A Question of Identity (16 page)

‘She didn't tell me that!' William exclaimed.

‘It was after you'd phoned, but you'd aroused her curiosity and she asked the woman if she knew why it had closed. The guest thought alcohol was involved.'

William shook his head impatiently. ‘That won't wash. It could only have been among the senior girls, and surely wouldn't have necessitated closing the entire school.'

‘That's what Mrs Temple said. The guest was going to look up old photo albums, but hadn't got back to her.' She turned to Glenda. ‘Had your mother any other photos that might help?'

‘None that covered that period. She seems to have . . . obliterated all traces of it.' She hesitated. ‘Might it be possible to speak to this hotel guest?'

‘I was wondering that. Mrs Temple's unlikely to hand out addresses or phone numbers, but she might agree to ask her to phone me. It's worth a try. She might also remember your mother. What was her maiden name?'

‘Cowley,' Glenda supplied. ‘Patricia Cowley, known as Trish.'

‘Have you a photo of her at about that time? It might help to jog people's memories.'

‘There's one of her graduation; she wouldn't have changed much between then and '51. I'll look it out for you.'

Talk continued for another half-hour or so, but nothing constructive emerged. As they were leaving, Rona handed back the photograph, apologizing for having kept it so long.

‘But won't you need it, to show people?' Glenda asked.

‘I made a copy,' Rona told her. ‘I hope you don't mind; I didn't want anything to happen to the original.'

‘That's fine, and here's the diary in exchange. Let me know how you get on with it.'

‘Are you going to book group on Thursday?' Lindsey asked William, as he helped her on with her jacket. ‘It's the day before Good Friday.'

‘Yes, I'll be there. We're not going away for Easter – the boys are coming to us.'

‘Your sons?' Rona asked Glenda.

‘Yes; they're both at university now. It will be lovely to have them home, though we probably shan't see much of them!'

Moving towards the front door, either William or Lindsey said something in a low voice that Rona didn't catch, and they both laughed. Then the door was open, they were saying goodbye and walking back down the path.

‘Marks out of ten?' Lindsey asked casually, as she started the car.

‘What?'

‘William. Marks out of ten?'

‘The thought never crossed my mind.'

‘Oh, don't be stuffy! He's rather sexy, isn't he? We keep catching each other's eye at book group, which adds a bit of zing.'

A discomfiting suspicion crossed Rona's mind. ‘Is that by any chance why you dragged me into this? To give you an excuse to meet more often?'

Lindsey's only reply was a low laugh.

‘Linz, he's a married man with a charming wife and two grown-up sons!'

‘I always did like older men,' Lindsey remarked, doing a three-point turn and negotiating the corner into Deans Crescent North.

‘Even if they belong to someone else?

‘I have to have a man in my life,' Lindsey said defensively. ‘You know that.'

‘You're hardly on the shelf! Until last week you had Dominic!'

‘I told you, he's finito. Still, William's not my only option; Hugh would come running if I snapped my fingers and probably Jonathan too.' (Jonathan Hurst was a fellow partner at Chase Mortimer, with whom Lindsay had had a brief relationship.) ‘That would show Dominic, wouldn't it?'

‘At what price?' Rona asked heatedly. ‘You'd drop either of them if something better came up and you know it. Don't you care who you hurt?'

‘All's fair in love and war,' Lindsey declared smugly.

Rona, defeated, took refuge in silence. Sometimes, she thought, talking to her twin was almost like talking to herself. And at other times it wasn't.

The next morning Rona was impatient to speak to both her mother and Magda, but was forced to contain herself. Avril would be working at the library till lunchtime and Magda, out at one of her boutiques, would be virtually incommunicado all day. She did, however, phone Springfield Lodge and extracted a promise from Mrs Temple to contact the lady in question, a Mrs Grayson.

‘She hasn't come back to me,' Beryl Temple said ruefully. ‘She's probably forgotten all about it, but if she
does
find any photos of when the Lodge was a school I'd be most grateful for a copy for our records. Perhaps you'd remind her of that.'

