A Tangled Thread

by Anthea Fraser

  Georgia had stared disbelievingly as her brother got into his car and drove off in the opposite direction. What the hell was he doing? Why wasn’t he in the staff dining room having lunch? And, most importantly, why was the woman wearing a dressing gown at that time of day? The implications seemed all too obvious.

  She had told Tim what she’d seen and asked his advice, which, put simply, was ‘Forget it; it’s not your business.’ But she was fond of Victoria, prickly though she could be, and feared for Richard’s recklessness when his entire career could be at stake. There might, of course, be a perfectly innocent explanation, but it was hard to imagine what it could be.

  Now she had the prospect of facing him tomorrow while the incident was still very much on her mind, let alone whatever it was their mother had to tell them. It was little wonder she was finding sleep elusive.

  As he made his way to his study the next morning, Richard was also wondering, slightly uneasily, why his mother wanted to speak to them. He imagined it could only be about their father who, it must be admitted, had been rather pushed to the back of his mind thanks to Maria. It had been arranged that he would drive over to Woodlands straight after school, and in the meantime he must try not to second-guess the reason for their summons.

  There was the usual pile of papers on his desk and he leafed through them, pausing when he came to a plain white envelope addressed simply to Mr Lawrence. He took his paper knife, slit it neatly open and drew out the single sheet of paper. Printed in the centre of the page was one line:

  How do you solve a problem like Maria?

  Richard stared at it, coldness spreading over him as a dozen wild thoughts collided in his head. They’d been so careful – or so he had thought. Surely this didn’t date back to his driving her and Toby to the hospital? The only other time they’d left together was to look at golf clubs – an aborted mission – and he could swear no one had been around at the time – unless, of course, they’d been sitting in one of the few remaining vehicles in the car park.

  Feverishly his brain replayed their time together: she had come to his room on three occasions, once with Toby to thank him for the hospital ride, when he’d unwisely taken them for an ice cream – where, of course, they might easily have been spotted – and again to request his help over the golf clubs. And he’d taken her there himself when he found her distressed in the corridor, which with hindsight mightn’t have been wise either, especially since it had led to such an unforeseen escalation in their relationship.

  He glanced again at the paper, his heart thudding. For whatever reason, their names had now been coupled; by how many people and who were they? God, if this became public the repercussions could be devastating.

  There was a tap on the door and he jumped. The school secretary put her head round it. ‘You asked me to remind you about the governors’ meeting this morning, Mr Lawrence.’

  ‘Yes. Yes, thanks, Polly,’ he said distractedly, and after a curious glance she withdrew. He must be careful, Richard reminded himself, and not allow any change of demeanour to give rise to possible speculation. The obvious course of action was to break it off with Maria straight away but there were only two weeks of term remaining and, as he’d reasoned before, all would be forgotten by September. He just couldn’t sacrifice their last couple of times together.

  He ran a hand through his hair, drew a deep breath and sat down to compose himself for the governors’ meeting in an hour’s time.

  Blaircomrie

  ‘Detective Sergeant Grant?’ Beth’s voice shook a little.

  ‘What can I do for you, Mrs Monroe?’ There was a note of resignation in the policeman’s voice.

  ‘I hope I’m doing the right thing, but there’s something I think you should know.’

  ‘Go on.’

  ‘A lady came to visit me on Saturday and she had a photo with her of … of Johnnie Stewart, who she claimed was her husband.’

  ‘Oh … my … God!’ said DS Grant.

  ‘It was definitely him, Mr Grant, no doubt whatever. And I’m phoning because I heard you were linking him with some family in Yorkshire.’

  ‘And that’s not where this lady’s from?’

  ‘No, she lives in Sussex.’ Beth paused and, receiving no encouragement, added tentatively, ‘Her name is Mrs Lawrence and her husband’s name was Gregory.’

  The phone slipped in Grant’s suddenly sweaty hand. ‘Say that again.’

  ‘Mrs Gregory Lawrence. She gave me her card in case I needed to contact her. Would you like her address and phone number? I did suggest she go straight to you but she wanted to discuss it with her family first.’

