Deception and Desire (10 page)

That was, Maggie thought as he opened the door, the understatement of the year. The tiny room was full of clothes – row upon row of hangers, the garments all shielded by plastic dust bags, and in a corner a rack of shoes. This could take all night. But at least Ros had things organised. Her summer clothes were nearest the door, whilst her coats and winter suits had been packed away in the least accessible places.

‘What has she been wearing recently?' Maggie asked.

Mike shrugged helplessly. ‘Well – dresses, I suppose. Trousers sometimes. She has been wearing a pair of white denim jeans,' he added with a sudden flash of inspiration.

Maggie sighed, flipping through some of the clothes. Two or three linen suits, half a dozen cool but smart dresses, a casual pyjama-style pants suit, a raw-silk jacket and trousers … It was impossible to know whether Ros would have chosen to take them with her if she had planned a holiday. But there were only a few empty hangers – that must say something. Of the white denim jeans there was no sign. Perhaps she had been wearing them when she had gone … wherever she had gone. Maggie said as much to Mike and he nodded.

‘She's got an emerald-green thing she wears with them,' he offered.

‘An emerald-green thing?'

‘A shirt. I can't see that here. But that …' he indicated the pants suit, ‘I've seen her in that a lot. I'd have thought she'd have taken that. And that cream shirt-dress is another favourite. But I honestly wouldn't like to say for certain.'

‘I know. It's impossible, isn't it?' Maggie was struck by another thought. ‘Suitcase! Has her suitcase gone?'

‘I don't know. She keeps it in the attic.'

Maggie was overcome by a feeling of utter weariness. Suddenly she thought she did not want to know for certain whether Ros's suitcase was missing. If it was there, in the attic, it would confirm all their worst fears and she did not think she could cope with that confirmation just at the moment.

‘Let's go down and have that coffee first,' she said. ‘The kettle will have boiled by now.'

They went back downstairs. Dusk had begun to fall, and though some of the staleness had gone out of the kitchen now, the dim light intensified the deserted feel of the place. Strange, Maggie thought. There were two of them here now, yet because Ros, whose home it was, was not here the aura of emptiness remained. Disconcerted, she switched the lights on, thinking that at least here in England one did not have to worry about the light attracting the mosquitoes.

‘I don't like it, Mike,' she said, pouring hot water on to the coffee and opening the carton of milk.

With easy familiarity he fetched a bowl of sugar from a cupboard and stirred some into the mug she pushed across the counter towards him.

‘No,' he said quietly, ‘neither do I. You see why I was worried, Maggie.'

‘The police will have to do something. If we made a list of all the suspicious circumstances …'

He brought his fist down hard on the counter and the mug shook, spilling coffee on to the formica surface.

‘Dammit, we shouldn't have to do that! Why won't they take our word for it? We
know
her, for God's sake. We know she wouldn't just go off like this without telling anyone. I'm going to talk to them again myself in the morning – try and shake them up,
insist
something is done. I mean suppose – just suppose – that something has happened to her. Suppose somebody is holding her against her will. I know it sounds bloody melodramatic but these things do happen. If it was something like that, the sooner the police start believing she hasn't just run off to avoid me the better.'

‘You're right,' Maggie agreed. ‘There's a limit to what we can do and how quickly we can do it. And as you say, time could be of the essence if she has been kidnapped …'

She broke off. Worried as she was, wild as her imaginings might be, to actually speak the word ‘kidnapped' in connection with Ros sounded ridiculously lurid, like a story from one of the tabloids. As for anything else … Maggie was all too painfully aware that both she and Mike had referred to ‘kidnapping' or ‘being held against her will' because the other possibility – that something even worse had befallen Ros – was too dreadful to face. But it was there at the back of both their minds all the same, a looming fear they could not bring themselves to mention, yet very real for all that. If Ros was missing and not of her own volition there could be only two explanations – the one they had put into words and the other which they dared not …

‘I can't help thinking that if someone had kidnapped her we should have heard something by now,' Mike said after a moment. ‘A ransom demand or something …'

‘If she is being held for money.'

