out the full La Rochelle clue,’ said Grace. ‘Besides, I’d love your company.’
‘Really?’
‘Why not?’ repeated Grace.
Why not indeed, thought Deira. Why not do something even madder than her original plan and travel with a woman she hardly knew, following a treasure hunt set by a dead man? Because it’s crazy, that’s why, she told herself. Bonkers. But then you’re crazy and bonkers too, aren’t you?
‘OK.’ She smiled at Grace. ‘I will.’
‘Excellent,’ said Grace. ‘I think the best thing for you to do is contact your insurance company, tell them what you’re doing and how to keep in touch, and then put it all out of your head.’
‘I still have to tell Gavin,’ Deira reminded her.
‘He doesn’t need to know yet,’ said Grace.
‘I guess you’re right.’
‘So, let’s organise ourselves, do what we need to do, book you a room in La Rochelle, then head there and solve the clue.’
‘Sounds like a plan.’ Deira suddenly felt motivated. ‘I’ll get my stuff.’
She gathered up the tear-sodden napkins and threw them into the waste bin, then went back to her room to pack.
Chapter 17
La Rochelle, France: 46.1603°N 1.1511°W
Deira and Grace set off for La Rochelle at four o’clock. Deira was feeling more optimistic about the possible outcome for the car, having spoken again to her insurance company. Everyone seemed to want to resolve things quickly, and even though she knew from personal experience of the industry that a company’s idea of a quick resolution wasn’t always the same as a customer’s, at least she’d been able to have reasonably intelligent conversations about her situation. Her conversation with Gavin, of course, whenever it might happen, wouldn’t be intelligent. He would be incandescent with rage, and she couldn’t blame him. But there were only so many things she could worry about at any one time, she told Grace as she put her bag into the boot of the Lexus, so she was going to try to forget about it for a couple of days.
‘Absolutely,’ agreed Grace. ‘Let’s just concentrate on having a good time.’
Now, despite everything, Deira felt herself adjust to the idea of enjoying herself. Enjoyment hadn’t been the original idea behind her trip, but she was going to try. She resolutely refused to think about Gavin and the fact that his new partner was living the life she herself had given up for him. And she vowed not to look at every man she saw and wonder if he could be a potential father to a child she was never going to have.
The countryside on the two-hour drive from Nantes to La Rochelle was flatter and drier than the rolling hills and valleys of Brittany. The fields on either side of the road were carefully cultivated, and many had tall irrigation systems ready to water the growing crops when they needed it. Grace kept to a steady 100 kph, untroubled at being overtaken by ancient Peugeot and Citroën vans that seemed to be held together by string.
‘It’s always the same,’ she told Deira after they’d been passed by another disreputable wreck. ‘They see a foreign-registered car and their sense of pride means they have to overtake it, even if it’s killing their own vehicle.’
‘Gavin would’ve got into a pissing contest with them,’ Deira remarked. ‘He can’t bear being behind anyone on the road. He certainly wouldn’t have let a practically prehistoric van pass him.’
‘I do understand that,’ conceded Grace. ‘Ken used to do all the driving for us, and he insisted that the journey was part of the holiday so there was no point in screeching along like a bat out of hell.’ She laughed suddenly. ‘Fionn, on the other hand, liked going fast. One year he brought a Meatloaf playlist and started off with “Bat Out of Hell” simply to annoy his dad. He succeeded.’
‘Do you miss him?’ asked Deira.
‘Ken? Or Fionn?’
‘I meant Ken.’ Deira was sure Grace had deliberately misinterpreted the question.
‘You’re always going to miss someone you’ve shared most of your life with,’ Grace replied. ‘But he’s gone. He made a choice to go sooner than he had to. Like you with your Gavin, I’m angry and upset. But I still have to accept what he did.’
Deira noticed Grace’s hands tighten on the steering wheel and dropped the subject. Then her phone pinged with a message from Tillie.
Hey, her friend had written, hope all is going well on your trip. Was thinking of you when I saw the 88 bus. That’s double good luck! Tx
Tillie claimed that in some cultures the