Another Woman (9781468300178)

by Vincenzi, Penny

  At no time was the slightest breath of criticism directed towards Mr James Forrest.

  There was just one thing he could do, one act of contrition he could make, that just might help at another time, another crisis, another birth, and he did it. He gave up alcohol forever.

  ‘May I come in?’

  He was so lost in the past, in the nightmare of it, that he half expected Staff Nurse Jackson, Rosemary, even little SRN Adams to walk in the door; he turned and the relief as he saw Janine was so intense he forgot the terrors of the present.

  ‘Janine! Come in.’

  ‘You look better, chérie. Is there good news from the Bergin household?’

  ‘I’m afraid not. No news. Unless you could regard Oliver being in the bath as news.’

  ‘I fear not. Does he –’

  ‘Couldn’t speak to him. Only mama.’

  ‘Tiens! How I dislike that woman. Terrible clothes, terrible hair, terrible perfume.’

  In spite of himself James laughed. ‘Really, Janine! You can’t dislike a woman because of her perfume and her hair.’

  ‘I can. Very easily. And besides, I don’t trust her. There is something about her that is – two-headed.’

  ‘Two-faced,’ said James, smiling tenderly at her. Janine’s occasional lapses into less than perfect English never failed to enchant him. ‘Janine, we are all two-headed at times. I don’t think we can condemn poor Julia on that basis.’

  Janine shrugged. ‘Perhaps. But she is not to be trusted. Believe me. She likes to appear so sweet and charming, but when the mask drops, just for a moment, she is very very different. There was a little incident last night, and I did not like it.’

  ‘What was that?’ said James, intrigued.

  ‘Oh, Cressida came in from the garden with a bunch of sweet peas, and she gave them to Julia, in the kitchen. It was a pretty gesture. Julia took them and smiled and kissed her, and said how very lovely of her, all those little things she does, and then Cressida went to change and I said I must go too, and we left Julia. But I had left my spectacles, and when I came back, Julia did not hear me, she had her back to me and she was pulling the flowers to pieces, taking their heads off and putting them one by one into the dustbin. Then she saw me and tried to pretend she was simply sorting them out – she said some of them were half dead.’

  ‘Well, that doesn’t sound too dreadful to me,’ said James lightly. ‘Maybe she just doesn’t like sweet peas. I don’t think you’d get very far in a court of law with that one, Janine.’

  Janine shrugged. ‘Maybe not. But I have observed other things. Anyway, the fact remains, I do not trust the belle Julia. Now then, what I really wanted to say was that I think you should try to give poor Maggie a little something. She is becoming hysterical, she will make herself ill, and that will not help anyone. What do you think?’

  ‘Oh God,’ said James, ‘inevitable I suppose. She’s increasingly hysterical these days anyway. I’m worried about her. Yes, all right, Janine. I’ll get her something.’

  ‘Will she take it?’

  ‘Oh, yes,’ said James with a sigh. ‘She’ll take it. She’ll take anything, any pill, any potion. Grabbing at straws.’

  ‘What for? Why should she be grabbing at straws? In what is she drowning?’

  ‘Her own sense of inadequacy,’ said James. ‘Poor woman. I should never –’ The phone rang. ‘James Forrest.’

  ‘James, it’s Oliver. Mother said you called. About Mungo’s speech. What –’

  ‘Oh – Oliver. Yes. Look, it wasn’t about Mungo’s speech. I’m afraid I told your mama a small fib.’

  ‘She tells plenty of those herself,’ said Oliver cheerfully, ‘so don’t worry about it. What did you want to talk to me about?’

  ‘Well, it was – you see – oh God, Oliver, there’s no way of dressing this up. It’s Cressida. She –’

  There was a very long silence; the room seemed stifling, claustrophobic. James could hear the blood pounding in his head, was suddenly aware of the clock ticking on his desk, of Janine’s light breathing close beside him. Then: ‘She hasn’t gone, has she?’ said Oliver, and his voice was very quiet and totally without emotion. ‘She hasn’t actually gone?’

  Chapter 7

  Harriet 11:30am

  ‘Harriet, you got a minute?’

  It was Merlin, in the corridor outside her room (where she had retreated briefly, with a bottle of iced lemonade, to take a break from the telephoning), his weather-beaten old face with its brilliant blue eyes, its shock of white hair, looking surprisingly cheerful, a touch of normality in this nightmarish day.

