Gone in the Night

by Mary-Jane Riley

  ‘You’ve been over there?’

  Jamie shook his head. ‘No, but Lewis and Simon have. And Dad. Not my area of expertise.’

  ‘Interesting.’

  ‘I don’t think there’s much to write about there,’ he laughed.

  ‘I don’t know, anthrax and dead sheep and government shenanigans, always good copy.’

  ‘I’m not sure my family would thank you.’

  ‘Maybe not.’ She smiled at him.

  They sat in a comfortable silence.

  ‘Why aren’t you in the family business, Jamie?’ she asked eventually.

  He sighed. ‘It wasn’t and isn’t for me. Farming I mean. Even the diversification wasn’t my bag. I have nothing to do with it, have no say in it and that’s fine by me. I prefer playing with money.’

  ‘So your area of expertise is money. You’re a banker.’

  He grinned. ‘To rhyme with wanker, I know. Heard all that before.’

  Alex laughed. ‘Sorry. It’s not very original, is it? What is it you do exactly? In banking. It’s not an area I know much about.’

  ‘Are you sure you really want to know?’ He gave her a gentle smile.

  ‘Yes, of course. I wouldn’t have asked otherwise. Besides, you could be a good subject for me.’ She did hope he wouldn’t be too dry with his explanation because the way she was feeling she might just fall asleep.

  ‘I’m a trader – part of a team really – and I invest capital the bank has to hold for a rainy day to make as much money as possible within our pretty high-risk limits. Basically we invest in government bonds and punt around in other related markets. Quite often I get to meet foreign governments who try and get us to buy their debt. I focus on USD – dollars – short-end rates – I’m sorry, am I boring you?’

  Alex was trying, and not managing, to stifle a yawn. Most of what he said had gone straight over her head. ‘Not at all.’

  Jamie laughed. ‘I can see it’s not going to make an article in The Post any time soon.’

  ‘It could be if I made it relatable. It would improve my credibility too. A business feature. Heath would never believe it.’

  ‘Heath?’

  ‘My news editor,’ she explained.

  ‘I see. Good name.’ His face was unsmiling.

  Alex looked at him, amused. Was he jealous? Surely not. She swallowed a laugh. ‘Yes. Named after Heathcliff, but he dropped the “Cliff” bit.’

  ‘And does he look like Heathcliff?’

  ‘Depends what you think Heathcliff looks like, I suppose.’ What an absurd conversation.

  ‘Dark and brooding.’

  Alex shook her head. ‘No, I wouldn’t say he was dark and brooding.’

  All at once she had a pang of longing. To be sitting with Heath now, eating good food and drinking good wine, chatting and laughing as they used to do. Well, had done once or twice.

  ‘You mentioned about doing a feature on homeless people? And that some were, what, disappearing?’ He refilled her glass.

  She looked at Jamie. Was he really interested? His gaze was open and friendly.

  ‘Yes. It seems that some of the rough sleepers have been disappearing; and I know you’ll say that’s not unusual, but I think it might be.’ She put her glass down and rifled in her bag, bringing out the picture of the man in the red jacket. ‘I’m particularly looking for Rick Winterton.’

  ‘Rick.’ His voice was flat. ‘Cora Winterton’s brother.’

  Here we go.

  ‘That’s right. I understand you know them?’ She aimed for friendly interest.

  ‘A bit.’

  Not very forthcoming.

  ‘Rick’s been homeless for a while. Here’s a CCTV picture of a man I think might have forced Rick to go with him.’ She held it out to Jamie.

  ‘Forced?’ He frowned, taking the printout from her.

  ‘Maybe. I’m not sure. I know it’s a long shot, but do you know this man?’

  He laughed. ‘Now I feel like I’m on Crimewatch.’ He looked at the picture before handing it back to her. ‘No, sorry. No idea.’

  ‘Oh well.’ She put it back in her bag.

  ‘Are you showing that around a lot?’

  ‘A fair bit, yes. Why?’

  ‘Nothing. Just wondered that’s all.’

  She took a deep breath. ‘You were at school with him, weren’t you? Rick Winterton, I mean.’

  The fire crackled.

  ‘I was. He was a scholarship boy. A couple of years below me. He wasn’t a friend.’

  ‘No. What about Nigel Bennet?’

