by Liz Evans
‘I’m not investigating your family, Mrs Reiss ... I was hired to find a past employee of Wexton’s. A woman called Kristen Keats.’
‘The test engineer? But she left ... some weeks ago.’
‘I know. Trouble is ... she hasn’t been seen since that Friday morning.’
A slight frown flitted across Joan’s lightly made-up face. ‘Hasn’t been seen by whom? Who hired you? Her family?’
‘A friend of hers was worried. He expected her to be in touch, and when she didn’t show ... well, he got a bad feeling about things.’
‘I see. Well, whilst I can see that that might, just conceivably, justify you snooping around the company, I still fail to understand what you were doing at my daughter’s house.’
Yep, that was a tough one. And I’d have liked some notice so I could have worked on a really creative lie. As it was, I had to fall back on a partial truth.
‘I’d heard gossip ... about Mr Bridgeman and Kristen ... hints that there might be something going on. But,’ I added hurriedly, ‘there seems to be nothing in it.’
‘Of course there is nothing in it. Stephen would hardly be foolhardy enough to have an affair under my nose.’
‘That’s more or less what he said.’
‘You’ve spoken to him?’
‘Yes. He was very helpful ... Looks like I’ll have to start searching elsewhere.’
‘That seems to me to be an excellent idea. Because if you attempt to return to the house again, I shall certainly call the police.’
I was tempted to point out that it wasn’t her house, but instead I told her to give my love to Uncle Alfie.
The frostiness thawed slightly. ‘Yes, I suppose I should thank you for looking after him.’
‘It was a pleasure. He’s a nice old boy.’
‘Yes. He is. And one of the few people left now who remembers my father.’
‘And your sister. He seemed very fond of her.’
‘Blanche, yes, everybody loved Blanche.’ Her gaze slipped back into the past for a moment and then I saw her give herself a mental shake. ‘I’m sorry I didn’t have the opportunity to spend more time with Uncle Alfie.’
‘I think he appreciated you had your hands full. Did any of the family make it back to the party after the ... er ... problem?’
‘No.’ She hitched her bag over her shoulder and stood up.
‘I’ve never understood Amelia’s obsession with growing old. There is nothing she can do to alter the fact.’
‘But a hell of a lot of cosmetic companies would go bankrupt if we didn’t keep trying.’
I actually got a small smile from her. Since we were being chummy again, I asked her if Patrick was OK.
‘Yes. Thank you. It was a cruel trick of Eleanora’s, but I think she’s realised that now. Despite appearances, it’s because she loves her mother and wants her attention, rather than the opposite. Well, I’ll say goodbye, Miss Smith. I don’t imagine we’ll meet again. I wish you luck in your search and I hope you find Miss Keats safe and well.’
Nobody would ever find Kristen Keats again in this world, but there was no point in confusing matters by bringing in Julie-Frances’ name change.
‘Thanks.’ I opened the door for her. Janice was just coming out of Annie’s office.
‘Is your phone off the hook? Some woman keeps trying to call you.’
I glanced back at the desk. The receiver was hanging slightly to one side. ‘Yes. It is. I don’t suppose by any unlikely chance you broke the habit of a lifetime and asked for her name? Or her number?’
‘Told her to ring back. And there’s no need to be sarky. I take plenty of your stupid messages. Here y’are.’ She slapped a stick-it on my blouse. ‘That Summerstone bloke left a message on the answerphone. Wants to know if you’ve found Kristen yet.’
Joan had reached the head of the stairs. I saw her spine go rigid and the knuckles on the hand holding the banister whiten to gleaming ivory.
‘Cheers, Jan. Remind me to get you a ticket to the Bermuda Triangle for Christmas.’
‘I think,’ Joan said, ‘we should return to your office, Grace.’
I was no longer Miss Smith. It was gloves-off time. I let her back inside but told her I couldn’t possibly discuss clients.
‘But I have no doubt Henry Summerstone has discussed me with you. And I can imagine the sort of unfeeling monster I’ve been portrayed as. So we’ll skip over that aspect and you can tell me why Henry wishes to find this young woman.’
