A Question of Identity

by Anthea Fraser

  ‘That long ago? Have a heart! And as you’ll appreciate, everything’s changed since it went digital. Your best bet would be to try the Gazette; it could be the original’s in their archives, though it’s rather a long shot.’

  ‘That’s an idea. Thanks, Barnie; if I decide to take it further – which, frankly, I doubt – I’ll do that.’

  ‘In the meantime, when are we going to see you? Dinah could do with being cheered up; Mel’s baby’s not due for a couple of months, but she’s already starting to panic.’

  The Trents’ daughter Melissa lived in the States, and her last pregnancy had been difficult enough to warrant her mother flying out to be with her.

  ‘Heavens, yes – I was forgetting. How is Mel?’

  ‘She says she’s fine, but Dinah’s convinced that’s only to stop her worrying.’

  ‘Surely Mitch would let you know of any problems?’

  ‘Of course he would, but try telling Dinah!’

  ‘Well, you must come over for a meal and we’ll take her mind off it. It’s some time since we saw you.’

  ‘Now you’re embarrassing me! I wasn’t fishing for an invite, honest!’

  ‘It’s well overdue, what with everything that’s been going on. I’ll have a word with Max and come back to you.’

  Only as she rang off did Rona realize that she, too, had come up against a brick wall in her enquiries about Springfield Lodge.

  Jenny Bishop stood at the kitchen sink, staring blindly out of the window. Daniel would be home within the hour, and God knows what she could say to him. Catherine must have told him of Paul’s phone call, and when he’d rung midweek she’d been ready with counter-accusations. But he’d failed to mention it, leaving her limp with relief.

  Though maybe, she thought now, he preferred to wait till they were face-to-face? The coldness inside her intensified. How had this happened? She loved Daniel – of course she did – but these days it seemed she hardly saw him. Even when not away, he was seldom home before seven, and by the time she’d settled Alice and they’d eaten it was time for bed. Where, she thought, her throat tightening, he immediately fell asleep, while she lay tensely awake, listening for Alice’s inevitable cry.

  Jenny could hear her now through the open door, chuntering away to herself in her playpen. The fierceness of the love she felt for her baby had taken her by surprise, and, looking back, she admitted that since her birth Daniel had been assigned a back seat. Alice needed her, and it seemed Daniel did not, though which had come first she could now not be sure.

  Then, when she was at her lowest, Paul had come on the scene – successful, debonair Paul, seemingly without a care in the world and with at least one divorce behind him. He had pressed all the right buttons, showering her with compliments, buying her chocolates, taking her out for lunch, and suddenly there was excitement in her life again. It was wrong – she knew that – and she kept promising herself she’d end it. Just not yet.

  But procrastination was dangerous. Though they’d met a month ago, when he’d come into the florist’s where she worked, they’d not yet slept together. Their affair – if it could be called that – had consisted of phone calls, lunches out, and increasingly passionate kisses in the car, reviving memories of her teenage years. Then, last week, Paul had suggested coming to the house after work.

  ‘Look,’ he’d argued, ‘we might as well face facts. I want you, you want me, and your husband considerately goes away. What could be better? We have a warm, comfortable house at our disposal – a distinct improvement on a car seat! – with only a baby as chaperone. And she’s not going to tell, is she?’

  The idea had excited her, and, like a fool, she’d agreed. Paul had arrived with a bottle of champagne, but throughout the meal the atmosphere between them grew increasingly electric and she began to panic. Then, just as they finished eating, Alice had awoken and refused to be comforted, and, with a mixture of relief and disappointment, she’d insisted that Paul leave. He’d been very tight-lipped about it, and the phone call Catherine intercepted had been to suggest a return visit. And Jenny knew only too well how that visit would end.

  The phone interrupted her musings, and as she lifted it she heard traffic noise before her husband’s voice.

  ‘Hi, sweetie. I’m on my way, but I have to call at the office to collect some papers, so—’

  ‘But that’s miles out of your way! It’ll add a good hour to your journey!’

  ‘I know, it’s a pain, but I’ll need them first thing on Monday.’

  She tried to keep her voice level. ‘I was expecting you any minute. When will you be home?’

