Catherine put down the phone. When she saw him she’d be able to tell much better how things stood, but she must be careful not to give the impression of suspecting something was wrong. And at least he’d be seeing Jenny over the weekend. Perhaps, she thought on a sudden surge of hope, her daughter-in-law had come to her senses and decided to put some distance not between herself and Daniel, but herself and Paul. Which could only be a good thing.
Feeling determinedly more cheerful, Catherine switched on the television and settled down to watch the news.
‘I was speaking to Barnie the other day,’ Rona commented to Max on Friday evening. ‘Dinah’s getting uptight about Mel’s baby, which is due in a couple of months. I said we’d invite them for a meal, to take her mind off it.’
‘Fine,’ said Max from behind his newspaper.
‘So, when shall we make it? Have you any preference? A Friday or a weekend?’
Resignedly he put the paper down. ‘Depends if you’re thinking of lunch or an evening meal. But I hope the occasion won’t be dominated by baby talk!’
‘I’ll try to get it over quickly. According to Barnie, Mel insists she’s fine, but Dinah’s ready to pack her bags and fly out at a moment’s notice.’
‘Go for Friday, then, and leave the weekend free. We’ve nothing on next week, have we?’
‘Not so far. OK, I’ll suggest a week today.’
‘Barnie’s not trying to wheedle you back to Chiltern Life, is he?’ Max asked idly. ‘That’s not why he phoned you?’
‘No, actually I phoned him. About the school photo.’
‘What school photo?’
‘The one Lindsey gave me, of course. The one she rang up about last week. You were there at the time.’
‘I make a point of not listening when you talk to Lindsey. Anyway, I was cooking dinner. Come to think of it, though, I did hear something about a school where your mother’s friends went.’
‘Yes, Springfield Lodge, which is now a hotel. I told you I went there myself on Wednesday.’
‘To see one of Elspeth’s paintings, yes. But you never mentioned a photo.’
‘Well, it’s no big deal. Someone at Lindsey’s book group gave it to her to see if she could identify anyone – or rather, if I could.’ She pulled a face. ‘My reputation going before me.’
‘An old photo?’
‘Yes, 1951. Why I should be expected to do any better than anyone else, I can’t imagine. Still, I’m not going to bother any more.’
‘So what was so special about it?’
‘One of the staff had been rather viciously inked out, and the woman who owned it, and who has since died, nearly had a heart attack when she saw it again. Her daughter, whose husband is in Lindsey’s book group, is curious to know why.’
‘And Barnie couldn’t help?’
‘No, and nor could Tess. She suggested I try the Internet.’
‘Surely, in this day and age, the family concerned have already done that?’
‘They looked up the school, yes, but couldn’t find any trace of it. I don’t know if they looked for photographers; I’ll suggest it to Lindsey, but I’m not going to waste any more time on it. I’m trying to concentrate on Elspeth, and at the moment I’m being distracted on all sides, what with Lindsey and the photo, and Magda and her dreams.’
‘Magda’s dreams? You’re talking in riddles this evening!’
‘We met for coffee, as I told you. She’s been dreaming of people she doesn’t know, as we all do, but now she’s freaked out because she saw someone in the street whom she’d dreamt about and didn’t think she knew. I told her to take sleeping pills.’
‘Good advice,’ said Max, and retired again behind his paper.
SIX
Dominic Frayne stood at his penthouse window, staring over the sloping green of the park to the roofs and steeples of Marsborough beyond.
In the bed behind him, Carla Deighton, his personal assistant, stretched her arms above her head. ‘What kind of day is it?’
‘Glorious,’ he replied without turning. ‘Not a cloud in the sky.’
‘And it’s Saturday. Are you seeing Lindsey?’
‘Yes, I’m flying her over to France.’
‘Just as well she can’t see us now!’
‘I’m not married to her,’ Dominic said shortly.
Carla had worked for him for almost eight years, making herself indispensable in both his business and private life; it was she who bought cards for his ex-wives and reminded him of his offspring’s birthdays. Occasionally they spent the night together, usually when he was fraught over a business deal, often while they were abroad. And, crucially, when she left him the following morning, their relationship instantly reverted to employer and employee and the incident was never mentioned. He had come to value what he regarded as these therapeutic sessions; they enjoyed each other’s bodies, and there were no emotional complications.
