‘I think I might have something to interest you.’
‘Yes?’
‘However –’ long pause – ‘I’m not prepared to tell you over the phone.’
Rona frowned. ‘Who am I speaking to?’
‘That’s neither here nor there. Do you want to meet me or not?’
‘If you could give me some idea—’
‘Take it or leave it.’
‘Look, I’m sorry, but I really—’
The phone clicked in her ear and went dead.
‘Damn!’ Rona said forcefully. A weirdo, no doubt; at least he didn’t know who or where she was. Nonetheless, she felt oddly disturbed by the call and eventually, unable to concentrate on her work, she gave up and ran down the stairs, calling for Gus. It was after midday, and with luck Max would spare the time for a spot of lunch with her.
The sound of the Boston Philharmonic reached her before she even opened Farthings’ front door, and she smiled to herself. It was for this reason that they had to work in separate establishments. She closed the door and directed Gus to the kitchen. As at home, he wasn’t allowed upstairs.
‘Good boy – wait there,’ she told him, and started up the stairs. Useless to call out – the music would have drowned her voice as it masked her footsteps – and it wasn’t until she’d rounded the stairhead that she realized Max was not alone. Immobile in a chair, his hands folded in his lap, sat James Latymer.
‘Oh!’ Rona came to an abrupt halt. Max had his back to her, but Latymer’s reaction alerted him and he turned, switching off the hi-fi as he did so.
‘I’m so sorry,’ Rona said into the sudden silence. ‘I’d no idea you had a sitting.’
‘Good morning, Ms Parish,’ James Latymer said, and, to Max, ‘May I move?’
‘Yes, of course. I was just about to suggest breaking for lunch.’ He glanced at Rona, and she couldn’t tell whether or not he was annoyed with her. It was rare for her to interrupt him when he was working, virtually unheard of to do so without notice. Which, she thought, proved how thrown she’d been by the phone call.
‘Is there a problem?’ Max asked her.
‘It’ll keep. Sorry to have butted in, I’ll beat a hasty retreat.’ She flashed an apologetic smile at James Latymer, who had stood up and was easing his aching muscles.
‘Nice to see you again,’ he said.
Max said a little ungraciously, ‘You can join us for lunch, if you like.’
‘Oh, I don’t think—’
He grinned suddenly. ‘Don’t tell me that’s not why you came!’
‘Please stay,’ Latymer urged. ‘A little feminine company would go down a treat.’
‘Then thank you; you’ve both talked me into it.’
They went together down the open staircase. The little table at the end of the sitting room was already laid. Max went to the kitchen for extra cutlery and Gus came trotting back with him, waving his frond-like tail. Latymer went down on his hunkers and Gus, accepting his overtures, tried to lick his face.
Max said drily, ‘Make the most of him; there’s no baby for you to kiss.’
Latymer laughed and stood up, still fondling the dog’s ears. ‘He’s a great fellow. What do you call him?’
‘Augustus. Answers to Gus.’
‘Splendid name.’ He ruefully brushed dog hair off his hands. ‘Now I fear I’ll need a wash before lunch.’
‘The bathroom’s through the kitchen,’ Max directed him. As he left the room, Max glanced at Rona. ‘Was it only lunch you were after?’
‘A bit of company, really. I – had a rather odd phone call, and it unsettled me.’
He frowned. ‘What kind of call? Threatening?’
‘No, but – strange. A man said he had information about Gemma, but insisted he’d only give it to me in person.’
‘You didn’t agree?’ Max cut in sharply.
‘Give me credit for some sense.’
‘And it was on your mobile?’
‘Yes, the number that had been in the Gazette. No name or address, as you stipulated.’
‘Thank God I did.’
‘It was probably nothing, Max.’
‘Well, if he rings back, hold your ground. Under no circumstances are you to arrange to meet him, OK?’
‘OK,’ she said meekly, smiling at James Latymer, who was re-entering the room. ‘Thanks for letting me quote from your manifesto,’ she went on, as Max excused himself to bring the lunch. ‘It added a personal note to the article.’
