A Question of Identity

by Anthea Fraser

  Dinah laughed. ‘Any excuse to tempt you back!’

  ‘Well actually, the man who owns the photo has come across something and he’s invited Lindsey and me round to hear about it.’

  ‘There you are then!’ Barnie said triumphantly. ‘I wouldn’t suggest a series while you’re engaged on the book, but it might even be beneficial to take time out to do the odd article. It would give you a break, and you could then return to the bio with “renewed vigour”, as the dog-food ads used to say.’

  Rona smiled. ‘Let’s see what turns up next week,’ she prevaricated.

  But after the guests had left, Barnie’s suggestion lingered in her mind. It might, after all, be interesting to follow it up a bit, and a possible article was an added incentive.

  On the way to bed, she made a detour to the study and picked up the photograph, looking at it thoughtfully. Then, on the spur of the moment, she slipped it into the scanner. If she had to hand it back on Monday, at least she’d still have a copy of it.

  On Saturday there was welcome news, and as before, Rona heard it from Avril.

  ‘Have you been watching the lunchtime news?’ she began excitedly.

  ‘No?’

  ‘The little Coombes boys are safe and well! They were delivered to their grandparents’ house in Buckford at five thirty this morning!’

  ‘That is a relief. No sign of their father?’

  ‘No, but police found his car round the corner. It seems he walked the boys to the house, rang the bell, and then, I imagine, waited out of sight till someone opened the door.’

  ‘Pity he didn’t hand himself in at the same time,’ Rona commented.

  ‘It seems he’s no intention of doing so, and now he’s ditched the car they were looking for and freed himself from the children, he’ll be even harder to track down.’

  ‘Did the boys say where they’d been for the last three days?’

  ‘Oh, I shouldn’t think they’ve been questioned yet, and when they are, they’ll have specially trained people.’

  ‘Well, I’m very thankful they’re safe, and I’m quite sure Sarah is. Thanks for letting me know.’

  Eleven o’clock on Sunday morning. Rona was in the back garden, deadheading the blooms in the various pots and urns. She loved this paved Italianate garden, surrounded as it was by brick walls and dotted with statues and containers of every shape and size. No grass to cut, virtually no weeds to root out, just an endless succession of flowers that she changed with the season, so there was always something interesting to look out on.

  Gus came bounding through the patio doors, ears flapping, tail wagging, barking excitedly.

  Rona straightened. ‘What is it, boy? The doorbell? If so, Max can answer it.’

  But as she returned to her task, she heard her name called.

  ‘What is it?’ she called back, dusting the soil off her hands, but there was no reply. ‘We’ll have to go and see then, won’t we?’ she said to the dog, who accompanied her, still barking, back into the house. She could hear voices, and paused to wash her hands at the sink before going up the basement stairs to investigate.

  A group of people were standing chatting in the hall, and Rona saw with pleased surprise that it was the Furness family, newly returned from Hong Kong.

  ‘Rona!’ Monica came forward to hug her. ‘I hope you don’t mind our barging in like this! We’ve just been looking round the house, and felt we had to knock on your door.’

  ‘Of course! I didn’t realize you were back!’

  ‘We only arrived yesterday, but we couldn’t wait to inspect our new-look home.’

  ‘Are you pleased with it?’

  ‘Oh, it’s fabulous! That’s really why we came round; Charles wanted to thank Max for overseeing everything.’

  ‘I was glad to do it,’ Max replied. ‘There really was no need for this very generous present.’ He indicated the box of wine at his feet.

  ‘The least we could do,’ Charles said, adding as he kissed Rona, ‘Lovely to see you again.’

  Behind him, she caught sight of the children standing shyly in the background, and noticing her smile at them, he beckoned them over. ‘You remember Rona, kids? Come and say hello.’

  Harriet, aged fifteen, was tall and fair like her mother, her hair hanging in a single plait down her back. Giles, at thirteen, was wiry and small for his age, taking after his father.

  ‘You were at the cinema when we met your parents in October,’ Rona reminded them, ‘so it must be four years since we saw you. Welcome back to the UK!’

  Harriet said shyly, ‘I’ve read one of your books, the one about Conan Doyle. I was interested because I love Sherlock Holmes. I’m not sure about the fairies, though!’

