A Question of Identity

by Anthea Fraser

  Lindsey cleared her throat. ‘So let’s get this straight. Are you quaintly proposing to set me up somewhere discreet as your mistress? Because I have to tell you, Jonathan, those days are long gone, added to which I have a home and a life of my own already, thank you very much.’

  He leant forward urgently. ‘No, no, that’s just the point. We’d carry on as we are, but with regular times slotted in when we could be together. No one would be any the wiser.’

  ‘“Carry on” being the operative words. It sounds to me like same old, same old.’

  He shook his head. ‘There’s one big difference, and that’s what’s churning me up. Last time – and I’m being honest here – I fancied you like hell but I wasn’t in love with you. This time, I think I am.’

  A new line, certainly. ‘And you maintain that makes a difference?’

  ‘It sure does to me.’

  She stared at him. ‘Have you any idea how grossly selfish you’re being?’

  ‘Yes I have, but I don’t see any way round it. I won’t have Carol hurt.’

  ‘What the eye doesn’t see?’

  He grimaced ruefully. ‘You could say that. But first we need to clarify one point: I am right, aren’t I, in thinking you’ve completely finished with Frayne? Everything hangs on that.’

  Her anger flared. ‘So although your comfortable life will continue unchanged – loving wife and children etc. – I’m not allowed to look elsewhere?’

  He flushed. ‘Perhaps I’m not putting it too well. But you haven’t answered my question.’

  ‘Nor am I going to. It’s none of your damned business.’

  They sat in silence while their food was served and the wine poured, though Lindsey put a hand over her own glass. When they were alone again, he wiped a hand across his face.

  ‘I’ve made a right pig’s ear of this, haven’t I?’

  ‘You most certainly have.’

  ‘If it weren’t for Carol and the kids, I really would ask you to marry me.’

  ‘Well, thanks. But don’t lose any sleep over it, because I’d say no.’

  He was silent, picking listlessly at the selection of tapas, and she watched him through her eyelashes. She’d never seen suave, self-assured Jonathan at such a loss. Could it really be true, about his loving her? For her part, there was no denying she was strongly attracted to him, despite his inherent self-centredness. With his studied nonchalance and that slow, falsely self-deprecating smile, he was as different from Dominic as it was possible to be, yet he pushed much the same buttons for her. And, God help her, though she’d never fooled herself that she loved him, she very much wanted to sleep with him.

  But there was a side of his character which must also be borne in mind; when she’d dropped him in favour of Dominic he’d been both bitter and malicious, causing trouble for her wherever he could. She was under no illusion that he’d not do the same again, love or no love. Yet overriding all this – what it all came down to – was that she was undeniably still in love with Dominic.

  Jonathan looked up wretchedly, intercepting her scrutiny. ‘Have I been speaking completely out of turn? I thought, when we kissed, that you felt at least something for me. I apologize if I was mistaken.’

  Her anger evaporated as quickly as it had arisen. ‘No, Jonathan,’ she said tiredly, ‘you weren’t mistaken. But –’ she went on quickly, as his face brightened – ‘that’s not to say that I’m going to fall in with your proposition. If we do come to some arrangement, it will be on my terms.’

  And that, basically, was how they’d left it. Now back in her office, conflicting emotions continued to buffet her and she swung from one decision to another. When her phone suddenly rang, it was with a feeling of relief that she reached for it.

  Rona was just wondering, with a spasm of anxiety, if Kevin himself would answer the door when it opened to reveal a pleasant-looking woman in her fifties.

  ‘Can I help you?’ she asked with a smile.

  Magda said rapidly, ‘Good afternoon. I’m sorry to trouble you, but I’m looking for my husband. I see you take in lodgers, and I wondered if he could possibly be staying with you?’ As further explanation seemed called for, she hastily improvised. ‘He’s lost his memory, you see. I’m very concerned about him, and I heard he’s been seen in this area.’

  ‘Well, I’m sorry to hear that, but I don’t think I can help you. We’ve only one gentleman with us at the moment, and—’

  ‘How long has he been here?’

  ‘Just coming up to three weeks,’ the woman said slowly, a frown forming.

  ‘Dark and thickset, with a groove between his eyes?’

