7

The Lookout

I spent about an hour in my room before I came down to the reception area that evening. I tried to read a book I’d been given, a history of modern Greece, but I was too out of sorts to focus on the words and I couldn’t make sense of Venizelos and the so-called National Schism. The party was supposed to begin at seven o’clock, but I didn’t want to be there until half past. In fact, I wasn’t sure I wanted to be there at all. I lay on the bed, staring at the ceiling. Finally, I got up, showered, changed and took the lift downstairs.

My information pack had told me that The Lookout, Charles le Mesurier’s house, was a ten-minute drive away, but I intended to walk – with or without Hawthorne. I really didn’t care. I’d be following the coast the whole way and I liked the idea of watching the evening light glisten on the surface of the water and listening to the rhythm of the waves.

I left my room and went downstairs. As I came out of the lift I heard Anne Cleary’s voice. She sounded upset. ‘Are you sure nobody’s handed it in?’ She was standing at the reception desk with her back to me. ‘It’s not that it’s particularly valuable. But it does mean a lot to me.’

‘I’m sorry, Mrs Cleary. I’ve looked in the lost-property drawer but it’s not there. I can ask the cleaners for you tomorrow.’

‘It was in my room, by my bed.’

‘I’m sure they wouldn’t have taken it, but I’ll ask them.’

I took a few steps forward and she turned and saw me. ‘What’s happened?’ I asked.

‘Oh – it’s nothing. It’s just that I’ve lost my fountain pen. It’s a particularly nice one, a Sakura, made in Japan. It was given to me by my agent.’

‘When did you last see it?’ I asked.

‘I was just saying. I thought it was in my room.’

‘Did you lock the door?’

‘It locks itself.’ She took a deep breath. ‘Maybe I left it at the school. I signed a whole lot of books, although I’m sure I put it in my handbag.’