“No,” John Holthouse said. He paused. “I’m going to ask you some personal questions. You don’t have to answer them. But just remember what I said when I came in. I’m here as your friend. Anyone else who comes won’t be.”
“Go on then,” Juliette said. Holthouse paused again. He breathed deeply.
“Would it be true to say that you have occasionally visited singles websites?” he enquired.
Juliette looked him squarely in the eye.
“Yes,” she said.
“And that you have also advertised on these websites?” he went on.
“Yes,” Juliette said. “In my own time. It’s not a crime.”
“Always in your own time?”
“Yes.”
“And on your own personal computer?”
“Yes.”
“I’m afraid that’s not true, is it?” Holthouse said after a momentary pause.
Juliette looked at him. Her mind was in a whirl.
“My God. You?” she said. “You’re a part of all this. Maybe THE part.”
“What are you talking about?” He looked completely surprised.
Juliette laughed.
“So tell me what’s been planted on my computer,” she said.
“Nothing’s been planted, Juliette,” Holthouse said. “But we do have evidence that you have used the company’s computer to place these ‘advertisements’, for want of a better word, and, having seen one of them, I have to say I was – well, shocked.”
“One imagines ones private life is ones own affair,” Juliette said.
“Not when it’s conducted on the firm’s time,” John Holthouse replied.
“If you say so.”
“I find your reaction difficult to fathom,” he said. “I came here to warn you that this has been discovered.”
“That’s very thoughtful of you, John,” Juliette said. “Now you’re going to suggest I resign.”
“Isn’t it in everyone’s best interests?” he said. “Do you really want these things to be talked about openly? The one I looked at was – obscene, in my view.”
“Thank you for the warning, John,” Juliette said, getting up. “It’s good to know one has friends. You don’t need to waste any more of your evening on me.”
“If you think I’m homophobic you’re quite wrong,” Holthouse said, standing.
“Of course not,” Juliette said. “Men like the idea of two women doing it, as I understand.”
A minute later he was gone, and she closed the door behind him.
In the aftermath of her tears Rebecca had explained everything. She didn’t know whether she was embarrassed or relieved. Miranda had said almost nothing. Niall on the other hand was intrigued.
“Faith said you were dodgy,” he said.
“Oh, I’m definitely that,” Rebecca said.
“So what do you think?” he went on. “What do you see?”
“It’s dark in here,” Rebecca said. “It’s awkward. Look, I’m sorry. This was a bad idea. I think I should go.”
“No don’t,” Miranda said. She had been sitting quietly trying to decide what she felt, what this meant to her. Whether or not she had Rebecca’s brother’s eyes was immaterial. She had always known they belonged to someone before she had them, and that that someone had died before their time. Knowing who that someone was, given that it was a person she didn’t actually know, made no difference to her. She could, presumably, always have found out unless the donor family had requested anonymity. She had always assumed they must have been a girl’s eyes, but thinking about it an eye was pretty much an eye. ‘You have your mother’s eyes’ was something that could be said to a man without it implying anything effeminate. The opposite must also be true. And in any case this was still all conjecture based upon coincidence. The coincidence of Joe Blackford’s death and her eye transplant. Rebecca still wasn’t sure, even after looking her in the face. It was the pretence of childhood friendship that was annoying her: she wished Rebecca had been honest with her from the beginning – although she could see too why the lie had been chosen over the truth.
“I suppose if you really want to know, Moorfields will have all the records,” she said. “It would be a sure-fire way of finding out.”
“But that’s the weird thing now,” Rebecca said. “I don’t know if I want to know for sure. It’s almost better just wondering and thinking “maybe,” rather than seeing in black and white that the answer’s no, even though you’d swear it was yes.”
“I can see that,” Simon said, surprising everyone because he had barely spoken since Rebecca had arrived.
“I mean it is good to know that Joe’s death did some good,” Rebecca elucidated. “It’s good to know that someone’s got his kidneys and his liver and his lungs and maybe his heart. It’s good to know that others have moved closer to their life-saving operation because of him. I don’t feel any need to track those people down. In fact I’d really rather not. And I don’t believe that because those parts of Joe are still functioning, because his heart is still beating, he’s still alive in some bizarre way. I really don’t believe that. It was just the eyes. There is something about eyes.”
“You’re right there,” Niall said.
“I’m sorry,” Rebecca said, horrified. “That was really thoughtless of me.”
“Don’t shit yourself, I’m agreeing with you girl,” Niall said. “Believe it or not, these were a fully functioning pair once upon a time.”
“God I admire you all,” Rebecca said.
“Don’t,” Niall said. “We don’t want admiration or sympathy. We just want to be normal. But about your brother’s accident, since we’ve entered the realm of tactless questioning...”
“Yes?” Rebecca asked willingly.
“Was there anything dodgy about it?”
“You mean other than his best friend’s driving?”
“Niall!” Miranda snapped, hoping that he wasn’t about to unleash his conspiracy theories on a total stranger.
“It’s OK,” Rebecca said, misunderstanding.
“Were there any other cars involved, suspicious circumstances?” Niall pressed on.
