‘We are exploring that possibility. It would help us if we could speak to Justin.’
‘Yes, I’m sure it would. But I repeat, Inspector that I have not seen my son. Now if you’ll excuse me, I have more pressing matters to address.’
‘I’ll show you out,’ said Jacobsen, a heavy frown on his face. Clearly he would get his due chastisement later from his boss for having wasted his time.
‘What could be more pressing than to find your son if he’s been missing for the last ten years?’ said Tara as they strolled towards Chancery Lane Station. ‘Did you notice that twice he said he hadn’t seen his son? He didn’t say he had no contact with him, that he hadn’t spoken to him, or that he didn’t know where he was.’ Reluctant to share with Callum, she realised Sir Edward Kingsley’s response could well fit with the fact that his son was no longer listed as a missing person. Parents and son might well be in regular contact, but was Justin deliberately hiding from the rest of the world? If that were true, what were his motives for doing so?
The tightness in her stomach, she was sure, would be with her for the remainder of the weekend until she returned to work. There was no doubt in her mind that Sir Edward Kingsley was the kind of man who followed up on things. She was certain he would contact someone back home, the Chief Constable, for instance, and Tweedy would get to hear of it. Callum seemed all fired up to be finally involved in the hunt, but she had messed up badly right at the start. He had done okay; she should have kept her mouth shut.
CHAPTER 25
Neither of them knew London particularly well. Tara had made several visits during her time at Oxford, and a couple of shopping trips with the girls since her return to Liverpool. Callum and Tilly had begun to pay more frequent visits, particularly after Tilly had been published, when she came up for meetings with agents and editors. Tara thought they would be better off leaving the car outside the city and travelling in by train or tube, so she had parked at Heathrow, lifted a map from a tourist information stand and negotiated their way around the city using the underground. They travelled from Chancery Lane to Tottenham Court Road and, from there, walked to Bedford Square, to a building housing the private offices of Georgina Maitland. At least this time they had something resembling an appointment, she thought. She worried now that Callum was over-optimistic that a woman who headed a business empire would spare the time to meet with an old chum from Oxford. Already nervous about meeting Georgina Maitland, the experience at the chambers with Kingsley had her insides hopping and her head pounding. She managed to tidy her makeup, straighten out the creases in her dress and brush her hair, before Callum quite boldly strode to the front door of the terrace and pressed the buzzer. He seemed relaxed and curiously elated by the prospect of meeting his friend.
‘Don’t forget, Callum. This time you really are on your own with Georgina. She can’t be told that I’m a detective, understand?’
‘I get you.’
When the buzzer sounded allowing them to enter, he placed a hand on her back and guided her inside. Tara had imagined the place to be a frantic nerve centre of the Maitland business empire. Instead, she found the reception area in which they stood to be quiet and bright, with two girls seated either side of a sturdy old desk, one speaking on the telephone, the other working at a computer. Callum explained to the girl at the computer, a pleasant and plump red-head, who they were. She immediately lifted a telephone.
‘Georgina, your friend Callum Armour is here,’ she said in a slightly rounded but easily recognisable Glaswegian accent.
‘Georgina is ready for you,’ she said putting down the phone. ‘If you’d like to follow me.’
The girl led them up a flight of stairs, clinically white from the walls to the balustrade, the starkness broken only by pieces of brightly coloured abstracts on the walls. She opened a panelled door, entered and held it open for Tara and Callum.
‘Callum! My Belfast Boy!’ Tara was a bystander to the reunion as Georgina shuffled precariously in very high heels from the window, around her desk, to throw her arms over Callum.
‘Hello, Georgina, it’s good to see you.’
‘I’ve missed you so much, darling.’ They kissed on both cheeks and hugged tightly. ‘Bring some tea please, Katrina.’ The red-head girl acknowledged the instruction with a smile and closed the door on her way out.
‘Georgina, this is Tara Grogan, a good friend of mine.’ Tara flushed instantly.
‘Wonderful to meet you, Tara.’
