A Question of Identity (28 page)

After twenty minutes or so, Magda veered left into a road signposted ‘Nestbourne 3 miles'. Rona glanced at her quickly but her face was taut and she didn't dare question her. Now, away from the heavy traffic, they were entering a residential district, rows of houses, a parade of shops, a school.

Suddenly, Magda drew in to the kerb and stopped the car.

‘Are we here?' Rona asked, looking quickly about her, her heart in her throat.

Magda shook her head. ‘We're only a couple of roads away, but I've just realized I've not considered what happens next. For instance, who's likely to open the door?'

‘You're asking
me
?'

Magda swivelled to face her. ‘God, Rona, all I've been thinking about is finding my way here, but
what happens next
?'

‘The first thing that happens,' Rona said firmly, ‘is that I'm going to let Gus out for a pee. He must have been crossing his legs for some time now.' She suited her action to her words and the dog jumped gratefully from the car. Rona attached his lead and he made for the nearest tree while she looked up and down the road. There were cars in several driveways and ahead of her some children were circling on their bikes, calling to each other. It was all so
normal
, Rona thought, so everyday. How would these families react if they heard a murderer lived just round the corner? If, of course, it was remotely possible that he did.

She let Gus snuffle his way along the gutter for a couple more minutes, then returned to the car, opened the passenger door and leant inside. ‘Come to any decision?'

Magda shook her head. She looked panic-stricken.

‘Then I suggest we drive slowly past the house and size it up. It might give us a clue how to proceed.'

‘Good idea,' Magda said with relief. ‘Get in, then.'

They cruised forward, passing two roads leading off to the right before turning into a third, which a metal sign identified as Elliott Close. Magda crawled slowly along, her eyes switching feverishly from side to side.

‘There!' she exclaimed suddenly, and Rona, her head swinging to the left, saw a small, unpretentious semi, its front path bordered by pebbles. Her breath caught in her throat. God, they really had found it, and Kevin Coombes might indeed be behind that front door! It was only as they passed it that she spied a notice in a downstairs window. ‘BED AND BREAKFAST. VACANCIES.'

‘Did you see that?' she demanded excitedly. ‘It's a B and B!'

Magda was slowing and came to a halt four houses down. She switched off the engine, and in the sudden silence Rona added, ‘It's the solution to all our problems! All we have to do is go in and ask for a room!'

To her surprise, Magda was shaking her head. ‘No, that wouldn't work. Don't you see – it would put us on entirely the wrong footing. We'd have to go in to high tea or whatever and sit down at a table next to him. How, in that context, could I possibly confront him?'

Rona, deflated, sat back, and after a minute Magda struck the steering wheel with her hand. ‘I know! I'll pretend I'm looking for my husband, then play it by ear. At least that way we should find out who's staying there; for all we know there might be several lodgers.'

‘The house doesn't look that big,' Rona said doubtfully ‘I'd say two rooms at the most would be let out.' Impulsively she turned to her. ‘Magda, are you sure you want to go through with this? It's not too late to back out. We've found the house – let the police handle it now.'

‘But he mightn't be in. We have to know he's actually there.' She drew a deep breath. ‘So – are you ready?'

‘As ready as I'll ever be. Thank God we've got Gus.'

They climbed out of the car. A boy was coming along the pavement distributing free newspapers. In a garden down the road a baby started to cry. Rona realized she was shaking. Oh God, she thought, holding tightly to the dog's lead, if only Max was here! Hearts pounding, they walked back to the house with the pebble-lined path, and, after briefly squeezing each other's hands, Magda pressed the bell.

Lindsey sat at her desk, gazing unseeingly into the distance. There was a mound of work awaiting her attention, but she was totally incapable of tackling it. She had just returned from lunch with Jonathan, and her mind was a maelstrom.

He must have followed her, because they'd not arranged to meet. She had set off for the Bacchus – five minutes' walk from the office – with a new paperback in her bag, looking forward to an hour's peace from the pressures of work; but no sooner had she seated herself in one of the little booths than he had slid into the seat opposite her.

Her request that he move to another table, on the grounds that other members of the firm came here, had been summarily dismissed.

