‘She taught there?’ Lindsey interrupted. ‘I thought she must have been a pupil?’
‘So did I, briefly, when I first found the photo. She grew up during the war and had been to lots of different schools; my grandfather was in the army, and while he was stationed in England the family kept moving to be near him. But when I saw the date I realized it didn’t fit; in 1951, which was scrawled on the back, she’d have been twenty-two.’
‘Is she in the photo?’ Rona asked, the thought occurring for the first time.
Glenda shook her head. ‘That’s what has puzzled us ever since I found it: that she should have kept a photo all these years that didn’t, on the face of it, have any connection with her.’ She paused. ‘I presume William told you of her reaction, when I came across it a couple of years ago?’
Rona and Lindsey nodded.
‘It was . . . frightening, really. She snatched it out of my hand and started shaking violently. I thought she was having a stroke. Later, when she was calmer, I tried to ask her about it, but she refused point-blank to discuss the matter. I was sure she’d have destroyed it at the first opportunity, and couldn’t believe my eyes when I found it among her things.’ She looked round at them all, lifting her shoulders in bewilderment. ‘Why ever would she keep something that upset her so much?’
Rona said hesitantly, ‘I don’t suppose . . .’
‘Go on,’ Glenda invited, when she did not continue.
‘Well, I’m probably way off-beam, but you say she was a member of staff but isn’t in the photograph?’
‘Yes?’
‘I just . . . wondered if she might be the one who’s blacked out?’
She bit her lip, conscious that the rest of them were staring at her.
Glenda had paled. ‘Oh God,’ she said softly. ‘I must say that never occurred to me.’
‘I’m sure she isn’t,’ Rona said quickly. ‘For one thing, if she had been, she certainly wouldn’t have kept it, would she? All the same, her being on the staff does rather alter things, because if she’s not the one blacked out, presumably she’s the one who did it. I’d thought it might have been a disgruntled girl who’d been given detention or something, but for an adult it would surely have had to be something more serious.’
There was a brief silence. ‘Did you try to remove the ink?’ Lindsey asked then. ‘By sponging it, for example?’
‘I started to,’ Glenda replied, ‘which is why it’s a bit smudged, but the ink has seeped into the paper, and I didn’t want to risk damaging it.’ She drew a deep breath. ‘Anyway,’ she continued, ‘seeing it again reawakened my curiosity, and I went through her papers more carefully. And lo and behold, underneath a pile of exam questions and reports I discovered some diaries – only three, but the latest was for 1951.’
She picked up a volume from the table beside her. ‘It’s a page-a-day format, and as you can see, big enough to write quite detailed accounts of one’s doings.’
‘Does it help at all?’ Rona asked, anxious to expunge her previous suggestion.
‘Actually, it raises a lot more questions. In the first few pages it records returning to Springfield Lodge for her “second term”, which was the first indication we had that she’d been there herself. It was January, of course, and since we now know the school closed in December ’51, she could only have been there just over a year in total. She’d already formed a close friendship with a fellow teacher called Susie Baines, and there are references to her almost every day. They seem to have spent all their spare time together, most of it discussing Susie’s boyfriend, Andrew. A vicarious romance, as far as Mum was concerned.
‘Well, that continued throughout the term, and they met once or twice in the Easter holidays. But during the summer there’s a distinct change of tone. Mum seems to have turned against Andrew for some reason, and several entries report having “long talks” with Susie, with no detail as to what they were about. They also started to have quarrels, but again no details.’
Glenda leafed through the diary. ‘No mention of meeting during the summer holidays. Mum seems to have spent her time with various friends at the Festival of Britain, going to exhibitions and shows and visiting the Festival Gardens in Battersea Park. But in September, back at school, we have: “Long and difficult talk with Susie. I HAVE to make her see sense.” And a few weeks later, “Susie refuses to discuss it any more. I’m at my wits’ end to know what to do.”’ She looked up. ‘And that’s the last mention of her. The diary continues for another couple of weeks, and comes to an abrupt end the second week in October.’ She snapped the book shut, as if in confirmation, and looked round at them. ‘So what do you make of that?’
