The phone rang as she was putting on her lipstick. ‘Hi, Jill, it’s Daphne. We wondered if you’d like a lift to the Trents’? We’ll be passing your door and as Bill has foresworn alcohol for the evening, it would leave you free to imbibe.’
Jill felt a surge of gratitude. ‘That would be great, Daphne; thank you.’
‘Pick you up in twenty minutes, then.’
So at least she wouldn’t have to walk in by herself, wondering if the assembled company had been discussing the e-fit and her reaction to it.
In the event, it was dealt with as painlessly as Georgia had predicted.
‘That murdered man in Scotland must have given you a jolt,’ someone commented casually as they went through to eat. ‘From what I recall, he had quite a look of your husband.’
‘There was a resemblance, certainly,’ Daphne cut in quickly, ‘but Greg was much better looking!’ And with smiles of agreement, the subject was dropped.
Stonebridge
The twins’ birthday party was in full swing and Amélie, who had been petted by a succession of motherly little girls, had begun to wilt.
‘Take her into the sitting room, Will,’ Julia suggested. ‘The noise should be fairly muted there and with luck she’ll fall asleep on the sofa. Here, take the paper with you. Sorry it’s yesterday’s; we’ve not had time to look at it yet.’
‘Thanks, we didn’t get round to it either,’ Will admitted. ‘I sometimes wonder why we bother, with the news on TV and the Internet so much more recent. Would you mind if I had a go at the crossword?’
Julia laughed. ‘Feel free. We’re just about to have tea,’ she added. ‘I’ll send David in with a cuppa and a plate of sandwiches.’
It was ten minutes later that David pushed open the sitting room door, a mug of tea in one hand and a piled plate in the other. Amélie was lying on the sofa, thumb in mouth and eyes closed. Will, standing by the window holding a newspaper, looked up as his brother entered.
‘You’ve not seen yesterday’s paper, have you?’
David set the cup and plate down quietly so as not to wake the baby. ‘No, didn’t have the time. Why? Something interesting?’
‘The weirdest thing; there’s a picture of a guy here and he’s the spitting image of Dad.’
David went to join him. ‘God, he is, isn’t he? Who is he?’
‘He’s been calling himself Johnnie Stewart, but the implication is that it’s not his real name.’
‘What’s he done?’
‘Got himself stabbed.’
David frowned. ‘Dead, you mean?’
‘Yep.’ They stood together looking down at the sketch.
‘It would be interesting to do a comparison,’ Will said. ‘He might be a long-lost uncle. Have you got Mum’s old albums?’
‘Yes, we brought them back when we removed her personal things last weekend. They’re in one of the boxes in the spare room.’
‘Let’s dig them out after the party, though I seem to remember there weren’t many of Dad, presumably because he had the camera. But there’s the framed photo she had by her bed. Did you bring that as well?’
‘Must have done. Julia dealt with the bedroom; she’s sure to have packed it.’
‘Oh, there you are.’ Julia herself was in the doorway. ‘The twins are about to cut the cake; can you come and record the event? You too, Will; Amélie will be all right for a minute or two, won’t she?’
Will nodded and, having anchored the sleeping baby with a couple of cushions, followed his brother out of the room.
It was as the last little guests were leaving that Henry and Nina phoned from Naples to wish their great-granddaughters happy birthday. After the traditional song had come over the line and the girls had recited a list of the presents they’d received, constantly interrupting each other, David took the phone from them.
‘Hello there! Naples coming up to expectations?’ The couple had rung several times during their holiday, Nina still feeling guilty at leaving her family and needing the reassurance that all was well.
‘It’s fantastic!’ she enthused. ‘We’ve seen Vesuvius and had a day trip to Pompeii. I warn you, we’ll bore you rigid with photographs when we get back!’
‘Can’t wait! And talking of photos, there’s an extraordinary picture in the paper today of a man who’s been stabbed in Scotland, and you wouldn’t believe it but he looks just like Dad! I’ll save it to show you. The police are asking if anyone can identify him. Hang on, Julia wants a word.’