  She looked startled. ‘Well, apart from being dark, that would fit Mr Cooper – certainly the groove bit – but he has fair hair.’ Dyed, thought Rona; an attempt at disguise. ‘Though come to think of it, I did see him early one morning and was surprised how dark his stubble was.’

  ‘Is he in?’ Magda asked quickly.

  ‘No, he’s still at work but he’s due back any minute.’

  Magda swallowed. ‘Could we possibly come in and wait, so I could make sure it’s him? Please, Mrs . . .?’

  ‘Frodsham.’ She hesitated. ‘How is he likely to react when he sees you? Do you think he’ll recognize you?’

  That, Rona thought, was the burning question.

  ‘I’m not sure,’ Magda said truthfully, ‘but it might be all that’s needed to . . . bring back his memory.’

  ‘Well, I don’t suppose it could hurt. He shouldn’t be long.’ She stood to one side.

  ‘Could we bring the dog in?’ Rona asked. ‘He’s very well behaved and I think he’d be grateful for a drink. We’ve come quite a long way.’

  ‘Of course.’ Mrs Frodsham bent to pat Gus, who responded by licking her hand. ‘Come through to the kitchen, then.’

  They followed her down a tiled passage to a door on the left, where she gestured to them to seat themselves and filled a bowl with water, which Gus lapped up greedily.

  ‘And perhaps you’re thirsty yourselves; would you like a cup of tea while you’re waiting?’

  ‘That’s very kind.’ Rona hesitated. ‘Could I possibly use your loo?’

  ‘Of course. It’s just inside the front door.’

  Having locked herself in, Rona took out her mobile and with shaking fingers punched out 999.

  ‘Emergency. Which service?’ enquired an impersonal voice in her ear.

  ‘Police. Please listen,’ she went on, speaking rapidly and softly, ‘I’ve only a minute, but I’m speaking from number fifteen Elliott Close, Nestbourne. Kevin Coombes, whom the police want to interview about a murder in Buckfordshire, is due back any minute and we urgently need help. There are three women in the house.’

  The operator started to speak, but Rona cut her off, fearful Kevin would return before she could regain the kitchen. ‘Sorry, I must go. I’ll leave the line open so you can hear what’s going on, but please don’t talk to me – it could be dangerous. Fifteen Elliott Close.’

  She slipped her phone into her bag, being careful not to close it. Then she flushed the lavatory and almost ran back down the passage. Had she phoned too soon? she wondered anxiously. How long would it take the police to get here? Suppose they arrived before Kevin? He’d see their cars and disappear again.

  ‘Come to think of it,’ Mrs Frodsham was saying, as she poured boiling water into a teapot, ‘him losing his memory makes a lot of sense. He seems at a bit of a loss somehow, and keeps very much to himself.’

  ‘You say he’s at work?’ Magda asked.

  ‘Yes; he told us he’d been made redundant, and when he couldn’t find any work in London he came up here. There was a part-time job going at the corner shop, so he took that to tide him over while he looks round.’

  The ideal solution, Rona thought; it was probably family-run, perhaps with no questions asked when extra staff were required. And he’d need to work because he wouldn’t dare use his credit or debit cards as they’d give away
his whereabouts. He must have reckoned it a risk worth taking, specially since it seemed he’d changed both his name and his appearance.

  The sound reached them of the front door opening and closing, and Rona and Magda tensed.

  ‘Mr Cooper?’ Mrs Frodsham called. ‘Could you come to the kitchen for a moment? There’s someone to see you.’

  There was a short silence, followed by cautiously approaching footsteps. Magda stood up, her fists clenched at her sides. And suddenly he was there, framed in the doorway, his eyes widening as he took in Magda.

  ‘You!’ he said in a strangled voice.

  ‘He seems to recognize you,’ Mrs Frodsham murmured incongruously.

  If he turns and runs, Rona thought, we’ve had it. Why did that never occur to us?

  But Kevin Coombes showed no sign of running. His feet seemed rooted to the spot as he stared unbelievingly at Magda, his fingers tugging to loosen his tie, and those few seconds gave Rona the chance to study him.

  She’d wondered how anyone could fail to recognize him when his face had been in the papers and on TV throughout the country, though admittedly context would be a key factor; people simply wouldn’t expect someone going about his business among them to be a hunted killer. Now, though, she acknowledged that she wouldn’t have known him herself. The blond hair, brushed forward in a different style, changed his appearance to a surprising degree. It was only the groove between his eyes that he couldn’t disguise, and that was a common enough feature.

