So this was the new man in Lindsey’s life. Rona regarded him more closely. He was older than she’d expected – late forties, she guessed – and, his equilibrium restored, there was an easy self-assurance about him. His hair was fairish, thick and over-long, his grey eyes deep-set, his jaw firm, and he was regarding her with a half-smile, as though wondering how much she knew about him.
‘Lindsey’s mentioned you,’ she said, deliberately withholding the extent of her knowledge.
He gave a little nod, acknowledging her prevarication. ‘And you to me, obviously. I’m delighted to meet you. You’re uncannily alike, aren’t you?’
‘It goes with the territory.’
Hurst looked down at Gus, who was sniffing at his trouser leg. ‘Handsome animal,’ he commented. ‘I have a bassett hound myself. Takes a lot of exercising, as I suppose this fellow does.’
‘Yes; we’re going up to the park shortly, for a run before lunch.’
‘I envy you; I’m on my way back to the office and sandwiches at my desk. Apologies again for accosting you. I’ll be more cautious next time.’
Not wishing to walk with him, Rona, with a murmured goodbye, turned into the doorway of the adjacent building and waited there until Hurst had crossed the road and rounded the corner on to Guild Street.
He was not the office Lothario she’d expected, being altogether more – established, she thought, not pleased with the adjective but unable to think of a better. He gave the impression of a settled family man – with a bassett hound, for heaven’s sake – who belonged to the golf club and took his children to the zoo at weekends.
What was it he’d said before he realized his mistake? I was afraid we— We what? What had he wanted to speak to Lindsey about? Rona hoped profoundly that her twin was not serious about this man; she was convinced he’d be unwilling to disturb his pleasant lifestyle with anything as traumatic as divorce.
Rona mentioned the meeting to Max over supper.
‘What did you think of him?’ he asked.
‘A smoothie. I’d say his intentions are strictly dishonourable.’
‘She does pick them, doesn’t she? She might just as well take Hugh back, and have done with it.’
‘I’m not sure that’s still an option.’
‘Have you seen him at all?’
‘No, which is odd, come to think of it, when he’s working and presumably living here.’
‘Keeping a low profile, perhaps.’ Max suggested absently.
Rona glanced at him. ‘You seem a bit preoccupied. Anything wrong?’
He met her eyes, then looked away. ‘No, not really.’
‘Which means “yes”. Come on, what is it?’
He smiled wryly. ‘Promise not to fly off the handle?’
Rona raised her eyebrows. ‘Do I ever?’
‘Frequently!’
‘All right, I promise.’
‘Well, it’s probably nothing, as I said. Just that Adele didn’t turn up at class this afternoon.’
Rona held back an instinctive retort. ‘And that’s a cause for concern?’ she asked instead.
‘Let’s say it’s never happened before. Oh, sometimes she can’t make it, but she always phones to cancel.’
‘And this time she didn’t?’
‘No.’
‘Well, perhaps one of the children was taken ill, and it just went out of her mind. There are hundreds of possibilities.’
‘I know.’
Rona regarded him steadily. ‘But you’re wondering if Philip’s been beating her up?’
Max’s head reared.
‘Admit it; that is what you’re wondering, isn’t it?’
He looked at her mutely.
‘Max, hard though it is to accept, it’s really none of our business. It’s not as if she’s a child; the solution’s in her own hands.’
‘From what I hear, though, women in that position seldom do anything about it.’
‘If they’ve no money, or are dependent on their husbands, perhaps not. But I doubt if Adele’s in that bracket.’ Rona took a deep breath. ‘You want me to phone Lindsey and ask her to go round.’
He reached for her hand. ‘Would you?’
‘I can’t promise she’ll oblige.’
‘Worth a try, anyway.’
‘I hear you met Jonathan,’ Lindsey said at once.
‘I did indeed.’
‘What did you think of him?’
Rona toned down her impression. ‘Attractive, certainly. Affable.’
‘Affable?’
‘Heavens, Lindsey, what do you want me to say? We spoke for about two minutes. Anyway, that’s not why I’m phoning. You’re not out of sugar, by any chance?’
