‘That’s too bad.’ Robbie looked crestfallen.
‘Another time perhaps,’ Leo said. ‘I’d like to come and visit you and Hooter again.’
‘OK. That would be good.’
As Daniel saw her to the door, she gave him a glance which he read as a mixture of embarrassment, contrition and challenge. The challenge won.
‘Rules of confidentiality can’t possibly govern all situations,’ she said, turning back at the threshold.
‘So if I bump into your husband, you won’t object to my telling him what passes between us?’
‘My ex-husband,’ Leo said, disliking them both. ‘He’d probably tell you that I’d only come to you because I’d discovered he had an affair with Isabel,’ she added, startling herself. ‘Which would be as wrong as everything else.’
Daniel watched her walk quickly down the street. There was a resolute thrust to her shoulders. She didn’t look back. He mused for a moment, then returned to his son. They sprawled on the floor and played two games of concentration, the cards spread between them in a wide arc.
After Robbie had trounced his father, Daniel tousled his hair and excused himself. He walked slowly upstairs to his desk and pulled out the bottom drawer. A haphazard stack of brochures and theatre programmes confronted him. With lightning irritation, he upended the drawer and spilt its contents onto the floor. A penknife clattered onto the pile. He picked it up. He had forgotten that was there.
So long ago. Daniel, was the youth’s name. Just like his. That had played a part in things. Daniel Roper. The boy had pulled the knife on him one day and slashed menacingly in his direction. ‘Who is it that you really want to harm?’ Daniel had asked him softly. ‘Me, your father, yourself?’ Towards the end of the session, the youth had handed him the knife, telling him to keep it. He hadn’t meant it anyway. Not really.
As he handled the penknife, Daniel suddenly felt the fear that had flooded through him at the time. His fear and the boy’s bound together for a split-second. He placed the knife carefully in the corner of a high shelf and turned his attention to the brochures. The one he wanted was now close to the top of the pile. He punched out the number. A jolly voice responded, one which spoke of hockey fields and sweaty rides across the countryside.
‘How can I help you?’
‘I’d like to know whether you have an Isabel Morgan staying with you, please.’
The voice replied with the same automatic jolliness. ‘I’m very sorry, Sir. We don’t give out the names of our clients.’
Daniel swallowed his frustration.
‘My name is Daniel Lukas. Dr. Daniel Lukas. Can you put me through to your Director, please.’
‘He’s not here today. Thank you for calling.’
When he heard the dialling tone rebound in his ear, Daniel let out a low laugh at the irony of the situation. He thought of Leonora Gould. She would have enjoyed him falling prey to his own rules of confidentiality.
Leo walked slowly down Highgate Hill. The squeal and giggle of brown-clad girls accompanied her as she passed the school where Becca had gone. She quickened her step. What did that know-it-all Dr Lukas with his babe of a nanny mean by colliding Isabel’s dream with her own life and suggesting that she wanted to keep Becca staked to herself. Of course she missed her daughter. That was hardly unnatural.
His voice played itself over and over on her inner ear. She had the odd sensation that it was becoming a part of herself. She shut it out. Like she had shut out her mother’s voice in those months after her father’s death. The internal gesture was the same she suddenly realized. All she had to do was to visualise a flap, like a square of thick velvet curtain, coming down over the inside of her ear. It muffled the sounds, drowned them out so that they became merely an incomprehensible burble, a low droning without words.
Had she done that to her father’s voice too? No, she liked to hear his voice, the cooing voice he had used to her when she was small. But somehow that voice, too, had made her angry and it had brought in its train the hideous sound of the thrashing helicopters which beat it out of recognition. All the panic and pain and tangled feelings of that time came back to her, as if that insidious doctor had switched on an ignition key and then abandoned her to a vehicle whose gears she was unfamiliar with, so that it threatened to rush out of control. She slowed her steps.
The sprawl of the Whittington Hospital was now on her right. She noted the big sign announcing Accident and Emergency and had a vision of checking in and being placed between starched white sheets. A soft spoken nurse would bring her a cup of tea and tut tut over a thermometer.