  ‘I was late leaving, so not before eight, I’m afraid.’

  ‘Then you’ll miss Alice,’ Jenny said tautly, ‘and you haven’t seen her for four days.’

  ‘I know, but tomorrow’s the weekend . . . OK?’ he prompted, when she didn’t speak.

  ‘I suppose it will have to be.’

  ‘Give her a big kiss from me. See you soon.’ And he rang off.

  Turning quickly, she hurried into the adjoining room and scooped the baby out of her pen.

  ‘Bath time!’ she said unsteadily, kissing Alice’s curls and wetting them with her sudden tears. Holding the child tightly to her, she carried her upstairs.

  Fifty miles away in Marsborough, another homecoming was not going as planned. Kevin Coombes strode into the house just after six, brushing past Lucy in the hall, and without a word made straight for the drinks cupboard and the whisky bottle. She watched from the doorway as he poured himself a generous measure and tossed it straight back.

  ‘Bad day at the office?’

  ‘You could say that.’ He refilled the glass, frowning as the two little boys came running into the room.

  ‘Daddy!’ They hurled themselves against him, hugging his knees and both talking at once, and Lucy, with sinking heart, saw the flash of irritation on his face. To her relief, though, he ruffled their hair.

  ‘Will you bath us tonight, Daddy?’ Archie was pleading, while Ben clamoured for him to come and see his latest drawing.

  ‘Hey, give me a break, boys! I’ve only just set foot in the house!’ Though his tone was jovial, Lucy could see the effort it cost him.

  ‘Daddy’s tired,’ she said quickly. ‘Come up with me and let him relax for a while, then perhaps he’ll read you a story.’

  Her eyes flashed an appeal, and reluctantly he nodded. ‘Off you go, then,’ he said, with undisguised relief.

  A month ago, she thought numbly, he’d have tossed them over his shoulder, squealing delightedly, and swept them upstairs. The bathroom would have rung with laughs and yells, and when she went in to collect their clothes, she’d have found the floor awash. If only she could turn the clock back.

  The promised bedtime story was short and sweet, after which Kevin left Lucy to settle their sons, and when she came down to join him she found him slumped on the sofa with his head in his hands.

  ‘Darling, what is it? What’s wrong?’ She slipped to her knees in front of him, taking hold of his hands, and he pulled her convulsively against him.

  ‘God, Luce, I wish I knew! What’s the matter with me? I just can’t get my head round anything at the moment.’ He paused, and she felt his arms tighten about her. ‘I damn nearly got the sack today, and I’d have deserved it.’

  She pulled back, staring into his face. ‘What happened?’

  ‘Old Netherby was being his usual pompous self, criticizing everything in sight, and I just snapped and . . . lashed out at him.’

  ‘Kevin!’

  ‘Oh, he ducked in time, thank God. It was touch and go for a while, but my abject apologies and excuses finally won through. I’m on borrowed time, though; the slightest cause for complaint, and he’ll see that I’m out.’

  He hesitated, not meeting her eyes. ‘And that’s not the only thing. Several times lately I suddenly seem to come to, and – this sounds idiotic – I’m not where I expect to be.’

  She stared at
him with wide, frightened eyes. ‘You mean you have blank spells?’

  ‘I don’t know what the hell I mean.’

  ‘But Kevin, you must see a doctor! This could be—’

  ‘No!’ He slammed his hand down on the arm of the chair. ‘It’s strain, that’s all it is,’ he added more calmly. ‘Overwork. I’ll look in at the chemist tomorrow and get a tonic of some sort. That should do the trick.’ Putting her gently aside, he rose to his feet. ‘Anyway, that’s enough of my troubles. Let’s go and eat.’

  And Lucy, whose world seemed suddenly unsure, reluctantly followed him into the kitchen.

  ‘Mum?’

  ‘Lindsey! Talk of the devil! I was just saying to Guy that I’ve not seen you for a while.’

  ‘I know; sorry about that. The reason I’m phoning is that I have to visit a client in Belmont on Monday, and I’m wondering if I can scrounge a free lunch?’

  ‘Of course! That’ll be lovely.’