‘I’ll look out for it. I hear you were at Hester’s luncheon last week?’
‘Yes, it was most enjoyable. They were an interesting group.’
Max returned and set an earthenware dish of fish pie on the table and they all seated themselves. ‘Have we you to thank for this?’ Latymer asked Rona, who shook her head.
‘Max is the cook in our family.’
‘Then he puts me to shame. I can barely find my way to the kitchen!’
He was very pleasant, Rona reflected, watching him surreptitiously as he and Max discussed the portrait. Critics maintained he was aware of his own importance, but so, surely, were all MPs, and there was no hint of condescension in his manner. The obvious enjoyment with which he tackled his lunch went some way towards explaining the rounded paunch beneath the expensively tailored suit.
Rona stayed for the fresh fruit and coffee that followed, enjoying the different slant of the conversation and reluctant to return to the empty house. However, by one thirty Max was looking at his watch, and she took her leave of them. James Latymer held her hand in both of his. A politician’s touch?
‘Delighted to see you again,’ he said.
‘And I you,’ she replied. ‘Please give my regards to your wife.’ And, as Max started purposefully towards the stairs, she slipped on Gus’s lead and let herself out of the house.
Lindsey was beginning to wish they hadn’t come. The little pub was crowded, and the noise level was such that private conversation would be out of the question. Still, Jonathan had heard the food was good, and been anxious to try it out. There was also the advantage that, as the pub was a fifteen-minute run out of town, they were unlikely to see anyone they knew.
‘Even if we do, it’s no big deal,’ he’d said. ‘We’re just two colleagues having a working lunch.’
She glanced impatiently at the queue at the bar. It didn’t seem to be moving at all, and Jonathan was still four or five from the front. She stood up suddenly, spread her jacket over two chairs to reserve their places, and manoeuvred her way to the Ladies’.
When she emerged, it was to find herself entangled with men turning from the bar with brimming tankards, and she was weaving her way between them when, unbelievably, she found herself face to face with Hugh.
The shock was such that she stopped dead, someone cannoned into her from behind, and she in turn lurched forward into Hugh, spilling some of the drink he was carrying. It was clear he was equally startled.
‘Lindsey – what are you doing here?’
‘Having lunch with a colleague.’ She nodded vaguely in Jonathan’s direction, and saw that he had witnessed the meeting. ‘And you?’
‘The same.’
A smile and nod in passing was now all that was required, but they stood unmoving, rocks in the swirling tide of humanity that flowed around them, their eyes locked on each others’.
‘How are you?’ he asked.
‘Fine. You?’
He nodded. ‘Are your parents –’ he broke off, flushed, and finished limply – ‘well?’
Lindsey frowned. ‘Yes. Why?’ It hadn’t sounded a perfunctory enquiry.
‘I just – wondered.’ But his discomfort was obvious. ‘Give them my regards,’ he added quickly, ‘and Max and Rona, too.’ And with a quick nod, he finally turned and forced his way through the crowds to his table.
Lindsey reached hers at the same time as Jonathan, who gave her a searching look as he set down the glasses. ‘What was that all about?’ he ask
ed.
‘He’s my ex.’
‘God! Did he see me?’
‘I’ve no idea. I said I was lunching with a colleague. That’s the party line, isn’t it?’
‘Yes, but—’
‘You think he’ll assume any man I’m with must be my lover?’ Lindsey asked dangerously.
Jonathan said curtly, ‘You’re putting words into my mouth.’
It was the closest they’d come to a quarrel, and they realized it simultaneously and exchanged sheepish smiles. ‘They’ll call our number when the food’s ready,’ he said after a minute, and the subject dropped.
For the rest of that day, though, Lindsey’s mind kept returning to the meeting with Hugh, and in particular his query about her parents. Did he know something she didn’t? She was tempted to phone him and demand an explanation, but she’d only his office number. Also, it might look as though she were trying to re-establish contact. Which, she reminded herself, she wasn’t. Nevertheless, seeing him had jolted her more than she cared to admit. It was depressing to realize that, even in the midst of a new affair, her pulses still quickened in the presence of her ex-husband.
