Chapter 29
For Lily, the walls of the dam containing more than a hundred years of secrets, hopes and fears breached as she cried into Lola’s shoulder. She finally knew for certain that her father was alive, but she was now even more desperate to see him.
Lola sat back and took Lily’s face in her hands, her eyes taking in every detail.
“Lily,” she said, “it’s still so unbelievable. Look at your skin, your hair! Everything about you is younger than me!” She shook her head and smiled. “I should be very jealous. I can see time passing every time I look in the mirror these days, but for you, that’s a totally unknown experience!”
Lily laughed as she wiped her eyes with a tissue. “In the early days, before I understood what was going on – not that I understand it now, but at least I’ve accepted it – I spent hours scrutinising my face and my body. I was desperate for wrinkles, for a grey hair! Can you imagine?”
“Bizarre. But you can perhaps understand why I was so sceptical when John told me his story. It’s too crazy for words. I mean, for you to be a hundred and twenty-four is one thing, for John–”
She caught the question in Lily’s eyes as she spoke.
“Oh my God, you don’t know how old he is, do you?”
“How could I? When Papa and I were separated in 1905, he had told me nothing. I don’t think he ever even told my mother.”
Lola stared at her, her normal flippancy gone. “It’s sounds so strange to hear you call him ‘Papa’.”
“I’ve never thought of him otherwise. That’s what he is: my papa.”
Lola smiled at the thought. “Your mother. What was she like?” she said quietly.
“I was only nine when she died, but my memory of her is that she was lovely. A typical Cantonese mother in many ways – fussy, bossy, quite strict. But very loving, and she adored Papa.”
Lola smiled wistfully. “Of course, he wasn’t John then, was he?”
“No, he was Stephen Waters. My original name was Waters Lei-li, or in Cantonese, Shui Lei-li.”
“That’s beautiful. What was he like?”
“A lovely, gentle man. I remember him mostly dressed in a sort of Westernised adaptation of Chinese clothing, but also in the rather stuffy fashions of the British colonial 1890s.”
“How amazing!”
“But you were right just now, Lola. I don’t even know how old he is. I assume you do.”
“From what he’s told me, yes, and now I’ve no reason to think it isn’t true. Let me see, I’m useless with numbers. He said he was born – this still sounds so ridiculous – in 1427. So that makes him–”
“Five hundred and eighty-two!” gasped Lily. “My God, am I going to live that long?”
“Barring accidents, why not?”
“What do you mean?”
“Well, John has always taken great pains to explain to me that he’s not immortal, that he can be killed like anyone else. In fact, he had two sons who were like him and like you, but they were both killed.”
“When?”
“Long before you were born, Lily. One of them in the French Revolution. I can’t remember about the other one, except that he was murdered.”
“Oh, Lola, that’s terrible. They were my brothers. Do you know if there are any others, others like me?”
“John thinks that Phoebe is – he says it’s because of her health and her eyes, which I find all rather disturbing. I mean, you expect – want – your children to outlive you, but to think that one of them might live for hundreds of years, perhaps even more, it’s too much to take in.”
She paused, distracted.
“I think there was only one other, a daughter, hundreds of years ago. John never met her and he’s not even definitely sure she was like you. But the thought of her still worries him if he dwells on it. Do you have a good memory, Lily?”
“Yes, I do, incredibly good. I can remember things from throughout the whole of my life as if they happened yesterday. In great detail.”
“John’s the same. I think he very often goes back to the past in his mind; the memories are so strong. I sometimes nag him when he’s clearly somewhere else. I shouldn’t really, poor man, his head must be so full of history.”
“But,” she said, snapping out of her nostalgia, “his memory isn’t brilliant today. Where the hell is he? He’s never this unreliable. What a day to choose – the day when his long-lost daughter turns up!”
She picked up her phone and tried her husband’s number again. No answer.
She started the engine. “We’d better get back to the gallery; there might be a message from him there and we have to get your stuff.”
