The Caroline Quest

by Barbara Whitnell

  ‘I’m looking for a good investment,’ I said cautiously after a moment. ‘Maybe - ’

  ‘No, Holly.’

  ‘You haven’t heard what I was going to say! How much do you need to wipe out the overdraft? And how much interest does the bank charge?’

  ‘Too much,’ Steve said. ‘But don’t even think of it, Holly. There’s no way I would take a loan from you — but thanks, anyway, for harbouring the thought. It was a very kind one.’

  I looked at him with exasperation.

  ‘It wasn’t kind at all,’ I said. ‘Seeing the way you feel about antiques, about that lovely furniture — well, it’s kind of made me interested, too. I’d love a stake in something like this. No strings. Strictly business.’

  He looked at me, laughing a little as if I had said something to amuse him.

  ‘You’re sweet,’ he said. ‘But I couldn’t do it.’

  ‘Stiff-necked Limey bastard,’ I said, without heat. ‘That’s what my mother thought about Englishmen, and if you ask me, she wasn’t far wrong. At any rate,’ I went on, ‘dinner is on me tonight, so don’t even think of arguing about it.’

  ‘OK,’ he agreed. ‘I don’t mind you buying me an Indian takeaway. There’s one a couple of doors down the street.’

  ‘I was thinking of something a little more salubrious.’

  ‘Round here? We might have trouble getting a table this time of the evening — and really, the Indian’s awfully good. Trust me.’

  I trusted him. And eventually he was proved right, but we were in no hurry to eat. He telephoned to order the food, and until it was ready we sat drinking our wine, straying from the Caroline problem by talking with a sudden passionate intensity — heaven alone knows how the subject arose — about the implications of Clinton’s misdemeanours. Suffice it to say that he seemed to know a lot more about what was involved than I did, which made me a little ashamed.

  But at last he opened up a little gatelegged table. Being totally ignorant about such things, I couldn’t identify its style or maker, but I could see with half an eye that it was something rather special.

  He ran downstairs for the food, leaving me to set the table and uncork another bottle of wine.

  The meal, when at last we sat down to it, was lip-smackingly good.

  ‘Best in the west,’ he said. ‘Didn’t I tell you?’

  ‘And didn’t I believe you? And what’s more, it’s served with such style!’ I was looking, as I spoke, at the candle in a Georgian silver candlestick that he’d placed in the middle of the table. ‘I have to say that for someone on the breadline you sure live elegantly. You know, you never told me whether you were going to bid for anything you saw today.’

  ‘The sofa,’ he said at once. Then he sighed. ‘Though I suppose that depends on the bloody bank.’

  I said nothing — didn’t even refer to my willingness to help. It was when we had eaten and he was standing up to clear away the dishes that he brought the subject up again, pausing with the plates in his hand.

  ‘I wonder if I could touch Andy for the odd couple of thousand?’ he said thoughtfully. ‘He might come across — but then again, could I bring myself to ask him? On the whole, I think not. I might ask his advice, though.’

  He wouldn’t let me help him clear away or get coffee, pleading lack of room in the kitchen, so I went to sit on the sofa again and thought hard about his problem.

  ‘Look,’ I said when he returned. ‘I’ve been thinking - ’ He cocked an eyebrow at me. ‘Steve, please, please, just for one moment, will you stop being the archetypal stiffnecked Englishman? No just shut up and listen to me! I’ve got money to spare and I want to invest in your business. You’ve got enthusiasm and flair and know-how, but anyone can see that you’re hamstrung without capital.’

  He wasn’t smiling as he came to sit beside me once more.

  ‘Holly, no. I mean it.’

  ‘But I’ve got faith in you! You say yourself that the climate is right for this business. People have money now and prices are going up. Look — I’ve got investments in all kinds of weird and wonderful concerns back home, things that I couldn’t care less about. I don’t even know what some of them are for, for God’s sake! Think how much more fun it would be for me to have an interest in your business.’

  I think he was tempted. He turned to look at me, taking hold of my arm. But then he shook his head hopelessly.

