The restaurant obviously did more trade in the evenings than at lunchtimes. A couple of travelling businessmen sat in one corner, talking in hushed tones. Joe indicated to the waiter that they wanted to sit as far away as possible. They chose a table next to a tank full of giant carp. Joe ordered him and Doris a set meal. He noticed that Doris winced and clutched her chest every so often. She seemed determined to overcome the pain, not to allow it to be an embarrassment.
‘I only live in one room,’ he explained as they waited for the food to arrive. ‘There isn’t any space for you.’
‘I cook for you. I clean for you. I shop for you. I do all your chores for you. Wash your socks and your underpants.’ She put her hand over her mouth to try to stem her own giggles. She seemed quite confident that she would be able to wear him down, that everything was going to be all right, now that she had her own personal guardian angel.
‘I’m sure you would do all these things, Doris. The problem is where you would stay. There are no spare rooms in the flat.’
‘I just need piece of floor. I don’t need bed. Or I sleep in your bed, American Joe, and serve you there as well.’ She giggled again. This time at his obvious embarrassment at the suggestion. ‘You not like my idea?’
‘It sounds great, Doris. But maybe not that practical.’
‘You have girlfriend?’
‘No.’
‘You not like girls?’ She seemed surprised but not shocked.
‘Yes,’ he laughed. ‘I like girls.’
‘Well, then?’
‘I have a better suggestion of what we might be able to do.’
‘Why you not have girlfriend, handsome guy like you?’ she asked.
‘I just got divorced.’ Joe was keen to get off such personal areas.
‘You fall off horse you should get right back on. Otherwise you be walking for rest of your life.’
‘Where’d you get that from? Your grandmother’s knee?’
‘Clint Eastwood movie, I think. Or maybe, John Wayne.’
Their food started to arrive and from the speed with which Doris laid into it, Joe guessed that she hadn’t eaten properly for some time.
‘I write books,’ Joe said after a while. ‘That was why your friend in Eaton Square contacted me.’
‘Doris?’
‘Yes. She wanted me to write her life story for her.’
‘You gonna do it?’
‘I can’t find her. I think it’s possible she’s been killed.’
Doris didn’t look up for a moment, just kept ladling rice into her mouth as if she hadn’t heard.
‘Do you think that’s possible?’ Joe persisted. ‘Might the people who brought you to England have killed her?’
‘Max could kill anyone.’
‘What about Maisie Martin and her husband? Have you had anything to do with them?’
She shook her head. ‘Heard of Maisie. She find jobs for my friends. Max says he want to keep me because I was the best servant he ever had. So, you not going to write Doris’ story, then?’
‘How about if I was to write yours?’
‘Make me famous?’ She gave a broad smile, her eyes sparkling. ‘On all the television shows?’
‘Perhaps.’
‘Make lots of money?’
‘Make a bit. Anything I received for the story I would give you half. In exchange you tell me all about yourself – truthfully. You tell me about your parents and family, about your life in Manila and how you ended up in London.’
‘I tell you my story.’ She seemed to be trying to get the whole idea straight in her head. ‘And you turn it into a book with a picture of me on the cover?’
‘That would be it, pretty much.’
‘I live with you while I tell you life story?’
‘We’ll sort something out.’
‘Deal, American Joe.’ She held out her hand with a flashing smile which Joe could imagine warming the hearts of the Piper publicity team.
The moment they stepped into Joe’s room, Doris started putting things straight.
‘You have clean bedclothes?’ she asked, fingering the sheets on the bed suspiciously.
‘No,’ Joe said. ‘I just take them down to the launderette every so often.’
‘I take them for you.’
‘No!’
Doris jumped at the abruptness of his tone, like a dog which was used to being beaten by its master. She shrank back from him and waited for his next order.
‘No,’ he said, more gently. ‘You are not to be my servant. You are my friend.’
‘Okay,’ she said, moving towards the bed and kicking off her shoes.
‘Doris.’ He took her by the shoulders and held her still. ‘Just a friend. Not a lover. Just a friend.’
