A man opened the flat door, his expression hard to read beneath his carefully-sculpted facial hair. He had a giant Tin Tin style quiff which Lydia couldn’t help admiring and he looked to be in his mid-twenties, at least. ‘Sash is through here.’ He led the way to a gigantic open plan space with stripped wooden flooring and light flooding through generously-proportioned windows. The walls were white, the light fittings copper and vaguely industrial-looking, and the oriental rug had probably cost more than Lydia’s car. Sasha was curled up on the white sofa, dressed head-to-toe in soft layers of dove grey cashmere and bamboo. She didn’t look like any teenager Lydia had previously known. But, then, the flat was like nothing she could imagine owning under the age of twenty. Scratch that, Lydia look around again, trying not let her jaw drop; the place wasn’t like anything she could imagine owning ever in her life.
‘Perry,’ Sasha said. ‘Be a darling and make some coffee.’ It wasn’t a question.
Perry ambled off and Sasha regarded Lydia from behind her fringe. She had long flaxen hair lying perfectly straight around her face, so the strands which fell into her eyes must have been there deliberately. Lydia didn’t think anything in this room would dare to be out of place. How old was this self-possessed, perfectly-presented human? It seemed impossible that she was nineteen like Madeleine. The rich truly were a breed apart.
She wasn’t, however, a member of any of the families, and Lydia couldn’t see a single spark of magic. Perhaps she was Madeleine’s ‘normal friend’ in the way that Emma was hers.
‘I’m here to talk to you about Madeleine. I’m her cousin.’
Sasha lifted her chin. ‘Do you have a name?’
‘Lydia Crow,’ Lydia said.
Sasha straightened a little. ‘Sit down, if you want.’
Lydia perched on the edge of a battered leather armchair. It looked as if it had been rescued from the library of a stately home but was probably brand new from Anthropologie.
‘When did you last hear from Madeleine?’
‘I’ve already been through all of this with Maddie’s uncle.’
‘I know,’ Lydia said, ‘but everyone is really worried. They’ve asked me to help.’
‘As I told Mr Crow, I haven’t seen Madeleine since the CSV event.’
‘And when was that?’ Lydia got out her phone to make notes and looked at it to hide her irritation. These were not state secrets.
Nothing. Lydia looked up. Sasha was gazing out of the window.
‘Sasha?’
Slowly, Sasha turned her head back to face Lydia. ‘Has nobody seen her?’
‘No,’ Lydia said. ‘We’re all really worried.’
Sasha pressed her lips together. ‘I didn’t think it would matter.’
Perry walked back in carrying a tray with two espresso cups. He put it down on the coffee table and made to sit on the sofa.
‘No.’ Sasha said and Perry straightened up immediately. He put one hand on his hip and frowned at her. ‘What has Perry done, now?’
Good grief. Talked about himself in the third person, for starters. Lydia had been feeling sorry for the hirsute man-child, but now she wasn’t so sure. They were both awful.
Sasha waited until Perry had left the room before indicating that Lydia should take a cup from the tray.
‘No, thank you.’ Lydia lowered her voice. ‘When did you last see Madeleine?’
‘We did go to the CSV event, but I told Mr Crow it was on the eleventh.’
Five days before she went missing. ‘When was it, really?’
‘Two months ago.’
She had the grace to look momentarily contrite. ‘I didn’t think it would matter. When Mr Crow asked, I thought he was going to find her later that day. She would, I don’t know, call or something. Or just turn up.’
‘It’s okay,’ Lydia said.
‘She’s really not the type to run away. That would take too much effort.’
Lydia put a little bit of steel into her voice. ‘What matters is that you’re telling the truth now.’
Sasha’s eyes widened. ‘Just a simple misunderstanding-’
‘Why did it happen? The misunderstanding?’
‘I didn’t want to say that I hadn’t seen Maddie. I didn’t know what she –’ Sasha broke off.
‘You didn’t know what she had told her parents and didn’t want to get her into trouble.’
Sasha nodded.
‘Is it normal for the two of you to go so long without contact?’