  ‘Yes. Yes, I suppose so,’ said Harriet.

  ‘Could I use that computer of yours? Got an article to write, promised I’d send it off this morning if I could. Might as well put all this time to good use. Jannie suggested I ask you. Damned attractive woman that. Sort of woman who makes me think of settling down.’

  ‘Merlin, darling,’ said Harriet, laughing, ‘What are you saying? Have you finally sown all your wild oats?’

  ‘Well, I don’t want to end my days a lonely old bachelor,’ said Merlin. ‘Been thinking about it for some time as a matter of fact. Never met the right girl, you know, that’s been the trouble.’

  ‘Well, maybe she’s been here all along,’ said Harriet. ‘And yes, of course you can use my machine. Only you won’t find much peace anywhere, I’m afraid, Merlin. Mummy keeps coming in here, and –’

  ‘Good Lord,’ said Merlin. ‘Can’t face that. Maybe I won’t –’

  ‘No,’ said Harriet, ‘you certainly should. I tell you what, we’ll take it up to the big attic. No one ever goes up there, except Mummy, to sew, and she won’t be doing that today. You’ll be perfectly quiet up there. Hang on a minute, I’ll unplug it. It’s very portable.’

  They went down the corridor silently, tiptoeing like two guilty children, and up the back stairs to the attic. It was very hot; Harriet pushed open the big skylight window, and the sweet fresh air rushed in, full of birdsong, cooling the room.

  ‘It’s such a lovely day,’ she said, staring upwards at the perfectly blue sky, ‘It seems so terrible …’

  ‘Oh, I don’t know,’ said Merlin briskly. ‘Be even worse if it was raining. Can I move this sewing machine of your mother’s, use the table?’

  ‘Yes, of course you can. And I’ve got the extension lead, look, we can set you up in no time.’

  Merlin sat down at the table, started tapping his way into the computer. ‘Lovely things these,’ he said happily, ‘transformed my life, I can tell you. Should have brought my own, but I didn’t think I’d get a chance to use it. Bloody silly really, you never know what’s going to happen, do you? Right, then, here we are, bless you, Harriet, that’s marvellous. I’ll just sit here quietly, won’t be a bother to anyone. Not like that sister of yours,’ he added darkly. ‘Causing all this anxiety. Very selfish if you ask me –’

  ‘Oh Merlin, don’t,’ said Harriet quickly. ‘Something must have been terribly wrong for her. Poor Cress. Oh God, Merlin, there’s her dress, I’d forgotten just for a moment this is where they’d put it. Such a lovely, lovely dress too.’ She shook herself. ‘Listen to me. As if a dress mattered.’

  She went over to the dressmaker’s rail, where Cressida’s dress had been hanging for over two weeks now, swathed in its muslin wrap and gently, tenderly, without knowing why, stroked it, as if it was Cressida herself, Cressida in distress, in need of comforting. And the room suddenly felt stifling again, and her head felt as if it was being crushed, crushed in some kind of vice, and she stood there staring at it, trying to make sense of what she saw. For as she touched the dress, the wrap, which was not fastened in any way but was simply draped loosely over it, started to slither off and what Harriet was looking at was not Cressida’s wedding dress at all, but an old ballgown of their mother’s.

  And the wedding dress, like the bride it had been made for, had gone.

  Chapter 8

  James Midday
>
  He was walking along the first-floor landing when he heard the sobs coming from Cressida’s room: soft, muffled, desperate. Christ, she was back, back for help, for comfort: afraid to face them all, hiding, rather as Harriet used to do when she was little. What had happened to Cressida, what could possibly have gone wrong in those few hours, to change her from radiant bride to desperate runaway? He was almost afraid to go in, to face all her pain; stood outside the room for an absurdly long moment before knocking gently and opening the door.

  ‘Cress?’ he said. ‘Cress darling?’

  And the figure lying on the bed, weeping into the lace cushion, turned to him slowly, turned a ravaged face: only of course it wasn’t Cressida at all, it was Harriet, and she had clearly been crying for some time.

  ‘Daddy,’ she said, reaching out for his hand, ‘Daddy, I’m so sorry, it’s only me.’

