A Question of Identity

by Anthea Fraser

  Table of Contents

  Recent Titles by Anthea Fraser from Severn House

  Title Page

  Copyright

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Recent Titles by Anthea Fraser from Severn House

  The Rona Parish Mysteries

  (in order of appearance)

  BROUGHT TO BOOK

  JIGSAW

  PERSON OR PERSONS UNKNOWN

  A FAMILY CONCERN

  ROGUE IN PORCELAIN

  NEXT DOOR TO MURDER

  UNFINISHED PORTRAIT

  A QUESTION OF IDENTITY

  Other Titles

  PRESENCE OF MIND

  THE MACBETH PROPHECY

  BREATH OF BRIMSTONE

  MOTIVE FOR MURDER

  DANGEROUS DECEPTION

  PAST SHADOWS

  FATHERS AND DAUGHTERS

  THICKER THAN WATER

  SHIFTING SANDS

  A QUESTION OF IDENTITY

  A Rona Parish Mystery

  Anthea Fraser

  This ebook is copyright material and must not be copied, reproduced, transferred, distributed, leased, licensed or publicly performed or used in any way except as specifically permitted in writing by the publishers, as allowed under the terms and conditions under which it was purchased or as strictly permitted by applicable copyright law. Any unauthorised distribution or use of this text may be a direct infringement of the author’s and publisher’s rights and those responsible may be liable in law accordingly.

  First world edition published 2012

  in Great Britain and in the USA by

  SEVERN HOUSE PUBLISHERS LTD of

  9–15 High Street, Sutton, Surrey, England, SM1 1DF.

  Copyright © 2012 by Anthea Fraser.

  All rights reserved.

  The moral right of the author has been asserted.

  British Library Cataloguing in Publication Data

  Fraser, Anthea.

  A question of identity.

  1. Parish, Rona (Fictitious character) – Fiction.

  2. Detective and mystery stories.

  I. Title

  823.9'14-dc23

  ISBN-13: 978-1-78010-277-1 (Epub)

  ISBN-13: 978-0-7278-8168-7 (cased)

  ISBN-13: 978-1-84751-426-4 (trade paper)

  Except where actual historical events and characters are being described for the storyline of this novel, all situations in this publication are fictitious and any resemblance to living persons is purely coincidental.

  This ebook produced by

  Palimpsest Book Production Limited,

  Falkirk, Stirlingshire, Scotland.

  ONE

  ‘A hypnotist?’ Rona repeated.

  ‘Yes . . . I thought it would be fun,’ Magda added, a little defensively. ‘He’s very good – I’ve seen him on TV.’

  Rona moved the phone to her other hand and reached for her coffee. ‘I’m not sure it’s Max’s idea of an evening out,’ she said doubtfully. Nor hers, if truth be known.

  ‘Oh, come on, Rona! Gavin’s prepared to give it a go, and I know he’d welcome Max’s company.’ She hesitated. ‘Actually, I’ve got tickets for Friday.’

  Rona’s eyebrows rose. ‘Jumping the gun a bit, weren’t you?’

  ‘They were selling like hot cakes and I didn’t want to miss out, specially as Max can only manage Fridays or Saturdays, and they’re the most popular evenings.’

  This was true; Max held adult art classes during the week at his studio across town. There was a pause, while each waited for the other to speak.

  Then Rona said, ‘Well, I’ll have a word with him, but you’ll have to give me something more to go on. Who is this man?’

  ‘An American, name of Ed Bauer. He’s a huge hit in the States, and is now touring the UK – the Darcy Hall did well to get him. It doesn’t start till eight, so we could eat at the Bacchus first.’

  The wine bar was in the same street as the theatre, and did a good trade in suppers both before and after the show.

  ‘What does he actually do?’

  ‘Oh, you know, asks for volunteers to go up on stage . . .’

  ‘And proceeds to make fools of them?’

  ‘Well, it’s all very light-hearted. Look, to be honest, I thought you could do with a bit of cheering up. You’ve had your nose to the grindstone for months.’

