The Women Who Ran Away - Sheila O'Flanagan Page 0,61

couldn’t have been thinking about treasure hunts all those years ago, she knew, but he’d remembered these places in far more detail than she ever could. Perhaps it was because he was interested in their history – or at least in the history of the writers who’d lived in them or visited them – that his memory was so sharp. He’d never shared that interest with her. He’d kept her in a different compartment of his life.

‘OK?’ Deira glanced at her.

‘Yes, absolutely. Will we take the photo now?’

‘Why not.’ Deira nodded. ‘Be sure and get the full name of the café.’

Grace pulled out her phone and took a couple of snaps. She showed them to Deira, who agreed that they were perfect for uploading.

‘Would you mind taking one of me too?’ asked Grace. ‘It’s another way to prove to my children that I’m doing fine on my own.’

‘Why would they think otherwise?’ asked Deira after she’d taken the photo and handed the phone back.

‘We all struggled in the weeks immediately after Ken’s death,’ said Grace. ‘It was very difficult for everyone. I think they expect me to keep on struggling. After all, we were married for a long time, and the children can’t imagine me without him.’

If Professor Harrington really had been as controlling as sending his wife on the treasure hunt implied, Deira could understand their concerns. Yet it was clear that despite her husband’s influence, Grace was a very independent woman. Had she simply hidden that aspect of her personality from her family? Or had it lain dormant all the years she was married? Did men change you in ways you didn’t know? Had Gavin changed her?

‘Let’s go inside.’ Grace broke into her thoughts. ‘We can get some food and I’ll forward the pic to the kids.’

The interior of the café was decorated in a belle époque style, with elaborate high ceilings, polished wood panelling, gold-coloured fittings and large mirrors. The lights were mellow white in large round shades. Some were wall-mounted, some were set into the marble-topped counter, and others hung from the ceiling.

‘It’s fabulous, isn’t it?’ said Grace. ‘It’s exactly the kind of place where writers should write! I can see Simenon coming in here, ordering a cognac and scribbling away in his notebook.’

‘Me too,’ agreed Deira.

‘What would you like to eat?’ asked Grace.

‘I’m fine with a coffee. I’m not hungry.’

Grace raised an eyebrow, but ordered coffee for two and, for herself, a toasted sandwich that turned out to be larger than she’d expected. She offered Deira half.

‘Half of half,’ said Deira.

Grace grinned at her and cut the sandwich.

‘So,’ she said. ‘Now that we’ve got the photo, let’s think about the last part of the clue. Brigitte, who is possibly Bardot. You didn’t find anything in your posh shed, by any chance?’

‘Afraid not.’ Deira shook her head. ‘By the way, calling it a shed is a bit harsh. It’s very comfortable. Isn’t it weird how things turn out?’ she added. ‘I was expecting another night in Nantes stressing out about the car, yet here I am sitting in a lovely café with you and staying in a quirky hotel that puts guests in luxury sheds.’

‘I’m sorry about your car, but I’m glad you’re travelling with me,’ said Grace. ‘It’s making it a lot more fun.’

‘It is fun,’ conceded Deira. ‘At least until Gavin finds out about the Audi.’

‘You might hear back from the insurance company ahead of him finding out,’ said Grace. ‘Don’t worry about it until then.’

‘I’m only worrying intermittently.’

Once they had finished eating, Deira suggested they should go back to the hotel and continue their investigations there.

The area around the port was busier now, with even more people gathered around the stalls. Deira and Grace could see that as well as selling bric-à-brac and local produce, there was an entire street of stalls devoted to second-hand books.

Deira liked second-hand book stalls, and second-hand book stores too. While she usually bought her books new, or downloaded them onto her iPad, she loved knowing that previously read books were getting the chance to be read again.

‘Ken built up a library of old books,’ said Grace as they approached the first stall. ‘His parents were big readers. When they died, their collection was shared out among the family and he added to it over the years. I’ve never heard of half of the authors myself, but I presume they’re well known.’

‘Did he have many brothers and sisters?’ Deira picked up a translated edition of an Agatha Christie