The Runaway Woman (29 page)

More questions, he thought. And no answers.

‘I’m not really sure if
I can help,’ the taxi driver interrupted Dave’s thoughts, ‘but if I do manage to discover the driver’s name, I’ll drop a note off at the Meridian, if I’m in the area.’

In fact he had no intention of digging about for information. He was simply angling for a bigger tip when he dropped this seemingly love-struck passenger at his destination.

‘Thanks. I would appreciate that.’ Dave was onto the
driver’s little scam. No doubt at the end of this journey, he would be holding his fist out for a more generous tip than normal. But he might be disappointed.

Dave’s thoughts returned to the mystery woman, and the night he and Nancy had met her.

Back then, he thought she might be in some kind of trouble, or she would surely never have been hiding inside the shelter, especially on such a miserable
night. Nancy had pointed out at the time that the buses were not scheduled to run from that particular shelter any more, which meant she was not waiting for a bus. So what was she doing there, and why did she run away so quickly after they turned up?

Since that night, he had not been able to shut her from his mind. There was something about her … something so innocent and fragile. He just felt
a need to scoop her up and hold her safe.

And how odd for her to be on the same train as himself.

Realising he had thought of her as ‘his woman’, he called her image to mind. She was very special, though it was difficult to say quite why, and the thought of not seeing her again, now he knew she was here in this little seaside village, made him sad.

He did not believe it was a sexual attraction,
and, besides, she did not come across as being sexy or – dare he say it – not even what you might call ‘delicate’. Or even ‘beautiful’, as the taxi driver had noted.

So, what was it that had attracted him to her?

He made an effort to analyse the reason he was so drawn to her. Maybe it was because that night at the bus shelter, she had seemed such a sad and pitiful soul that he felt the need
to wrap his two arms about her, and make everything all right. In a kind of ridiculous way, he had likened her to a shy little rabbit he once had as a small boy.

He had loved that little rabbit so very much, and because he was shy himself, and not very good at mixing with other boys, the little grey rabbit became his best friend. When, at just a year old, the rabbit had died, he had been utterly
devastated.

Now he gave a wry smile for likening that dear little rabbit to the lonely woman. Feeling somewhat foolish, he shook the ridiculous idea firmly from his mind.

So why was he attracted to this shy, lonely woman? Maybe because he knew what it felt like to be both shy and lonely … so that in this woman he saw himself. Was that what had drawn him to her?

No! He also quickly dismissed
that idea, because he and the woman were not the same. She seemed too painfully shy, and appeared to like her own company. Also, whatever troubles he had – and over the years there had been plenty – he would never hide away in a bus shelter. He would fight to do something that might change the situation – get out there and face the demons, as he had had to do many times.

But then again, how was
he to know whether or not she was already facing her demons? Was that why she was in the shelter? To work it out … to think of a way to deal with her dilemmas?

The taxi driver was right when he said that this woman was no beauty, and yet, in another way, he was totally and utterly wrong, because she
did
have beauty of a kind. Maybe it was not evident to all, but he himself could see it.

He had
seen it today. In the softness of her person, and the gentle sadness in her eyes. In the manner in which she probably cared little about herself, and yet she would be kind and sympathetic to those who needed a friend.

He suddenly realised that the essence of her sadness was who she was, and therein lay the beauty. A beauty more precious than perfect skin, or made-up eyes, or a fashionable hairstyle.
She did not flaunt herself. Indeed, he imagined that this woman probably did not even know how very beautiful she truly was.

Somehow or another, in ways he could not understand, she had managed to get inside him, without even trying. Would she laugh in his face if she knew how intrigued he was with her? He did not believe so.

Suddenly his drifting thoughts were drawn back to the work in hand.
What would Nancy say if she knew he was asking about a woman he had seen on the train – someone he did not even know?

With Nancy in mind, and now that his thoughts were beginning to focus, he remembered that he had much work to do. He should focus on what he was here for, and fate would determine if he met the mystery woman again before it was time to go home.