  Rona, glancing ruefully at her computer screen, couldn’t deny it. What was more, though usually she was never happier than when immersed in her work, that wasn’t the case this time.

  ‘OK, I’ll see what I can do,’ she said.

  ‘Excellent! If I don’t hear from you, I’ll book a table for six thirty. A bit early, I know, but we don’t want to rush. See you there, I hope!’

  Rona sipped her coffee, found it was cold, and discarded it. She could speak to Max when he came home this evening, but better to find out sooner rather than later if he was amenable, and if she phoned now she could catch him before his afternoon class.

  ‘Hi, honeybun!’ he greeted her. ‘An unsolicited call? What’s up?’

  ‘Magda and Gavin have asked us to go to the Darcy Hall with them on Friday.’

  ‘Oh? What’s on?’

  ‘A stage hypnotist, apparently.’

  ‘Good God! Why in the name of heaven would they want to see him?’

  ‘Magda thinks it’s time I did a bit of socializing.’

  ‘She’s right, but there are better ways.’

  ‘Actually, she’s quite keen. She’s seen him on TV, and he’s a big hit in the States.’

  ‘Come on, love, he’s a fake – they all are!’

  ‘A sweeping statement, but if he is, it’ll be a challenge for you to see how he does it.’

  ‘Hold on a minute: do I take it you want to go?’

  ‘I wouldn’t mind a night out, to be honest.’

  He gave a short laugh. ‘You make it sound as though you’re housebound!’

  ‘We’ve not been to the theatre for a while. And Magda suggests supper first, at the Bacchus.’

  ‘I presume she’s talked Gavin into this?’

  ‘Yes, but I think he’d appreciate your back-up.’

  ‘I bet he would. Look, I must go; it’s nearly time for the class and I’ve not finished preparing the studio.’

  ‘You’re happy to go, then?’

  ‘Wouldn’t say happy, but if you want to, fair enough. Gavin and I can be fellow sceptics.’

  ‘Thanks, Max; you might even enjoy it!’

  Distraction over, Rona turned back to the screen, a sense of dissatisfaction reclaiming her. She ought to be enjoying this, she told herself. After all, she was primarily a biographer, with three highly acclaimed ‘lives’ behind her. But two years ago, having embarked on researching the thriller writer, Theo Harvey, she’d uncovered far more than she’d anticipated, about not only his work, but also his life and death.

  Ensuing legal problems had forced the abandonment of the project, and, unsettled by the experience, she’d postponed starting another, preferring to spend her time writing for the monthly glossy, Chiltern Life. It had been intended as a temporary measure, but as time went on she became less inclined to return to biographies. Her series of articles were well received and called for considerably less commitment, most being completed in a matter o
f weeks or even, in some cases, days. And despite periodic prompting from her husband and her publisher, this state of affairs might have continued indefinitely, had not the family of the artist Elspeth Wilding, who was said to have disappeared, begged Rona to write her life story.

  But she’d barely started on it when, once again, death and scandal had intervened. On this occasion, however, the decision had been taken for the book to go ahead. From her publishers’ standpoint, not only would the sensational events increase its saleability, but also Rona was under contract and a sizeable advance had been paid. They were also satisfied that the inevitable time-lapse before publication would lessen the possibility of causing offence to the family.

  Who, as it turned out, were in favour of the decision.

  ‘Other writers will be jumping on the bandwagon,’ Elspeth’s sister, Naomi Harris, had written. ‘But we know you, Rona, and, despite all that has happened, we think you should carry on. You met Elspeth, and we feel we can trust you to treat her sympathetically, however black the circumstances. Also, ironically, you’re now free to consult her letters and diaries, which you couldn’t while she was alive. I’m sure they’ll fill in some gaps.’