The arrangement suited Carla equally well. She liked and admired her employer, finding him stimulating both mentally and physically, and these infrequent comings together augmented her own sporadic and discreet affairs. In the past, she’d booked many a romantic weekend for Dominic and his current mistress, but she was aware that, although he was not one to commit himself, his relationship with Lindsey Parish was of a different order. Consequently she’d been surprised when, the previous evening, he’d phoned down to her flat on the floor below and invited her upstairs. She’d wondered if things between him and Lindsey weren’t working out, but his plans for the weekend seemed to discount that.
Hers not to speculate, she thought philosophically, and, sliding her feet to the floor, reached for her clothes. Her shower would, as always, be taken in her own flat.
At the bedroom door she paused, looking back. Dominic was still at the window, his mood hard to gauge.
‘Have a good weekend,’ she said.
‘What’s this – an example of modern art?’
Clive Gregory, about to open the fridge, had paused to survey the picture held to its door by magnets. It depicted a square house with a slightly off-centre roof, in front of which stood four stick figures, laboriously and unevenly labelled ‘Mummy, Daddy, Me, Archie’.
Sarah Lacey, coming up behind him, laughed. ‘Pretty traditional, isn’t it? It’s amazing how kids of all generations produce identical artwork at the age of five or six. In this case, the artist is Ben Coombes. Do you know him? His mother, Lucy, is on the PTA, and they live just round the corner. I know I’m not allowed favourites, but if I were, Ben would definitely be top of the list.’
‘Yes, I know Ben – an engaging kid.’ Clive was a sports master at the same school. He opened the fridge door and took out a bottle of milk. ‘So, what’s on the cards today?’
Sarah sobered. ‘I promised Dad we’d go over to Stokely and see what furniture and stuff he’s earmarked for me. I’ve been putting it off, because I don’t want to see the old place stripped of everything that made it home, but he’s anxious now to empty it.’
‘We haven’t room for any more furniture,’ Clive said doubtfully.
‘Not here, no, but we won’t be here for ever, and there are things I definitely want to keep. We can put what we choose in storage, separate from Dad and Avril’s.’
‘Will they be there too?’ Clive asked, pouring out his cereal.
‘No, they can’t do any more till we’ve been. It’s better by ourselves, anyway; it’ll give us time to think up a tactful excuse, if we don’t want everything he’s put aside.’
‘OK’ said Clive equably, ‘you’re the boss.’
It had been a wonderful weekend, Lindsey thought contentedly, as Dominic’s chauffeur-driven Daimler drew up outside Richmond House, where he had his flat. Having left her car there the previous day, she would spend the night with him and go straight on to work the next morning.
‘So,’ he said, a little later, handing her a drink and settling beside her on the sofa, ‘what did you enjoy the most?’
/> ‘Hard to say,’ she replied, ‘it was all perfect.’
A hired car had met their early flight, and having arranged to meet the pilot at five the next evening, they’d driven to Honfleur to find the Saturday market in full swing – glowing piles of fruit and vegetables, fish, chickens, eggs, and all the dairy produce for which Normandy was famous. To Dominic’s amusement, Lindsey had insisted on buying a selection of cheeses and some butter for good measure.
She had been charmed by the picturesque port, the ships with their coloured sails, and the tall, slate-fronted houses, familiar from paintings by Monet and Boudin. They had visited old churches, wandered round the Musée Boudin, dined regally on superlative seafood, and made love in a hotel that looked like a chateau.
‘It was all perfect,’ she repeated, adding, ‘That’s the second time we’ve been to Normandy; is it your favourite part of France?’
‘Not necessarily, but being a mere hop across the Channel it’s ideal for a day out or a weekend visit.’
‘Romantic or otherwise?’ she asked teasingly.
‘As you say.’
‘I bet I’m not the first you’ve taken there!’
He smiled and sipped his drink, piquing her curiosity.