Rona promised to do so, hopeful that Mrs Grayson might be more reliable in phoning her back than she'd been in contacting Mrs Temple. To her considerable surprise, she did so within the hour.

‘Ms Parish? This is Heather Grayson. I hear from Springfield Lodge that you'd like to speak to me about my time there?'

‘Oh, Mrs Grayson, thank you so much for phoning. Yes, indeed I should, if you wouldn't mind.'

‘I gather from the manageress that you're a writer?'

Bypassing Beryl Temple's demotion, Rona replied, ‘I am, yes, but I'm wearing another hat at the moment.'

‘Something about a photograph, I believe?'

‘That's right. There's someone I'm quite anxious to identify, and wonder if you could help. Have you any photos yourself of your time there?'

‘Oh yes, quite a few. I meant to look them out when I got back from Marsborough but never got round to it. You're most welcome to see them, if you'd care to?'

‘I should indeed.' Rona was curious to know the dates Mrs Grayson was at the school, but as it would equate to asking her age, she decided against it. ‘I don't know where you live?'

‘Lincoln,' Heather Grayson replied. ‘Quite a drive, just to look at a few photographs. And it takes much the same time by train – between two and three hours, with the added disadvantage that you'd have to get to King's Cross first, making the journey even longer.'

‘I've never been to Lincoln,' Rona said thoughtfully. ‘Perhaps I could persuade my husband to come with me and make a weekend of it.'

‘That would be an excellent solution. I could be available on Saturday afternoon, if that would help? Oh, but it's Easter, isn't it? You probably have family commitments.'

‘Actually no, but perhaps you have?'

‘No, we've nothing planned. Well then, if you're prepared to face the holiday traffic let's go ahead. If you've got satnav, I'll give you our post code.'

Rona made a note of it, and after fixing the appointment for two thirty on Saturday she rang off and clicked on Max's number. ‘How would you like to spend Easter weekend in Lincoln?' she asked.

‘Lincoln? What brought that on?'

‘There's a lady who's going to look out some photos of Springfield Lodge,' Rona said. ‘I'm also hoping she might have some answers to the puzzles I mentioned last night.'

‘So you're on the trail of the blacked-out photograph? What about your resolve to keep your head down on the bio?'

‘I think I've earned a break. You heard Barnie's views on the subject.'

Max gave a short laugh. ‘He's trying to inveigle an article out of you, that's all.'

‘Well, whether or not there's one in it, I'm hooked now. As you know I can't resist a mystery. So: how about Lincoln? You've never been, have you?'

‘No, and I admit I'd like to see it, but you'll have a job finding anywhere to stay on a holiday weekend.'

‘Oh, I'll manage. Speak to you later.'

In fact, she had to try six hotels before she was successful, and then only because they'd had a cancellation. It wasn't as central as she'd hoped, but by that stage, she would have settled for anything within a five-mile radius.

Right, she thought with satisfaction; the first steps on the ‘trail', as Max termed it, had been taken.

At one o'clock, Rona phoned her mother. ‘Mum, are you still in touch with Kitty Little?' she began at once.

There was a surprised pause, then: ‘Good heavens, where did that question spring from? Ah, wait a minute: you're still on about that school.'

‘That's right. We've got a bit further, and we now have a possible name for the person blotted out on the photo, but I need to speak to someone who can confirm it.'

‘Well, Kitty certainly couldn't. She was barely five when the school closed.'

‘But perhaps her sisters could. You
are
still in touch, aren't you?'

‘Only by Christmas card, but I have her address. Hold on, I'll get it for you.'

Moments later she was back. ‘Here we are. And she's not Kitty Little any more; her married name's Mason. Do you want her address or just the phone number?'

‘The number would be fine.' Rona wrote it down. ‘You're a star, Mum. Thanks.'

‘Let me know how you get on.'

‘I will. How's Sarah, by the way? Is the little boy back at school?'

‘No, the grandparents thought it would be too traumatic for him. Sarah disagrees; she thinks he needs a familiar routine surrounded by people he knows, but there you go.'

‘And they still haven't found the father?'

