‘Well, I’m pleased you’ve told me. But, I mean… what…?’ I couldn’t utter the worst question –when?
‘I will tell you. But let me get this interview over with, please?’
‘Of course.’
‘Let’s meet this afternoon. I’ll lug myself up to the attic.’
As soon as we entered the house, Hattie pushed back her shoulders, lifted her chin and softened her face into an apologetic smile. The transformation was startling.
She hurried through the hallway into the office, where Lizzie was leaning back in her chair, scowling at her laptop. ‘I’m so sorry.’
Lizzie folded her arms, waiting for the explanation.
‘There was a stray dog in the garden, but every time I got near it, the poor thing darted away. I would have called, but my phone was in my other coat pocket. Then I slipped on the snow into a gatepost… I am so, so sorry, Lizzie.’
‘Sophie said you were in the chapel.’
‘Well, yes. I was by the chapel when I fell, so I nipped in to sit down and rest my ankle for a moment.’
‘And the dog?’
‘The dog? Oh, yes. They disappeared, back towards the river path. We can only hope the owner found them.’
‘Perhaps you should put something on the Middlebeck Facebook page? In case it’s still lost.’ Lizzie kept her face impassive, but her tone was steel.
‘Oh, of course. Good idea. I’ll do that as soon as we’ve finished the interview.’
‘The interview’s cancelled. The radio station said they couldn’t stall any longer. But they’ll let you know if another slot becomes free.’
‘Oh. Okay. Is there anything else scheduled for today?’
‘The Christmas designs are the main priority for now. Presuming they aren’t finished yet.’ Lizzie’s pierced eyebrow flickered. ‘Here. I’ll take your wet coat. It looks like you need to get changed.’
Hattie handed Lizzie her cream coat, then started to climb the stairs. As I crossed the hallway to follow her, needing to change my own clothes, Lizzie bumped something against my wrist.
Twisting around, I saw Hattie’s phone.
‘It was in her pocket.’
‘Ah.’
‘You know what? I think I’m done for the day.’ She thrust the phone into my hand. ‘Unless you want to tell me what’s really going on?’
‘I found Hattie in the chapel, like she said.’
Lizzie stared at me for a long minute. ‘If she doesn’t sort out whatever the hell’s up, if she doesn’t trust me enough to share it, then I can’t do my job. Perhaps you could tell her that, seeing as she’s no longer listening to me.’ She gave a bitter shrug, backing off towards the office. ‘I love my boss, but I’m not prepared to take much more of this crap.’
* * *
After helping myself to some lunch, I decided to wait for Hattie in the kitchen. It was almost three by the time she came downstairs. I poured us both a coffee and we settled onto a sofa in the sunroom. The sun had come out, melting all but the stubbornest snow patches, and the beautiful space was living up to its name, bathed in warmth.
‘Did you call the doctor?’ I asked.
Hattie nodded. ‘I’ve an appointment on Wednesday.’
We drank our coffee for a while, watching the birds pecking at the soggy lawn, before she continued.
‘It’s a very rare kind of lymphoma. I was diagnosed two weeks before my fiftieth birthday, after tests for something else. It was low grade, symptomless apart from some tiredness, so, after removing my spleen, I’ve been on what they call “watch and wait”. Tests every six months and looking out for signs it might have turned aggressive. Including exhaustion, stomach pain, confusion, night-sweats.’ Her voice began to break. ‘I really wanted it to be the menopause. In the first couple of years, I convinced myself that every headache was this sleeping monster starting to stir. But there was only a 10, maybe 20 per cent chance it ever would, so I’d started to hope, to allow myself to believe that it would be fine. It’s just the menopause!’
