Imogen! Where are you? What’s happened?? Vince is going mental. He’s terribly worried. So am I. Are you all right? Are you upset about anything? He went to the police and they said there was nothing they could do, but he’s going back to them and I think he’s right because you might have chucked your job and whatever but you can’t possibly be all right. Why would you do this? Why? You have a perfect life. You’ve always said so. I know things might have been a bit rocky lately because Vince told me about you trying for a baby with no luck so far. I’m so so sorry. Maybe IVF could help? Oh Imogen, I’m hoping that you’re alive and OK and that I’m not sending an email you’re never going to read!!! Please please call me. Whatever’s happened we can work it out. If you’re upset about something else we can fix it. I know we can. Vince is devastated. Totally. And so am I. I’m really really worried. Why didn’t you tell me what you were going to do? I’d have helped. Or something.
Call me.
Love
Shona xxxxxxx
And then:
From: [email protected]
To: [email protected]
Subject: Missing Person??!!??
OMG, what’s happening? Got a call from a woman from a missing persons helpline. She said you’d phoned and told her to tell me you were OK and that you were starting a new life. A new life??? What does that mean? Why won’t you call me? I can’t believe you’re doing this to me. Or to Vince. He’s beside himself with worry. Beside himself! Look, whatever’s the problem, you can tell me and we’ll work it out. Even if it has something to do with Vince. Especially if it has. **ck him if so. We’re girls. We’re mates. We’ll stick together. Call me. Please. Talk to me. We can fix this.
Shona xxxxx
Imogen nibbled at her nail as she read the messages again and again. She could feel Vince’s rage radiating from the screen. She supposed he was also angry that she’d given Shona’s name as a contact to the Missing Family people and not his. She hadn’t wanted them to talk to him. Just in case he’d wheedled some additional information from them. Not that there was anything to wheedle, but still – she didn’t trust him and she didn’t trust herself.
And as for his comments to Shona about a baby … She might have guessed he’d try that again. He liked suggesting to people that she wanted to get pregnant, or that she might even be pregnant, even though she knew he didn’t want a baby because that way he would no longer have her undivided attention. And she didn’t want one either because a child would have made things worse, as well as linking her to him for ever.
She exhaled slowly. She felt bad about not having confided in Shona, but the thing was, somewhere along the line, her friend had become Vince’s friend too. They’d occasionally send each other jokey texts, usually about dogs, because Shona had a gorgeous boxer and Vince had owned one as a kid. The boxer connection was one of the reasons why Shona was the only one of Imogen’s friends that Vince approved of. Her former college friends had been weeded out, although Imogen hadn’t really noticed it happening at the time. But later, after she’d come up with the Plan, she had been afraid that Vince had got inside Shona’s head in the same way he’d managed to get inside hers. Because that was what he did. He was fun and charming and great to be with and you couldn’t help agreeing with him over one thing and then another, until one day … Imogen’s teeth snapped over her nail and bit right through it. Until one day you were the person he decided he wanted you to be and you wished you’d never met him. And the only way of breaking free was running away.
Chapter 12
Vince had been utterly furious when Shona told him about Imogen’s call to the Missing Family Foundation.
‘She phoned complete strangers to say she was OK? And they called you and not me? What the fuck!’ he raged.
‘I’m sorry,’ she said miserably.
‘I’m going to call them myself!’ Vince jabbed the disconnect button and phoned the number she’d given him. When he got through, he asked to speak to Ellie.
A softly spoken woman came on the line and listened to him as he demanded to know where Imogen was.
‘I’m really sorry, Mr Naughton,’ she said, ‘but I can’t tell you that.’
‘You bloody well can!’ cried Vince. ‘She’s my wife and I’m entitled to know.’
‘Our service is completely confidential,’ said Ellie. ‘But in any case I don’t know where she is; that’s not a question I asked her.’
‘Why the hell didn’t you?’
‘All we’re concerned with is passing on a message from a loved one,’ said Ellie. ‘To put your mind at rest about their safety.’
