Page 43 of The Midnight Secret

Landon didn’t reply; they were quite alone in the largeroom now and out of earshot of the receptionist. The pretence didn’t need to be upheld. ‘Why’s Tucker sent you here?’ he asked in a low voice.

‘Let’s just say he owed us a favour,’ James replied, matching the shift in tone, his cordial smile now gone. This was business. ‘He said you’d be able to help us with what we’re looking for...for a fee, naturally.’ James pulled his coat back and opened his jacket to reveal a slim wad of cash in the inner pocket. He had had his British pounds changed for dollars when they’d arrived in Montreal, ready for buying the car.

There was a pause as Landon regarded them both, sizing them up.

‘This isn’t a sting,’ James said, reading his mind. ‘You can trust us. It was Tucker who told us to find you. We’re all friends. Mallory and my wife are inseparable.’

Flora tried not to shudder as Landon’s gaze settled upon her more heavily. She doubted the man had ever met Tucker’s wife, but James’s comment had given him permission to look at her more closely, and no one ever seemed to pass up that opportunity.

‘Tucker said you were the only man for the job.’

Landon looked back at him with a cautious look, flattered in spite of himself. ‘What is it y’want?’

‘Just to find someone...Well, three people, actually. They were travelling together. Two women and a baby. They came over on theEmpress of Scotland.’

‘And why do you want to know? What is it to you?’

‘They’re friends of ours – both widows – and we’d like to see them while we’re over here.’ James’s voice was cool but Landon’s eyes narrowed, sensing the lie.

‘You’ve a lot of friends, it seems.’

‘Indeed we have. But our circumstances are more...fortunate than theirs. We promised their families back home that we’d check they’re getting on well in their new lives here.’

Landon clearly didn’t believe a word of it, but he also looked like he didn’t much care. ‘What’s the names?’ he sighed, reaching for a pencil and notebook.

‘Lorna MacDonald. Mary McKinnon...The baby is called Struan McKinnon.’

Landon tore off the sheet of paper and folded it, slipping it into his trouser pocket. ‘I’ll look into it – but that won’t be enough,’ he said, jerking his chin towards James’s pocket.

‘Of course not,’ James said coolly, reaching his hand in and drawing out the cash. ‘This is simply the advance. I’ll pay the same again when you tell me their whereabouts.’

He held out the money, his gaze level.

Landon hesitated, then took it with a nod. ‘I’ll be in touch,’ he muttered. ‘Where are you staying?’

‘The Frontenac.’

Landon sniffed, as if he’d guessed as much. Flora didn’t drip in jewels like Mallory Tucker and James didn’t have a Mediterranean tan like Dickie Grainger – but there was something in the cut of their clothes, or perhaps the gleam of their hair, that quietly spoke to wealth. She had been aware of it when she’d been on the other side as a barefoot wild isle girl, and in the course of her experiences in Glasgow, in Paris and on the crossing over here, she had gradually acquired a rich gloss.

‘Then we’ll meet at the Old Homestead hotel on Place d’Armes. Opposite the Frontenac. I’ll let you know when.’

‘As you wish, Mr Landon,’ James said, tipping his hat.

‘Thank you, Mr Landon,’ Flora murmured. ‘We’re so grateful.’

Landon watched as James led her back towards the stairs. By the time they stepped out into the night, it was raining, but neither of them noticed.

‘It really is a castle,’ Flora said, her eyes trailing over the bedroom’s oak-panelled walls and heavy damask curtains. Turrets, turning staircases, tapestries...The Frontenac’s atmosphere was so different from the silken froth and cool finesse of the Paris Ritz, yet it oozed the same sense of heritage and wealth. There were, she was learning, many different ways to be rich.

She looked back at James as he shrugged off his coat, remembering how they had first met on the shores of St Kilda, crowded by mountains and cottages. Their future – not least the idea that they would ever find themselves here, on the seventeenth floor of the hotel’s main tower – had been impossible to predict as they’d stood barefoot on that golden sand.

‘What is it?’ he asked, sensing her gaze as he removed his hat.

‘Nothing,’ she smiled, drawing one from him too as he came over and took her into his arms. He kissed her tenderly, knowing she wasn’t the firecracker she had once been, that a fissure ran through her now that hadn’t been there before. She clung to him, resting her head on his chest. His heartbeat was the only steadiness in her life right now. She had no home; only him.

‘Are you hungry?’ His voice vibrated against her ear as he stroked her hair, and she nodded.

‘Famished. But I’m too tired to dress for dinner,’ she said, looking up at him. ‘Can’t we have something up here?’

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