‘What?’
‘Adele didn’t show at the class today. Any chance of your popping round with some excuse?’
‘God, Rona, what is this? I’ve already had her to tea at your husband’s request. There is a limit, you know.’
‘Just this once? Please?’
‘And then what? Report back to you?’
‘Please,’ Rona said again.
Lindsey sighed gustily and rang off.
Half an hour later, she phoned back. ‘She wasn’t overjoyed to see me, but she seemed OK.’
‘What excuse did you make?’
‘Told her my phone wasn’t working and asked if hers was.’
‘Brilliant. And she was all right?’
‘Well, she seemed a bit harassed, but the children were running round in their pyjamas and she was obviously trying to get them to bed. She did at least try the phone, which, not surprisingly, was working, and offered to report mine as being out of order. I told her I’d do it on my mobile.’
‘Thanks, Linz, that’ll set Max’s mind at rest.’
‘My mission in life, as you know.’
The threatened rail strike had not materialized by the time Rona parked her car at the station on Friday afternoon. The prospect of arriving in London at the height of the rush hour was not appealing, but she’d have put up with far more inconvenience for the chance of meeting Selina O’Toole. Reference to the A-Z had revealed that the nearest tube station to Campion Street was Sloane Square, and she accordingly made her way there, thankful that a large portion of the home-going crowd was travelling in the opposite direction.
The volume of conversation from the Grapes Wine Bar spilled out on to the pavement, enveloping her even before she set foot inside. How, she wondered despairingly, could she hope to find Selina among this seething mass of people? But along the right-hand side ran a raised area approached by a couple of steps, and, seated at a table there, she caught sight of the inimitable red hair and made her way thankfully towards it.
‘Rona Parish, I presume?’ Selina said, reaching up a hand.
Rona took it. ‘Yes. Thanks so much for agreeing to see me.’
She sat down, taking stock of her companion. It was not only Selina’s hair that was red, she noted; her lips and fingernails were the same vibrant colour, and her eyes were heavily mascara’d. Television make-up? Rona wondered. For the rest, she was wearing a trouser suit in bottle green, gold hoop earrings, and an enormous topaz on her right hand. No wedding ring was in evidence, though a brief check had revealed she’d been married twice.
‘Right,’ she said, in her distinctively rasping voice, ‘now we’ve sized each other up, let’s get down to business. I’ve ordered tapas, by the way, and a bottle of red. OK?’
‘Fine. Thanks.’ Too bad she couldn’t use her tape recorder, but the background noise would render it useless.
Selina took a pack of slim cigars from her handbag, offered it to Rona, who shook her head, and selected one for herself. ‘I don’t know what you’re expecting me to tell you,’ she went on, as she proceeded to light it. ‘Everything I know is on record, but that doesn’t stop someone crawling out of the woodwork every three or four years to ask the same old questions. I might tell you I only agreed to this because of Amanda. I want to hear all about he
r. You say she’s changed her name?’
‘Yes, though I’d rather not reveal it at this stage.’
Selina gave a twisted smile. ‘You’re talking to a journalist, babe.’
A young man approached the balustrade beside them and handed up a tray laden with plates, glasses and a bottle of wine. ‘Food will follow shortly,’ he assured them. Rona hid a smile. Dino’s this was not.
Selina removed the items from the tray. ‘It’s largely DIY here, as you’ll have gathered,’ she remarked, seeming to read Rona’s mind, ‘but it suits me. No one gives me a second glance, and it’s just round the corner from my flat. Now – Amanda. Give.’
‘She’s happily married, and about four months pregnant. That’s why she’s so keen to find out about her parents.’
‘But she’s been happy with her adopted family?’
‘Very. I’ve met them, and they’re a pleasant couple. A little dubious about the search, though.’
‘With reason. What’s her job?’
‘Primary school teacher.’
‘Good for her. She must have more patience than I have.’
‘So tell me about Gemma,’ Rona prompted. ‘How long were you flat-sharing?’