He passed the phone to his wife and turned to the twins, who were rolling on the carpet in a fit of giggles. ‘Take Amélie into the garden and show her your new toys. But remember she’s only little and be gentle with her.’
As Julia ended the call, Sylvie said curiously, ‘What was that about a picture in the paper?’
‘We’ve not had a chance to tell you,’ Will replied. ‘Come and see if you think this looks like photos you’ve seen of Dad.’
The two women dutifully studied the grainy paper. ‘The only one I’ve seen is the framed one by Sally’s bed,’ Julia said, ‘and though I packed it with everything else last week, I didn’t really look at it.’
‘And I don’t think I’ve even seen one,’ Sylvie added.
‘Then come upstairs and we’ll dig Mum’s albums out of the boxes and look through them. And while we’re at it, we’ll see if there’s one of Dave on a bearskin rug!’
They sat in a group in the spare room, the two women perched on the bed, the men squatting on the floor as they pulled item after item out of the boxes and carrier bags that surrounded them. At the bottom of one box they found three or four albums and seized on them eagerly, but the first few contained only snaps of the brothers growing up, from babies to toddlers to schoolboys. However, the last, and earliest, one had some half-dozen pages filled with shots of Sally laughing up at the photographer in various locations, interspersed with a few of a young man titled Larry at Castle Howard, Larry at Whitby, Easter 1977 and so on. And though all four of them peered intently at the fading prints, it was impossible to make out his features with any clarity.
‘Where’s the wedding album?’ Julia asked suddenly. ‘There must be one, surely?’
The men looked at each other, frowning. ‘I don’t remember one,’ Will commented.
‘They hadn’t much money at the time,’ David said slowly. ‘Perhaps they did it on the cheap and asked friends to take photos.’
‘Then where are those photos?’
‘There’s nothing else in this box,’ Will said. ‘Perhaps it got separated and ended up somewhere else.’
A further search produced the framed photograph Julia had mentioned, but it hadn’t been taken professionally and it too had started to fade. Even so, they were able to detect a definite likeness to the newspaper print.
David pulled a carrier bag towards him. ‘These are the things I cleared from Mum’s desk – let’s see if they help.’ He began to extract them. ‘Here’s her passport … and a stack of bank statements … and some invoices for surgical supplies. Ah, this envelope looks more hopeful; it’s full of certificates.’
He drew them out, glanced quickly through them and frowned. ‘That’s odd; Mum’s birth certificate is here and another copy of her will and various nursing and chiropody qualifications. But no marriage certificate or, come to that, anything relating to Dad.’
They looked at each other in bewilderment. ‘Perhaps your father kept them himself?’ Sylvie suggested.
‘Not his own death certificate,’ David pointed out. ‘There has to be another box or bag somewhere, but it’s odd they’re not all together. Mum was pretty efficient. Dad certainly left a will, because we each got a very welcome lump sum when we reached eighteen.’
‘We’re sure to come across them,’ Julia said soothingly, ‘but I think we’d better call a halt for the moment; it’s time to bath the twins and get them ready for bed. They’re over-excited and it will take a while to calm them down.’
‘And we must
be going,’ Sylvie said. ‘Amélie’s nap revived her, but it’s past her bedtime.’
The men got to their feet, easing their cramped legs. ‘Not a very fruitful exercise,’ David commented. ‘Far from satisfying our curiosity, it’s raised further questions.’
‘All will be revealed, no doubt,’ Will said, and with those unanswered questions circling in their heads, they went back downstairs.
Foxclere
Richard Lawrence had always prided himself on being a man of moderation, in control of himself at all times. Love was a word that seldom entered his thoughts; if pressed, he would say he loved his mother, by which he meant he felt deep affection for her and a desire to protect her. He was also ‘very fond’ of his wife and enjoyed their rather sedate love-making without being in any sense swept away by it. Until now he had presumed, without thinking too deeply about it, that she felt the same.