That’s what the know-it-all doctor was doing. Turning her into a patient. An impatient patient, she told herself, and walked hastily towards the tube. Like any other ordinary commuter, she stopped to buy an evening paper. Like any other ordinary commuter, she perched on the steep slope of the escalator and skimmed the array of posters stretched on her left. A glistening, silver-laced helicopter leapt out at her and came back at regular intervals, as if the world had been designed to force her back into the universe of the analytic session - a universe where everything became significant. The posters were only there to advertise a book, Leo reminded herself, determinedly focusing her eyes in front of her.
But was Daniel Lukas right to intimate that her fear of helicopters had come to stand in for all the jumbled and conflicting feelings of that distant time? That her panic at the machines kept her father present? Was that what she wanted? Her perfect, irreproachable, always absent father? And her friend. Her friend, Laura. Her friend, Isabel. She remembered how her anxiety about Isabel’s non-appearance that evening in Manhattan had catapulted into panic with the sound of the helicopter.
Leo listened to the roar of an oncoming train. Her hair flew. She turned her eyes away from the scatter of grit, bumped into a stranger as she made her way towards a door. She murmured apologies and sank gratefully into an empty seat. The stale odour of the carriage attacked her nostrils, a mixture of ranked, sweaty bodies and century old dirt.
Too bad she hadn’t found anything in the file neatly labelled Isabel Morgan. Too bad, he had caught her at it, too. That had been deeply shaming. There was probably no point going back to see him now. He wasn’t going to divulge anything.
The child had been sweet though. Robbie. She wondered what his mother was like. A painter. She closed her eyes and saw Daniel Lukas in that room which bulged with canvases, his boy at his side. A woman came in and gave the child a kiss on the top of his tousled head. Then she turned to look up at Daniel and sauntered towards him with a wide smile.
Isabel.
Leo’s eyes snapped open. She felt heat rising into her cheeks. Isabel and Daniel. That gave her an idea. Why not? She was, she acknowledged, willing to try anything.
10
For once the street on which Isabel’s house sat like some industrial monster transplanted into the cyber age gave signs of city life. Office workers streamed out of a neighbouring block, eyes and shoulders thrusting towards home or the nearest pub. Traffic edged forward at caterpillar pace, blocked by the line emerging from the half-gutted car park. Bicycles wove their way precariously through the crush, all but scraping the pavement. A traffic warden stood beside one of the two metres, punched out a ticket and stuck it to a window, just as a red-faced man ran up to her and started gesticulating furiously.
Leo let herself into the house. Halfway up the stairs, she met Rosie, carrying a tote bag.
‘You OK, Leo? Can’t stop now. I’m meeting someone at the gym and I’m already late.’ She blew her a kiss. ‘Pop round for a drink later, why don’t you.’
‘If I can.’ Leo smiled in response and took the rest of the stairs two at a time - in lieu of the gym.
Despite herself, she paused before pushing open the door, as if the apartment had become an unpredictable and treacherous space. A sudden rubbing against the bottom of her legs made her jump.
The cat miaowed beneath her. ‘Silly Beast,’ she murm
ured and stroked his fur until he set up a comforting purr. He followed her into Isabel’s office, pounced onto a chair and watched her as she checked the answering machine.
‘Greetings Holland,’ Christopher Norfolk boomed at them. ‘Looks like I’m not gonna make it tonight. Rain check please. See you anon.’
Leo didn’t like to recognise that she was sorry. She lifted the cat into her lap and stroked him thoughtfully. She was at a loose end. A moment of inaction and all the matter that Daniel Lukas had stoked up flared before her. She pushed it aside and tried to concentrate on plans, when the phone rang. She picked it up with alacrity.
‘Mom? Just got the message about your computer being stolen. You poor thing.’
‘Becca. Hello, darling. Thanks for phoning.’ Warmth flooded through Leo. ‘You’re back at Stanford?’
‘Ya. Had a good time with Dad.’ She paused. ‘Did you know I was going to have a little brother or sister?’
‘Jeff told me.’
Another pause. ‘You OK about it?’
‘Yes. Think so. How about you?
