A Question of Identity

by Anthea Fraser

  ‘So – what happened in the morning?’

  ‘She had a raging headache and was white as a sheet. She didn’t protest when I said she should stay in bed, which was unheard of in itself. But when I asked if it had been a particularly bad dream the previous night, she insisted she hadn’t dreamt at all, and became very upset when I pressed her.’

  ‘She didn’t remember crying and everything?’ Rona asked incredulously.

  ‘It seemed not,’ Gavin said heavily. ‘If I believed all that psychobabble, I’d say that either she was in denial, or the trauma had been so severe her mind had blanked it out. On the other hand, she might have crossed the border between nightmare and night terror, which is much more frightening and, unlike a dream, you’ve no memory of it when you wake up.’

  He drank from his glass while Rona tried to think of something to say.

  ‘In any event,’ he continued, ‘apart from insisting the dreams have stopped, she’s refused to talk about it, though every now and again I see an expression on her face that’s . . . I don’t know, the only way I can describe it is – frightened. I’ve begged her to go and see the doctor, but of course she refuses. God help me, I’ve been afraid she might try to harm herself.’

  ‘Oh, Gavin!’ After a moment Rona moistened her lips. ‘And . . . now?’

  He shrugged. ‘She’s still withdrawn, and, as I said, refusing to talk about either the dreams or the false memories. It’s as though she’s completely wiped them from her mind. Otherwise, I suppose things have more or less teetered back to normal.’

  Their lunch arrived, Rona’s omelette and Gavin’s Cornish pasty, and they began to eat in silence, both thinking over what he’d said. Eventually Gavin looked up with an awkward smile.

  ‘Sorry about landing you with all that,’ he said. ‘I wouldn’t – couldn’t – have told anyone else – it would have seemed a betrayal somehow – but you’ve been in on it from the beginning, and you know Magda better than most.’

  ‘I just wish there was something I could do.’

  ‘Tell you what: she was saying a while back that we must have you and Max over for a meal. Suppose I get her to arrange this, and you can see what you think? Apart from anything else, it would do her good to have something other than work on her mind.’

  ‘Far be it from me to turn down a dinner invitation!’

  ‘Fine, I’ll organize it.’ He hesitated. ‘How much does Max know about all this?’

  ‘Most of it.’

  He nodded. ‘Fair enough. Right, now let’s talk about something more cheerful. Are you still bedded down in your bio?’

  ‘I should be, but I’ve allowed myself to be distracted this last week or so.’ And she went on to tell him about the photograph and the lines she was following in an attempt to solve the mystery. ‘The people involved live just along the road from you – the Stirlings. Do you know them?’

  ‘Only to say good morning to. It all sounds very interesting; you can give me an update when you come to dinner!’

  ‘I might even have the answer by then!’ Rona said.

  There was a message on her answerphone when she returned from lunch, Beryl Temple thanking her profusely for the photographs of the school that she’d received in the morning’s post.

  ‘It fills in quite a few gaps for us,’ she said. ‘I’ll drop a line to Mrs Grayson, of course, but I’m so grateful to you for reminding her about them.’

  One satisfied customer, at least, Rona thought.

  Lindsey sat in her office, staring moodily at her computer screen. What was wrong with her? she thought dejectedly. Other women could function perfectly adequately without a man in their lives; why couldn’t she? Why did her current relationship, whoever it happened to be with, colour her whole existence, make it worth getting up for in the morning, lie comfortingly at the back of her mind all day?

  ‘William’s not my only option,’ she’d said cockily to Rona; ‘Hugh would come running if I snapped my fingers and probably Jonathan too’. The words came back to haunt her. Well, pride went before a fall; William had turned out to be a non-starter, and – worse – so had Hugh, her erstwhile prop. Which left only Jonathan, and he’d been openly hostile since she’d switched from him to Dominic last summer – an attitude that had not gone unnoticed in the firm of which they were both partners. If she did revert to him, Rona would probably refuse to speak to her; she’d always been critical of the fact that Jonathan was married, more particularly since meeting his wife at a Christmas party. But damn it, if a woman couldn’t hold on to her man, it was hardly Lindsey’s fault, was it?