But though ridiculing any idea of being ‘in love’, a sensation he doubted he’d ever experienced, there was no denying that Maria Chiltern had turned his world upside down. It was now a month since he’d stopped for her at the bus stop, little realizing the consequences of his actions, and two weeks since their trip to the ice-cream parlour. In that time she’d pervaded his every thought like an insidious illness. He woke sweating from dreams of her – dreams that on waking shamed him – and he was obscurely worried that if he found himself alone with her he might not be able to resist her.
This inner turmoil and its outward manifestations had not passed unnoticed; Victoria, he knew, had been surprised by the sudden change in and frequency of their love-making.
‘I’m … sorry,’ he had stammered after one particularly tempestuous coupling, and she’d been quick to reassure him.
‘Darling, don’t apologize – it was wonderful!’
‘Really?’
‘Of course!’
Her reaction had surprised and disconcerted him, and he had briefly wondered if he’d been disappointing her over the years by his lack of passion, before shying away from further analysis.
That Monday afternoon he’d been about to leave his room when there was a tap on the door, and on opening it, as though his thoughts had conjured her up, he came face-to-face with Maria herself. Disconcerted by her sudden appearance, he stared at her in silence, uncomfortably aware of a flush creeping up his neck.
‘I’m sorry to disturb you, Mr Lawrence,’ she said quickly, little knowing, he thought wryly, how much she did indeed disturb him, ‘but I was wondering if I could ask you a favour?’
He cleared his throat. ‘I’ve a class almost due.’
‘I’ll make it brief, then. It’s my husband’s birthday in a week or two and I’d really like to arrange some golf lessons for him.’ She gave a little laugh. ‘Depending on how much they cost, of course. You mentioned playing at a club and I was hoping you might be able to advise me the best one to approach?’
‘It’s purely a matter of choice,’ he blustered, ‘but I really haven’t—’
‘I’m sorry,’ she broke in, ‘bad timing! Perhaps we could have a word after school? Toby’s going to tea with a friend so he won’t need collecting.’
Richard’s mouth was dry. ‘As I said, it depends on various factors, but I have played at several of the local ones; I suppose I could take you …’ His voice tailed off uncertainly but her face lit up with that enchanting smile.
‘That’s so good of you! Thank you so much! I’ll wait in the car park, shall I?’
He nodded, edging past her with a mumbled, ‘Now you really must excuse me …’ and hurried down the corridor. Maria stood looking after him for a moment. Then, with a little nod of satisfaction, she turned in the direction of her own classroom.
God, he must be out of his mind! Richard was thinking as he made his way to the hall. What hope had he of freeing himself from what was rapidly becoming an obsession if he kept meeting the girl on a social footing? He should simply have told her to go online and phone whichever club seemed the most convenient; there was absolutely no necessity to become involved. As things were, he was laying himself open to an unspecified amount of time alone with her and God only knew what that would do to his equilibrium, already in a state of flux over that bloody man in the paper who looked so unnervingly like Father.
Why, he wondered despairingly, had life suddenly become so complicated?
Stonebridge
David’s mobile vibrated in his pocket and he swore softly at the interruption. He was drawing up a complicated will for a wealthy client, endeavouring to incorporate all his stipulations while at the same time ensuring there could be no room for misinterpretation.
Pulling out his phone, he was surprised to see his grandfather’s name on the screen. It was only two days since he’d called during the party.
‘Grandpa?’
Henry’s voice was grave. ‘David: I don’t want to worry you, but I need to speak to you and Will as soon as possible.’
David’s chest tightened. ‘What’s happened? It isn’t Gran, is it?’
‘No, no, your grandmother’s fine.’
‘Then I don’t understand. You’re due back in another week; surely—’
‘Actually we’re home now; we cut short our trip and flew back yesterday.’
Foreboding closed over him. ‘But – why?’
‘We’ll explain when we see you. Could I leave you to arrange with Will to come round this evening, at about seven? I know it’s short notice, but it really is urgent.’
‘Yes, of course, but can’t you give me—?’
