by Leah Hope
“Well I won’t argue with you Bridge, as you say you were sitting directly opposite her. But couldn’t she simply have changed her parting since the photo was taken? I mean women change their hairstyles all the time.”
“That’s true, but while women might change from a side to a centre parting, I doubt very many change from left to right, or vice versa, there wouldn’t normally be a need. Besides, your hair has a natural parting and it wouldn’t behave properly if you changed it to the other side. Diane told me that years ago and I’ve never forgotten it. Something else has just popped into my head. Do you remember when she got up to get something to eat and her husband called after her? He initially called her “Sheil” but when she didn’t stop or turn around, he used her full name. I’m wondering if she didn’t respond to the shortened version of her name because she wasn’t used to it.”
There was a time when Gil would have questioned his sister’s powers of observation and of deduction, but events of recent years had taught him that she was invariably right. He saw no reason to doubt her now.
“I was trying to read my paper at the time if you remember, so I wasn’t taking much notice. But, if you’re right, and I’m quite prepared to accept that you are, it begs the question, who is she?”
“It certainly does, doesn’t it. There’s a phone number at the bottom of the article for anyone who might have any information. I’m going to give it a call.”
After a lengthy wait, Bridget eventually got through. After a few minutes, she put the phone down.
“Well?” Said Gil expectantly.
“Well that’s a surprise. I was half expecting them to say “thank you very much” and dismiss me as some sort of a crank or to suggest I need to get my eyes tested. But they want to see me, or rather us, and they’ve asked if we could call in to Dover Police HQ. I explained our situation and that we wouldn’t be back in the UK until quite late on Friday night so they’ve given us an appointment at ten on Saturday morning.”
“Ten o’clock, that’s a bit early isn’t it? Couldn’t you have got something later?” Gil replied grumpily.
“A woman is missing Gil, more than likely dead and all you can think about is having a lie-in. Honestly!”
“Ok, ok, but it’s not you that does the driving is it? It’s a long drive from St Rémy to home and it takes it out of me, I’m not getting any younger either if you notice.”
“Sorry Gil, you know I would share the driving if I could, but I’ve left it far too late to learn now. I’ll try and get a later appointment if you like.”
“No leave it, as you said, it’s important but I’m going to book us into a hotel overnight. I don’t want to have to drive all the way home from Dover only to have to go back again at the crack of dawn. What do you think?”
“I think that’s a good idea Gil.”
“Ok, I’ll get on to it after I’ve given the grass a trim. I wonder though why the cops are so keen to speak to us. Maybe someone else has reported the same thing. About it not being the same woman I mean. Did they give you any hint about what’s going on?”
“No, nothing. I told them how we’d got talking to the couple and about my concerns, as I said I thought they would just laugh at me. But the woman I spoke to took me seriously, or at least she sounded as if she did and thanked me for ringing. It’s a shame our appointment isn’t with her, she sounded very understanding. We’re seeing a Detective Sergeant Blackthorn instead.”
Gil nodded. “Now that I’ve had time to think about it a bit more, it’s becoming even more baffling isn’t it. What on earth can that chap’s motives have been for passing off someone else as his wife?”
“I agree, it doesn’t make any sense at all. But I can’t help thinking that there’s something decidedly fishy about the whole thing. And of course the big question is, are there one missing women or two?”
*
As the forecast for the rest of their stay was for showers, so much for the Indian summer, Gil and Bridget decided they would take things easy. Bridget’s idea of easy invariably involved cooking copious amounts of food and this time was no exception. Using the excuse of needing to use up some eggs, Bridget threw herself into a marathon baking session which kept her occupied for the rest of Monday afternoon. By four o’clock she had had made a chicken and mushroom pie for her and Gil’s supper that night, a batch of cupcakes that she would later share with Helen and Béatrice (they were the latter’s newly discovered favourite confection) and a lemon and meringue pie for dessert one night. She had also made the pastry for a salmon pie for tomorrow’s lunch for which she hoped Heather would be able to join them. Tony would be working at the bistro so Bridget thought Heather might appreciate some company, as well as having a meal prepared for her. Between showers, Gil busied himself tidying up the garden. After a quick phone call to Heather to confirm her availability for lunch the next day, Bridget set about making crème bruleés to follow the salmon pie.
