by Penny Kline
‘Half-truths are always more frightening.’
‘Is that what you think?’
‘Yes, don’t you?’
She laughed but this time it was a harsh unpleasant sound, something on the edge of hysteria and extreme anger. Standing up she moved swiftly towards the door. ‘Don’t go away. If I make some coffee you could tell me some more of your theories. No, I’d love to hear them, I really would.’
*
The door to the ground-floor flat was slightly ajar. I stepped inside and called Rona’s name but there was no reply. She must have gone out for a walk, but if the baby had a cold wouldn’t it be kept indoors? Even if the current theory was that fresh air blew away the germs wouldn’t Rona have locked up before she left?
When I put my head round the kitchen door I noticed that several cupboard doors had been left open and the table was littered with stuff: a bowl with a picture of Jemima Puddleduck and the remains of something mushy that had hardened and turned brown, a box of baby wipes, a screwed-up bib, a blue plastic spoon, several sheets of kitchen roll that had soaked up the juice from an upturned cup. I called Rona’s name again, more loudly this time, then went down the passage to the nursery.
The cot sheet was crumpled and a small white teddy bear lay on it face down at one end. A plastic pail in the corner had its lid lying beside it on the floor and a disposable nappy hanging over the side. The room had a sickly sweet smell, a mixture of talcum powder, baby lotion, and urine. Opening the window wide I listened for sounds in the garden — Rona returning, the baby babbling away — but everything was deathly quiet, the whole flat had a deserted feel as though someone had left in a hurry. At the last moment the Sealeys had decided the baby was well enough to travel. There had been no time to clear up, they had told Rona to leave everything and strap Chloe into her car seat. It was a plausible explanation but not very likely. Since they were travelling by car it would be impossible to estimate the precise time of arrival in Cornwall. There would have been no need to rush off leaving everything in such a mess.
Any moment now I expected Rona to stump into the flat and demand to know what I thought I was doing prowling round the place. In the meantime I decided to inspect each room in turn, partly out of curiosity, although I justified it by deciding I would have to report back to Geraldine, let her know I had made a thorough check.
The living-room was fairly tidy. Bryan’s leather jacket had been flung across the back of a chair and a copy of the Times Literary Supplement lay on the floor, together with an inflatable toy in the shape of a large grey rabbit and half a dozen cloth bricks. On a low table someone had made an interlocking structure out of red plastic stars. When I lifted it up it disintegrated in my hand, and as I bent to collect up the pieces I noticed Lynsey’s purple and yellow knapsack lying by the fireplace. It looked empty, but when I picked it up two screwed-up tissues fell out and a small notebook with most of the pages missing.
The first page had a picture of a cat, something Lynsey could have drawn to amuse the baby. Its bushy tail was wrapped round its black and white body and the word MARTIN had been written above its head. The next page was covered in scribbles as though someone had held the baby’s hand and pretended to make her draw. On the third was what looked like an address. Three scrawled figures that might have been 437, and the name of a road. LISTOW? ILSDON? I gave up trying to decipher the letters. There was no reason why the address should be anything important, significant. Lynsey had been playing with the baby between doing her cleaning chores, and forgotten to collect her knapsack when she left for home.
In Bryan and Helen’s room the king-size bed was neatly covered in a blue and white quilt, made out of the same material as the curtains. There were no clothes lying about, only the door of a fitted cupboard left slightly ajar with part of a black coat sticking out. I slid it back and began counting the dozens of pairs of shoes Lynsey had described so vividly. As usual she had exaggerated, but not that much.
In the bathroom the cold tap had been left running and a bar of soap, left in the basin, had started to turn to sludge. A yellow plastic duck and a baby’s sponge lay on the floor and the carpet felt damp underfoot. I turned off the tap, picked up the sponge, and sat down on the edge of the bath, convinced now that someone had either left in a great hurry or in a fairly distraught state of mind. On previous visits to the flat I had been impressed by how clean and tidy it had been. Most people with babies seemed to live in a fairly chaotic mess. But perhaps I was thinking of Chris. With a nanny and a cleaner it ought to be possible to keep the place in good order.
