‘Mother kept the album at Nanstrassoe House. It didn’t come into my possession until Aunt Harriet died. It’s the only thing of Oliver’s I have with me here. And it’s the only thing I need. I can summon up his memory – I can see him again – whenever I choose to open it.’
‘I’d give a lot to know what was on the last film he ever loaded into his camera.’
‘So would I.’ She closed the album and put it back in the cupboard.
‘Do you really have no idea who might have stolen those files, Vivien?’ I asked, hoping she might be just a little more forthcoming now.
She sat down at the table and looked up at me. ‘No. Have you?’
I shrugged. ‘None at all.’
‘I suppose you could ask yourself who you know with any personal interest in them.’
‘It’s a short list. Most of the people who produced the documents in those files are dead and gone.’
‘My stepfather isn’t.’
‘Your stepfather commissioned the work that led to the discovery that the files were missing, Vivien. Why would he do that if he’d stolen them?’
‘I can’t think of a reason. But …’ She broke off and looked away, out through the window.
I sat down opposite her. ‘But what?’
‘Nothing.’ She shook her head. ‘There’s nothing I can tell you.’
‘Are you sure? You can say anything you like to me.’
‘As long as I don’t mind it getting back to Greville. He’s your boss. You said so. You work for him.’
‘You can trust me, Vivien.’
‘No. I can’t.’ Her gaze was far more sorrowful than it was recriminatory. ‘I can’t even trust myself.’
‘You’re not going to help me, are you?’
‘If you need my help, you’ve already failed.’
‘OK.’ I nodded. ‘I get the message.’ I stood up. ‘I’ll leave you to … whatever you fill your time with here.’
‘Embroidery. And a whole lot of nothing. That’s what my life amounts to now.’
‘I should warn you about Adam. He was here earlier. I had to stop him forcing the door open. He was in an ugly mood.’
‘So that’s why there’s some paint missing. Don’t worry about Adam. He’s always in an ugly mood. I can handle him.’
‘He might have thought he’d find the missing records here.’
‘He might have. But he was looking in the wrong place. He has a history of doing that. If you’re right, you should ask yourself why he’d be bothered about the records in the first place.’
‘Why do you think he’d be bothered?’
‘I can’t imagine.’
‘He was worked up about something, Vivien. He was angry. Potentially dangerous, I’d say. I don’t like to think of you, alone here, in the middle of nowhere, miles from help of any kind.’
‘Don’t think of me, then.’
I wrote my mobile number on one of my cards and put it on the table in front of her. ‘You can call me any time.’
‘I won’t call … I don’t have a phone.’
‘Pete Newlove said the line in the dryer office is still connected.’
‘I wouldn’t know. I haven’t tried to use it.’
‘Why not just humour me and say you’ll call in an emergency?’
‘All right.’ She gave a weary half-smile and picked up the card. ‘I’ll call in an emergency.’
‘Thank you.’
She folded her hands together and gazed at me neutrally. Silence accreted itself heavily between us. Then she said, ‘Goodbye, Jonathan.’
THIRTY-SIX
I ARRIVED AT IK (St Austell) the following morning oppressed by gloomy thoughts about the ravages of time and the seeming impossibility of the task Greville Lashley had set me. I’d considered phoning him to ask exactly how he expected me to pull it off, but I’d known the chances of speaking to him were slim and any message I’d left would have sounded defeatist or, worse, truculent.
Truculent was in fact pretty much how I felt. Pete Newlove would doubtless have said he felt much the same if I’d made the mistake of asking him. But he and I had practical matters to discuss. I found him in his office, grimacing over a cup of coffee, the aroma of which couldn’t dispel the strong smell of a recent cigarette. He greeted me grouchily and handed me a printed timetable of the one-to-one meetings with staff he’d scheduled for me.
‘Thank God it’s Friday, hey, Jon?’ he said as I scanned it. ‘You’ll get two days off to recover from the first load before you tackle the second.’
‘You think I’m wasting my time, Pete?’