A look of hurt puzzlement flitted across her face. She looked down at her flat chest and sighed. ‘Is it because Doris has no boobs now? I can still please you. Pleasure guaranteed.’
‘It’s nothing to do with that,’ Joe assured her. ‘I think you’re very beautiful.’
Doris’ face brightened again.
‘Come on,’ Joe said. ‘I’ll make you a cup of tea and we’ll get to know each other better.’
Annie and Cordelia were both in the kitchen. It looked as if they had been deep in conversation. Annie was sitting at the table. She had her hair up in curlers and was in the middle of doing her make-up in the mirror. Cordelia was painting her nails alternately black and white. Joe made the introductions and forced Doris to sit down with them as she started to attack the stains on the top of the cooker with a grubby looking pan-scourer from the sink.
The girls talked as Joe made everyone tea and coffee. Eventually Annie asked Doris where she was staying.
‘Well,’ Joe interrupted. ‘That’s kind of a problem. She doesn’t have anywhere at the moment. I guess she can sleep on my floor until we think of something.’
He noticed that Annie gave Cordelia what he could only have described as a ‘knowing’ look and Cordelia seemed to stiffen.
‘A bit cramped for that, isn’t it?’ she said.
‘It’s been done before,’ Joe replied. ‘Hugo and I managed it when you were staying.’
‘I think we can do better than that for Doris,’ Cordelia said. ‘At least on a temporary basis. I have the use of a flat up in the West End. It’s for Dad’s foreign business contacts to stay when they’re in London, but there’s no one there at the moment.’ She turned to Doris. ‘You’d have to get out on the nights it was needed, but that isn’t that often. You could come here and use my room on those nights. I often don’t get back here anyway.’
‘You very kind.’ Doris grinned happily. ‘I clean and tidy your flat and your room, scrub them top to bottom.’
‘You should be resting, not trying to clean the whole of London,’ Joe said, putting a mug down in front of her.
‘I’m okay,’ Doris waved his protest aside.
‘Have you been ill?’ Annie asked.
‘Doris had an operation last week,’ Joe said. ‘She should be resting.’
‘I had lumps in my breasts,’ Doris said, matter-of-factly. ‘The doctor cut them out.’
‘Christ Almighty!’ Cordelia said.
‘Were they benign?’ Annie asked, mascara brush halfway up to her eye.
‘Oh, sure. All better now. But no big tits any more.’ Doris gave a tinkling laugh, partly at her own wit and partly at the amazed look on the two English girls’ faces.
Cordelia was serious about her offer of accommodation. A couple of hours later she and Doris climbed into Joe’s car and they headed up towards the West End.
‘You’ve got to get some better wheels than this, Joe, mate,’ Cordelia grumbled as she perched uncomfortably in the passenger seat. ‘This is not going to do your credibility any good at all. It’s a bleeding old grandma’s car.’
‘I know,’ Joe agreed. ‘It was an emergency purchase. Once I’ve got some money through from the publishers I’ll get something a bit less embarrassing.’<
br />
‘You should talk to Dad,’ she said. ‘He’s got lots of contacts in the motor trade. He could fix you up with a nice little BMW convertible or something. Hugo’d love that.’
‘I’ll talk to him,’ Joe promised.
‘I should hope so.’
The block of flats which she led them to in Gloucester Place was like a cross between a medieval fortress and an old-fashioned cruise liner. A uniformed porter sat behind a magnificent wooden reception desk and gave a small salute as Cordelia swept in.
‘Hello Bernie,’ she said. ‘This is Doris. She’s going to be staying in the flat for a few days. Make sure she’s okay, won’t you.’
‘I will, Miss Jones,’ he assured her, and Joe thought he detected a hint of a blush on the old man’s cheeks.
‘Dad said to say hi, Bernie,’ Cordelia said. ‘He wanted to know if you’re happy with the job.’
‘Very happy, tell him,’ Bernie said, half standing up and inclining his head respectfully at the mention of Len.
‘Brill. See you later,’ Cordelia called back cheerfully as they got into the lift.
‘My God, Cordelia,’ Joe exclaimed as she threw open the door to the apartment. ‘Why do you come slumming in Earls Court when you could be here?’