Selina poured a generous amount of wine into the two glasses, and raised hers in a silent toast. Rona responded, also in silence, and they both drank.
‘Three years,’ Selina said then. ‘She was an odd girl in some ways. She’d adored her father, and when he died, I gather she went a bit haywire. Not particularly close to her mother. She was just seventeen when she replied to my ad, and Mrs Grant was still living locally.’
‘You didn’t meet through County Radio, then?’
‘God, no. She was working in some office or other, but having decided my job was the height of glamour, she wangled her way in on the ground floor. Proved a quick learner, too; within a year she was covering village fêtes and suchlike.’
The waiter appeared below them again, this time armed with bowls of tapas which were duly transferred to their table.
To Rona’s relief, Selina stubbed out her cigar. Unused as she was to smoking, the pungent aroma had been tickling her nostrils.
‘Did you get on well?’ she asked.
‘Well enough. She was a year or two younger, of course, and a bit naïve, but she pulled her weight, taking turns with the cooking and cleaning and so on, and we had some good times together.’
‘Did you meet any of her boyfriends?’
‘Ah, the million-dollar question! Several, yes. We used to go round with a crowd from the tennis club. I was a member, and though Gemma didn’t play, she always came with us. The gang called us the Reds, because of our hair. God, fancy remembering that! She was very pretty, and several of the lads lusted after her.’
‘Did any of them emigrate to Australia?’ Rona asked with a smile.
‘Absolutely not.’ Selina popped a cube of tortilla into her mouth. ‘But Australia apart, I’m sure it wasn’t one of the gang. Granted, she flirted with them, but she didn’t take them seriously. On the contrary, she used to regale me with everything they’d said to her, hamming it up till we fell about laughing.’
She emptied her glass, and refilled Rona’s along with her own. ‘Then, suddenly, everything changed. She made excuses not to come out with us, and she stopped confiding in me. It was pretty clear she was in love, but I’d no idea with whom, and she refused point-blank to tell me. She used to meet him on average once a week, and every so often she’d ask if I’d mind vacating the flat for the evening, so he could come round. I protested at first, demanding at least to meet him, but she said I would when “the time was right”.’
Selina smiled into her wine glass. ‘I hid round the corner a couple of times to keep watch, but it didn’t do me any good.’
‘You never saw him?’
‘Not close to. It could have been anyone.’
‘How long did the affair last?’
Selina shrugged. ‘Six months? Thereabouts, anyway.’
‘Then what happened?’
She drew a deep breath and let it out in a sigh. ‘One evening she’d been out as usual and I was asleep when she got back. Next morning when I left for work she was still in bed, complaining of a headache, and told me not to wait for her. Later, she rang in sick, and when I got home I found her lying on the bed, sobbing her heart out. She wouldn’t say what was wrong, and I thought it was just a lovers’ tiff. Then, finally, she told me her boyfriend’s family was emigrating to Australia at the end of the month, and he was going with them.’
‘Rather short notice, surely?’
‘That was my reaction. It seemed she’d always known the family was moving, but he’d kept quiet about going himself. Wanted to avoid the hysterics, I suppose. Anyway, to the best of my knowledge that was the last time she saw him.’
‘And when did she realize she was pregnant?’
‘About six weeks later. She couldn’t decide whether to keep it, and kept dilly-dallying until it was too late to do anything.’
They ate in silence for a few minutes, picking delicacies from the selection of dishes – marinated sardines, anchovy-stuffed mushrooms, prawns in Filo pastry. Then Rona said, ‘If you never knew his name, how did she refer to him?’
‘She always called him Morrison. It was a private joke, apparently.’
‘And even after he’d gone, she wouldn’t say who he was?’
Selina shook her head, confirming what Mrs Jones had said. ‘Still, she perked up eventually, and when Amanda was born she changed yet again, becoming altogether more responsible, and determined the child would lack for nothing.’
‘Had her mother gone to South Africa by this time?’
‘Oh yes, long since.’
‘Were they still in touch?’
‘Spasmodically. She sent a silver bracelet for the baby.’
