A Tangled Thread

by Anthea Fraser

‘So now for the police,’ Victoria said. ‘Have you got the number of the local nick?’

  ‘I can find it.’

  Minutes later he was through to the police switchboard. ‘I’d like to speak to someone in CID, please,’ he said. Then, in answer to a question, ‘My name is Nigel Soames and I’m part-owner of an art shop. I want to report an attempted break-in.’

  There was a pause, and Victoria listened while Nigel reported the failed break-in and the finding of the key. ‘We’ve had some suspicious characters hanging around,’ he added, ‘and we’re wondering if it’s the key they were after … Yes.’ He glanced at his watch. ‘Yes, very well. Thank you; we’ll come straight down.’

  He switched off and turned to Victoria. ‘The guy I spoke to would like us to go down, hand in the key and give him more details.’

  She glanced at her watch. ‘Damn, it’s getting on for four thirty. Richard will be expecting me.’

  ‘I’ll deal with it if you like.’

  ‘No, I don’t want to miss anything. I’ll phone and tell him I’ll be late. With any luck he’ll still be watching the cricket.’

  At the police station they gave their names to the officer at the desk and asked to see DS Finch, to whom Nigel had been speaking. Minutes later they were approached by a fresh-faced young man who introduced himself, shook their hands and showed them into an interview room, where they were joined by another officer, one DC Jones.

  Having confirmed their names, addresses and mobile numbers, Nigel handed Finch the key, which he examined carefully.

  ‘Now, tell me again where you found this,’ he said. ‘You own an art shop, I believe?’

  ‘That’s right.’ It was Victoria who answered. ‘And finding the key isn’t the only odd thing that’s happened recently. The first thing we noticed was a man who hung around outside the shop for a couple of weeks, looking in the window or sitting in the café directly opposite. Then a woman came in, allegedly to look at some paintings though she seemed more interested in where we’d obtained them than the pictures themselves. After which the man reappeared and this time he also came in, asking the same questions as she had. Then, to crown it all, Nigel saw them together in town.’ She hesitated. ‘And in the middle of all this, we had the attempted break-in.’

  Finch glanced at Nigel. ‘You mentioned that on the phone but I couldn’t find any record of it.’

  ‘We didn’t report it; they didn’t get in, so there seemed no point.’

  Finch shook his head reprovingly. ‘It should still have been reported. These people you mentioned; I suppose it’s too much to hope that they left their names or contact details?’

  Nigel flushed. ‘They didn’t, no, but as it happens I was in the High Street one lunchtime and saw the man come out of Selby and Frodsham the insurance brokers and go into the White Horse. I … followed him and as I was pretty sure he wouldn’t recognize me I sat down at a nearby table. He was joined by the woman who’d also been to the shop, and I was able to catch their names – Bernard and Tina.’

  ‘We’ll have to recruit you into CID, Mr Soames,’ Finch said dryly.

  ‘I’m also guilty of playing detective,’ Victoria admitted. ‘When Nigel told me about this, I rang the firm and asked to speak to “Bernard”. The girl on the switchboard said, “Bernard Davies?” I said yes and hung up.’

  To forestall any further comment she hurried on to Bernard’s behaviour on entering the shop, his questions about who’d recently bought paintings and his eagerness to examine the back of them. ‘We wondered if he hoped to find out who’d framed them,’ she finished.

  Finch pursed his lips, looking down at the key.

  ‘What kind of key would you say it is?’ Nigel asked.

  He shrugged. ‘Probably some kind of safe deposit. The difficulty will be in tracking down which one; there’s been a growth of private businesses opening up all over the country. Needle in a haystack.’ He rose to his feet and they stood with him. ‘Well, thank you for bringing it in and for all the other information.’ He handed Victoria a card. ‘If there are any further developments at your end – another break-in attempt, whether or not it’s successful, or a further visit from this couple – please contact me immediately.’

  ‘They’ll probably just file it and forget all about it,’ Victoria said dispiritedly as they walked down the steps of the police station.