‘I like seeing you,’ she said and then thought better of it. ‘This is for clients really. But I don’t see why Doris shouldn’t use it in her hour of need.’
Joe wandered across the polished wooden floor to wide French windows that led out onto a balcony, looking across the rooftops to the trees of Regent’s Park. Cordelia led Doris through to the bedroom, showing her where all the light switches were as she went, like a hotel busboy. Joe followed them, stunned by the luxury of the place, which Cordelia and Doris both seemed to take so for granted.
‘What sort of clients does Len entertain here?’ he asked as he saw the massive master bed. ‘Presidents?’
‘Don’t show yourself up, Joe-boy,’ Cordelia sniffed, and led Doris on to the bathroom.
Once the tour was over, Cordelia handed a key to Doris. ‘All right, Joe. You can take us both out for a pizza and then it looks to me as if Doris here could do with some shut-eye.’
Later that night, as they drove back to Earls Court, Joe put forward a suggestion that had been growing in his mind.
‘If that apartment is empty all the time,’ he said. ‘Do you think I could use it during the day to interview people?’
‘What sort of people?’
‘Well, Doris for one, and Rod Miller.’
‘Oh yeah, ’course you can. Dad’s always had a soft spot for Rod.’ She put her hand on his thigh and squeezed it affectionately. ‘You’re a mystery to me, Joe-boy,’ she said.
‘In what way?’
‘How come you haven’t jumped on me yet? I’ve talked to Annie and she says you haven’t jumped on her either, and you didn’t seem to be in a hurry to crawl between the sheets with Doris. You can’t be gay, because of Hugo, unless you’ve had a change of heart. Is that it? Is Angus the new love of your life?’ She let out a raucous bellow of laughter.
‘I guess I’m still a little raw from my marriage break-up,’ Joe said. ‘Nothing personal to any of you.’
‘Oh, well,’ she sighed, ‘as soon as you feel less raw, you just give me a shout.’
Joe concentrated hard on his driving.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
Joe and Rod had already been talking for two hours when Fliss’ call interrupted them. They had spread themselves out on the sofas in the Gloucester Place living room and Doris had been ferrying coffee and biscuits in to them from the kitchen. She seemed to be in seventh heaven, humming to herself as she polished and scrubbed already gleaming surfaces, and cleared out already immaculate cupboards. The tape recorder was running and Rod’s memories were flowing like water.
Joe was not pleased to hear Fliss’ voice at any time, but particularly when he was working.
‘He’s disappeared,’ she said.
‘Who’s disappeared?’ Joe asked, praying she might be talking about Paolo, but already fearing the truth.
‘Hugo’s disappeared. They were on a field trip or something in Brighton and he vanished.’
‘Oh, shit.’
‘The police are co-ordinating the search from the school because they reckon that’s where someone will phone if they find him.’
‘I’ll go straight there. Do you need a lift or anything?’
‘No. Paolo will fly me down in the helicopter. It’ll be quicker. Do you want us to pick you up from somewhere?’
‘No. It would take too long to arrange. I’ll meet you there.’
He hung up and swore. The thought of Paolo swooping to the rescue of his son at the controls of a helicopter was almost more than he could stand. He forced himself to think positively. If it got Fliss there quicker it was worth it.
‘My son’s gone missing in Brighton,’ he told Rod.
‘Brighton?’ Doris had appeared in the doorway to the kitchen, drying her hands on a tea towel, fear in her face. ‘Max?’
‘Max?’ Joe remembered the last time he had seen Max, felled and bleeding. God knows how angry he would have been when he came round. But how would he ever make a connection between an American who was showing an interest in Doris and a small English prep-school boy?
‘I don’t think so,’ he said. ‘He’s probably just wandered off.’
‘Brighton bad place to wander,’ she said.
‘I’ll have to go down there,’ he said to Rod, packing his stuff into his case as he stood up, his hands working on automatic pilot as his brain rushed to cope with all the thoughts and fears attacking it simultaneously.
‘I’ll drive you,’ Rod said.