  She jumped as a ping informed her she had received an email, and, thankfully abandoning her reflections, she returned to work.

  ‘Jenny? It’s Catherine.’

  There was a momentary pause, then her daughter-in-law’s voice. ‘Catherine, hello. How are you?’

  ‘Well, thank you. Did you enjoy your visit to your parents?’

  ‘To be honest, I was getting bored,’ Jenny said frankly. ‘I’m no longer a country girl, if I ever was, and I missed Daniel.’

  Was that final phrase intended to soften her? ‘I’m sure,’ Catherine answered smoothly. ‘Well, it’s over a month since I’ve seen you and Alice; I was wondering if you could all come over for the day on Saturday? Or have you other plans?’

  ‘No, I’m sure we haven’t – we’d love to come. Alice has produced two new teeth since we saw you! They’re at the back, so you can’t see them, but they caused a bit of trouble coming through, poor pet.’

  ‘It does seem hard, doesn’t it? Will you need to check with Daniel about Saturday?’

  ‘No, there’s nothing in the diary, and I’m sure he’d love to see you.’

  ‘Fine; leave as early as you can, so we can have a nice, long day together.’

  ‘I’ve invited my family over for the day on Saturday,’ Catherine said to Tom that evening. ‘I’ve not seen Alice for over a month, and apparently she has two new teeth!’

  ‘That’ll be good,’ Tom said easily. ‘Well, you won’t want me at the reunion, so I’ll take the chance of a game of golf.’

  ‘Tom, I didn’t mean—’

  He kissed her. ‘It’s all right, sweetie, I quite understand. After all the worry over Daniel and Jenny, this will be your first chance to see them together. You need to be just a family, without any hangers-on.’

  Catherine smiled. ‘You could never be a hanger-on!’

  ‘All the same, it will be better that way.’

  She reached for his hand. ‘Another example of why I love you, Tom Parish!’ she said.

  ELEVEN

  Rona set out for Somerset early on Thursday morning, and was glad to find the motorways reasonably quiet. It was still the school holidays, and a lot of people would be away. As directed, she turned off the M5 at Wellington and followed winding country roads to the village where the one-time Little sisters now lived.

  It was clear from the first that Bridget intended to be present at the interview, though Maureen did all she could to dissuade her. ‘Rona wants to talk about that last term,’ she pointed out, ‘and you weren’t even there.’

  ‘All the same, I’m sure I have a better idea of what really happened. You were too close to it, and accepted what you were told.’

  Maureen subsided with a tut of annoyance, and as the sisters fussed about seating arrangements, Rona was free to study them. Bridget, the elder, was small and stout, and her elaborate coiffure spoke of a weekly visit to the hairdresser. By contrast, Maureen’s short hair was cut in a no-nonsense fringe. She was thinner than her sister, but her face was more lined and, though she tried, Rona found it hard to reconcile the woman before her with the girl in Heather Grayson’s photograph. Unlike Heather herself, her contemporaries would have been hard put to recognize her.

  ‘So – where’s this photo, then?’ Maureen asked as Bridget, claiming hostess duties, brought in the coffee.

  Rona produced it and Maureen took it eagerly, then,
almost immediately, frowned. ‘Who did you say this belonged to?’

  ‘A member of staff; Trish Cowley.’

  Maureen nodded. ‘I thought as much.’

  ‘Why?’ Rona asked quickly, hopes rising.

  ‘Because she’s the most likely to have blacked out Miss Baines.’

  ‘Blacked out?’ Bridget echoed, and forsook the coffee pot to peer over her sister’s shoulder. ‘Great heavens, is that who it is?’

  ‘You’re sure it’s Miss Baines under that ink blot?’ Rona pressed.

  ‘Positive. That’s me in the back row, and as you can see, she’s sitting directly in front of me. I even remember it being taken, because she’d been giggling with Mr Crichton next to her, which had annoyed me.’

  ‘Why was Miss Cowley most likely to have blotted her out?’

  ‘Well, she wasn’t even in Brontë; the only reason she’d have had it is because Bainesy was on it. Up to then, they’d been thick as thieves.’

