Leo’s thoughts floated randomly and deposited her back in Norfolk’s arms. Maybe the roll of reasons wasn’t necessary. Maybe it was simply him.
She woke to a stream of crisp light poking round flowered curtains. He was no longer beside her. She lay still trying to hold on to a fragment of a dream. She couldn’t quite keep it at rest. As it fled, she was filled with an uncanny sense that Isabel had slept in this very bed, had lain here like her for a moment trying to catch hold of a fugitive image.
She stirred herself into activity. It was already after eight. Norfolk must have left on cat’s silent feet not to disturb her. She showered quickly and made her way downstairs. There was no one at the small reception desk, nor in the office behind.
In the dining room, the waitress with the sleek pony-tail gestured her to a windowside table and pointed out a buffet. Leo helped herself to fruit and cereal and as the woman poured her a cup of coffee, she asked softly, ‘Has Mrs. Donald arrived yet?’
‘Oh, she’s around somewhere. In the garden probably. She loves her garden. She’s usually out there of a bright morning.’ The woman didn’t seem to approve.
Before Leo could ask her any more, she had disappeared into the kitchen.
Leo headed out into the grounds. Clumps of daffodils, bright against the rich red earth lined the path. Beyond, stood the camelias and rhododendrons, their fat buds ready to burst. She peered through each break in the sun-mottled greenery for a sign of Mrs. Donald. At last, she crossed a stretch of moist grass and made her way towards the back of the house. To the side, she noticed a high wooden fence. After a second’s hesitation, she pushed open the door at its far end.
She found herself in a well-tended kitchen garden. Oblivious to her presence, a woman in a large straw hat was bending over plants.
‘Hello,’ Leo called.
The woman rose to reveal a crinkled face surrounded by strands of grey hair. Her cheeks were flushed. She threw Leo a winsome smile. ‘Oh hello dear. Just doing a bit of weeding. Did they send you to fetch me?’ She waved towards the house in an off-hand way, then remembering herself, took off her grubby gloves. ‘We weren’t expecting anyone to checkin until later. Sorry. It’s just that I like to get on with things here, while I can.’
‘No, no. That’s all right.’ Leo smiled back. ‘I just wanted a word. The lady at the desk last night told me you might be able to help.’
‘Miss Grey? Well, that’s a surprise.’ Periwinkle eyes turned impish. ‘How can I help, dear?’
‘It’s about a friend of mine who stayed here some weeks back. Isabel Morgan. I’m worried about her.’
‘Oh yes, that nice blonde girl. Friend of Jilly’s. I was worried about her too, dear.’ She suddenly clamped a hand over her mouth.
‘What is it, Mrs Donald?’
‘Oh nothing. Nothing at all.’ She giggled girlishly, but the eyes which surveyed Leo were astute. ‘It’s just that Andrew…that’s my son…he’s the boss, now. Good one, too. He’s doing everything to modernise this place. Keep it going. Yes.’ She bent to her plants, as if she had forgotten Leo.
‘It is very nice here,’ Leo said emphatically. She wondered if Andrew was the squat man who had come to their table last night. She waited for a moment, then tried again. ‘I just wanted to know… How was Isabel when you saw her? I’m so worried. You see she’s vanished.’
Her voice broke and the old woman looked up at her.
‘You’re not with the police, are you dear? You’re American. I can tell. I went to New York once.’
‘That’s where I’m from.’
The woman nodded.
‘Your friend came when they were having one of those meetings. Andrew likes hiring the place out for all kinds of meetings, friends of this and that, with dinner thrown in, but none of it quite pays for the upkeep, you know. Things are so expensive now. And I’m not much good any more.’ The woman gave her the sweet smile again. ‘Sorry, I’m rambling.’
‘Meetings of friends of this and that, you said?’
‘Yes, you know, cyclists and bird-watchers. Bit like a village hall, really. But more serious. They talk a lot. Argue. Jilly comes sometimes. Not that time, though. But your friend spoke to her. They were going to meet up.’
Leo stiffened. So Norfolk was right. Isabel had probably come here for some meeting of Greens. Secret meeting, perhaps, since the squat Andrew didn’t want the police to know.