  Nigel shook his head. ‘They might have a month ago, but now they’ll be super-sensitive regarding anything to do with art or attempted break-ins. The press are giving them a hard time over the country-house burglaries, particularly after that man’s death. There was a list of them in today’s paper – three museums, two stately homes and four country houses in the last six months.’

  ‘We’ve had this conversation before,’ Victoria said impatiently. ‘There can’t possibly be any connection between us and this ghastly murder investigation.’

  Nigel took her arm as they crossed the road. ‘They’ll be pulling out all the stops, that’s all I’m saying, and for that reason our little key is likely to get more attention that it would otherwise have done.’

  ‘Well, if it leads to a solution about Bernard and Tina, so be it,’ Victoria said with feeling.

  Blaircomrie

  When Grant and Coombes returned to the police station on Monday, they were met with the news that the hit-and-run driver had been identified.

  ‘And you’ll never guess who he turned out to be!’ a uniformed DS told them exultantly.

  ‘Then you’d best tell us, hadn’t you?’ Grant, tired after the long train journey and his curtailed weekend, was in no mood for guessing games.

  ‘Only a director of Parsons Makepeace, one Norman Patterson by name!’

  Grant turned to stare at him. ‘You’re not serious!’

  ‘Oh, but I am! The dead man was in his department! He’s an arrogant bastard, though; he’ll take a bit of cracking.’

  ‘But he must have some kind of explanation? Does he live in that area himself?’

  ‘No; says he was on his way to see Petrie, momentarily lost control of his car, mounted the pavement and hit someone. He’d had a couple of drinks after leaving the office and was afraid of losing his licence, so since people were already running to help the victim, he just accelerated away. Swears he didn’t know either that it was a fatality or that the victim was Petrie till he heard it on the news.’

  ‘You believe that?’

  ‘Sure, and pigs can fly. If he’d wanted to speak to Petrie, he’d had all day at the office to do so.’

  ‘And his reason for not coming forward?’

  ‘That nothing he said or did could help Petrie and the firm was in enough trouble without any more bad publicity. In other words, he was watching his own back. The worrying thing is he damn near got away with it.’

  ‘But assuming it was deliberate, what was the motive?’

  ‘We’ve not dug that out of him yet but we’ve applied for extra time.’

  ‘Well, the best of luck,’ Grant said. ‘Actually, we’ve a bit of news ourselves, concerning Johnnie under one of his pseudonyms. Are you ready for this? There’s a theory that he might have been targeted by a gang of Arabs. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’m in need of a strong coffee.’

  And leaving the sergeant staring after him, he left the room.

  Foxclere

  Georgia had just returned home at lunchtime when there was a knock on her door and she opened it to find her mother on the landing, pale-faced and holding a letter.

  ‘Mum! Come in! Everything OK?’

  ‘Not really,’ Jill said. ‘I received this this morning.’

  They went into the sitting room, once Jill and Greg’s bedroom, where Jill handed her the letter. ‘Read it aloud,’ she invited, seating herself on the sofa, her eyes fixed on her daughter’s face. ‘It might help me to take it in.’

  Georgia sat down opposite her. ‘“Dear Mrs Lawrence,”’ she began, then her eyes slipped to the signature at the foot of the
page and she gave a little gasp.

  ‘Go on,’ Jill instructed.

  ‘“I hope you will forgive me for approaching you at this sensitive time,”’ she continued, ‘“but I’m sure you will appreciate that the sudden re-emergence of our father has been as big a shock for my family as it must have been for yours. My brother and I never knew him, having been told he was killed shortly before I was born, and we’ve always been conscious of an empty space in our lives. As we’ve grown older we’ve wondered more and more what kind of man he was, but our mother, who died recently, was always reluctant to speak of him.

  ‘“The purpose of this letter is to ask if you would consider a one-off meeting”’ – Georgia glanced fleetingly at her mother’s set face – ‘“somewhere neutral such as a hotel, so that, if you were willing, you could share some of your memories with us. I appreciate you might well have misgivings at this proposal, but please let me assure you I have no hidden agenda, financial or otherwise; just the hope of filling in a long-felt gap in our lives.

  ‘“It might be that you’re as curious about us as we are about you, since I assume neither of us knew of the other’s existence. I can’t stress enough how grateful we would be if you could agree to meet us, and hope very much to hear from you.