  Jamie sipped his drink. ‘Nigel Bennet?’ He frowned. ‘Nope. Don’t recall him.’ He sipped some more. ‘Why all the questions?’

  ‘Trying to build a picture, that’s all.’

  ‘Who is Nigel Bennet, then?’

  ‘He’s called Boney now. Bit of a criminal in the area. Involved with homeless people.’

  Jamie arched an eyebrow. ‘The headmaster wouldn’t like that. A criminal from The Alderton School. You have been doing your research.’ He raised his whisky as if in salute.

  Alex smiled and put her glass on the table. ‘I’d better go.’

  Jamie stayed her arm. ‘Must you?’

  A shiver of – what? anticipation? ran through her. His hand felt heavy and hot on her arm. Her body and mind were relaxed from dinner and the brandy. It was cold outside. She didn’t want to go home …

  Ethel. She sat up quickly. Which was a mistake as her head swam. ‘I’ve got to go. Ethel.’

  ‘Whose that? Your granny?’

  ‘No, my dog.’

  ‘Dog?’

  ‘She’s not exactly mine. I’m looking after her for a friend. You see—’ Something stopped her. She didn’t want to tell him about Martin, not yet. ‘He had to go away, my friend, that is, and it’s the first evening she’s been on her own, so—’

  ‘You can’t leave her.’ He stood.

  ‘No, she’ll probably be crossing her legs as it is.’ She wondered how house-trained Ethel was – if at all. She stood. And swayed.

  ‘You can’t drive home.’

  ‘I know that.’ Stupid, stupid. Once again. She sighed.

  ‘And I can’t drive you.’

  ‘I know that too. And I can’t stay.’ She frowned. ‘You’d better order me a taxi.’

  ‘Because of Ethel.’

  ‘Because of Ethel.’ She spoke firmly, wondering for a fleeting moment what it would be like if she did stay. Dangerous.

  Jamie sighed. ‘I’ll get Paul to take you.’ He punched some numbers into his phone and spoke briefly. ‘He’ll be over at the house.’

  They pulled on the wellies they had taken from the boot room at the farmhouse and went outside into the cold air. A wet fog settled around them, and Alex couldn’t see any distance. Even Jamie’s torch didn’t penetrate the fog, the light bouncing back at them. Alex shivered, and Jamie put his arm around her. She stiffened.

  ‘It’s all right,’ he said, grinning. ‘It’s too cold to be doing any ravishing. Besides, I wouldn’t be able to see you properly.’

  ‘Just you try, mate,’ she retorted, keeping her voice light to take the sting out of her words. She may have had far too much wine and brandy, but she knew danger when she saw it.

  Making their way carefully through the wood they heard the hooting of an owl, and rustling somewhere to the left of them. The fog deadened the sound and made her feel disorientated.

  ‘Don’t worry, it’ll be deer,’ said Jamie, pulling Alex closer.

  She fit snugly under his arm.

  He was warm, comforting.

  ‘I’m not worried,’ said Alex. ‘Thank you for a lovely evening. And if I don’t see her, please thank your mother for the wonderful food tonight.’

  Jamie laughed. ‘You don’t think she cooked it, do you? She has people to do that.’

  No, that didn’t surprise her. ‘Even so, it was delicious.’

  ‘You’re very kind.’ He kissed the top of her head.r />
  And that, thought Alex, was as far as it was going to go. She knew nothing about the Riders, and as a family they seemed dysfunctional. Perhaps Jamie was the exception. But what did she know about him? Then, how much did you know about anybody the second time you met them? She’d made plenty of mistakes in the past, and it was about time she learned from them.

  Gently, she disentangled herself from him. They walked side-by-side, the forest giving way to fields, and the footpath round the edge. On her way to the lodge she had been full of food and wine and very relaxed. Now she knew she had drunk too much and she wanted to get home. To her, the silence was not companionable any more.

  ‘You’re divorced, I gather,’ she said, regretting the words as soon as they had left her mouth. What on earth was she thinking? His mouth tightened imperceptibly.

  ‘Yes. She left me before you ask. It was painful. Luckily no children.’

  ‘Right,’ she mumbled.

  ‘You’re a single parent. You’ve got a son,’ he said, as they picked their way through muddy puddles that were just about picked out in the torchlight. ‘And a sister who has mental health problems.’