  ‘And what,’ Grant asked heavily, ‘had she previously thought had happened to this husband of hers?’

  ‘That he’d been killed in a terrorist attack in Egypt last year.’

  ‘Not abducted by aliens, then?’

  ‘I beg your pardon?’

  ‘Nothing, nothing.’ Grant sighed heavily. ‘Yes, I’ll take that information if you have it to hand. And thank you for getting in touch, Mrs Monroe.’

  Beth replaced the phone, wondering if she had done the right thing. She wasn’t sure Jill Lawrence would appreciate it, yet surely she’d want to get to the bottom of this business as much as, if not more than, anyone? Beth and Moira had discussed it over the phone for nearly half an hour before deciding Beth should phone Grant. Well, the deed was done, she thought philosophically, and the outcome was out of her hands.

  ELEVEN

  Blaircomrie

  DS Grant was jubilant. ‘We’ve checked, boss, and guess what! Gregory Lawrence actually existed! What’s more, the details coincide with what Mrs Monroe reported. I reckon this could be the end of the rainbow!’

  ‘Before you claim that pot of gold, Sandy,’ Mackay said dryly, ‘we need to be sure this woman is who she said she is. In this case, we can only believe someone’s identity if they produce a birth certificate.’

  ‘Well, the name “Laurence Gregory” hasn’t appeared in the press,’ Grant reminded him, ‘so she can’t have been trading on that, and she did say he grew up in Australia, which ties in with what he told Monroe. And, of course, she had his photo. Monroe was convinced it was Johnnie and I’d say we can accept that; the man lived under her roof for eight weeks. Also, the similarity of the name has to be significant, surely.’

  Mackay slammed his hand on his desk. ‘What the hell was he up to?’ he demanded irritably. ‘Damn it, we’ve got a DNA match to this other family; where do they fit in?’

  ‘Search me, boss.’

  Mackay considered for a moment. ‘Where did you say this woman comes from?’

  ‘East Sussex. A place called Foxclere.’

  ‘Well, it sounds as though she’s looking for answers, so if she and her family are willing to comply, let’s check their DNA. Fancy another trip south, if the SIO’s agreeable?’

  ‘Why not? Gets me out of the office. At this rate we’ll be awash with DNA samples.’

  ‘It’ll be pricey, especially if we want to expedite them, but this shambles has gone on long enough and the top brass are getting restive; I think we can bank on authorisation for the trip. And it’s time we called the press in for help – publicize the various names he lived under and see what comes up. But before that we should put the Gregorys in the picture and let them know first that the man in the morgue is their father and, secondly, that he wasn’t who he said he was.’

  ‘Right, boss, I’ll get on to it. Oh, and in the meantime, some good news for a change: traffic say there’s a fresh slant on that hit-and-run. A new witness has come forward – been abroad for a few weeks – and his testimony could be really useful. Says this car cut him up and he was so incensed he recorded its registration number on his phone. He’d intended to report it but was going abroad the next day and never got round to it.’

  ‘Thank God for small mercies,’ Mackay said morosely. ‘Keep me informed.’

  Foxclere

  They sat in silence
for some minutes when Jill finished speaking.

  ‘I don’t know which is the biggest shock,’ Georgia said eventually. ‘The fact that Dad was Jake Farthing, that he might have another family in Yorkshire, or that he was alive until recently.’

  ‘Allowing us to go on grieving for him,’ Richard added. ‘I find that difficult to forgive.’

  ‘It must have been amnesia,’ Jill insisted a little desperately. ‘He’s unlikely to have escaped that bomb blast completely unscathed, when he’d been seen entering the hotel only seconds before it went off. I’m quite sure he’d never have let us go on believing …’

  Her voice tailed off and Georgia went to sit beside her, taking her hand. ‘I still can’t believe he was Jake Farthing,’ she said, subtly side-stepping. ‘It was the column Tim and I always turned to first.’

  But Richard doggedly returned to his father’s failings. ‘I knew he compartmentalized his life,’ he said tightly, ‘but I little guessed to what extent. Another family closeted away, for God’s sake! It seems barely credible. No wonder he was away so much!’