  Rona laughed. ‘Who knows, they might be at the bottom of your garden!’

  ‘Have you time for a coffee?’ Max asked. ‘It will only take a minute.’

  ‘No, really, thanks, we must get back to the flat. We’ve not even unpacked yet.’

  ‘Is it OK, the flat?’

  ‘It’s comfortable and convenient, which is all we ask of it. It’ll suit us nicely for the next couple of months.’

  ‘Have you got a date when you can expect your furniture?’ Rona asked.

  ‘Not an exact one till we know when the ship’s sailing,’ Monica replied, ‘but the estimate’s mid-June. In the meantime we must measure up the windows and choose new curtains, so we’ve plenty to keep us busy.’

  ‘How about schools?’

  ‘We were lucky enough to get them both into the High School; they start straight after Easter, so one of our first tasks will be to buy uniforms. Fortunately, since they were at a British school in Hong Kong, it’ll be the same syllabus, which is useful with GCSEs looming.’

  They moved in a group to the front door. ‘You must come for a meal,’ Max said. ‘Have we got your phone number? And your address, come to that?’

  ‘I had cards printed.’ Charles handed one across. ‘Give us a week or two to settle in, then you must come to us – a flat-warming! See you soon, and thanks again, Max, for keeping an eye on things.’

  As she watched them pile into their car outside number seventeen, Rona reflected that ever since she and Max had lived here the house next door had been occupied by tenants, some of whom they’d come to know, others they hadn’t. It had added an unsettling quality to their lives, and it was good to know that the Furness family would now become their permanent neighbours.

  EIGHT

  As Daniel drove out of his parents-in-law’s drive with a final wave, Marion Chalmers put an arm round her daughter’s shoulders. ‘All right, darling?’

  Jenny nodded. She hated seeing Daniel leave, but this would be the last time. The job that had kept him travelling was coming to an end, and next weekend, after Easter, she and Alice would go home with him. As she’d hoped, the break had restored her and she was ready to take up her life again. Paul would already have forgotten her, and if by any chance they met – in the florist’s, for example – she knew she was strong enough to deal with it. Now, she intended to make up to Daniel for her lapse, even though he was unaware of it.

  ‘I think you’re being very brave,’ Marion went on quietly, as they went back into the house. ‘This can’t be easy for you.’

  Jenny looked at her questioningly. ‘I’m . . . not sure what you mean?’

  ‘Oh come, darling! We’ve known from the start that Daniel’s been having an affair.’

  Jenny gasped. ‘No – no he hasn’t, Mum! You’ve got it all wrong.’

  Marion smiled and patted her shoulder. ‘If you say so, dear, though you don’t have to pretend with us.’

  ‘Really he hasn’t – I promise! Things have been a bit difficult, yes, but only because he’s had to be away so much, and I let myself get run down.’

  ‘And what was he doing, may I ask, while he was “away so much”? Are you sure it was all to do with work?’

  Jenny stared at her mother in frustration. ‘Why won’t you b
elieve me?’ She took a deep breath. ‘All right, if you must know, I was the one who was playing around!’

  Marion gave a light laugh. ‘Really, darling, you’ll have to do better than that!’

  ‘It didn’t come to anything,’ Jenny hurried on, ‘but it would have done, if I’d not come away. Daniel doesn’t know about it, and if he ever finds out, it has to come from me. You do understand that?’

  ‘Oh, I assure you I shan’t mention it.’

  ‘You still don’t believe me, do you?’

  ‘Let’s just say I admire your loyalty, and since you refuse to discuss the matter, all I’ll add is there’s really no need for you to go back next weekend. You know you and Alice will be welcome here indefinitely.’

  As Jenny started to reply, Marion raised a hand. ‘Now, go and collect her from your father and we can take her up for her bath.’

  ‘Can’t sleep?’

  Sarah looked up to see Clive in the doorway. ‘Sorry, did I wake you?’

  He joined her at the kitchen table. Huddled in her dressing gown, both hands round a mug of hot chocolate, she looked like a refugee in some transit camp and his heart ached for her. ‘I was only dozing myself.’