‘Oh, we’ve been in contact. I just haven’t seen seen her. You know?’
‘You’ve spoken?’
‘We’ve both been on Insta. She’s been liking my stuff.’
‘But you haven’t seen her or spoken to her. Not directly.’
‘She’s fine, you really don’t have to worry.’
‘I’m sure she is,’ Lydia said. ‘But I still have to find her. And you didn’t answer my question.’
‘Which one?’
‘Is it normal for you to go two months without seeing your best mate?’
Sasha shook her head. ‘Things have been a bit weird. We kind of fell out. She was so drunk at the CSV event, it was embarrassing.’
Lydia pulled a sympathetic face. ‘It was good of you not to tell Uncle Charlie, that. I know you’ve been protecting her, being a good friend.’
‘I have,’ Sasha straightened up for the first time. She leaned forward and picked up her espresso, taking a delicate sip. ‘We’re too old for that, now. It was a work thing and she was slurring and falling over. I was mortified.’
‘Your work thing or hers?’
‘Mine. You know she’s interning with Minty?’
Lydia smiled and nodded, channelling friendly compatriot with all her being. She even reached for the disgustingly strong coffee and pretended to drink.
‘Well, I’m there, too. Daddy got me in no problem because of my grades and on account of my previous experience, but he really had to call in a big favour for them to take Maddie as well. There isn’t quite as much for her to do, but it’s a golden opportunity for her. Not the sort of thing she’s likely to get ever again.’?
Lydia felt a spurt of sympathy for Madeleine. If this creature was her best friend, no wonder she had wanted to run away from her life. ‘So you argued? Was this on the night or after?’
Sasha put her cup down carefully. ‘Both. She wasn’t in a state to understand the gravity of the situation on the night.’
The phrase had a false ring. Maybe something which had been said to Sasha in the past and now she was enjoying the chance to use it about somebody else. ‘You called her the next day?’
Sasha pulled a face, either trying to remember, or working out how to phrase things to put herself in the best light. ‘I didn’t think she would be up to it the day after and I was busy. I do have a life, after all. It must have been on the weekend, a couple of days after. We were supposed to be doing lunch but I sent her a text.’
‘To cancel?’
Sasha nodded. ‘I said I was still upset with her and didn’t feel emotionally ready for IRL contact.’
‘She replied?’
‘No.’
‘Can I see the text?’
Sasha reared back like a pony. ‘No! I’m not showing you my phone.’
‘Fair enough,’ Lydia said. ‘If I give you my number, could you forward it to me?’
‘It’s private correspondence.’
Lydia was suddenly out of patience. ‘If you forward me the text and give me your solemn and binding word that you will notify me immediately if Madeleine gets in touch or you remember anything else whatsoever about the time before or after she disappeared, I will conveniently forget to inform Charlie Crow that you lied to him.’
There was a short silence while Sasha contemplated this generous offer. Sasha might not have magical lineage but she wasn’t stupid. She kept her eyes on Lydia and raised her voice to a piercing level. ‘Perry!’
The man-child appeared. Was he h
er lover, friend or butler? It was impossible to tell.
‘What is it, darling?’
‘Phone.’
‘Right-o.’
Once Perry had fetched an iPhone – the latest model, naturally, and Sasha had swiped at it with ill-concealed fury and forwarded on her less-measured-than-she-had-indicated text, Lydia took her leave of the unhappy tableau.
‘See her out,’ Sasha said and closed her eyes.
At the door, Perry seemed about to apologise for Sasha but then he just offered an oddly lack lustre, ‘Take care, now.’
* * *
Spoiled PR-wannabes, aside, Lydia wasn’t having the best day. The cleaning crew had done a frighteningly good job of smartening up The Fork and her hopes that Uncle Charlie had been telling the truth about ‘not really opening’ had hit rock bottom. The place smelled of bleach and fresh paint.
