A Question of Identity (19 page)

‘I might,' Maureen O'Connell conceded doubtfully, ‘but it's a very long time ago.'

Rona considered asking if she remembered Trish Cowley or Susie Baines, but decided to wait till they met. ‘Would it be all right if I came down to see you? Quite apart from the photo, I'd be interested to hear what you remember about the school.'

‘You'd be welcome, of course, but it's a long way to come on the off-chance.'

‘It shouldn't take much more than a couple of hours, and I'd really like to meet you.'

‘Very well, if you feel it's worth it. We can at least give you lunch. I'm living with my sister now, as Kitty might have told you. She was at Springfield, too.'

‘Oh, please don't go to any trouble. I—'

‘Nonsense; you have to eat, and so do we. Now, I can't manage tomorrow, but Thursday would be all right, if that suits you?'

Arrangements were made, the address given, and at last Rona, putting down the phone, felt she was getting somewhere. Whether or not her optimism was misplaced, she would shortly find out.

Having done her shopping the next morning, Rona paused on the corner of Guild Street and Fullers Walk, her carrier bag heavy in her hand. Gus, surprised at the unexpected halt, looked up enquiringly, and when she made no move sat down on the pavement.

The truth was, she was in no hurry to go home. Earlier that morning her editor, Prue Granger, had phoned.

‘No pressure!' she'd said cheerfully, instantly creating it. ‘Just wondered how the magnum opus is progressing?'

Almost, Rona thought guiltily, as though she knew it had been temporarily shelved.

‘A bit in the doldrums,' she confessed. ‘It's pretty routine at the moment, reading through diaries, checking lists and so on.'

‘Boring?' enquired Prue astutely.

‘A little,' Rona admitted. ‘Actually, I thought I might have a week or two's break, so that when I come back to it, I can look at it with fresh eyes.'

‘Fine, as long as it really is only a week or two. Any longer, and you might lose the will to continue!'

So – decision time. She could either go home, have a snack lunch, and incarcerate herself in her study, or she could give in to temptation and go to the Gallery for one of their deliciously fluffy omelettes, with garlic bread on the side. And to be logical, it wasn't worth spending time trying to break the work block, when tomorrow would be spent visiting Maureen O'Connell. No contest, really.

She turned, tugging gently at the lead, and walked back along Guild Street to the wrought-iron steps leading up to the Gallery.

As usual, the café was fairly busy, and she was hesitating in the doorway when she heard her name called, and turned to see Gavin waving to her. He rose as she made her way over to join him. ‘I've just arrived myself, and was lucky enough to nab this table as someone was leaving.' He pulled out her chair. ‘How are you?'

‘Fine, thanks.' Rona sat down and Gus, used to the routine, made his way under the table, nudging their feet as he settled down. ‘Actually, I'm playing hooky. I should be slaving over a hot computer.'

‘And I should be eating sandwiches at my desk, but I rebelled. I needed a change of scene, and this is as good a scene as any.'

The waitress stopped at their table and they gave their orders.

As she moved away, Rona said carefully, ‘You know that after you said you were worried about Magda, I had lunch with her, and she admitted to having worries herself?'

Gavin nodded, his eyes intent on hers.

‘Well, I phoned the other day to see how things were and she insisted everything had been exaggerated, she'd stopped having the dreams and all was well.'

Gavin toyed with his knife, not meeting her eyes.

‘So is there nothing to worry about after all?' Rona prompted.

‘I wouldn't exactly say that.' He paused. ‘Did she tell you
how
the dreams stopped?'

Rona looked puzzled. ‘No?'

‘It happened soon after I saw you and it was pretty terrifying, I can tell you. She'd gone to bed early with a headache, and I'd just come into the bedroom when she suddenly sat up and let out a piercing shriek. Honestly Rona, it was . . . primeval, raising the hairs on the back of my neck. I rushed over and tried to catch hold of her, but she threw me off, twisting first one way, then the other and shouting, “No! No! No!”'

Rona stared at him, wide-eyed, and after drawing a deep breath he continued.