  ‘“Yours sincerely, William Gregory.”’

  As Georgia stopped speaking silence seeped into the room. Then she said quietly, ‘Well, there’s a bolt out of the blue. How do you feel about it?’

  ‘How do I feel?’ Jill repeated. ‘How do you think I feel?’

  ‘I don’t know, Mum. I don’t even know how I feel.’

  ‘He’s got a bloody nerve!’ Jill said viciously. ‘And how did he find out my name and address?’

  ‘I don’t know, but I can see his point.’

  Jill frowned. ‘You can?’

  ‘Suppose it had been the other way round and Dad had abandoned us years ago and lived with his family in Yorkshire. I’m sure I’d have been just as curious to know about him as this … William is.’

  ‘He probably wants to contest the will,’ Jill said. ‘Well, he hasn’t a hope in hell.’

  Georgia, unsure about legal rights, said quickly, ‘I’m sure he doesn’t – he says as much.’ She paused. ‘And if I’m honest, ever since we heard about this other family I’ve been curious about them.’

  ‘You’re not saying we should meet him?’ Jill asked incredulously.

  ‘What harm could it do? A one-off, he said, and I’m sure that’s what it would be. It’s not as though they live close by; we’d never come across them again.’

  There was a short silence, then Jill said crisply, ‘Well, you and Richard must do as you think fit, but I certainly have no intention of meeting him.’

  ‘We wouldn’t do anything to hurt you,’ Georgia said softly. Then, ‘Can you tell me why you’re so against seeing him yourself?’

  ‘Because,’ Jill said in a low voice, ‘it would make it all real.’

  ‘Oh, Mum!’ Georgia slipped to the floor and knelt beside her, taking hold of her hands. After a minute Jill gently freed them and patted her arm. ‘I know I’m being silly,’ she went on. ‘They have far more reason to resent us than we do them, and this boy is holding out an olive branch. But until we know how and why Greg really died, I feel I can’t move on.’

  She met Georgia’s eyes. ‘I presume Richard told you about the fatwa?’

  ‘No. What was that all about? I heard him saying something to the detective but he was in a rush to get back to school and I’d no chance to ask him afterwards. From his tone he wasn’t taking it seriously, so I didn’t either, and to be honest I forgot about it.’

  Jill gave an exclamation of annoyance. ‘He might not take it seriously, but I do. It would explain why Dad never let us know he was alive.’

  Georgia looked startled. ‘I’m sorry, Mum, I didn’t realize it was important. So what’s the story and where did it come from?’

  ‘A friend of Edward’s who met Greg in Cairo shortly before the bomb blast.’ And she repeated the story of the aborted peace talks and subsequent threat.

  ‘But he was still killed later,’ Georgia said. ‘Do you think they caught up with him?’

  ‘I doubt it; if they had they’d have made some announcement “claiming” responsibility, as though it was something to be proud of.’

  ‘So who else’s secrets did he give away?’ Georgia asked with a wan smile.

  There was a moment’s reflective silence, then Jill knotted her hands in her lap. ‘To return to the letter, will you do something for me?’

  ‘If I can.’

  ‘Will you tell Richard about it? I’d … rather not have to go through it again.’

  ‘Of course I will.’

  ‘And assure him I’ve really no objection if you both want to go ahead with a meeting.’

  ‘Truly?’

  ‘Truly, and I’ll be happy to babysit.’ She smiled ironically. ‘To be honest, I’d be interested to hear what they’re like, but not to the extent of meeting them myself.’ She held up a hand to forestall Georgia handing back the letter. ‘You’d better take that with you.’

  ‘Very well. Now, can I persuade you to stay for a bite of lunch?’

  Jill shook her head, rising to her feet. ‘Not today, I’m afraid; I’ve a full afternoon’s tuition ahead of me.’ She paused. ‘Let me know what you both decide.’

  ‘I will.’ Georgia walked with her to the door, where she bent and kissed her cheek. ‘Don’t worry about this, we’ll sort it out.’