  ‘I can’t get the picture of her out of my head,’ she said in a low voice. ‘Lying crumpled like a . . . like a doll that’s been tossed aside. And her eyes – wide open, and staring at nothing.’

  She shuddered and Clive put a quick hand on her arm. ‘At least the little boys are safe.’

  ‘Yes, thank God. But what will happen to them, Clive? How can they have a normal childhood after this? Especially if it really was Kevin who killed her.’

  ‘He always seemed such a pleasant chap,’ Clive said reflectively.

  ‘He was! And they were all so happy together, he and Lucy and the boys. I can’t believe he’d hurt her!’ She looked up, sudden hope in her eyes. ‘There was that neighbour across the road, wasn’t there, who said a man came hurrying down their path as she was drawing her bedroom curtains. Why hasn’t he come forward? Suppose he killed her, and Kevin, who’d been out all evening, came back and found her dead? Perhaps in a panic he just wanted to get the boys out of the house, away from her body?’

  ‘Hardly a normal reaction,’ Clive pointed out. ‘Surely he’d have phoned for an ambulance or the police or something?’

  ‘But it is just possible, surely? God, Clive, I don’t want it to be Kevin!’

  ‘I know, sweetie, I know.’

  ‘Did you hear the late news?’

  ‘No further developments. The police still want him to “help with their enquiries”.’

  ‘Perhaps we’ll know more in the morning,’ she said.

  Six o’clock was early for Dino’s clientele, and when Rona arrived on Monday evening, only a couple of tables were occupied, both by families with young children. Dino greeted her with his usual effusiveness and ushered her to a corner table.

  ‘It is some time since we saw you, signora. All is well, I trust?’

  ‘Fine, Dino, thank you. My sister will be joining me; we have an appointment at eight, so if you don’t mind we’d like to take our time over the meal.’

  ‘Stay as long as you wish, signora. Now, a glass of something while you study the menu?’

  ‘Sounds like a good idea!’ said Lindsey, coming up behind him. ‘Good evening, Dino.’

  ‘Buona sera, signora.’ He pulled out her chair and with a flourish spread a napkin on her lap. ‘I bring you the wine list.’

  ‘Have a good weekend?’ Rona asked. Lindsey was pale, she noted; withdrawal from Dominic?

  ‘Excellent, thank you,’ she answered briskly. ‘The cottage is in a wonderful position, and they’ve done it up beautifully. We went for long walks and ate in country pubs. I might think of buying a rural retreat myself.’

  Rona smiled, shaking her head. ‘Sister dear, a country girl you are not! You’d soon miss the bright lights!’

  ‘I don’t mean live there,’ Lindsey said irritably, ‘just for weekends and holidays.’

  ‘And since when has your idea of a holiday been to bury yourself in the country?’

  Lindsey smiled reluctantly. ‘Oh, all right. I suppose as long as friends invite me down occasionally, that will suffice.’

  ‘Precisely.’

  They chose their food and wine, and gradually the tables around them began to fill up.

  ‘You’re lucky to have this place right on your doorstep,’ Lindsey remarked. ‘I have to get in the car to go anywhere.’ She glanced under the table. ‘Where’s Gus?’

  ‘Max took him this morning, since we’ll be out quite a while. I’ll collect him tomorrow. By the way, the Furnesses are back.’

  ‘Who?’

  ‘The owners of the house next door. They’ve finished their stint abroad and are moving back permanently.’

  ‘Good, that rules out any more weirdos,’ Lindsey said, and didn’t notice her sister’s shiver.

  ‘They looked in yesterday,’ Rona continued after a moment, ‘having inspected all the alterations and redecorations. Max has been keeping an eye on the work, and Charles brought a case of wine as a thank you.’

  ‘Now that’s the kind of neighbours to have!’

  Their antipasti were laid in front of them.

  ‘So – what do you think we’re in for this evening?’ Rona asked.

  ‘No idea, William didn’t go into details. All he said was that Glenda had been going through more of her mother’s things. You have got the photo, haven’t you?’

  ‘I’ve got it,’ Rona confirmed. ‘Have you met his wife?’

  ‘No; he says she never reads anything except magazines, and spends her time playing golf and bridge. Which is why he escapes to the book group once a month.’

