He parked the car opposite Lara’s house and gazed around him. Once the terrace of two-storey buildings would have been quite grand, but they were now shabby. The row of buttons beside each front door was the giveaway. Each had been divided into separate apartments. Harder to be house proud in those circumstances, he supposed, as he got out of the car.
He checked the address on the piece of paper he was carrying. Number fifty-three, flat two. He pressed the button. A buzz sounded somewhere. He waited for a voice from the intercom. Nothing. Another buzz. He was about to try again when he heard the noise of a window being opened above him.
A young woman poked her head out. ‘Sorry, were you trying the door?’
He stepped back. She had short hair, dripping wet. Her shoulders were bare. He could see the top of a towel. ‘Yes, hello there,’ he called up. ‘My name’s Austin Turner. I’m Lara’s stepbrother.’ Brother, stepbrother, foster-brother. He’d never made the distinction, switching back and forth between the terms. ‘Could I talk to you about her?’
‘Oh, hi. Of course you can. Hold on, I’ll be right down.’ She was there at the door in a minute, her hair still wet. She was about his age, barely five foot, in cut-off jeans and an orange T-shirt. He couldn’t help noticing she wasn’t wearing a bra. ‘I’m Nina. Sorry to keep you waiting.’ She had a slight accent, not quite English, something else. ‘Come in. We’re on the first floor.’
He followed her up the wide staircase and onto the landing. The door opened onto a colourful living room, with a large bay window overlooking the street. The curtains were orange. There was a blue patterned rug on the floor. One corner was a riot of spider plants, rubber plants and even a palm. Someone here had a green thumb. She gestured towards a sofa covered in a bright red throw. ‘Take a seat, I’ll be right back.’
He looked around. He doubted Lara had had much to do with the decoration. It wasn’t her style at all. He thought of her apartment in Merryn Bay, all white walls and pastel colors. This was like living in a kaleidoscope. Maybe that’s why she’d disappeared. She couldn’t bear to live in this mass of colour another day.
Nina came back in. Her hair was drier. He could see different colours in it now. Bright red streaks here and there among the dark brown, even some golden strands as well. She’d also put on a bra, he noticed.
‘Sorry about that,’ she said. ‘I promise I haven’t just got up and that wasn’t my first shower of the day. I’ve been for a run.’
‘It’s no problem.’ She had very bright eyes, he noticed. Full of life.
‘So, how can I help? It’s about Lara going off like that, I suppose?’
He nodded. ‘Do you mind if I ask you a few questions?’
‘Of course not. I’m as puzzled as you are, to tell you the truth. I thought she was in fine form. And then she announced she was going away for a few weeks, asked me not to rent out her room. It wasn’t until I got all those messages on the answering machine from your sister at the airport, and then her call, that I realised something more might be up.’
‘So how did she seem before she left?’
‘Physically? As groomed as ever. You know Lara. She’d come out of a hurricane with her hair in place.’ She smiled. ‘We’ve had a few nights out on the tear and I don’t know how she did it but she would look as bandbox fresh at the end of the night as she did at the start. I’d have mascara under my eyes, wine spilt on myself. I’ve never been able to wear white clothes. But she was always spotless. The brat never had hangovers, either.’
‘She’s never drunk much.’
‘No. Imagine saying you didn’t like the taste of alcohol? Chance would be a fine thing with me. But was she distressed at all, do you mean?’
Austin nodded.
She gave it some thought. ‘I really don’t think she was. She was focused, if you know what I mean. Pre-occupied, I suppose, but she often was, especially when one of her assignments was due. She was into her course, doing lots of extra hours. But it wasn’t all slog. She said she was getting a lot out of it.’
Austin knew that already. ‘So she’s been living here with you since she arrived?’
Nina nodded. ‘I’ve got an arrangement with the tourism college. I do a lot of short-term lets, students or visitors. I had a good chat with Lara the first day she came to have a look at the room. I thought at first sight she might be a bit reserved, but she’s not underneath, is she? And it suited her here as well, of course, with the college down the road.’