It was a rather fraught Heather who rang Bridget at midday on Tuesday to say that she was sorry but she was running late. Thomas had taken ages over his feed and just as she was about to strap him into his carrier, she’d had to change his nappy. Bridget assured her that the food wouldn’t spoil and to take as much time as she needed. Nevertheless she decided that she would pop next door to give her friend a hand while Gil kept his eye on the potatoes.
Later, with lunch over and Thomas sleeping contentedly, talk turned to the story of the woman missing from the ferry. Heather listened with amazement as Bridget showed her the newspaper article and recounted their meeting with “Sheila Cresswell”.
“If you smell a rat Bridget, then I’m sure there’s something sinister going on” said Heather as she put the newspaper down. “What I don’t understand though, is why would he do that, pretend that this woman is his wife? It can only mean one thing surely, he’s bumped his real wife off and hidden her body somewhere.”
“But if that’s the case” said Gil “why go through the rigmarole of taking a ferry trip and passing off another woman as his wife? I just don’t get it.”
“Because he didn’t have an alibi for the time he killed her!” Heather said suddenly. “Thomas and I don’t watch re-runs of Murder she Wrote for nothing you know!”
“Do you know Heather, I think you could be on to something” said Bridget, her eyes sparkling with excitement. “I know it sounds a bit far-fetched, well very far-fetched actually, but why else would he go to all the bother of the ferry trip with a woman the spitting image of his wife.”
“So does this mean that the fake Sheila didn’t fall overboard at all?” Gil asked, trying to keep up.
“No I don’t think she did. But where is she, the fake one I mean and more importantly, who is she?” Bridget answered. “You know the more I think about this, there’s far more to it than meets the eye. There could of course be an innocent explanation to all of this, but for the moment, I’m blessed if I can think of one.”
“Me neither” said Gil. “I think what’s quite telling as well is that the Dover police didn’t dismiss you as being some sort of a crank when you spoke to them. If they were convinced that Sheila Cresswell had simply fallen overboard, I very much doubt they would have taken you seriously.”
“The article says that there were no CCTV sightings of Sheila Cresswell so we only have the husband’s word for it that she was on the ferry at all. What if he bumped her off while they were in France?” Heather said
“That’s a very good point Heather” Bridget said, secretly wishing she’d thought of it herself. She paused as she drank the last of her wine. “But if she wasn’t in the car when they checked in at the Calais ferry terminal, wouldn’t that show up in the ferry company’s computer records?”
“They are so security-conscious these days, as well as all the fuss about not knowing how many people are entering and leaving the country each year so I would have thought it would” Gil replied. “But maybe a missing passenger is less cause for concern than some
one trying to smuggle in an extra one. It must happen all the time, that someone decides not to travel for all sorts of reasons. I imagine the police would have checked the records though. If “Sheila” had never checked in, it would be a completely different story as it would suggest she had gone missing somewhere in France. If that were the case, I’m sure Malcolm Cresswell would be under arrest for one thing, so maybe we can assume that she was on board after all.”
Gil went to top up Bridget’s wine glass but she swiftly put her hand over the top. “No thanks Gil, my head’s spinning enough as it is trying to puzzle this out. I just don’t know what to make of it all.” Seeing Thomas suddenly stir, Bridget looked alarmed. “Oh I hope I haven’t woken him, he was sleeping so soundly too.”
“Don’t worry Bridget, he’s due for a feed soon” Heather said glancing at her watch. “‘I’d love to stay and talk more about your murder mystery but Tony will be back soon. The bistro’s not open on Tuesday evenings out of season so once lunchtime service is over he’ll be heading home. Which reminds me, I hope you two haven’t got anything planned for tomorrow night as we’ve booked you in for dinner at seven thirty. Our treat.”
