Shifting Sands

by Anthea Fraser

  Jenny’s voice broke into her remembering. ‘It was a fantastic holiday, wasn’t it? I didn’t want it to end!’

  ‘Unbelievable!’ Anna agreed. In more ways than one, she thought ironically. But for her, a part of it wasn’t over; she and Lewis had agreed to meet in London, for dinner and the theatre.

  ‘I’m not sure how long I can withstand Wendy’s questioning,’ he’d said smilingly, that afternoon.

  ‘You could always employ the well-tried “No Comment”,’ she’d suggested, and he’d laughed.

  ‘I doubt if I’d get away with that!’

  But that was his problem. For her part, she’d certainly no intention of letting slip any hint of what had happened to the family – at the very least, not for another five or six weeks, and possibly, if things didn’t work out, ever.

  ‘Have you far to travel from the airport?’ Jenny was asking, and Anna wrenched her attention back.

  ‘About an hour’s drive. As it’s the weekend, my son’s able to meet me.’

  ‘Lucky you! We have to catch a connecting flight to Manchester, then it’s a half-hour train journey. We won’t be home till late afternoon.’

  ‘You’ll be exhausted,’ Anna said sympathetically.

  ‘Yes; which is why I wish they’d hurry up and serve the meal, so we can settle down to sleep.’

  Anna nodded and glanced out of the window again. But there was nothing to see now, nothing but the dark African night and her own face reflected against it. She sighed, without knowing why, and, as Jenny turned back to her husband, opened her book and began to read.

  Jonathan said, ‘So you’re glad you went?’

  ‘Of course I am! I wouldn’t have missed it for the world! It’s the most beautiful country, Jon. You’d love it.’

  ‘And you’ve lots of photos?’

  ‘Hundreds!’

  ‘Well, as you know, it’s the boys’ party next weekend, and Sophie and Angus will be over. So afterwards, when we’re able to relax, we can view them on the TV.’

  ‘We’d still be there the next morning! How are you all? Thanks for the texts, by the way; I’m sorry I didn’t reply to the later ones – things were a bit hectic.’

  ‘As long as you enjoyed yourself.’ He paused. ‘Actually, Ma, I’ve some news of my own.’

  ‘Oh?’ She turned quickly to look at him.

  ‘Vicky and I are going to give it another go.’

  ‘Oh, Jonathan, that’s wonderful! When did this happen?’

  ‘Last weekend, but I’m not moving back till the party so that I can be with you today, see you settled in and everything. We thought you might feel a bit flat, having had constant company over the last few weeks, then suddenly alone in an empty house.’

  She laid a hand over his on the steering wheel. ‘That’s sweet of you, but you shouldn’t have delayed your plans for me.’

  ‘We’re going there for lunch – Vicky and the boys can’t wait to see you – but we won’t stay too long, because you’re bound to be tired.’

  And she was, Anna admitted to herself. ‘It’ll be lovely to see everyone, and your news is the best homecoming present ever!’

  Wendy said reflectively, ‘Do you think there was anything going on between Lewis and Anna?’

  ‘“Going on”?’ George repeated, with raised eyebrows.

  ‘Well, we know Lewis well enough to see he was smitten, right from the start.’

  ‘He’s always had an eye for a pretty face.’

  ‘Oh, come on! It was more than that.’

  ‘My love, Lewis must have had dozens of women since Myrtle waltzed off. I doubt if he was serious about any of them.’

  ‘You think it was just a holiday romance? I tried gently pumping Anna, but she wouldn’t bite.’

  ‘A gloriously mixed metaphor! But they’re both free agents, and if they did get together, so what? It’s one of those things we’ll never know.’

  Wendy smiled. ‘I don’t give up so easily. I think, in a week or two, I’ll invite them both to lunch.’

  George sighed theatrically, rolling his eyes to the ceiling. ‘Here we go!’ he said.

  ‘Ma sounds in fine form,’ Sophie reported, putting the phone down as Angus came into the room. ‘She’s taking her photos to the boys’ party, so we can look at them on the TV screen.’

  ‘The joys of digital!’

