A Question of Identity (2 page)

‘Everything seems in working order,' he commented, joining Rona at a window, where she stood looking down on the back garden. It, too, had been transformed. Small though it was, a built-in barbecue had been installed, along with some decking, and in one corner a pond was dug out, though not yet filled. All that remained of its previous existence was the apple tree, beneath which she had sat with Louise, drinking home-made lemonade.

She gave herself a shake, glancing quickly to her right, where, over the high wall, she had a view of their own garden, paved throughout and dotted with statues and containers of plants.

‘OK, duty done,' Max said. ‘Let's go home and have some supper.'

Rona nodded agreement, and, going ahead of him down the stairs, she sensed that a cloud had lifted. As Max had said, the ghosts were gone, and need never trouble her again.

Magda Ridgeway was the owner of eight boutiques spread around the county, and spent much of her time visiting fashion houses abroad. Her mailing-list contained an enviable number of famous names, and she'd recently introduced cafés into the larger boutiques, which, like most of her innovations, had proved an immediate success.

Now, she pushed her hair behind her ears with concealed impatience. Much as she loved her voluble, vivacious mother, she couldn't spare the time for a long phone call; a representative was due any minute, and she was only halfway through a final check of her requirements.

‘Mama,' she broke in tentatively, ‘I really—'

‘—colour, so rich and warm. It would sell well,
cara
, I—'

‘Mama, I'm sorry to interrupt, but I'm expecting someone. Can I call you back this evening?'

‘Oh.' Paola King, interrupted in midstream, paused. ‘I have the better idea,' she declared. ‘You and Gavin must come to supper – tomorrow. We haven't seen you for weeks.'

‘We'd love to, but not tomorrow. We're going to the theatre with Rona and Max.'

‘Ah, Rona! Give her my best love! What is it that you will see?'

Magda hesitated, anticipating her mother's disapproval. ‘Actually, he's a stage hypnotist. Just a bit of fun, really,' she added hastily.

‘A hypnotist?' Magda could hear the frown in her voice. ‘Is not good, meddling with people's minds
just for the fun
.'

‘Gavin says everyone taking part will be planted, anyway.' Magda's eyes were on the wall clock.

‘Planted?'

‘Part of the act. Look, Mama, I really must go. I'll phone you this evening.'

And, feeling guilty, she broke the connection.

An hour later, as she unpacked a delivery of dresses, Magda's thoughts returned to Rona, and she let her mind drift back through the years of their friendship. She'd never made friends easily, and had been a difficult, prickly child. No doubt this was due in part to having been transplanted from Italy at the age of ten, constantly aware of being
different –
a fact emphasized by the daily sight of Paola, blazing like a bird of paradise among the soberly clad mothers at the school gates.

But for some reason, ten-year-old Rona had befriended her, and from then on life had become easier. She acknowledged she could still be both caustic and astringent, qualities that had lost her a few friends over the years, though marriage to Gavin, coupled with a successful career, had largely mellowed her. But it was Rona, all those years ago, who had started the process, and Magda was accordingly grateful.

On the Friday morning, Rona's twin sister phoned.

‘A client's just cancelled,' she announced, ‘so I'm free for lunch. How about it?'

Lindsey was a partner in a firm of solicitors.

‘Sorry, no,' Rona said. ‘It's lunch at my desk till this chapter's finished.'

‘Oh, nonsense! A change of scene will refresh you – get the muse going. Anyway, I've something to show you.'

‘What?'

‘You'll have to meet me to find out!'

Rona sighed. ‘So much for willpower!'

‘Good girl! Twelve thirty at the Gallery?'

She glanced at her watch. Ten fifteen, which left her a good two hours to finish the passage she was working on.

‘I'll be there,' she said.

To Gus, Rona's golden retriever, the Gallery café was a second home, and he lolloped ahead of her up the wrought-iron staircase leading from the main shopping street to the walkway above.

Lindsey was awaiting her at a window table. ‘I'm going for cheese and onion quiche with side salad,' she greeted her, sliding the menu over as Rona, having guided the dog under the table, seated herself. ‘And miracle of miracles, the waitress approaches, so choose quickly. She passes this way but once.'

