on. Tell him it’s imperative that Gilbert doesn’t leave.”
Duncan started to sputter, but Betty’s answering glare brooked no argument.
“I’ll be off myself,” Betty said. “Leave you to sort your sister out. Tell Maggie I need her to meet me outside the pub in two hours. You got that?” She tapped her watch. “Two hours!”
They all nodded, and Betty marched out of the shop and across the street like a woman on a mission.
* * *
After a few moments of stunned silence, Simone gathered herself.
“Right,” she said, returning her mind to the immediate business. “Okay. We can work with this. So, all we have to do is find Joe, tell him we know what he’s been trying to do for Mags, and get the two of them in a room together to sort this shit out. And as for you, dearest nephew, your mother’s relationship with Joe is none of your beeswax. What’s the time?”
“Eight fifty,” said Star, looking from the clock to the itinerary. “Plenty of time to get everything done for the festival and reunite the star-crossed lovers before the ceremonies begin.”
“Let’s do this!” Simone grinned and held her palm up to Star, who high-fived it.
“Joe’s gone,” said Patrick in a voice so small it was as though he hadn’t wanted to be heard.
“What do you mean gone?” asked Evette.
“Troy told me. He left a note and the cash for this month’s rent.”
“Well, where did he go? Did he say anything in the note?” Simone demanded.
Patrick shrugged. “I don’t think so.”
“Have you tried calling him?” asked Star.
“It goes straight to voicemail. He’s either switched his phone off or he’s blocked me.” Patrick gave an awkward grimace.
“I’ll give him a try.” Star pulled up his number and held her phone to her ear. A moment later she shook her head. “Straight to voicemail.”
“Does anyone have any idea where Joe might have gone?” asked Evette. She was answered by shaken heads. “Maybe Maggie might have an idea?”
“Ahem.” Duncan, who had shrugged into his jacket and was almost to the door, stopped in his tracks. “I, um, saw Joe this morning when I was out for my run. He said he was going to France, catching the ferry.”
“France? Why France?” asked Simone.
Star rounded on him. “And you didn’t think to tell me?”
“He told me in confidence. He was in pretty bad shape, it seemed like the least I could do. I didn’t know the full story, only that he and Maggie had had a bust-up. He said it was his fault and he needed to get away from Rowan Thorp. His family live somewhere near Lille, I think he said. I got the impression he needed to lick his wounds. If I’d have known . . .” he trailed off.
“Did he tell you what time his ferry was?” asked Simone.
“Eleven o’clock—it was the only time he could get at such short notice.”
Simone and Star stared at each other as if communicating via thoughts alone.
“My windscreen’s cracked to hell; I can’t drive my car,” said Simone.
“I came by train,” Evette added.
“Maggie’s veg van, then?” said Star, and Simone nodded.
“You need to come too.” Simone pointed at Patrick, who shrugged his shoulders and stood.
“What about the festival?” Star said. “With Maggie out of action, we’re already one woman down and I can’t do it all by myself. You’re the organizer, not me. You’ve said it yourself enough times—I’m a shower of shite!”
“You’ll be fine,” said Simone with schoolmarm assuredness. “We’ve got the plan all laid out. You know what needs to happen. Duncan can help you when he’s finished helping Troy at the pub. Speaking of which, why are you still here?” She pointed a finger at Duncan, who jumped to attention and left without protest.
“I’m not sure I’m up to it, Simone, it’s a huge responsibility.”
“Look, one of us needs to get to the port at Dover and you can’t drive. It’s got to be me. I was wrong about you—you’re not a shower of shite. You’ve got this. Just keep calm and follow the plan. With any luck, I’ll be back with Joe way before the festival begins.”
46
Ten minutes later, after some violent complaints from Maggie’s old van as Simone got to grips with the gears, she and Patrick chugged out of the village, the engine roaring and the smell of diesel fumes in their wake.