Rona stood in the large empty space that, before they bought Farthings, had been Max’s studio. Old canvases were still stacked against one wall, suitcases, a picnic hamper and rolls of carpet against another. And in the centre, as though marooned on some desert island, the hastily erected camp bed, whose crumpled sheets and dented pillow spoke of a restless night.
Rona felt a surge of pity for her sister, albeit tinged with impatience. Why was Lindsey’s love life always so fraught? Was she simply unlucky, or did she bring these regular heartaches on herself? What was it her mother had said? That girl never had any sense where men are concerned. Rona conceded that she was right.
She sighed, shook herself out of her retrospection, and, pulling the sheets off the bed, dismantled it and stood it back in its corner. Order restored, she thought ironically, looking about her. Then, scooping up the bedlinen, she started down the stairs; but had gained only the first floor landing when the telephone rang. Dropping the sheets, she went into her study to answer it. ‘Hello?’
‘Rona.’ To her surprise, it was Gavin’s voice and she felt a shaft of alarm. ‘Look,’ he hurried on, before she could reply, ‘I know this is an ungodly hour, but I’m on my way to work and I need a quick word with you.’
‘Yes?’
‘Not over the phone. OK if I pop in for a minute? I’m just turning into Fullers Walk.’
‘Of course,’ Rona said quickly. ‘Gavin, is Magda—?’
‘Be there in two minutes,’ he said, and rang off.
Obscurely anxious, Rona retrieved the bedlinen and ran down the two remaining flights to the basement kitchen, where, having dumped it beside the washing machine, she switched on the percolator. He’d seemed in a hurry, but he might have time for coffee. Her unease at his imminent arrival was, she knew, not wholly on Magda’s account; before she’d met Max, she and Gavin had been on the point of becoming engaged, and though both were now happily married, there was still a faint, unacknowledged link between them that sometimes caused awkwardness in each other’s company.
She poured coffee into two mugs and carried them up to the sitting room, setting them on the coffee table as the bell rang. She went to answer it, accompanied, as always, by Gus, barking hysterically.
‘Gavin, hello. Come in.’ She accepted his kiss on the cheek, and gestured him into the sitting room. ‘You’ve time for a coffee?’
‘If it’s ready, I’d love some.’ He bent to pat the dog. ‘Hello, old fellow.’
He looked tired, Rona thought, surveying him critically. There were lines round his eyes and smudges beneath them. He took the mug she handed him, nodding his thanks.
‘Sit down,’ she invited.
He did so, and she seated herself opposite him. ‘Now, tell me what’s wrong.’
‘Have you seen Magda recently?’ he asked abruptly.
‘Yes, last week.’
He looked up, meeting her eyes. ‘How did she seem?’
‘Fine; why?’
‘Did she mention these dreams she’s been having?’
Rona’s unease spread. ‘Yes,’ she admitted slowly. ‘Always about the same people, whom she doesn’t know.’ She hesitated. ‘She thought she saw one of them locally the other day; I . . . told her she must have seen him before without realizing it.’
Gavin nodded and took a sip of the hot coffee. ‘I said much the same. But Rona, it’s not only the dreams.’
‘How do you mean?’
‘Well, for one thing she seems different in herself, more . . . unpredictable. As you know, she could always be pretty cutting when she wanted and she’s never suffered fools gladly. But lately . . . I don’t know . . . she seems to fly off the handle for no reason at all.’ He paused, then added almost reluctantly, ‘And though I tell myself there can’t be a connection, she told me she wakes up from these dreams feeling angry. It’s almost as though they’re spilling over into everyday life.’
‘Has she extra worries at work, do you know?’
‘I don’t think so. In fact, considering the economic climate the boutiques are doing exceptionally well. But there’s another thing: she’s started . . . remembering things that haven’t happened. Only a couple of times, but it scared the hell out of me.’
Rona moistened her lips, her own coffee untouched. ‘What kind of things?’
‘The first one was pretty innocuous; she started talking about a film she insisted we’d seen together. I’d certainly never seen it, but I couldn’t convince her, and when I suggested she must have been with someone else, she became quite upset.’
