Miss Drobny raised her hands in the air. ‘She wears jeans at weekends. I think, yes, her green things are not here. She has a green sweater and a jacket which is leather, though not real, also green. And her green handbag. She bought it from a stall in Portobello Road. It is fake, but looks good.’
The party on the top floor was just getting into its stride. The whole house shook. The little cat jumped off the chair and tried to climb up Miss Drobny’s leg. She picked it up, stroked it, calmed it, held it against her.
Bea commented, ‘No passport, no bank statements, no official documents. Did she have any credit cards?’
A frown. ‘Yes. She is at the same bank as me. She has some store cards, too.’
‘May I see her room? I’m wondering if she hid her passport and cheque book somewhere?’
Miss Drobny led Bea back down the hall and into a room whose windows would overlook the steps leading down to the front door of the flat. ‘This was hers. I have cleaned it, of course.’
So she had. The room smelt clean. And damp. There was a night storage heater, but it had been turned off to conserve electricity. Brown furniture again. Green curtains at the window, which presumably was below ground level? A reasonably modern single bed, chair and table, chest of drawers, and a wardrobe. A door in a recess opened to reveal a tucked-away washbasin. Centre light, separate reading lamp. Small bookcase, empty. The bed had been stripped, the duvet folded over, pillows on top of it, Indian cotton cover over all. Bea lifted the bedding and the mattress to look underneath. Nothing.
There was nothing left in any of the pieces of furniture, either. Bea checked, taking out the paper which lined each drawer and cupboard to make sure, even though she believed Miss Drobny would have been thorough.
There was a crash outside in the road. Someone upstairs threw open a window and shouted down to the people in the street. Party-goers or comers.
‘Tch. I have complained,’ said Miss Drobny. ‘They take no notice.’
The carpet was a square mat. Bea flipped up all four corners to see if Tomi had kept anything beneath it. Nothing. Not even fluff.
Bea looked at her watch. She was due at her son’s flat in ten minutes and was going to be late. The little cat wriggled through the half open door and leaped on to the bed, which creaked.
The wardrobe? Bea stood on the chair, and there it was: a large envelope with all Tomi’s private papers in it. Passport, bank statements, letters from the Home Office confirming her right of residence, college certificates. No credit cards. Bea looked at the passport photo and showed it to Miss Drobny. ‘That is her?’
‘Yes.’ Miss Drobny shook her head. ‘If her passport is here, she did not go away to France. I am getting a bad feeling.’
‘Me too.’
Someone banged on the front door of the flat. Miss Drobny went out into the hall, sighing. ‘Is always the same. They think they get into the party upstairs through my front door.’
She opened the door to merry cries of, ‘You took your time!’ from a couple of men who seem to have taken drink already. Bea buttoned up her overcoat, eyeing the laptop. She wondered if Miss Drobny might allow her to take it, because when Oliver returned home, or CJ came round, one of them might be able to make it work.
While Miss Drobny was directing the newcomers upstairs, Bea had another thought; would Miss Drobny let her borrow Tomi’s address book? Presumably her parents’ home address would be in it. What was Tomi’s last name? On the other hand, perhaps everything ought to be left here for the police to look at.
Miss Drobny let someone else into the hall. Two people. First came a hard-faced middle-aged woman, expensively got up, with a pallid clone of a daughter in tow. The older woman’s eyes were all over the place. ‘—difficult to find, and she must be near the Central Line, of course, because of her job, but this might do, I suppose. I would be prepared to pay three months’ rent in advance for a suitable . . . But I’m not at all sure that this—’
‘It looks perfectly all right to me,’ said the daughter, who was perhaps not as young as she’d looked at first sight. ‘It’s better than living out in the sticks.’ And, to Miss Drobny, ‘OK to look around?’
Silently Miss Drobny led the way to the big sitting-room at the back of the house. The older woman followed to look Bea up and down and register the fact that she was well-dressed. One of Us, in fact. ‘Are you . . . ?’
Bea shook her head. ‘A visitor. Just going.’