As they walked through the gallery door minutes later, Lola saw the red message light blinking on the phone. She hit the play button.
‘Lola? Are you there? It’s Jennifer. Can you pick up? Or if not, call me as soon as you get this? It may be nothing but I saw your car by the road on Back Lane. In the middle of nowhere. The door was unlocked but there was no one around. Is everything OK?’
Lola checked the time of the call. Six twenty-six. Only a few minutes after they’d dumped Lily’s luggage and she’d locked up the gallery. It was now seven thirty.
Lily stopped what she was doing with her luggage and hurried over to Lola.
“Who was that?”
“Jennifer Craington. She’s an artist friend. Lives up in the hills above Derwent Water. Fairly potty. I’d be surprised if she could recognise her own car if she drove past it, let alone ours. I’ll call her now.”
As she turned, the phone rang again. Lola checked the number and hit the handsfree button.
“Jennifer! Sorry, I was literally picking up the phone to call you. I’ve only just got your message.”
“Sorry, Lola, I’m sure it’s nothing. But when I saw it, I was worried. I thought perhaps you’d broken down.”
“You’re sure it was our car?”
“Yes, I recognised the damaged bumper from when John had that fight outside the Green Man.”
“It wasn’t a fight, but it sounds like our car. Where exactly was it?”
“On Back Lane, about halfway along, where the road rises. There’s a gated lane on the right going up to the old quarry. Your car was there, just off the road.”
“I know where you mean. You say the door was unlocked?”
“Yes, and the keys were still in the ignition. Do you want me to go back, or to fetch you?”
“Thanks, Jennifer, that’s very kind, but I’ve got a friend with me who’s got a car. We’ll go straight over there now.”
“OK, Lola. I hope everything’s all right.”
“Back Lane?” said Lily, as Lola rang off.
“It’s a minor road near our cottage. I often use it as a short cut to avoid Keswick if I’m going to Penrith.”
“Oh,” said Lily, none the wiser. “Well, we’d better get straight over there.”
“Yes,” replied Lola distantly.
“You look worried, Lola. Do you think there’s a problem?”
“I don’t know. John is very fastidious about locking the car. He would never, ever, walk away from it with the keys in the ignition and the doors unlocked.”
She looked over at Lily’s luggage.
“We’d better sling your stuff back in your car, anyway,” she said, without any enthusiasm. “The B&B’s in the same direction.”
“Forget my stuff; we’ll get it later,” said Lily. “We need to get over to the car. And this time, I’ll drive; I think I’ve got the idea now.”
She had. They jumped into the car and raced out of the village back in the direction they’d just come from. Shortly before the turning they’d taken earlier to the Andrews’ cottage, Lola pointed out a fork to the right.
“That’s Back Lane,” she said.
Lily braked hard and swung the car across the road.
“You certainly are getting the hang of it, Lily,” said Lola, hanging on tightly to her seat. “I imagine driving around New
York with you is quite an experience.”
Lily laughed. “Speedy Saunders, they call me!”
Two miles along the road, they saw the Volvo. Lily pulled up a little way back from it and they got out. Lola marched off in the direction of the car, but Lily called out for her to stop.
“We should check around the car, not disturb anything.”
“Why?” frowned Lola. “What do you think’s happened?”
“I don’t know, but I think we should be careful.”
“Well, Jennifer was here before us so it’s already disturbed,” pointed out Lola.
“Even so,” cautioned Lily.
A padlocked metal gate barred the track leading off the uphill side of the road. There was a ‘No Access’ sign to one side. The fence that ran along that side of the road was overgrown with brambles, while behind and below them, running along the downhill side of the road, was a stream: St. John’s Beck.
Lola peered through the car’s passenger window.
“Jennifer was right,” she said. “I can see the keys. And there’s John’s phone! It’s sitting in the well between the seats. No wonder there’s been no answer.”
“Look at this, Lola,” called Lily from beyond the front of the car. Lola walked along to where she was standing.