‘If they do, they'll see us having a business lunch, as colleagues often do.'

It was obvious from the first that he was in a mood she didn't recognize, more serious and reflective than his usual laid-back manner. They'd ordered their tapas and, to her surprise, he'd added a bottle of house red. Alcohol at lunchtime was avoided during the working week – a rule he invariably kept. Then he'd started talking in a low voice, and she'd been startled into silence.

‘Lindsey, this past week I've not been able to get you out of my head. That evening at the Clarendon changed everything, and I just have to know: am I in with a chance?'

Her eyes fell before his intent gaze. ‘A chance of what?'

‘Of our getting back together, on a more serious basis.'

‘
Serious?
'

He gave a wry smile. ‘I won't insult you with the old line of being about to leave my wife, because of course I've no intention of doing so. I'm a selfish bastard, and I want to have my cake and eat it. I'm lucky enough to have a comfortable home, an attractive wife – who's also a social asset – two bright kids, membership of the right clubs and a good career. If we went public all that would vanish in the twinkling of an eye, added to which we'd be slung out of Chase Mortimer on our ears. That is not the way partners of the firm are expected to behave.'

Lindsey cleared her throat. ‘So let's get this straight. Are you quaintly proposing to set me up somewhere discreet as your mistress? Because I have to tell you, Jonathan, those days are long gone, added to which I have a home and a life of my own already, thank you very much.'

He leant forward urgently. ‘No, no, that's just the point. We'd carry on as we are, but with regular times slotted in when we could be together. No one would be any the wiser.'

‘“Carry on” being the operative words. It sounds to me like same old, same old.'

He shook his head. ‘There's one big difference, and that's what's churning me up. Last time – and I'm being honest here – I fancied you like hell but I wasn't in love with you. This time, I think I am.'

A new line, certainly. ‘And you maintain that makes a difference?'

‘It sure does to me.'

She stared at him. ‘Have you any idea how grossly selfish you're being?'

‘Yes I have, but I don't see any way round it. I won't have Carol hurt.'

‘What the eye doesn't see?'

He grimaced ruefully. ‘You could say that. But first we need to clarify one point: I am right, aren't I, in thinking you've completely finished with Frayne? Everything hangs on that.'

Her anger flared. ‘So although your comfortable life will continue unchanged – loving wife and children etc. – I'm not allowed to look elsewhere?'

He flushed. ‘Perhaps I'm not putting it too well. But you haven't answered my question.'

‘Nor am I going to. It's none of your damned business.'

They sat in silence while their food was served and the wine poured, though Lindsey put a hand over her own glass. When they were alone again, he wiped a hand across his face.

‘I've made a right pig's ear of this, haven't I?'

‘You most certainly have.'

‘If it weren't for Carol and the kids, I really would ask you to marry me.'

‘Well, thanks. But don't lose any sleep over it, because I'd say no.'

He was silent, picking listlessly at the selection of tapas, and she watched him through her eyelashes. She'd never seen suave, self-assured Jonathan at such a loss. Could it really be true, about his loving her? For her part, there was no denying she was strongly attracted to him, despite his inherent self-centredness. With his studied nonchalance and that slow, falsely self-deprecating smile, he was as different from Dominic as it was possible to be, yet he pushed much the same buttons for her. And, God help her, though she'd never fooled herself that she loved him, she very much wanted to sleep with him.

But there was a side of his character which must also be borne in mind; when she'd dropped him in favour of Dominic he'd been both bitter and malicious, causing trouble for her wherever he could. She was under no illusion that he'd not do the same again, love or no love. Yet overriding all this – what it all came down to – was that she was undeniably still in love with Dominic.

Jonathan looked up wretchedly, intercepting her scrutiny. ‘Have I been speaking completely out of turn? I thought, when we kissed, that you felt at least something for me. I apologize if I was mistaken.'

Her anger evaporated as quickly as it had arisen. ‘No, Jonathan,' she said tiredly, ‘you weren't mistaken. But –' she went on quickly, as his face brightened – ‘that's not to say that I'm going to fall in with your proposition. If we do come to some arrangement, it will be on my terms.'

