“How the hell am going to explain that?” I cry.
Then we look at each other, and Ted starts to laugh.
“It’s not funny!” I say, pushing a hand against his chest.
“He won’t mind about the trainers once he’s met you,” says Ted, and the compliment sends a warm pulse up my neck. “A small price to pay for meeting your soulmate.” His tone is back to teasing. “Come on, there’s got to be something more to go on in here.”
He pulls a worn running top from the plastic bag and holds it out in front of him. “Bingo,” he says, turning it around to show me.
On the back of the top, it reads: jersey relay marathon—“the bee team,” raising money for jbcs.
“What’s that?” I ask.
“The Jersey Bee Conservation Society. If he raised money for them, they might know who he is, and I happen to know that they have a stall at the Trinity Community Fete this morning—we could go ask them.”
I high-five Ted, and he looks genuinely delighted at having found a lead.
“When we find him, I’m telling him you threw his shoe off a cliff in a jealous rage that he has bigger feet than you,” I say.
“He doesn’t. Mine are eleven and a half.”
We get back in the car, a strange giddy feeling in my stomach, and my cheeks feel flushed. Maybe I’m still feeling a bit carsick. I should probably stop looking at my phone on all these windy roads. Resting my cheek against the cool glass of the side window, I try to think of a good excuse for losing a shoe; what I will say when I finally track down Hot Suitcase Guy.
Jersey Evening News—24 August 1991
A LOVE TOKEN RETURNED SPARKS LOVE FOR THE NEXT GENERATION
The chance discovery of a lost wartime love token has kindled a new romance fifty years later. In June of this year, Bristol resident Annie Carter visited Jersey to return half of an engraved coin belonging to Alex Le Quesne’s late grandfather, William Blampied.
“I came to Jersey to reunite the two halves of the coin,” said Miss Carter. “Then I met Alex, and couldn’t bring myself to leave. It felt as though the coin had led me to him—like a fairy tale.” It would seem that half a century on, romance still follows this coin around.
Chapter 9
The Trinity Community Fete turns out to be a small affair; in fact, just a few trestle tables are set up in the car park next to the parish hall. The Women’s Institute is selling tea and coffee in disposable cups, a woman dressed in colorful knitwear sits behind a tower of homemade jam, someone is selling goat’s cheese, and a local author is hawking copies of her book next to a dreary tombola. Several charities have set up tables full of leaflets, and there is even someone dressed in a dog costume collecting money for guide dogs. It all looks decidedly underwhelming as far as country fetes go. I was imagining a field full of bunting, beautiful cream teas, merry-go-rounds, and maybe some kind of quaint “who’s grown the biggest carrot” competition.
As we survey the scene from the parked car, Ted says, “OK, what’s our strategy?” He nods toward the man sitting behind the JBCS table, a stout-looking gentleman with a bald scalp, haloed by tufts of white hair. “That guy looks like the keeper of the contact details. We could kidnap him and smother him in honey until he gives up a name.”
I let out a snort and cover my mouth in embarrassment.
“I think I’ll just go and talk to him, no kidnapping required.”
As we approach, the author and the jam lady eye us eagerly. Then the woman in a wax jacket behind the coffee urn at the WI table calls to Ted.
“Ted Palmerston, is that you under there?” she asks. “What’s all that hair? You shouldn’t hide your lovely face, boy. What would your mother have said?”
I smile at the fact someone seems to know Ted everywhere we go. As he walks over to talk to the woman, I make a beeline for the JBCS stall, where I find honey for sale, leaflets about bee conservation, and even a beekeeper’s hat to try on.
“Hi!” I beam. “I’m Laura, I wonder if you could help me?”
“You’re interested in supporting the bees?” asks the man, glancing down at my chocolate-stained dress.
“Oh yes, big bee fan.” I grin.
“I’m Keith, Chairman of the JBCS. Can I give you a leaflet about membership?”
“I would love a leaflet, Keith, and some honey. Hook me up with some of the sweet stuff, ha-ha!” I’m babbling. “But where you could really help me, Keith, is I’m trying to track down some people who may be members already. Do you know the Le Maistre family? I think Mr. Le Maistre might have raised money for you running the marathon, and his mother has a particular interest in beehives?” I look at the man hopefully. Now I’ve said it out loud it doesn’t feel like a lot to go on. I can’t imagine an episode of Luther starting with a lead like this.