  Magda was about to speak when, abruptly emerging from his trance, Kevin stepped quickly into the room, pushed the door shut and looked wildly about him. On one of the counters was a chopping board, the remains of a cooked chicken, and a small sharp knife – Mrs Frodsham’s interrupted preparations for supper. He darted forward, caught up the knife and spun to face her.

  ‘Lock the back door,’ he instructed, ‘and give me the key.’ And as she stared at him, transfixed, he snapped, ‘Do it!’

  Fumblingly she obeyed, holding out the key at arm’s length, and he snatched it from her and slipped it in his pocket. There was a look in his eyes that made the hairs rise on the back of Rona’s neck. God, what were they doing here?

  Gus growled softly. She slipped her hand inside his collar and pulled him close, conscious of her bag lying open at her feet. Were the police getting this?

  ‘There’s no need for the knife,’ she said clearly. ‘Please put it down.’

  Kevin ignored her and turned to Magda. ‘I don’t know who the devil you are, but you must be from Marsborough.’

  ‘It’s your wife, Mr Cooper,’ Mrs Frodsham ventured timidly, hoping to calm troubled waters.

  Kevin swung round and she shrank back against the sink. ‘My wife? Did you say my wife?’

  ‘She doesn’t know anything!’ Magda said quickly, her voice shaking. ‘I’m the one you need to speak to. You recognize me, don’t you?’

  Kevin’s eyes flickered, but he didn’t reply.

  ‘Why do you recognize me, Kevin?’ Magda persisted. ‘Where have you seen me before?’ Rona could see a pulse beating in her throat and hoped the tactic she was employing was the right one.

  He gave a violent shake of his head. ‘In my dreams, goddammit! How corny is that? Except they were nightmares!’

  ‘And you were in mine, but as you were the dreamer I never saw your face. How did you see mine?’

  He pushed a hand through his hair. ‘Just shut up, will you, and tell me how the hell you found me?’

  ‘How did you see my face?’

  He stared at her, nonplussed, then, with a what-the-hell gesture, answered truculently, ‘Because in one dream I looked in a mirror, didn’t I? And it was your face staring back at me!’ He rubbed the back of his free hand across his mouth as though to negate the words.

  ‘Ah!’ Briefly, Magda closed her eyes.

  ‘So how did you find me?’ he repeated. ‘Are you a goddamn witch or something?’

  ‘Our minds are linked,’ Magda said.

  He gave a snort of derision, but she went on quickly, ‘It was the hypnotist, Kevin. You were sitting next to me on stage, and when he released us our memories must have merged.’

  ‘Women’s bloody fashions,’ he said slowly. ‘Was that down to you? Luce thought it was hilarious.’ A spasm crossed his face and he looked about him blankly. ‘Lucy – is she with you? She is – all right?’

  Magda said, almost steadily, ‘I’ve come to break that connection, to free us.’

  He gave his head a shake and his eyes refocused. ‘You don’t seriously expect me to believe that rubbish? OK, so we met on stage, but as for minds merging – give me a break!’

  Before she could reply the doorbell clarioned into the room, making them all jump, and was immediately followed by a knock on the front door. All four of them froze and Gus started to bark.

  Rona, who was facing the window, caught a brief movement, as though someone were pressed against the wall just out of sight, but her relief was short-lived.

  ‘Nobody move!’ Kevin rasped, raising the knife menacingly.

  The four of them remained motionless, staring at each other, and Gus continued to bark. Mrs Frodsham cleared her throat. ‘It could be my husband,’ she whispered. ‘He’s due home about now.’

  ‘Since when did he ring the bell?’ Kevin demanded.

  As though in answer, it rang again. There was a clatter as the letterbox was pushed up and a voice called, ‘Mr Coombes? This is the police. We know you’re inside. Could we have a word, please?’

  ‘Police!’ Kevin spat. ‘All that nonsense about merged minds! You were filling in time till they got here!’

  ‘No, it’s true!’ Magda choked, ‘but now we’ve—’

  ‘Shut up!’ he snarled. ‘Instead of wasting time listening to you, I should have got the hell out while I still had the chance.’