‘Your time. My time. It’s all IK time. So, waste away, old chum. No skin off my nose.’
‘I see you’ve only allocated half an hour for lunch.’
‘Whip through ’em and you can have longer. You may as well be quick, since you’ll have nothing to show for it. I didn’t just sit on my backside after Doctor Whitworth raised the alarm, y’know. I did my job. No one here knows what happened to the records.’
‘You’re sure of that, are you?’
‘I’m sure if any of the staff succeeded in pulling the wool over my eyes they’ll succeed in pulling it over yours, too.’ He grinned. ‘No offence, Jon.’
I sighed, unable, try as I might, to be riled by his cynicism.
‘How’d it go at Lannerwrack?’
I sighed again. ‘I saw Vivien. She’s … like you said.’
‘Learn anything useful?’
‘Not about the records. But …’ I glanced down at the schedule. ‘The last few on here may have to stay late. I have to go out around midday. I’ll be … an hour or so at most. But obviously it’ll … put things back.’
‘Going to the doctor, are you?’
‘What?’
‘I just wondered. You look as if you’ve got a pain. In the arse, is it?’
‘You don’t look so chipper yourself, Pete.’
‘No? You amaze me … not. Anyway, you can’t overrun this afternoon. Anyone you haven’t got round to by five will just have to wait till Monday.’
‘Why can’t I overrun?’
‘Because I got busy on the phone last night and fixed you and me an early-evening engagement … with my old schoolmate Dick Trudgeon.’
‘You did?’
‘Spending your whole life in the same miserable town may not broaden your mind, but it does mean you know lots of people. And those people know other people. So, I was able to track Dick down. He hasn’t gone far either. Retired, like I said he’d be. And willing to chew over old times. We’re meeting him at the Fountain in Mevagissey at half six. He lives down that way.’
‘Was meeting in a pub your idea or his?’
‘Well, we don’t want his missus cramping his style, do we? And you can claim the ale on expenses. My ale, anyway. You’ll be driving, so I expect you’ll be on orange juice.’
‘Of course.’
‘A word of thanks wouldn’t go amiss, Jon. “Well played, Pete, nice one.” Something along those lines. You want to speak to him, don’t you?’
‘Yes, I do.’ I cracked a conciliatory smile. ‘Sorry. I’m feeling a bit fed up this morning. I’ll soon snap out of it. You’ve done well, Pete. Thanks a lot.’
‘Don’t mention it. Except to Beaumont, obviously. I want you to make sure he knows I’ve been a model of cooperation.’
‘I’ll do that.’ I looked at the clock on the wall behind him. ‘Now, how do I get a coffee before I start the interrogations?’
The staff interviews proved as fruitless as Pete had predicted. He and I were the only former Wren’s employees still on the strength. Most of those I spoke to hadn’t even been born when Walter Wren & Co. ceased to exist. They were eager to please the Head Office troubleshooter they saw me as, but they couldn’t help. They genuinely couldn’t.
My departure at noon should have been a big relief to me, but I was only swapping a tiresome duty in favour of a potentially hazardous venture. I’d decided I
should try for Vivien’s sake to make Adam understand she had nothing to do with the theft of the records. It wouldn’t be easy, but catching him sober and not long up gave me the best chance of success. From what I knew of his lifestyle, that meant calling by around midday.
Wavecrest was even bigger and more ostentatious than Pete had led me to expect. Set on a hillock that put it one up on its scarcely modest neighbours, and supplied a panoramic view of St Austell Bay into the bargain, it was what its architect would probably have called cutting edge: flat-roofed and white-walled, with walk-around balconies and lots and lots of blue-tinted glass. The garden didn’t supply much in the way of camouflage. None of the pines and bushes had yet grown high enough to soften the rectilinearity of the house and would probably never be allowed to. Wavecrest was a statement, not a murmur.