  ‘She seems to have been in a good crowd – says they all got on well. It doesn’t sound as if she missed Beatrice overmuch.’

  ‘So you could have spared yourself all that worrying,’ Angus commented, slipping an arm round her.

  ‘Well, I did feel responsible, having talked her into going, and then Beatrice dropping out at the last minute.’

  ‘You underestimated her, sweetie. Plenty of stamina, has our Anna.’ He moved to the drinks cabinet. ‘She’ll be pleased Jon’s back with Vicky.’

  ‘Delighted, yes. She had lunch with them, and she’ll be going on Wednesday for the birthday tea.’

  Angus turned, glasses in hand. ‘Wednesday? I thought it was Saturday?’

  ‘The party is, but their birthday’s Wednesday, and they’re each having a friend to tea, plus Granny.’

  ‘It’ll be great to have Jonathan back in the fold,’ Angus said contentedly. ‘Let’s hope everything’s plain sailing from now on.’

  ‘Beatrice!’

  ‘Anna – you’re back! How are you?’

  ‘Fine, but more to the point, how are you? How’s the arm?’

  ‘An infernal nuisance, but mending nicely.’

  ‘What about work? Are you able to manage?’

  ‘Fortunately, I’d cleared the decks in preparation for the holiday, so there was nothing urgent. Thanks for the postcard, by the way. It made me green with envy!’

  ‘It’s come already? I thought it would take weeks! Actually, it was quite difficult to write, letting you know what we were doing, without rubbing in what you were missing.’

  ‘I was joking, love – it struck just the right note. And talking of notes, did you keep them, like you promised?’

  ‘I did, yes. When I get a chance, I’ll transfer them to my PC and print them off for you. Some parts are more detailed than others, but the photos will flesh them out – and I warn you, I took hundreds!’

  ‘So I should hope!’ Beatrice paused. ‘It wasn’t too . . . difficult, being on your own?’

  ‘Not really.’ Anna took a deep breath and followed up with the phrase she’d prepared. ‘I missed you, of course, but a very nice threesome took me under their wing, so I wasn’t alone.’

  ‘Honestly? I know you’d never tell the family if things hadn’t worked out, but this is me you’re talking to.’

  ‘And my answer’s the same. I missed you, but I had a wonderful time and didn’t feel lonely.’

  ‘Well, that’s a relief. I felt awful, letting you down like that. So – when am I going to see you?’

  ‘Next week some time? It’s a bit hectic at the moment; there’s a mountain of mail, email and telephone messages to sort through, not to mention holiday laundry. Added to which, I’m going to the boys’ birthday tea on Wednesday and their party on Saturday, and as if that wasn’t enough, I’ve a dental check-up on Thursday.’

  Beatrice laughed. ‘You’ve convinced me! How about next Tuesday? Come for supper?’

  ‘Are you able to cook?’ The question was twofold, since Beatrice’s livelihood involved cookery.

  ‘With difficulty, but don’t worry – I shall cheat and order a takeaway.’

  ‘Great idea – I’ll look forward to it, after two and a half weeks of hotel food.’

  ‘My heart bleeds for you! Why not stay the night, then you needn’t worry about drinking? Lovely to have you back, Anna – look forward to seeing you!’

  Anna was smiling as she put down the phone. She and Beatrice had met five years ago, at a local craft fair; Anna was helping Sophie on her stall, and Beatrice giving cookery demonstrations to launch her new book.

&nbs
p; They became instant friends. Over coffee that first day, Anna learned that Beatrice was divorced and had a married son living in Canada. She’d taught cookery for some years, before branching out to more elaborate dishes, which she took delight in concocting and then detailing, fully illustrated, in a growing number of recipe books. She also catered for special functions – and, in fact, had offered her services free for Miles’s sixtieth birthday party. Anna’s friends still talked about it.

  A couple of years older than herself, Beatrice radiated capability. Tall and broad-shouldered, the highlights in her brown hair were her sole concession to vanity, her large hands with their blunt, unpolished nails being innocent of rings, and her watch, unlike Anna’s slim gold one, as big as a man’s.