‘But that nice friend of yours didn’t go to the meeting for more than ten minutes.’ Mrs Donald prodded at a weed and burbled on as if to herself. ‘She…she just sat by the fire in the bar and drank. She drank a great deal. Looked into the flames and drank.’ The woman shook her head sadly. ‘I thought she could do with a cup of tea, so I brought her one. There were tears running down her cheeks. And the next day, she planted herself on the bench beneath the oak. Thought she’d grow moss. Sat there, even through the rain. She said she was fine, when I asked. But she didn’t look fine. Poor dear. So much sorrow… I don’t know.’
Tears bit at Leo’s eyes. ‘Did she say…?’
The woman cut her off as if she hadn’t heard her. ‘And then she left. Don’t know if she was in a fit state to drive, but she left.’
Mrs Donald stood up, her parchment face even more wrinkled with the force of her frown. Her eyes suddenly lit up. ‘Yes, I remember now. We talked about the sea. She said she wanted to be by the sea. I said I had stayed at the Lynton Arms once with my husband and she asked me whether he’d been a good husband. Funny question.’
The gate of the garden creaked and the woman stiffened. ‘That’ll be Andrew, come to fetch me.’
Leo planted a quick kiss on her cheek and whispered a thank-you just as the door opened. She strode towards it, paused as she passed the rotund figure. ‘Nice garden, you have here. Sorry I have to leave. Is there anyone who could order a taxi for me?’
The man looked from Leo to his mother, who was innocently turning earth with her fork. He seemed about to say something, then thought better of it.
‘Gaby’s in the office. She’ll ring for you.’
Leo sat in the back seat of the taxi. Her hands were clenched, her palms as clammy as if she had dipped them permanently into a cold sea.
The good thing, she told herself, was that the sky was high, a clear blue backdrop for scudding clouds. The other good thing was that she had managed to persuade Norfolk during the night that he needn’t waste time by coming back for her, so she hadn’t had to hang around and wait for him or leave complicated messages. The last good thing, was that she had a precise destination, even if it was one the driver was loathe to drive her to because of the distance.
The bad, the frightening things were too numerous to detail. Mrs Donald’s evocation of Isabel had heightened her dread, so acutely did it dove-tail with her own muffled fears about her friend. She had been tempted to ring Daniel Lukas before heading off in order to shout at him, pour venom in his ear. But there was little point in hurling abuse at an answering machine which provided no answers.
She tried to make sense of the information the last two days had brought to the fore. Jill Reid had been a friend of Isabel’s - though not one she had ever mentioned to Leo. Jill Reid was dead - either as the result of a random road accident or as the result of something far more nefarious. If it was the latter, then it probably had something to do with the secret delving that both she and Isabel had undertaken. Isabel was drinking heavily. This wasn’t the norm. She was in a state of distress. The distress was linked to her disappearance. It perhaps explained why she hadn’t alerted Leo to her altered plans. What was the distress about?
She had asked Mrs. Donald about her husband. It was an odd question for Isabel. Could disappointment over a man be the reason for her distress? Was that the force that had propelled her into taking some kind of unnecessary risk, a risk which had cut her off from everyone who knew her?
Or, alternately, was her despair the result of the investigation itself: She had got herself into
hot water and couldn’t extricate herself. It came to Leo that if the hot water was of Isabel’s making, it might somehow have spilled over to envelope Jill Reid. No. No. She forced away the thought of Isabel’s substantial bank account. Isabel wouldn’t have betrayed a friend.
Jill Reid had been alive two weeks after there had been any definitive sign of Isabel. When Norfolk had questioned the young woman at Plantagen, had she known where Isabel was and kept it from him? That wasn’t unlikely. Norfolk had said she had given him the impression that she was consoling him, telling him that Isabel was fine. But now?
The thoughts went round and round in Leo’s mind in an ever more tangled web. She was oblivious to the changing countryside around her and when the driver announced that they were in Lynton, she sat up with a start.
They were making a steep ascent on a tree-lined road. At its crest, the road veered and beneath them the sea appeared. Foam-tipped indigo curved between stoney precipices, sheer on one side, dotted with houses on the other.
