Jane has disappeared, but Nan, the housekeeper, is in the kitchen. She’s younger than Holly expected—she looks as if she’s in her early twenties—and she moves around the kitchen with an easy familiarity that comes from working under Jane’s demanding eye for the past six months. Jack is sitting at the counter next to her, scarfing down an omelet. “Hey, Mom, guess what? Nan’s brother Ed plays lax too. He’s going to take me the next time they practice.”
“Fabulous,” Holly enthuses, when she means the opposite. She’s becoming more and more like her mother.
“Do you think we could have him over? Please? He’s out of school today,” Jack says. “And I’ve already done most of my assignments for this week.”
Holly looks at Nan, who is biting her lip. She gives Holly a subtle shake of her head.
“I don’t know,” Holly hedges. “Your grandmother might have something planned.” Jack’s protesting as her mobile goes off. She glances down at it. Barry. She holds up a hand. “Hold on a sec. I have to take this.”
But Jack looks so pleadingly at her that she relents. “Ask your grandmother,” she says, then steps out of the kitchen.
“That was fast.”
“So I talked to him,” Barry says. “And I don’t like him much, but I think he’s on the level. But there’s one thing.”
“Yes?”
“At first, he flat-out refused to help you. Said he wasn’t interested, that it wasn’t the kind of thing he did. But I kept talking. I told him who you are and what you do, and suddenly he became extremely enthusiastic. In fact, he couldn’t wait to speak with you. Any idea why?”
“What’s his name?” Holly asks. There’s always the possibility that she knows him, that he’s the brother of a friend or a relative.
“Christopher Cooke.”
“Doesn’t sound familiar. Do you think he’s a fame stalker?”
She still runs into these types, people obsessed with her family and story, who can quote entire chapters from the book and have scrapbooks and websites devoted to Wendy and John and poor little Michael. They’re usually as odd as one would expect.
“I didn’t get that impression. But something definitely piqued his interest. He’s willing to meet you today at noon. There’s a pub near Hyde Park. That’s where he’ll be.”
“That’s only an hour from now,” Holly says, glancing at her watch.
“I got the distinct impression that he didn’t care whether the timing was convenient for you. If you want this, you need to be there. I’ll text you the address if that’s what you decide.”
“How will I recognize him?”
“I asked him that. He said he’d find you.”
It’s a public place, and likely to be crowded at lunchtime. And if Barry’s contacts say he’s good, there’s a solid chance he can help her. She makes up her mind. “He sounds odd. But if he’s as good as you say, I’ll have to risk it. Text me the address. If I’m going to make it by noon, I need to run. And Barry? Thank you. I don’t know what I’d do—”
“Let me know how it goes,” he cuts in, preventing her from embarrassing them both. “And Holly?”
“Yes?”
“Be careful.”
* * *
As soon as she disconnects the call, Holly dashes upstairs for a quick shower. She chooses a well-cut black dress that shows precisely the right amount of cleavage. She uses a light hand with her makeup, sticking with a spare palette of pale browns and pinks.
When she’s finished, she double-checks her work in the mirror. Good, but . . . she hesitates, then reaches into her bag and pulls out a tiny sample of Pixie Dust. It’s her own personal concoction, adapted from the recipe the company is using for the launch, and it has a single drop of plasma from Eden in it. She blows a minuscule amount into the air, closes her eyes, and holds her face up.
For these few seconds she lets herself think of her daughter, the way it felt to hold her in her arms, the warm squirmy weight of her as a child, the way she was never still. When the dust lands on her skin, it feels like a thousand tiny bubbles popping.
When she opens her eyes and looks at herself again, her face is glowing. Beauty can be wielded as a weapon, she’s learned, and she’s happy to add it to her arsenal if it will captivate Mr. Cooke and help her find Peter and her daughter.
She goes downstairs. Jack is still eating, a sandwich of some sort, and playing on his phone. He stands when he sees her and gives her a quick, casual hug, so fast she isn’t sure it happened.