‘No. It’s okay. I’ve got a car.’
‘I’ve seen your car,’ Rod said. ‘I’ll drive you. You’re not in a good state to drive anyway. Come on.’
‘Good luck,’ Doris called at their departing backs. ‘Find him safe.’
Joe was glad that Rod had insisted on driving. He wanted his mind free to go over every possible scenario of what might happen next. Rod drove like a policeman in a chase scene, with his foot flat on the floor, weaving and pushing his way through the traffic. Other cars just seemed to give way before the force of his personality and the mighty roar of his engine. The speedometer hardly ever seemed to drop below sixty, even as they dodged their way through south London. Joe kept seeing helicopters overhead and imagining that they were carrying Fliss and Paolo. He pictured them blowing up and falling out of the sky in a fireball. Then he erased the thought. He didn’t want to deprive Hugo of his mother.
‘Most kids who get lost are found within a few hours,’ Rod said. ‘They only want a bit of freedom and then someone spots them. Maybe he just lost the group.’
‘That’s possible,’ Joe said. ‘He does live in a world of his own. But he’s not happy at this school. He might want to run away.’
‘What do you keep him there for, then?’
‘I’m not sure,’ Joe admitted. ‘I’ve been kind of steamrollered into it.’
‘It’s a private school, right?’
‘Right.’
‘And you’re the one paying the bills?’
‘Right.’
‘Then take him out if he’s not happy.’
‘I did ask him and he said he wasn’t sure he would be any happier anywhere else. Said he didn’t think he was a “school type of boy”, or something.’
‘Sounds like a pretty self-aware kid,’ Rod said, his eyes fixed on the road as he swerved past someone hogging the fast lane.
‘Sometimes.’
‘We’ll find him. Don’t worry.’
Joe nodded and went back to staring at the sky.
The police at the school seemed to recognise Rod as one of their own, even without knowing who he was. It was something about the confidence with which he walked into their midst in the headmaster’s sitting-room, the way he phrased the questions, firing them out like r
ounds of ammunition. They all knew they were dealing with someone who had been in these sorts of situations before. A professional.
Joe could see Paolo’s helicopter parked on the lawn outside, surrounded by an admiring group of boys. The man himself was sitting with Fliss, his arm around her shoulders, a theatrical expression of anxiety on his handsome, tanned face. Fliss looked pale and seemed to be shaking. She was smoking and her coffee cup was rattling in the saucer as she held it on her lap.
‘He just vanished,’ the headmaster was saying. ‘The teachers were herding them into the Regent’s Palace and when they counted heads, ready to go on the tour, they were one short. It seems he must have decided to take himself off on some sort of adventure.’
‘Have you any idea why your son might do this, Mr Tye?’ a policeman asked.
‘He was being bullied,’ Joe said.
‘Oh, I don’t think so,’ the headmaster, an elderly man with an overly groomed nautical beard, who Joe took an instant dislike to, spluttered. ‘We don’t allow that here. We’re very hot on it.’
‘Well, that’s what he told me.’
‘Children can sometimes be very oversensitive, looking for attention, playing on the guilty consciences of the parents…’ the headmaster was blustering on.
‘You asked me why he might go off. That is the best reason I can think of,’ Joe snapped.
‘He never told me he was being bullied,’ Fliss said and Joe could hear a catch in her voice. She was exercising every ounce of self-control not to fall to pieces.
‘Perhaps he didn’t have an opportunity to tell you,’ Joe suggested.
‘We’ve got him,’ a policeman on a telephone shouted over the general noise. ‘A boy answering his description has been picked up on the pier. They’re bringing him in.’
Paolo let go of Fliss in order to applaud and she collapsed forward, sobbing into her hands. The headmaster rescued her coffee cup just before it toppled. Joe wished he could put his arm round her. He wished they could be a united front on this, for Hugo’s sake. It would be so good for the boy to find both his parents waiting for him together. Rod must have been thinking something similar.
‘That your machine?’ he asked Paolo, gesturing towards the lawn.
‘Yes,’ Paolo nodded proudly.
Pretty Little Packages Page 13