‘I’d rather take you to the edge of the road and wait,’ the driver announced. ‘The Lynton Arms is up that way.’ He pointed along a dizzying track. ‘Car hates going up there. And it’s a job to turn around.’
Leo nodded. ‘I don’t know quite how long I’ll be. If I’m over an hour, just go.’ She took out the sum she had promised him, saw the smile curve his lips, and wished she could meet it.
The wind whipped at her hair as she trekked uphill. Its whistling moan competed with the pounding of the sea. Her head set up a throb to its rhythm. She drew her jacket more firmly round her and paused to look out at the waves, then quickly turned away, blinkering her vision. She passed a woman walking a pencil-thin greyhound. Her tartan scarf matched the animal’s coat.
The woman nodded at her in friendly enough fashion and mouthed a ‘beautiful day’. The wind carried the sound into the void.
Leo hurried on. A beautiful day, she repeated to herself. She must hang on to that.
The buildings, all on the left, were mostly hotels. Some of them looked as if they were boarded up, waiting for a more clement season. Others bore signs announcing vacancies. For a brief moment, Leo’s mind played with a happy vision. She would find Isabel at the Lynton Arms, a troubled Isabel, but an Isabel who was safe in front of a warm fire. An Isabel, who was sipping whisky in a secret sanctuary she had found for herself at the edge of the world. Leo would throw her arms around her and Isabel would weep out her cares. They would spend the night here together and in the morning, stealthily, Leo would wing her far away to Manhattan where genetic meddling of whatever description was far down the list of everyday concerns.
Yes, she would take Isabel away and keep her safe.
As she would have kept her father safe, if only they had let her.
Leo caught her thought and examined it. Why had her father leapt into her mind?
She heard it then, a low mechanical droning, different from the lashing of wind and sea. It was coming closer, louder. She broke into a run, waiting for the panic of perspiration to overtake her and freeze her movements. It didn’t come, though the helicopter appeared above her, its black body droning menace. She watched it for a moment and followed its swoop as it disappeared from view.
She took a deep breath. Perhaps, she had out-distanced her dread. All she was left with, as she saw the arched sign of the Lynton Arms emerge from a tangle of wisteria, was a kind of residual fear, like a habit or a premonition.
The hotel was a gabled Victorian structure, half Gothic castle, half seaside resort, set so steeply into the cliff side that it might have been an overblown façade. The paint on windows and shutters peeled slightly. The wrought-iron gate, as she pushed it open, creaked on its hinges. The steps were abruptly raked and slippery with lichen. For a moment, she had the impression that she was entering an alien dream, long since abandoned. But the door gave to her push and released a cow-bell clatter.
A slightly dilapidated, but comfortable lobby met her gaze. Signed photographs of unknown faces cluttered the walls and competed with prints of the town and sea views. A plump flower-decked sofa stood next to a rack of tourist brochures advertising pleasures.
Leo made her way softly along a floor of lavish Edwardian tiles towards a mahogany counter.
‘Hello.’ A high-pitched voice came from behind her.
She turned to see a tiny woman descending a staircase so elaborate, it called out for a larger scale. The woman had the blonde, poodle-curly hair and winged glasses of another epoch. She walked ramrod straight, her bosom a perfect triangle beneath the sheen of her blouse.
‘Hello,’ Leo echoed.
‘Welcome to the Lynton Arms.’ She smiled a swathe of coral lipstick and looked down at the floor beside Leo, as she propped herself on a stool behind the counter.
Leo realized she was wondering at her lack of a case. ‘I’m not sure I’ll be staying the night,’ she stammered slightly. But I was wondering if you did lunches. I know it’s a little early.’ She paused, at a loss for a moment. The woman’s demeanour had taken her aback. There was something else, too. It was as if she couldn’t smell Isabel here, as if for all her earlier certainty, she had suddenly lost the trail. ‘Really, I was wondering if a friend of mine might be here. She said she was coming this way.’
‘If your friend is Mrs. Seale or Mrs. Granger, then she’s here.’ The woman was slightly tart. ‘Lunch today is mushrooms on toast, followed by fish and trifle.’ She was peering at Leo strenuously, her pupils vast beneath the thick lenses.