‘When I finally shook her awake, she looked at me blankly, as though she'd no idea who I was. Then she said in a whisper, “Oh God! Oh my God!” and started to cry as though her heart would break. I held her, rocking her backwards and forwards and stroking her back, but she went on and on sobbing till I began to wonder if she'd ever stop. Eventually she fell asleep in my arms from sheer exhaustion. I laid her back on the pillow, crept in beside her, and lay awake for a long time in case she woke again, but she didn't.'

‘So – what happened in the morning?'

‘She had a raging headache and was white as a sheet. She didn't protest when I said she should stay in bed, which was unheard of in itself. But when I asked if it had been a particularly bad dream the previous night, she insisted she hadn't dreamt at all, and became very upset when I pressed her.'

‘She didn't remember crying and everything?' Rona asked incredulously.

‘It seemed not,' Gavin said heavily. ‘If I believed all that psychobabble, I'd say that either she was in denial, or the trauma had been so severe her mind had blanked it out. On the other hand, she might have crossed the border between nightmare and night terror, which is much more frightening and, unlike a dream, you've no memory of it when you wake up.'

He drank from his glass while Rona tried to think of something to say.

‘In any event,' he continued, ‘apart from insisting the dreams have stopped, she's refused to talk about it, though every now and again I see an expression on her face that's . . . I don't know, the only way I can describe it is –
frightened
. I've begged her to go and see the doctor, but of course she refuses. God help me, I've been afraid she might try to harm herself.'

‘Oh, Gavin!' After a moment Rona moistened her lips. ‘And . . . now?'

He shrugged. ‘She's still withdrawn, and, as I said, refusing to talk about either the dreams or the false memories. It's as though she's completely wiped them from her mind. Otherwise, I suppose things have more or less teetered back to normal.'

Their lunch arrived, Rona's omelette and Gavin's Cornish pasty, and they began to eat in silence, both thinking over what he'd said. Eventually Gavin looked up with an awkward smile.

‘Sorry about landing you with all that,' he said. ‘I wouldn't – couldn't – have told anyone else – it would have seemed a betrayal somehow – but you've been in on it from the beginning, and you know Magda better than most.'

‘I just wish there was something I could do.'

‘Tell you what: she was saying a while back that we must have you and Max over for a meal. Suppose I get her to arrange this, and you can see what you think? Apart from anything else, it would do her good to have something other than work on her mind.'

‘Far be it from me to turn down a dinner invitation!'

‘Fine, I'll organize it.' He hesitated. ‘How much does Max know about all this?'

‘Most of it.'

He nodded. ‘Fair enough. Right, now let's talk about something more cheerful. Are you still bedded down in your bio?'

‘I should be, but I've allowed myself to be distracted this last week or so.' And she went on to tell him about the photograph and the lines she was following in an attempt to solve the mystery. ‘The people involved live just along the road from you – the Stirlings. Do you know them?'

‘Only to say good morning to. It all sounds very interesting; you can give me an update when you come to dinner!'

‘I might even have the answer by then!' Rona said.

There was a message on her answerphone when she returned from lunch, Beryl Temple thanking her profusely for the photographs of the school that she'd received in the morning's post.

‘It fills in quite a few gaps for us,' she said. ‘I'll drop a line to Mrs Grayson, of course, but I'm so grateful to you for reminding her about them.'

One satisfied customer, at least, Rona thought.

Lindsey sat in her office, staring moodily at her computer screen. What was
wrong
with her? she thought dejectedly. Other women could function perfectly adequately without a man in their lives; why couldn't she? Why did her current relationship, whoever it happened to be with, colour her whole existence, make it worth getting up for in the morning, lie comfortingly at the back of her mind all day?

‘William's not my only option,' she'd said cockily to Rona; ‘Hugh would come running if I snapped my fingers and probably Jonathan too'. The words came back to haunt her. Well, pride went before a fall; William had turned out to be a non-starter, and – worse – so had Hugh, her erstwhile prop. Which left only Jonathan, and he'd been openly hostile since she'd switched from him to Dominic last summer – an attitude that had not gone unnoticed in the firm of which they were both partners. If she
did
revert to him, Rona would probably refuse to speak to her; she'd always been critical of the fact that Jonathan was married, more particularly since meeting his wife at a Christmas party. But damn it, if a woman couldn't hold on to her man, it was hardly Lindsey's fault, was it?