“Look! See those tyre prints in the soft ground? They’re from big tyres, must have been a sizeable vehicle, like an SUV – an Explorer or something.”
“Right little Sherlock Holmes, aren’t you?”
Lily nodded absently as her eyes continued to scan around the area. “I never was much of a scientist, but I love all those crime scene shows on the TV.”
“They leave me cold, I’m afraid,” said Lola, puckering her lips. “What does it mean?”
“Well, the tyre prints are fresh. Could Papa have driven here and then gone off in another car?”
“Why would he do that?”
“I’ve no idea. Lola, do you think we should call the police?”
“The police?”
“Yes. Something’s not right here. I mean, think about it. We have Papa disappearing from the exhibition with some stranger but then instead of going on to the gallery, they’ve driven here where your car’s been abandoned with the keys and Papa’s phone left in it. And there are definite signs of another car, a big one.”
Lily saw the look of fear in Lola’s eyes and realised she’d made her point rather forcefully. “Look,” she said, putting a hand on Lola’s arm, “that sounded a bit alarmist. There’s probably some perfectly rational explanation.”
“No,” said Lola, shaking her head. “You’re absolutely right. We should call the police. God, you don’t think John’s been kidnapped, do you?”
“Kidnapped! Why?”
“I don’t know. A lot of strange things have been happening lately.”
“What sort of things?”
“Odd people turning up at the gallery, asking questions about John. Wanting samples from him. Asking difficult questions about his work, linking it with some of his earlier work from years ago.”
“You mean like I did in the States? From before he was John Andrews?”
“Yes. It worried John because, unlike you, they weren’t people who should know.”
Lola took out her phone. “What am I going to say?”
“Tell them your husband’s gone missing and you’re worried. Tell them that you’ve found his car abandoned.”
Lola sighed. “I know the police. They’ll be all condescending and tell me not to worry while thinking he’s gone off with his girlfriend.”
“Call them, Lola.”
Lola looked at the phone. “I can’t just call 999. They’ll think it’s a prank.”
“If that’s like our 911, then, yes, you can. Here, let me do it.” She held out her hand for the phone, but Lola kept hold of it, shrugged her shoulders and punched the numbers.
“Hello, er, police please. Yes. I want to … what? My name? Er, it’s Lola Andrews. Mrs. Yes. It’s about my husband. What? Um, Thirlmere View Cottage, Pott’s Lane, near Legburthwaite. What? What’s happened to him? I’m trying to tell you! Look, I know this sounds crazy, but I think he’s been kidnapped. Yes, kidnapped. Where? I’m on Back Lane, er, the B5322, north of Thirlmere. His car’s here, abandoned, and the keys are in it. I’m really worried. Can you send someone? OK, yes, I’ll wait here. No, I won’t touch anything. Yes. Thank you.”
She rang off.
“Why do they make you feel like a criminal?”
“Shall we sit in my car while we wait?” suggested Lily.
Lola nodded and they walked back to the car. Lily opened the passenger door for her and Lola slumped into the seat.
“What did you mean by ‘samples’ just now?” asked Lily as she sat in the driver’s seat.
“Samples? Oh, yes. There was a young woman who turned up at the gallery pretending to be interested in John’s paintings, but then she said she wanted a sample for DNA testing.”
“For DNA testing? What, out of the blue, she turned up and asked him for a sample?”
“No, not out of the blue. She’d tracked him down. John’d had to give a sample to the police. Somebody had driven into him in the car park outside a pub near the gallery and there’d been an argument. But the police officer who turned up decided it was a fight and he arrested John and the other bloke. They both had to give samples for DNA testing.”
“Wow! I’d heard the laws in your country were pretty strict, but I didn’t know they could do that.”
“Yeah, bloody police state.”
“So who was this girl?”
“She was the scientist who tested his DNA. She said it was pretty unusual and she wanted to do some more tests.”
“They give out your names as well?”