  ‘Had,’ she corrected automatically. ‘You’re very well informed. How did you know?’

  She saw his mouth twist into the semblance of a smile.

  ‘You’re not the only one who can do research you know.’

  How had it come to this? A few minutes before she had felt relaxed in his company, now due to a stupid question on her part the atmosphere had soured. His marriage and divorce was obviously something he didn’t like talking about, and she shouldn’t have blundered straight in. On the other hand, she didn’t particularly want to talk about Sasha. Or Gus, for that matter. Not at the moment. She needed to get the evening back on track.

  ‘I’m sorry if I’ve put my foot in it,’ she said, in a small voice. ‘I don’t know what I was thinking.’

  They walked on for a few minutes. He took her hand, squeezed it, and let it go. She was forgiven.

  She tripped over a root; Jamie steadied her.

  ‘Who did cook dinner?’ she asked as she clambered over a stile hoping he wouldn’t notice her bottom that looked enormous in the coat.

  ‘One of our girls. They’re from Eastern Europe. When we were small we had au pairs occasionally, and Mum likes to keep up the tradition, though instead of looking after us, they help in the house. And we get wonderful meals. Makes a change from London takeouts, I can tell you.’

  The lights of the farmhouse glowed through the fog at last.

  Alex jumped as an ear-splitting shriek suddenly tore through the air, magnified by the stillness of the fog. ‘What the hell was that?’

  There was another, that was suddenly cut off. The silence was eerie.

  ‘Were they coming from the island?’ she asked, thinking back to their earlier conversation. ‘They sounded from about the right direction. Across the water.’

  ‘Worried about ghosts?’ Jamie grinned.

  ‘No, they sounded all too human to me.’

  Jamie shook his head. ‘Probably an animal. Or even an owl – their calls can be quite off-putting, you know. They don’t all do twit-twoos.’

  ‘I know that.’

  ‘Or maybe a fox with some prey.’

  ‘No,’ said Alex. ‘It sounded human to me.’ She was unnerved.

  Jamie shook his head. ‘Too much talk of anthrax and dead sheep. There’s nothing on the island. Come on, Paul will be waiting in the drive.’

  They drew nearer to the house, and Alex made out the shape of a car, its headlights shining in the gloom. She decided to say nothing more about the screams. Perhaps it really had been an owl or a fox. Perhaps.

  ‘Wait, my shoes. I can’t go home in these wellies.’

  ‘I’ll fetch them for you,’ said Jamie.

  Then there was a shout.

  ‘Mr Rider, sir?’ A man came hurrying up to him. ‘Sorry to disturb you. I know it’s late and everything, but I need a word.’

  ‘Now?’ he said, irritably.

  ‘Sorry, sir, but yes. I can’t find your brothers anywhere and your parents are in bed. It’s a bit urgent.’ The man hopped from foot to foot.

  He turned to her. ‘Alex—’

  ‘Don’t worry,’ she said. ‘I can fetch my shoes myself.’

  She hurried around the back of the house, the outside lamps with their soft coronas lighting her way. Thankfully the boot room was open.

  Where had she left them? She peered around. There. In the corner.

  She eased off the wellies and slipped them on.

  Back outside, Jamie was talking to two men in hi-vis jackets. The second man had his back to her, but was gesticulating. Jamie looked angry, the first man, uncomfortable. As she got closer, Jamie saw her and gave a wave of dismissal to the two men, who hurried off.

  ‘Sorry about that,’ he said, as he opened the door of the waiting car. ‘Business.’

  ‘Money talk at this time of night?’

  ‘Not my business, farm business. No one else around. Security issues.’ He bent forward and kissed her cheek. ‘I did enjoy this evening. Despite the family. Maybe we can do it again?’

  She smiled. ‘Maybe.’

  As she watched Jamie and the house recede into the fog, she wondered if her eyes had deceived her. As the second man had hurried away from Jamie, she could have sworn that she had caught a glimpse of a red jacket underneath the hi-vis jacket he wore.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

  DAY FOUR: MORNING

  ‘Have you forgiven me for leaving you for so long?’ Alex finished the last of her toast, saving a crust for Ethel, who took it, very delicately and deliberately, into her mouth. The dog’s large brown eyes still looked reproachful, though.