‘What other reason … ?' Mike stopped abruptly as he mentally answered his own question.

‘Do you mind if I smoke?' Maggie already had the packet of cigarettes out.

Mike sipped his coffee. ‘I don't mind. Ros would. She hates the smell of smoke in the house.'

‘Tough.' Maggie lit her cigarette, feeling guilty about it but desperately needing the comforting feel of the cigarette between her fingers and the nicotine calming her nerves. She kept intending to give up the habit but not now … oh no, not now. ‘You don't indulge, I suppose?'

‘I don't. Never have. Sport and smoking don't go together.'

But Maggie's thoughts had already returned to Ros's disappearance.

‘Has she seen Brendan lately, do you know?' she asked.

‘Her ex-husband? I don't think so, but then she knows it's my opinion she should give him as wide a berth as possible, so she might not tell me even if she had. Why – you don't think he's involved, do you?'

Maggie sighed. ‘I honestly don't know. I don't think we can rule him out. Ros was pretty scared of him, wasn't she?'

‘Was she?' Mike looked genuinely surprised.

‘She was, yes. Didn't she tell you about it?'

‘No.'

‘I wonder why not? Perhaps she was afraid of what you might do if you knew how he used to treat her.'

‘How did he treat her?'

‘Badly. He was excessively jealous, with a fertile imagination; he'd drink and then he'd knock her about.'

Mike's face had darkened. ‘ If I'd known that I certainly wouldn't have been responsible for my actions if our paths had crossed. But are you saying you think Brendan might have something to do with Ros's disappearance?'

‘I don't know. I only know she was afraid of him.' Maggie hesitated, unwilling to add that Ros had told her Brendan had threatened that if he couldn't have her no one else would. ‘I would have thought if he was going to do something stupid it would have been then, when they first broke up, not after all this time. But I suppose with a man as unpredictable as Brendan one can never be certain,' she went on. ‘His career is well and truly on the rocks now, isn't it?'

Mike shrugged. ‘ I told you – we rarely discussed him. But I certainly haven't heard him on the radio for some time.'

‘I'll try to see him tomorrow, suss out if he knows anything,' Maggie said.

Mike looked worried. ‘Do you think you should? If he's the violent sort, mightn't he be dangerous?'

‘He wouldn't harm me.'

‘But if he was holding Ros …'

‘If he is holding Ros he will have gone to ground. If he isn't I don't suppose I have anything to fear. Anyway, I can take care of myself.'

‘You sound just like Ros,' Mike said ruefully. ‘ If ever there was a girl I would have said could take care of herself it would be Ros. But something has happened to her. You mustn't take any chances, Maggie.'

Maggie shivered. ‘It's not very warm, is it?' she said irrelevantly. But she knew the shiver had more to do with thinking of what might have happened to Ros than with the cold. ‘Don't worry, I'll be careful,' she went on. ‘We've got to explore every avenue – if there is something suspicious and we can take it to the police they are more likely to take notice, aren't they?'

‘I have to work tomorrow but I could come with you in the evening to see him,' Mike said. He was silent for a moment, drinking his coffee, then he went on reflectively: ‘I've been racking my brains trying to remember anything Ros said that might give a clue. The only thing I can think of is something she said about Vandina.'

‘Her job, you mean?'

‘Not exactly. What she said was: ‘‘ There's something odd going on at Vandina. I don't understand it.” But we got sidetracked, something happened to interrupt the conversation, and she didn't mention it again. I just wonder, though, if it might be important. Perhaps it would be worth having a word with the people there to see if they have any ideas.'

‘Yes, I was going to do that,' Maggie said. ‘Ros might have said something to someone there about her plans. Has she got any special friends at work? Anyone she might confide in?'

‘Ros doesn't seem to make many friends these days. She's too independent. She works mainly with Dinah Marshall herself. That by definition isolates her from the hoi-polloi.'

‘Then I'll see Dinah Marshall.'

‘That might not be altogether easy. Dinah is quite a difficult person to get at, from what I understand.'