“No, they certainly don’t. She was way out of line and John told her so. Sent her packing. But she bought a painting, one of John’s old lady ones. Then, coincidence again, a chap turned up a few days later saying he was an expert in forgery and asking John all sorts of questions about copying paintings. He spotted the similarity between John’s work and Moretti’s and commented on it to John.”
Lily stared at the car in front of them.
“Do you think all this might be connected?”
“It could be, but I don’t see how.”
“No, nor do I. You know, I don’t think we can tell the police much of this. They’d want to know what was so special about Papa, and we certainly can’t tell them that. They’d think we were crazy.”
“Yeah, probably suggest he’d been kidnapped by little green aliens.”
Lola frowned. “You know, the other thing that’s odd is John was in Keswick and apparently heading for the gallery. He wouldn’t come this way. And even if he did, the car’s facing in the wrong direction. It doesn’t make any sense.”
They both started as they heard a siren getting louder as a police car raced down the lane from behind them.
They got out of the car and waited while PC Jeff Roberts put on his cap and got out of the patrol car.
“I can see they’re really taking this seriously,” said Lola quietly to Lily, “sending the village bobby.”
“Mrs Lola Andrews?” asked Roberts, looking at a form on a clipboard as he walked towards them.
“Yes,” said Lola.
“And?” he said, looking at Lily, his eyes wandering over her figure.
“Lily Saunders. Mrs.”
“So, what’s all this about a kidnapping, Mrs Andrews?”
He paused. “Andrews? What’s your husband’s first name?”
“John.”
“Artist? Likes his drink?”
Lola sighed, “You’re not going to tell me you were the one who arrested him in Grasmere a few weeks ago, are you?”
“That’s confidential information, madam, I can’t answer that.”
“I think you just have,” she said.
Once they had shown Roberts the unlocked car, taking great pains to
explain how careful they had been not to touch anything, he started to take their worries seriously. He asked Lola if she had a spare key. She found it in her bag and gave it to him. He carefully opened the boot, sighing quietly in relief when he saw there was no body in it. He called in to his control and was given his orders: touch nothing and wait for CID to arrive.
The duty CID inspector from Keswick arrived within twenty minutes along with a female sergeant. They were sympathetic but doubtful about the possibility of a kidnap. Knowing about the fight, they asked about John’s drinking habits but Lola explained that he hardly drank at all. Nevertheless, PC Roberts was despatched to check the muddy lane beyond the gate and to walk down to the river. He returned saying there were no fresh footprints and no sign of anyone.
After much questioning and form filling, they began to wind up.
“A lot of people go missing, Mrs Andrews, for all sorts of reasons. We normally don’t do anything for at least twenty-four hours, unless there’s good reason to.”
“Such as?” asked Lola.
“Well, if it was a kidnapping, the kidnappers would likely be in touch fairly quickly about a ransom.”
“A ransom? We don’t have any money.”
“So you’ve said, Mrs Andrews. And you can’t think of any other reason why your husband would be kidnapped?”
“None at all.”
“Your husband does know your mobile number, doesn’t he, madam?”
“Of course he does.”
“It’s just that with speed dialing and phone memories, a lot of people don’t know numbers you’d think they would know. I can never remember my wife’s phone number.”
“He knows it, I’m sure.”
“Well, in case they phone your house, assuming that you’re right and this is a kidnapping, I suggest you return home and wait. I can arrange for your gallery phone to be diverted to your home as well, if you like. Then all calls can come to one place.”
“I can do that myself, inspector, I’ll only need to call into the gallery on the way home and press a couple of buttons.”
“If you do hear anything, Mrs Andrews, please let us know immediately. And if your husband calls from anywhere …”
“I understand what you’re saying, inspector, but I know he hasn’t run off with his fancy woman. Trust me.”
“I’m sure you’re right, madam,” he said, without conviction.
He gave her a card. “Meanwhile, I’m afraid you can’t have your car until the SOCOs have had a look at it. That won’t happen until tomorrow. If I could borrow your spare key, I can lock the car, so it should be safe enough. I’ll get PC Roberts to photograph those tyre prints so we can find out what sort of car left them.”