The gate at the foot of the drive was electronically operated. There was an intercom for communication with the house set in the driver’s-side pillar. But there was also a side gate for pedestrians and, since I was sure any talking to Adam was best done face to face, I parked the car on the grass verge at the side of the road and entered on foot.
There was no sign of Adam’s Lotus, but the underground garage that came into view as I climbed the drive looked large enough to hold a whole fleet of cars. Still, I’d have bet on him wanting to exhibit his speedster for the delectation of the locals, so I began to wonder if I’d left my arrival too late.
Closer to, the blue-tinted windows revealed a mirror-like reflectiveness that rendered the interior of the house more or less invisible. Adam could have been staring out at me stark naked as I approached the door and I wouldn’t have known. I pressed the bell and waited. The silence was depressingly absolute. It felt increasingly as if I was wasting my time.
Then, quite suddenly, the door sprang open. It was electronically operated, like the gate, and there was no one waiting to greet me. I stepped into a high, circular space, from which an open-treaded staircase curved up to the first floor. Double doors led off into various rooms. Filtered daylight flowed in around me.
‘Hello?’ I called.
‘Hello,’ came an echoing response, though not in Adam’s voice. A young woman wearing only a short silk bathrobe and a pair of fluffy mules ambled out into the hall from what a distant glimpse of fridge-freezer suggested was the kitchen. She held a coffee mug in one hand and a phone in the other and was texting as she walked. She spared me a fleeting glance – flashing eyes beneath a tousled fringe of dark hair – and a somewhat less fleeting smile. ‘You’re not the aerial man, are you?’
‘No.’
‘Pity. Adam’s not getting all his satellite channels. Puts him in a bad mood.’ She stopped texting and gave me a little more attention. She was small and pretty in a girlish way. I’d have said she was still in her teens. How many like her had Adam worked his way through over the years, I wondered, though I didn’t really want to know the answer. ‘He just went out. If it’s him you wanted.’ She grinned. ‘He still just went out, though, come to think, even if you didn’t want him.’
‘It was Adam I was looking for. I’m from Intercontinental Kaolins. My name’s Kellaway. Jonathan Kellaway.’
‘Don’t think so.’
‘Sorry?’
‘I’ve heard of you. But Jonathan’s not your first name.’
I smiled bemusedly. ‘I assure you it is.’
‘No. It’s Fucking. Fucking Kellaway. That’s what Adam calls you.’
I had to laugh at that. ‘Well, you’ve got me there.’
‘I’m Mad.’ She rolled her eyes. ‘Short for Madeleine.’
‘Pleased to meet you, Mad.’
‘You’re a friend of the family as well as one of their wage slaves, right?’
‘Right.’
‘So you must know Adam’s sister – Vivien.’
‘I do, yes.’
‘He says she’s really mad. Off her head. That so?’
‘No. Not so.’
‘But she’s a countess. And she lives in a caravan.’
‘A viscountess, Adam means. And technically she’s not even one of those. But she does live in a caravan.’
‘Countess; viscountess: same difference.’ Mad grimaced at the contents of her coffee mug and plonked it down on a glass-topped table, then looked thoughtfully at me. ‘Been here before?’
‘Never.’
‘What d’you think of it?’
‘What do you think of it?’
She shrugged. ‘It’s all right. Come on. I’ll show you what I like most about the place.’
She led the way through a large, palely decorated, modishly furnished drawing-room, followed by another room that was barely distinguishable, but might have been planned as some kind of library, to judge by the number of empty bookshelves lining two of the walls.
‘How long have you and Adam known each other?’ I asked as we went.
‘A few months. We met in Phuket.’
Ah yes. Thailand. Of course. ‘Were you on holiday there?’
She laughed. ‘You could say that.’
We entered a high-ceilinged corridor and headed along it. A faint smell of chlorine told me what our destination was before we reached it.
The swimming pool was as oversized as everything else in the house: a vast rectangle of deep-blue water surrounded by white marble. Tracts of lawn were visible through high windows to either side. Everything was as it might have looked in an estate agent’s brochure: lavish and empty. ‘Ace, isn’t it?’ Mad asked, glancing back at me.