Their meal duly ordered, Rona glanced at her twin. ‘OK, so what do you want to show me?'

Lindsey reached for her handbag and extracted a badly creased black-and-white photograph, roughly six by four inches. ‘What do you make of this?'

Rona took it from her. ‘Well, obviously it's a school photo; professionally taken, I'd say, and judging by the clothes and hairstyles, pretty old.'

She smoothed out the creases, swiftly summarizing the details. The picture showed rows of uniformed girls standing obediently smiling, while in front of them, seated on chairs, was a line of adults, presumably staff. Smaller girls sat cross-legged on the grass at their feet, and in the background was a handsome doorway flanked by stone pillars, with a large window on either side. Rona's eyes returned to the staff, and she frowned.

‘Someone seems to have been blacked out,' she observed.

‘Exactly!' Lindsey said with satisfaction.

‘What do you mean,
exactly
? And why are you showing it to me? Where did you get it, anyway?'

‘Someone produced it at our book group last night, and asked if anyone could throw light on it.'

‘Presumably no one could, since you're now showing it to me.'

Lindsey looked at her despairingly. ‘Aren't you the slightest bit curious to know
who's
been blacked out, and why?'

‘Probably a teacher who gave too much homework?' Rona suggested.

Lindsey shook her head. ‘It's more than that. For one thing, it's not just the face that's been obliterated, it's the whole figure – you can't even tell if it's male or female. As though the aim was to eliminate every last trace.'

‘You're reading too much into it, Linz,' Rona protested.

When her twin didn't reply, she asked, with the first flicker of interest, ‘Who did you say it belonged to?'

‘The mother-in-law of one of our members. She died recently; his wife's been going through her things and came across it.'

‘Hadn't she seen it before, while her mother was alive?'

‘Yes, that's just it,' Lindsey said slowly. ‘She remembered coming across it years ago, at the bottom of a sewing box, of all places. But when she'd asked about it, her mother nearly passed out, snatched it out of her hand, and steadfastly refused to discuss it. Glenda – that's William's wife – assumed she'd destroyed it. She said finding it again gave her a creepy feeling – as though the photo still held unsettling memories.'

‘A little fanciful,' Rona commented. ‘And I still don't see why this – William – took it to your book group.'

‘He's been showing it to everyone, hoping someone might remember the school. Several in the group are in the right age bracket.'

Rona flipped it over. On the back, written in faded pencil, were the words ‘Springfield Lodge. July 1951.'

‘Isn't there a house of that name out your way?' she asked.

‘That's right; it's still there, but in the guise of a private hotel.'

‘
Did
any of the oldies remember it?'

‘Only vaguely. Someone thought it had closed down in the early fifties – rather suddenly, they seemed to remember. Which, in view of the date on the photo, might be significant, wouldn't you say?'

Rona tossed it lightly back to her. ‘Who knows? If you want to make a mystery out of it, fair enough, but I can't help you; I've never heard of the place.' She looked up suddenly, fixing her twin with a glare. ‘Wait a minute: how come
you've
got hold of it?'

Lindsey's eyes dropped, and she poured two glasses of water with exaggerated care.

‘
Linz!
'

‘Well,' Lindsey began diffidently, ‘you know how good you are at digging things out – your contacts, and so on. I just thought—'

‘I hope you're not telling me you volunteered my services?'

‘Not exactly, I just—'

‘Because if so, you can
un
volunteer them. Pronto.'

‘Oh come on, Ro! You don't want your detective skills to wither while you're bio-ing! This would keep them ticking over nicely!'

The waitress reappeared, and they sat in silence while she set down their plates. Then Rona said evenly, ‘As you well know, my
detective skills
, as you call them, have been greatly exaggerated. All I've done—'

‘Is solve a few murders!'

Rona made a dismissive gesture. ‘Quite apart from all that, I'm too tied up to take on anything else, even if I wanted to. Tell your friend to try Google.'