  At least, Rona thought thankfully, interviews with parents, brother and sister had already taken place; despite their declared willingness, she’d have balked at soliciting personal memories so soon after Elspeth’s death. It was also true that the diaries and letters shed light on major aspects of her life, but none of these factors made the task any more enjoyable. At least part of the reason she’d been working so unremittingly was so that the book and all it entailed could be put behind her as soon as possible.

  Which wouldn’t happen, she upbraided herself, if she sat staring into space. Sliding a sheet of paper into the printer, she started to transcribe her notes.

  ‘I had an email from Charles today,’ Max said that evening. ‘Next door’s just about finished, and he’s asked me to go round and check everything’s OK. Like to come along?’

  Rona hesitated. For as long as she and Max had lived here, the house next door had been occupied by a succession of tenants while its owners lived abroad. Now, their contract in Hong Kong was coming to an end, and for several months the house had been undergoing substantial alterations and redecoration prior to their return. Yet, for Rona, it still retained horrific memories of finding the bodies of the previous tenants in their kitchen.

  Max, who, at Charles’s request, had been paying regular visits to the house and liaising with the building manager, put an arm round her shoulders. ‘Time to lay the ghosts, sweetheart. They’ve been well and truly banished, but it’ll be easier if you satisfy yourself on that score before Charles and Monica arrive.’

  She nodded reluctantly. ‘Have they got a date yet?’

  ‘Not to move in; they’re flying back on the sixteenth of April, but their furniture won’t arrive for another couple of months, so they’re renting a flat in Alban Road.’ He squeezed her shoulder. ‘So – how about it?’

  ‘All right,’ she said, ‘let’s get it over.’

  Although she’d braced herself for lurking horrors, the moment Max unlocked the front door and they were met with the smell of paint and new carpet, Rona felt herself relax. Though the house was basically identical to theirs, she and Max had knocked down walls on three of the four floors, to make fewer and larger rooms. This house retained the original ground-floor layout, but the thick carpet stretching ahead of them and up the stairs also covered the floors in the two downstairs rooms, unifying while not joining them. When last seen they’d been cluttered with furniture, but, empty, seemed larger than she recalled.

  Down in the basement, however, the Furnesses had followed their example by transforming the area into one large, airy kitchen. This was the room above all that Rona had dreaded revisiting, but in the pale pine units, the green Aga and state-of-the-art machines, there was no hint of its previous incarnation and she breathed a heartfelt sigh of relief.

  On the first floor, the master bedroom had acquired an en suite, while at the top of the house – which, in their case, comprised a large room intended, though no longer used, as Max’s studio – the two attic bedrooms had been supplemented by a shower room, to accommodate the Furnesses’ teenage children.

  As they moved through the house, Max had been turning taps on and off, flushing lavatories, opening unit drawers and trying light switches.

  ‘Everything seems in working order,’ he commented, joining Rona at a window, where she stood looking down on the back garden. It, too, had been transformed. Small though it was, a built-in barbecue had been installed, along with some decking, and in one corner a pond was dug out, though not yet filled. All that remained of its previous existence was the apple tree, beneath which she had sat with Louise, drinking home-made lemonade.

  She gave herself a shake, glancing quickly to her right, where, over the high wall, she had a view of their own garden, paved throughout and dotted with statues and containers of plants.

  ‘OK, duty done,’ Max said. ‘Let’s go home and have some supper.’

  Rona nodded agreement, and, going ahead of him down the stairs, she sensed that a cloud had lifted. As Max had said, the ghosts were gone, and need never trouble her again.

  Magda Ridgeway was the owner of eight boutiques spread around the county, and spent much of her time visiting fashion houses abroad. Her mailing-list contained an enviable number of famous names, and she’d recently introduced cafés into the larger boutiques, which, like most of her innovations, had proved an immediate success.

  Now, she pushed her hair behind her ears with concealed impatience. Much as she loved her voluble, vivacious mother, she couldn’t spare the time for a long phone call; a representative was due any minute, and she was only halfway through a final check of her requirements.