  She had the habit of holding the gaze of whoever was addressing her, listening intently to every word, which some people found unnerving, but it was that air of single-minded concentration, alternating with a whimsical, half-amused smile, that, to Anna, best summed up her friend.

  For her part, Beatrice had learned that Anna worked part-time as a translator, mostly of books and documents from French or Italian into English, an occupation she found enjoyable and stimulating, and, being self-employed, one to which she could devote as much or as little time as she chose.

  Remembering that first meeting and their discussion of careers, Anna, who had not looked at a translation since Miles’s death, knew that to return to work would be a significant step towards picking up her life again.

  In the meantime, there were the tasks she’d outlined to Beatrice to attend to, and as a start, she would put the pile of old newspapers in the boot of her car, ready to drop off for recycling. They were on a shelf by the back door, and she was sorting them into a more manageable pile when a name leapt off the page at her.

  Ex-model Myrtle Page, 57, was at the centre of a disturbance at the elite Amelia nightclub yesterday, when barman Reno Diaz, 30, complained that she slapped his face during an altercation over the price of drinks.

  Page, former wife of business magnate Lewis Masters . . .

  Anna’s eyes moved unseeingly down the column before returning to the picture that accompanied it – a head and shoulders shot of a high-cheek-boned face, not conventionally pretty, but certainly arresting. Hair piled on top of her head, shoulders bare, her wide eyes met those of the photographer – and reading public – with a hint of amused challenge. A publicity photo, no doubt, and presumably not a recent one.

  Had she glanced at this article before she went away? Anna wondered. If so, it hadn’t registered, since back then she’d never heard of Lewis and only vaguely remembered Myrtle’s heyday.

  Carefully, she replaced the paper on the pile to be discarded and covered it with another. What was it Wendy had said? She still hits the headlines pretty regularly and makes life difficult for him.

  Determinedly putting both Lewis and his ex-wife out of her mind, Anna scooped up the pile of newspapers and carried them out to the car.

  On the Tuesday evening, Jonathan arrived back at the flat with several large parcels.

  Steve eyed them curiously. ‘Your sons’ birthday presents?’

  ‘Got it in one. Hamleys was going like a fair at lunchtime. Anyone would think it was Christmas!’

  ‘So what did you get?’

  Jonathan grinned. ‘An electric railway, and before you say it, yes, it’s partly for me! That’s their joint present, and they’ll each have something smaller, but Vicky’s seeing to that, thank God.’

  ‘You know,’ Steve remarked, getting two cans of beer out of the fridge, ‘I’ve got quite used to having you here. It’ll seem odd, next week, being here on my own.’

  ‘You’ve been a real pal,’ Jonathan said gratefully. ‘I don’t know what I’d have done without you. We’ll have a slap-up meal on Friday, if Maddy can spare you. As it happens, though, you won’t have time to miss me next week; we’re off to Manchester, aren’t we, to interview Keith Perceval?’

  ‘So we are. Did you book us in somewhere?’

  ‘Yep, just the one night. We shouldn’t need longer than that.’ His mobile beeped in his pocket, and he took it out, frowning. ‘Who the hell . . .?’

  Steve glanced over at him, watching his expression change as he read the text.

  ‘God, it’s that woman again!’ Jonathan said incredulously. ‘How she has the nerve beats me!’

  ‘Not the mysterious Elise?’

  ‘The very same. And – I don’t believe this – she’s asking me to go to Manchester! She must be psychic!’

  ‘You’re kidding!’

  ‘Listen to this: Next week I must go to Manchester. I know this is much to ask, but I beg you to come there. I can no longer put off what I must tell you, and I promise you it will be worth your trouble.’

  They stared at each other. ‘It beggars belief, doesn’t it?’ Jonathan exclaimed. ‘Each time I determine to put her right out of my mind, up she pops again.’

  ‘What will you do?’

  ‘Well, I sure as eggs wouldn’t charge up there just to see her. But since, by a pure fluke, we’ll be there anyway . . .’

  ‘Not so much of the “we”!’

  ‘Oh come on, we work together, remember?’

  ‘So you’re saying you’ll agree to meet her?’