‘My mind isn’t at rest,’ said Vince. ‘It’s about as far from at rest as it’s possible to be. Did she say at least whether she was in Ireland or not?’
‘No,’ said Ellie.
‘Why does everyone think it’s OK to keep information from me?’ asked Vince. ‘I’m her husband, for God’s sake!’
‘I’m sure Imogen will come back when she’s ready,’ said Ellie. ‘People often do. She could simply need her own space for a while.’
Vince snorted and ended the call.
He decided to go back to the garda station and demand they look into her disappearance. Sinead Canavan, the same female garda he’d spoken to when he’d first reported Imogen missing, came to talk to him again. The police were already aware that Imogen had been in touch with the Missing Family Foundation, so Sinead pointed out that as his wife was obviously alive and well, there was nothing the gardai could do.
‘It doesn’t matter that she’s mentally unstable?’ asked Vince. ‘That doesn’t worry you in the slightest?’
‘I asked you about her mental state before and you told me she wasn’t under medical care,’ Sinead reminded him.
‘Well, no. She’s not officially bonkers,’ said Vince.
The garda raised an eyebrow.
‘She’s … well, she needs me,’ he said. ‘She can’t cope without me. She’s hopeless on her own. Utterly hopeless.’
‘Yet she’s made contact and has assured people she’s well. She resigned voluntarily from her job. She’s withdrawn money from the bank account. I’m sorry, Mr Naughton, but there’s nothing more we can do.’
‘How do you know her resignation was voluntary?’ demanded Vince. ‘She might have been pressurised into it.’
‘By whom?’
‘I don’t know!’ he cried. ‘The people who blackmailed her into taking money out of our account in the first place? Someone connected with the company she works for? A criminal gang? It’s your job to work that out.’
‘I do sympathise with your very understandable distress,’ said Sinead. ‘But we followed up on your original report by contacting her ex-employer. Our investigations don’t lead us to think a crime has been committed.’
‘Every bloody day I see notices and news about people who are missing. You put up photos of old ladies and kids, but for my wife, nothing at all?’ Vince was furious.
‘Mr Naughton, as I already told you, people sometimes just need a break. It’s upsetting, I know, but this seems to be one of those cases. We’re not concerned for Imogen’s safety because she’s let people know that she’s OK. That’s why we’re not actively looking for her.’
‘Do you already know where she is?’ demanded Vince.
The garda shook her head. ‘I’m sure she’ll get in touch with you when she’s ready. Please don’t worry.’
‘Don’t worry! Don’t worry!’ he cried. ‘How can you sit there on your lardy arse and tell me not to worry when anything could have happened to my wife?’
Sinead ignored his insult and spoke calmly. ‘We’ve done all we can at this point. If you have further reason to believe that Mrs Naughton is at risk, or if you have additional information to give us, we’ll be happy to help you. But in the meantime, there’s nothing I can do.’
Vince stared wordlessly at her before storming out of the station. He got into his car and revved the engine, angry with the
police and even angrier with Imogen. How dare she do this to him? How dare she?
When he got home, he sat in front of the laptop, willing her to send him a message so that he could respond to her straight away. He was certain that if he could talk to her, even by text or email, he’d be able to put a stop to this nonsense. But there was nothing, and his anger ratcheted up another notch.
He was still angry when he called to see Shona the following day.
She invited him in and made coffee while he raged about the intransigence of the missing persons woman and the incompetence of the gardai.
‘Nobody will look for her,’ he said. ‘I’m going to have to try to find her myself.’
‘How?’ she asked.
‘You suggested social media. I know she’s deactivated it, but her Facebook page would still be there. I could try hacking into it. D’you know her password?’
‘Of course I don’t! What I meant by using social media was you putting out something on your own page,’ Shona said. ‘Or setting up a page saying she was missing and asking for help in tracing her. Although I’m not convinced about that now that she’s been in touch. Putting something up might scare her off. Make her feel under more pressure.’
‘I’m fed up with everyone talking about the pressure she’s under,’ said Vince. ‘What about me? What about the pressure I’m under?’