“Oh that’s wonderful Heather. Thank you so much but we can’t let you and Tony foot the bill.”
“Just try and stop us” said Heather as she picked up Thomas’ carrier and his changing bag. “I can’t believe all the paraphernalia you need just to take a tiny baby next door! Just look at the trouble you’ve given your poor mum” she said smiling fondly at the now fully awake Thomas.
“Gil could you go with Heather, the poor girl’s loaded down and I’ve got a box of cupcakes put aside for her too, she can’t manage everything on her own” Bridget said at the sight of her struggling friend.
“Sure, but I need to pop to the bathroom first. Won’t be a sec.”
“Thanks for these Bridget, your cupcakes are the best ever” Heather said as she slung the changing bag over her shoulder. “I’m glad we’ve got a few minutes to ourselves Bridget as there’s something I want to tell you, or rather I’m not entirely sure I should but I’m going to anyway. It’s about Mum.”
“But when we spoke about her over lunch you said she was fine, well more than fine I think you said. I hope nothing’s wrong” Bridget said anxiously.
“No, I mean, yes she is fine. That’s just it. When I was Skyping with her yesterday to tell her all about the christening, she must have mentioned this guy Greg about a dozen times. He owns the sheep farm she’s working on and I got the distinct feeling that she and him are pretty close. She was giggling like a schoolgirl when she told me about how they went riding one afternoon and how she almost fell off but there was good old Greg to steady her horse. Talk about a knight in shining armour.”
“Oh dear, I was afraid something like this might happen. I know that deep down Gil was too. Well there’s nothing we can do about it of course. It could be something and nothing so maybe it’s best if we don’t say anything to Gil, not just yet anyway.”
“No I think you’re right, the last thing I want to do is to set alarm bells ringing. But he’s such a good man, your brother, I couldn’t bear to see him get his heart broken.”
“Me neither Heather, me neither.”
*
Although Bridget usually enjoyed every second of her time at Les Cerisiers and never wanted to leave, this time it was different. She couldn’t help but feel that she was wasting time in France and that she should really be speaking to the police in Dover to tell them everything about meeting Malcolm and “Sheila Cresswell’ on the ferry. For some reason she felt their testimony could be crucial to the investigation. A woman’s life could depend on it. Or perhaps it was already too late if Heather’s suspicion was correct. Gil didn’t seem to feel the same and, in light of Heather’s news about Maggie and Greg, she didn’t want to spoil their last few days for him by being down-in-the-mouth. He might smell a rat so she was determined to put on a cheerful face.
The meal at L’Oie Dorée was delicious. Tony had treated them like royalty. As Gil and Bridget had expected, he wouldn’t dream of letting them pay, despite their protestations. On Thursday, their last day, they called in briefly to Doug and Helen’s to drop off the cupcakes. Doug in particular could hardly wait to try one and Helen had to physically restrain him from sticking his fingers into the toppings. Bridget had wanted to deliver Béatrice’s cakes personally but Helen told her that she this was the time of day she usually took a nap. Disappointed at not seeing her friend for one last time, Bridget took pleasure from imagining her friend’s face when she opened her box of cakes. If Doug didn’t get to them first that is.