  ‘And then what happened?’

  Maureen shrugged. ‘No one ever knew. It was clear there was an atmosphere between them, and Lizzie Barclay came across the Cow crying in one of the locker rooms.’ She glanced at Rona in embarrassed apology. ‘That’s what we called her; it wasn’t meant to be offensive, just a play on her name. Then one morning Bainesy was gone and never seen again. The consensus among us girls was that she was pregnant, and that was shocking enough, believe me, in 1951, but the sixth form maintained they’d had a lesbian affair and been caught out.’ She smiled. ‘I didn’t let on, but I’d no idea what that meant; we were very innocent by today’s standards.’

  ‘I think pregnancy’s the more likely,’ Rona said. ‘Miss Baines had a boyfriend.’

  ‘Well, there you are, then.’

  ‘But why would Trish Cowley black her out? Why not simply get rid of the photo?’

  ‘I’ve no idea.’ She looked down at the print. ‘The surface seems scratched, as though a lot of force was used. It was probably done in a fit of temper, and she might have regretted it later.’ She peered more closely, as though trying to penetrate the blob. ‘Has anyone tried to wash it off?’

  ‘Glenda did – Trish’s daughter – but the ink had seeped in and sponging was doing more harm than good.’

  ‘I knew Miss Baines,’ Bridget said, determinedly entering the conversation, ‘though not Miss Cowley – she must have come after I’d left.’

  ‘What was she like, Susie Baines?’ Rona asked, tactfully directing the question to Bridget. ‘I’m never likely to see a photo of her, and I’ve been trying to picture her.’

  ‘She was a pretty little thing,’ Bridget said reflectively. ‘Fair, curly hair and a lovely smile. She wasn’t a pushover, though, far from it. She could be quite strict if she thought you were trying anything on.’

  ‘She’d a mind of her own,’ Maureen agreed. ‘Once she’d decided on something, it was no use trying to get her to change it.’

  Rona thought for a moment. ‘I suppose no one knew whether she’d left voluntarily, or been sacked?’

  Both sisters shook their heads.

  ‘Could whatever it was have been the reason for the school suddenly closing?’

  They answered together, Bridget agreeing the possibility, Maureen emphatically denying it.

  ‘Oh come on, Mo!’ Bridget exclaimed. ‘There was already the scandal of alcohol on the premises and parents threatening to remove their daughters. This business with Bainsey must have been the last straw.’

  ‘Absolute nonsense!’ Maureen declared. ‘The Head had a heart attack, poor man, and that was the sole reason for the closure. I suppose it could have been brought on by whatever happened, but that’s the only possible connection.’

  It was clear there’d be no agreement between the sisters, and Rona was left to make what she could of their observations. They continued to talk about the school, memories having been revived by the discussion, but there was nothing that had any relevance to what interested her. As Maureen had warned, it was a long way to have come for confirmation of Susie Baines’s identity, of which she’d already been almost sure.

  It was only as she was leaving after lunch that a casual comment made the whole trip worthwhile. She’d already started down the path when Maureen, standing at the door, called after her, ‘I’ve just thought: the headmaster had a daughter. She was a lot younger than we were, but if anyone knew the truth of what happened, it’d be her.’

  Rona turned back, her face lighting up. ‘That’s fantastic! Do you know how I could contact her?’

  ‘I’ve no idea; to be honest, I’d forgotten her very existence. Now I think of it, though, I remember hearing years ago that she’d gone into teaching. You might be able to trace her that way.’

  ‘You don’t happen to remember her first name?’

  ‘Not offhand, but I think it was something biblical.’

  ‘Well, thank you very much. That gives me a new lead.’

  Something biblical. Salome? Rona thought facetiously as she drove off. Delilah? Jezebel? They didn’t sound quite right for a school teacher. It was as well she had the surname Lytton to work on; it was fairly unusual, which should aid her search.

  So – she’d completed the first part of her task: Susie Baines had been positively identified as the face beneath the ink. Now, she must try to discover why Trish Cowley had so ferociously scrubbed out her likeness, and why, over fifty years later, she’d almost passed out on seeing the photograph.

