No Place to Hide (3 page)

Camilla had married again too. In fact, she was now on her fourth husband, Bill.

The last time Justine and Camilla had spoken was when Justine had rung to say goodbye. “I’ve sent you my new email address,” she’d told her mother. “Please don’t pass it to anyone else.”

“Of course not,” Camilla promised. “Rob tells me you’ve already rented an apartment in Culver while you look for something more permanent.”

Her mother sounded so peeved and agitated that Justine said, “Would you rather I stayed here, in England? Perhaps I should move in with you. That would be fun, wouldn’t it, us all under the same roof, sharing your precious garden?”

“Don’t do this, Justine,” Camilla implored. “You know coming to me wouldn’t be the answer…”

“It would damage your reputation.”

“It’s damaged all our reputations.”

Justine had rung off at that point, not wanting her mother to know she was crying.

Only Matt had witnessed the tears.

“Please don’t go,” he’d begged, the day she’d booked the flights to Chicago.

“We agreed, I have to, for Tallulah’s sake.”

“But I can’t bear to think of you so far away.”

“No more contact between us,” she’d reminded him, her heart breaking into a thousand pieces as she connected with the real meaning of the words. “It’s for the best.”

Though they’d gone round and round in circles that day, as they had on so many other occasions, talking things through in every possible way, seeking advice from Rob and his wife, Maggie, from the police and an army of counselors, that was where it always ended, because as far as they could see it was the only way.

Justine had to leave. She needed to make a new home for herself and Lula, and since she was American by birth it made sense, at least to her, to return to her roots.

She could have chosen New Hope, Pennsylvania, but she hadn’t, because she’d felt sure that Culver, Indiana, was where her grandma wanted her to be. Of course, as a ghost, Grandma May would never be able to fill Matt’s place—no one, living or dead, could ever do that—but in a quietly instinctive way Justine knew she’d made the right decision.

How she ached for Matt now, for everything that had once been theirs, the home, the friends, the dreams, the safety, the countless things they’d taken for granted.

One day—a few single moments in the day—had brought it all to an end.

Except that wasn’t how it had happened. It had been coming for a long time, but no one had wanted to see it, and by the time they had it was too late.

Stop, stop! You need to let go, to forgive yourself and start afresh.

The flimsy fabric of her dress floated around her knees like ripples in the breeze; her normally pale skin had turned golden in the summer sun. There were lines around her once lively green eyes, bearing the unreadable story of her grief; shadows darkened their rims like specters, palpable evidence of long, difficult nights during which sleep was rarely a friend.

Yet there were still moments when she could smile and feel her heart lifting at the beauty of nature, at how blessed she was in Tallulah and being able to make her home in this unexpected delight of a small town.

Lake Maxinkuckee had got its name from its first inhabitants, the Potawatomi Indians. She and Matt had found that little nugget on Wikipedia several years ago when they’d toyed with the idea of visiting the place for a family holiday. Camilla had immediately discouraged it. In fact, she hadn’t seen any point in them returning to the States at all, when there were still so many places in Europe and the rest of the world to discover. Camilla, who’d never lost her American accent in spite of being a committed Anglophile now, was nothing if not expert at tearing up roots. She did it at least once a week, in a literal sense, usually for an audience of thousands who tuned in to her highly rated afternoon TV show. Glamorous, erudite, flirtatious, and undeniably gifted in her field—actually her garden—Camilla Gayley was nothing short of a goddess when it came to horticultural planning and landscape management.

That was what the press called her, the “Green-Fingered Goddess.”

She was also something of a socialite, had a column in a national newspaper, and had started an Internet site that received hundreds, possibly thousands of hits a day. She was as active as a teenager on Facebook and Twitter, was forever posting selfies with the many celebrities she entertained at her mini estate, and had, only in the past year, been invited—somewhat hilariously—to pose nude for
Playboy
.

Thankfully she’d turned it down. At fifty-eight, she’d decided it wouldn’t be seemly. (Nor was it at sixty-four, her actual age, Justine had thought at the time, though she’d refrained from saying so.)

Being a guest on
Desert Island Discs—
which, luckily for Camilla, had aired the week before all hell had broken lose—had, for her, been some sort of high spot in her glittering career. Justine had dutifully listened, cringing at all the name-dropping and self-adulation, while raising an eyebrow at stories she strongly doubted were true. Most outrageous of all was Camilla’s luxury item: a photo album of her grandchildren that her dear son Rob had put together for her fiftieth birthday.

“Lucky no one asked her their names,” Justine had remarked to Matt as the program ended. She knew the barb was unjustified, for her mother was actually much better with the children than Justine was ready to give her credit for, although it had to be said that she didn’t see them very often.

“And of course,” she’d run on irritably, “she didn’t stop to think that it was too long ago for Tallulah to be in the album.”

“Don’t let it get to you,” Matt cautioned. “Lula’s too young to know the difference, and we’ve got plenty of other things to worry about.”

Why was she thinking about her mother now? Most likely because she was the link to her grandma, an integral part of the connection that couldn’t be made real, or completed, unless Camilla allowed it. Or maybe it was simply because she hadn’t heard from her mother once since she’d arrived.

“But you told me not to be in touch,” Camilla would protest if Justine got around to calling her.

It was true, Justine had asked her not to be, but she could send emails to the new account Justine had set up, in her new name.

When making the change she’d considered going back to her maiden name, but Camilla had retained custody of that.

“Gayley isn’t exactly common,” she’d pointed out, “and I’m sorry, I don’t mean this to be hurtful, but I’d really rather people forgot that you’re related to me.”

“Mum, for God’s sake,” Rob had cried in angry protest. “You’re not even married to Dad anymore, so why don’t you change your name to Bill’s and let Justine do what she wants?”