She jumped as a ping informed her she had received an email, and, thankfully abandoning her reflections, she returned to work.

‘Jenny? It's Catherine.'

There was a momentary pause, then her daughter-in-law's voice. ‘Catherine, hello. How are you?'

‘Well, thank you. Did you enjoy your visit to your parents?'

‘To be honest, I was getting bored,' Jenny said frankly. ‘I'm no longer a country girl, if I ever was, and I missed Daniel.'

Was that final phrase intended to soften her? ‘I'm sure,' Catherine answered smoothly. ‘Well, it's over a month since I've seen you and Alice; I was wondering if you could all come over for the day on Saturday? Or have you other plans?'

‘No, I'm sure we haven't – we'd love to come. Alice has produced two new teeth since we saw you! They're at the back, so you can't see them, but they caused a bit of trouble coming through, poor pet.'

‘It does seem hard, doesn't it? Will you need to check with Daniel about Saturday?'

‘No, there's nothing in the diary, and I'm sure he'd love to see you.'

‘Fine; leave as early as you can, so we can have a nice, long day together.'

‘I've invited my family over for the day on Saturday,' Catherine said to Tom that evening. ‘I've not seen Alice for over a month, and apparently she has two new teeth!'

‘That'll be good,' Tom said easily. ‘Well, you won't want me at the reunion, so I'll take the chance of a game of golf.'

‘Tom, I didn't mean—'

He kissed her. ‘It's all right, sweetie, I quite understand. After all the worry over Daniel and Jenny, this will be your first chance to see them together. You need to be just a family, without any hangers-on.'

Catherine smiled. ‘You could never be a hanger-on!'

‘All the same, it will be better that way.'

She reached for his hand. ‘Another example of why I love you, Tom Parish!' she said.

R
ona set out for Somerset early on Thursday morning, and was glad to find the motorways reasonably quiet. It was still the school holidays, and a lot of people would be away. As directed, she turned off the M5 at Wellington and followed winding country roads to the village where the one-time Little sisters now lived.

It was clear from the first that Bridget intended to be present at the interview, though Maureen did all she could to dissuade her. ‘Rona wants to talk about that last term,' she pointed out, ‘and you weren't even
there.
'

‘All the same, I'm sure I have a better idea of what really happened. You were too close to it, and accepted what you were told.'

Maureen subsided with a tut of annoyance, and as the sisters fussed about seating arrangements, Rona was free to study them. Bridget, the elder, was small and stout, and her elaborate coiffure spoke of a weekly visit to the hairdresser. By contrast, Maureen's short hair was cut in a no-nonsense fringe. She was thinner than her sister, but her face was more lined and, though she tried, Rona found it hard to reconcile the woman before her with the girl in Heather Grayson's photograph. Unlike Heather herself, her contemporaries would have been hard put to recognize her.

‘So – where's this photo, then?' Maureen asked as Bridget, claiming hostess duties, brought in the coffee.

Rona produced it and Maureen took it eagerly, then, almost immediately, frowned. ‘Who did you say this belonged to?'

‘A member of staff; Trish Cowley.'

Maureen nodded. ‘I thought as much.'

‘Why?' Rona asked quickly, hopes rising.

‘Because she's the most likely to have blacked out Miss Baines.'

‘Blacked out?' Bridget echoed, and forsook the coffee pot to peer over her sister's shoulder. ‘Great heavens, is that who it is?'

‘You're sure it's Miss Baines under that ink blot?' Rona pressed.

‘Positive. That's me in the back row, and as you can see, she's sitting directly in front of me. I even remember it being taken, because she'd been giggling with Mr Crichton next to her, which had annoyed me.'

‘Why was Miss Cowley most likely to have blotted her out?'

‘Well, she wasn't even in Brontë; the only reason she'd have had it is because Bainesy was on it. Up to then, they'd been thick as thieves.'