And that, basically, was how they'd left it. Now back in her office, conflicting emotions continued to buffet her and she swung from one decision to another. When her phone suddenly rang, it was with a feeling of relief that she reached for it.

Rona was just wondering, with a spasm of anxiety, if Kevin himself would answer the door when it opened to reveal a pleasant-looking woman in her fifties.

‘Can I help you?' she asked with a smile.

Magda said rapidly, ‘Good afternoon. I'm sorry to trouble you, but I'm looking for my husband. I see you take in lodgers, and I wondered if he could possibly be staying with you?' As further explanation seemed called for, she hastily improvised. ‘He's lost his memory, you see. I'm very concerned about him, and I heard he's been seen in this area.'

‘Well, I'm sorry to hear that, but I don't think I can help you. We've only one gentleman with us at the moment, and—'

‘How long has he been here?'

‘Just coming up to three weeks,' the woman said slowly, a frown forming.

‘Dark and thickset, with a groove between his eyes?'

She looked startled. ‘Well, apart from being dark, that would fit Mr Cooper – certainly the groove bit – but he has fair hair.' Dyed, thought Rona; an attempt at disguise. ‘Though come to think of it, I did see him early one morning and was surprised how dark his stubble was.'

‘Is he in?' Magda asked quickly.

‘No, he's still at work but he's due back any minute.'

Magda swallowed. ‘Could we possibly come in and wait, so I could make sure it's him? Please, Mrs . . .?'

‘Frodsham.' She hesitated. ‘How is he likely to react when he sees you? Do you think he'll recognize you?'

That, Rona thought, was the burning question.

‘I'm not sure,' Magda said truthfully, ‘but it might be all that's needed to . . . bring back his memory.'

‘Well, I don't suppose it could hurt. He shouldn't be long.' She stood to one side.

‘Could we bring the dog in?' Rona asked. ‘He's very well behaved and I think he'd be grateful for a drink. We've come quite a long way.'

‘Of course.' Mrs Frodsham bent to pat Gus, who responded by licking her hand. ‘Come through to the kitchen, then.'

They followed her down a tiled passage to a door on the left, where she gestured to them to seat themselves and filled a bowl with water, which Gus lapped up greedily.

‘And perhaps you're thirsty yourselves; would you like a cup of tea while you're waiting?'

‘That's very kind.' Rona hesitated. ‘Could I possibly use your loo?'

‘Of course. It's just inside the front door.'

Having locked herself in, Rona took out her mobile and with shaking fingers punched out 999.

‘Emergency. Which service?' enquired an impersonal voice in her ear.

‘Police. Please listen,' she went on, speaking rapidly and softly, ‘I've only a minute, but I'm speaking from number fifteen Elliott Close, Nestbourne. Kevin Coombes, whom the police want to interview about a murder in Buckfordshire, is due back any minute and we urgently need help. There are three women in the house.'

The operator started to speak, but Rona cut her off, fearful Kevin would return before she could regain the kitchen. ‘Sorry, I must go. I'll leave the line open so you can hear what's going on, but please don't talk to me – it could be dangerous. Fifteen Elliott Close.'

She slipped her phone into her bag, being careful not to close it. Then she flushed the lavatory and almost ran back down the passage. Had she phoned too soon? she wondered anxiously. How long would it take the police to get here? Suppose they arrived before Kevin? He'd see their cars and disappear again.

‘Come to think of it,' Mrs Frodsham was saying, as she poured boiling water into a teapot, ‘him losing his memory makes a lot of sense. He seems at a bit of a loss somehow, and keeps very much to himself.'

‘You say he's at work?' Magda asked.

‘Yes; he told us he'd been made redundant, and when he couldn't find any work in London he came up here. There was a part-time job going at the corner shop, so he took that to tide him over while he looks round.'

The ideal solution, Rona thought; it was probably family-run, perhaps with no questions asked when extra staff were required. And he'd need to work because he wouldn't dare use his credit or debit cards as they'd give away his whereabouts. He must have reckoned it a risk worth taking, specially since it seemed he'd changed both his name and his appearance.