As I stepped inside Rona’s room I half expected to find her asleep in bed with the baby tucked in beside her. Wasn’t there a school of thought that said it was good for babies to sleep with their parents? They picked up the small sounds and movements and it made them feel safe. Naturally, another child expert believed exactly the opposite. The room was empty. On a small cabinet by the bed stood a large old-fashioned alarm clock that had stopped at ten past three, a leather-bound Bible, and a photograph of a woman, who looked as if she was in her early twenties, although when I lifted the photo I could see that she was actually a good deal older. The round, innocent face had deceived me, the straight mousey-coloured hair, held in place by a brown tortoiseshell slide. It was Rona’s dead sister, Biddy, the snapshot enlarged so the whole picture looked slightly out of focus.
A sound from the garden made me jump but when I looked out it was only the window cleaner. He nodded, then began extending his ladder, ready to start on the windows of the top-floor flat. I would have to tell Geraldine about the Sealeys’ flat being left unlocked and find out what she wanted me to do about it. Replacing the photo I looked briefly round the rest of the room then left, putting the front door on the latch, and walked out of the gloom into the bright cool sunlight.
The window cleaner was whistling his own version of a popular hymn. From the top of the ladder he looked down and winked.
‘Nice day. Think it’ll last?’
‘I hope so.’ I walked round to the back of the house, put my key in the lock and called out to Geraldine to let her know who it was.
She leaned over the stair rail, out of breath, agitated. ‘Yes?’
‘The ground-floor flat,’ I said. ‘The door’s been left unlocked but there’s no one about.’
‘Just a moment.’ I heard footsteps on the landing, a cupboard door banged shut, then Geraldine reappeared at the top of the stairs. ‘Rona’s not there?’
‘No, nobody. She could have gone for a walk I suppose but it’s not like her to forget to lock up.’
‘Lynsey didn’t turn up this morning,’ she said. ‘She was supposed to come at ten to collect my list. She’s never let me down before, it’s not like her at all. I wanted to get in touch with Sandy, see if she’d mentioned anything to him.’
‘Wouldn’t he have told you before he left?’
‘He must have forgotten. Now, I’m not sure what … You see there’s no phone at the cottage.’
The defiant mood had disappeared. She looked pale and shaky. I guided her into the living-room where she sat down staring straight ahead like a child waiting to be told what to do.
‘I’m sure there’s a perfectly good explanation,’ I said. ‘I’ll stay here for a bit, shall I, see if Rona returns?’
‘Would you? D’you mind awfully? Lynsey must be unwell, sleeping off a hang-over or something. She lives in Southville, has a room in a house with four others.’
‘She’s told you about them?’
‘Oh, hardly anything. Would you like something to eat? Normally I only have a sandwich but — ’
‘No, don’t worry. Look, I’ll check downstairs again in fifteen minutes, then have a look round about, see if Rona’s taken Chloe on the Downs. Perhaps I should lock the ground floor first. What d’you think?’
‘Yes, all right, whatever you think best.’ She picked up a telephone book and started turning the pages very fast, licking her finger when t
wo sheets of paper stuck together. ‘If they’d left an address, where they’re staying in Cornwall — but why would they, it was only for two nights?’
Lynsey had disappeared. So had Rona and the baby. I had told Geraldine there were sure to be simple explanations. Now I was not so sure. While she busied herself in the kitchen, preparing the sandwiches I didn’t want, I started making plans. Geraldine had mislaid Lynsey’s address in Southville. She couldn’t even remember the name of the street although she was sure Sandy would know. I could drive out to the cottage but was it really necessary? The Sealeys had changed their minds about the baby at the last minute and Rona had gone with them to Cornwall, leaving the flat in a mess because Bryan was impatient to leave. As for Lynsey, she had probably muddled up which day she was supposed to be doing the shopping. But my feeling of unease was increasing by the minute.
I put my head round the kitchen door. ‘Deb Cavendish,’ I said. ‘I’m going to ask her for Lynsey’s address.’