‘Oh. Nothing to do with . . . ?’ The newcomer threw her eyes upwards. More and more people were ringing the doorbell and tramping up the stairs to the party. ‘That’s what’s attracting my daughter. Parties mean people. I suppose I can’t blame her. She’s just out of a long-term relationship which was always going to end in tears, as I told her on day one, but she couldn’t see it.’
Bea twitched a smile. She’d known Nicole wouldn’t be the best wife in the world for Max on day one, as well.
Then came another thought. Had the parties been an attraction for Tomi, too?
Miss Drobny was getting on well with the newcomer. ‘From here it will be an easy journey for you to work. Do you cook?’ Throwing open a door. ‘The kitchen is small.’
‘Heavens, no. I have a takeaway, or buy something ready-cooked. I can have a shelf in the freezer and use the microwave?’
A nod. ‘The bedroom is back this way.’
There was another outburst of laughter from the top flat, and something – a bottle, hopefully empty – crashed down into the garden. The two older women winced, exchanged resigned shrugs. Bea said, ‘I wonder how late they keep it up.’
‘My daughter won’t care.’
There was a bump and a bang in the hall and the daughter reappeared, rubbing her shin. ‘Well, Mother. I don’t think I can do better for the money. The bathroom’s small, but there’s a shower, and I’m not going to be in much, am I?’ So, to Miss Drobny, ‘When can I move in? And what is all that stuff in the hall, anyway?’
Miss Drobny looked at Bea, and Bea looked back. Miss Drobny needed a flatmate, but Bea had paid her a month’s rent. Theoretically the flat should remain vacant for another three weeks. Also, if the police were going to get involved, Tomi’s things ought to stay where they were. Except that they’d already been packed up and removed from her room.
Bea wanted that laptop. ‘Those things belong to someone who’s moved out. I’ve offered to store them for the time being. I can take some of them with me now – if that’s all right with you, Miss Drobny? – and I can collect the rest tomorrow.’
The daughter was pleased. ‘Well, if that’s the case, I can move in tomorrow. I haven’t much beyond my clothes and a few bits and pieces.’
Miss Drobny frowned. ‘If Miss – er – would take a seat in the sitting room, I’ll just have a word with my friend here before she leaves.’
Ah. Miss Drobny didn’t think Tomi’s stuff ought to be moved? As the living room door closed on the potential flatmate and her mother, Bea said, ‘You think Tomi’s stuff should be left here. I understand. You can find me at the address on my card. I promise to see the police get involved if she doesn’t turn up by tomorrow morning. Will you let me take the laptop? I know someone who might be able to get it working again, and I do think her parents ought to be informed, don’t you?’
‘I don’t know. I’m not sure what to do for the best.’ But she made no demur when Bea picked up the laptop and walked off with it.
As Bea left the flat, she came face to face with two more young men and a couple of leggy blondes who, even on that chilly evening, weren’t wearing much. They were trying to find the party. Bea told them where to go. Repressing a shiver, she put the laptop on to the passenger seat, got into her car, and switched on the heater. Thank God for an efficient car heater. Would there be a frost again tonight?
She was going to be later getting to Max’s flat than she’d promised. And she must ring CJ.
For some reason the traffic snarled up around Earls Court. Bea to
ld herself to be patient. There was no point in leaning on the horn. If a traffic light had stuck on or off, it wouldn’t help to get in a state about it.
Nevertheless, she did feel rather anxious as she drew up by the block of flats in which Max and Nicole lived and hauled herself and the raggedy Mouse out of the car and up in the lift. Her back twinged, reminding her that at her age she shouldn’t have tried to heave Tomi’s belongings around.
And, oh dear, she was rather late.
Nicole opened the door to her. Nicole was in a frenzy; blonde hair wisping all over the place, make-up long gone, smears of baby talcum on her grey sweater. The strict regime she was following gave her no time at all for herself.
‘Where have you been? I thought I could rely on you, and look at the time!’
The baby was wailing somewhere in the background. The television was on, muted. Baby paraphernalia was spread around the floor. Untidy. Unnecessary.