Thursday was spent packing in preparation for the long drive north. When Gil had mentioned how tired he got after the long drive it had struck a chord with Bridget. Although she had never really been interested in learning to drive, maybe now was a time to reconsider. Although Gil was two years younger, she acknowledged that the years were slowly catching up with him. His knees were becoming increasingly problematic. How many more years did he have before it got too much for him altogether, and then what would they do? They could fly of course but the nearest airport was an hour and a half away which would mean hiring a car. Admittedly that was a lot less than the nine hour drive from St Rémy to Whytecliffe, but there would come a time when maybe even that would be too much. If only she could share the driving, but as she was now fast approaching sixty had she left it too late? Probably. If she tried hard, Bridget could almost see herself driving around the roads at home, provided she avoided rush hours, and motorways, and that nightmarish one-way system. But France? Even though she had only been a passenger, Bridget had been terrified the first time she and Gil had driven in France. As much as she would like to help her brother, she honestly didn’t feel she would ever be up to driving on the “wrong” side of the road. She wouldn’t rule it out completely yet though. Maybe I could find a driving instructor with the patience of a saint she wondered. But lord knows where I’d find one to cope with me; I’m pretty sure they wouldn’t be listed under the letter “S” in the phone book. I know, she said to herself, I’ll ask Gil to teach me, after all, cars are his thing. Why didn’t I think of this before!
Chapter Five
Gil pulled into the hotel car-park in the centre of Dover just after seven on Friday evening. It was one of those soulless places designed for travellers but, if the on-line reviews were accurate, it would provide them with everything they would need for an overnight stay at a very reasonable price. After checking in, they headed to the on-site restaurant. The menu posted outside the main entrance looked to be rather uninspiring but as Gil certainly wasn’t up to driving or even walking anywhere else, he wasn’t about to complain. Besides, if the accompanying photos were anything to go by, they wouldn’t leave hungry.
Bridget ordered scampi and chips, something she hadn’t eaten in ages, while Gil opted for the spare-ribs. After a few glasses of wine each, talk turned to their appointment with Detective Sergeant Blackthorn the following day. Although both Gil and Bridget had quite a bit of experience with the police in recent years, Bridget was nevertheless anxious about what exactly she was going to say.
“Just tell them what you told me, you know about knowing straight away, well more or less straight away that the woman in the paper wasn’t the woman who sat next to us on the ferry. I’ll be there with you so I can chip in too, I won’t leave it all to you.”
“Yes I know that Gil and I’m glad you’ll be there. It’s just that the more I think of it, the more I wonder if I’ve made a mistake. What if she had just changed her parting, I’m sure some people do.”
“Yes but what about her being left-handed, or was it right, you didn’t imagine that.”
“No but maybe she’d hurt her other hand or had arthritis in it or something, there could be a million reasons why she used her left hand. I just feel I’m going to sound very silly. Maybe we should call them and tell them I’ve changed my mind.”
<
br /> “Well we can if you want to but I don’t think that’s a good idea. As soon as you saw that photo in the paper you knew something wasn’t right, you didn’t even have to think about it. If I’ve learned anything about you Bridge in recent years it’s that your judgement or intuition or whatever you call it is usually spot-on. You’ve been right before and I’m sure you’re right now. Anyway, even if this comes to nothing, you’ll have done your bit. The police will investigate and if it turns out it you were wrong, well there’s no harm done.”
“Thanks Gil, you’re right of course, I feel a lot better now.”
“That’s my girl. Fancy a pud?”
*
After a good night’s sleep in surprisingly comfortable beds and an equally good breakfast, Gil and Bridget arrived at the police station ten minutes ahead of their allotted appointment time. Bridget’s nerves had returned and Gil clutched her hand as they climbed the steps to the main entrance.
“Bridget and Gil Honeyman for Detective Sergeant Blackthorn please” Bridget said as they arrived at the reception desk, conscious that her voice was shaking a bit.
“Ok, if you’ll both take a seat, someone will be out in a few minutes” the desk sergeant replied.
True to his word, Gil and Bridget were called through by the Detective Sergeant just a couple of minutes later. “If you would like to follow me please” he said with a warm smile. Bridget felt herself relaxing.
Gil and Bridget trotted behind the sergeant as he strode athletically along several corridors before halting outside a room marked “Interview 4”. Hearing noises inside, the sergeant paused.
“Sorry about this, they should be finishing up soon. Perhaps you’d like to take a seat here for a few moments” he said pointing to a couple of chairs opposite the door.
