Capter 4 Sorry!!

So sorry I seem to have left out chaper 4!! If you can bare to read 4 then go back a read 5 & 6 it will make more sense. Won't do it again.

Chapter Four

James came to rather too suddenly. As soon as consciousness took hold so did the pain. His neck felt like someone had tried to snap it and left it badly out of shape, his headache from the day before had moved up a gear and was now trying to beat all records. He realised he had fallen asleep in the chair he had been slumped in all evening, which would explain the neck situation. It would also explain why his shoulders and back were joining in with his head.
With great care he stood up. And just as carefully sat back down again, the movement had woken his stomach. Looking at his watch he realised he hadn’t eaten for nearly twenty four hours, and that was on the plain which didn’t really count as proper food. His watch also told him that he was very late for the meeting he had arranged to go over the New York trip. He groaned as he realised that Henry and the rest of the board would be in the conference room right now. Unfortunately before he could do anything about it his body lurched him, without his permission, towards the kitchen sink to be very, very sick.
When he had eventually finished with the sink he staggered into the hall to the phone. He automatically dialled Henry’s mobile number; he knew he would have to explain his absence.
‘Henry March.’ In those two words James knew that this was not going to be an easy call.
‘Henry. It’s James….’
‘Where the bloody hell are you?!’ Henry cut him off, when he was in one of these moods he didn’t speak, he spat.
‘I know how late it is….’
‘You sound bloody awful, what’s the matter? It had better be serious.’
‘Very bad jet lag I think. I’ve only just woken. I need a shower but I’ll be there as soon as I can.’
‘You’d damn well better be. You’ve got half an hour.’ Henry’s voice was tightening and he was starting to hiss through his teeth.
‘I’ll be there. By the way Henry.’ James tried to sound as off hand as he could. ‘Is Imogen with you?’
‘No. Why? Isn’t she there?’ Henry was suspicious. He was like a bloodhound when it came to scandal, and once he’d got hold of something he turned into a determined terrier, and would not let go.
‘I expect she’s stayed with a friend. She’ll be home when I get back I’m sure. I’ll see you soon.’ And he hung up before Henry could question him further.
James knew Henry would want to quiz him about Imogen, he wondered if he should take her letter with him. He decided that it might not be such a good idea, for now it was private and James didn’t want to involve anyone else until he knew what was going on himself. Anyway right now he hadn’t got time for any of this, he had to go to work. He had to smooth things over with Henry and the rest of the board. Later he would give some thought to this stupid muddle, right now there were more important things to deal with.
When James opened the front door he realised that the car must have been waiting for him for hours. The look on the drivers face was one of furious contempt and angry impatience. James didn’t apologise or even look the man in the eye; he just climbed into the back seat and waited to be driven. It was the same driver that had been chauffeuring him around for the last five years but James had no idea of his name or anything about him. His secretary had a name but no life outside the office as far as James knew; in fact he had no idea what she did in the office when he wasn’t there. As long as everyone did as they were told and didn’t bother him then he really didn’t care.

After a full English breakfast Imogen checked out. She would have loved to stay forever, but Cornwall beckoned and she had to get going. Reluctantly she left the beauty of the Cotswolds and turned towards the grimness of the motorway. It might have been possible to do the whole journey without the M5 but she had to make up the time she had lost yesterday. She still had responsibilities, one of which was an appointment with Rowena’s solicitor.
The motorway was deadly. Why did they have to make them so straight and boring? It was no wonder people fell asleep at the wheel. It was no good. She had to get off as soon as she could. She took the Barnstaple junction and hoped the A39 might be more interesting.
It turned out to be a fascinating drive with lots of charming stops. In Kilkhampton she found a proper tea shop and ate scones and clotted cream until she was sure she would be sick. There was also a farm shop which sold proper vegetables, not shrink wrapped and date stamped; she loaded up the passenger seat.
The further into Cornwall she got the more she relaxed. The world around her through the car windows started to change, and she felt the years dropping away. By the time she saw the sign for the small fishing town in which Mr Pengellan, the solicitor, was based she could have almost have been in another world, she felt so far away from London.
The harbour was the same bustling place Imogen remembered, but she was struck by the lack of fishing boats. When she was a child there were so many that she used to marvel at them all getting a mooring. Now there were less than a dozen. There were still plenty of boats but most were for the tourists or private sailing. It was such a shame. Like everyone else in London she had herd on the news about the decline in the fishing industry, and listened to the fishermen complaining about their lot. Then like everyone else she turned over to watch something more entertaining. Now she felt ashamed of herself.
She gave her name to the girl behind the desk and was asked to wait. As she sat there she could see right across the bay and out to sea, it was breathtaking.
‘Mrs Lampress?’ The sound of Mr Pengellan’s voice startled her and she turned round.
‘Yes.’ She took the hand she was offered.
He led her through to his office and they settled themselves on either side of the large oak desk.
‘I do appreciate you coming all this way Mrs Lampress. Unfortunately this is not something that can be done safely by post. I’m not happy sending such important documents.’
‘I quite understand. I was coming down anyway, I intend moving into the cottage.’
‘I see.’ Mr Pengellan didn’t sound like he saw, he sounded rather surprised. ‘Well we’d better get on with things.’ He went through a pile of papers and brought a few to the top.
‘There are one or two things for you to sign first.’ He handed her the papers and a pen.
After glancing at them Imogen signed and handed them back. Mr Pengellan looked them over, nodded to himself, and put them on another pile behind him.
‘Very good.’ he said and got up. He went over to an impressive looking safe, which wasn’t locked, and took out a set of keys.
‘Here we are.’ He handed them to Imogen.
‘Thank you.’ Imogen took them and held them tightly in her hand. Even if she had not known what there were for she would have recognised them. There was every key to everything in the cottage, whether it was kept locked or not, and most of it was not, and they hung off of three key rings linked together, the same key rings that had been used for the last thirty years. There was the enamelled green one with the gold Harrods logo, the silver R with its little diamond, and the gold metal locket which contained a photo of Rowena’s parents and one of Imogen as a baby. She stood up she slipped them into her pocket.
Mr Pengellan also rose and showed her to the door. They shook hands again, he wished her well and hoped she would consider him for any legal advice she might need in the future. Then she wandered slowly back to the car.