Bea bit back words of censure, reminding herself that new mothers did get worn out, and Nicole wasn’t in the first flush of youth. Or the second, come to think of it. Pippin wailed. A disconsolate, heart-rending wail, which sounded as if he’d lost all hope that life could ever take a turn for the better. It wrung Bea’s heart to hear him cry like that. She ought not to have gone to see Miss Drobny. She ought to have come here first.
‘He won’t sleep till he’s got his Mouse. I didn’t know what had happened to you. I rang you, and you didn’t even bother to pick up the phone!’
Bea felt guilty. ‘Sorry. An emergency. I’m here now, and here’s Mouse. Can I help with anything now I’m here?’
‘Haven’t you done enough?’
The door slammed in Bea’s face. She tried to laugh. Blinked. Well, that was that. Not needed. In the way. It gave her stomach ache to think about it.
Better go home and get a good night’s sleep. Except that she had something important to do before she slept that night, hadn’t she?
She got back into her car and found her mobile phone.
‘CJ? Sorry to ring so late, but I’ve been round to see Tomi’s flatmate. Her passport is there and so is her laptop, which has no power cable and flat batteries, but I managed to bring it away with me. Chris’s library books are nowhere to be seen, nor any credit cards, cheque book, or mobile phone. She was probably wearing a green leather jacket, sweater, jeans, and carrying a large green handbag. Without her passport, she couldn’t have gone abroad—’
‘On a private boat, perhaps?’
‘You’re clutching at straws. She’s dead.’ Bea grimaced. She hadn’t known she was going to say that. It might not be true. Possibly.
‘Where are you? I see you’re on your mobile phone.’
‘Ten minutes from home, bath and bed; but I suppose you want to collect the laptop?’
‘You’re trusting I can wave a magic wand over it? Right. But I can’t spend much time on this at the moment. When’s Oliver due back?’
‘Wednesday next week.’
A sigh. ‘We can’t wait till then to report her missing. All right, I’ll set things in motion from here.’ He disconnected.
Bea shut off her own phone and drove home. CJ was not in sight when she arrived. Should she leave the laptop on her doorstep? Probably not. Ah, here he came, in his unremarkable but souped-up car, flashing his lights at her as he double-parked. She took the laptop over to him even as he wound down his window to accept it. He said, ‘I’ll be in touch,’ and drove off.
Fine. She might as well go straight up to bed and try to sleep because tomorrow was going to be another long day.
Before she did, she went down to her office to make some notes about what she’d learned at Miss Drobny’s, in case Chris asked her something and she couldn’t remember. Then she booted up her computer to see if there were any reply from Oliver. And there was.
Tomi’s missing? That’s not like her. If Chris says he’s worried about her, then there’s something to be worried about. What do the police say?
I wish I were back home now and could help you look for her. Have you tried the hospitals? She’s the last person to down tools and walk off like that.
I plan to get away on Wednesday, if you can collect me then. I’m afraid I do have a lot of stuff to bring back. Tell Maggie I’ll see her at home. Let me know roughly what time you can get here. Chris did pass his driving test, but he hasn’t a car of his own and CJ won’t let him drive his.
The more I think about it, the more worried I am about Tomi.
I’ll ring you later. Love, Oliver.
Another vote for action. Had Chris tried the hospitals? Yes, he’d said he had. Had CJ got on to the police about Tomi? He’d said he would. Hadn’t Bea enough to do without looking for a girl who’d strayed from home?
She switched off the computer and stumped up to bed. Dear Lord, deliver me from worrying about something that doesn’t need worrying about. Or, if You do think I have to worry about it, then let me have a good night’s sleep first? Please?
Oh, and thank You for everything else that’s good in my life. Oh dear. I don’t feel in the least like praising You tonight. I’d better read my bible for a bit . . . which reminds me . . . what about Tomi’s bible, which I left there? Oh well. I’ll think about that tomorrow.
Friday night
‘Rock a bye, baby.’ Claire could sing it in her sleep.
