by Hazel Holt
‘Goodness,’ I said, ‘you can’t tell there is a house there at all – it’s quite hidden by the hollow ground and the trees. Does it have a name?’
‘It’s called Plover’s Barrow – after the farm in Lorna Doone I think. Anyway, it sounds good.’
We were both glad to get to the Stag Hunters Inn. There were very few people there so we were able to sit right on top of the log fire and thaw out.
‘It really is a handsome house.’ I said. ‘It could look marvellous if you had it done up. Though it might be difficult to find someone who wanted to be so isolated – it must be all of five miles from any other house and ten miles from the village.’
‘I hope to get a deal on it,’ she said, ‘a really good deal. That house is going to make me quite a lot of money. Certainly enough to buy me an absolutely smashing trousseau from Jean Muir. Yes,’ she smiled, ‘that was what I wanted to talk to you about. I’m going to marry Charles.’
‘Congratulations,’ I said rather stiffly. ‘I hope you will both be very happy.’ I tried not to let my doubts about the likelihood of this show in my voice.
‘I know you don’t approve.’ she said. ‘None of you. You all think I’m marrying Charles for his money.’
I didn’t say anything and she went on, ‘Well, in a way I am – at least, the money will be jolly useful. The firm’s cash-flow is what you might call static at the moment. Things are in a bit of a mess and, quite honestly, I need Charles’s experience as well as his money to help me out of a sticky situation. But that’s not the only thing. I can’t say I’m madly in love with him or anything like that, but I like him a lot and I’m quite happy to settle for that.
I’ll make him a good wife, you know.’ She looked at me seriously, her deep blue eyes very dark. Then she laughed. ‘We’ll have a lot of fun. I know Charles likes a good time, and he’ll enjoy having someone to spend all that money on. Anyway, it’s time he settled down. But the fact that he wants to settle down in Taviscombe makes it important that you, especially, should be on our side, should approve, go on being his friend.’
‘Oh well,’ I said, ‘I don’t think my opinion would be that important to Charles.’
‘Oh yes it would. You mean a lot to him. I was almost jealous of you.’ We both smiled, knowing precisely how her jealousy had evaporated when she had actually seen me. ‘I want it all to be just right. I want to settle down too.’
For a while I didn’t say anything. There didn’t seem to be much that I could honestly say. I still felt that Charles deserved more than just liking from a wife, but perhaps he would never really know exactly how Lee felt about him. Like so many men he was perceptive only when it suited him, finding it easier to tuck unpleasant truths away and see only what he wanted to see about human relationships, which was odd, since he was immensely shrewd in business and had an eagle eye for any imperfection in a commercial contract. One of the logs fell on to the hearth and startled me.
‘Thank you for being so frank with me,’ I said. ‘I hope it all works out.’ I could see that she had noticed my change of phrase. ‘When are you going to be married?’
‘We haven’t quite decided. I’m going over to Cincinnati for Christmas and we’ll discuss every-thing then.’ She pushed her half-finished steak and kidney pie to one side of the plate. ‘Do you want coffee?’
‘Well, actually, I think I ought to be getting back. I don’t like to leave my old dog for too long – we both like to have a little walk in the afternoon and it gets dark so early now,’ I added, thinking how dreary and elderly I sounded.
‘Of course.’ She stood up and pulled on her driving gloves as I gathered up my bag and scarf. ‘Thank you for listening to me.’
As she walked in front of me to the car, I envied her her strength and vitality and her sureness about what she wanted from life. But I didn’t envy her possession of Charles. In a strange way, in spite of myself, I wished her well.
Christmas came and went, with its customary pleasures and pains. Michael went back to Oxford and I somehow got through those first miserable weeks of the New Year when it seems that every-thing has died for ever. I had a large, jolly, very American Christmas card from Charles, and a note, just after Christmas, to say that Lee’s visit had been a tremendous success and that she had met his two young sons and they had all got on wonderfully together. So it seemed that everything was going to turn out to the satisfaction of all concerned.