‘You’re a student there too?’
‘No. I’m working as a temp. I took a career break and went travelling last year. And I can’t decide what to do next, so I’m doing casual work. I’m actually a scientist.’ She smiled at the expression on his face. ‘I know, I should be wearing a white coat. I’m a biologist, to be exact. I do lab work, research. But I got tired of being so clean all the time. And peering into microscopes. I had a permanent red mark around my eye. Terribly hard to conceal. I was going through pots of make-up.’
Austin was finding her very entertaining, but also distracting. He was here about Lara, after all. ‘Would it be all right if I had a quick look in her room?’
‘Of course it would. It’s this way, here.’
He followed her out of the living room, past a small, equally bright kitchen and down a narrow hallway. Black and white photographs lined the walls, details of buildings, rooftops, stonework. ‘They’re mine,’ she said. ‘I’m trying to be arty. Here’s Lara’s room. What we charmingly call the box room.’ She opened the door and turned on the light.
It looked like Lara’s type of room. A white quilt cover lay on the three-quarter size bed, heaped with pale blue and white velvet and silk cushions. Muslin hung on the window. A pile of books stood on the shelf. He glanced at them. A mixture of travel books, some fiction. A poetry book. He hadn’t known Lara read poetry.
He felt uneasy, as though he was snooping. And what was he looking for anyway? A note on the pillow? I have run away. Don’t try to find me.
‘Thanks,’ he said, not sure what to do next. He didn’t want to start sorting through her belongings, going through her cupboards.
Nina was watching him closely. ‘If you don’t mind me asking, why are you all so worried about her? She’s over thirty, isn’t she? A grown-up? Or are you a particularly close family?’
It was hard to explain. ‘It’s just that it’s so out of character. She’s so reliable. And she was due to help out on this tour. And then she didn’t turn up, or let us know there was any problem. That’s not like her.’
‘Tour? Oh, that TV series one? I did wonder about that, when she said she was heading away. She’d been talking about it quite a lot. And you’re right, she is reliable. I think she’s the only flatmate I’ve ever had who’s always paid her rent on time.’ She stepped out into the hall again. ‘What about a coffee?’
‘That would be great, thanks.’ He followed her into the kitchen, taking a seat at the wooden table, watching as she took down cups and a silver espresso maker and prepared coffee.
‘You should think about becoming a drummer,’ she said.
‘Sorry?’
She gestured towards his hands, tapping a rhythm on the side of the table. He hadn’t realised he’d been doing it.
‘Oh. Sorry about that. Actually, I am a drummer. A percussionist, at least.’
‘In a band? What are you called?’
‘The Southern Cross Orchestra.’
‘That’s catchy. Hard for some of your fans to spell though.’
‘Most of the fans are over sixty, so their spelling’s pretty good.’
‘So you’re a classical musician? Wow. I thought they were only old people too.’
‘No, we’re all in our thirties. It’s just the formal clothes make us look grown-up.’
She smiled. ‘Milk? Sugar?’ As she fetched both, she looked over her shoulder. ‘Can I ask you something else? Did you call yourself Lara’s stepbrother?’
Austin nodded.
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‘I hadn’t realised it was a blended family. Your father married her mother, something like that?’
‘Not so much a blended family. She’s my foster-sister really. Lara came to live with us after her parents were killed.’
‘Killed?’ She turned completely. ‘Oh God, I’m sorry. She mentioned that they had both died a year ago, but she didn’t say they were killed. What happened?’
‘Not a year ago. More than twenty years ago. It’s a bit complicated. Her real parents were killed in a car crash in Ireland. When Lara was little. That’s when she came to live with us. My parents, Lara’s foster-parents I suppose you’d call them, died within a few months of each other, just over a year ago.’ He noticed Nina’s confusion. ‘She didn’t tell you about it?’
‘No. I mean, I don’t know when it would come up in normal conversation, but when we talked about our families she said she had a sister and two brothers, and that her parents had died recently.’