  Jonathan reread the message. ‘I must confess all this cloak-and-dagger stuff has whetted my curiosity.’ He looked up, coming to a decision. ‘Yes, damn it, I’ll call her bluff one last time. Get her to come to our hotel. If she doesn’t turn up, we won’t have put ourselves out, and if she does, at least we’ll know whether or not it’s worth following up.’

  Anna checked the list on the kitchen notice board. Laundry – done. Ironing – still to do. Dry cleaner’s – outstanding. Holiday notes for Beatrice – outstanding. Reply to bank letter – outstanding.

  She sighed. She seemed to have been working flat out for the last couple of days, with very little to show for it. And now it was time to set off for the boys’ birthday tea. Their gifts lay ready on the hall table, including the T-shirts bought in Pretoria, and nostalgia tugged at her as she remembered buying them with Lewis at her side. And in the same moment the phone rang.

  She hesitated, wondering whether to leave it to the answerphone. She really should be leaving, but . . .

  She lifted the phone. ‘Hello?’

  ‘Hello, sweetheart.’

  A wave of heat washed over her. ‘Lewis!’ she said.

  Cameron Masters gave a cursory tap on his father’s door and, his eyes on the papers in his hand, pushed it open and went in.

  Lewis was seated at his desk, his chair swivelled round so that his back was to the door, and Cameron, seeing he was on the phone, prepared to wait. To his surprise, however, his father broke off his conversation and, turning, waved him peremptorily out of the room.

  As he hesitated, Lewis put his hand over the mouthpiece and said curtly, ‘Wait outside, will you? And close the door behind you.’

  His face flushing, Cameron turned on his heel and left the room, closing the door with exaggerated care. Dismissed like a bloody schoolboy! he thought angrily, but he was damned if he’d stand meekly waiting by the door. If it hadn’t been imperative to have a word, he’d have left straight away and let his father stew. He’d an appointment in less than an hour, dammit.

  By way of compromise, he poured himself a cup of water from the machine and drank it slowly, looking out of the window at the extensive grounds. It was warm for October, and several of the guests were wandering round in their towelling robes, glasses of juice in their hands.

  What the hell had got into the old man? Cameron thought irritably. Come to think of it, he’d been unpredictable all week, ever since he got back from holiday. If this was the result a break had on him, it was as well they were few and far between.

  The intercom rang on the receptionist’s desk, and a moment later she called across, ‘Your father will see you now, Cameron.’

  Oh, will he
? Cameron raised a hand in acknowledgement of the message, but continued to sip slowly at his water until he’d finished it. Then he tossed the paper cup in the bin and, holding himself in rein, walked back to Lewis’s office and knocked loudly.

  ‘Enter.’

  He did so, and father and son stared at each other. Then Lewis said, ‘At least you remembered to knock this time.’

  ‘As I did before.’

  ‘But didn’t wait for an answer, which defeats the purpose.’

  ‘I’ve come in before when you were on the phone, and it hasn’t been a problem.’

  ‘Well, this time it was.’

  Cameron waited for further explanation and realized it wasn’t forthcoming.

  ‘So what is it you wanted?’ Lewis prompted.

  ‘The figures in from Sandersons don’t tally with the estimates. I’ve had a word with Smithers, and he thinks they’re trying it on.’

  ‘Let me see them, then.’

  Stiffly, Cameron crossed the room to his father’s desk and laid down his folder. Lewis glanced up at him. ‘And you can stop behaving like a jilted virgin. You don’t have to know every damn thing I do.’

  In spite of himself, Cameron’s mouth twitched. ‘Fair enough,’ he said, and, differences dismissed, father and son bent together over the discrepant figures.

  ‘Mrs Nash?’

  Imogen frowned, trying to place the voice. ‘Yes?’

  ‘Good afternoon; this is Elizabeth Wright, at Broadfields.’

  Daisy’s headmistress, Imogen thought, confused. ‘Yes, Miss Wright?’

  ‘I’ve no wish to alarm you, but have you heard from Daisy in the last twenty-four hours?’

  Imogen’s heart set up an uneven thumping. ‘No?’ She heard her voice rise. ‘Why?’

  ‘I have to tell you she’s not been seen since lunchtime, and we’ve been unable to establish where she is.’