by Sarah Mason
He bows his head and I look toward Holly.
“What about her friends? I mean, you must know some of them? Could one of them speak to Emma for you?” Holly asks.
“Well, she did tend to keep that side of her life sort of separate, and she always came to Cambridge so I have never had much occasion to meet them. I think they might have been a bit snobby too, old friends of the family, that sort of thing, and she was always worried they would sneak to her father about us.”
“They don't sound like very good friends to me,” I murmur.
“Of course, we do have the friend whose party we met at in common but she's away on holiday for two weeks. Do you know if she was particular friends with anyone at the paper?”
“There are a couple of girls she works with but I don't know how friendly they all were. I could give them a call and ask around for you.”
With this Charlie seems to pull himself together slightly. “Look, I'm sorry to dump all of this on you two. To be honest, it's a relief just to tell someone who knows her. Will you tell them that all I want to do is talk to her? Let me write down my mobile number for you.” He takes a minute to find a pen in his pocket and I tear off a bit of paper bag from my shell purchase for him to write on. He hands it over to Holly.
“I'll call you,” she says, studying the paper for a second.
After a moment, Charlie hauls himself from his seat and gathers up what's left of his letters and stuffs them back into his inside pocket. He runs his fingers through his hair again and I suddenly feel terribly sorry for him. He looks like a little boy lost.
He looks at us both in turn. “Thank you,” he says. “Thank you for letting me talk to you. And if you find anything out, Holly, I'd be very grateful.”
He ambles out of the pub and Holly and I watch him go in silence. When the door has shut on him, I lean back in my chair and determinedly sip at my whisky.
“Bloody hell, so that's what's happened to Emma,” says Holly.
“What on earth is she doing disappearing on that gorgeous chap a week before her wedding? She must be absolutely mad.”
“I can't believe she hasn't told any of us.”
“Well, she might have done. They could be very good at keeping secrets.”
Holly looks at me pityingly. “Nobody who works at the paper is very good at keeping secrets. But she should have been gloating all over the place with that hunk in tow. Why on earth did he pick Emma? I mean, he must have actually got to know her by now?”
“Perhaps he's never put greasy fingers on her Gucci handbag.”
“No, she wasn't very happy about that.”
“Maybe she has some hidden assets.”
Holly snorts. “Well, they must be bloody well hidden because I've never glimpsed any of them.”
“And then not only does Emma hook this gorgeous guy but it looks suspiciously to me as though she's thrown him over too.”
“Unless Sir Christopher McKellan really is keeping her prisoner. Hmmm,” Holly says thoughtfully, “I think I might have an ask around for Charlie. I'll give the girls she works with a call at the paper. Just in case her father really is keeping her at home or something.”
“But maybe she really doesn't want to see him. It's not any of our business, is it?”
“No, but a phone call wouldn't hurt, would it? Then at least Charlie can hear it firsthand from Emma.”
“I suppose.”
“Besides, I think there is more to this than meets the eye. It seems a bit overdramatic to finish with your fiancé by disappearing off the face of the earth. It's not like he even lives in Bristol! And yet she doesn't come into work or go back home. It just seems strange, that's all.”
“Maybe she knew that he would try to find her and talk her out of it.”
“But she didn't plan it, did she? She hasn't booked any time off work or even called in sick. Emma just goes to visit her father one night to get his blessing for her impending marriage and doesn't come back.”
Now when Holly puts it like that, it does sound kind of sinister. “What is this Sir Christopher McKellan like?”
“He hasn't made many friends in Bristol. He is extremely hard. He prosecuted a notorious drug case a few years ago where the general opinion was that the person being tried should get off. But he pushed for a maximum sentence and got it. Thank God the death penalty isn't around, otherwise he would have pushed for that and probably got it too. All sorts of ugly stuff came out afterward about jury interference and stuff. The defending counsel tried for a mistrial but it was thrown out. And no one has quite forgotten about it.”
“God, I wouldn't like to be in Emma's shoes,” I mutter.
“Don't really fancy Charlie's either.”
“If I was Charlie, I wouldn't fancy Emma.”
“Too bloody right. I'd be making for the hills shouting, ‘Sorry, love, the wedding's off!' over my shoulder.”
“Seems strange that she didn't mention her engagement at work.”
“Well, you know what a snob she is! She's probably ashamed he's not titled or something and worried that it would get back to her father somehow. I'll see what I can find out. Now! What are we doing tonight?”
I stand up and loop my bag over my shoulder. Holly picks up her bag and links arms with me as we walk toward the door. “I don't know what Mum has planned. Cocktails and a takeaway perhaps?”
“Maybe a chocolate orange too?”
Clever girl. I smile and nod while Holly opens the door for me.
Chapter Six
The next morning, I wake up early even though it's a Sunday and tut to myself in irritation. I try to have a little pretend slumber to lull my body back to sleep but after about ten minutes I give up altogether as I can hear squawking, barking and swearing from downstairs and that's just my mother. I get up, throw on a toweling robe and pad down to the kitchen.