  ‘Sorry. You can come with me sometimes, but not always. At least you were a good girl.’ Ethel wagged her tail. Alex fondled her ears while Ethel sat, her tongue lolling, eyes closed, a gentle puff escaping from her backside.

  Alex had expected to come home last night to a steaming great pile on the floor or chewed skirting boards but there was nothing. Bonus. Perhaps keeping a dog was not going to be too hard. Though she did have to deal with Ethel’s reproachful look when she came through the door.

  Her phone rang out David Bowie’s ‘Heroes’. Jamie.

  ‘Hi,’ she said, surprise in her voice. She moved away from the vicinity of Ethel’s bottom.

  ‘Alex.’ His voice was warm. Chocolatey, even. ‘I wanted to talk to you.’

  ‘What about?’

  He laughed. ‘Nothing in particular, I wanted to hear your voice. And to thank you for a lovely evening. I did enjoy it. I also want to apologize for stepping over the line, bringing up your boy and your sister like I did.’

  He did, indeed, sound contrite.

  ‘I shouldn’t have mentioned your divorce, either. It was insensitive of me.’

  ‘Now we’ve both beaten our breasts, so to speak, can we start again?’

  Alex bit her lip. ‘Look. My sister’s holding an art exhibition at the gallery in Gisford and the preview’s tomorrow evening.’ She hesitated a moment. Was she doing the right thing? ‘Perhaps you’d like to come with me?’

  ‘That’s a swish place. Your sister must be good. Tomorrow? Let me see …’

  ‘No worries if you can’t. I mean, I know it’s short notice and you have to make your money—’

  ‘I’d love to.’

  Alex smiled into her phone. ‘That’s settled then.’

  ‘Great. Now, Paul is driving your car back this morning. There’s a parking space outside your apartment I suppose?’

  ‘Yes, there is. Thank you. Paul will bring someone with him, I hope. You won’t make him walk home?’

  Jamie laughed. ‘He’ll bring someone.’ He cleared his throat. ‘I’m looking forward to seeing you tomorrow night. I’m in London most of the day, but I will be back. For you.’ That chocolate voice again. Warm. Odd how important the timbre of a voice was.
r />   Be on your guard, Alex, a voice in her head told her.

  ‘Thank you. I’ll see you then.’

  She ended the call. Her sister’s art exhibition was going to be even more interesting.

  Ethel looked at her and whined, her tail thumping on the floor.

  ‘You want to go out, old girl? So you shall.’ She shrugged on her coat and pulled on her bobble hat before picking up Ethel’s lead.

  Calling out a ‘hello’ to John Watson who was checking his post, she stepped outside. At least the weather had cheered up – only for the day, if the weather forecasters were to be believed. The sky was blue and the air was crisp. It did feel as though the gloom of January was lifting.

  She walked past the houseboats moored in the harbour, avoiding tripping over the rusting mooring rings and narrowly missing kicking over the two pints of milk left by the gangplank leading to The Rose of Tralee.

  Sitting down on a bench at the side of the sandy footpath that ran alongside the yacht club, Ethel down by her side, she closed her eyes, letting the weak, wintry sun warm her face, and tried to clear her mind.

  But too many thoughts were clamouring for attention. Jamie Rider was a liar, she knew that. However attractive he might be, he was a liar. Yes, he did admit to knowing Rick, but come on, they were at the same school playing the same sport, there was no way he wouldn’t have known him pretty well. And as for denying any knowledge of Nigel Bennet – and that denial had convinced her Bennet definitely was Boney – that was plain ridiculous. They must have known each other.

  So why was he lying?

  Was the family somehow mixed up with Boney and his criminal activities? Did they have something to do with Rick disappearing? The other homeless people disappearing? She sighed. Surely not. Why would they be?

  Why not? A little voice nagged her.

  And had she really seen a red jacket underneath the hi-vis jacket worn by the security guard – or whatever he was – on the farm last night? Or was it a figment of her overactive imagination? Perhaps, the drink hadn’t helped. She shifted on the bench. And the island the Rider family owned, she would like to find out more about that. There was also Sam Slater. A straight-up sort of guy. But something had occurred to her while she’d been talking to him when they had been out on the road looking for the Land Rover. He had said to her that maybe she was imagining it all because she’d had too much to drink at the party. How had he known she had been at the Riders charity do?