  ‘I gather Rona’s been over?’

  ‘Yes, last week. One of these days, perhaps I’ll see you both together! Did you find out any more about the photograph?’

  Lindsey stiffened. ‘What photograph?’ she asked carefully.

  ‘The one of Springfield. I knew a girl who went there. Surely Rona told you?’

  ‘No, actually, she didn’t.’

  ‘Oh. Well, she went on to Paola King after leaving me, so perhaps it slipped her mind. What time can I expect you on Monday?’

  Lindsey wrenched her mind back to the lunch. ‘My appointment’s for eleven, so around twelve fifteen, twelve thirty?’

  ‘I’ll look forward to it,’ Avril said.

  ‘And exactly when,’ Lindsey began without preamble, ‘were you thinking of telling me what you learned from Mum about Springfield?’

  ‘Ah!’ Pulling a face at Max, Rona perched on the kitchen table, the phone to her ear.

  ‘“Ah” indeed! I presume you’re paying me back for slipping the photo in your bag?’

  ‘Partly,’ Rona admitted, ‘but as I told you, I didn’t want to get embroiled in this while I’m immersed in Elspeth.’

  ‘Then why ask Mum about it? What gets me, though, is that even though we’ve spoken since, you never said a word!’

  ‘All right, it was childish, but I was waiting for you to bring it up.’

  ‘Well, I’m bringing it up now. I’m seeing her on Monday, so will you kindly fill me in?’

  Rona took a sip of the vodka Max handed her. ‘Basically, Mum’s friend Kitty Little – the one who was her bridesmaid – had two much older sisters who went to Springfield, and one was still there when it closed. The official explanation was that the headmaster had a heart attack, and presumably no one was prepared to take it over. But it seems rumours were rife.’

  ‘What kind of rumours?’

  ‘The usual – sex, drink, abortions. So any one of those – or none of them – could lie behind the defacing.’

  ‘Anything else?’

  ‘I’d have thought that was enough to be going on with!’

  ‘You’re sure you’re not still holding something back?’

  ‘Come on, Linz, I’m sorry, all right? But that’s all there is, honestly. If Mum’s been thinking about it in the interim, she might have remembered more. How come you’re going to Belmont on a working day?’

  ‘I’ve a client to visit, and thought I might take a leaf out of your book.’

  ‘Fair enough. Let me know if you learn anything.’

  ‘I might,’ Lindsey said, and hung up.

  Daniel had still not mentioned the phone call that had obsessed her since Tuesday evening. Jenny almost wished he would. There’d been no further word from Paul; he must be wondering if there’d been any fallout, and when it would be safe to resume their liaison.

  What would she tell him when he contacted her, as he was certain to do? She was still attracted to him, still obscurely angry with Daniel, but Catherine . . . Oh God, what a hopeless, impossible situation!

  Now, as they ate their delayed meal and he talked of the problems he’d experienced with his client, her mind circled uselessly round possible courses of action.

  Until suddenly, with a flood of relief, the blindingly obvious solution came to her, and, interrupting him, she blurted out, ‘I think I’ll go to Mum and Dad for a week or two.’

  Daniel put down his knife and fork and stared at her. ‘A week or two?’

  Jenny’s visits to her parents in Cheshire usually took the form of a long weekend.

  ‘I . . . need to get away,’ she said a little wildly.

  ‘But . . . why? Sweetheart, what is it? Is something wrong?’

  ‘No!’ She shook her head violently.

  ‘What about work?’

  ‘It’ll be OK, I’ll take unpaid leave. Kelly will stand in for me.’

  He was looking at her with concern. ‘I knew you shouldn’t have gone back so soon. But you don’t have to go away, surely? I mean, just stay at home and take it easy. Meet the girls for coffee like you did on maternity leave, take Alice swimming . . .’ His voice tailed off.

  ‘I need to get away,’ she repeated, and flinched when she saw his eyes darken.

  ‘From me?’

  ‘Just – away.’

  ‘I’ll miss you,’ he said.

  ‘No, you won’t. You’re hardly ever here.’ Her voice was sharper than she’d intended.