‘There’s nothing that gives any hint that the school’s about to close?’ Lindsey asked.
‘Not a word. We only know about that because someone in the book group remembered it.’
Rona said slowly, ‘Then if it’s not your mother who’s scratched out, and it’s her photo, it must surely be Susie.’
‘That’s what I thought,’ Glenda admitted, ‘but why? All right, they’d been great friends and then for some reason fallen out. But it’s rather an extreme reaction, isn’t it, and Mum wasn’t a vindictive person. Why not simply throw it away?’
She paused. ‘The more I think about it, the more certain I am that something traumatic happened that last term – which might explain something else we could never understand. When Mum’s arthritis got really bad and she was having mobility problems we wanted her to come and live with us, but she wouldn’t hear of it. In fact, since we came to Marsborough six years ago she’s never even been to visit – coming up with a variety of excuses for us to go and see her instead. It’s almost as though she couldn’t bear to come near the place.’
She looked down at the diary, as though the explanation might after all lie in its pages.
‘It would be interesting to know what those long and difficult talks were about,’ mused William after a moment.
‘Exactly; if she’d been as frank about them as she was with earlier discussions about Andrew, we’d be a whole lot wiser.’ Glenda looked at Rona. ‘I was wondering . . . if you could spare the time . . . if you could possibly take the diary and . . . study it, or something? As a biographer, you must have a trained eye for this kind of thing and you might pick up something I’ve missed.’ She gave an embarrassed little laugh. ‘Or have I a nerve even asking you?’
‘I’d be very interested to read it,’ Rona replied honestly. ‘I’ve been ploughing through Elspeth Wilding’s diaries for the last few months, but this sounds much more intriguing.’
She reached for her bag, took out the photograph under discussion, and laid it on the arm of her chair. ‘I’ve been trying to work out what this group represents. It’s not a class, because the girls are of different ages, and there’s no sports gear or anything that might give a pointer. One of the Houses seems the best guess, but it would be a start if we could confirm that.’
‘Perhaps your mother’s friend could help?’ Glenda suggested hopefully.
‘If I can trace her, I’ll certainly ask.’ Rona hesitated. ‘Actually, I was at Springfield Lodge about ten days ago on a different matter, and took the chance to ask about the school.’ She looked at William. ‘As I believe you were told, the present owner knows nothing about it. However, she did say she’d recently had a guest who’d attended the school.’
‘She didn’t tell me that!’ William exclaimed.
‘It was after you’d phoned, but you’d aroused her curiosity and she asked the woman if she knew why it had closed. The guest thought alcohol was involved.’
William shook his head impatiently. ‘That won’t wash. It could only have been among the senior girls, and surely wouldn’t have necessitated closing the entire school.’
‘That’s what Mrs Temple said. The guest was going to look up old photo albums, but hadn’t got back to her.’ She turned to Glenda. ‘Had your mother any other photos that might help?’
‘I was wondering that. Mrs Temple’s unlikely to hand out addresses or phone numbers, but she might agree to ask her to phone me. It’s worth a try. She might also remember your mother. What was her maiden name?’
‘Cowley,’ Glenda supplied. ‘Patricia Cowley, known as Trish.’
‘Have you a photo of her at about that time? It might help to jog people’s memories.’
‘There’s one of her graduation; she wouldn’t have changed much between then and ’51. I’ll look it out for you.’
Talk continued for another half-hour or so, but nothing constructive emerged. As they were leaving, Rona handed back the photograph, apologizing for having kept it so long.
‘But won’t you need it, to show people?’ Glenda asked.
‘I made a copy,’ Rona told her. ‘I hope you don’t mind; I didn’t want anything to happen to the original.’
‘That’s fine, and here’s the diary in exchange. Let me know how you get on with it.’
