Why did my thoughts keep returning to Otto?
I had a vision of myself in this cab, chasing Kara like some faded, aged shadow of her. As if I were actually here chasing my youth or some part of me I’d lost.
This trip was threatening to destroy the life I’d built.
The sun rose while the cab drove to my hotel. The weather grew impossibly bleaker, rain streaking across the windows.
The hotel room was better. Decorated in a style I called cheerful chilled. Lots of understated yellows and creams and muted greys. The room smelled of Italian coffee.
I showered and changed then tried to grab an hour’s nap but failed. Whatever mechanism in my head needed to kick into gear in order to put me to sleep was malfunctioning. I washed down three Promaxa with a glass of water that tasted awful. Still, I couldn’t relax. I tossed and turned on the hotel bed for the next five hours until it was time to meet Rosemary.
Rosemary wanted us to meet at a café. When the clock ticked around to ten in the morning, I combed my hair and stepped down to the foyer to call a cab.
The café was on Old Street, Central London. The cab driver pulled up outside a cosy-looking coffee shop. I wound my way through bicyclists and stroller-pushing women to the café and went to order myself a coffee.
I sat and waited. I hadn’t seen Rosemary in person—not even a photograph. There were no pictures of her offered on her website.
A woman who’d just bought coffee and cake at the counter wandered through the shop looking for a seat. She sat next to me. “It’s silly weather for July.”
I nodded automatically. “I thought it would be sunny.”
“I hope you’re not too disappointed.” She placed two bags of bread and fruit on the seat opposite, just like any of the women who’d been shopping around town this morning. “How are you, Constance?”
It was the first indication that it was Rosemary—the private investigator.
“Oh, it’s you,” I answered in surprise. “I’m fine. Just tired.”
She wasn’t what I expected. She was ordinary. She was the woman you passed in the grocery aisle who looked slightly frazzled and a bit worn around the edges. I’d expected a bit of glamour, someone who matched with the deep, quick voice. Even her name didn’t seem a match. Instantly, I worried that she wasn’t the real deal. This slightly frumpy woman couldn’t find my daughter.
“Long flights are never much fun,” she said. “Do you feel like eating? A slice of cake? The butterscotch tart looks quite good. I should have chosen that instead of the sponge. The cream tends to give me more trouble than what it’s worth.”
“No, thank you. I’m not much of a person for cake. Anything savoury, I’m first in line.”
“Count yourself lucky. This sweet tooth of mine is a curse.” She stirred her coffee. “I only just manage to keep from blowing up like a balloon.” She glanced at a cyclist riding past. “At least I do that—cycling. I quite like riding about. It relaxes me. Ah, cycling and cake—the perfect balance. Do you ride?”
“Sometimes. Only with James—my husband. I’m more of a jogger.”
“You do have a runner’s body.”
“Thank you,” I said, though I wasn’t sure if it was a compliment or just a statement. More than one friend had unkindly called me a stick due to my lack of curves.
“So, you’ve been to London before?” she asked.
“My fifth visit, I think. All the trips were for my husband’s work—he has a lot of business here in the UK. I love London. There’s so many interesting little pockets to lose yourself in.”
“Yes, lots of pockets. That’s a good description. My wish is that we find your daughter quick-smart and that the two of you are soon off exploring some of those pockets together.”
I found myself panicking at the words wish and we. I wasn’t interested in wishes. And this wasn’t supposed to be a team effort between Rosemary and myself. She was the expert, and I was relying on her.
“I hope so.” Swallowing a mouthful of coffee that burned my throat, I glanced away at the markets and busy foot traffic of the unfamiliar street.
Rosemary finished her cake. It’d looked so sugary it made me feel ill. A jetlagged, upset-stomach kind of ill.
“Are you all right? You look a little peaky,” she said.
“No, I’m okay. Is there anything you’d like me to do today? I’m under your direction.”
There. I’d made sure I’d established our relationship. We weren’t a team. There was no we. I was contracting her to carry out a job. And I expected her to do it.