‘Very nice.’
She tossed her phone into the lap of a nearby chair and kicked off her mules. ‘I like to wake up with a swim,’ she announced. Then she untied the belt of the bathrobe, shrugged it off and, letting it fall to the floor behind her, advanced to the edge of the pool.
I’d seen no outline of a swimsuit beneath the robe as I’d followed her through the house, so it shouldn’t have come as any surprise that she wasn’t wearing one. Nevertheless, as she’d doubtless intended, it did. She stood where she was for several seconds, giving me the opportunity to admire her peachy little bum, then dived in.
She swam, fast and smooth, to the far end, turned and swam back, then trod water and waved me forward.
‘Why don’t you come in, Jonathan? It’s lovely.’
‘Very tempting, but … no, thanks.’
‘Adam wouldn’t have to know.’ She licked her lips. ‘If that’s what you’re worried about.’
‘When do you think he’ll be back?’
‘Oh, not for hours. He’s playing golf. Yawn, yawn.’
‘Could you tell him I called by?’
‘If you want me to.’
‘I do, yes. Ask him to phone me. He’s got my number.’
‘I know. He said so. “Fucking Kellaway. I’ve got his number.”’ She grinned up at me mischievously.
‘You’re a funny girl, Mad.’
‘I certainly like to have fun. Sure you won’t join me?’
‘I’m sure.’
‘Your loss.’
‘Probably.’
‘Definitely. ’Bye, then.’ With that she turned and swam away at a leisurely pace, the water flowing sinuously around her.
I walked to the side of the pool, watching her for as long as it took me to reach a set of double doors that led out on to a terrace – and for a little longer than it took. Then I left.
During an afternoon spent fruitlessly questioning IK staff about the theft of Wren’s records, there were several times I found myself wishing I’d taken up Mad’s invitation. I resented being forced to pursue such a half-baked investigation and my patience was wearing thin.
Meeting Dick Trudgeon was undeniably worthwhile, though. And Pete was twitchily eager to set off for Mevagissey as the working day drew to a close. His mood was such a strange mixture of nervousness and joviality that I began to miss his normal heavy irony. I eventually demanded to know if something was bothering him.
‘Well, yes, I
suppose so,’ he admitted cagily. ‘Could we talk about it on the way? I don’t want us to be late.’
Punctuality had never been one of his strengths. This alone should have forewarned me. As it was, he talked about everything but whatever was bothering him during the drive to Mevagissey, preferring to distract me with gossip about the proposed eco-town and the viability of the new shopping centre.
We arrived twenty minutes or so early and Pete proposed a preliminary drink at the Ship, the first pub we came to after parking the car, before we moved on to meet Trudgeon at the Fountain. The whisky chaser he ordered with his pint suggested he needed some Dutch courage to broach a delicate subject. And so it proved.
‘While you were out to lunch, Jon, I had a visit … from Adam Lashley.’
So, it seemed Adam hadn’t been playing golf after all. ‘You did?’
‘Yeah. He showed up shortly after you left.’
‘How shortly?’
‘Well, five minutes, maybe. Does it matter?’
‘It might.’ It occurred to me that Adam could actually have been waiting for me to leave. It was a disturbing thought. ‘What did he want?’
‘A chat. He didn’t come into the office. He phoned up from reception and asked me to join him downstairs. So, down I went. He ushered me outside and we took a turn round the car park while he … said his piece.’
‘Which amounted to what?’
Pete took a deep swallow of beer. ‘I’m doing you a big favour letting you in on this, Jon. A little more … appreciation … would be nice.’
‘Oh, I’m appreciative, Pete, believe me.’ I smiled cheesily at him. ‘Now, are you going to tell me what he wanted?’
‘On one condition, yeah.’
I sighed. Pete playing hard to get was the last thing I needed. ‘Name it.’
‘You guarantee you’ll keep me in the loop on this whole business of the missing records.’
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