“No other cars as far as we know,” Rebecca said. “There were no witnesses so I suppose he could have been racing someone who just buggered off. There was a suspiciously placed tree at a suspiciously sharp bend in the road which they took suspiciously fast. The police said it was all about speed and losing control.”
“OK.”
“Why do you ask?” Rebecca went on. “It seems a bit of an off the wall question.”
Miranda was too far away or she would have given Niall an almighty kick under the table.
“I’ve got a theory,” Niall said. “Journalist’s nose,” he added, in an attempt to sound mysterious and impressive.
“Sorry to knock it on the head then,” Rebecca said smiling.
“Not at all,” Niall said. “Just removed one possible line of investigation.”
“So that could be a good thing.”
“Yes.”
Miranda sensed a chemistry developing between Rebecca and Niall, and she didn’t like it. Suddenly she wished the girl would leave. Alternatively,
“Do you think it’s time we went back?” she said to Niall.
“I don’t know. No stamina,” Niall said.
“I’m supposed to be getting lots of rest, remember? And we’ve got important things to do tomorrow.”
“Tomorrow?” Niall said, startled.
“No point in hanging about, surely?” Miranda said.
“No indeed,” Niall agreed. “Whatever happened to that girl I knew?”
“She met you,” Miranda replied.
“Good answer. Pleasure to meet you, Ms. Blackford,” he said with mock ceremony, getting to his feet. “You must catch up with Miranda in daylight sometime. I would say stay and have another pint with Simon, but Erica might not be too impressed.”
Miranda guided him swiftly, if inexpertly, out of the pub
and into the street.
SIXTEEN
“Oh my God,” Lindsey spluttered, “you’re Sus – Mary – the eye transplant...”
“And you must be Niall’s friend Lindsey,” Miranda said.
“First girl-friend, actually,” Lindsey said, “before I came to my senses.”
“Miranda wants to give her support to our work,” the woman escorting her said. “I thought as you had a mutual acquaintance perhaps you could show her around and tell her what we’re about.”
“Yes of course,” Lindsey said. “Not that there’s much to show.”
The woman glared.
“Lindsey’s still got rather grand ideas from her days at the British Association for the Blind,” she said to Miranda. “Obviously we’re not on that scale. But we’re proud of what we’re doing.”
“And it sounds great,” Miranda said. “I want to see everything. And you can give me lots of gossip about Niall as well.”
“You’re not going out with him?” Lindsey said, astonished.
“No,” Miranda said. “But we are sharing a house at the moment.”
“Oh yes, Faith’s,” Lindsey said. “Oh well, right then. I can certainly fill you in.”
The woman who had brought Miranda to Lindsey rolled her eyes. It was an expression Miranda had yet to learn the full meaning of, but she thought she understood the gist. What it meant was that her scheme was working. That playing the ‘girls together’ card would drive the older woman off and leave the two of them on their own. All she would have to do now to complete the plan was come over dizzy when they were in Vivien Loosemore’s office and dispatch Lindsey for a glass of water. Miranda was rather impressed with her own plan, especially considering that she was a total novice where subterfuge was concerned. She smiled inwardly when she thought about what Susannah would have made of it all. Meek, mild, one-dimensional, lost-to-posterity Susannah. But she had to acknowledge that, had there been no Niall Burnet, Miranda might very well have ended up as a pale sighted imitation of her previous incarnation. And she had to admit, too, that she was enjoying playing this game of a sighted life, especially one that involved intrigue and mystery. Even though it was her own eye transplant that was the source of it all.
Lindsey chatted on in her own inimitably raucous way as she explained to Miranda that their main purpose was to raise funds in order to purchase iPads and laptops and software to help blind children access education. She explained that at the moment they had a small team of fund-raisers based in the office, of which she was one, and a small team of ‘field operatives’ who went into the schools to train the children to use the equipment. All their field operatives were either totally blind or partially sighted.
“There are loads of blind computer geeks like Simon,” Lindsey said.
She went on to say that, if the charity really took off then they hoped to fund a department which would actually research and develop new software that would make the VI IT experience even better.
“You’re going to need a heck of a lot of money, then,” Miranda observed, looking around her at the less than salubrious suite of offices.
“Yes,” Lindsey said eagerly. “That’s why my job’s so important. But we’re really lucky because our patron is going to get herself personally involved, and she’s got loads of experience of fund-raising.”
“Is that Vivien Loosemore?” Miranda asked, careful not to sound too knowing.
“Yes. I expect Niall has given you masses of bad press about her. She was the Headmistress when we were at school, and Niall didn’t exactly get on with her, but really she’s brilliant. So committed. And she kept the school afloat with what she knew about fund-raising. My boyfriend says so and he’s head of finance at BAB.”
“Right,” Miranda said. “But doesn’t she have a full-time job with BAB? I’m sure Niall said...”
“Yes. I don’t know how it works. I think she may have gone down to part-time there. Doing a job share, or something.”
“OK.”
“She’s got an office here now and everything.”
“Oh right. Well I’d better see that. Niall will want to know I’ve been in Vivien Loosemore’s office.”
“Too right he will. He’d want you to set fire to it.”