It was hard to leave her babies at six every evening, but it prepared the young mothers for the moment that Claire moved on, and it gave her time to herself, to plan for the future.
When she’d first realized that her beloved was going to be out of town for some days, she’d been devastated. Only later did it occur to her that this gave her freedom to pursue the Grand Plan without hindrance. In some ways she thought her loved one even more childish than her babies, although of course she never said so. She would never have imagined he’d need so much care and attention. But there . . . it was all going to be worth it in the long run, wasn’t it?
How many more days to D day? Not long now.
Three down and seven to go. The red tide of excitement rose in her. Who should she target next? Harry? Yes. Harry.
A pity they hadn’t found Tomi’s body yet. It might be necessary to tell someone where she was. How about a text message to Chris, luring him to the spot? She could send another to the police, who would catch him red-handed. Yes, why not?
FOUR
Saturday noon
Saturday mornings were sometimes, but not always, quiet at the agency. This Saturday they were busy with clients coming in for interviews, and only two of Bea’s staff were in to answer the phones. It was at times like these that Bea really missed Oliver, who seemed to be able to do three things at once. Maggie was no help with the agency work, whisking in and out to meet a contractor here and a new client there.
It was after twelve before Bea could spare the time to think about Chris and his troubles. She got him on the phone and, before she could say anything, he asked, ‘Have you found her?’
‘Not so fast. And no. Your library books are not there, but her passport is. You did try the hospitals, didn’t you?’
‘It’s serious, then? I kept hoping . . . All right, I’ll try the hospitals again and ring you back.’
She started to say that his father was already on the case, but he’d put the phone down. As she did the same, it rang under her hand.
‘CJ here. I’ve done a spot of ringing around. The police say there’s no unidentified body turned up in the London area that could be your girl. I’ve asked them to spread their enquiries wider.’
‘She’s not my girl. I’ve asked Chris to check the hospitals again. I assume he’s capable of that.’
‘Possibly. I have to go out in a minute, but I’ll drop by your place on my way. I got Tomi’s laptop working, copied the entire hard drive, and overwrote it on to a spare laptop for you. I haven’t the time to go through it myself, but I thought you could get young Oliver on to it.’
‘He’s
not back till Wednesday.’
‘This is an emergency. Can’t he get back sooner?’
‘Would the university consider it an emergency?’
‘Oh. Very well.’ He disconnected.
Bea smoothed back her hair, then realigned the fringe to lie across her forehead. She inspected her fingernails, trying to remember when she’d next booked in to have a haircut and a manicure. She thought it might be in ten days’ time. Could she fit it in earlier, perhaps? No, they were always booked solid.
Oh, well. It was a fine, frosty day with a brilliant blue sky. Soon, perhaps, the trees would break open their buds and they could believe that spring was on its way. It had been a long, hard winter.
She could do with some time to herself, but suspected that she wasn’t likely to get it.
She swivelled her chair round so that she could look out of the French windows and up through the branches of the sycamore tree at the bottom of the garden. If she looked hard, she could see the tiny buds swelling on the tips of the twigs. Through the branches she could also see the spire of St Mary Abbot’s church, pale stone against the blue sky. Victorian. High church. It was not really her style, but a constant, everyday reminder of what a difference it made to her life to know God . . . and what God might or might not want her to do in any given circumstance.
What He didn’t want her to do was to get cross with Nicole and Max. Bea had a horrid feeling that she’d been less than kind to them the previous night. She’d been put on the defensive and had reacted by criticizing them. Slap on wrist. She must try not to find fault, but help them in whatever way she could. Perhaps soon they’d let her hold Pippin and give him a cuddle.
What did God want her to do about Tomi?
Whatever it was, Bea didn’t want to listen. She’d more than enough on her plate as it was. She could do with some fresh air. A walk in the park, maybe have tea in the Orangery. Their scones were first-class. If she did that, she’d be out when CJ dropped another load of work on to her.
She really didn’t see why she should be dragged into this affair. It was nothing to do with her, was it? No. If she got a move on, she could be out of the house before CJ reached her.
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