‘And you,’ Tara replied. ‘Callum has told me great things about you.’ She was dying to say I’m a big fan of your underwear, and my best friends think your clothes are fantastic, but she hadn’t come to praise her. Georgina’s appearance could not have been further removed from what Tara had expected. She recalled so many pictures in magazines, appearances on TV shows, and on each occasion a stunning presentation of clothes, hair and make-up. Except that the fact she was standing in her private office, and only for that fact, Tara would not have picked Georgina out of a police line-up, or even judged her a runner-up in a Georgina Maitland look-alike contest. Tall and slender as she already knew, but painfully thin, unhealthily so. Long-legs perched on blue shoes with enormous heels, she stood in a white smock tunic, a blaze of tropical colour on a band around a low-neck line. The exposed part of her chest was heavily tanned, but freckled to the line of her breasts which looked as though they’d had some enhancement. Her legs appeared rather spindly under white cropped leggings. But it was the face that beckoned most of Tara’s gaze: a long jaw-line, perfect teeth and steely-blue eyes that engaged whoever cared to look into them. Georgina’s face was quite beautiful, and seemed to care what you thought of it, at the same time oozing delight for whatever was going on in her presence. Her hair, dead straight, shoulder-length and a reddish-brown, was markedly different from what Tara had last seen in a magazine belonging to Kate.
Georgina took hold of Callum’s arm and sat him down on a studded brown-leather sofa. Tara was left to sit opposite in a club armchair. The office had a very traditional, antique feel about it, oak panelling and regal-looking wallpaper. Not the type of place she associated with this woman at all.
‘It’s so good to see you,’ she said. ‘I think about you every day, you know? And Tilly, of course.’ Her expression rocked from sheer delight to chronic sadness and back again in a single breath. ‘Poor Tilly, I miss her so much.’ She smiled at Tara. ‘But look, you have someone new… and beautiful.’
‘No,’ said Callum, jumping in hastily. ‘It’s not like that. We’re just good friends.’
‘Well you need to get a move on. I’m sure Tara isn’t going to wait on you forever. You need to let go, darling. Tilly would never have wished you to be on your own. And what do you do, Tara?’
The question came suddenly. She had to think of something.
‘I work in promotions. In Liverpool. Concerts, shows, exhibitions, that kind of thing.’ She reckoned Aisling wouldn’t mind her borrowing her identity for a bit.
‘Tara was at Latimer,’ said Callum. Not what she would have wanted him to say next, but it was too late.
‘Really? Same time as us?’
‘No, I graduated six years ago.’
‘My word. It’s been ten years since we finished. Imagine that, Callum?’
There was a knock on the door and Katrina entered carrying a large tray with silver tea-pot, china mugs, and rather spectacular looking cup-cakes with beautifully ornate decorations. She placed it on the coffee table between the sofa and Tara’s chair.
‘Thanks, honey,’ said Georgina. The girl smiled and left without a word.
‘So tell me, Callum, I was so excited when I heard you wanted to meet up. I haven’t seen you since…’
‘Tilly’s funeral.’
‘Yes. Worst day of my life.’ She pulled a tissue from a wooden carved dispenser on the table and dabbed at her eyes. ‘Sorry. I’m completely useless.’ She squeezed Callum’s arm. He leaned towards her, kissing her gentl
y on the cheek. ‘I miss her so much, you know,’ she said once more but directly at Tara. ‘And to what do I owe this rare pleasure my Belfast Boy?’ Again, before anyone could reply, she rolled into another spiel. ‘We gave him that name. Tilly, Charlotte and me. Our Belfast Boy. You were like a new puppy that first day we met at Latimer. All alone, no one to talk to. Lucky we found you?’
Callum smiled. Embarrassed but admiring nonetheless. Tara could sense he was going over things in his head, hopefully preparing to ask the questions she had told him to.
‘Did you hear that Peter Ramsey was killed?’
‘Yes, poor Peter. Terrible thing to happen. It said in the papers the killing resembled the murder of Thomas Becket. Who would do such a thing?’
‘There are a lot of very disturbed people out there,’ said Tara, suddenly realising it sounded like something the police would say.
‘Tony was devastated. Did you make it to the funeral?’
‘Bit far for me,’ Callum replied.