Everyone seems to be outside or not around so I take advantage of a few precious minutes of solitude to make a pot of tea and then sit at the kitchen table picking my nails. I am still thinking about Charlie. It does seem bizarre that Emma didn't tell anyone at the office about her engagement, but maybe she was petrified of what her father might do. I can't imagine anyone being that scared of their own parent though. Embarrassed, yes. Scared, no.
I try to fit what he told us into my mental picture of Emma. I have met Emma on a couple of occasions in the past and a few years at charm school really wouldn't go amiss. The first time was at an office bowling trip and I happened to be staying with Holly at the time so naturally I tagged along. I remember Emma specifically because while everyone gamely put on those horrible little bowling shoes which, I don't care what anyone says to the contrary, really don't go with anything, Emma made a huge fuss. Firstly she said she would wear her own shoes, thank you, and then when the staff said that she couldn't, she insisted they douse the shoes in that antiseptic spray (which I strongly suspect is furniture polish anyway). I think everyone has an innate fear of catching something nasty from bowling shoes but to be honest, after living with Morgan the Pekinese I'm just heartily glad that they haven't been peed on. Emma then insisted that they put her shoes in the manager's office because they were from Prada (and at this point she said it loud enough for everyone to hear, which seemed slightly strange if she didn't want them to get nicked). She then spent the entire evening in a massive sulk and acting very much as though it was putting her out greatly just to be there.
When Holly introduced us at one point in the evening she looked at me as though I had just crawled out of one of those bowling shoes and also needed a good douse of antiseptic spray. Although she isn't exactly an oil painting Emma does dress extremely well, which just makes me feel even more second-rate standing next to her, particularly when she looks me up and down in disdain. So she seems a strange choice for Charlie but maybe he finds something distinctly appealing in her off-hand manner. And I really did feel sorry for Charlie. Nothing he told us boded well on the happy-ever-after front. Not that
Emma would be my natural choice for happy-ever-after but a disappearing bride-to-be doesn't sound too good. But she might just be having a major strop about the flowers or something.
My mother launches herself through the back door with Norman tucked under her arm and carrying a glass casserole dish.
“What's that for?” I ask, indicating the dish.
“Hmm? Oh, food for the badgers. I started putting some scraps out on the lawn at night for them a couple of weeks ago which was simply a huge mistake. Now if I forget they come and knock on the window. Is your father around?” she asks.
“Haven't seen him. Why?”
“He has banned Norman from the house.” Morgan will be thrilled to hear this, the two of them have been battling for supremacy.
“Why?”
“A small misunderstanding about some whitebait. And your father has very cruelly suggested that Norman might be malingering.” She looks wounded by this allegation.
“Hmmm.”
“Do you think it's too early for a cigarette?”
“Far too early. Have you got rehearsals today?”
“One at lunchtime,” she says, bustling over to the fridge with Norman smiling smugly at Morgan from his eyrie. If he could have flicked up a webbed foot in a two-fingered gesture then he would have. “Matt is fitting it in between his services. What are you doing today?”
“Don't know yet. I'll see what everyone is up to. Barney might be working, I suppose.”
“No, I don't think so. Your father was going to help him write his CV. I really don't know what's come over him lately.”
I clear my throat and change the subject. “You have remembered that I'm going back to Bristol to stay with Holly for a few days?”
“Are you? That's nice, dear.” This is the fifth time I've told her and I know it will still be a complete surprise to her to find I'm not at dinner on Monday night. “So you won't be around on Wednesday. That's a pity because Gordon is coming down.” She frowns to herself. “I must remember not to let Norman in that day. Gordon is allergic to feathers.” I hope she doesn't remember. Gordon versus Norman in some sort of stand-off would be almost worth sticking around for. I really don't know who the smart money would be on.
I'm just about to make some sort of neutral comment when my father comes in and gives my mother a very stern look. “I sincerely hope that isn't a seagull under your arm, Sorrel.”
I smile to myself and slip away to get dressed.
By the time I've got back downstairs, admittedly with a slight detour to the sitting room with a magazine, I discover that it's past twelve o'clock and Holly has departed for the day, leaving me a cryptic note saying that she's got some work to do but she'll meet me in the village pub at one. I've got some time on my hands so I decide to set off early for the walk down to the village. I manage to make it stretch to twenty minutes and I must really have been dawdling some because I was overtaken by an octogenarian and a two-year-old.
I'm already thinking about what I might fancy to eat as I push on the latch of the ancient oak door of the pub. To my surprise Holly is already there, sitting perkily at a table about ten feet in front of me with a bottle of wine and three glasses to hand.
“Hello!” I greet her. “I was expecting you to turn up harassed and late.”
“Well, here I am early and calm. Glass of wine?”
“Ooh, yes please.”
“You do realize those Timberland boots are too big for you?”
I frown and look down at my feet. I was hoping to have got away with it as they are buried under my jeans. “I know. They must be Barney's. Unless my feet have shrunk, of course.”
“I think they must be Barney's. I would remember you having clown feet. Sam is joining us, by the way. I just bumped into him. You'll never guess what? I've found a story! I've been working on it all morning!”
“Is that what you've been up to? What's it about?”