‘Are you going to book group on Thursday?’ Lindsey asked William, as he helped her on with her jacket. ‘It’s the day before Good Friday.’
‘Yes, I’ll be there. We’re not going away for Easter – the boys are coming to us.’
‘Your sons?’ Rona asked Glenda.
‘Yes; they’re both at university now. It will be lovely to have them home, though we probably shan’t see much of them!’
Moving towards the front door, either William or Lindsey said something in a low voice that Rona didn’t catch, and they both laughed. Then the door was open, they were saying goodbye and walking back down the path.
‘Marks out of ten?’ Lindsey asked casually, as she started the car.
‘What?’
‘William. Marks out of ten?’
‘The thought never crossed my mind.’
‘Oh, don’t be stuffy! He’s rather sexy, isn’t he? We keep catching each other’s eye at book group, which adds a bit of zing.’
A discomfiting suspicion crossed Rona’s mind. ‘Is that by any chance why you dragged me into this? To give you an excuse to meet more often?’
Lindsey’s only reply was a low laugh.
‘Linz, he’s a married man with a charming wife and two grown-up sons!’
‘I always did like older men,’ Lindsey remarked, doing a three-point turn and negotiating the corner into Deans Crescent North.
‘Even if they belong to someone else?
‘I have to have a man in my life,’ Lindsey said defensively. ‘You know that.’
‘You’re hardly on the shelf! Until last week you had Dominic!’
‘I told you, he’s finito. Still, William’s not my only option; Hugh would come running if I snapped my fingers and probably Jonathan too.’ (Jonathan Hurst was a fellow partner at Chase Mortimer, with whom Lindsay had had a brief relationship.) ‘That would show Dominic, wouldn’t it?’
‘At what price?’ Rona asked heatedly. ‘You’d drop either of them if something better came up and you know it. Don’t you care who you hurt?’
‘All’s fair in love and war,’ Lindsey declared smugly.
Rona, defeated, took refuge in silence. Sometimes, she thought, talking to her twin was almost like talking to herself. And at other times it wasn’t.
The next morning Rona was impatient to speak to both her mother and Magda, but was forced to contain herself. Avril would be working at the library till lunchtime and Magda, out at one of her boutiques, would be virtually incommunicado all day. She did, however, phone Springfield Lodge and extracted a promise from Mrs Temple to contact the lady in question, a Mrs Grayson.
‘She hasn’t come back to me,’ Beryl Temple said ruefully. ‘She’s probably forgotten all about it, but if she does find any photos of when the Lodge was a school I’d be most grateful for a copy for our records. Perhaps you’d remind her of that.’
Rona promised to do so, hopeful that Mrs Grayson might be more reliable in phoning her back than she’d been in contacting Mrs Temple. To her considerable surprise, she did so within the hour.
‘Ms Parish? This is Heather Grayson. I hear from Springfield Lodge that you’d like to speak to me about my time there?’
‘Oh, Mrs Grayson, thank you so much for phoning. Yes, indeed I should, if you wouldn’t mind.’
‘I gather from the manageress that you’re a writer?’
Bypassing Beryl Temple’s demotion, Rona replied, ‘I am, yes, but I’m wearing another hat at the moment.’
‘Something about a photograph, I believe?’
‘That’s right. There’s someone I’m quite anxious to identify, and wonder if you could help. Have you any photos yourself of your time there?’
‘Oh yes, quite a few. I meant to look them out when I got back from Marsborough but never got round to it. You’re most welcome to see them, if you’d care to?’
‘I should indeed.’ Rona was curious to know the dates Mrs Grayson was at the school, but as it would equate to asking her age, she decided against it. ‘I don’t know where you live?’
‘Lincoln,’ Heather Grayson replied. ‘Quite a drive, just to look at a few photographs. And it takes much the same time by train – between two and three hours, with the added disadvantage that you’d have to get to King’s Cross first, making the journey even longer.’