‘Well, that’s true. She does have a sister and two brothers. Just not biological. My parents were her guardians, rather than adopted parents. So she had two sets of parents, I suppose.’ He was uncomfortable talking about this so soon, but in a way that was what he was there to talk about, wasn’t it? He stirred his coffee. ‘So she didn’t seem upset about anything lately, then? Study? Home life? Being away from home?’
‘Not that she said. Nothing I can put my finger on, anyway. Look, let’s go into the living room and talk, it’s nicer in there.’
He picked up his cup and saucer and followed her. He’d heard that trace of accent again. A lilt, as though English was her second language. It reminded him of the waitresses in the Italian coffee shop near their rehearsal rooms in Melbourne, the daughters of immigrants, their accents a musical mixture of Australian and Italian. He should be talking about Lara, but he had to ask. ‘Are you English? I’m trying to place your accent …’
She smiled. ‘I knew I shouldn’t have skipped those elocution lessons. I’m Italian. I was born there, but I’ve lived here since I was a teenager. My parents moved over to run a restaurant here in Bath.’
‘So you went from cooking to lab work?’
‘Is it any wonder I gave it up? I can’t eat the results of my experiments. I think my parents had a much better idea.’ She went to the bay window, pushed it up as far as it would go, then perched on the sill and lit a cigarette. It was only after she’d blown out the first plume of smoke that she asked him. ‘Do you mind? I’m trying to give up, but I like it too much.’
‘No, not at all. It’s your house.’
‘I kid myself it helps me think. I know it’s not fair for a nonsmoker like Lara, so I sit here, like a pigeon. Half in, half out.’ She squinted. ‘If I disappeared suddenly, it would be because I was having a mad love affair and my lover wanted to spirit me away.’
‘You think Lara was having a love affair?’
She shook her head. ‘No, I don’t actually. I think there were a few guys interested in her, and she went out to see films and bands with people from her course, but no one special. Unless she’d met someone else recently that I didn’t know about. And she might have. I mean, we got on well, and we’d go out together now and then, but we were both busy. Sometimes days would go by without us having a proper conversation. So she might have met someone.’ She went quiet, drawing on the cigarette again, then sending another plume of smoke out through the open window. ‘It would have to have been a bolt from the blue. Love at first sight, wouldn’t it? I can’t really picture that happening to Lara.’
‘Why not?’
‘Because she seems too organised. Controlled, almost. Though they say still waters run deep. That’s the saying, isn’t it?’ She laughed. ‘I used to say too many cooks spoil the bread until someone kindly pointed my error out. I thought it made perfect sense – how could a whole lot of cooks knead the bread at the same time?’
She hopped off the windowsill and started pacing the room, still with the cigarette in her hand. This time the smoke went into the room. She had a real restless energy, Austin noticed. But she was graceful with it. Like a dancer. It was very attractive.
‘Have you been to her college yet? Someone there might know more.’
He shook his head. ‘No, I came straight here. Via Cornwall at least. I called in on my other sister Harriet in St Ives this morning.’
‘After you’d flown in from Australia? It must be a close family.’
‘No, from Berlin.’ He filled her in briefly on the orchestra’s tour. Again the conversation veered away from Lara, as she fired questions at him. Which cities had he been to? Which operas were they doing? She’d seen a few, but wasn’t an expert. The problem with being Italian, she told him, was that people always assumed she’d spent her childhood singing Tosca and Rigoletto. In her opinion opera was an acquired taste. She frowned. ‘There’s not a lot for a drummer to do in opera, though, is there? Don’t you just have to hit the cymbals now and again?’
‘That’s about it.’
‘So what do you do the rest of the time? Look around the theatre a lot?’
‘A fair bit.’
‘That would be good fun. Because everyone in the audience would be staring at the singers, so you’d have a real chance to stare at them.’
‘I do, yes.’ He was about to try to bring the subject back to Lara when she stubbed out the cigarette, took a peppermint from a bowl beside her and checked her watch.
‘Come on,’ she said. ‘We might as well go down to Lara’s college now. They have classes on Wednesday and Thursday nights, so there might be someone there you can talk to. One of her classmates or one of the lecturers.’