‘We were both out of the country. I sent flowers.’
‘Then Zhou Jian was killed in Switzerland.’
Georgina frowned, looking puzzled by the name, but Callum sensed her confusion. ‘He was a friend of mine really.’
‘Oh yes. I remember him. Didn’t we call him our Beijing Boy to go with our Belfast variety?’ Callum smiled warmly.
‘He was murdered, too, Georgina.’
‘Really? How shocking. You don’t think there’s a connection by any chance? With Peter, I mean?’
‘Four people are dead.’
‘Four?’
‘Tilly and Emily.’
‘Oh, darling, I’m so sorry. Yes, of course, Tilly and little Emily. But that was a terrible accident.’
Tara watched Georgina closely; she wasn’t so much overbearing as completely over-powering. But Callum sat in awe. How had he survived three years of her?
‘I don’t think so,’ he said.
‘But the inquest? It was declared an accident.’
‘I think their deaths have something to do with Justin.’
‘Justin?’ Georgina laughed and placed her hand on Callum’s thigh. Tara thought it quite nervous laughter. ‘But he’s been gone for at least ten years, darling.’
‘That’s why I’ve come to see you, to ask if you’ve seen or heard of him recently?’
‘Please, Tara, help yourself to some tea. Callum, you should do mother.’
Callum duly obeyed and poured the tea into three delicate Aynsley mugs.
‘Try a cup cake. It’s part of my new range, very fruity.’
Callum helped himself, and Tara felt obliged to join in, choosing a cake with a pale green topping and a sprinkling of what appeared to be cranberry pieces.
‘That’s key lime and cranberry,’ said Georgina, who refrained from eating her own fayre. Tara hoped Georgina hadn’t forgotten the answer to the question she seemed to be avoiding. But the bubbly woman happily took up the thread once again.
‘I think about Justin often, but I’ve not seen or heard of him since the night he walked out.’ She reached for another tissue. ‘Sorry. I’m such a blub.’ She did the eye dabbing thing again. ‘But why do you think Justin has something to do with these deaths?’
‘I’m not sure,’ Callum replied. ‘Perhaps a grudge of some kind.’
‘The only person he could have a grudge against is me. How could you think he would ever harm Tilly? Anyone who ever met her would never wish to hurt her. If you believe that someone killed her, that it wasn’t an accident, then it must have been a total stranger, a mad man.’ She threw her arms over Callum, sobbing into his shoulder. When finally she released him she attempted a change in subject. ‘Tell me, what are you doing with yourself these days? You don’t look at all healthy.’
‘Not much. I went back home to Liverpool two years ago. My father was ill, and I needed to look after him.’
‘And since then? Are you still working on that Nobel prize?’
He smiled at her joke and shook his head.
‘I’ve told you before; you can always come and work for me. I’ll soon find plenty for those idle hands.’
Tara reckoned Callum had bottled out of asking any more probing questions. She decided to weigh in.
‘We were wondering if you know of any reason why Justin left the way he did?’
Georgina glared icily at Tara, looking stunned by the pertinence of her question.
‘We were all having a great time,’ said Callum. ‘Then he upped and left.’
Georgina bowed her head slightly, fiddling with her crumpled tissue.
‘Justin and I had broken up before then, Callum. I hadn’t told anyone except for Tilly. I wasn’t going to come on that blasted ski trip, but she insisted things would be fine. I’d thought Justin and I could still be friends.’ She sighed heavily. ‘Sometimes you can’t paper over the cracks.’
‘Do you think that’s why he left, because of your break-up?’ Callum asked.
‘To get back at me? Who knows? Didn’t bother to leave a note or tell anyone where he was going.’
‘Do you believe he is still alive?’ Tara asked.
‘What a marvellous girl you’ve found in Tara, Callum. Only a dear friend would take such interest in your past.’ She proffered the tea pot, but neither one accepted. ‘That’s more than enough of all that tragedy. It’s been really wonderful to see my Belfast Boy after such a long time. Please, Callum, think about my offer; it would be a fresh start for you, new beginnings and all that.’
Georgina got to her feet, and it signalled, certainly to Tara, that their time was up. No matter how informal their meeting it was still, for Georgina, a meeting.