‘Oh, he has, but drew a complete blank. Hardly surprising, I suppose, when the school closed so long ago. He also tried Friends Reunited and other sites, but again with no luck. It's as though everyone who'd anything to do with Springfield prefers to forget the fact.'

‘Oh, come on! A more likely explanation is they're all getting on a bit. The youngest of those in the photo must be in their seventies.' Rona reached for the print, still lying on the table, and turned it to face her. ‘Obviously this isn't of the whole school, and since there's quite an age range, it can't be one class. A house photo, perhaps?'

‘You see!' Lindsey exclaimed triumphantly. ‘You've already come up with something!'

‘I can't see it's much help. How about the hotel owners? Has William contacted them?'

‘Yes, but without luck. After the school closed, it became a nursing home, and the present owners bought it from them.'

‘Then I'm sorry. He's already done anything I could do.' She raised a hand as Lindsey started to speak. ‘Really, Linz, I'm not interested, so can we please change the subject?'

For a moment Lindsey looked mutinous. Then, with a resigned sigh, she slid the photo back into her bag.

‘Any news of the parents?' Rona went on. ‘I've been so wrapped up working, I haven't spoken to either of them for a while.'

‘The big news is that Guy's house has been sold.'

Guy Lacey, who had previously lived in Stokely, had moved in with their mother earlier in the year, and put his own house on the market.

‘That's excellent!' Rona exclaimed. ‘Did he get the asking price?'

‘Very nearly. Mum says they'd been afraid, with the market as it is, that it could have hung on indefinitely.'

‘And Pops?' Rona asked after a moment.

‘I've not spoken to him recently.'

No surprise there, she thought; Lindsey had always been closer to their mother, particularly during the breakdown of their parents' marriage. Tom Parish was renting a flat in town, and when the divorce came through, intended to marry Catherine Bishop, a woman Lindsey still resented.

‘And Dominic?'

Lindsey's mouth tightened. ‘Nothing new on that front.'

‘Meaning?'

‘That he's being as bloody un-tie-downable as ever.'

Rona laughed. ‘That's the second word you've invented in as many minutes!'

Lindsey picked half-heartedly at her quiche. ‘Damn it, Ro, we've known each other for a year now, and we've never spent more than a couple of days together – and
that
was on the blasted boat, with his daughter.'

Rona said carefully, ‘Well, you did know what you were getting into.'

Dominic Frayne was a high-flying entrepreneur, twice divorced and with three grown-up children, whose name had been linked with several society women. Although Rona liked him, she was privately surprised that his relationship with her sister – on and off though it was – had lasted so long.

‘And talking of his daughter,' Lindsey went on indignantly, ‘when I suggested we might actually go on holiday together, he calmly announced he's taking Olivia and the boys to Cyprus for a month in the summer – a
month
! – and can't spare any more time off. Says it might be the last chance of a family holiday before Olivia gets married.'

‘You'll have to fall back on Hugh, then,' Rona said lightly. After an acrimonious divorce some years ago, Lindsey's ex-husband had tried repeatedly to re-establish their relationship, a fact that, during gaps in her love life, Lindsey had shamelessly exploited.

‘Not so sure he's available,' she replied. ‘According to gossip, he's been seen around town with a woman in tow.'

‘Really? Who?'

Lindsey shrugged. ‘No idea. Good luck to him.'

Despite her offhand manner, Rona suspected her sister regarded Hugh as her private property, and would resent any intruder in his affections. For whatever reason, she was quick to change the subject.

‘Doing anything this weekend?'

‘We're going to the Darcy this evening, with the Ridgeways. There's a hypnotist on, whom Magda's keen to see.'

‘Good grief! Doesn't sound like Max's scene!'

‘Nor mine, but it might be fun. We're eating at the Bacchus first.'

Lindsey helped herself to more salad. ‘Do you believe in all that ESP stuff?'

‘I don't think hypnotism comes in that category; isn't it accepted medical practice?'

‘Still weird, though. I shouldn't like anyone messing about with
my
mind.'