  Rona hadn’t been home long when Avril phoned.

  ‘I’ve been speaking to Kitty,’ she said, ‘and we’ve arranged to meet for lunch. It’ll be lovely to see her again, after all this time. She told me you were going to visit Maureen. How did you get on?’

  ‘I’m just back, actually, and pretty shattered after all that driving. It was quite busy coming home.’

  ‘But did you learn anything?’

  ‘I found out the headmaster had a daughter. My next task is to find her.’

  ‘You know her married name?’

  ‘Oh God, I never thought of that! If she married, I haven’t a hope in hell of finding her. She went into teaching, that’s all I know. I’ll go on line in the morning and see if I can track her down.’

  ‘Well, that’s only one of the reasons I’m phoning. The other is to invite you and Max to Sunday lunch. It’s a long time since we were all together. Lindsey’s coming too; it seems the ever-present Dominic isn’t as ever-present nowadays.’

  ‘He never was,’ Rona pointed out.

  ‘Well, he was always wheeled out as an excuse when she didn’t want to come here.’

  Rona bit her lip; that was a touch of the old, sour Avril she’d hoped had gone for good.

  ‘We’d love to come, Mum; thanks.’

  But would she really enjoy it? she wondered as she rang off. Sunday lunch at Belmont inevitably brought her father to mind; it would be hard to see Guy Lacey in his place at the head of the table.

  ‘Linz?’

  ‘Hi there.’

  ‘Just reporting back. I’ve been to see Maureen Little-that-was, and she confirms the anonymous person on the photo is Susie Baines. So at least that’s one thing cleared up. She doesn’t know why she left so suddenly, though her sister had some lurid theories. The only hopeful thing to come out of it is that they said the Head of Springfield had a daughter, and if we can track her down, we might get somewhere. I’m going to have a go in the morning.’

  ‘Good; keep me posted. No doubt you’ve been invited to Sunday lunch?’

  ‘Yes, Mum’s just been on.’

  ‘She asked very pointedly if I’d be spending the weekend with Dominic.’

  ‘And I presume you’re not?’

  ‘You presume correctly.’

  ‘OK; well, I’ve just got in and I’m starving, so I’m going in search of food. See you on Sunday.’

  Jonathan Hurst put his head round Lindsey’s office door.

  ‘I hate to intrude, but your nemesis has s
urfaced again.’

  Lindsey looked at him crossly. ‘I’ve no idea what you’re talking about.’

  ‘Old man Steinbeck, our wealthiest client whom you stood up to go off sailing with your boyfriend.’

  Lindsey flushed, both at the memory of their previous altercation and of that weekend with Dominic. ‘Surely he’s all yours now,’ she answered. ‘He’ll have written me off after last time.’

  ‘It seems not. He’s still convinced we need to work together to protect his best interests.’

  Lindsey sighed. ‘What does he want this time?’

  ‘You know how the super-rich enjoy rewriting their wills. It keeps their relatives on their toes. Well, number two son whom he struck off in October has apparently now redeemed himself and is to be written back in.’

  ‘That seems simple enough; it doesn’t need two of us.’

  ‘Agreed, but Steinbeck likes to play the “Big I Am”, and while he pays us megabucks, who are we to argue? I managed to dig you out of the hole last time, but I’m damned if I’ll do it again. As always, we’ll be treated to dinner at the Clarendon afterwards, which helps to sweeten the pill. Or are you flying off to Mozambique with lover-boy?’

  Lindsey bit her lip. ‘Don’t be absurd, Jonathan.’

  ‘Ah! Touched a raw nerve, have I? Don’t tell me the bed of roses has sprouted thorns?’

  ‘I’m not telling you anything!’ Lindsey said heatedly. ‘But if we must humour the old tyrant, so be it. You arrange it, but this time keep me in the loop.’

  She’d expected him to nod and leave the room, but when he didn’t immediately move, she looked up to find him surveying her with narrowed eyes.

  ‘Well?’ she challenged, and he smiled his lopsided smile.

  ‘I’ve missed you,’ he said. And before she could think of a suitable retort, he was gone.