“‘Tyrant Solicitor Holds Daughter Hostage From Her Wedding.'” Holly sketches out the headline with her hand. “Ring any bells?”
“You're going to write about Emma McKellan?”
“I just started thinking about it during the night. What if Charlie is right? What if Sir Christopher really is keeping Emma from marrying him? I mean, one day she's in work and the next she has disappeared off the face of the earth. It's a great story! Thank God it has come along when it has, you said my luck might change overnight! And what a scoop! The whole of Bristol has been waiting for Sir C to have a fall. I'll be some sort of folk hero!” For some reason a picture of lederhosen flashes into my head. I'm not sure that's what Holly means. “I can see the headline now! I've just been doing some research this morning and I called Joe at home.”
“What did he say?”
“Well, he was understandably a little cautious. Just told me to do some research first. I don't think he's very keen on being sued by Sir Christopher.”
“I can see his point. So where are you going to start?”
“Joe wants to hear my ideas this afternoon so I thought we should find Emma first.”
“Find Emma?”
“Yes, we find Emma.”
“We?”
“You're not doing anything better, are you?”
“I suppose not,” I say doubtfully. “What do you want me to do?”
“Well, I've been back to Rock this morning to see what I could find out from the neighbors. Apparently Sir Christopher is in residence at the moment but no one has seen Emma, which is not to say that she's not there, but it seems unlikely. Anyway, I thought you could pay Sir Christopher a little visit.”
I stare at her in horror. I was thinking more along the lines of some gentle library research or something. I can already feel my fringe starting to curl. “You have to be kidding.”
“He knows who I am. I've come across him a couple of times. He doesn't know you,” she says pleadingly.
My own mother won't know me by the time he's cut me up into little pieces and floated me down the River Camel. Holly must take my absolute horrified silence as some sort of tacit agreement because she suddenly starts warming to her theme.
“When I think about poor Charlie and the reasons that Sir Christopher doesn't want his daughter to marry him, it just makes my blood boil. It's not fair that he can just lock up his daughter and stop her from marrying the man she loves! It will be a blow for the sisterhood! And what better way than two sisters working together! We can be like . . . partners!”
Yes, but there's always one numbskull in the partnership, isn't there? Always one poor sod who does all the dirty work while the other leans back and takes the glory. Sherlock Holmes and Dr. Watson. Scooby Doo and Shaggy. History is littered with their corpses.
I feel very sorry for Emma. Really I do. Just not sorry enough to do anything about it. And I really do think that Sir Christopher sounds a bit of a bastard and deserves anything he may have coming to him. I'm just not liberating heroine sort of material. I prefer to sit on the pavement and clap as they go by.
Just at this moment Dave the barman appears at the table and asks if we would like to order because it's getting near two o'clock and the chef is getting pissy. I don't suppose Dave fancies a little moonlighting, does he? He's always been helpful enough. I'm just about to open my mouth and say no starter for me but would you mind popping down to visit Sir Christopher once you've finished here when Holly explains we're waiting for Sam. Damn.
Holly at last begins to understand that I'm not so keen on her idea. My trembling bottom lip may have something to do with that.
“Would you do it for me, Clemmie? I really do need a story right now. I really, really do.” Her voice has a pleading sort of appeal to it. Trust Holly to sniff out my one weakness. The fact that she's my sister and needs my rather green help right now. She turns her big blue eyes on me. I try to focus on something else. The menu, the bar, the rather over-large blackboard of specials, but it's no good, I can feel them boring into me. I foolishly look at her. Damn
.
“Well, what would you want me to do?” I ask cautiously.
Holly takes this as an out and out carte blanche that I'll do anything she wants and lets rip a little squeal of joy. “I knew you'd come through for me, Clemmie!”
Why? Because I'm stupid? Or just incredibly naive? Need a mad axe-man of a father taken care of? Well, look no further than Clemmie Colshannon. Gullibility is my calling card.
Holly rushes on, “I thought you could just say that you work with Emma, heard about her giving in her notice and wondered if everything was all right.”
I spot a fatal flaw in her plan and my spirits rise a little. “Why am I in Cornwall? Ha! Shouldn't I be in Bristol?”
Holly looks at me pityingly. “Your parents live in Cornwall. In fact, say that Jenny from HR asked you to drop off Emma's things as you were down for the weekend but no one was in yesterday except for the housekeeper. That's true enough. And you wanted to make sure Emma was okay.”
“What good is that going to do? He'll just say everything is fine and then chuck me out.”
“Hmmm, maybe you're right. I'll have to think of something . . .”
Hopefully this means I have managed to talk her out of it. Sam suddenly appears at my elbow and I nearly jump out of my skin.
“Hello, you two. God, sorry I've been so long. I had to see Charlotte off and then I bumped into Trevor.” No further explanation is needed. Trevor is our ancient organist and even the simplest how are you? takes about ten minutes because Trevor is stone deaf and you have to repeat everything at about twenty million decibels. Sam leans over and plants a kiss on Holly's cheek. He gives my shoulder a friendly squeeze and sits down at the table. Holly pours him a glass of wine.
“So what's going on? You two look like you're having a very exciting, tense discussion.”