‘Right you are.’ Geraldine was chopping up slices of cucumber. She didn’t turn round but the agitation in her voice seemed to have disappeared now she knew I was going to take charge.
‘You’ll be all right, will you? I’m not sure when I’ll be back but I’ll give you a ring.’
‘Oh, there’s no need, Anna, I’m fine, just a little tired. I may take one of my tablets and have a short sleep.’
‘Yes. Good idea.’
‘Deb Cavendish,’ she murmured. ‘I’ve never met her, nor has Sandy, but I got the impression she and Lynsey had been quite good friends before that silly young man came along. Two’s company, three’s a crowd, isn’t that what they say?’
Chapter Fifteen
Deb was having her lunch-break. No one knew for certain where she was but the woman with the long dark plait thought she remembered her mentioning something about buying a book. She was friendlier than on my previous visit. Perhaps Deb had spoken to her, or maybe, now she had accepted the fact that I wouldn’t be having a facial, she could relax and let slip her professional mask.
On the way to Broadmead I had planned what I was going to say to Deb. I would tell her Lynsey had failed to turn up for work, then mention that Rona and the baby were also missing. If she looked uncomprehending, wondered what I expected her to do about it, I would apologize for wasting her time, ask for Lynsey’s address, and drive to Southville.
My stomach was aching from lack of food, a missed breakfast followed by a refusal to eat one of Geraldine’s paste and cucumber sandwiches. There was no sign of Deb in the bookshop in the Galleries so I tried the one in The Haymarket that had a sale and was so crowded it was almost impossible to get inside. Fighting my way along the shelves of paperbacks I thought I saw the back of Deb’s head but it turned out to be a woman with a baby in a sling round her neck, a tiny thing with bleary eyes and half-open mouth, far smaller than Chloe. By the time I started up the stairs I had pretty well given up hope and was thinking of returning to the store. Then I saw her.
She was standing by what looked like the sociology section but turned out to contain the kind of popular legal books that tell you how to write your own will, convey your property, or obtain legal aid.
Moving as close as the throng of people would allow I spoke her name and watched as she froze, wondering if someone was talking to her or there was another person with the same name standing nearby. Then she turned, recognized me, and dropped the book she was consulting, scrambling to pick it up and return it to the shelf.
‘Oh — it’s you.’ She sighed. ‘Now what’s happened?’
‘I’m not sure. Nothing probably. But it could be important.’
‘If you say so.’ She seemed reluctant to hear any more. She was dressed in a black suit with a white T-shirt under the jacket and black patent-leather shoes that added a couple of inches to her height. The fact that she was slightly overweight made her look soft, sexy. She had that air some men seem to find irresistible: she had seen it all before but survived in spite of herself. I wondered what Dean Koenig was like. Much younger than Deb, by the sound of him, but attracted to her, perhaps, for that very reason.
‘Something about Lynsey, is it,’ she said dully, ‘or Dean?’ Her expression brightened. ‘Have they decided to release him on bail?’
‘No, I’m sorry, I don’t know what’s happening to Dean, have you rung the police station?’
She looked at me without smiling and started pushing her way towards the stairs.
‘Listen.’ I ran after her, afraid of losing sight of her in the crush. ‘How long have you got? Time for a quick coffee? Please.’
She glanced at her watch. ‘I suppose so, if we hurry, but I haven’t seen her you know, not for ages, certainly not since you came to the store.’
We found a pub — Deb said all the fast-food places would be too slow — ordered two coffees and sat squashed in at a table that was wedged far too close to the bar. The place was full of smoke and I could feel myself starting to wheeze: a psychological reaction, no doubt, the result of giving myself aversive therapy in an effort to kick the habit once and for all.
‘The thing is,’ I said, ‘Lynsey didn’t turn up to do Mrs Haran’s shopping this morning and since she didn’t even phone or leave a message I’m a bit worried.’
‘Is that all?’ She raised her head and started reading through the menu that was scrawled on a chipped blackboard screwed to the wall above my head.
‘There’s something else,’ I said. ‘The ground-floor flat where Bryan and Helen Sealey live was left unlocked but — ’
‘That was Lynsey’s fault?’