‘Feels a bit weird.’
Leo laughed. ‘That too. But who knows, you might end up enjoying it.’
‘Ya. Who knows…’ Becca abruptly changed tack. ‘Did I tell you about this boy in my English class. He’s cool. We’re going to see a movie on Saturday.’
Leo put a brake on the questions which were about to tumble off her tongue. ‘That sounds good,’ she said with more enthusiasm than she felt.
‘Ya. Any news of Isabel?’
Leo kept her voice calm. ‘Not yet. Soon, I hope.’
‘You’ve been checking in on the Manhattan number?’
‘Will do again. Tell me about your classes.’
They chatted for a few more minutes and when she hung up, Leo realized that the pleasure she felt at the sound of Becca’s voice was edged with disquiet. For a moment, she pondered the impact Jeff’s new child would have on Becca’s journey into womanhood, then reminded herself that she needed to follow Becca’s nudge and check her New York answering machine. She hadn’t done so since the weekend. She started to dial when the sound of the doorbell deflected her.
***
Inspector Faraday’s face bore all the solemnity of a vicar’s at a funeral service. As he settled himself stiffly at the edge of the sofa and clasped his hands together, Leo suddenly saw him in black tails and stiff collar administering a Victorian funeral service. He wouldn’t altogether meet her eyes.
‘Is something wrong, Inspector?’ she asked nervously.
‘Tell me about your relationship with Christopher Norfolk, Ms Holland.’
The demand surprised her as much as the steeliness of his tone.
‘That really isn’t any of your business, Inspector, but since you ask, I can tell you that there isn’t one.’
His gaze fell on her, then was quickly averted. ‘On Monday evening, the night of the breakin, you failed to mention to the officer in charge that Mr Norfolk had the keys to the house.’
Leo shrugged the accusation off. ‘It must have slipped my mind.’
‘A useful slip.’
‘Norfolk would hardly need to make such a mess if he were looking for something. He had easy access.’
‘Doesn’t it occur to you that he might want to throw us off his scent.’
‘It doesn’t,’ Leo said flatly, though as she said it she realized that she didn’t know quite why she was defending Norfolk so adamantly.
Inspector Faraday scrutinised her. ‘And where is he now?’
Leo shrugged. ‘I don’t know.’
Slowly Faraday reached into his pocket to draw out his spectacles. He opened his notebook with the air of a methodical tax inspector. ‘I interviewed Hamish Macgregor earlier and he confirmed that he had been here. That he had seen you and Mr Norfolk together,’ he threw Leo an admonishing glance. ‘And that your friend had roughed him up.
‘But that’s… Macgregor was trying to break in,’ Leo spluttered.
Faraday shook his head solemnly. ‘He told me that Ms Morgan had given him the keys months ago, since he did work around the house for her. And that he had come today to collect some money that she owed him. £1200 to be exact. In the normal course of things, she left his payment for him in an envelope in the bottom drawer of her night table. However, this morning, you and Mr Norfolk refused him access.’
‘That’s a lie. He’d come for his tools. And clothes. A suit he’d left here.’
‘Mr Macgregor insisted that your Mr Norfolk did indeed fob him off with a suit. Not a suit of his own.’
‘That’s complete and utter nonsense.’ Leo stopped herself and tried to replay the scene in her mind. What had the two men talked about while she went to fetch Macgregor’s clothes?
Faraday broke into her thoughts. The glasses were off now and he was staring at her with a glint of menace. ‘I’ve had access to your friend, Ms Morgan’s bank accounts. She was hardly a struggling writer or journalist. The accounts showed a very tidy balance. And on the fourteenth of April, she drew out in cash the hardly minimal sum of £3000.’
‘I don’t know anything about Isabel’s finances,’ Leo murmured. ‘Maybe she inherited some money from her mother who died earlier this year. But if she took out that much, it explains why you found nothing drawn on her Visa card after the 15th. Which means she’s still alive.’ Leo heard her own words reverberate around the room with a clang of triumph. She met Faraday’s invasive eyes.
‘So you presumed she was dead.’