‘I’ve never been to Lincoln,’ Rona said thoughtfully. ‘Perhaps I could persuade my husband to come with me and make a weekend of it.’
‘That would be an excellent solution. I could be available on Saturday afternoon, if that would help? Oh, but it’s Easter, isn’t it? You probably have family commitments.’
‘Actually no, but perhaps you have?’
‘No, we’ve nothing planned. Well then, if you’re prepared to face the holiday traffic let’s go ahead. If you’ve got satnav, I’ll give you our post code.’
Rona made a note of it, and after fixing the appointment for two thirty on Saturday she rang off and clicked on Max’s number. ‘How would you like to spend Easter weekend in Lincoln?’ she asked.
‘Lincoln? What brought that on?’
‘There’s a lady who’s going to look out some photos of Springfield Lodge,’ Rona said. ‘I’m also hoping she might have some answers to the puzzles I mentioned last night.’
‘So you’re on the trail of the blacked-out photograph? What about your resolve to keep your head down on the bio?’
‘I think I’ve earned a break. You heard Barnie’s views on the subject.’
Max gave a short laugh. ‘He’s trying to inveigle an article out of you, that’s all.’
‘Well, whether or not there’s one in it, I’m hooked now. As you know I can’t resist a mystery. So: how about Lincoln? You’ve never been, have you?’
‘No, and I admit I’d like to see it, but you’ll have a job finding anywhere to stay on a holiday weekend.’
‘Oh, I’ll manage. Speak to you later.’
In fact, she had to try six hotels before she was successful, and then only because they’d had a cancellation. It wasn’t as central as she’d hoped, but by that stage, she would have settled for anything within a five-mile radius.
Right, she thought with satisfaction; the first steps on the ‘trail’, as Max termed it, had been taken.
At one o’clock, Rona phoned her mother. ‘Mum, are you still in touch with Kitty Little?’ she began at once.
There was a surprised pause, then: ‘Good heavens, where did that question spring from? Ah, wait a minute: you’re still on about that school.’
‘That’s right. We’ve got a bit further, and we now have a possible name for the person blotted out on the photo, but I need to speak to someone who can confirm it.’
‘Well, Kitty certainly couldn’t. She was barely five when the school closed.’
‘But perhaps her sisters could. You are sti
ll in touch, aren’t you?’
‘Only by Christmas card, but I have her address. Hold on, I’ll get it for you.’
Moments later she was back. ‘Here we are. And she’s not Kitty Little any more; her married name’s Mason. Do you want her address or just the phone number?’
‘The number would be fine.’ Rona wrote it down. ‘You’re a star, Mum. Thanks.’
‘Let me know how you get on.’
‘I will. How’s Sarah, by the way? Is the little boy back at school?’
‘No, the grandparents thought it would be too traumatic for him. Sarah disagrees; she thinks he needs a familiar routine surrounded by people he knows, but there you go.’
‘And they still haven’t found the father?’
‘No, the hunt’s widened to the Continent apparently. I hope to goodness it won’t be one of those cases that are never solved.’
‘But surely the police must suspect him?’
‘No doubt, but they still have to find and charge him.’
Which, Rona reflected glumly, they didn’t seem any closer to achieving.
Kitty Mason was not answering her phone, and Rona resigned herself to spending the afternoon making notes on what had been discussed the previous evening. Though she was impatient to start on Trish Cowley’s diary, she wanted to read it all in one session and had set the next day aside for doing so, intending to be as well informed as possible by the time she met Heather Grayson at the weekend.
Then at last it was six o’clock, and though Kitty was still not picking up, it was time to phone Magda.
‘Hi, it’s me!’ she said breezily when her friend answered. ‘Sorry not to have been in touch.’
‘Why? We didn’t arrange anything, did we?’ Magda’s tone was dismissive and Rona was taken aback.
‘No, but I was . . . wondering how you are?’
A Question of Identity Page 12