There was a brief silence. Rona said, not entirely truthfully, ‘I’m always accusing Max of doing or saying something he swears he hasn’t.’
Gavin nodded absently and gulped down some more coffee. ‘But last night it was much worse. We were watching a documentary on TV about Hong Kong’s floating market, and she suddenly said, “It doesn’t look as good as the one in Thailand, does it? Remember the houses on stilts and that fabulous woodcarving workshop, where they made elephants and buffalo out of rotten wood?”
‘I said I’d not seen that programme, and she said, quite sharply, “What do you mean, programme? I’m talking about when we were there, in Thailand.”’ He looked up, his eyes haunted. ‘Rona, neither of us has been to Thailand in our lives.’
‘It must have been another documentary, as you—’
Gavin was shaking his head. ‘She went on and on about it, about the wonderful furniture they’d made – dining suites with elephants’ heads carved in the backs of the chairs, and how we’d joked about the difficulty of getting them home on the plane. I was getting more and more worried, and she finally stopped arguing and said accusingly, “You think I’m making this up, don’t you? But you’re the one who can’t remember!” Then – God help me – I said, “Perhaps you dreamt it?”
‘I could have bitten my tongue out, because she immediately went still, her eyes wide and staring. Then she jumped up and ran out of the room, and the next minute I heard the front door slam and the car start up. I ran after her, but she’d shot out of the gate and away. I rang her mobile continuously for fifteen minutes before she picked up.’
‘What did she say?’ Rona demanded fearfully.
‘Oh, she was perfectly calm. Said she’d just felt like a drive before bed, and she’d be back in half an hour. And she was.’
‘And the subject wasn’t referred to?’
‘Not on your life! She acted as though nothing had happened, and I certainly wasn’t going to risk bringing it up again. But Rona, she ought to see a doctor. How the hell can I convince her of that?’
‘God, Gavin, I don’t know. Have you spoken to anyone else?’
‘No; I didn’t want to alarm her parents, and I know the two of you are close. I was hoping she might have said something that could explain it.’
‘Afraid not.’
He made a helpless gesture. ‘I’m sorry to spring this on you, but I lay awake all last night, wondering what the hell I could do. I’m just . . . terrified she’s . . . losing her mind or something.’
‘Oh Gavin, I’m so sorry. I don’t know what to say.’
He brushed a hand across his eyes. ‘Could you arrange to meet her? See if she’ll talk to you, when she won’t – or can’t – to me? I keep wondering what she’ll “remember” next, and what it might lead to.’
‘She mustn’t know we’ve discussed her,’ Rona warned.
‘Perish the thought!’ He smiled bleakly. ‘Could you suddenly decide you need a new outfit? Suggest meeting at one of the boutiques and having lunch after? That way you’d see her in two different environments, which might help you to form a judgement.’
‘I still think you should have a word with her father.’
‘I will, but see how she strikes you first. Please.’ He glanced at his watch and came quickly to his feet. ‘I must go.’
‘Of course I’ll see her,’ Rona said. ‘Try not to worry; there must be some logical explanation.’
<
br /> ‘You’re an angel. Thank you.’ He gave her a quick, hard hug.
‘Do you know where she’s working today?’ Rona asked, as she walked with him to the door.
‘Here in Marsborough, I think.’
‘That makes life easier! I’ll call in, then.’
‘Bless you, Rona. I really am grateful.’
‘I’ll report back as soon as I’ve seen her.’
He nodded, then hurried down the path and, with a quick wave at the gate, turned in the direction of his car. So now she had Magda as well as Lindsey to worry about, Rona thought resignedly, as she closed the door.
‘How was France?’ Carla asked casually, as she laid the morning’s post on Dominic’s desk.
‘French,’ he replied briefly. ‘Could you get me Donaldson on the phone? I want to chase him about the Sanderson business.’
‘Of course.’ It would seem, she thought to herself as she left the room, that everything in the jardin was no longer belle. And she couldn’t help wondering if Lindsey had somehow got wind of Friday’s frolics. If so, Dominic had only himself to blame; she’d warned him often enough. It would be interesting, though, to see how long it would take him before he mentioned Lindsey Parish again. If, indeed, he ever did.
