A Question of Identity (18 page)

She opened it on the coffee table and Rona, gently removing the cat, moved closer to look over her shoulder. It seemed Heather had been an enthusiastic photographer; there were several pages of sports teams, some of which featured herself, looking very young but instantly recognizable, and some informal snaps of girls lying on the grass, chatting or reading. Then she turned a page, and they were looking at almost the replica of Trish's photo. A different House formed the background – Gaskell, presumably – and there was, of course, a different set of faces, Heather's among them, but the format was identical, with the rows of girls and seated staff.

‘Were photos taken at the end of each year?' Rona asked, noting that this was dated 1950.

‘Yes; there must be a later one somewhere. There's Miss Cowley, look; she was affiliated to us.' And Rona, searching along the row of seated staff, recognized the now-familiar face.

As another page was turned, several snaps that either hadn't been stuck in or had come unstuck slid out, among them some taken of the interior of the Lodge, identified on their backs as ‘Lower Hall', ‘Cassie in the Art Studio', ‘Class 3b', and so on.

‘Mrs Temple would love some of these, if you could spare any,' Rona said, remembering her promise. ‘She's building up a pictorial record, and though she has several ghastly pictures of how the Lodge looked as a nursing home, she hasn't any of its school period.'

‘Feel free to take them,' Heather said, ‘I have masses more. It was an odd sensation,' she added reflectively, ‘going back there last month. My husband had a bowls tournament in Marsborough and I decided to go with him, to look round old haunts. I'd no idea Springfield was now a hotel, but when we searched on line for somewhere to stay, there it was!'

Apart from the prints, which Rona gratefully gathered up, the album had yielded little new information, and Heather left her turning the last few pages and went to make the tea. Gradually, things were falling into place, and although there were still a lot of unanswered questions, Rona suspected that her hostess had now supplied as many answers as she was able.

‘A worthwhile visit?' Max enquired, as, having collected her, he drove back towards the town.

‘Oh, definitely.'

‘She identified the blob?'

‘Sadly not. Next stop Maureen Little, if I can run her to earth. Believe it or not, she's actually on Trish's photo, so I'm hoping she has an unblemished copy.'

‘And hasn't thrown it away years ago,' Max said.

L
indsey was preparing for her evening with Hugh when her mother phoned.

‘Have you heard?' she demanded excitedly. ‘The police have arrested someone for the Coombes murder!'

Lindsey tucked the phone between ear and shoulder and continued with her mascara. ‘The husband, you mean?'

‘No, that's what's so surprising! They're not identifying him at this stage, but word has it he's a “friend of the family”, who called at the house that evening while Kevin was out. Sarah feels quite vindicated – she was always sure it wasn't him.'

‘Then why did he run off with the children?' Lindsey asked.

‘I don't know – he must have had his reasons. Perhaps to protect them?' She paused. ‘Do you know where Rona is? I rang to tell her but got the answerphone and her mobile's switched off.'

‘She and Max are in Lincoln for the weekend.' Lindsey leant towards the mirror to apply lipstick.

‘Lincoln? What on earth for?'

‘Something to do with this photograph. Look, Mum, I'd love to chat, but I'm due out in twenty minutes. Can I ring you back later?'

‘Going somewhere nice?' Avril enquired.

‘For a meal, I'm not sure where.'

‘Ah! Dominic?'

‘No, Mum, not Dominic.' Having no intention of revealing the identity of her companion, she repeated quickly, ‘I really must go. Have a good evening, and I'll phone tomorrow.' And she broke the connection.

She was aware of anticipation as she ran down to open the door to Hugh. She'd taken extra care with her appearance, discarding several outfits before settling on a designer dress and jacket in soft gold wool that clung in all the right places and kindled gold flecks in her eyes.

‘Hi!' she greeted him gaily.

‘Lindsey.' He kissed her cheek but his eyes were guarded, and, unusually, he did not comment on her appearance.

‘Long time no see,' she added, keeping her tone light.

‘You've been otherwise occupied,' he said.