Shona said nothing.
‘I know. I know. She’s upset.’ He sighed. ‘It gets her off the hook for everything. Anyway, on the Facebook thing, what I was thinking is that she could be in contact with someone she knows. And they might send her a message. And I can intercept it.’
‘She won’t be expecting a message if she deactivated her account.’
‘True, but—’
‘But even then you shouldn’t even dream of doing that,’ said Shona firmly. ‘Besides, the gardai are probably right. She might need a bit of time to herself, especially if she’s upset about the pregnancy. The most important thing is that she’s OK, otherwise she wouldn’t have rung that Missing Family place. At least she did that.’
‘Big deal,’ he said. ‘Telling some stranger she’s alive but not her own damned husband.’
‘I emailed her and didn’t get a reply either,’ Shona reminded him. ‘You’re not the only one she’s avoiding.’
‘If she does get in touch with you, let me know straight away.’ Vince didn’t say that he’d already accessed Imogen’s email account and seen Shona’s messages.
‘Yes.’ There was a certain reticence in her voice and Vince heard it.
‘She’s not well, Shona. She needs help.’
‘Or time.’
‘Anyone who disappears from home needs help,’ said Vince. ‘And although you might think that it’s me she’s run away from and not be prepared to help, I can assure you that I’ve only got her best interests at heart.’
‘Oh Vince, I know that.’ Shona’s tone was heartfelt. ‘Of course I’ll help you in any way I can.’
He gave her a wan smile. ‘I’ll keep looking to see if I can find anything at home that’ll point me in the right direction,’ he said. ‘You’d think that the digital age would make things easier, but it doesn’t, exactly because Imogen kept everything on her phone and she didn’t back it up. I’m still hoping to unearth a phone number for her aunts in the States. I reckon they’re the people she’s most likely to get in touch with.’
‘Agnes and Berthe?’
‘Berthe, given that Agnes is away with the birds now,’ said Vince.
‘Don’t worry them too much,’ advised Shona. ‘Don’t say she’s missing. Just that she’s gone off for a few days and you’d like to know if she’s gone to them.’
‘I need to find her for her own good,’ said Vince. ‘And I’ll persuade Berthe of that.’
‘If I hear anything, I’ll tell you,’ Shona told him. ‘I promise.’
‘Thanks.’ Vince stood up and gave her a hug. ‘You’re a proper friend to her. She never appreciated you.’
Shona’s eyes welled with tears. And yet she also couldn’t help feeling a stab of guilt. Because surely if she’d been the friend that Vince said she was, Imogen would have been able to confide in her. Or at least call her and not that Missing Family crowd. Why hadn’t she trusted her? What was she afraid of? And what had gone so wrong in her marriage that she believed she had no choice other than to disappear without a trace?
Despite Shona’s reservations, Vince tried to reactivate Imogen’s Facebook account when he got home, but failed utterly in his attempt. Then he had the idea of searching for members of her stepfamily on the site. To his immense satisfaction, he eventually found the profile of a Cheyenne Scott who lived in London but who also listed Dublin and Birmingham as previous places where she’d lived. The profile picture was of a daisy, which wasn’t much help, but when he checked her photos, he saw one of Cheyenne and Imogen at Cheyenne’s wedding. He punched the air with his fist and then sent a message to her explaining that Imogen was missing and that he was doing his best to trace her. He ended by leaving his mobile number and asking her to call him. He also sent her a friend request, because he knew the message might otherwise end up in her spam folder.
He picked up the phone and called Shona. Her voice, when she answered, was sleepy, and Vince glanced at his watch, surprised to see it was nearly midnight.
‘I’m sorry if I’ve disturbed you,’ he said.
‘Has she been in touch?’ asked Shona.
‘No, but I found Cheyenne and I’ve sent a message to her.’
‘Well done you! Has she any clue about where Imogen is?’
‘She hasn’t replied yet, but hopefully she will soon and we can resolve this without any more fuss. Maybe that stupid woman at the gardai was right too. It is a family thing. She’s gone off for a few days and Cheyenne might know where.’