  ‘Sweetie, that’s not true! I know I’ve been extra busy these last few weeks, but this particular job won’t go on much longer, then I’ll be more or less back to nine-to-five.’

  She felt herself waver; yet if she stayed, she knew without doubt that she would sleep with Paul, and that really would be the end. Because even if Daniel never found out, she couldn’t lie to him for the rest of her life.

  Desperate now to end the discussion, she pushed back her chair and stood up. ‘Then I’ll come back when the job’s finished. I hate being alone night after night, especially when I spend half of it rocking Alice to sleep. The house rustles and creeks and I keep thinking I hear noises downstairs. I know I’m being silly, but it . . . frightens me.’

  He was staring at her, a line between his brows. ‘You’ve never mentioned that! Why didn’t you tell me?’

  ‘It’s not only that – we just don’t seem close any more. When you are home, you’re tired all the time.’ Her eyes, full of tears, challenged him. ‘Can you even remember when we last made love?’

  He looked as though she’d struck him, made an instinctive move towards her, but she backed away.

  ‘Please don’t try to stop me, Daniel. I need to go.’

  ‘Jenny . . .’ He lifted his hands helplessly. ‘At least give me a chance to put things right. Why not invite your parents down here for a while? They’d be company for you, and I’m sure they’d love—’

  ‘No!’ she cried desperately. ‘Please!’

  Already she was lying to him. Of course she was tired, of course the house was a bit creepy at night, but she could deal with that. What she couldn’t admit was that she had to get away in order to save their marriage.

  Paul would get the message. She’d never fooled herself either of them was in love; now, with searing insight, she accepted that were she no longer available, he’d move on to someone else. He must have thought he’d fallen on his feet! she thought bitterly: an absent husband, a susceptible, lonely wife and an empty house. He’d even said as much. God, what a fool she’d been!

  Daniel was still standing by the table, staring at her with pain in his eyes. Had Catherine said anything? Surely she couldn’t have, or he’d have accused her by now.

  ‘Only for a week or two,’ she pleaded. ‘I’m sorry, Daniel, I’ve just got thoroughly run down and I need some pampering.’ She forced a smile. ‘And you needn’t worry that I’ll make a scene next time you have to be away for a night or two. It’s just . . . a combination of things at the moment.’

  ‘Well, if you’re really sure. And I shall miss you. It�
�s knowing you and Alice are at home waiting for me that keeps me going when things get tough at work.’

  Her tears spilled over, and this time she didn’t stop him putting his arms round her.

  ‘Just for a week or two,’ she repeated.

  He tilted her chin back, looking searchingly into her eyes. ‘And even though I’m a thoughtless brute at times, you do still love me?’

  ‘Of course I do!’ Of that, at least, she was sure.

  ‘That’s all right then,’ he said.

  FIVE

  Lindsey didn’t report back on her visit to Belmont, leaving Rona to wonder whether she’d not learned anything new, or, in fact, had, but was determined not to pass it on. Not that it mattered, one way or the other; as she’d told her mother, she’d no intention of following up the photograph.

  The decision was, however, taken out of her hands in an unexpected way. On the Wednesday morning, having made a note of the galleries she still had to visit, she turned to an appendix listing the names of lesser known paintings in private possession, together, where possible, with the name and address of the owner. And, unbelievably, a small watercolour titled Samson and Delilah was shown to be in the possession of a Mrs Beryl Temple of Springfield Lodge Private Hotel, Marsborough.

  It was not only the coincidence that piqued Rona’s interest; she’d been unaware that Elspeth painted biblical subjects, and was at a loss to understand how she’d missed this. She must get in touch with Gwen Saunders, but first, her curiosity mounting, she reached for the telephone directory, checked the number of the hotel, and promptly dialled it, asking to speak to Mrs Temple.

  ‘Is it in connection with a booking, madam?’ an efficient voice enquired.

  ‘No, it’s . . . a private matter.’ She gave her name, and a moment later an older voice came on the line.

  ‘Ms Parish?’

  ‘Yes; good morning, Mrs Temple. I hope you don’t mind my contacting you, but I believe you’re the owner of a painting by Elspeth Wilding?’