It was after ten thirty and the long summer evening’s light had almost gone. As Lily drove Lola back to the gallery to set the telephone and to collect her luggage, she noticed Lola was wringing her hands with worry.
“That was some ordeal, Lola. I think we both need a drink. Look, it’ll be OK, you know.”
“I don’t know; the more I think about it, the more I worry.”
Lily thought back through their conversation of earlier.
“These people you mentioned, the young woman who turned up asking about DNA, and the forgery expert who noticed the similarity between Papa’s paintings and the Morettis, d’you know if they left their names or contact numbers?”
“No, I don’t. If they left business cards, John will probably have chucked them where he chucks all cards – in a big box in the counter drawer. It’s his filing system.”
Lily smiled. “I think we should take a look. If there are numbers, one or both of them might well be worth talking to.”
When they arrived back at the gallery, Lola checked the telephone for messages, but there were none. She pressed a few buttons to divert calls to her home.
“Where’s this box of calling cards?” asked Lily.
“I’ll fetch it, and I’ll get John’s address book as well. Sometimes he writes phones numbers in it in his elegant copperplate.”
Lily laughed. “Just like mine, by the sounds of it. He taught me!”
“Listen,” said Lola. “Let’s take the box and the address book back home. I really need a drink and there’s nothing here.”
She laid a hand on Lily’s arm. “Lily, I’m feeling really twitched by all this. Would you mind staying the night at our place? There’s plenty of room and I’d really like to have someone there.”
“Of course,” said Lily. “But I doubt I’ll sleep much. What with jetlag and all that’d happened, I’m running on pure adrenaline, but some red wine would help.”
Lola smiled. “Thanks. I’ll call Madge Cooper and explain.”
Arriving back at the cottage, there was a note from Kitty to say the girls were sleeping at her house.
“That’s good,” said Lola, checking her watch. “I won’t disturb her now; she goes to bed quite early.”
They suddenly realised they were both starving, so while Lola put together some bread, pickles and cheese, Lily went where she was directed to fetch a bottle of wine and poured them both a glass.
They settled on a large soft sofa in the living room. Lily put down her glass and pulled over the box of name cards. There were dozens. She took out a handful and flicked through some.
“Pass me some,” said Lola, holding out a hand. She studied the names. “I don’t know why John keeps these things; they must go back years. He never does anything with them.”
“Well, let’s hope his hoarding comes up trumps,” replied Lily, tossing the ones she’d read into the upturned lid.
After a few minutes, Lily found what she was looking for. “This could be one of them,” she said, holding up the card. “Does the name ‘Claudia Reid’ ring a bell?”
“Yes, I think that was her,” said Lola, looking up.
Lily read from the card. “‘Claudia Reid, B.Sc.; Ph.D. Senior Biochemist, Forensic Science Service, West Midlands.’ Is that far away, Lola?”
“About three hours’ drive, at a guess. Two, the way you drive. Are there any phone numbers?”
“Yes, there’re a couple of office numbers with extensions, but there’s no cell number.”
She turned the card over. “Oh wait, there’s another number handwritten on the back. Is that a cell phone number? – I don’t understand the system in your country.” She handed the card to Lola.
“Yes, it is,” said Lola. “P’raps she fancied John and gave him her personal number.”
“Perhaps she thought he might change his mind and offer a sample, and she wouldn’t necessarily want to take that call at work,” suggested Lily. “Hand me your phone, Lola, I’ll try calling this number. We can see what this Dr Reid has to say for herself.”
Lola checked the time. “It’s nearly midnight, Lily.”
“Look, Lola, if she’s involved in all this, she hardly going to be tucked up in bed; she’s going to be talking to Papa about whatever it is she wants.”
“In which case, she’s hardly going to answer the phone.”