‘Am I?’ she persisted.
‘What do you want me to say?’
‘The truth!’
‘Then no, I have to say you’re not.’ And won’t be the last seemed to hang in the air between them.
Lindsey bit her lip. ‘No doubt,’ she said tightly, ‘all efficiently arranged by the inestimable Carla?’
Dominic shrugged. It was true this was normal practice, and though on this occasion he’d made the bookings himself, he was damned if he was going to tell her.
Lindsey stared mutinously into her wine glass. She’d always been jealous of Carla – cool, blonde, unflappable, and – even more unforgivably – close to Dominic. From a remark he’d made in the early days, she’d gathered they’d occasionally slept together, and though she’d assumed this intimacy to be in the past, it seemed suddenly imperative to confirm it.
‘Have you ever taken her?’ she demanded abruptly.
There was a pause. Then: ‘To France? Many times, on business. And to Italy, Germany—’
‘On a romantic weekend?’
He raised an eyebrow. ‘Is it any of your business?’
Ignoring the warning note in his voice, Lindsey persisted. ‘Yes, I think it is.’
‘Don’t do this, Lindsey,’ he said quietly.
‘But I’m interested to know. After all, you told me yourself you’ve slept with her.’ She turned to him, incipient jealousy, combined with tiredness and too much wine, sweeping caution aside. ‘So tell me: when was the last time?’
For a long moment their eyes held, while Lindsey’s blood rushed in her ears and she wished, frantically, uselessly, that she could retract the question. Too late.
‘Friday night,’ he said flatly.
For a wild moment, she thought she had misheard. ‘What did you say?’
‘I said Friday night.’
‘Last Friday?’ Her voice rose. ‘You’re telling me you slept with Carla the night before you made love to me?’
‘You did ask,’ he said stonily, and watched the emotions cross her face in quick succession: disbelief, incredulity, hurt, anger.
‘But . . . what about us?’ she stammered.
‘What about us?’
‘Don’t you love me?’ she cried.
A spasm crossed his face. ‘I’m very fond of you,’ he said more gently, ‘as you must know. But we haven’t an exclusivity agreement, have we?’
For a moment longer she stared at him. Then she stood up and laid her glass carefully on the coffee table.
He frowned. ‘Where are you going?’
‘Home,’ she said.
‘Lindsey, let’s get this in proportion. As you said, you knew—’
‘That you’d slept with her, yes. Not that you were still doing so.’
She turned to the door, and he rose quickly. ‘For God’s sake, sit down again. Things will look different in the morning. Anyway, you’re in no state to drive.’
‘I’ve had less than half a glass.’ She was mildly surprised at the calmness of her voice. Her suitcase was still in the hall and she bent to pick it up.
‘Now, yes, but at lunch—’
‘Will you ask for my car to be brought round?’
He hesitated, but she waited, unmoving, and he picked up the internal phone and rang the basement garage. ‘This is Dominic Frayne. Would you please bring round Miss Parish’s car?’
‘I’ll make my own way down,’ she said, pressing the lift button.
‘You’ll do no such thing. And if you insist on leaving, I think I should drive you.’
She gave a twisted smile. ‘You’ve had more to drink than I have.’
He couldn’t deny it. ‘Lindsey—’
But the lift arrived, its doors glided open, and, taking the case out of her hand, he followed her inside. They rode down in silence. As they reached the foyer, Lindsey’s red sports car drew up to the front entrance. Dominic went out with her and handed her case to the attendant, who placed it in the boot.
‘Are you sure you want to go?’
‘Positive.’ She looked up at him, her eyes brilliant. ‘Thanks for the weekend. I hope I wasn’t an anticlimax.’
And before he could reply, she gunned the engine and the car shot forward in a spray of gravel. Dominic stood watching until her tail lights turned the corner, then, with a sigh, went back into the building.
Rona and Max had just sat down to watch a DVD when there was a prolonged ring on the front doorbell, followed immediately by impatient knocking. Gus, who’d been asleep on the rug, shot up and started barking.
Max paused the DVD, frowning. ‘Who the devil is that, at nine o’clock on a Sunday evening?’