‘No, I don’t think I can ... Joan.’
The glare went into thermo-nuclear mode. Joanie was used to getting her own way. She swallowed her ire with very obvious difficulty.
‘Look, Grace, I’m not trying to cause trouble for you, but in my experience anything that involves Henry Summerstone invariably ends in grief. The man has - and indeed always has had - only one interest in life ... himself.’
‘That’s a bit strong, isn’t it? Coming from someone who ripped off a blinded man lying in a hospital bed?’
‘I see. Well, you’ve obviously had the Summerstone edited highlights of this matter. Are you interested in hearing my side of the story?’
‘Sure. Why not? Would you like a coffee?’
She accepted, but I could see she had second thoughts when she saw the state of the mugs.
‘No milk, sorry.’
‘Black is perfectly acceptable, thank you. Now ... Henry.’ She sipped and frowned. ‘Henry was a very handsome, and very charming, young man. He was also greedy, in debt and lazy. My sister fell in love at first sight and wouldn’t be dissuaded from the marriage.’
‘Do you think he loved her?’
Joan considered. ‘I think he may have convinced himself he did.But had Blanche’s money disappeared before the wedding, I’m quite certain Henry would have found some excuse to call the whole thing off. Frankly, I’ve always thought that, in reality, the whole attraction was more lust than love. He was keen on sex. With Blanche and anyone else who was available. Blanche simply happened to have the misfortune to be the one with the cash.’
‘It doesn’t excuse you and your husband ripping him off after the accident, does it?’
‘We did not cheat him. The price we offered for Blanche’s share of the company was fair. And Henry was more than eager to accept it at the time. He had no interest in running Wexton’s. As it was, he got a generous capital settlement and an agreed proportion of Wexton’s profit for his lifetime.’
She caught the flash of surprise in my eyes and smiled grimly. ‘I presume he didn’t mention that part of the contract?’
‘No. At least, I never asked. I’d just assumed it was a one- off payment.’
‘Well, now you know better, Grace. Henry spent a great many years squandering Blanche’s inheritance on good living and what used to be referred to as bad women. He has also caused us a fair amount of embarrassment over the years, protesting about discrepancies in his share of the profits. Derek and I took out several injunctions to prevent him causing further nuisance at the factory. After that his efforts became more ... inventive, shall we say. Now since I’ve been forthcoming with you, perhaps you’d be good enough to tell me why he wishes to find Kristen Keats.’
I couldn’t do that. She wasn’t paying me, Henry was. And I couldn’t afford to make moral judgements about my clients. If I did, I’d starve. The best I could do was assure her that Henry’s interest was not connected to Wexton’s.
‘I see.’ Her tone implied she saw a lot more than I’d intended. She stood up to leave once more. ‘Well, goodbye again, Grace. Should you have occasion to speak to Henry, please give him my very worst wishes. I’ll see myself out.’
I made sure she had before returning to the office. There was the envelope I’d completely forgotten about, tucked under the phone.
Ripping it open, I found a bill for six hours’ work and a note from Ruby, plus a photocopy of a news report on Rob Wingett’s death.
‘Checked all the dailies,’
Ruby had written. ‘This is all I can find. Glad to have the cash by Friday if you can manage it. Cheers.’
I unfolded the single sheet of paper and scanned it before closing my eyes and - with an effort - putting myself back in the library at the Bridgemans’ house. Concentrating hard, I made myself ‘see’ the phone - and this time I managed to ‘see’ the number on it too.
Patrick answered.
‘Hi, is Bone there?’
‘Yes.’
‘Can I speak to her?’
‘I suppose so.’
The silence went on for so long I was beginning to wish I’d broken into Annie’s office and used her phone. I was about to ring off when Bone picked up.
‘Hi, it’s Grace Smith.’
‘What do you want? Have you found Tom yet?’
‘No.?’
‘So what do you want?’
‘Have a good time last night ... after you left home?’
‘It was OK. Bloke I hitched a lift with wanted to go to the pub.’
‘Bloody hell, Bone, you don’t half ask for trouble.’
‘Butt out. I can take care of myself. So if you just phoned to have a go at me ...’