It seemed wise to let that pass, and since both his responses had been on the curt side she determined to leave it to him to speak first. However, when, on emerging from the cul-de-sac where she lived, he turned to the right rather than left towards the town, curiosity overcame her resolve and she asked where they were going.

‘A new place has opened in Nettleton,' he replied, his eyes on the road. ‘I'm interested to try it out.'

‘Competition for the Deer Park?'

‘Quite possibly.'

Still monosyllabic. Lindsey lapsed into silence, content to let things take their course. They hadn't, after all, seen each other since October, when she'd invited him to take any items he'd like from her flat before she disposed of them. Afterwards they'd gone for a pub meal, and though the atmosphere between them was, as always, charged with sexual tension, they'd been as relaxed with each other as it was possible to be. This time, with Dominic no longer on the scene, she was hoping for more.

Conversation remained sparse throughout the journey, and by the time they reached Nettleton it was starting to get dark. Hugh slowed down, uncertain as to the exact location of the restaurant, but its brightly lit frontage provided a beacon, and as they went inside, Lindsey saw that most of the tables were already occupied.

‘Seems popular,' she remarked.

‘It's one of the few places open on a Sunday. I took the precaution of booking a table.'

Had he, she wondered, specified a corner one, secluded from the main area? Apparently not; the table they were led to was in the centre of the room, past which waiters continually hurried on their way to and from the kitchen. The noise level was also fairly high, making it difficult to hear what the other was saying. All in all, it hardly seemed destined to be a romantic evening.

On the plus side, the menu was imaginative and the food good, and Lindsey decided to make the best of it, consoling herself with the thought of the twenty-minute drive home and her waiting flat. Meanwhile, across the table, she surreptitiously studied her ex-husband. He still seemed somewhat reserved, as though holding himself in check, and she wished futilely that the surrounding ambience was more conducive to a tête-à-tête.

‘I hear they've arrested someone for the Belmont murder,' she said, aware, for the first time between them, of having to make conversation.

‘Oh? I hadn't heard. They've found him, then?'

‘Not the husband, a friend of the family.'

‘Ah. Well, it's good to know the husband isn't always the black sheep.'

She glanced quickly at him, but his face gave no hint of hidden meaning.

‘Is Rona involved?' he asked after a minute.

‘No, but Sarah, my soon-to-be-stepsister, is, so she's keeping up the family tradition. It was she and her boyfriend who found the body.'

‘
Plus ça change
,' Hugh said, and, finally submerged in the surrounding noise, the conversation withered and died.

‘Well?' Lindsey challenged, as their dessert was served. ‘Has it come up to your expectations?'

‘I'm not sure I had any. You wanted a meal out, this was somewhere new, I decided to give it a try.'

Feeling he was putting the onus for any shortcomings on her, Lindsey said tartly, ‘And it has the advantage of being far enough away for no one to recognize us.'

He raised an eyebrow. ‘Would that have been a problem?'

‘Not for me, but your new girlfriend might not be too happy.'

‘Oh, she knows about this evening,' Hugh said calmly. ‘She was with me when you phoned.'

Lindsey stared at him.
He was here
with that woman's permission!
Damn, damn, damn! She pushed her plate away, belatedly aware that the gesture was petulant. ‘That's all right, then,' she said tightly.

Then they were in the car driving home, and Lindsey's frustration was building. She'd been so sure the evening would end with them making love; now, this seemed highly unlikely. Though perfectly polite, Hugh had kept her at arm's length and such talk as they'd been able to conduct above the general hubbub had been depressingly impersonal.

He had switched on the car radio, possibly to lessen the need for conversation, and the romantic late-night music seemed a mockery. Damn it, she wanted him, and she was perfectly sure he wanted her too, though he seemed determined to deny it. Was this all down to the redhead Rona had seen him with? Could it possibly be that their relationship was serious? Lindsey had always been confident that, divorce or not, Hugh was there for her whenever she needed him – a fact of which she'd made use more than once over the last year or two. Why, she wondered miserably, had he agreed to this evening, if he hadn't meant to take advantage of it?

