Lynne Francis - Alice’s Secret - A gripping story of love, loss and a historical mystery finally revealed

It was Alys’s turn to come back to earth with a bump.

‘Alys, whatever were you thinking of?’ demanded Kate. ‘Here we are, with good jobs hard to come by, and you throw yours away! Have you gone mad? I don’t know what your father will say!’

Alys allowed herself a wry smile. Her father would be too busy on the golf course or at the Rotary Club meetings to pay much attention to what she was up to. As far as he was concerned, his three children were off his hands now they were grown up. He’d step in if he had to, but really, he felt that he’d done his duty by them. Of course, it went without saying that Kate and all of them would be well provided for should anything happen to him.

Alys pushed back her chair and stood up. ‘Well, I’d say it’s rather good timing myself, considering Aunt Moira’s situation. Look, you email her back and say I’ll be there by Tuesday. I’ll head back to London, sort out a few things at the house, book my ticket and I’ll be on my way.’

And with that, Alys left the kitchen, leaving Kate stunned, staring blankly at her computer screen. The kitchen door opened again. It was Alys, the rucksack that served as her handbag in hand.

‘I’ll be off, then. There’s a train back to London in twenty minutes. If I leave now I’ll just make it. Love to Dad. I’ll be in touch when I’m in Yorkshire, to let you know how Auntie Moira’s doing.’ And then Alys was gone.

Kate, still reeling after the swift turn of events, noted that the hem was coming down at the back of Alys’s dress. And those army boots looked like they’d not seen any polish in a long, long while.

The interior of King’s Cross station seemed to have been rebuilt when Alys arrived there, which was baffling. Surely the last time that she’d been up to Yorkshire it was as reassuringly familiar as it had been for the last twenty or thirty years? She struggled to get her bearings, disconcerted. She queued in WHSmith for a book of stamps, needing to post a letter before she left, only to discover that the new station seemed to lack a postbox. After dragging her suitcase around outside in the pouring rain, in the hope of spotting a familiar red pillar box, Alys gave up, wet through and anxious about time passing.

If she’d been travelling with Tim, of course, he would have been at the station far enough in advance to lunch nearby, having worked out beforehand where to eat. His packing would have been well-practised perfection. He would have had exactly the right amount of clothes, with one set to spare. He wouldn’t have had to unzip his case eight times before leaving the house to stuff in more shoes and a hairbrush, then take the shoes out again and put in two jumpers, then take one of the jumpers out and put in a T-shirt instead. Indecision wasn’t Tim’s thing.

Alys’s forward planning had stretched to buying a sandwich in WHSmith along with the stamps, so now she only needed to stand and stare at the departures board along with everyone else. She tried to think back to when she’d last travelled alone. France, Greece, and that ill-fated trip to India – they’d all been with school or college friends. Paris, Venice, Florida – with Tim, or previous boyfriends. Could this really be the first time ever ?

The train was up on the board, prompting a flurry of activity on the concourse, and a determined rush for the barrier. Alys trekked along the platform to Coach B. It looked as though all the pre-booked seats had been crammed into one carriage, instead of spread out through the train. She settled into her seat with her book, waterproof jacket in the rack above. The letter to Tim was still in her bag so, as soon as she arrived, she’d post it. It stated pretty clearly, she thought, how fondness was not really an option. She was looking for more, or maybe less, than that and so she was going to use this time away to think things through. She allowed herself a small smile, then sighed. It was her way of dodging the issue. In her heart, she knew things were over but she couldn’t bring herself to spell it out. She hoped that he’d get the picture, but Tim was used to things going his own way. He’d call, text, email. Of course, he’d try to change her mind. But she didn’t have to reply, did she?

Rain coursed down the window. It was such a long train that her coach was already out in the open, exposed to the elements. Every raindrop reflected the leaden sky. The weather was doing nothing to lighten her mood.

Resolutely, she opened her book. A rare chance to read: something else to be thankful for. This was going to be a journey into a better future, she told herself firmly. No dwelling on past mistakes. It was time to move on.

Alys’s book had remained face down on her tray table, spine creased, pages open, for most of the journey. She had read for a while then, once they were clear of London, she’d gazed out of the window, wrapped up in her thoughts, looking back over the past few months, her newly formed resolution already forgotten.

When she was younger, she’d always preferred to do things on the spur of the moment, hated having to plan ahead, have her life mapped out for her. Her friends, and Tim for that matter, liked to sort out their calendars for several weeks ahead. Her friends’ lives followed the same routine. Drinks after work on Friday, meet up late on Saturday afternoon for shopping and a gossip about the previous evening, and a discussion about what to wear that evening, probably necessitating the purchase of something new. Recovering from Saturday night on Sunday, maybe the afternoon spent in the pub. Posting up the drunken photos on Facebook to remind themselves that they were having fun. The gym a couple of nights a week to knock themselves into some sort of shape for the holidays, which would be planned months ahead ‘so there’s something to look forward to’.

Alys’s snap decisions – first to leave work and now to go up to Yorkshire – were not as simple as they first appeared, perhaps even to herself. She’d told herself that she was bored in her job, and it was this that was making her feel restless. In addition, though, she had a strange sense of not belonging anywhere anymore.

Late one Sunday afternoon a few weeks previously, as she took the chain off the door to head out to buy some milk, she had realised that the chain had been in place since she went to bed on Friday evening. She’d not left the house, nor spoken to anyone, not even on the phone. Tim was away, and she’d sidestepped texts and emails from friends about meeting up, making vague allusions to visiting family. It was hard for her to acknowledge what lay behind this new tendency to be a hermit. It was true that she’d become increasingly reclusive after her best friend Hannah had gone travelling with Matt, her boyfriend. Their planned six-month trip had already stretched beyond a year. But since Alys had been a teenager, she’d always loved to be out and about, always had a feeling of excitement and anticipation on a Friday evening, wondering what the weekend had in store. Now she couldn’t remember when she’d last felt like that, and she was pretty sure that the reason behind the change lay not with her friends, nor with Tim or with her social life, but in a stupid incident at work.

Her company, publishers of a trade magazine, was small and family run: her boss, Charles, was the son of the chairman. He was funny, Alys supposed, if you didn’t mind being the butt of suggestive jokes. The general atmosphere in the office was so relaxed that she’d never paid his behaviour much attention, apart from sighing and rolling her eyes along with the other girls at his so-called witty innuendos. She’d met his wife at the Christmas party, and his kids sometimes came into the office during the school holidays. So far, so normal, until she’d noticed that whenever he came to look at work on her screen he started off with one hand on her desk, one hand on her chair, effectively trapping her there. The hand on the chair often strayed to her shoulder. She’d learnt to swivel the chair to reach for something, so that he had to move. She didn’t think he suspected that she’d noticed what he was up to.