At least the place was empty and quiet for now. Lydia looked around and tried not to be impressed by the transformation. With the layer of grime removed, the original 1930s cream and black tiles which lined the walls looked suddenly charming, and the new red flooring brought the whole room to life. The windows were sparkling and the yellowed white nets had been replaced with a cheerful red gingham check. The glass-fronted counter had also been scrubbed clean. The shabby tables and chairs were the same but they now looked retro rather than rank.
The swing door to the kitchen opened and Lydia swore. ‘You scared me.’
Angel didn’t apologise or, in fact, acknowledge Lydia’s presence. She put down the pile of crockery she was carrying onto the large wooden buffet and disappeared back into the kitchen.
Lydia pulled the burner phone from her pocket and called Charlie. ‘What happened to ‘no renovations’?’
‘Lyds, sweetheart. You are a mind-reader.’
Lydia closed her eyes.
‘I was just thinking about you. Any news on Maddie?’
‘That’s not why I’m calling. The Fork. It’s been cleaned and decorated and Angel is cooking for the masses. You told me –’
Charlie interrupted. ‘How does it look?’
‘Brilliant,’ Lydia said, truthfully. ‘That’s not the point, though.’ Another thought crossed her mind. ‘And since when did the Pearls have shops in Camberwell?’
There was a beat of silence. ‘I told you things had changed.’
Chapter Eight
Lydia slipped her phone back into her pocket and ran up the stairs to her flat, trying to expend her nervous energy through the burn in her muscles. She was annoyed with herself for being annoyed with Charlie. She knew what he was like, so why was she surprised? It made her feel stupid, though, which in turn made her feel angry. And a bit frightened.
The ghost was hovering outside the door to her bedroom. Not in the sense of levitating, but in the sense of looking uncharacteristically nervous. ‘There you are,’ he said.
‘Here I am,’ Lydia agreed, edging past her non-corporeal house mate. She wasn’t in the mood for another bickering match.
‘Why are you here?’
Lydia took off her jacket and threw it over the chair she had brought up from downstairs for just that purpose, and began going through her clothes for something suitable to wear that evening. If she ignored the ghost, perhaps he would move out.
She felt cool air on her back, the hairs on her neck lifting.
‘Don’t you have a home of your own?’
‘I told you,’ Lydia said, glancing at the ghost. ‘I’m just crashing for a few days.’
He shifted and the movement made Lydia feel sick. She turned back to the mess of clothes on the bed. She really needed to get some drawers or something. Maybe a hanging rail. The thought brought her up short. She didn’t need furniture because she wasn’t staying.
‘I need to ask you something,’ the ghost said, his voice uncomfortably close and creepily breathy.
Lydia turned and looked him in the eye. ‘Are you going to tell me your name?’
He glanced away and didn’t answer.
‘Then, no. You are rude and I’m not going to answer your questions.’
The ghost looked miserable and Lydia felt a stab of guilt for being mean to the dead guy. He was already having a pretty bad day.
There. Her favourite ‘smart’ T-shirt. Black, like all her tops, but made from a silky material which draped nicely from the slash-neck. She sniffed it. Clean enough. ‘I’m going to get changed, so if you don’t mind...’ She looked over her shoulder, but the ghost had already gone.
* * *
Emma walked up to meet Lydia in a state of high excitement. ‘Look at the time! Look!’
It was almost ten and there was queue outside Club Foxy which they joined. ‘Thank you for coming,’ Lydia said.
‘Are you kidding? I’m usually comatose in front of my Downton boxset at this time of night. It’s tragic.’ Emma gestured at the queue of clubbers. ‘This is the most excitement I’ve had in months. Years, probably.’
‘When did you and Tom last go out together?’
Emma pulled a face. ‘On our own? God, I don’t know. Ages. New Year’s Eve, maybe?’
The gulf between their lives yawned between them. ‘You aren’t missing much,’ Lydia said quickly. ‘Trust me.’
‘I don’t want to be on the market,’ Emma said, as the queue shuffled forward. ‘It would just be nice to be part of couple sometimes, not just a cog in the parenting machine.’
A girl with black hair and a septum piercing turned around from her own friends and fixed Emma with a drunken smile. ‘You have babies? That is so cute. I love babies.’