  Rona reached for the Parmesan. ‘If this does turn out to be something, Barnie asked me to write an article about it.’

  ‘Ah! So that’s why you’re interested, all of a sudden!’

  ‘Except that I don’t suppose it will. Odds are it’ll end in anticlimax.’

  ‘Then why did Mrs Thing nearly pass out when she saw the photo?’

  ‘Linz, she was an old lady. Perhaps it was just the shock of suddenly seeing something from the past.’

  ‘Well, I’m sticking to the illicit sex till we learn otherwise,’ Lindsey said firmly, and turned her attention to her crespelli.

  Dino was as good as his word; service was leisurely and they lingered over each course. By the time they were drinking their espressos, it was after seven thirty.

  ‘Where do these people live?’ Rona asked, as, at last, she signalled for their bill.

  ‘Barrington Road. We’ll be there in under ten minutes.’

  ‘Near Magda and Gavin, then,’ Rona remarked, and wondered, with a shaft of unease, how her friend was, realizing guiltily that it was a week since she’d lunched with Magda and learned of her latest fears. She should have been in touch, but the murder, followed by dinner with the Trents and the return of the Furness family, had temporarily driven her out of mind. She’d phone tomorrow, she resolved.

  As Lindsey had said, it was a short drive from the restaurant and entailed passing Farthings in Deans Crescent North. Rona glanced up at the lighted studio window, and wondered what Max had set his students this evening. Then they had turned into Barrington Road, and were drawing up outside a substantial-looking house.

  ‘Here we go, then!’ Lindsey commented, locking the car. ‘Let’s hope she’s come up with something interesting.’

  William Stirling opened the door to them. He was a tall, broad-shouldered man with a shock of greying brown hair and a ruddy complexion, whom Rona guessed to be in his fifties.

  ‘Come in, come in!’ he said heartily, standing to one side. ‘Good of you to come. And you must be Rona – delighted to meet you. God, you’re alike, aren’t you?’

  He took their jackets and led them into the sitting room. ‘Glenda won’t be a moment; she’s just getting the coffee. Please make yourselves
comfortable.’

  The spring evening had turned chill, and Rona was glad to see a live fire in the grate. On a rug in front of it, a red setter raised its head to survey them, sleepily thumped its tail, and went back to sleep. Glancing round the room, Rona’s eyes came to rest on a framed photograph showing their host with, presumably, his wife and mother-in-law, standing in front of a church. Since the women wore fashionable hats, Rona guessed they were attending a wedding. The older woman was smiling at the camera, one arm linked with her daughter’s, the other leaning on a stick. She of the fainting fit, Rona thought.

  She looked away quickly as Glenda Stirling came in wheeling a trolley with a coffee pot, cups and saucers, and what looked like a carrot cake on a silver stand. Probably much the same age as her husband, her hair was a soft grey, but her skin, devoid of make-up, still had a youthful bloom.

  ‘I do hope we’re not being a nuisance,’ she said, after warmly greeting them. ‘I’m afraid this has all rather escalated; William had only intended showing the photo to his book group, in the hope that someone might remember the school.’ She glanced apologetically at Rona. ‘But your sister kindly volunteered your services, and since you’re known for solving mysteries, it was an offer we couldn’t refuse!’

  ‘I’m not at all sure I can help,’ Rona demurred.

  ‘But you’ve already found someone who was there, haven’t you?’ Lindsey prompted, and as Rona looked blank, added, ‘Kitty Little’s sister.’

  Glenda looked at her expectantly.

  ‘I’ve not exactly found her,’ Rona said reluctantly, ‘but our mother knew her when she was young. She was actually at the school when it closed.’

  ‘That’s wonderful!’ Glenda exclaimed, adding quickly, ‘But I’m forgetting my duties! Do please sit down and let me give you some coffee. Then, when we’re all settled, I can fill in a few details.’

  When this had been accomplished and they were balancing plates of carrot cake on their laps, she continued, ‘The first thing I should explain is that my mother was a teacher all her working life. We used to tease her about it sometimes, because she was always recounting stories of pupils and teachers she’d come across in her long career. We knew – or thought we knew – every school she’d taught in. But she never even mentioned Springfield Lodge.’