Leo shook her head vehemently enough to blot out her own imaginings. ‘I worried… that’s all. Don’t use that word.’
‘Shall we have a look for that money?’
‘You look, Inspector, since you don’t seem to trust me. I’ll go and get myself a drink. I need one.’
She watched him walk towards the bedroom, heard the rattle of drawers. After a moment, she went to pour herself a glass of Burgundy and followed him.
His beanpole of a body bent double, Faraday was rifling through a bottom drawer filled with tights and stockings. He stood up with a muted smile on his bony face. He was holding a long, white envelope. ‘It says Hamish M. right here. But there’s nothing inside. Any ideas, Ms. Holland?’
Leo took a long sip of her wine. ‘Lots of ideas, Inspector. How about the burglar? How about Isabel didn’t leave Hamish Macgregor any money this time, though that could be the usual deposit place. Or how about she didn’t owe him anything and he made it all up? Or he’s already been to get it before this, maybe even before I arrived since when I did there was a shattered vase, just where you’re standing. And maybe you should check out his bank balance. Or how about I stole it ‘cause I’m so desperately in need of funds. You can check that balance, too. I’ll get you the account number.’ The sarcasm dripped from her voice, drier than the wine.
‘Or how about your Mr. Norfolk?’
‘Well, you’ll just have to ask him. I really don’t see how this is helping us find Isabel. And that’s the important thing, Inspector. The burglary doesn’t matter. Just find her.’
‘We’re trying, Ms. Holland. Calm yourself.’ He paced, uncomfortable with her sudden emotion. He paused at the dining table and pulled out his glasses. He was studying the papers she had left there before going to see Daniel Lukas.
‘What is this, Ms. Holland?’
‘You have me there, Inspector. I’ve been trying to work it out myself. A family tree, perhaps.’ She hesitated, then rushed on, feeling herself grow hot as she spoke. ‘In Isabel’s post this morning, there was a diskette. That’s what was on it.’
‘And you printed this out on Mr Norfolk’s computer.’
Faraday missed nothing.
‘Yes,’ Leo swallowed.
‘I see.’ He gave her an admonishing glance. ‘I’ll just take this if I may, Ms. Holland.’ He folded the sheets carefully into his jacket pocket. ‘I’d like to have another look at the papers in Ms Morgan’s office, if I may.’
‘You may.’
He preceded her stiffly into Isabel’s office. The cat, sprawled in the chair like some luxuriating emperor of fur, roused himself at their entrance.
‘New pet?’ Faraday asked, relaxing visibly as he gave the animal a series of practised strokes.
‘Didn’t your dear Mr. Macgregor point out that he’d made a second stop here today to deliver Isabel’s cat?’
Faraday suddenly looked uncomfortable ‘No. He didn’t.’ He sat down at the desk chair, his back to her. ‘Where was the envelope in which the diskette arrived posted by the way.’
‘Dorset was all we could make out.’
He nodded. ‘You can leave me, Ms Holland. I won’t take anything without your permission.’
‘What are you looking for, Inspector?’
‘Oh, this and that. Bank statements. Bills. Whatever turns up.’
‘This and that,’ Leo murmured and went to stand by one of the living room windows. Yes. Life reduced to a random assortment of this and that. Her own life too. Everything since Isabel’s disappearance had taken on a randomness. As if she was totally at the mercy of events. She hardly even recognised herself from day to day, let alone from minute to minute. She didn’t know what she was going to say next or do.
An image of herself scurrying, like some furtive criminal, into Daniel Lukas’s private rooms bounded into her mind. It was so wholly uncharacteristic, that it took determined force to erase it.
She held back tears, went into her room and stared into the mirror. Did that face with its stray locks of auburn reposition her as herself? Eyes, darkly blue and slightly too far apart gazed back at her. The skin over the cheekbones stretched tight so that there were curved hollows in the cheeks. The mouth was generous to a fault. It was her face, yet had nothing to do with her. She looked at the self which might as well not be herself and from somewhere in the mists of memory she remembered examining herself like this when she was young - an adolescent staring into the mirror and seeking some definition.
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