Emma gave her a polite smile.
‘In you go, ladies.’ They had reached the front and the bouncer waved them in. They paid and the rabbity guy in the booth stamped Emma’s hand with a stylised fox head which made Lydia’s stomach turn. ‘I’m fine,’ she said, not offering her hand.
‘You gotta get a stamp.’
‘I’ll take my chances,’ Lydia said and wrenched open the black door.
Inside, they were hit by a wall of sound and heat. The bass was thumping and bodies gyrated on a tiny dance floor, which was lined on one side by a massive glittering bar and booth-style seating around the others. Stairs to their right led to the mezzanine level and Lydia could see men leaning on the railings above. The crowd was an odd mix and not the kind of place she would have put her rich young cousin. Reading the room she was relieved not to get a strong Fox vibe. Perhaps the name was a coincidence. It wasn’t as if they had a trademark on it, after all.
Lydia was still trying to convince herself that she wasn’t in the Foxes’ den when she spotted one. Paul Fox. He was leaning against the bar, near to where Emma was being served. Lydia had grabbed a spare booth and was guarding their seating. She watched as he lazily scanned the room. He had the same lithe body and animal magnetism that she remembered from their brief, ill-advised fling. It had been stupid. She had been stupid. Her aunt Daisy was wrong – she hadn’t been rebelling by going to Scotland, she had been trying to halt a far worse course of action. Paul Fox had been a very bad idea and she had known that the only way to break the spell he had over her was to put miles between them.
She tested herself, now, watching him. Was there any attraction there? Did she feel the old pull? The slim face was just as handsome, the curve of his aristocratic eyebrows and thin lips just as pleasingly arranged. Put him in a frilled shirt and breeches and he would fit right into a period drama. But she felt okay. No desire to walk up and climb him. With that thought, the image of DCI Fleet jumped into her mind. Now that was a man she could climb. He looked like he could hold her up with one arm which would leave the other hand free to...
Emma put two bottles of beer down on the table and Lydia blinked.
‘Twelve quid. Two beers, twelve quid. I was going to get us cocktails, to celebrate, but I would have needed a second mortgage.’
Emma’s voice was barely audible above the music, even though Lydia could tell she was s
houting. Lydia grabbed her beer and took a grateful swallow. Less lust, more investigating.
‘Cheers!’ Emma clinked her bottle against Lydia’s.
She scooched in close on the smooth seating so that she could speak directly into Emma’s ear. ‘My ex is at the bar. Don’t look.’
Too late, of course. Emma had done the thing that every single person in the entire history of human interaction has ever done when told not to look. She looked.
‘Yum.’
‘I know,’ Lydia said with feeling.
‘Was that the one you were seeing before –’
Lydia nodded.
‘Christ,’ Emma said and took a long pull on her beer. ‘You were a fucking mess.’
Lydia drank to avoid agreeing out loud. Emma was right and Lydia was mentally kicking herself for not preparing for this possibility. She realised that she had been kidding herself, thinking that she could come back to London and work a job for Charlie without encountering her old life. This so-called holiday back with in the bosom of her family had turned into so much more, and Lydia couldn’t help feeling that she had solved one problem by creating a much bigger one. Like trying to douse a fire with a glass of whisky.
She risked another glance, but Paul Fox had gone. A quick look around revealed that he was nowhere to be seen. Lydia put her head back and looked at the lights reflected by the gold-tinted mirrors which lined the walls. Thousands of golden-hued party-goers were drinking and dancing and shouting at one another. Lydia felt suddenly very tired. What was she doing here? What did she think she was going to find in London?
‘So,’ Emma put down her beer and leaned in close enough that Lydia could feel her breath on her cheek and smell Emma’s perfume. ‘What are we looking for?’
For a moment Lydia thought that Emma had added ‘mind-reader’ to her list of incredible qualities and then she realised that she meant in the practical sense. ‘I don’t know. Madeleine came here with a group of friends before she disappeared.’
‘Right before?’
The Night Raven Page 9