Stretford Row was Marsborough’s answer to Bond Street, a road leading off Guild Street full of designer boutiques, expensive shoe shops and top-of-the-range leather goods, frequented by its more well-heeled residents.
Rona had judged her arrival to fit in with the suggestion of lunch afterwards. The problem was that, as in her other boutiques, Magda had introduced a small café at the back of the premises that offered coffee, light lunches or afternoon tea. She’d be unlikely, Rona felt, to open up when surrounded by her staff and customers.
Having tied Gus’s lead to the post outside, she entered the shop with mentally crossed fingers, hoping Gavin was right and this was indeed where Magda was based today. Thankfully, she caught sight of her immediately and for a brief moment was able to study her unobserved. To the casual onlooker she must seem her usual efficient self, but knowing her as she did, Rona could detect underlying tension.
Then Magda looked up, saw her, and came hurrying over.
‘Rona! This is an unexpected pleasure! How can I help?’
‘I’ve decided to treat myself,’ Rona said. ‘I’ve been looking at my spring and summer clothes and decided I’m tired of the lot of them!’
‘That’s very welcome news!’
‘For the moment, though, I’m limiting myself to one new item, and what I need most is a light, summer-weight jacket. Can you help?’
‘I’m quite sure we can,’ Magda declared, and led her over to a rail crammed with jackets of every description.
The next half-hour was taken up with trying on a selection and eventually choosing a loose-fitting jacket in pale green linen. The time, Rona noted surreptitiously, was just after twelve thirty.
While it was being wrapped in layers of tissue paper, she said artlessly, ‘Can you spare the time for a spot of lunch?’ And as Magda automatically glanced towards the back of the shop, she added quickly, ‘For some reason, I really fancy a pizza!’ Which, she knew, was not on Magdalena’s menu.
Magda hesitated. ‘Can’t I tempt you to a quiche instead? We have—’
‘Humour me, Magda! After all, I’ve just added considerably to your coffers!’
Magda smiled in capitulation. ‘Far be it from me to deny you your pizza! I think I can manage a quick trip to the Gallery.’
The Gallery café was almost directly opposite Stretford Row, a fact Rona had relied on, and having retrieved Gus, they walked together down the road and across Guild Street in the warm spring sunshine. During the past forty minutes or so there’d been little in Magda’s manner to give cause for concern, and Rona had begun to hope that Gavin might be overreacting.
But as they settled at their table and Gus curled up beneath it, it was Magda herself who raised the subject.
‘Actually,’ she began, knotting her hands together, ‘I’m glad to have the chance of a talk.’
‘Oh?’
‘Remember, last time we were here, I told you about my dreams?’
‘Yes?’
‘Well, they’ve been getting worse.’
‘The sleeping pills didn’t help?’
Magda shook her head. ‘And it’s odd, Rona, I seem to have a very short fuse these days. I’m always letting fly for no real reason, and usually with Gavin, bless him. I don’t seem able to help myself.’
‘Is anything else worrying you?’
She didn’t answer, and in the pause, the waitress came to take their order and went away again.
‘Magda?’ Rona prompted.
She said in a low voice, ‘I don’t seem able to distinguish any more between dreams and reality. Sometimes I’m sure something’s happened, or we’ve been somewhere, and Gavin says not.’ She bit her lip.
Rona said gently, ‘Might it help if you went to see someone?’
Magda’s head reared up. ‘A psychiatrist, you mean? You think I’m going mad?’
‘Mags, seeing a psychiatrist doesn’t mean you’re mad! Americans do it all the time!’
‘Well, I’m not American.’
‘But you realize you need help, don’t you? That’s why you’re telling me about it.’
‘I’m telling you,’ Magda said bitterly, ‘because I was hoping you’d say it was nothing to worry about, like you did last time.’
‘Well, I’m sorry. That’s what I thought last week, but if things are . . . escalating, then it’s only sensible to do something about it. Go to your GP and see what he suggests. He could put you in touch with someone.’
