Next Door to Murder (19 page)

She seemed on the verge of tears.

‘I'm so sorry, Louise. I wish I'd never suggested looking.'

‘In fact,' Louise continued, as though Rona had not spoken, ‘it seems to prove the opposite – that I'm
not
their daughter. Suppose . . .' She paused, thinking furiously. ‘Suppose this Karen died, and her parents – Keith and Barbara – couldn't accept it. Then they read in the papers about this unknown woman much the same age, who was found after a car crash, and had lost her memory. They put things like that in the paper, don't they? “Does anyone know this woman?” kind of thing. And if no one came forward to claim me, they might have thought I'd be a good substitute. That's certainly possible, isn't it?'

‘I don't know,' Rona said uncertainly.

‘I mean, women steal other people's babies after losing their own. This is the same idea, only with someone older. And it would explain why there was no record of my marriage or divorce,' she went on, the idea gaining ground. ‘After all,
Louise
Franks never existed.'

‘And Kevin Stacey?'

Louise lifted her shoulders helplessly. ‘They might have invented him, to make it all more plausible. He probably doesn't exist, either.'

Rona leaned forward, covering Louise's hands with her own. ‘There's no “either” about it, Louise.
You
exist, in your own right, whatever people choose to call you. Don't ever forget that.'

Louise said shakily, ‘I suppose that's true. God, I'm glad I met you, Rona. You're the only thing that's keeping me sane.' She paused, pursuing her line of thought. ‘It could be David Swann, Karen's husband, who's working in the Far East; in which case, he wouldn't know anything about the substitution.'

Rona shrugged helplessly. ‘Look, let me give you my mobile number, then you can contact me at any time. Have you got one yourself?'

Louise shook her head.

‘Then give me your home number.'

They each made a note, then Louise looked up, meeting Rona's concerned eyes. ‘What should I do?' she asked simply.

‘Can't you speak to your parents? If they knew how upset you are—'

But Louise was shaking her head. ‘It would show I didn't believe what they'd told me.'

‘You could ask them who Karen is; say the name suddenly came into your head.'

Louise stared at her. ‘It would be interesting to see their reaction,' she said slowly. ‘I might just do that.'

‘She's gone next door again,' Barbara Franks said worriedly. ‘I don't like it, Keith. That girl's a journalist; she must be good at ferreting things out.'

‘But there's nothing to find, is there? Not over here – that's why we came back.'

‘All the same, I'll be glad to get away from this house. Perhaps we should reconsider the Alban Road one.'

Keith said patiently, ‘Moving across town won't interrupt their friendship, if that's what it is. We'd have to leave the area altogether, and to be honest, I'm heartily sick of moving. Lord knows, we've done enough of it in the last year.'

Barbara was staring unseeingly out of the window. ‘What I can't help thinking,' she said, ‘is, suppose her memory comes back?'

‘It was ghastly,' Rona said to Max on the phone. ‘I felt as if I'd slapped her in the face. She was so excited when she came round, but what I'd discovered was worse than a complete blank. It seems to deny her very existence.'

‘Why the hell doesn't she come straight out and ask her parents?' Max demanded impatiently. ‘They're not ogres. What does she think they'd do to her?'

‘That's what I advised,' Rona agreed. ‘She didn't want to, so I suggested she asked them who Karen was – the name that was on the electoral roll. The whole thing's completely bizarre. What was it Jenny called her yesterday?
The woman who never was
? That seems horribly apposite.'

‘That's ridiculous, and you know it. There has to be a logical explanation.'

‘Then will you kindly tell me what it is?'

There was a pause. Max said heavily, ‘It's too late to start an argument. Go to bed, love, and stop worrying. It's really not your problem.'

‘I've a feeling I've made it mine,' Rona replied.

She didn't sleep well that night, and the dreams that lingered on her frequent awakenings were filled with faceless strangers, car crashes, and a sense of impending danger. At six, she gave up all thought of further sleep, had a shower, and went down for an early breakfast. Gus greeted her with pleased surprise, and when she'd eaten, she took him for a brisk walk round the block. There was a freshness about the early morning that dissipated in the sluggish heat of day and which, in her unsettled state, she found very welcome.