One night towards the end of January I had stayed up late, much later than I usually do, to watch an ‘open-ended discussion’ on Channel 4, which had gone on until well after midnight. I had just fed Tristan, my little dog, and was engaged in the usual chase around the house to catch my Siamese cat, Foss, to put him in his basket, when the phone rang.
‘Sheila?’
It was Charles, and I wished, not for the first time, that he could keep track of the time difference between our two countries.
‘Charles!’ I said insincerely. ‘How lovely!’
‘Sheila.’ and now I noticed that his voice was strained and anxious, ‘you’ve got to help me Lee’s disappeared!’
Chapter Two
For several moments I couldn’t think what Charles was talking about. From the kitchen I could hear furious Siamese howls which meant that Foss had stopped thundering up and down stairs and was waiting for his supper.
‘Disappeared.’ I repeated stupidly.
‘Yes. She went back to Taviscombe after Christmas and rang to say she’d got back safely and that she’d phone in a few days to finalise the wedding arrangements we’d made when she was in Cincinnati. And then nothing. For nearly three weeks I’ve been writing and phoning, but she hasn’t replied to my letters and no one answers the phone in her flat. And when I ring the office I only get that stupid girl who does the typing, and all she says is that Lee is out of the office on business and she can’t reach her. It’s like banging my head against a brick wall! Please, Sheila, will you go and see if you can find out what the hell is going on? I’m absolutely desperate.’
‘Well, of course I will. There must be some perfectly ordinary explanation,’ I said. My mind doesn’t function very well late at night and I couldn’t really take in all the implications of what Charles was saying. ‘Don’t you worry,’ I said in a calming tone.
‘I’m sure it’s all perfectly simple.’ I was aware that I was repeating myself but there didn’t seem anything else to say. ‘I’m sure it’s all right really.’
‘You’ll let me know immediately you find out anything?’
‘Yes, of course I will.’ I was repeating myself again, but I was so tired I couldn’t think of any other words. ‘I’ll go into the agency tomorrow, first thing.’
A circular sort of conversation then took place, with Charles repeating how worried he was and me trying – rather incoherently – to reassure him. After about five minutes of this I said firmly, ‘This must be costing you a fortune – I’ll let you know what I can find out. Goodnight Charles, take care of yourself,’ and put down the phone.
In a sort of daze I fed Foss, automatically tidied the sitting room and went wearily up to bed. Needless to say, as soon as I had washed my face and brushed my teeth I felt wide awake and my mind started churning over Charles’s extraordinary story. What on earth could have happened? Had Lee had second thoughts about marrying him? But I was sure she was not the sort of woman to evade an issue. She would certainly have faced Charles and told him outright that she had changed her mind. I didn’t imagine that she cared over-much about hurting people’s feelings. But why? It was obvious that she needed the money, and marriage to Charles would be a perfectly agreeable way of getting it. I hit my pillow vigorously, then sat up, put on the light and had a drink of water. The problem remained insoluble and I had a sleepless night.
The next morning I found myself inventing house-hold tasks that had to be done – little bits of washing, cooking the animals’ fish, repotting a rose geranium – anything to put off the moment when I had
to go and see what I could find out. I was uneasy about the whole affair and reluctant to get involved. Bother Charles, I though.
I approached the estate agent – it was called Country Houses – cautiously. Studying a photo-graph of a Character Country Cottage, Needs Some Improvement, I tried to peer into the interior, but because of the reflections on the glass I couldn’t see anything. There was nothing for it but to go in.
There was no sign of Lee and the place looked rather rundown and desolate. A girl was sitting at a desk with her back to me, sorting through some mail. As she heard me come in she turned, and to my surprise I recognised her.
‘Good gracious, Carol! I didn’t know you worked here!’
‘Mrs Malory!’ She seemed equally surprised to see me. ‘Don’t say you want to sell that lovely house of yours!’