‘No, the hunt's widened to the Continent apparently. I hope to goodness it won't be one of those cases that are never solved.'

‘But surely the police must suspect him?'

‘No doubt, but they still have to find and charge him.'

Which, Rona reflected glumly, they didn't seem any closer to achieving.

Kitty Mason was not answering her phone, and Rona resigned herself to spending the afternoon making notes on what had been discussed the previous evening. Though she was impatient to start on Trish Cowley's diary, she wanted to read it all in one session and had set the next day aside for doing so, intending to be as well informed as possible by the time she met Heather Grayson at the weekend.

Then at last it was six o'clock, and though Kitty was still not picking up, it was time to phone Magda.

‘Hi, it's me!' she said breezily when her friend answered. ‘Sorry not to have been in touch.'

‘Why? We didn't arrange anything, did we?' Magda's tone was dismissive and Rona was taken aback.

‘No, but I was . . . wondering how you are?'

‘Fine. Why wouldn't I be?'

Rona frowned, made herself ask calmly, ‘What about those dreams? Are you still having them?'

There was a slight pause, then Magda laughed lightly. ‘Oh, the dreams. No, that was just a phase. As Gavin said, I must have been eating too much cheese!'

Rebuffed but still concerned, Rona persisted. ‘And the “memories” you spoke of?'

‘Imagination run riot! Sorry to have troubled you with them, but they're over now. Look, Rona, you'll have to excuse me; I've some things to get through before Gavin comes home.'

‘Right.'

‘Thanks for phoning,' Magda said briskly, and rang off.

Slowly, Rona put down the phone. She'd been made to feel intrusive, when it was Magda who had come to her with her troubles. And though she now declared they were in the past, Rona was far from convinced. Something was still very definitely not right. She just wished she could pinpoint what it was.

T
rish Cowley's diary wasn't particularly illuminating. As Glenda had said, a lot of space was taken up by recounting talks between herself and Susie about ‘Andrew', Susie's boyfriend, and what they'd done when she visited him in London at the weekends. At one point Trish had written, ‘Was horrified when Susie admitted she'd actually slept with him!!!'

Rona smiled to herself. How times had changed!

Trish had met the famous Andrew during the Easter holidays and did not appear impressed: ‘He's quite good-looking, I suppose, but older than I expected and seems rather arrogant. It didn't help that Susie was absolutely fawning on him. I tried to suggest afterwards that she tone it down a bit, but she nearly bit my head off.'

Hardly surprising, Rona felt, though as more talks about Andrew were detailed, she found herself sharing Trish's dislike. Whether or not the arguments began because of her criticism, they seemed to grow in intensity, particularly by the end of the summer term, and as Glenda had said, they'd not met at all during the long summer holidays.

By the following term, the tone of Trish's diary had changed and was no longer light-hearted; long talks (unspecified) frequently ended with Susie storming out of the room. Trish repeatedly wrote of her worry about her friend, about her refusing to listen, about her getting out of her depth, but frustratingly never said in what context. And the abrupt cessation of writing, midweek and mid-term, remained unexplained.

In all, having gone through the diary, Rona was none the wiser as to why it came to such a sudden end, or why the school had closed at the end of that term. She could only hope Heather Grayson would throw some light on it when they met at the weekend.

As she entered Debra Stacey's sitting room for the book group meeting, Lindsey was wondering if, after their time together on Monday evening, there'd be any change in William's attitude. Though she'd told Rona they kept catching each other's eye – a confidence she almost immediately regretted – she knew that in truth he also flirted – if that was the word – with other ladies in the group, and, she suspected, with any woman he came in contact with. It was all a part of his easy charm and not meant to be taken seriously. Having met his wife and seen them together, she was pretty sure he'd run a mile if she attempted to take their acquaintance any further. A pity, but it looked as though she'd have to eliminate him from her list of possibilities. Which left Hugh and Jonathan.

William did, however, come straight over on his arrival, holding out an envelope. ‘Glenda asked me to give you this,' he said. ‘It's Trish's graduation photo; I believe Rona asked for it. Would you mind passing it on to her?'