S
TEPPING OUT OF
the taxi, Lucy was amazed to realise that the hotel was much the same as she remembered, although it appeared to have been recently renovated.

She was pleased to note that the chosen architect had retained some of the period character and that the new was in keeping with the old.

With her heart beating faster, and the warmest of memories in her mind, she stood
on the pavement taking in the scene, her senses heightened by the salty sea air and her glad heart beating fifteen to the dozen because she was really here … in Littleton … her childhood joy, and fantasy playground.

For one poignant, fleeting moment, she was that little girl again, standing outside this very hotel together with her mum and dad, and her baby sister.

The magical nostalgic moment
was threatened as she thought of Paula. Even now, she found it difficult to believe what she had seen with her own eyes: Martin and her sister, fornicating, so lost in each other that it took a while for them to realise she was even there.

Forcing the hurtful memories to the back of her mind, she took stock of the hotel again.

Surprisingly, she felt the same excitement looking at it now as she
had when she first came here as a child.

The Edwardian windows were tastefuly retained, with the brick surround having been renovated to reveal the characteristic zigzag pattern on the bricks. The glass in the windows had been replaced, but with the same attention to detail as elsewhere. Noticeably, the panels at the top of each pane were in keeping with the period.

The narrow, wooden front
door that Lucy recalled from her childhood was now replaced with a welcoming wide glass façade, which was respectfully flanked by two long patterned glass panels. Far from spoiling the surrounding period detail, the new additions served to enhance the stalwart character of the original.

Now Lucy’s attention strayed towards the tiny harbour, where the colourful fishing boats and pleasure craft
merrily bobbed on the shifting water.

Contented, her sorry heart was uplifted, and when she smiled it was as though she had let the sunshine in.

Here, in this quiet place, she felt at home. She felt her parents’ gentle presence and her tears came almost without her realising. They brought a soothing sense of peace to her troubled soul.

She recalled how her mother would go over and over their
first visit to this haven ‘when you and Paula were just a twinkle in your daddy’s eye’.

Lucy heard the same story many times from her mother – never her father, who would grow embarrassed and escape to the pub.

On that first visit here, they had been so young and in love, Lucy recalled.

With the sound of seagulls in her ears and the cloudless, blue skies above, she stole a few quiet moments
just to look and listen, and fill her senses with the peace and beauty around her.

She was soon brought back from her daydreams by the taxi driver’s impatience. ‘Hey, lady! While you’re off daydreaming, I hope you won’t forget the clock is still ticking away here!’ In truth, he did not care one jot … so long as he got his money.

‘Oh!’ Lucy had momentarily forgotten him, and now she was panicking
again. ‘Oh … I’m sorry.’ She opened her handbag and drew out a stream of bits and pieces: handkerchief, lipstick, a box of hairclips and two mouldy sweets that she had overlooked, but no purse.

Ramming the things back into the bag, she dipped her hand into her coat pocket and, thankfully, withdrew her purse. ‘How much is it, please?’

When he advised of the cost of her daydreams, she gulped hard,
but said nothing.

Instead, she quickly paid the fare with a smile and a bright ‘Thank you’, while reminding herself that she must be careful not to squander the meagre amount of money she had managed to acquire. The prospect of not being able to recover the precious articles from the pawnshop made her feel physically ill.

With that grim thought firmly in mind, she gingerly counted out an extra
coin or two, which she tipped into the driver’s outstretched hand.

‘Huh!’ He was obviously not pleased. ‘You’re very generous, I must say.’ He went away cursing and grumbling, ‘Some folks are tight as a duck’s backside and no mistake!’

A moment later, she was standing at the hotel reception desk, while a fresh-faced young porter guarded her case.

‘Good day. Booking in, are you?’ The receptionist
was a narrow-faced woman with a soft, friendly smile.

‘Yes, please.’ Lucy thought it all very formal.

‘Could I have your name, please?’

‘Lucy Lovejoy.’

‘Miss or Mrs?’

