I feel a surge of disappointment. Charlie leans back to put his empty mug down on the windowsill behind him. ‘But, if she did, the answer will be in her notes. She made lots of them. Let me show you her office.’
April seems to be content sitting in her bouncer for the moment, so Charlie turns the sound back up on the television and leads me upstairs. He walks straight ahead, pushing open the door to a small room that looks out over the messy back garden. Any view of the estuary would be from the other side of the house. A large desk fills the area under the window, and there are bookshelves and filing cabinets lining the walls. A slick Apple computer takes pride of place in the centre of the desk. The room is tidy, but I can see from here that the computer screen is dusty from underuse.
Charlie pulls open the top left desk drawer to reveal a series of notebooks crammed inside.
‘Nicki was always writing in these,’ he says.
He closes that drawer and opens the next to expose more notebooks.
‘I haven’t gone through them.’ From the tightening of his voice, I take it he hasn’t wanted to. ‘But all of her research is in here.’ He opens another drawer. ‘She also used to keep diaries when she was younger. Her dad moved to Thailand for work and she’d visit when she could. A lot of what she wrote about back then made it into Secret. I think you’ll find clues as to where she planned to go with the sequel.’
I look up at the crowded bookshelves and notice several Post-it notes sticking out of the tops of some of the books. What pages did she mark? Were they significant?
Nicole did a couple of interviews around the time Secret was published last October, so I already knew that her father is a French chef called Alain Dupré, and that she wrote under her maiden name. But, as she died just two weeks after her book was released, before the sales had taken off, her readers and I don’t know much more about her – it’s very surreal to be standing here in her office.
‘Did she leave notes on her computer, too?’ My mind boggles. Where would I start?
Charlie hesitates almost imperceptibly before reaching behind the screen and feeling for the ON button. The computer fires up with a loud dong.
‘I would’ve thought so,’ he says.
His back is to me, his posture tense. I stare at his frame and out of the blue think of Elliot. It’s been almost six months since we’ve seen each other and, on the whole, I’m coping. But suddenly I miss him intensely.
April lets out a cry downstairs, making Charlie start. ‘Take a seat and have a look,’ he mumbles, leaving me to it.
Is he sure he doesn’t mind? Uncertainly, I pull out the chair and sit down. The screen in front of me lights up and then I’m looking at a small photograph of Nicole, under which is a request for her password.
She’s laughing and her slim, oval face is basked in warmth from the sunshine. She has dark hair that brushes her shoulders and her eyes are sky-blue. Across her head is a familiar yellow bandana headband that doesn’t quite obscure her fringe, and a sprinkling of freckles dusts her nose. She looks happy. I find myself wishing that I had known her. The posed black-and-white publicity shot on the inside cover of her book doesn’t do her justice.
‘It’s Thailand.’
I almost jump out of my skin at the sound of Charlie’s voice from behind me.
‘The password is Thailand. Uppercase T.’
‘Oh!’ I type it in. I press ENTER and Nicole’s desktop swings into view.
I hear Charlie inhale sharply and know better than to turn around.
An image of him holding a newborn baby has filled the screen. His hair is shorter and he’s gazing with love at the tiny bundle in his arms.
‘I’ve barely been in here since we lost her,’ he says softly.
‘We don’t have to do this now,’ I murmur. His wife died just over seven months ago. I’m not at all sure that he’s ready for this. I’m not sure that I am.
‘It’s fine,’ he says, leaning in and taking the mouse. I scoot my chair over to the left, watching as the arrow hovers over a blue folder on the dock at the bottom. The name comes up: ‘SECRET’. Charlie moves the mouse to the right and clicks on a folder called ‘CONFESSIONS’.
‘Is that the title of the sequel?’ I ask, alight with interest.
‘Confessions of Us,’ Charlie tells me. ‘Sara wasn’t sure about it.’
Sara was Nicole’s agent, too, of course.
‘I like it,’ I tell him, peering more closely at the contents of the folder: Characters… Confessions… Research… Synopsis… Timeline…
‘You’ll have to check out her Secrets folder, as well. I’m not sure she moved everything across.’
‘Okay.’ I nod.
‘If you want the job, that is.’ He lets go of the mouse and straightens up.
‘Isn’t that up to you?’ I ask him carefully.
He stares down at me. ‘I’ve read a couple of your blog entries,’ he replies instead of giving me an answer. ‘Fay was right. Your tone of voice is very similar to Nicki’s.’ Charlie leans against one of the filing cabinets and folds his arms across his chest. ‘But are you sure you have the time to take this on?’
‘Absolutely,’ I state. ‘This will take precedence over all of my other work,’ I assure him. ‘I can blog in my spare time – I don’t have a deadline and there are no other pressures on me.’ I take a deep breath before announcing, ‘I think I’d do a good job.’
He eyes me thoughtfully as the seconds tick past, and then he finally nods in what I hope is agreement. ‘I’ll speak to Fay.’