  He took her in his arms, rocking her gently, kissing her, smoothing her hair, hushing her, trying to ease her pain away. After a while she stopped crying and said, ‘There’s something new. I was – going to come and tell you. I haven’t told anyone else.’

  ‘What?’ he said. ‘Have the police –?’

  ‘No, no,’ she said, ‘not the police, or the hospitals, no news. But Daddy, I just went up to the attic, and – it’s so weird, so spooky, I just can’t think –’ Her voice trailed away, silent tears began again, rolling down her face. James set her away from him, stared at her.

  ‘What, Harriet, what is it? For Christ’s sake, Harriet, you’ve got to tell me.’

  ‘Yes, of course. I’m sorry.’ She swallowed, took a deep breath. ‘Daddy, her wedding dress is gone.’

  ‘Her wedding dress? What on earth do you mean? How can it be gone, why, what could she –’ His own voice trailed away, he sat staring at her, equally shocked.

  ‘I don’t know. I don’t understand it. I just can’t think why she should have taken it. But it’s gone. And not just ripped off the stand, there’s another dress where it was, under the wrap you know? She obviously wanted to take it, didn’t want us to know.’

  ‘Oh, for God’s sake,’ said James. He felt very tired suddenly; he couldn’t take much more of this. ‘Harriet, has she run off with someone else? To get married to – oh, it’s preposterous. It makes no sense at all.’

  ‘I know. I know it doesn’t. But she obviously did plan it. The disappearance I mean. She must have done. Well at least we know now she hasn’t been abducted, which was one of Mummy’s wilder fears.’

  ‘No. I suppose we should tell her. Or shouldn’t we?’ They started at each other, visualizing the fresh trauma this news would inflict upon Maggie, wondering if it was worth it.

  ‘Yes, I think we should. I think it’s better.’

  ‘I’ll go down then. In a minute.’ He sighed, sat very still, staring out at the day. ‘Harriet, has she ever said anything to you, anything at all that might indicate she wasn’t happy about marrying Oliver?’

  ‘No,’ said Harriet, ‘no. Nothing. But then I haven’t seen much of her lately. What with – well, work and everything. I kept thinking we ought to spend some time together, but somehow – oh God.’

  ‘Well,’ he said, ‘if she’d told anyone she’d have told you.’

  ‘No, she wouldn’t,’ said Harriet flatly.

  ‘What do you mean? Of course she would. You’re so close.’

  ‘Daddy, we’re not close. Everyone thinks we are, but we’re not at all. I really don’t know what goes on in Cressida’s head, never have. She’s always been very – self-contained – with me. Since we were tiny. And I – well, anyway, she hasn’t.’

  James stared at her; if she had announced she was working for MI5 or had signed up for the next space project he could hardly have been more astonished.

  ‘Well,’ he said finally, ‘who do you think she might have talked to?’

  ‘I have no idea,’ said Harriet and her voice was oddly blank, cool. ‘No idea at all. I really don’t know who her friends were, who she might have confided in. She was a mystery to me. More than I realized,’ she added with the shadow of a smile.

  ‘But darling – you were fond of each other, weren’t you?’ He could hear the pleading note in his own voice; it seemed very important somehow.

  ‘Yes, we were,’ said Harriet quickly, ‘very fond. Of course we were.’ James chose to believe her. For the time being. It was simpler that way.

  ‘Do you think,’ he said, looking rather helplessly round the room, ‘we should look through her things? For addresses, contacts? Would it be –’

  ‘I have,’ said Harriet, with a slightly apologetic grin. ‘I’ve been right through her desk. Very neat, very tidy, nothing in the least helpful or – incriminating. No address book though –’

  ‘What about bank statements? They might give us a clue –’

  ‘No bank statements. Nothing like that at all. I did think that was interesting. It all points to her covering her tracks.’

  ‘Well, I don’t know. She’d probably keep that sort of thing in her flat, wouldn’t she?’

  Harriet sighed. ‘I suppose so. Yes of course. I hardly ever went to that flat, you know.’

  ‘None of us did,’ said James. ‘She always told me, when I suggested I come to see her there during the week, that it was horrid and she hated it, and she’d rather come to me. I don’t think I’ve been there since – oh, before last Christmas. We don’t have a key for it, I suppose?’

  ‘No. All her keys are gone.’

  ‘I wonder if we ought to go up there anyway, have a look round?’