  Jill winced and Georgia sent her brother a warning glance. ‘Plenty of men are unfaithful,’ she said pointedly. ‘He just carried it one step further.’

  Richard gave her a quick look before deciding he was being paranoid. ‘A bloody big step,’ he replied. ‘God, the publicity this will stir up!’

  Jill didn’t seem to be listening. ‘I suppose we should go to the police,’ she said.

  Richard stood up abruptly. ‘I’ll do it. I have the Crimewatch recording and they give the number to call. Try not to worry, Mother, I’ll sort it out but I must be getting home now; Victoria will be worrying.’

  He bent and kissed her cheek, nodded to his sister and took his leave.

  ‘Come up and spend the evening with us,’ Georgia said gently, and Jill was only too happy to accept.

  Stonebridge

  ‘Mr Gregory?’

  ‘Yes?’

  ‘DS Grant, Blaircomrie CID.’

  David’s hand tightened on the phone. ‘Yes?’

  ‘The DNA results are through, sir, and I can confirm that you and your brother are a match with the deceased.’

  David released his breath. ‘Well, I suppose that’s something.’

  ‘But not all, I’m afraid. I also have to tell you that we’ve made extensive searches on all the Laurence Gregorys listed in various databases and none of them comply with the facts we have on your father.’ He paused and when David didn’t speak, added, ‘In other words, that particular Laurence Gregory never existed.’

  David frowned, shaking his head impatiently at Julia, who was hovering at his side. ‘What the hell does that mean?’

  ‘Presumably that he was using a pseudonym.’

  ‘Then who was he, for God’s sake?’ David burst out. ‘Johnnie Stewart, after all?’

  ‘No, sir; Johnnie Stewart never existed either.’

  There was a pause. Then: ‘So … where do we go from here?’

  ‘Our enquiries are continuing and of course we’ll keep you informed. In the meantime, we’ve learned of another family who might have a connection—’

  ‘With Laurence Gregory?’ David interrupted incredulously.

  ‘All I can tell you at this stage is that there’ll be an appeal in the press shortly, when all the names that have come up in the case will be made public.’

  ‘Have you found out yet who killed him?’

  ‘The investigation is continuing,’ Grant answered smoothly, ‘and we’re hopeful that the correct identification will be of assistance. In the meantime, I’m sure you’ll want to contact your brother and pass on the news. Goodnight, sir.’

  ‘What is it, David? What did he say?’ Julia demanded, but he shook his head again, punching numbers into his phone.

  ‘Grandpa? You’ll never believe this! Our DNA matches the man in Scotland but his name wasn’t Laurence Gregory.’

  Julia gasped.

  ‘God knows,’ David replied in answer to his grandfather’s exclamation. ‘But it seems someone else has come forward … I don’t know, that’s all they’d say.’ He ran a hand through his hair. ‘This business is getting more bizarre by the minute. Look, we must meet as soon as possible. We need to go through everything we have and somehow get to the bottom of it. I appreciate it’s too late now, but is it OK if Will and I come over tomorrow evening? Perhaps you could dig out anything you might have on … this man, and I’ll do the same.’

  He put down the phone and rubbed his hand across his eyes.

  ‘Oh, David!’ Julia said softly.

  He turned to her, and as the stress of the last weeks reached breaking point, tears came into his eyes and he went blindly into her arms.

  Blaircomrie

  Richard’s phone call to the police coincidentally confirmed Beth’s report about her visitor and vindicated the planned trip to Sussex.

  ‘And that’s not all,’ Grant ended. ‘It seems Gregory Lawrence wrote a column in one of the London broadsheets under the pen name Jake Farthing, which ties in with what his workplace told us. He must have had a bank account in that name for his newspaper cheques, so he needed to be J Farthing at work in order to bank his wages up here.’

  ‘Then where the hell does Johnnie Stewart come in?’

  ‘Search me. By that time he’d have been used to having several names on the go and it did make him harder to trace, as we know to our cost. Question is why was he so anxious not to be traced?’ Grant ran a hand over his thinning hair. ‘And we’re no nearer finding who did for him, as one of his other sons was careful to remind me. We can but hope clearing up this tangle of names will point us in the right direction.’