‘I’ve decided to go back to work,’ Avril announced.
Tom, about to take a beer out of the fridge, turned to stare at her. ‘What brought that on?’
‘Boredom,’ she said succinctly, continuing to stir whatever was in the pan. ‘Also, it will stop us getting under each other’s feet when you retire.’
He let that pass. ‘A full-time job?’
‘No, I can still do my stint at the charity shop and play bridge; but I’ll be working mornings at the library four days a week, and on alternate Saturdays.’
He poured the beer carefully into a tankard, digesting what she’d told him. ‘When do you start?’
‘A week today. I had the interview last week, and it’s just been confirmed. They’re short of staff and glad to take me on.’
‘But – don’t you need special qualifications?’
‘Not for the work I’ll be doing, though I’ll have to take a computer course. That’ll be done in library time – an hour a day, I think.’ She paused. ‘It won’t pay much, of course, but it’ll be good to have some money that’s totally mine.’
Was that a criticism? Their joint bank account was surely in her favour, since she’d contributed nothing to it since leaving work when the twins were born.
‘Well – good for you,’ he said, echoing Catherine. He was tempted to tell her of his own decision, hating the duplicity of keeping silent, but he reminded himself of Catherine’s advice. It would not, after all, be for long, and it was undeniable that his retirement and all the events leading up to it would pass off much more smoothly if he and Avril were still together.
Feeling more was expected of him, he added, ‘Is it the main library?’
‘No, the local branch, on the parade. Within walking distance, which is another advantage.’
‘Good for you,’ he repeated, and, clutching his beer, escaped to the sitting room and the evening paper.
‘Ro? You’ll never believe it, but I bumped into Hugh at lunchtime!’
Rona sighed, supposing it had only been a matter of time. ‘And how did that come about?’
‘Jonathan and I drove out to the Watermill for lunch. Do you know it? It’s on the Merefield road. Anyway, he was there.’
‘You didn’t talk to him, with Jonathan in tow?’ It would be just like Lindsey to score points.
‘Jonathan wasn’t “in tow”, as you put it, he was queuing at the bar. But what was odd was that Hugh asked after the parents.’
‘What’s odd about that?’
‘The way he did it. As though he’d started to ask something else.’
‘What did he say, exactly?’
“‘Are your parents—” then a very long gap before he said, “well?” Incidentally, he sent regards to you and Max.’
‘Nice of him.’
‘Is that all you have to say?’ Lindsey demanded impatiently.
‘What do you want me to say?’
‘Well, I was wondering whether to ring up and ask him what he meant.’
‘Don’t, Lindsey.’
‘Why not?’
‘You know damn well.’
‘Look, I only want to know what he was getting at, and I never will if I don’t ask him.’
‘It sounds as though you’ve already made up your mind.’
Lindsey slammed the phone down without replying and stood breathing heavily, her hand still resting on it. All right, yes, she thought rebelliously, she had made up her mind. If she didn’t satisfy herself on this, it would haunt her, fill her mind when she woke in the night and come between her and her sleep. It was now six o’clock – too late to phone Hugh at the office. Where was he living? she wondered. With the girl she’d seen him with, that time in Sainsbury’s? Strange that in the intervening months she’d not caught so much as a glimpse of him – until today. True, his office was in Windsor Way, but that was only just off Guild Street and he must surely frequent it, for lunch if nothing else. He wouldn’t drive out to the Watermill every day.
Her mind still churning, she went to prepare her meal, only then realizing that the box of groceries was still in the car. Swearing under her breath, she ran down the stairs and out on to the drive. It was almost dark, and she had to feel for the lock on the boot. As the key went in, a faint sound caught her attention, and she straightened, listening. It came from behind the bushes that screened her from the pavement, and it sounded like someone crying. Careful that the gravel shouldn’t warn of her approach, Lindsey walked to the gateway and cautiously looked outside. A bicycle was propped against the wall, and astride it, both feet on the ground and head bent, was a small girl, sobbing bitterly.