‘In a hurry, whoever it is,’ Rona commented, as he went to answer it. A minute later, to her surprise, Lindsey appeared in the doorway, her face flushed.
‘Linz! I thought you were in France?’
‘Just back,’ said Lindsey briefly. ‘Sorry to drop in on you like this. Is it OK if I stay for a bit?’
Behind her, Max raised his shoulders in puzzlement.
‘Of course,’ Rona said quickly. ‘Can we get you a drink? Tea? Coffee?’
‘Gin,’ said Lindsey succinctly.
Max went to pour it, and she seated herself next to Rona on the sofa, glancing at the frozen figures on the screen.
‘I’m interrupting,’ she said. ‘Please go on watching.’
‘It’ll keep,’ Rona replied, reaching for the remote, but her sister interrupted her.
‘Really. I’m perfectly happy just to sit here and . . . watch.’ She took the glass Max handed her with an absent-minded smile.
Max said smoothly, ‘In that case, since it’s only just started, I’ll rewind it so you can see it from the beginning.’
Lindsey nodded and took a gulp of her drink. ‘Cheers!’ she said belatedly.
For the next hour and a half, unable to concentrate on the film, Rona kept stealing anxious glances at her twin. Lindsey’s eyes were fixed on the screen. She laughed and exclaimed in the right places, but Rona doubted that she was following the plot any more than she was.
As the credits began to roll, Max stood up. ‘I’ll take Gus for his walk,’ he said, and left the room, the dog dancing at his heels.
There was a moment’s silence, then Lindsey said fervently, ‘God, I wish I smoked!’
‘Are you going to tell me what’s wrong?’ Rona asked quietly.
Lindsey looked down at her tightly clasped hands. ‘He’s sleeping with bloody Carla,’ she said.
‘Oh, Linz!’ Rona reached out impulsively, but, as Lindsey backed away, let her hand drop, accepting that physical contact might breach her twin’s fragile defences. ‘How do you know?’ she asked tentatively.
‘Because he told me.’
/> Rona stared at her. ‘He just . . . came out with it?’
‘No, he told me because I asked him.’
Rona looked bewildered. ‘But you did go to France?’
‘Oh yes. We had a lovely time. But when we got home, I found out that he’d slept with Carla on Friday night, before taking me to France on Saturday and sleeping with me.’ Her voice cracked. ‘You can imagine how . . . how . . . special that made me feel.’
‘Linz—’
Lindsey cut her off with a gesture. ‘I was going to drive home, but once in the car I found I wasn’t quite . . . up to it. So I came here.’
‘Would you like Max to take you back?’
‘I’d rather stay the night, if that’s OK? I’ve got my work clothes with me, because I was going straight there from Dominic’s in the morning.’
It was the first time she’d said his name, and there was a tremor in her voice.
Rona said doubtfully, ‘Well, you’re welcome, of course, but as you know, we haven’t a spare room.’
‘If you could just put up the camp bed in Max’s studio, like you did before?’
Lindsey had stayed with them a few months earlier while her flat was being redecorated. ‘I don’t need all the mod cons,’ she added quickly, ‘the lamp and the dress rack and stuff. It’ll only be for tonight.’
‘Well, if you’re sure . . .’
‘I couldn’t even make a dramatic gesture and ask him to choose between us,’ Lindsey continued, ‘because I know damn well who he’d pick. She’s so much a part of his business life, he’d never let her go. And if by any wild chance we did get back together – which is unlikely in the extreme – I’d always be wondering. Even if we were married,’ she added savagely, ‘and had what he terms an exclusivity agreement, I could never be completely sure.’ She looked up, meeting her sister’s sympathetic eyes. ‘So you do see how hopeless it is, Ro? We’re finished. There’s no going back after this.’
‘Did you tell him so?’ Rona enquired.
‘Not in so many words, but I think he got the message.’
‘He’ll probably phone, or call round, or something.’
‘He probably won’t,’ said Lindsey.
Eight thirty on Monday morning. Max had left for his studio and Lindsey for her office, still shying away from the hug her twin was aching to give her.
A Question of Identity Page 8