  She watched her mother start down the stairs before closing the door, deciding that she’d discuss it with Tim before broaching her abrasive brother. Tomorrow would be soon enough to put Richard in the picture.

  Tuesday was one of Victoria’s days at The Gallery, so Georgia left a message on their answerphone to say she’d something important to discuss with them, and unless she heard from them would call round that evening at about six.

  She and Tim had talked over the matter exhaustively the previous evening, and had reached the decision that they would agree to meet William Gregory, whether or not Richard and Victoria joined them.

  ‘It seems churlish to refuse,’ Tim had said. ‘He sounds a reasonable chap and you can’t blame him for wanting to find out all he can about his father. As for the fatwa thing, that beggars belief, though if it could happen to anyone, it would be Greg it happened to!’

  ‘As Mum said, it would explain his lying low. Who knows, when enough time had passed he might have risked coming back to us.’

  Tim put an arm round her. ‘Quite possibly,’ he said.

  Richard was about to go for lunch when there was a tap on his door and, before he could respond, it opened and Maria slipped into the room.

  A wave of heat suffused him. ‘Maria! What—?’

  She moved swiftly over to him and laid a finger on his lips. ‘I couldn’t wait till Thursday,’ she whispered.

  ‘God, not here! You can’t …’

  But she could, and did. Then, as swiftly and silently as she had come, she was gone, leaving him leaning weakly against his desk. With an effort he moved slowly to his chair, slumped into it and, putting his head in his hands, stared down at the polished wooden surface. Why in God’s name hadn’t he taken her by the shoulders, turned her round and marched her straight out again?

  It was, he thought numbly, the ultimate humiliation, that she should invade this room, the traditional sanctum of the deputy headmaster, and demonstrate her power over him with such careless ease, confident he’d neither the will nor the power to refuse her. Would he never be free of her, and if not, what would become of him?

  Victoria opened the door to Georgia just after six.

  ‘Come in, Georgia! That was a slightly worrying message you left!’

  ‘It wasn’t meant to be, but in the last couple of days various things have come up that you should know about.’

  ‘How intriguing! Can I get you a drink? We’ve just opened th
e bar.’

  ‘Just half a glass of wine, then, please.’

  Richard stood up as she came into the room. ‘So what’s all this about?’ he asked.

  ‘Give her a chance to sit down!’ Victoria remonstrated. ‘And pour her a small glass of wine, would you.’

  Georgia seated herself on the sofa, looking about her and admiring as always the quiet elegance of this converted seventeenth-century cottage – dark oak beams, a wide stone fireplace, now hidden behind a large vase of flowers, and graceful antique furniture that she had always coveted. It was very obviously a home without children.

  She took the glass Richard handed her and drew a deep breath. ‘Thanks. Well, the first thing to say is that Mum has received a letter from the Yorkshire family.’

  Richard stiffened but Victoria leant forward interestedly. ‘Really? What did they want?’

  ‘In short, to meet us.’

  ‘Over my dead body!’ said Richard forcefully.

  ‘Hush, darling! Go on, Georgia.’

  ‘I think the best thing is to read you the letter.’ She slid it out of its envelope and read it aloud for the third time. As on both previous occasions it was greeted by silence.

  ‘Mum’s refusing to consider it,’ she said, ‘but Tim and I are prepared to meet him.’

  ‘God, Georgia, how can you even contemplate it? I’m definitely with Mother on this.’

  ‘Aren’t you the tiniest bit curious about your half-brothers?’

  ‘Don’t call them that!’

  ‘Like it or not, that’s what they are. And as William says, it was as much of a shock for them as it was for us to hear of Dad’s resurrection, even if it was sadly temporary.’ She paused. ‘Did you tell Victoria about the fatwa theory?’

  ‘No, I did not!’ Richard declared. ‘It was pure fabrication!’

  ‘Fatwa?’ Victoria looked from one to the other in bewilderment, and Georgia briefly outlined the details.

  ‘He was probably planning not to come home even before the bomb blast,’ Richard said, ‘and this was a means of covering himself. We now know his whole life was composed of invention and deceit.’ He turned to Georgia with a frown. ‘Who is this Edward French, anyway, and why is he sticking his nose into our family business?’