‘Oh God!’ Magda said. ‘I can’t spare the time to be ill – there’s too much to do!’
‘But if you go on worrying about it, it will only get worse. Much better to get it sorted out now.’
‘You think it can be sorted out?’
‘Of course it can!’ Rona said staunchly. ‘It’ll probably turn out to be a well-known condition.’
Their pizzas arrived, and she drew a cautious breath of relief. She had done what was required of her, and hopefully Magda would follow her advice. Now she was free to change the subject and enjoy her meal.
In Belmont, Avril and Guy were sitting over a leisurely supper. Sarah and Clive had been to Stokely at the weekend and earmarked the items she would like to keep from her old home. Everything that needed to be sorted out had now been attended to, and tomorrow the removal men would complete the process.
‘Are you sure you don’t want me to come with you?’ Avril asked.
‘No, love, there’s nothing you can do. It’s just a question of supervising the removal, making sure everything goes where it’s supposed to go, then locking up and depositing the key with the estate agents. But I don’t mind telling you I’ll be glad when it’s over.’
‘I know I’ll feel sad when the time comes to leave here,’ she said quietly. ‘There are so many memories.’
Before Guy could comment, his mobile started ringing.
‘Who on earth can it be at this hour?’ he asked rhetorically, rising from the table and retrieving it from his jacket pocket. He glanced at the display panel. ‘It’s Sarah,’ he said in surprise. ‘Hello, sweetie, what—’
‘Dad!’ Her voice was shaking, and he instinctively stiffened. ‘Can you come round to the flat? Now?’
‘Sweetheart, what is it? Are you all right? What’s happened?’
There was an agonizing pause. Then her voice, almost unrecognizable, reached him. ‘Someone I know has just been murdered!’
SEVEN
Sarah and Clive lived the other side of Belmont, a seven-minute drive from Avril’s home. During the journey, Guy’s imagination had covered and discounted every possible murder candidate, and his alarm escalated as, just short of their flat, he passed a couple of parked police cars.
Screeching to a halt in front of their building, h
e saw Sarah waiting for him, silhouetted against the open door of the flat. She started down the path and they met halfway, Guy catching her as she half-fell against him.
‘You’re all right, darling? And Clive?’
She nodded against his chest. ‘Yes – oh, Daddy it was awful!’
‘Suppose we go inside, and you can tell me?’
He led her gently up the path, to where Clive was waiting.
‘Sorry to drag you out at this time,’ he said.
‘The police cars up the road . . .?’
Clive nodded.
‘Who . . .?’
‘It’s Lucy Coombes,’ Sarah said, and burst into tears.
‘Lucy?’ Guy repeated, bewildered, as they all moved into the living room. ‘Should I know her?’
Clive shook his head. ‘She’s one of the parents from school,’ he explained. ‘Her little boy’s in Sarah’s class.’
‘Perhaps you’d better start at the beginning.’
Sarah sat down and dried her eyes. ‘Ben didn’t come to school today,’ she began. ‘I was surprised, because Lucy always phones if he’s ill, and he was fine yesterday.’ She choked to a halt, steadied herself, and continued.
‘As I said, I was surprised, but certainly not worried. He’d come top in a test we did on Monday and won a star, and as I pass their house on the way home, I decided to take it round for him, and see how he was.’
She drew a deep breath. ‘There was a staff meeting after school so I was later than usual, but it was only about five o’clock, and when I reached their house the first thing I noticed was that the curtains were all drawn, upstairs as well as down. Then I saw bottles of milk on the step. They were from the same dairy as ours, so I knew they’d have been delivered at about six this morning. That was when I really started to worry. I phoned Clive at home, and he came round to join me. We rang the bell and knocked, but there was no answer, and since the curtains were drawn, we couldn’t see inside.
‘We were wondering what to do when a car pulled into the drive next door. The neighbour, who we later learned was Frances Drew, looked surprised to see us there, so I explained we were from the school and that Ben hadn’t been in today, and asked if she knew if anything was wrong.
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