Lucy wondered what difference it might make to her booking, ‘It’s just “Lucy”,’ she replied quietly, ‘Lucy … Lovejoy.’

There followed a split second of silence when the kindly woman looked up at her. ‘I shall take that as being
a
Miss
Lovejoy, is that all right?’ she asked with a smile.

Lucy nodded, her tortured mind wandering back to what she was running away from. Martin and Paula. Her many responsibilities. Two children, a beloved grandchild, and a good job that she was now in danger of losing … along with the wages it paid.

As ever, she thought of her parents, gone to their peace, leaving her behind; just as life
itself had left her behind.

Only now, signing into the hotel as ‘Miss Lovejoy’, did she truly realise the enormity of what she had done. It made her feel somehow uplifted, but also terrified; out of her depth.

The thought of being a real wife again to Martin sickened her to the stomach. Yet the repercussions of breaking up with him frightened her. If she did let him go, what would happen to
her? For most of her life, Martin had been her mainstay. How would she discover where she belonged if Martin was not in her life?

The insistent, disturbing questions continued to trouble her.

What about the children? How would they deal with the family being torn apart? Because that was exactly what it would be – a family broken; beyond repair.

And, who would she turn to now that her beloved
parents were gone? Her one and only confidante now was Kathleen, and she was too good a friend for her to lean on and burden with troubles not of her own making.

Lucy gave a whimsical smile at the idea of not being at the heart of her beloved family. The very prospect of such a thing was unthinkable. And yet, because of what Paula and Martin had done, she believed that putting a good distance
between herself and them was probably the only way forward, if she was ever to discover where she might belong.

At this moment, though, she had no idea where she belonged. But she did know that whatever the result of her fleeing to the seaside of her childhood, and whichever way she turned, her life would never be the same.

Thankfully, here in this place where she had once been so happy, Lucy
felt a sense of hope brush through her heart, and she was determined not to let painful images taint her thoughts.

She must put all that behind her and find the time to discover where her future lay. Right now she felt as though she belonged nowhere.

Her attention was now drawn to the receptionist, who was scribbling in her ledger. Lucy could not help but notice the woman’s hand trembling as
she wrote, and now, when she took a sneaky glance at the woman’s downturned, pretty features, Lucy noticed the angry, red blush on her cheeks, and the rings of dark shadows beneath her eyes.

Lucy concluded that this was a very unhappy woman; much like herself. Possibly, Lucy suspected, the woman might even be ill.

But then she noticed the half-empty wineglass on the woman’s side of the desk.
Partially hidden behind a folded newspaper, and sadly, it told its own story.

In that sorry moment, Lucy reflected, and not for the first time, that there were many people in this world who were fighting their demons and that, rightly or wrongly, they might find solace in different ways.

She cautioned herself. She might be wrong – she might be doing this kindly woman a huge disservice – but
glancing again at the woman’s face with its tell-tale signs of a troubled soul, Lucy knew the truth.

However, it was not for her to make judgements. When the formalities were done she thanked the woman graciously and smiled warmly, and when the woman unexpectedly smiled back in an easier manner, Lucy was oddly comforted.

As she walked away, following the porter and her suitcase, the receptionist
called after her, ‘Lucy Lovejoy?’

Lucy turned round. ‘Yes?’

‘Please … do enjoy your stay!’

For a long moment, Lucy choked back a tear. ‘I will,’ she answered softly. ‘Thank you.’

As Lucy walked away out of sight, the receptionist leaned back in her seat and momentarily closed her eyes.

When she opened them they held the softest gleam. ‘My troubles seem small, compared to hers,’ she mused.
If I’m right, that lady has been through hell and back, she thought.

She looked about nervously, before reaching behind the newspaper and drawing out the partly filled wineglass, which she then stealthily lifted to her lips to enjoy a crafty little swig. She gave the merest smile as she glanced after Lucy. ‘It must be true what they say,’ she murmured. ‘It really does take one to know one.’

She believed that she had met a soul mate in Lucy Lovejoy.