Carol Baker was a girl you couldn’t help admiring. She had married young – far too young, I suppose – and her husband, Derek, a worthless layabout Peter used to call him, had been in and out of trouble for years. They had two small children, and when Carol was seven months pregnant with the third, Derek had gone off to London and never been seen since. I imagine he lived precariously on the fringes of the criminal world. She had come to consult Peter about tracing him and getting some sort of maintenance for the children, but he had drawn a blank. Still, Carol was cheerful and hard-working and was managing to bring up the children splendidly. We had both taken to her and tried to help her in various little ways
– Peter sorted out her DHSS problems and I passed on various items for the children that I picked up in the course of my sale of work and jumble sale circuit. Carol was, I think, grateful for Peter’s efforts on her behalf (she wrote me a very touching little note when he died) and always seemed pleased to see me. But not this morning. In fact, she looked rather disconcerted.
‘Did you want to see Mrs Montgomery?’
‘Yes. Isn’t she here?’
‘No.’ Carol hesitated. ‘I’m afraid she’s away on business at the moment.’ She sounded as if she was repeating a formula rather than stating a fact.
‘Oh.’ I said casually. ‘When will she be back?’
‘I don’t know really. Is it about a house?’
‘No, Carol. I’ve come in because Mr Richardson – you know, her fiancé in America – is very worried about her. It seems that he hasn’t heard from her for nearly three weeks.’
‘Yes,’ she said rather flatly. ‘He has phoned several times.’
‘But don’t you know where she is? She must have said something.’
‘No, I don’t know.’
Her face was expressionless, unlike the Carol I knew who was normally very lively.
‘Oh come on, Carol, she can’t have just gone off – all that time ago – and simply said nothing.’
‘No, she didn’t say where she was going.’
‘Poor Mr Richardson is terribly worried.’ I said. ‘They’re getting married soon – he can’t understand it. Surely you must know something. You know you can trust me.’
She hesitated, and then took a deep breath and said, ‘No – I must tell someone and I know you won’t let me down’
I drew up a chair and sat down beside her at the desk. ‘No, of course I won’t. Tell me all about it.’
‘Well, when Mrs Montgomery came back from America she was all excited and yet sort of nervy, if you know what I mean. She smoked all the time and whenever the phone went she wouldn’t let me answer it but always snatched it up herself. Well, after about a week, she told me that she was going away for a few days on business. She seemed ever so keyed up about it so I thought it must be something very important. She said that she didn’t want anyone at all to know she was going to be away – especially Mr Richardson. She repeated it several times – you know that brusque way she has of talking – she could be quite frightening sometimes. Well – what could I do? He kept ringing and asking me about her. I had to keep putting him off.’
She sat hunched up, her hands gripping the edge of her desk.
‘I felt really mean, not being able to tell him anything when he sounded so upset, but Mrs Montgomery was so insistent ... She’s not an easy person to work for at the best of times and you know how difficult it is to find any sort of job in Taviscombe, and I need the money for the children...’
Her voice trailed off again and she looked at me despairingly. I gave her what I hoped was a reassuring smile.
‘It’s all right, Carol. Of course I won’t let Mrs Montgomery know that you told me anything. But it is very odd, you must admit. Do you have any idea at all of where she might have gone?’
Carol hesitated. ‘Well, there was something. The day before she went away she had this phone call. It was at lunch-time. I’d gone out to do a bit of shopping and it started to rain, so I had to come back for my umbrella and she was on the phone. She had her back to the door so she didn’t see me come in, and I heard her say, “Very well then, Jay, I’ll meet you half-way. Wringcliff Bay – that lay-by on the left coming from you. At twelve o’clock. You’d better make it this time, or else” And then, when I came up to my desk to get the umbrella, she saw me and put her hand over the phone and said, “What the hell are you doing here, creeping about like that?” She was really angry so I just said I was sorry and took my umbrella and went away quickly. When I got back after lunch she was nice as pie and said she was sorry she’d snapped at me but I’d startled her. I sort of felt that she was trying to pass the whole thing off, make out it wasn’t important. But it was, I’m sure.’
‘Jay?’ I said questioningly. ‘You don’t happen to know who that might be?’
‘No. I’ve never heard her mention anyone of that name
– it’s quite unusual, isn’t it, I’m sure I’d have remembered.’
We both sat silently for a while. I felt Carol relax, as if she had transferred some of her problems to me – trustingly, as she used to do with Peter when he was sorting things out for her. Almost as if she expected me to sort out this particular problem now that Peter was no longer here. I felt a kind of responsibility to her now, as well as to Charles.