‘Till this evening, then. Goodbye, David.’
Foxclere
She was waiting by his car, as she had said she would. He’d stayed on an extra few minutes to finish some marking and to allow the main exodus of staff to disperse so there was no one else around. He nodded to her briefly, unlocked the car, and the minute she’d fastened her seat belt switched on the engine and accelerated out of the car park on to the road.
‘I really do appreciate this,’ Maria said. ‘I know I could have made enquiries myself, but I’m not sure what questions to ask.’
‘Depends what you want to know,’ he replied, more curtly than he’d intended, and felt her quick glance.
‘I did look up some clubs, but I still don’t know the area very well and I wasn’t sure which would be the most convenient.’
‘They have websites setting out what’s on offer and where they’re located,’ Richard said. And suddenly knew beyond doubt that she’d already checked this for herself, which could only mean that she was aware of his interest and playing him for her own amusement. Rage spread over him that he should have fallen so easily into her trap.
‘So why are you really asking for my help?’ he added coldly.
There was a long silence. Then she said very quietly, ‘Please could you pull over? I’d like to get out.’
‘Changed your mind already?’
‘Why are you being like this?’ she asked softly, a catch in her voice. ‘You were so kind and helpful before that I hoped you wouldn’t mind—’
‘—if you took advantage?’
‘I’ve obviously completely misread the situation,’ she said in a low voice. ‘I can only apologize. It was just …’ She broke off, biting her lip.
‘Just what?’
‘That I haven’t many friends here and I’d fooled myself – but I should have known better. After all, you have a position to maintain and I’m just – well, a lowly member of staff. Obviously you—’ She choked to a halt. ‘Please pull over. Please!’
He swerved to the side of the road, startling a driver about to overtake him, and skidded to a halt, sitting with his hands gripping the steering wheel as she fumbled with the catch of her seat belt and opened the door. Out on the pavement she bent down to look into the car but he stared straight ahead.
‘I’m … sorry,’ she said, and turned blindly away. He watched her in the rear-view mirror as she hurried back along the pavement. Then
he closed his eyes, waiting for his breathing to slow down. Suppose he’d misjudged her? he thought in anguish. Suppose after all she really did want his input, and because of his paranoia he’d thrown it back in her face?
For a wild moment he considered getting out of the car and going after her. But traffic was building up and he appeared to be on a yellow line. Mind churning and heart thundering, he started the car.
Blaircomrie
Beth could hear the phone ringing as she returned from work and hastily fumbled to open the door and reach it before it stopped.
‘Mrs Monroe? This is DS Grant, Blaircomrie police.’
‘Yes?’ she said breathlessly.
‘I’m just calling to let you know Crimewatch will be featuring a reconstruction of the stabbing on Tuesday the first of July. Let’s hope it leads to someone coming forward.’
‘Do you think it might?’
‘It’s our best chance at the moment. I suppose nothing’s arrived for him in the post, from relatives, say, who’ve been unable to contact him?’
‘No, nothing, but he never had any post.’
Grant’s sigh came over the wire. ‘Why am I not surprised?’ he said.
EIGHT
Stonebridge
‘I don’t know, Will!’ David said for the second time.
‘But it must be something serious for them to fly home early,’ Will said worriedly. ‘They were all right on Saturday, weren’t they? Something must have happened since, but what?’
‘Your guess is as good as mine. By the way, I phoned Mum’s solicitors this morning and asked them if they were holding any certificates relating to Dad, but they’re not.’
‘They must be in one of those boxes,’ Will said.
David had collected him as arranged in a quick phone call and they were now driving through the early evening traffic towards Harrogate, on the outskirts of which their grandparents lived. The day had been close and airless and now purple clouds were banking in the east.
‘Looks as though we’re in for a storm,’ he added.
‘Not metaphorically, I hope,’ David commented. He switched on the radio and they drove in silence for a while. ‘He said Gran was OK,’ he remarked suddenly, ‘but I never thought to ask about him, and he did have that heart scare last year. You don’t think …?’
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