‘Hello,’ Lindsey said softly, and the child’s head shot up. She tensed, seeming about to take off, but Lindsey went on quickly, ‘My name’s Lindsey; what’s yours?’
‘Daisy,’ the child answered with a sniff. ‘Daisy Yarborough.’
‘From across the road? I’ve met your parents.’ She paused, wondering if they knew she was out alone. She didn’t look more than seven or eight.
Lindsey hesitated. She wasn’t, she knew, very good with children, but she couldn’t ignore the tears. ‘What’s the matter, Daisy?’
‘It’s Mummy,’ the girl replied, rubbing a hand across her eyes. ‘She fell downstairs, and when Nick and I ran to help, Daddy shouted at us to go out and play.’
Lindsey went cold. ‘Is she badly hurt?’
‘I don’t know.’
‘Has Daddy phoned for an ambulance?’
The child looked at her with frightened eyes. ‘I don’t know,’ she repeated.
Again, Lindsey paused indecisively, reluctant to become involved. ‘Where’s your brother?’
Daisy’s eyes went beyond her, and she turned to see the boy’s slow approach on his own bike. There was no sign of tears, but in the light from the street lamp, his face was pale and tense.
Lindsey gave him what she hoped was a reassuring nod. ‘You shouldn’t be out in the dark,’ she said, reaching a decision. ‘Would you like me to take you home?’
After a minute Daisy nodded and, heart hammering, Lindsey walked with her across the road and up the drive of the house on the corner, the boy trailing behind them. She rang the bell and waited, mouth dry. Nothing happened; she rang again, and immediately the door was flung open and Philip Yarborough stood there, white-faced and hair dishevelled. He stared at them blankly, and Lindsey said quickly, ‘Daisy was crying. She said there’d been an accident; is there anything I can do?’
Philip tore his eyes from her to the tear-stained face of his daughter. ‘Sorry I shouted, kids,’ he said flatly. ‘I was worried about Mummy.’
‘Is she all right?’ Lindsey demanded.
‘She’s badly bruised and in shock, but she doesn’t seem to have broken anything.’
‘Have you phoned for an ambulance?’
‘Then let the Sinclairs have a look at her,’ Lindsey urged. The couple at number five were a doctor and nurse.
Yarborough made a dismissive gesture. ‘I’m not having the entire road involved in this,’ he said sharply.
He’d not invited her in, but she’d no intention of leaving without learning more.
‘What happened?’ she asked.
He ran a hand through his hair. ‘I don’t know, she must have slipped. She’d taken up a pile of ironing and put it in the airing cupboard, and the next thing I heard was this – series of bumps.’
‘She didn’t cry out?’
‘No. I dashed out on to the landing, and to my horror she was rolling down the stairs.’
‘You were upstairs yourself?’
He swallowed dryly. ‘Yes. I’d just got in from work and had gone up to change.’
There was an electric silence. Then Lindsey said doggedly, ‘I know it’s none of my business, but I really think you should take her to A & E. She might have internal injuries, or delayed concussion or something. If it’s the children you’re worried about, I’ll stay with them.’
‘No!’ he said forcefully. Then, more calmly, ‘If I go, we all go.’ Then, reluctantly, ‘But thank you for offering.’
‘You will take her?’
‘Yes, I’ll take her.’
A sudden breeze ruffled her hair and she shivered, realizing for the first time that she had no jacket. She turned to go, then looked back at him.
‘My sister met a friend of yours last week,’ she said on impulse. And, as he raised his eyebrows, she added, ‘Selina O’Toole.’
The lighted hall was behind him and she couldn’t see his face, but the tremor that shook him was unmissable. She continued down the path, crossed the road, and had started back along the opposite pavement before he closed the door.
‘Rona, it’s me again.’
‘You’re not going to hang up on me, are you?’
‘No, sorry about that. Listen – Philip Yarborough just pushed Adele down the stairs!’
Person or Persons Unknown Page 17