  ‘Mr Coombes?’ the voice came again. ‘Kevin? We only want to talk. If you let the ladies go, it will make things easier.’

  ‘I bet it would!’ said Kevin between his teeth, then, his voice rising, ‘Can’t you shut that bloody dog up? How can I think, with that infernal racket going on?’

  ‘He always barks at doorbells,’ Rona said helplessly, scratching Gus’s neck in an attempt to calm him.

  ‘Well if he doesn’t stop, I’ll take this knife to him!’

  Knowing it to be no idle threat, she jerked the dog on to his hind legs and clutched his warm, vibrating body against her. ‘Hush, Gus!’ she whispered frantically, burying her fingers in his fur, and, seeming to sense her urgency, he subsided with a final yap. At which moment the telephone on the wall suddenly shrilled, and her hand closed quickly over his muzzle, stifling a resumption of barking.

  ‘That really will be Jim!’ Mrs Frodsham maintained shakily, moving towards the phone.

  ‘Don’t answer it!’

  Terrified, she came to a halt. The phone went on ringing and Rona could feel Gus’s jaw muscles straining to remove her hand.

  ‘All right!’ Kevin exclaimed after another couple of minutes. ‘Anything to stop that din!’ He nodded at his landlady. ‘Bring it over, but don’t try to say anything or it will be the last thing you do!’

  Tremblingly she lifted the phone and held it out to him, but he made no attempt to take it. A disembodied voice reached them in the sudden silence of the room.

  ‘Kevin? Please speak to me.’

  Pause.

  ‘Look, we’re not going to try any tricks. We just want to have a chat, lower the tension in there.’ Another pause. ‘Tell me about your boys. You must be missing them.’

  Kevin shut his eyes involuntarily, raw pain on his face.

  ‘We know why you took them,’ the speaker continued. ‘It wasn’t abduction, was it? It was to spare them walking in and finding their mother in the morning.’ A longer pause. ‘Their grandparents say they’ve been asking for you.’

  ‘Shut up!’ Kevin shouted. ‘Just bloody shut up about my kids!’


  ‘Look, suppose we discuss this face-to-face? I’m going to come round the back of the house. I won’t wear a jacket, so you can see I’m not armed. You don’t even have to open the door, we can—’

  ‘No!’ Kevin shouted, his face contorted. ‘I warn you, if anyone appears I’ll use this knife!’

  And in one movement he swept the phone out of Mrs Frodsham’s hand so that it skittered on to the floor and, reaching forward, grabbed hold of Magda and pulled her roughly towards him, spinning her round and pinioning her against his body, the point of the knife at her throat. And as their bodies made contact a simultaneous shudder shook them and both gave an audible gasp. Mission accomplished, Rona thought sickly, but at what cost?

  ‘Kevin, listen to me!’ Magda gasped. ‘You’re not responsible for all this – none of it is your fault! It was the hypnotist – that quarrelling he made us do. Something went wrong – he didn’t free you from it, so your aggression kept on growing.’

  He continued to hold her, though he lowered the knife and his expression had changed, become frightened and unsure.

  ‘But we’ve broken the connection now,’ Magda continued desperately. ‘You felt it, didn’t you, when we touched? You’re free now, and so am I!’

  ‘Lucy?’ His voice was strangled. ‘I never meant to hurt her, but when I saw the papers Roger’d brought round, and realized they’d been alone in the house . . . I knew she’d never . . . oh God, Lucy!’

  Tears were coursing down his face, and all the time the disembodied voice, calm and measured, trickled into the room from the phone on the floor. Then everything happened at once. Kevin gave a great cry of grief, despair and frustration and kicked out at it, sending it skidding across the tiles; Magda, taking advantage of his distraction, tried to free herself from his grip, and Gus, barking wildly, launched himself across the kitchen and leapt up at Kevin, his front paws landing forcefully on his chest. Totally disorientated, Kevin stumbled and fell, cracking his head on the sharp edge of the cooker as he went down.

  Anxious faces appeared at the window and the doorknob rattled ineffectively, and while Rona and Magda ran to hug each other convulsively, it was Brenda Frodsham who, steeling herself, slid her hand into Kevin’s pocket, retrieved the back-door key, and stumbled across to open it.