‘No, of course not, but the Sealeys are away for two nights. They were going to take the baby but she had a cold. Now there’s no sign of her or her nanny and as I say Lynsey didn’t turn up for work.’ Deb’s hand went up to her mouth. ‘Yes?’ I waited, as patiently as I could. ‘Look, if there’s something you haven’t told me … ’
She picked up her cup, slopping coffee in the saucer. ‘The nanny — that’s an old woman called Rona, isn’t it?’
‘Rona Halliwell. Has Lynsey said something about her?’
‘They don’t get on, didn’t last time I heard. Lynsey took off the baby’s cardigan or something and Mrs Halliwell gave her a mouthful.’
‘Go on.’
She chewed the corner of her nail, glancing at my face, then looking away. ‘I suppose I’ll have to tell you.’
‘What?’
‘I don’t know though.’ She paused, screwing up her eyes, trying to decide. ‘The baby.’
‘Yes. What about her?’
‘Lynsey thinks it’s hers.’
‘She what … I don’t understand. Lynsey thinks Chloe’s her baby? How could she? I didn’t even know she’d had a — ’
‘Six months ago, more. It was December, when she was still in London. A little girl. Seven and a half pounds. She had this friend, they were going to live together, find a flat — then he did a runner.’
‘Ray, was it?’
‘Oh, she’s told you.’ Deb looked a little disappointed. ‘I thought you said — ’
‘No, nothing about a baby, only that she had a friend called Ray.’
‘Some friend. Of course by the time he went it was too late for a termination. I thought she’d keep the baby but she said that wouldn’t be fair on it, she wanted it to have a decent life. She gave her up for adoption when she was only a few days old.’
I felt sick. ‘But why’s Lynsey so certain Chloe’s her baby?’
‘The Sealeys come from Wimbledon. Me and Lynsey lived in Raynes Park, that’s quite near, the same borough.’
‘Yes, but even so, there must be masses of babies.’
‘No, you’re wrong there, there’s hardly any available for adoption, especially newborn ones.’
I was thinking fast. Was Lynsey right about the baby or had she just convinced herself it was hers because she couldn’t come to terms with what had happened? I tried to imagine what it wou
ld be like giving up your own child. Chris had told me how her feelings for her new-born babies had been frighteningly strong, how she would have killed, without hesitation, if anyone had tried to take them away or do them any harm. Was it the same if you had decided beforehand to give the baby up for adoption? If it was your first how could you possibly know what you were going to feel?
Deb had finished her coffee and was looking at her watch. ‘Are you sure she’s taken it?’ she said.
‘No — no, I’m not sure at all.’
‘You see if she hasn’t you must never say a word. I shouldn’t have told you, swore I’d never tell a soul.’
‘Does Dean know?’
‘Dean? Yes, of course he does. I wouldn’t keep a thing like that secret from him. Besides, why d’you want to know, what difference does it make?’
‘No reason.’ I wanted to promise I would never mention it to the Sealeys or anyone else. But how could I? Even if the baby was with Rona in Cornwall things would never be the same again.
‘What happened?’ I said. ‘If you tell me everything it may help. She heard about the Sealeys’ baby, decided it was hers, and managed to get a job helping Geraldine Haran so she could — ’
‘Oh, no, nothing like that. It was only after she started working for Mrs Haran she became convinced the Sealeys had adopted her baby.’
I looked at her doubtfully but she stared me out. ‘There was nothing about Bryan Sealey in the papers, not like when someone famous adopts a kid. Jessica. That’s what Lynsey called her. She gave her the name before she was born, even though she knew she couldn’t keep her. If it’d been a boy he’d have been Sebastian.’
If I had a boy I’d call him Sebastian and if anyone called him Seb I’d kill them.
‘And Chloe’s got the same colouring?’ I asked. ‘Did Lynsey notice some special mark on her skin, something that made her feel certain?’
‘No, nothing like that. She said she just knew, it was a feeling, something she couldn’t explain.’
‘Has she told anyone else?’
