and the handsome film star climbed the stairs. Then she went to the kitchen to load the dishwasher. Finally she let Butler out for a last wee, and saw her reflection in the kitchen window. ‘Oh, June,’ she said, touching her cheek. ‘You’ve just been kissed by Richard Gere.’
In the Cornish village of Pendruggan, the early morning sun was shining brightly.
At the Dolphin pub, the landlady, Dorrie, had cleaned the bar and the lavatories. She was now upstairs in her favourite armchair with a cup of coffee and the newspaper waiting by her side. This was one of her favourite times in the day; the place was her own, at least until the lunchtime drinkers arrived.
The old pub settled around her as she closed her eyes and sipped her coffee.
Her two boys were at sea working on the fishing boats. They wouldn’t be home until the end of the week. Don, her husband, was building a conservatory for some second-home owners in Trevay.
She opened her eyes and looked happily on the lane winding down to the village. Twists of woodsmoke came from several chimneys, and a couple were walking their dogs on the green. The Atlantic Ocean sparkled beyond. All was well with the world.
She picked up the day’s paper by her side and took another sip of coffee before reading the headline:
FILM ACTOR RICHARD GERE IS
MISSING
She almost choked.
At the vicarage, on the other side of the village green, Penny was enjoying the quiet of her kitchen. Her husband, Simon, was across the hall in his study asking for divine guidance as he typed out his Sunday sermon. She should be in her own office, opposite Simon’s, working on the budget for a new project.
But instead she rummaged in her bag for her phone and gave in to the guilty pleasure of checking Twitter. She checked her news app first.
Moments later she crashed open Simon’s office door.
‘Richard has disappeared,’ she announced.
‘Richard?’ said Simon vaguely. ‘Richard at the garage?’
‘No, no,’ said Penny, her voice rising with impatience, ‘Gere. Richard Gere.’
‘How do you know?’
‘It’s all over the news.’
‘I thought you were working?’
‘Never mind that.’ Penny showed her husband the phone. ‘Look. He’s been filming here in the UK.’
‘Whereabouts?’ asked Simon with interest.
Penny huffed crossly, ‘Does it matter?’
‘I’d like to know, that’s all. If it’s local then maybe I could find him.’
‘Northumberland,’ Penny said, slumping into the nearest armchair.
‘Oh,’ said Simon. ‘That’s a long way from Cornwall.’
‘Perhaps he’s seriously ill? Or having a nervous breakdown?’
‘Now you’re being too dramatic,’ said Simon. Richard and Penny had bonded thanks to his help with her TV production studio a few years ago. It was a close friendship and, as with all her good friends, Penny was fiercely protective of Richard.
Penny had an idea. ‘Maybe it’s a brilliant PR trick? You know, to get people interested in the film?’
‘Maybe.’ Simon squinted at the sermon on his computer screen.
Penny huffed again.
The phone rang.
Neither of them moved. It was bound to be someone in the parish asking about the Valentine's fundraiser.
They listened as Simon’s recorded message played: This is Pendruggan Vicarage, the Reverend Simon Canter speaking. I am so sorry I am unable to take your call but do please leave a message and I’ll get back to you. Thank you for calling.
Whoever it was paused before hanging up.
‘I wonder who that was?’ asked Simon.
‘Who cares?’ said Penny. ‘Richard is more important right now. I hope he’s OK. It’s a long time since we heard from him.’
‘We had a Christmas card. He knows where we are if he needs us,’ said Simon wisely. ‘Did the news give any clues?’
‘Just that he’s been missing since yesterday morning. His agent has said that he is taking some time out. The film company are saying they may sue him for breach of contract.’
Simon turned back to his sermon. ‘He’ll turn up.’
Richard and Kevin had arrived at Rocky Cliffs Holiday Park the evening before. They’d had a long journey, made easier by the spare clothes and cologne that Richard kept in a bag in the car.
It had been dark when they’d arrived, but the caravan was just as June had promised – brightly furnished and comfortable. Kevin turned on the central heating and emptied the car. He showed Richard to the double bedroom with en suite bathroom. ‘This will be you, and I’m next door in the kids’ room. No arguing! Fancy fish and chips for supper? I’ll nip into the village to get some, and in the meantime, there’s a bottle of wine in the fridge. Help yourself.’
Richard slept well again that night. He woke up to the sound of seagulls tap-dancing on the roof and the smell of bacon frying. He looked at his watch – 6.30 a.m.
‘Morning,’ said Kevin. ‘Sleep well?’
‘You bet.’ Richard stretched and yawned. ‘Want me to open the curtains or are there too many people about?’
‘Mate, the place is dead. Go ahead. Draw the curtains. I think you’ll like what you see.’
‘Oh my goodness.’ Richard was stunned as he pulled the flowery curtains across the picture window. The caravan was on the top of a cliff looking out over a vast horizon. The sun was rising and glinted off an inky sea. ‘It’s gorgeous. Is that the Atlantic?’
‘Yep.’
‘There’s someone out there, surfing. It’s really early and it’s February. Are they mad?’
‘Yes, but it’s almost a religion down here. Would you like to have a go?’
‘Oh sure. I mean, I’m only an American who is used to the warm waters of the Atlantic or the Caribbean.