‘Vince, you have to be understanding whatever Imogen’s done,’ said Shona.
‘I’ll never understand it.’ Vince sounded suddenly grim. ‘But I’ll forgive her, because I always do.’
‘Jeepers, does she do that much that needs your continual forgiveness?’
‘I always forgive her, no matter whether it’s something big or small, because I love her.’
‘Oh Vince.’
‘I love her,’ he repeated. ‘I don’t want anything to happen to her.’
‘For the first time since this all happened, I’m beginning to think that it’ll be OK,’ said Shona. ‘I really am.’
‘I bloody well hope you’re right,’ said Vince.
Shona was wide awake after Vince’s call. She wanted to do the right thing for Imogen and for Vince. As far as she was concerned, Imogen had the right to leave, but she’d gone about it the wrong way. All she’d managed to do was worry everyone, especially her husband.
But surely she didn’t intend to walk away from her home and hide from everyone she knew for ever? Shona knew that Imogen didn’t have a lot of money, so how would she live? She didn’t want to read a story in the papers about an Irishwoman who’d ended up in the gutters of Paris. Or anywhere else for that matter. But Imogen wasn’t stupid. Sure, she depended on Vince for lots of things, but she wouldn’t have disappeared without some kind of plan. How long had she been planning for? How many times had she sat opposite Shona laughing and chatting while inside her head she was thinking about running away? Perhaps she’d had a job lined up to go to. Perhaps it would all work out fine for her.
Or perhaps it wouldn’t.
I’m still her friend, thought Shona, as she picked up her phone. I still care about her even if she doesn’t give a damn about me.
She decided to send both a text and an email.
Please call me, she typed. I’m glad you’re all right but I need to know what’s going on.
Then she turned out the light. But it was a long time before she fell asleep.
Chapter 13
At the start of her second week working for René Bastarache, and the third si
nce she’d left home, Imogen glanced at her list of cleaning jobs and then at René himself. Her usual array of holiday apartments had been replaced by three houses headed Permanent Residences. But it was the name and address of the third house that caused her to look at René questioningly.
He’d clearly been expecting a reaction from her, because he smiled and said that they had decided she was too good a cleaner to waste on the holiday lets. They were moving her to the permanent homes instead.
‘People who live here all year round?’ she asked.
‘But of course. That is what permanent means,’ he replied. And then he shrugged. ‘At least, almost all year. Sometimes they are families who live in Paris or Nantes or somewhere but have a home here for the entire summer. They are not properties rented out to clients. On that list …’ he glanced at his own copy, ‘the first belongs to the Landrys. They live here all the time and are very good customers of ours, because they also own an apartment that we rent on their behalf, so we want your best work for them. It will take you between two and a half to three hours for that house. For the other two, they are holiday visitors who spend the entire summer and most of their other vacations here.’
‘And have they arrived yet?’ she asked.
‘The Blanchards at Le Petit Nuage are here, yes,’ he said. ‘The family at the Villa Martine were here for a week and have gone back to Paris, but they expect to return soon, so they asked that the house be cleaned as soon as possible. There will be laundry too, Imogen. You will bring the towels and sheets here and we will have them done. When they’re here for the summer, they do it themselves. Madame likes the sheets to be dried in the open air when possible.’
If it was the Delissandes, Imogen knew that already. She remembered Lucie Delissandes telling Carol that the sun infused the sheets with light and the fresh air gave them a clean scent. She recalled her mother pegging sheets on the line and then smiling as they billowed out like white sails in the breeze. She wanted to ask René if the family still owned the house, but she knew the question would freak him out. But what if it had been Lucie and Denis who’d spent the previous week there? She could have bumped into them in the town. The thought made her go hot and cold. Would she have recognised them? Would they have recognised her? They’d be in their late fifties or early sixties by now, but she felt sure that she would have known them straight away. They, however, couldn’t possibly have recognised her. She looked at the sheet of paper again. How on earth would they feel about the daughter of their ex-housekeeper being their cleaner now? What sort of weirdness was that?
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