He turned into the wide gravel space outside the flats, switched off the engine, and, ever the gentleman, came round to open her door.

‘Will you come in for a coffee?' she asked. ‘You've not seen the flat since it was redecorated.'

‘It's rather late; I'd better be getting back. Another time, perhaps.'

‘Tomorrow's a holiday,' she reminded him, trying to keep the pleading out of her voice, but he shook his head.

‘Then all I can say is, thank you for the meal.'

‘A pleasure,' he said neutrally.

She hesitated briefly, then reached up and kissed him on the mouth. He didn't respond, though she felt a tremor go through him.

‘Good night, Hugh,' she said, and letting herself into the flat, ran up the stairs and flung herself on the bed in a storm of tears.

Those tears might have been less bitter had she known that as she shut the door, Hugh rested both hands on the roof of the car and bent his head, drawing in several laboured breaths. It was some minutes before he slowly straightened, walked round to the driver's side, and drove away.

It was Tuesday morning before Rona was able at last to reach Kitty Mason, who, it transpired, had been away, and then it took some time to explain who she was.

‘Oh!' Kitty exclaimed finally. ‘Avril Beecham's daughter! The writer! How nice to hear from you, dear.' Then, anxiety creeping into her voice, ‘Avril's quite well, I hope?'

‘Oh yes,' Rona hastened to reassure her, ‘never better!' And realized, with slight resentment on her father's behalf, that she spoke no less than the truth. ‘She sends her regards, by the way.'

‘We used to be in regular contact,' Kitty said regretfully, ‘but over the last few years it's become more sporadic – down to Christmas cards, in fact. It would be good to meet again. Now, how can I help you?'

‘It's all rather involved, but I've been asked to find out about Springfield Lodge School for Girls, and Mum says your sisters went there.'

‘Heavens, you're going back a bit, aren't you? Yes, they did.'

‘Were they both there when it closed down?'

‘Bridget had left the previous year, but Mo was – about to take her O-levels, in fact.'

‘I believe it caused a lot of talk?'

‘Oh, there was plenty of gossip at the time, but with hindsight it was probably the proverbial molehill.'

Rona hesitated. ‘Do you think Maureen would mind speaking to me about it?'

‘I doubt if it would do much good; she won't have anything new to say, and she never believed the rumours in the first place. Why the sudden interest, if I may ask?'

‘A friend of my sister's found a photograph belonging to her mother, who'd been on the staff, and someone in it had been vigorously blacked out. She – the friend – is anxious to know who and why.'

‘Does it matter, after all this time?'

‘Her mother was very upset when she saw it again, years later.' Rona paused. ‘And I've just discovered your sister's on the same photo, so with luck she can tell us who it was.'

‘Ah! Well, there she might be able to help. Hold on while I look up the number.' There was a thump as the phone was put down, and the sound of a drawer being opened. Then Kitty came back on the line. ‘Her husband died last year,' she said, ‘and she moved to Somerset to live with Bridget, who's also widowed. Personally, I can't see it working; they've fought like cat and dog ever since they were girls. Still, it was their decision. Have you a pen handy?'

Rona took down the number. ‘Thanks so much. If you could tell me her married name, I'll give her a ring?'

‘O'Connell,' Kitty supplied. ‘Let me know what happens; it sounds quite intriguing!'

The call ended with Kitty sending best wishes to Avril and promising to contact her. ‘We were each other's bridesmaids,' she said.

‘Mrs O'Connell?'

‘Speaking.'

Rona went through the routine of introducing herself and explaining what she wanted. ‘It would be wonderful if you could identify who it was,' she ended.

‘A photo dated 1951? My goodness, I should certainly have to wrack my brains!'

Rona crossed her fingers. ‘I was wondering if you might have a copy yourself?'

‘Oh, I very much doubt it, my dear! We moved a lot during our married life, and my husband was always getting rid of what he called clutter. I know I threw out a lot of old albums when we downsized, as they say.'

Probably too much to have hoped for, Rona thought philosophically. ‘Well, even if you haven't a copy, if you saw mine you might be able to tell who was missing.'