  Ever since Jill Lawrence’s visit Beth had suffered from a feeling of guilt, illogical though she knew it to be. After all, she hadn’t known Johnnie wasn’t who he said he was, still less that he’d been reported dead and his family was grieving for him. But the sight of Jill’s face when she’d confirmed his identity continued to haunt her, eliminating the last of her own feelings for Johnnie.

  It was time for her to put the whole episode behind her, and the best way to do that was to advertise for another lodger. But first she needed to expunge all trace of his occupation and that meant redecorating his room. It was due for refreshing anyway; it had last been decorated when she let it out to her first lodger over six years ago.

  Determined to put her plans into immediate effect, she spent her lunch hour buying ready-made curtains and a matching duvet cover in a pretty design of red poppies on a cream background. She then phoned the young man who had done jobs for her previously and whom she trusted to work in the house while she was out, delighted for herself if not for him that he’d no work in prospect and could start right away. He would also give the furniture in the room a fresh coat of paint. Beth was tempted by the thought of a new carpet, but reined in her enthusiasm; there were years of wear left in the one already down.

  ‘I’ll have it done for you in the week, Mrs M!’ Charlie assured her cheerfully. And then, she thought, feeling happier and more positive than she had for weeks, she could advertise for her new lodger, who would very definitely be female.

  Foxclere

  Nigel said, ‘What’s the matter, honey? You look as though all your rabbits died.’

  ‘We had rather a shock last night,’ Victoria admitted reluctantly.

  ‘Well? Going to tell me about it?’

  She looked at him uncertainly, but she desperately needed to talk it over with someone other than family and Nigel had proved himself trustworthy on many occasions.

  ‘It’s a long story,’ she said, ‘about my father-in-law.’

  ‘Who was killed in Egypt?’

  ‘Who we thought was killed in Egypt. God, Nigel, I never felt I really knew him, but believe me I didn’t even know the half of it – none of us did.’

  ‘Sounds intriguing. Go on.’

  ‘You realize all this is confidential?’

&nb
sp; He grinned. ‘When isn’t it? Come into the back and we’ll sneak a coffee before the first customer arrives.’

  So it all came pouring out – the secret other family and the fact that Greg had still been writing the Jake Farthing column months after he was supposed to have been killed.

  ‘Jake Farthing?’ Nigel interrupted at that point. ‘God, was that him? It was brilliant!’

  ‘So now we feel we didn’t know him at all,’ Victoria finished. ‘How could he have done that to us, to Jill particularly? It’s badly shaken us all.’

  ‘I bet it has. And what about this other family? Are they hypothetical or do they really exist?’

  ‘I don’t know; it’s very complicated and all seems to hinge on the veracity of a phone call from Paul someone, a friend of Greg’s.’

  ‘So it’s possible you’re worrying unnecessarily?’

  ‘Possible but not probable. Looking back, it has the ring of truth about it.’

  ‘How would you describe your father-in-law?’

  ‘Amusing, witty, impossible to tie down.’

  ‘Tie down how?’

  ‘Oh, I don’t know. He didn’t like committing himself, and even if he did – promising to take the family somewhere, for instance – something would be sure to “come up” at the last minute to prevent it, though if you challenged him he’d always have a plausible excuse. I don’t think I ever really trusted him, but, having said that, I could count on one hand the number of times I met him, so perhaps I’m being unfair.’ She paused. ‘What I most blamed him for was the way he treated Richard. He never seemed to have any time for him, dismissing any comment he made and so on, while heaping praise on Georgia. It was grossly unfair and largely accounts for Richard being the way he is.’

  Nigel lifted an eyebrow. ‘Which is?’

  But that was carrying confidentiality too far. Anyway, Richard had been far less repressed in the last few weeks, with wholly delightful results.

  ‘Interesting!’ she said.

  It was when Nigel had gone to lunch and she was alone in The Gallery that the mysterious Bernard put in another appearance. Victoria felt a stab of alarm before remembering he’d no idea she knew who he was or that she might recognize him.