  ‘Mama,’ she broke in tentatively, ‘I really—’

  ‘—colour, so rich and warm. It would sell well, cara, I—’

  ‘Mama, I’m sorry to interrupt, but I’m expecting someone. Can I call you back this evening?’

  ‘Oh.’ Paola King, interrupted in midstream, paused. ‘I have the better idea,’ she declared. ‘You and Gavin must come to supper – tomorrow. We haven’t seen you for weeks.’

  ‘We’d love to, but not tomorrow. We’re going to the theatre with Rona and Max.’

  ‘Ah, Rona! Give her my best love! What is it that you will see?’

  Magda hesitated, anticipating her mother’s disapproval. ‘Actually, he’s a stage hypnotist. Just a bit of fun, really,’ she added hastily.

  ‘A hypnotist?’ Magda could hear the frown in her voice. ‘Is not good, meddling with people’s minds just for the fun.’

  ‘Gavin says everyone taking part will be planted, anyway.’ Magda’s eyes were on the wall clock.

  ‘Planted?’

  ‘Part of the act. Look, Mama, I really must go. I’ll phone you this evening.’

  And, feeling guilty, she broke the connection.

  An hour later, as she unpacked a delivery of dresses, Magda’s thoughts returned to Rona, and she let her mind drift back through the years of their friendship. She’d never made friends easily, and had been a difficult, prickly child. No doubt this was due in part to having been transplanted from Italy at the age of ten, constantly aware of being different – a fact emphasized by the daily sight of Paola, blazing like a bird of paradise among the soberly clad mothers at the school gates.

  But for some reason, ten-year-old Rona had befriended her, and from then on life had become easier. She acknowledged she could still be both caustic and astringent, qualities that had lost her a few friends over the years, though marriage to Gavin, coupled with a successful career, had largely mellowed her. But it was Rona, all those years ago, who had started the process, and Magda was accordingly grateful.

  On the Friday morning, Rona’s twin sister phoned.

  ‘A client’s just cancelled,’ she announced, ‘so I’m free for lunch. How a
bout it?’

  Lindsey was a partner in a firm of solicitors.

  ‘Sorry, no,’ Rona said. ‘It’s lunch at my desk till this chapter’s finished.’

  ‘Oh, nonsense! A change of scene will refresh you – get the muse going. Anyway, I’ve something to show you.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘You’ll have to meet me to find out!’

  Rona sighed. ‘So much for willpower!’

  ‘Good girl! Twelve thirty at the Gallery?’

  She glanced at her watch. Ten fifteen, which left her a good two hours to finish the passage she was working on.

  ‘I’ll be there,’ she said.

  To Gus, Rona’s golden retriever, the Gallery café was a second home, and he lolloped ahead of her up the wrought-iron staircase leading from the main shopping street to the walkway above.

  Lindsey was awaiting her at a window table. ‘I’m going for cheese and onion quiche with side salad,’ she greeted her, sliding the menu over as Rona, having guided the dog under the table, seated herself. ‘And miracle of miracles, the waitress approaches, so choose quickly. She passes this way but once.’

  Their meal duly ordered, Rona glanced at her twin. ‘OK, so what do you want to show me?’

  Lindsey reached for her handbag and extracted a badly creased black-and-white photograph, roughly six by four inches. ‘What do you make of this?’

  Rona took it from her. ‘Well, obviously it’s a school photo; professionally taken, I’d say, and judging by the clothes and hairstyles, pretty old.’

  She smoothed out the creases, swiftly summarizing the details. The picture showed rows of uniformed girls standing obediently smiling, while in front of them, seated on chairs, was a line of adults, presumably staff. Smaller girls sat cross-legged on the grass at their feet, and in the background was a handsome doorway flanked by stone pillars, with a large window on either side. Rona’s eyes returned to the staff, and she frowned.

  ‘Someone seems to have been blacked out,’ she observed.

  ‘Exactly!’ Lindsey said with satisfaction.

  ‘What do you mean, exactly? And why are you showing it to me? Where did you get it, anyway?’