“Don’t be absurd. Everyone knows me as Camilla Gayley. I can’t just change it when it’s all over our products, program graphics, website—”

“It’s all right,” Justine had interrupted. “I’ll find something else.”

In the end it was as though Grandma May had come to the rescue again, offering up her own name for Justine to take. So now Justine and Lula were no longer McQuillans, they were Cantrells.

Giving up Matt’s name had been devastating. The day her new documents had come through she’d felt so panicked, so truly afraid that had it not been for Lula she was sure she’d have backed out and stayed. She kept thinking of the day she’d become Justine McQuillan. How happy she’d been; how young and in love. She loved Matt as much now as she had back then. More. Much, much more, although that wouldn’t have seemed possible at the start when her feelings had been so strong, and her determination so fierce, that she’d taken matters into her own hands to get them the farmhouse they so desperately wanted.

Eighteen Years Earlier—London, UK

Justine was in her mother’s elegant study overlooking the Victorian lampposts and leafy gardens of Chelsea Embankment. Camilla’s severe, though attractive, face was already made up prior to a lunch engagement, her short fair hair combed to within a millimeter of perfection.

She’d expressed no surprise when her husband, Bill, had showed Justine into the room, nor had she raised an eyebrow when Justine had told her why she was there. She’d simply taken the estate agent’s details, given them a slow look over, and passed them back again.

“I can see its appeal,” she stated, crossing one silk-stockinged leg over the other, “but you’ll never be able to afford to heat it, never mind buy it.”

Biting back a cutting retort, Justine said, “We’ve worked it all out, and OK, it’ll be tight at first, we might only be able to live in one part of it, but they’re talking about making Matt an editor at work, and if I can get a business going…”

“What sort of business?”

“I want to open a deli.”

Camilla’s eyebrows rose. “Mm,” she commented shortly, either not taking it seriously or saving her opinion for another time. “Twelve thousand pounds is a lot of money. Are you intending to pay me back?”

“I asked for a loan, not a gift,” Justine reminded her. “We’ll set up a standing order. It won’t be much at first, but—”

Camilla’s hand went up. “You can pay it back when you have it. I don’t want it turning up in dribs and drabs. It would be too annoying.”

Justine regarded her steadily.

“I’ll give you the money,” Camilla continued, “because it’s only fair that you should have the same as Rob, which means the check I write will be for twenty thousand pounds, not twelve.”

Justine was dumbfounded. “You gave Rob twenty thousand pounds?” she finally gasped.

“To help him and Maggie buy the house in Brentford. So it wouldn’t reflect well on me if I didn’t do the same for you.”

Still stunned by the news that her brother had received such an enormous sum and never mentioned it, Justine wasn’t quite sure what to say. “Have they…? Are they paying you back?” she asked.

“I hope so, though I haven’t seen a penny of it yet and it’s been over two years.”

Wondering if she’d ever have found out about the loan if she hadn’t asked for one herself, Justine, determined not to be petty about favoritism, managed to say, “I can assure you Matt and I will repay every last cent of whatever you choose to give us, and with interest if you’d like to set a rate.”

Sighing impatiently, Camilla took out her checkbook, saying, “Shall I make it out to you or Matt?”

“Either or both. We have a joint account.”

Camilla’s smile showed what she thought of such foolishness.

“Can I call Matt now to tell him?” Justine asked as her mother handed the check over.

Waving her to the phone, Camilla said, “I’ll expect to be invited once in a while.”

“Of course, as often as you like,” Justine assured her, starting to dial. “And thank you. I really…I mean, it’s hard to find the words…”

“Then don’t try. I know you’re grateful. In your shoes, I would be too.”

And so, with not a single thought for being careful of what they wished for, they were finally in a position to buy the house of their dreams.

Present Day—Culver, Indiana

“You look positively nymphlike standing next to the water in the sunlight.”

Justine smiled as the familiar sound of her brother’s voice caught at her heartstrings and turned her around.

“I thought I ought to capture you on film,” he confessed, slipping an arm around her.

“But you didn’t,” she said, making it part question, part warning.

“I didn’t,” he confirmed. “No photos, no video, no anything to take back with me apart from knowing that you’re all settled in and ready to face the New World.”

Her eyebrows arched. “I don’t think they’ve thought of it that way for at least a couple of hundred years,” she commented.

“Longer,” he assured her, “and you should drop the ‘of.’ Americans say a couple hundred, not a couple of hundred. Anyway, it’s new to you, and that’s what counts.”

Resting her head on his shoulder, she returned her gaze to the glittering, silky expanse of the lake. “I keep waiting for a smell or a sound or something to stir a memory,” she told him, gazing toward the homes on the far shore, “but nothing’s happened for me so far. How about you?”

He shook his head. “If we were able to find Grandma’s old house, maybe that would get something going.”

“We don’t even know if it still exists. Do you think it was on the East Shore?”

He cast a curious look toward the horizon, where glimpses of the luxury mansions gleamed white among towering sycamores and maples. “I guess we know it was on the lake, because we both remember that much, but as for where, exactly…Obviously Mum’s the person to ask, but we know we’ll draw a blank there.”

Justine turned to look at him, drinking in his narrow, handsome face with its summer tan and guileless blue eyes. “Aren’t you intrigued to know why?” she pressed.

He shrugged. “I guess so, but right now I’m more interested to know how my niece is getting along at day care. Any news yet?”

Feeling her heart tighten at the mention of Lula, Justine said, “Not yet. They said they’d call if there was a problem, otherwise I should pick her up at three.” Her eyes drifted slightly as she went on, “She’s so adaptable, so ready to take on a new challenge, but I know she misses everyone…” As her voice fell into the abyss Rob tightened his hold on her. “It’ll fade,” he assured her, “in time.”