There was another silence. Then, bracing herself, Rona said tentatively, ‘You found her, didn’t you?’
Selina sighed and nodded.
‘Do you mind talking about it?’
‘My dear, I’ve gone through it so often, all the emotion has leached out of it.’ She signalled to someone on the floor below to bring another bottle. Rona didn’t want it – she had to drive home from the station – but this was not the moment to protest.
‘That particular evening there’d been a leaving party, so I was later than usual getting home. Gemma was still on maternity leave – the baby was only a couple of months old – and since I always arrived back with my arms full of shopping bags and other clobber, she used to leave the door on the latch for me, to save my juggling with the key.
‘It was just after eight when I got there, and I knew Amanda would be bathed, fed, and in her cot. Once she’d got her down, Gemma often had a bath; it helped her to relax – soaked the tiredness out of her, as she put it – so I wasn’t surprised to see the bathroom light on. What did surprise me was that Amanda was crying, and obviously had been for some time. And Gemma never – but never – left her to cry.
‘I went to the baby first. She was very hot and the sheet under her head was soaked with tears. I lifted her over my shoulder, and she immediately released some wind – which, no doubt, had been part of the trouble. I carried her to the bathroom door, knocked, and called, “Gemma, have you gone deaf? Amanda’s crying.”
‘There was no answer, so I pushed the door open – we never bothered to lock it – and … then I saw her.’ Selina stared down into her glass. ‘For as long as I live, I’ll never forget standing there, Amanda’s warm little head on my shoulder, staring down at Gemma with her tights round her neck.’
Not all the emotion had leached, Rona thought. After a minute she said, ‘Was it the tennis crowd you’d been with?’
Selina, lost in her memories, looked at her blankly. ‘Oh – no, I told you; it was a leaving party. For someone at work.’
Rona said carefully, ‘So although none of the crowd was Gemma’s lover, one of them could have kil
led her. Jealousy, perhaps? Resentment at being rejected?’
‘Don’t think that wasn’t considered,’ Selina said harshly, nodding to the waiter who was handing up a fresh bottle of wine. ‘We were grilled mercilessly – everyone who’d ever known her, as far as I could see – but there was absolutely nothing to point at anyone. We were all just – numb.’
She poured the wine and Rona did nothing to stop her, resolving simply not to drink hers. And into their silence seeped an increased volume of sound from below. People were leaning from one table to another, seemingly passing on an item of news. Several stood up, looking at their watches, and others took out their mobile phones.
‘What is it?’ Selina called down to someone passing.
‘The rail talks have collapsed. The guards called a lightning strike and walked out, so there are no bloody trains.’
‘Oh, God!’ Rona said.
‘Don’t even think buses,’ Selina advised. ‘There’ll be queues to kingdom come, and the same goes for taxis.’
‘I’d better go. I’ll have to try to book in somewhere.’
‘Along with the world and his wife.’
‘Then what do you suggest?’ Rona snapped, resenting Job’s comforter.
Selina calmly sipped her wine. ‘I can put a sofa at your disposal, if that’s any help.’
Rona stared at her. ‘But I couldn’t – I mean …’
‘What’s the alternative? God knows how long it’ll take for things to get back to normal; if it’s a wildcat strike, all the trains will be in the wrong places. Added to which, it so happens I’m driving up to Buckfordshire tomorrow, so I could drop you off.’
It was a lifeline, Rona thought, watching as half the clientele impatiently queued at the cash desk. ‘It’s awfully good of you,’ she said hesitantly. ‘I’d be extremely grateful.’
‘That’s settled, then. So now you can relax and enjoy that wine you’ve been sitting looking at.’
Rona laughed and, as she met the other woman’s eyes, the last of the restraint that had lingered between them dissolved.
‘I’m not as black as I’m painted, you know,’ Selina observed mildly, ‘though I don’t advertise the fact. My bad press is very dear to me – hard-nosed interviewer, bolshie bitch, and the rest. You’re lucky I like you, mind; I’ve been known to reduce people to tears.’
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