The Forgotten Holocaust (Ben Hope, Book 10) Read Free Page B

Guesthouse’. It was a strange feeling, looking at it. Like something telling him definitively ‘this is no longer yours’.
You no longer belong here.
    Final. Irreversible.
    So where did he belong? He didn’t know any more.
    He was just about to turn away, feeling defeated and sad, when he heard a voice.
    ‘Mr Hope?’
    He turned to see a hefty woman in her late fifties smiling at him. Dressed in a baggy black dress, her grey-flecked hair wrenched back into a bun, there was a matronly look about her. Unlike the house, she didn’t seem to have changed since he’d last seen her, the day the sale had gone through. Maybe a little thicker about the hips, but it was hard to tell. She’d probably been built like a sideboard since the age of twenty.
    ‘Mrs Henry,’ he said, forcing a smile. ‘It’s good to see you again.’
    ‘And you,’ she said, smiling back.
    ‘How’s business?’ he asked, for want of anything better to ask.
    ‘Can’t complain. What brings you back out to Galway? On holiday?’
    ‘Something like that,’ he said. ‘Is Mr Henry well?’
    ‘Much better since the hip operation, thank you. He’s out on the golf course today. Won’t be home until later. He’ll be sorry he missed seeing you.’
    ‘Likewise,’ Ben said, quietly relieved that he wouldn’t have to get dragged into a conversation about the absurd game of golf, which he recalled seemed to be all Bryan Henry could talk about with any enthusiasm, other than his gammy hip. How the man even managed to hit the ball straight with eyes like that was anybody’s guess. The right one looked
at
you, the left one looked
for
you.
    ‘Come inside and have a drink,’ Mrs Henry said brightly. ‘We’ve just had the new bar put in.’
    Ben followed her inside. More strange memories struck him everywhere he looked. The dark period woodwork of the entrance hall had been stripped out to create a bright modern reception area. Full of pride, Mrs Henry led him down the passage to what had once been his living and dining rooms, the wall between them knocked down. He inwardly winced at the floral wallpaper and tacky paintings. Through an archway that hadn’t been there before, he could see into the new conservatory, filled with tables neatly set for Sunday dinner. On the other side of the room was the bar, and beyond that a lounge area where a couple of septuagenarian guests were sitting placidly reading in the silence.
    A young woman sat in an armchair by the window. Ben glanced at her just long enough to see that she was in her early thirties or thereabouts, with sandy hair cut short, giving her an elfin kind of look. She was wearing light blue jeans and a white T-shirt. There was a mini laptop open on a low table in front of her, next to a half-finished glass of red wine and a small, square jotter from which she seemed to be busily copying handwritten notes into the computer. Someone was obviously having a working vacation.
    Ben looked back at Mrs Henry to see she was watching him expectantly. ‘Well?’ she prompted him at last. ‘What do you think?’
    ‘Love what you’ve done with the place,’ he forced himself to say.
    ‘Really? I’m so glad.’ Mrs Henry wedged herself in behind the bar and picked up a glass. ‘What can I get you, Mr Hope? On the house, naturally.’
    Lies and flattery could get you anywhere. ‘Thanks. I’ll have a Guinness.’
    As she was finishing pouring it for him – the proper touch with the shamrock on top – the bell rang in reception and she hurried off to attend to business. Left on his own, Ben perched himself on a bar stool and sipped the cold Guinness. He thought about all the times he’d got drunk in this room and poor old long-suffering Winnie had had to bring him strong black coffee to help sober him up.
    He sighed quietly to himself and shook his head. He’d been a screw-up then, and he was one now. What a mess he’d made of his life. The woman he loved despised him. His own son, Jude, would