  ‘No, Holly. It wouldn’t do. It’s sweet and generous of you - ’

  ‘Will you stop it? It’s not sweet and generous at all. I’m on to a good thing.’ Still he shook his head. Why?’ I demanded.

  He turned and poured out coffee without saying anything, handed me my cup, offered the sugar. Then he sighed.

  ‘Look,’ he said softly, turning towards me again, one elbow on the back of the sofa. ‘Holly, ever since we met, I’ve been conscious of — ‘ He hesitated. I looked at him questioningly. ‘I have known,’ he went on, his expression serious, ‘that there’s something between us — or could be — and it’s ridiculous to think that anything could be strictly business, with no strings.’

  I just watched and waited and said nothing. He took a breath and continued.

  ‘I don’t know what’s to become of us. Of you and me. Frankly, the whole deal terrifies me. As I said before, you’re way out of my league. However, one thing I do know; money will only complicate matters. It always does, and God knows things are complicated enough already. You must see that for yourself.’

  ‘I see nothing of the sort,’ I said stubbornly.

  ‘Oh, Holly!’ He laughed, reaching out to touch my cheek lingeringly with the back of his fingers. I put my cup of coffee down on the table beside me. If he was going to start that sort of thing, I thought, then the further I was from scalding hot, spillable liquid the better.

  ‘You’ll go back to the glamorous life you left behind and you’ll forget all about scruffy antique dealers who live over their shop without a penny to bless themselves with.’ All the time he was speaking he was gently rubbing his fingers against my cheek. For a moment we looked at each other, not speaking, and I could feel the arm that had been on the back of the sofa tighten a little around my shoulders. Irresistibly we drew closer together so that his lips were only an inch away from mine.

  ‘On the other hand...’ he said.

  ‘On the other hand?’

  He was so close I could see the gold flecks in his eyes and the tangle of lashes that surrounded them, and every nerve ending I possessed seemed to be screaming at him to come closer, to kiss me. He put both his hands flat on each side of my face. Now, I thought — now! I wanted him, I realised, as I’d never wanted anyone or anything before.

  ‘Maybe I’m just making difficulties. Maybe we should just follow our instincts. Take things lightly, just a step at a time. Settle for the fun option.’

  I swallowed with difficulty.

  ‘I think,’ I said tightly, ‘that I might find that quite tolerable.’

  Now where did I get a word like that from, I asked myself? To me it sounded as if it had leapt straight from the pages of a Jane Austen novel. Maybe I was getting the hang of this British understatement thing.

  ‘But the trouble is,’ he continued, his voice husky, ‘I don’t think I’m very good at taking things lightly any more. That’s what terrifies me. And given your position and my position, lightly is the only way I can take it. I have this picture of the future, you see: you, coolly beautiful as ever, waving goodbye at Heathrow. Me, emotionally screwed up yet again, left in the departure hall.’

  I pulled away from him and looked at him without speaking for a moment. The spell was broken and I felt righteously angry, and not in the least Jane Austenish.

  ‘What a strange, distorted picture you have of me,’ I said at last. ‘And what’s all this crap about position? Position, for God’s sake! Anyone would think I was the lady of the manor and you the serf at my gate. Maybe my mother was right about the British. They’re stuck in the M
iddle Ages.’

  ‘I’m talking money, Holly, and, as you know damned well, Americans take it as seriously as we do. Maybe more seriously. You’re rich and you’re beautiful — ‘

  I looked at him, feeling as if I were on some kind of emotional switchback. How dare he assume that money was all-important to me! But oh, I did want him so.

  ‘And I’m lonely,’ I said, coming a little closer again and putting my hands on his shoulders. ‘And a little bit lost. And Steve - ’ I hesitated a little, but went on after a moment. ‘If I’m not in love, then I’m most definitely on the brink.’

  Time seemed to hold its breath while neither of us moved. Then he gave a sigh that was almost a groan and took me in his arms. His kiss was long and searching and just the most wonderful thing that had ever happened to me. It was everything I could have imagined. It was a kiss that seemed to make every inch of my flesh sing aloud with happiness, and as we drew away a little and looked at each other, I knew and so did he that nothing would ever be quite the same again.

  ‘Oh, Holly,’ he whispered. ‘You’re lovely — so lovely. What’s going to happen to us?’