‘I can go on my own if you point me in the right direction.’
‘No, I’m as puzzled as you. I want to know where she is too. Let’s go.’
In her St Ives hotel room, Harriet answered the phone for the third time in five minutes. The tour group was travelling to the nearby harbour town of Padstow for a special dinner tonight and the preparations had sent most of the ladies in the group into a spin. She’d already had Miss Boyd wondering if Harriet had seen her handbag anywhere. Yes, Harriet assured her. She’d had it when they got off the bus that afternoon. ‘Oh, yes, here it is. Thank you, Harriet.’ Mrs Kempton had rung to ask if Harriet could loan her an umbrella as unfortunately she seemed to have lost hers. Harriet said that of course she could and she would bring it down to the foyer with her. The latest call was from Miss Talbot.
‘Harriet, could you please give me some fashion advice? Would a silver halter top go better with pink trousers or a blue skirt?’
‘There’s a bit of a wind outside tonight, Miss Talbot. You might be happier in something warmer, perhaps?’
‘Do you think?’ Harriet heard a rustling of coathangers. ‘That’s a good idea, Harriet. I have just the thing. Thank you!’
‘You’re welcome.’
Harriet had barely hung up when the phone rang again. It was Mrs Kempton again. ‘Harriet, I was sure I took out my favourite scarf but now I can’t find it. Would you have a minute to pop down?’
‘Of course. I’ll be right there.’
She quickly finished her own make-up and collected her bag and wrap from the foot of the bed. En route to Mrs Kempton’s room she took a quick detour and ran downstairs to check on the men. They were already changed into sports jackets and smart slacks, perfectly happy in the seaview bar with pints of beer in front of them. They didn’t notice her, engrossed in the racing results on the TV. There was no sign of Patrick. He was in his room getting ready, too, she assumed. She smiled at the thought of him ringing her, too. Asking her advice about his clothes as he had that first night. ‘Harriet, should I wear the white shirt or the blue shirt?’ She had a memory flash of his toned brown body and had to blink it away.
As she made her way to Mrs Kempton’s room she found her mind filling with more thoughts about Patrick. He had been great company again all day. He had such a nice way with the g
roup, able to put them at ease and make them laugh. Make her laugh, particularly. Or perhaps they just had very similar senses of humour.
Clive had also finally decided he liked him. At least, he’d stopped doing the sudden braking when Patrick was standing talking to the group. She had been watching for it that afternoon, keeping a close eye on Patrick as he was answering their questions. Out of the corner of her eye she had seen Clive lean forward to the brake pedal. She’d leapt up and grasped Patrick around the waist, convinced he was about to go flying down the aisle.
Patrick had looked startled and then amused. ‘Harriet, what a lovely surprise.’
She’d let go immediately. ‘I’m so sorry, I thought you were going to go flying.’
‘Not without special effects wires, I promise. But thank you very much anyway.’
Harriet had gone red and hurriedly sat down. Mr Fidock had given another whoop. Mrs Lamerton had just looked annoyed that she hadn’t thought of doing the same thing.
On the way home from Bodmin Moor, they’d travelled to a coastal lookout near Newquay, the location for a dramatic scene in episode nine, ‘The Case of the Rogues’ Reunion’. They asked Patrick for memories of the punch-up on the cliff top between Willoughby and Jonas Herron, the crooked abattoir owner who featured in a number of episodes. It had been a two-part storyline, the first episode ending on a – literally – cliffhanging sequence featuring Willoughby hanging by his fingertips from the cliff edge, having been pushed over by Herron. They were enthralled as he described how he nearly fell in real life and had to be winched to safety by a crane.
Mr Douglas managed to secure the seat next to Patrick for the trip back. Harriet overheard him telling the actor about the searing heat of an Australian summer and how he’d had to have a skin cancer removed from his nose only a week before he’d left for this trip. ‘It went well, I think. I’m just waiting for the autopsy results.’
‘Autopsy?’ Patrick said.
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