Max had said Louise's problem wasn't hers, but she'd underlined her involvement by passing on her mobile number. She might well come to regret that.

Julian was in the hall at Oak Avenue when Rona arrived.

‘I've been thinking,' he said, ‘that you might like to have a look round the shop to get an idea of how it's run. We could show you the storerooms, explain which items are manufactured in the UK and which imported, where they've come from, and so on. It might help to put some of the earlier stock lists into perspective.'

‘Thank you, I'd like that. Your mother was saying her family firm is one of your main suppliers.'

‘That's true. I pay regular visits to Sweden; perhaps you should accompany me next time.'

Felicity, who'd come downstairs in time to hear this last remark, said warningly, ‘That's not half as much fun as it sounds, Rona. I went once, and was bored out of my mind. There's no time for sight-seeing on these business trips – all I saw was a succession of timber yards and warehouses. And I don't even like herrings!'

Julian shook his head despairingly. ‘Anyway, there's time enough to think about that, but regarding a visit to the store, how about going down this afternoon? I shan't be there, but I can arrange for Giles Stanton, the manager, to show you round.'

‘We're lunching together at the Bacchus,' Felicity put in. ‘She could go straight on from there.'

‘Excellent. About two thirty, then?'

‘Thank you,' Rona said, ‘I'll be there.'

That morning, she was glad to bury herself in the Willow papers and push all thoughts of Louise from her mind. She also made a list of questions to ask the store manager, looking forward to increasing her knowledge of furniture in general.

At twelve thirty she went downstairs to find Felicity waiting for her. It was a twenty-minute walk to the Bacchus from Oak Avenue, and as Felicity was going straight on to visit friends in Chilswood, they took the car and parked in Market Street car park, almost alongside the wine bar.

Knowing its popularity, Rona had booked a table, and they were led to one of the booths against the far wall, whose shoulder-high partitions afforded the illusion of privacy.

‘I've never been here at lunchtime,' Felicity said. ‘It's quite a different clientele – a mixture of business people and shoppers, by the look of them. In the evenings, it's mainly couples, many of them having a pre-theatre supper before going to the Darcy Hall down the road.'

‘Or a late one after the show,' Rona said, recalling visits of her own.

She took the menu a waiter was handing her, and ran her eyes down it.

‘What do you fancy?' she asked Felicity. ‘You probably know what's on offer as well as I do.'

‘I'll be having afternoon tea, so nothing too filling. Actually, what I'd really like is a selection of tapas.'

‘Good choice. I'll join you.'

She relayed their order to the waiter, and as he turned away, her eyes moved to two men seating themselves at a centre table. With a jolt of surprise, she recognized one of them as Dominic Frayne.

Perhaps aware of her gaze, he turned, and she saw his momentary hesitation as he attempted to establish whether or not she was Lindsey. She smiled, and he half-rose in his seat, returning her smile with a slight inclination of his head.

Felicity, who had seen the exchange, murmured, ‘Very nice too! Who is that charmer?'

‘Dominic Frayne,' Rona answered, ‘a friend of my sister's.'

‘So
that's
Dominic Frayne! I've heard a lot about him, from both Julian and Tara.'

‘Oh?'

‘Julian met him at the golf club, though his reputation had gone before. Businessman of the Year, and all that. They say he can be pretty ruthless, but having seen him, I doubt if he'd need to be. I'd say charm is his most powerful weapon.'

Rona smiled. ‘Possibly more with women than with men.'

‘You have a point, I suppose, though Julian was very impressed with him, and he doesn't impress easily.'

‘And Tara?'

‘Oh, they met at some reception in London. She was quite smitten, I think, but at the time his name was linked with the Roxford girl.'

‘He's been linked with quite a few people, I believe,' Rona said, suddenly unwilling to discuss Dominic Frayne.

Felicity picked up something of her reserve. ‘Sorry, I'm being tactless. He's a friend of your sister's, and of course you don't want to gossip about him.'