  ‘Do you have to have everything so cut and dried?’ I asked him. ‘What happened to the step-at-a-time bit?’

  He laughed and pulled me to my feet and kissed me again. ‘I think I just fell from top to bottom,’ he said.

  Later, held close in his arms, I nuzzled against his bare shoulder, loving the smell and the taste of him.

  ‘Mmm,’ I murmured contentedly. ‘This is nice.’

  ‘Nice, but terrifying,’ he said.

  ‘Hey, I thought we were settling for the fun option! Terror is definitely out. Regard this as a fling.’

  He propped himself up on one elbow and looked down on me.

  ‘Just shows the fallacy of the old adage,’ he said.

  ‘What?’

  ‘Flings ain’t what they used to be.’

  ‘Oh, gee, I get jokes as well?’

  The fun option, I reminded myself. Hold on to that. No one could predict the future, but this, momentarily, was our world, our piece of heaven, and nothing outside it seemed wholly real.

  Not even the bank manager. Not even Caroline.

  Nine

  The receptionist at the place I hired the car was full of good advice. Just keep going west, she told me; straight up Piccadilly, round Hyde Park Corner —

  Hyde Park Corner! Sounds simple, huh? I still have no idea how I ever circumnavigated it without being mown down by far larger vehicles on either side of me, still less how I found the right exit. I plunged into the maelstrom of traffic that, in fits and starts, took me past Harrods and out into unknown country beyond until suddenly, by the grace of God, I found myself on the freeway, heading in the general direction of Heathrow, as instructed, and realised that I was truly on my way at last. Words cannot express how overjoyed I was when the name ‘Henley’ actually appeared on a sign.

  Rose Quigley had given me instructions how to find Willow Cottage, her house by the river, and I located it without too much difficulty. It was some cottage! Despite the cute eaves and the thatch and the heavy wooden door with its iron hinges, it was only marginally smaller than Blenheim Palace. It had a sweeping semicircular drive and a garden bright with spring flowers, laid out and maintained by someone who was clearly an expert.

  The door was opened by a tall, slablike woman in a pink nylon overall who barely had time to open her mouth to greet me before a man emerged from a room opening into an entrance hall of much the same dimensions as Grand Central Station. He strode forward in a masterful way to take over the situation, his hand outstretched.

  ‘Miss Crozier? Glad to meet you. I’m George Quigley.’ He smiled at me, the smile very white in a pudgy kind of face. ‘Come in, come in! How very good of you to call. Thank you, Dora.’ He turned and smiled equally dazzlingly to the hired help. He was a dazzling man altogether, with his snowy shirt and dark suit, highly polished shoes, gold cufflinks and ring. A big man, affable and full of energy and charm and confidence. ‘Perhaps you’ll be good enough to bring us coffee?’

  Where was Rose? There was no sign of her in the lavishly furnished sitting room into which he ushered me. Like the garden, it was immaculate - like a show room in an expensive store, I thought. It was decorated in pale pastel colours with an off-white carpet, thick as snowfall, and shimmering oyster satin drapes opulently swagged and tailed. The paintings on the walls were gold-framed, lit from above; every ornament, every lamp looked as if it had been placed there by an interior designer. There were no books, no photographs, no apparent sign of everyday occupation.

  George Quigley waved me towards a deep sofa and sat down himself in an armchair close by.

  ‘Good of you to come,’ he said again. ‘I must apologise for my wife’s absence. I’m afraid she’s not at all well.’

  I was a little taken aback by this.

  ‘Oh — oh, gee, I’m so sorry. I wouldn’t have come if I’d known.’

  He brushed my apologies aside.

  ‘No, no, I’m glad you did. I’m very pleased to have the chance to talk to you. After all, I knew Caroline too, you know.’

  ‘Yes, of course you did. She worked for you, didn’t she?’

  ‘That’s right. I saw something of her socially, too, as she became very friendly with my wife, even after I moved on from Greenway Development. I have to say Caroline was quite a remarkable secretary. The best I’ve ever had, or am likely to have. Really, a most competent and charming girl. Rose was extremely fond of her. She took it very hard when she simply disappeared without a word. It seemed out of character, somehow.’