‘Carol,’ I said briskly, ‘let’s try and get all this straight in our minds. When did Mrs Montgomery go away?’
‘Tuesday, January the third. It’s a very slack time with us, just after Christmas, so I suppose she didn’t worry about leaving me to look after the office for a bit – though I’m sure she didn’t mean it to be this long.’
‘Right. What about her appointments?’
Carol went over to the larger desk and took an engagement diary from the drawer. ‘There isn’t much here, because it’s a new one. There’s nothing down for Tuesday the third. Look.’ She brought the book over to me and we examined it.
As Carol had said, it was a new diary and the only entry in it was for the following day, Wednesday 4 January – just two initials: ‘P.B.’
‘You don’t happen to know who P.B. is?’ I asked Carol.
She shook her head. ‘No – she must have made the appointment when I was out of the office.’
We seemed no further forward, but I tried to sound reassuring.
‘Don’t you worry, Carol. I’ll ask around, talk to her friends and see what I can find out. If we don’t get any news soon, though, we may have to tell the police.’
‘Oh no!’ Carol was really agitated now. ‘She’d never forgive me if I did that!’
‘But Carol! If she’s disappeared we really ought to inform someone in authority – I don’t think she has any relations and you must admit that it’s very strange.’
She shook her head. ‘No, no, you mustn’t. There might be things she wouldn’t want the police to know about, and she’d surely give me the sack if they came poking about here!’
‘What sort of things?’
‘I don’t know exactly, but I got the feeling, some-times, she was doing things that weren’t quite right. I don’t know enough about business to know what it was – it’s just a feelin
g. But you do see that I daren’t call the police...’
‘It’s all right, Carol. Don’t worry. I’ll see what I can find out myself. We’ll leave it like that. I promise not to go to the police just yet. Cheer up – it’ll be all right.’
I picked up my shopping basket. ‘How are the children? I suppose Brenda’s at school as well now – goodness, how the time flies, I can hardly keep track!’
I chatted away soothingly about the children and she seemed calmer when I left her. But now I was the one who felt agitated.
Outside Country Houses I looked at my watch and realised that I should have been at the St John’s Ambulance headquarters twenty minutes ago to help set up the stalls for the Bring and Buy sale for the Stroke Club. Rosemary wouldn’t mind but I could expect sarcastic comments from Marjorie Fraser, the rather difficult woman who was running it.
As I had expected, she greeted me with a bleak smile.
‘I’m so glad you could come after all, I was afraid you might be too busy – I know how many commitments you have.’ That was a dig at me because I had been elected to the Ladies’ Luncheon Committee and she hadn’t. ‘Rosemary and I have put up nearly all the trestle tables. Of course it is easier with three, but we managed.’
Rosemary pushed her hair back with a rather grimy hand and said, ‘Oh, it was okay. They’re not really heavy – just very dusty. Who used them last? Was it the Scouts? I do think someone might have wiped them down!’
I apologised profusely and took the other end of the table Rosemary was manhandling. Marjorie Fraser took herself away to boss another group of helpers who had just come in with cakes and jam and potted plants.
‘More marmalade!’ I heard her say. ‘Oh well, I suppose someone will buy it!’
Rosemary giggled. ‘It really is a bit much. The wretched woman hasn’t been in the town for five minutes and she’s running everything in sight!’
Marjorie Fraser was another relatively young and active widow with time on her hands. She had come from somewhere just outside Bristol where her husband had been a vet. I don’t know how long he had been dead – in fact I didn’t know a great deal about her. She never volunteered information and I didn’t like her enough to find out. She had taken a house, in a village outside Taviscombe, with a paddock and stables for her two horses. She was one of those tiresomely horsy people who despise everyone who is not equally fanatical. She hunted twice a week in the season and all the time she could spare from doing whatever one has to do to horses she devoted to running things. Quite a lot of people disliked her but were glad that she was prepared to take on the more tiresome tasks, even if they resented her way of going about them. She was a tall, angular woman with a brisk manner, and Rosemary and I avoided her whenever we could.