‘No. Listen, remember when you and your friends were talking in Pepi’s cafe? About going round your uncle’s place to watch a dvd? I phoned to ask if your uncle’s name is Henry Summerstone.’
‘Yes. Why, do you know him?’
Not as well as I’d thought, by the looks of it. ‘He’d be a great-uncle then, really?’
‘Suppose so. Didn’t even know he existed until a couple of years ago. He and Gran had some kind of mega-fight once. She doesn’t like me going up there, but I like him. He’s cool. Doesn’t lecture me like some people.’
‘OK. I get the message. Be in touch.’ I hung up before she could ask why I was interested in her uncle.
I wanted another word with Henry, but I had a few things to do first.
Rooting around the filing cabinets, I unearthed a pocket tape recorder before returning to the flat, loading Mickey and Figgy’s bags into the car boot and heading up to the public library. I’d intended to make a couple of quick calls and then get round to the hospital, but the librarian couldn’t supply what I was looking for.
I tried the Winstanton branch, but that was shut. Eventually I ended up driving around four branches, and by the time I returned to the hospital it was early evening. Mickey fixed me with reproachful eyes.
‘Sorry. Urgent enquiries.’ I heaved the bags on to the bed. ‘How you feeling, Figgy?’
‘I’m doing all right ... according to the docs.’
Propped up against the white pillows in a pale-blue hospital gown and all that black hair framing a face drained of colour, I have to say he didn’t look too brilliant. However, the accident did seem to have had one interesting side effect. He’d lost the South London accent and acquired a Home Counties public-school one instead.
‘Have the police been to see you?’
‘Hour ago. I wasn’t much help. I didn’t see anything. Just felt a jolt and next thing I know I’m waking up in here.’
‘You didn’t see the car? Or driver?’
‘Nope.’ He gave me a wan smile and took a firmer grip on Mickey’s hand, rubbing his thumb reassuringly over her fingers. ‘Thanks for looking after this one for me.’
Looking at him like that, a little knot of excitement unfurled in my stomach. I’d finally made a connection that had been eluding me for the past week. Backing up, I took a look at the folder of case notes at the foot of the bed.
‘Look, your Graciness, there’s something I have to tell you. About your case ... that missing woman you were looking for
‘Save it, Figgy. I have to make a call ...’
CHAPTER 35
‘Thanks for ringing.’
‘That’s OK. I’m great at organising other people’s lives. It’s only my own I have difficulty with.’
‘Well, it’s easier when you’re standing back from the problem.’
Marina Payne flicked the heavy swath of black hair from her shoulders and applied a lighter to her filter tip. Once again I got that deja vu feeling of having met her somewhere before. Only this time I knew why.
I’d known as soon as I’d seen the name on Figgy’s charts: Fergal Iain Glenn Payne.
I’d decided to go back to the flat and telephone Marina on the hitting-two-birds-with-one-stone time-and-motion theory.
However, my other bird had gone to ground. I knew I’d put the Keats file somewhere safe, but by the time I remembered where, retrieved what I wanted, and driven back to the hospital, the big reunion scene had been played out. Marina was one side of the bed looking moist-eyed; Mickey was the other looking apprehensive - and Rachel was cruising the ward with an enormous smile and enough food to withstand a nuclear winter.
Figgy demanded to know who the hell had asked me to interfere. ‘Maybe I didn’t want my mum to know I was in here.’
‘Sure you did, Figgy. Do you know how many miles of coastline there are in the British Isles?’
‘No.’
Neither did I, actually. But I figured it ran into thousands. ‘But when Mickey wants to come to the seaside, you end up in the next town to your mum. And six times a day you’re out on the street making out like a six-foot blackbird on wheels. Unobtrusive or what?’
Marina asked: ‘Do you want me to leave, Fergal?’
‘No. You might as well stay now you’re here.’
‘Fine. I’ll wallow in the warmth of your welcome in a second, my love. I’m just going to slip outside for a smoke and a quick word with Grace. Don’t run off now.’
With a sardonic grin, she’d tapped his broken leg and led the way out to the car-park, which was the nearest place she could light up. Letting go a lungful of smoke, she offered the packet.