‘She'll see me.' Maggie's tone was determined. ‘Well, I suppose there's not a lot more we can do tonight. Perhaps I ought to try to get some sleep – Corfu time is two hours ahead of here and I want to have my wits about me tomorrow.'

‘In that case I'll leave you.' Mike drained his cup and got up, reaching for his waxed jacket which he had draped over the back of a chair. As he put it on he seemed to fill the kitchen, a big masculine man with a slightly rumpled air. ‘Are you sure you'll be all right here on your own?'

‘I'll be all right. I only wish I could be so sure about Ros. Oh Mike – where the hell is she? And if there's nothing wrong why doesn't she get in touch – phone you, phone me, contact
somebody
?'

Mike shook his head, looking suddenly almost helpless.

‘I don't know. I suppose all we can hope for is that things have got on top of her and she's gone off somewhere to get away from it all.'

‘Yes, that's what I'm hoping. Anyway, I'll start making some enquiries first thing tomorrow. Will I see you?'

‘I'll ring you after school. Perhaps I can take you out for something to eat. There are some good pubs round here which do excellent bar food.'

She nodded. ‘Right. I'll expect to hear from you.'

She watched him go down the path and reverse his Citroen off the parking space. When it had disappeared from view she went back inside. The cottage felt horribly empty now and all her doubts and fears crowded in on her, making her conscious suddenly of how alone she was. She'd told Mike she'd be all right and of course she would be. But all the same she wished he was still here, filling the kitchen with his comfortable presence.

Ros was very lucky to have someone like him, she thought. So why, unless there was something very wrong, should she disappear without telling him where she was going?

Tomorrow I'll begin to try to find out, Maggie promised herself. Tomorrow I'll see Brendan, and I'll go to Vandina …

She would need transport to do that of course. First thing in the morning she would ring one of the hire companies and fix herself up with a car. But for tonight there was nothing much she could do but go to bed and try to catch up on the sleep she had promised herself.

Maggie locked up, put out the lights and went upstairs. But when she saw her suitcase standing on the landing she remembered: she and Mike had forgotten to check the attic for Ros's case. She hesitated, wondering if she should leave it until morning but decided she would be unable to rest until she knew one way or the other.

The attic door was positioned over the landing, reached by means of a loft ladder. Maggie fetched a chair from the bedroom and stood on it to unfasten the hatch, then she unhooked the loft ladder and eased it down. Above her the attic was in total darkness. She looked in vain for a light switch – obviously the cottage was not sufficiently sophisticated to have an attic light.

She went back downstairs searching for a torch and found one on top of one of the cupboards in the kitchen, a big wide-angle-beam lantern. Then she climbed the ladder again, hoping against hope that she would not find Ros's suitcase. If it was not there – if it was not anywhere in the house – then the chances were that wherever Ros was, she had gone because she had planned to go. Whatever the reason for her leaving it could be sorted out – personal problems, trouble at work, health … nothing was so terrible it couldn't be dealt with, ironed out, put right in the end, however long it took.

But if the case was there … Maggie swallowed as she reached the top of the ladder and shone the torch into the dark attic.

There, in its place just to her left, within easy reach of the well, was Ros's suitcase. Maggie shone the torch directly on to it, not wanting to believe the evidence of her eyes but staring hard at it all the same.

The case, smooth pigskin and embossed with Ros's initials, seemed to stare right back at her.

Next morning Maggie woke with the dawn. Though it had been hours before she had been able to get to sleep the previous night her body clock had not yet adjusted to British time.

For a moment she found herself wondering where on earth she was, then, as she took in the pink and mauve curtains which she had forgotten to draw last night, the mullioned window through which early sunshine was streaming, and the unfamiliar pale-green walls, she remembered.

She was in Ros's bed, in Ros's room. The spare bed had not been made up, its duvet covering bare mattress, and she had been too tired to begin searching for clean sheets. Now, however, she felt a little guilty at the liberty she had taken.
Who's been sleeping in my bed?
she thought, hearing, in her imagination, the voice of an aggrieved Mummy Bear as played in a pantomime she had seen as a child, and the ridiculousness of it seemed to heighten the feeling of nightmare closing in.