‘I would really have loved for us to get together this weekend. You, me, Tony, even Charlotte and Ollie, but I’m afraid we’re off to the country. Tony’s family seat and all that aristocratic nonsense.’
Callum nodded and smiled, while Tara recalled something she’d read about Georgina. She also had some wealthy blood in her veins.
‘I count myself lucky to be included in any of my husband’s schedule these days. I thought I was the busy one. But can’t look a gift horse and all that. Have to cherish our brief moments together. So what are your plans, Callum? Are you staying in town for the weekend?’ She gazed impishly at Tara.
‘Actually, we were hoping to speak with Anthony. Thought you might be able to help on that score.’
‘Oh dear. Hard to pin down these government ministers.’ She looked deep in thought for a moment then caught hold of Callum, slipping her arms around his neck. Once again Tara was the bystander. ‘Look, we’re supposed to be having dinner together this evening. It’s a charity thing, celebs and all that tosh. Sorry I can’t manage a ticket, but I’ll try and steal Tony away before the thing starts, and maybe you can have a quick chat.’
‘That would be great, Georgina, thanks.’
‘Can’t promise he’ll shed any more light on the topic of Justin, but I’m sure he’d be delighted to see you again. Give me your number, and I’ll call you.’
Since Callum did not possess a mobile phone, Tara wrote down her number on a sheet of Georgina Maitland personal stationery.
‘Before you go, I have something for you, Tara.’ Georgina went to her desk and retrieved a hard-bound book with her picture on the dust cover. ‘My latest.’ She quickly scribbled something on the first page and gave it to Tara. ‘I hope you like it, and perhaps find it useful.’
‘That’s very kind, thank you,’ said Tara, opening the cover of Live Your Life to view Georgina’s inscription. ‘Best of Luck, Tara,’ it read. Underneath she’d signed it ‘Georgina.’
CHAPTER 26
Georgina was true to her word and within an hour had her PA, Katrina, called Tara with the address of a restaurant in Covent Garden and a time of precisely seven-fifty.
‘We have a few hours to kill,’ said Callum, a peculiarly different Callum. ‘Do you think we can manage to get hold of Ollie Rutherford
?’
They were re-tracing their steps to Tottenham Court Road Station. Tara’s feet were beginning to throb. High heels were more of a rarity for her these days. Thank goodness, she thought, for flat heels in her normal day job. If she still had a job by next week.
‘I’ll leave that decision to you,’ she said curtly.
‘What’s wrong? Did you not like Georgina?’
‘Well, I can see how she’s got to the top in business, especially the lifestyle business. She was upbeat about everything, even when she was supposedly crying her eyes out. Hard to find that degree of optimism in my game.’
‘She is great though.’
‘Has the knack of controlling a conversation, except when I asked a question. She didn’t like that. Did you see the look she gave me? And she managed to avoid answering.’
‘We didn’t learn much, but at least you got to meet her.’
It was going to be difficult getting him to say anything negative about Georgina.
‘Actually, I think we’ve learned quite a lot,’ she said to deliberately contradict him.
‘You do? Like what?’
‘I think we can be certain that Justin Kingsley is still alive.’
‘Why do you say that?’
‘Georgina’s reluctance to answer the question. If she really believed Justin was dead, surely she had nothing to lose by saying so? If she believes that he is still alive but has nothing to back it up, considering they were close once, you’d think she would have jumped to defend her theory. Instead, she side-stepped the question completely. I think she knows that Justin is very much alive, but she doesn’t want us to find him. And one more thing, as far as the UK police and Interpol are concerned, Justin Kingsley is not listed as a missing person. For some reason, unknown, I think he is merely lying low.’
‘So therefore I’m right; he is the killer?’
‘I didn’t say that.’
She gave Callum the use of her phone to make contact with Ollie Rutherford. By the time they’d reached the tube station he’d arranged to meet up for drinks at a pub off Charing Cross Road. Apparently, Ollie was bound for an evening at the theatre with his girlfriend. Callum and Tara were welcome to join him in his pre-theatre drinks session.
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