Chilton had a place of his own by then, in Brixham, close enough to his mother’s house for him to be able to check in on her daily. A cottage by the sea, they could be let for a song in those days. Although he’d quite given up on seeing Agatha again, he knew the moment he heard it, the knock on the door was hers. He opened the door to find her standing there in the chilly dusk, wearing a skirt and jumper under a fur coat, her hair a beautiful mess, her smile wide and liberated. Holding on to Teddy, who had fallen asleep in the car, the little girl’s cheek flattened against Agatha’s shoulder.
‘I saved your work,’ Chilton said. ‘It’s all here.’
‘Thank you.’
He stepped aside so she could enter, then closed the door quietly behind her. A little dog wagged by her feet, regarding Chilton as if wanting to be properly introduced.
‘Here,’ Chilton said, gesturing with his good hand. Agatha followed him to the spare bedroom, and stood quietly while he hurried to put sheets on the narrow bed. Then she laid Teddy down – deaf to the world as only sleeping children can be – and pulled the quilt up to her chin. Kissed her forehead.
‘She’s a lovely little girl, isn’t she?’ Chilton said.
‘Yes, she certainly is.’
The dog hopped onto the bed and curled up beside the child. Chilton and Agatha watched Teddy sleep a while, simple rise and fall of her chest. A child’s breath has a different quality to an adult’s. Deeper and more precious. They shut her door tightly and went together into the kitchen. The cottage was small and cosy, ceilings nestling close above their heads. ‘Cup of tea?’
‘No,’ she said. ‘No, thank you.’
And here came the embrace. It lasted a long while, Chilton feeling so happy, so grateful to be alive, he scarcely recognized himself. Oh, while we’re at it, let’s give him back the use of his left arm. It rose as if by magic, wrapping around her strongly enough to communicate that he had no interest in ever letting her go.
‘It’s a sweet cottage,’ Agatha said, somewhere past midnight, the two of them tangled companionably in his bed. ‘Wonderfully close to Ashfield. Teddy and I will settle there in the morning.’
‘Yes,’ he said. ‘You want to be sure and be there when they come looking for you.’
The two of them laughed and laughed. The happiness swirled through the small house. Teddy, in the other room, smiled in her sleep.
‘You don’t like love stories,’ Chilton reminded her.
‘Not as a rule. But I like this one.’
A mystery should end with a killer revealed, and so it has. A quest should end with a treasure restored. And so it has. A tragic love story must end with its lovers dead or parted. But a romance, that should end with lovers reunited.
Beyond the confines of these pages, life will go tumbling forward. But this is my story. I can make anything happen, not beholden to a future that has by now become the past. I can leave you with a single image, and we can pretend it lasts forever.
So, for this part of our story, at least, let’s stop here. With Chilton and Agatha, walking together on the beach at Torquay. Her little dog hopping from one rock to another. Agatha’s arm through Chilton’s. Both of them smiling under a bright blue sky. Dwelling in the realms of day. Only for a time, like everything. No need to question or go forward, past this moment.
Indulge yourself instead and close this book on a happy ending.
Acknowledgements
IN FEBRUARY OF 2015, my agent, Peter Steinberg, sent me an email whose subject line read, ‘What about writing a novel about this?’ Attached was an article from The Lineup by Matthew Thompson: ‘Lady Vanishes: The Mysterious Agatha Christie Disappearance.’ Five years and much gentle encouragement followed as I worked on this book. I’m grateful every day for Peter’s championship and his friendship.