Luckily, the arrival of their wine obviated the need of a reply.

‘Talking of Tara,' Felicity went on, ‘she phoned last night. She's attending a reunion dinner at Farnbridge on Thursday, and wants to spend a few days with us on her way home. Which I'm afraid will mean suspending our lunches.'

‘Just as well for my waistline! Seriously, don't give it a thought. You've done more than enough already, and in any case I shan't be coming in every day from now on. I've enough to make a start on the article, and will just be looking in from time to time to check things, if that's all right?'

‘Of course; whatever suits you.' Felicity sipped her wine. ‘Though I hope, when you've finished, we'll still keep in touch.'

‘I hope so, too.'

As she spoke, Rona realized her response wasn't mere politeness. There was an openness about Felicity, almost a naïveté, that was endearing, and Rona hoped fiercely that the predatory Tara would do nothing to hurt her.

Their tapas arrived, and conversation stayed on a more general level for the rest of the meal. As they rose to leave, Dominic came to his feet.

‘I hope you've enjoyed your meal? May I introduce my business colleague, Neville Barclay? Neville, this is Rona Parish, renowned biographer.'

‘Oh, please!' Rona protested laughingly, as his companion half rose to acknowledge her. ‘Felicity, meet Dominic Frayne, and – Mr Barclay. Felicity Willow,' she added to the two men.

Dominic took Felicity's hand. ‘I'm delighted to meet you. I've had some good games of golf with your husband.'

‘So I believe,' Felicity smiled, flushing with pleasure.

They chatted lightly for a couple more minutes, then, niceties over, Rona and Felicity continued on their way to the door.

‘Thanks so much for lunch,' Felicity said, as they parted on the pavement outside. ‘Not to mention the introduction to Dominic Frayne!'

‘Any time,' Rona smiled.

‘Will you be in tomorrow?'

‘Yes, I'll want to write up what I've learned at the shop.'

‘See you then, and I hope you enjoy your tour.'

As Rona started down Market Street, her mobile rang in her handbag, and she stopped, moving to one side of the pavement to answer it.

‘Rona?' It was Louise's voice, highly pitched.

‘What's the matter?' Rona asked quickly.

‘You're not going to believe this, but my parents have put a private detective on to me!'

Rona frowned. ‘What makes you think—?'

‘He followed me from home. At first I thought I was being neurotic, but I tested him, going into one shop after another, and each time he was waiting outside, pretending to look in the window. Then I went to the café where you took me that time, and he came and sat at the next table, and kept staring at me.' Her voice rose in a wail. ‘What can I
do
?'

‘Where are you now?' Rona asked sharply.

‘Back home.'

‘Are your parents there?'

‘They're in the garden. Rona—'

‘What did he look like, this man?'

‘Nothing out of the ordinary. I suppose that's one of the requirements for the job.'

‘Can you describe him?'

‘In his thirties, medium height, grey eyes.'

Rona's heart began to pound. ‘What was he wearing?'

‘Wearing?' Louise sounded distracted.

‘You must have noticed, if he was sitting opposite you.'

‘Well, he had on a short-sleeved sports shirt and light-coloured trousers.'

‘What colour was his shirt?'

‘
Colour?
What does that matter? I'm—'

‘Humour me, Louise.'

‘Light blue, if it's so important.'

It was little comfort; the pink one would be in the wash by now.

‘He didn't make any attempt to speak to you?'

‘No.'

‘Or follow you, when you left the café?'

‘Surprisingly, no.'

‘Did you mention this to your parents?'

‘Of course not. They—'

‘I think you should, Louise. This could be very important.'

There was a pause. ‘You mean—?'

‘I mean that I don't think this man is anything to do with them. I saw him myself on Sunday evening, staring into my kitchen window.'

Louise sounded bewildered. ‘He's some kind of stalker?'

‘I don't know what he is, but I think he should be reported.'

‘To the police, you mean? But he didn't actually
do
anything, and I can't
prove
he was following me.'