They both laughed, and Lindsey opened the door on a small spartan room with a desk, chair, telephone and filing cabinet. There was a window that looked out over the street, but they were on the second floor, and the window itself looked as if it hadn’t been opened in years. There was a calendar on the desk, a few papers, and nothing else.
“Ta-da!” Lindsey said. “Vivien’s office.”
“Plain and simple,” Miranda said.
“Well yes. She’s not had it long.”
Miranda stumbled against the desk.
“Are you all right?” Lindsey asked.
“Yes. Well. I don’t know. I get these dizzy spells sometimes. Apparently they’re quite normal. Could you get me a glass of water? I’ll just sit down for a bit and it’ll pass.”
“Yes of course,” Lindsey said. “You do look a bit pale. I can do you water or tea if you prefer.”
“Thanks. Water will be fine.” She knew the tea would have taken longer, but there didn’t seem to be much to take up her time here.
“Do you want to come back to the fund-raisers’ office?” Lindsey asked. “I can give you an arm.”
“Can I just sit here?” Miranda said weakly. “I won’t touch anything.”
“Of course,” Lindsey said kindly. “There’s nothing precious in here anyway.”
She went off in search of water. Miranda sat at the desk. It had two drawers which were locked, but the key was in the lock. When she was certain that Lindsey had gone she opened the bottom drawer. It was empty. She opened the top drawer. There was a notebook and a packet of business cards. Miranda opened the notebook. It seemed to be empty apart from a list of names on the first page – conceivably possible sources of funding, although they all seemed to be Christian names and there were no phone numbers beside them. The name ‘Daniel’ caught her eye. Maybe these were people she knew at BAB. In which case, not likely to be sources of funding. But maybe people she had been thinking of calling to see if they had any ideas or contacts of their own. If they all worked at BAB that would explain why she hadn’t added any phone numbers. It made sense. She tried to memorise names off the list, but her sighted reading was still painstakingly slow, and even as she was doing it she wondered why. Niall wouldn’t know if a list of names belonged to people who worked at BAB. Faith would, if only they could trust her and take her into their confidence. She closed the notebook and picked up one of the business cards, smiling at the thought that fund-raiser extraordinary Vivien Loosemore had thought it an important and necessary expense to invest in having business cards printed. She wished she was quicker at reading. ‘Vivien Loosemore. Patron, Victory. Bringing computer technology to visually impaired children.’ She guessed ‘visually impaired’ from the v and the i.
“Has Lindsey deserted you?”
Miranda panicked and looked up with a start. The woman she had first met was standing in the doorway.
“No, no,” she said weakly, smiling. “I came over a bit faint. She’s gone to get me some water.”
“Oh. OK,” the woman said. She stared pointedly at the open drawer in front of Miranda.
“Sorry. I didn’t mean to. I’m terribly nosy. It comes of only just having learnt to see, I suppose.”
The woman continued to look disapproving.
“I think what you’re doing is fantastic,” Miranda said. “I want to help in any way I can.”
At that point, much to her relief, Lindsey returned with the water.
“Here you are,” Lindsey said. “How are you feeling now?”
“It’s passing,” Miranda said. “Thanks.”
“Passing all the sooner for nosing in our patron’s things,” the older woman said.
“I’m sorry,” Miranda said again. �
�It was kind of automatic. And there was really nothing to nose in.”
She looked hard at Lindsey to see whether anything that resembled suspicion crossed her face, but she seemed completely unperturbed.
“Let’s go back to your office,” she said to Lindsey, closing the desk drawer and making a point of ostentatiously locking it. “I feel better now.”
Under the fierce and watchful gaze of the older woman Lindsey and Miranda left Vivien Loosemore’s office. Miranda was confident, though, that, fierce and watchful though she may have been, she had not observed one of the patron’s business cards finding its way into Miranda’s pocket. Something she had seen on it at the very moment she had been disturbed had struck her as potentially very important indeed.
Faith sat in the room with them. It was not as Niall would have wanted it, but in the end it was the only way that Duncan Clark would agree to meet with him. They had left Hugo for his physiotherapy session at the animal hospital and walked the comparatively short distance to Moorfields, it being a grey but dry day.
“What exactly is your involvement in all this?” Clark asked. Faith had warned Niall that Duncan was an awkward customer (“As am I,” Niall had quickly responded), and that he would be unlikely to agree to a meeting when there was no obvious reason for it. “Other than as Miss Leman’s knight in shining armour,” the consultant surgeon went on.
“I’m certainly not that,” Niall said hastily.
“Right, well, I’m a busy man,” Clark said. “I’ve got time for Faith but precious little for anyone else unless they require my professional services, which don’t come cheap.”
“Absolutely,” Niall said. “Let’s get right down to it.” He was not one to be intimidated. Faith should have warned Clark about that. “A few days ago my dog was knocked down by a car outside Miranda’s father’s architects’ office.”
“Tragic,” Duncan Clark said.
“It wasn’t tragic,” Niall cut across him; “it was deliberate. Somebody came up beside me as I was standing at the kerb and told me it was clear to cross.”
“Sick,” Clark commented.
Eyes of the Blind Page 23