‘Given up, thanks.’
‘So have I. A dozen times.’ She thrust it back into her jacket pocket. ‘He looks so much older. It’s stupid, but whenever I pictured him, it was always as the boy who ran away. And now he’s going to be a father himself.’
‘I’d have said something sooner. Only today’s the first time I’ve ever seen him without his shades. He’s the dead spit of you. I hope you don’t mind my wishing Rachel on them as a surrogate granny?’
With a snort of amusement, Marina blew out a quavering smoke ring. ‘Do I strike you as the sort to knit baby clothes and go gooey-eyed over a chocolate-smeared kisser? Kisser - listen to me. I used to use proper English once. Comes from marrying my bit of rough.’
The description was used with a tender amusement that told me it wasn’t something she regretted. And it gave me the opening I needed. I took out the letter I’d removed from my Keats file.
It was the letter Julie-Frances had written her friend whilst she was on remand. I’d folded it so that the sender’s and recipient’s names were out of sight.
I gave Marina a brief rundown on my search for the missing ‘Kristen’ and then held out the sheet, pointing to the paragraph that began: ‘If Bill had had any sense he’d have got out and given the silly little twerp an ache to go with his name.
‘I did wonder - ache ... Payne?’
Marina scanned the rest of the letter, and laughed. ‘Yes, that certainly sounds like my man. I remember Bill Carr. We sold him a second-hand earth-mover ... he couldn’t pay.’
‘Sounds like Larry got pretty steamed up about it. Staking out Dover docks and all that ...’
‘He wasn’t looking for Carr. It was around the time Fergal ran off.’
‘Nevertheless ... I couldn’t help noticing they’d had some building work done at Wexton’s recently. Was that you?’
‘Renovation. What about it?’
‘Well, I just thought ... if your husband recognised Carr’s ex-girlfriend ... and he was still sore about being ripped off
Marina shrieked with laughter. ‘You think Larry put her in the foundations. For God’s sake, this is Seatoun, not downtown Chicago. The insur
ance paid off the cost of the earth-mover when Carr went bankrupt.’
‘But it must have hit your husband’s pride ... being ripped off like that. I hear he’s not a man to take a boot in the mouth lying down.’
‘Well, unless he’s being attacked by a kick-boxer, that’s the position he’s most likely to be in, isn’t it? Look She crushed her cigarette into the tarmac and took my arm, moving me along with her. ‘Have you ever heard the story of the crack shot?’
‘I think that one got past me.’
‘He used to fire into chalk circles. All his shots were smack in the centre of the target. And it didn’t matter how big the circle was ... two feet or two inches ... he got a bull’s-eye. One day they asked him how he did it. So he showed them. He fired at the wall first ... then he drew the circle round the hole afterwards.’
‘You trying to tell me your husband waits for a piece of nastiness to happen, then claims the credit?’
‘Not always. But quite often. Especially nowadays. I’ll not deny he was a bit of a wild lad when he was younger; that was probably the attraction - made him seem so much more desirable than the rest of the pack. But these days it’s more in the mind and the threat than the actual doing.’
‘He sent someone round to sort out Tom Skerries when he found out about him poaching customers and nicking your stock.’
‘True. But I don’t think their orders included doing a Paul Daniels on him. He was supposed to get a fright - not disappear. Although he seems to have managed the latter trick quite efficiently on his own.’
I wasn’t entirely convinced her husband was the toothless tiger she’d like me to believe. But there wasn’t much I could do about it now. And talking about Skerries reminded me she’d claimed to have some information on him last night.
‘I looked for you at the party again, but you’d done your own disappearing trick.’
‘Trying to persuade Amelia to forget that stupid picture and come down. I don’t know why I bothered really. She always was capable of some pretty spectacular sulks when she set her mind to it. When I got I tired of talking to a locked door I helped myself to a couple of bottles of champagne and got Larry to drive me home. We had a private party in our own garden. Which reminds me ... I’d better get this flat sorted out for the happy couple before they discharge Fergal. There’s nothing like an adult child in the next room to inhibit all that swinging from the chandeliers.’