Leo suddenly realized that she was far older than her demeanour. She smiled. ‘That sounds just fine.’ She cleared her throat. ‘My friend, Isabel Morgan, would have arrived here on the 17th of April. I’m sure you’d remember her. She’s Australian, rather striking, tall.’
‘Australian.’ The woman moved the register closer to her and shifted her glasses. Her finger moved slowly through a sparse list of names. ‘No. No one here by that name.’
Leo read upside down. The syllables of Morgenstern leapt out at her. ‘Of course. How silly of me. She wasn’t using her pen name. She was here as Iris Morgenstern. I should have thought of that.’ Leo babbled. ‘She does that sometimes.’
The woman threw her a suspicious look. It creased her make-up. ‘That’s it then. She was only here for the one night.’
Leo had the distinct sense that the woman was pleased that Isabel had only stayed for the single night. ‘I was wondering…’
The woman cut her off. ‘Pippa. We’ve got another guest for lunch. Can you manage?’
Leo turned. A woman in soft-soled shoes, mannish trousers and a burly sweater had come up behind her. She had short-cut, steel-grey hair and a pug nose in a weathered gnome’s face, but her smile was warm as she surveyed Leo.
‘Of course, we can manage, Bea. We can always manage. Come on through. I heard you say you wanted to eat early.’
Leo followed her gratefully into a generous dining room. A row of windows gave out on the sea, as if nothing but air and height separated them from that distant, churning indigo. The tables were formally laid with sparkling white cloths and silver.
The woman led Leo to one in the far corner.
‘This is where your friend sat,’ she said softly. ‘Don’t let Bea upset you. She’s got nervy with strangers. She barks a little.’
‘You…you talked with Iris?’
The woman nodded. ‘In a way. Call me Pippa.’
Leo sank into the proffered chair.
‘Let me get you a drink. There’s tea at the ready. Or something stronger.’
‘Tea would be wonderful.’
She looked at her speculatively, then marched off, only to return moments later with a tray laden with teapot and crockery. ‘I’ll join you, if I may. I was ready for a cup myself.’
‘Please.’
‘You really want a chat, don’t you. Not lunch at all.’
‘Have I made it that obvious?’
“Fraid you have.’
&n
bsp; ‘I… my friend. She’s … well, she’s gone missing.’
The woman nodded sagely. ‘I think she wanted to. Even from herself. I’d leave her to it, if I were you.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘Sometimes we need to disappear.’
Leo stiffened. ‘Was…was she drinking a lot?’
‘Not particularly a lot.’ The woman studied her. ‘I like a drop myself sometimes.’
‘I didn’t mean…’
‘No, no.’ The woman smiled. ‘I had a feeling she was trying to blot something out.’
‘What made you think that?’
‘I don’t know really. I was walking and I came across her on the path. She was staring out to sea, not really seeing it, but staring. Oblivious to everything. Statue-like. As if she was contemplating a jump. It took her a while to hear my greeting. I made her walk with me. She asked me if I’d ever lost anyone.’
‘Her mother,’ Leo murmured.
‘I don’t know. I told her by the time you’d got to my age, there were more losses than living. She gave me a vague smile and turned back to her staring. It was clear that she didn’t want me about. But I stayed close anyhow.’
‘Do you think she was having some kind of breakdown.’
‘Maybe. Though I wouldn’t put it quite like that. She just felt…well, driven. Bea and I talked about it…speculated. We do that, you know. Particularly in the cold months. There aren’t that many guests around and we like to get to know them. And there was something mysterious about Iris. Bea thought…’ The woman glanced behind her and lowered her voice. ‘She thought that your friend might be a film star travelling incognito. Trying to evade the limelight. Particularly after that chauffeur came to collect her. Uniform and all.’
‘Chauffeur? But Isa… Iris drove here.’
Pippa refilled their cups. ‘Are you sure? We have room for a few cars round the side and hers wasn’t there. I guess she could have used the public car park. I have to tell you I was sorry to see her go. I thought we might take care of her for a bit. We like doing that and I felt she needed it.’
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