  ‘Strange you should say that. It seems - ’

  ‘It wasn’t like her to be so thoughtless. Not when she knew how Rose felt about their friendship. I should explain about my wife, Miss Crozier.’ He leaned forward confidentially and lowered his voice a little, his face falling into more sombre lines. ‘Not to put too fine a point upon it, she is neurotic. Hopelessly neurotic. I don’t like admitting it, but it will help you to understand the — the obsession she had for Caroline. Because that’s what it was. No doubt about it. Ah, thank you, Dora.’ He flashed his smile again and a pause ensued while the coffee was placed on a table, two cups poured, milk and sugar offered.

  ‘My wife,’ George Quigley continued when at last we were alone again, ‘is easily upset, and the subject of Caroline Bethany is one that upsets her more than most. Quite frankly, I persuaded her that it wouldn’t be wise for her to see you this morning.’

  ‘I’m sorry,’ I said again. ‘When I spoke to her, she seemed - ’

  ‘She’s up and down,’ Quigley said, not letting me finish. ‘Yesterday was a good day. Today well, I was heartily relieved when she agreed to stay in her room, I can tell you. Talking about Caroline does her no good at all. You see, Caroline came into our life at a time when Rose was at a particularly low ebb. She was desperate for children but had suffered a series of miscarriages and then was told that she’d never carry a child full term. Her mental trouble started at about that time. Caroline was sensitive and understanding beyond her years. She seemed, somehow, like the daughter Rose always longed for, yet she was mature enough to see that Rose needed help. She was pretty and bright and amusing and Rose came to dote on her. Then, of course, Caroline met your brother right here in this house, and everything changed. Oh, she was kind — she still visited, still went to the theatre with Rose occasionally, met her for lunch, that sort of thing. She didn’t drop her in any heartless way, but what could we expect? The girl was in love.’

  ‘I suppose she was bound to - ’

  ‘Rose felt left out.’ He was like a steamroller, I thought, ploughing on no matter what the obstacles. ‘It simply wasn’t the same relationship any more, and she just couldn’t take it. Most people would accept that philosophically, but not Rose. She was hurt, tearful, and when your brother died, she wanted to help despite the fact that she hadn’t seen so much of Caroline. They
met once or twice, but then, suddenly, there was nothing. No calls, no letters. It was hard for my wife — so hard, in fact, that although I was annoyed with Caroline for dropping her like that, I tried to do what I could to find her. for Rose’s sake. That’s why I’m so glad to have the chance to speak to you myself, because if your aim is to find Caroline, which is what I understand it to be, I can save you a great deal of pointless effort.’

  ‘Well, naturally I’d be grateful for any information’

  ‘I have no information, Miss Crozier.’

  ‘What?’ I could hardly believe it, after such a build-up.

  ‘I have no information and nothing to tell you. That’s the whole point. I simply want to warn you not to waste your time and money looking for Caroline Bethany. To all intents and purposes she seems to have vanished off the face of the earth.’ For a moment I just stared at him.

  ‘Are you sure you covered - ’ I began.

  ‘Oh, yes. I spent a great deal of effort and money looking for her. More money, I have to say, than most would have thought reasonable. I employed a private detective, the best in the business, who would have found her if she’d still been anywhere in Britain. Or anywhere else, come to that. I told Rose she must have gone abroad.’

  ‘I suppose she could have done.’

  ‘Without a word of farewell? It doesn’t seem likely. Even her aunt - ’

  ‘She’d fallen out with her aunt.’

  ‘Even so, I can’t believe she would have left the country without informing her next of kin - can you? Of course,’ he went on, ‘the alternative is almost too dreadful to contemplate.’

  I looked at him again, digesting this.

  ‘What — what do you mean?’ I asked, knowing all the time.

  ‘She could be dead,’ he said.

  ‘Why would you think that? Surely you’re being overly dramatic?’

  Quigley spread his hands, shrugged his shoulders.

  ‘One doesn’t like to think it, of course, but bearing in mind the minuteness of my man’s search, it is something we have to face. It seems the only alternative.’