“Won’t know till we try. But my thought process is that if she’s not involved, unless she’s out partying, she might be in bed asleep. If it seems that we’ve woken her up, that would kind of indicate she’s not involved.”
Lily punched in the number into Lola’s cordless house phone. After six rings, a sleepy voice answered. “Hello?”
Lily smiled at Lola, putting her hands together by her head to mime someone sleeping.
“Am I speaking with Dr Reid?” she said.
“Yes,” came the cautious reply.
“Dr Claudia Reid?”
“Yes. Who’s calling?”
“I’m a friend of John Andrews.”
“John Andrews?” The tone was guarded.
“Yes, John Andrews. The artist. I believe you’ve had some dealings with him.”
“Well, I bought a painting from him. When I was in the Lakes.” The voice was more alert now. �
��I bought a painting at his gallery. It was a portrait that reminded me of my grandmother.”
Too much information, thought Lily. This girl’s worried.
“You didn’t only buy a painting from him, Dr Reid, did you? You took some photographs of other paintings in his gallery. His daughter saw you.”
“Yes, I did. So what? That’s hardly a reason to call me up in the middle of the night.”
“You’re a DNA specialist aren’t you, Dr Reid?”
Silence.
“Dr Reid?”
“Yes.”
“What’s your main area of interest in that field – research?”
“Yes and no. I mean, I do some research, but my main work is DNA profiling. Look, what’s this all about? Who are you?”
“Have you tested John Andrews’ DNA, Dr Reid?”
“I, er, no. I mean, I don’t know. I have no way of telling. The samples we test aren’t identifiable to an individual. It’s all part of the confidentiality of the system.”
“So you’re saying that when you, as a DNA specialist, turned up at John Andrews’ gallery to buy a painting and photograph others, that was all a coincidence, was it?”
“Yes, it was. Why shouldn’t it be? I have an ordinary life outside the laboratory just like other people. Why shouldn’t I go to an art gallery and buy a painting?”
“Why would John have your business card?”
“I often leave my business card when I do business with people.”
“And scribble your private number on the back?”
“Yes. I don’t like using my work phone for personal calls.”
“You were expecting a personal call from John?” Lily looked across at Lola as she said this. Lola raised her eyebrows.
“No, I–”
“Dr Reid, I don’t believe you. I think you tested John’s DNA and you found it to be odd, unusual, different in some way. You then used your connections to find out who he was and contacted him. Isn’t that illegal, Dr Reid?”
There was no answer.
“Dr Reid. Would you answer me, please?”
“Look, who are you? Will you please explain why you are making this call in the middle of the night?”
“John Andrews has gone missing, Dr Reid.”
“Missing?”
“Yes, it looks like he might have been kidnapped. So I think you have some explaining to do.”
“Kidnapped!” She sounded genuinely shocked to Lily’s ear. “What do you mean, ‘explaining’?” She was indignant now. “I don’t know anything about any kidnapping. When did this happen?”
Lily could hear the worried tone in Claudia’s voice through the protests.
“It happened earlier on this evening. The police are involved. He was taken from his car and they are searching for fingerprints as we speak. We’re seeing the police first thing in the morning to tell them all we know about his recent dealings – customers and so on. And we’ll certainly be mentioning your name.”
More silence. “Look, I told you, I know nothing about any kidnapping and I’d really rather you didn’t mention my name to the police, at least until we’ve had a chance to talk some more.”
“Why are you so worried about the police being told your name, Dr Reid?”
“I think you know very well,” muttered Claudia, guiltily. “Listen, where are you?”
“I’m at his cottage with his wife. More to the point, where are you?” said Lily.
“I live in Warwickshire. If I leave now, I could be with you in about three and a half hours, especially at this time of night.”
“You’re coming straight away?” asked Lily, surprised.
“If you think John Andrews has been kidnapped, then you don’t want to waste time. I’ll be there. How do I get to the cottage?”
“I’ll pass the phone to John’s wife to give you directions,” said Lily.
Rare Traits (The Rare Traits Trilogy Book I) Page 30