  ‘Daddy, you can’t go. Not today. I will if you like –’

  ‘No,’ he said with a sigh, ‘no, let’s leave it for now. Maybe this evening if – oh God, Harriet, this is a mess. A bloody awful mess. I feel so guilty, as if it’s all my fault somehow.’

  ‘Well it isn’t,’ said Harriet. ‘Of course it isn’t. You’ve been a wonderful father to Cressida.’

  ‘Not wonderful enough it seems.’ He sat looking round Cressida’s painfully neat, perfectly pretty room, and his heart ached physically with the pain of her loss. The cancelled wedding, the trauma of the day seemed nothing; he just wanted her back, safe, so that he could comfort her, find what the trouble was. His lovely, gentle, sweet daughter; where was she, where had she gone, what had distressed her so dreadfully, that she would do such a thing?

  ‘Do you think we should actually ring the bank? Her account is still here in Woodstock, isn’t it? It might give us a clue. What do you think?’

  ‘Well – I suppose I could. Oh God, I hate sitting here in her room prying into her life.’

  ‘Come into my room, you silly old thing. I’ve got my mobile in there anyway.’ She smiled at him; James felt tears sting his eyes.

  ‘All right. Thank God for you, Harriet.’

  ‘Oh,’ she said, ‘you won’t get rid of me so easily.’

  He shuddered. ‘Don’t joke about it.’

  He phoned the bank. The manager, Tony Bacon, with whom he played golf occasionally, was out until late afternoon, his assistant was pompously unhelpful. ‘This is extremely confidential information, Mr Forrest. We would never disclose any details of a customer’s affairs.’

  ‘Not even under exceptional circumstances? We are extremely worried about her.’

  ‘I’m afraid not.’

  ‘But my daughter does still have an account with you? She hasn’t closed it in the last few days or made any large withdrawals?’

  ‘I’m sorry, Mr Forrest, I really can’t help you.’

  ‘Oh all right, all right. Would you get Mr Bacon to get in touch with me please? As soon as he gets in.’

  ‘I will certainly ask him to ring you, Mr Forrest.’

  ‘Self-satisfied jumped-up little creep,’ said James, switching off the phone with unnecessary violence. ‘Any other good ideas, Harriet?’

  ‘Doctor?’

  ‘She saw someone in London. Haven’t the faintest idea who. Oh, this is hop
eless.’

  ‘What about having another word with the vicar? See if Cressida might have talked to him? She was so good about doing the flowers in church and everything, they chatted a lot – you never know –’

  ‘Well, we could try,’ said James, ‘but I’m sure his code of practice or whatever would forbid him telling us anything. Aren’t priests supposed to take secrets to their grave?’

  ‘Yes, but it might not be a secret,’ said Harriet. ‘She might have said something quite openly to him. Like she was worrying about going to live in New York or something –’

  ‘Yes, I suppose so. Yes, all right.’

  ‘Daddy, try not to worry. The police were so reassuring.’

  ‘Yes, well, she’s not their daughter,’ said James. His voice sounded very unsteady even to himself. He dialled the Vicarage.

  ‘Mrs Hodges? James Forrest again.’

  Sylvia Hodges’ careworn voice came down the telephone: it suited her perfectly that voice, he thought: if a voice could be lined, pale, scrubbed, then Sylvia’s was.

  ‘Oh, Mr Forrest. We’ve been so anxious. Has she –’

  ‘No, I’m afraid not,’ said James, cutting her off. He couldn’t stand anyone thinking, even for a moment, that Cressida had returned. ‘No news yet.’

  ‘You mustn’t despair,’ said Sylvia Hodges, ‘you must have faith. Not a sparrow falls, you know, –’

  ‘Mrs Hodges,’ said James, perversely irritated by her concern, ‘I am nowhere near despair. I assure you of that.’

  ‘We’re praying for you here,’ she said, ‘and thinking of you so much. Such a wonderful, sweet girl. We’re both so fond of her. I was saying to Alan only last night, oh for a daughter like that – oh dear –’ Her voice trailed away, as she realized her tactlessness.

  ‘Well, thank you. Is your husband there? I just wanted another word with him.’

  ‘He’s out in the garden. Hoeing. And working on the compost. He always does that when he’s upset. He finds it healing.’