Her Own Rules (29 page)

“I think it must’ve been in the middle or late sixties.

But don’t let’s stand here in the middle of the shop.

Come into my office and sit down. Can I offer you a cup of tea?”

“No, but thank you anyway,” Meredith said.

Patsy also declined, and the two of them followed Gilda Cohen into her office. They sat down together on the sofa and looked at Gilda, who had positioned herself behind her desk. “As I said, my mother was rather fond of Kate, took her under her wing a bit, and she stayed in touch with her after she left.”

“Do you know where she went to work?”

“Yes, she returned to the town she came from, Harrogate, and took a job with Jaeger. My mother once told me Kate hadn’t been happy in Leeds, and she always referred to her as ‘my wounded bird,’ although I’m not certain why. I married young and had a child, so I wasn’t working in the shop in those days. I didn’t know her all that well. But she certainly made an impression on my mother, and on other people too.

Everyone spoke nicely about Kate.”

Meredith sighed. “I don’t suppose she could still be working at Jaeger. What do you think, Mrs. Cohen?”

“Oh, I know she’s not, Mrs. Stratton. She didn’t stay at Jaeger for longer than a couple of years, then she moved on. The last time I heard about her from my mother, Kate was running Place Vendôme in Harrogate, a really fine boutique selling couture Her Own Rules / 301

clothes.” Gilda Cohen leaned back in her chair. “If only my mother were still alive, she would be able to tell you so much more about Kate.”

Meredith gave Mrs. Cohen a sympathetic look. “I’m sorry you lost your mother.”

“Yes, it was sad for us all. However, she had a really grand life and lived to be ninety. Never had a day’s ill health as long as she lived.”

There was a small silence and then Patsy said, “Is Kate Sanderson working at Place Vendôme now?”

“1 don’t believe she is, Mrs. Canton. The last I heard she had left there. She’d moved away from Harrogate, actually.”

“Another dead end,” Meredith said in a miserable voice.

Gilda Cohen said, “I can ring Annette Alexander, the owner of the boutique. She just might have an address for Kate.”

“Oh, would you? Are you sure you don’t mind?”

Meredith asked. “Otherwise, we can just drive over to Harrogate.” She glanced at her watch. “It’s only four-thirty.”

“Yes,” Patsy said. “We can pop in to see her on our way to Ripon. We have to pass through Harrogate.”

“No, no, that’s all right, I’ll call her for you right away. I don’t mind at all.” So saying, Gilda Cohen picked up the phone and dialed the boutique.

“Hello, this is Gilda Cohen, is Mrs. Alexander there?”

There was a small silence as Mrs. Cohen listened.

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Then she covered the mouthpiece and explained:

“They’ve gone to get her, she’s just saying good-bye to a client. Hello, oh, there you are, Annette, how are you?”

Gilda listened once more, and then said, “I have two ladies here who are looking for Kate Sanderson. I know she left you a few years ago, but you wouldn’t happen to have an address or a telephone number for her, would you?” The next short silence was followed by an exclamation. “Oh really!” Gilda cried. “Just a minute, let me ask.”

Again covering the mouthpiece with her hand, Mrs.

Cohen said, “According to Mrs. Alexander, your mother left to marry someone. But she can’t remember his name. She wants to know where she can contact you if she does remember?”

“Skell Garth House in Ripon, Mrs. Cohen,” Patsy said. “The number is Ripon 42900.”

Gilda Cohen repeated this to Annette Alexander.

After thanking her and saying good-bye, she hung up.

Looking directly at Meredith, she said, “If my mother were alive, she’d be very pleased to know Kate got married finally. Mother always thought Kate was so sad, and she used to tell me Kate had had a tragic life.”

“You’ve been very helpful, Mrs. Cohen,” Meredith murmured softly, standing up. “Thank you so much.”

“Yes, thank you,” Patsy added, also standing.

“It’s been my pleasure, I just wish I could have done more to reunite you with your mother, Mrs.

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Stratton. Annette is very dependable, and I can guar-antee she’ll ring you if she remembers who it was your mother married.”

“I hope so.”

Gilda Cohen escorted them to the door, shook their hands. As they stepped out into Commercial Street, she said, “I’d love to know if you do find Kate, Mrs.

Stratton, she was such a favorite of my mother’s.”

“I’ll be in touch,” Meredith promised.

“Why didn’t we think of that,” Patsy muttered as they walked along Commercial Street. “It’s the most obvious thing. She was a young woman, and pretty, you said.”

“
Very
pretty. Beautiful really.” Meredith linked her arm in Patsy’s and continued. “We’ll never find her.

This is yet another dead end, you know.”

“No, it isn’t!” Patsy cried. “Quite the contrary. I’ll call Valerie at the office first thing in the morning and she can go to St. Catherine’s House. They keep marriage certificates there. I’m quite sure they do. We’ll find out who your mother married.”

Meredith instantly brightened. “What a great idea!

Let’s call her now.”

“She’s not in the office today. Don’t you remember, she went to Milan for the weekend. She won’t be back until late tonight.”

“Are you certain they keep marriage records?”

Meredith asked in a quiet voice as they walked down into City Square.

“I’m positive. It’s a general register office of 304 / Barbara Taylor Bradford

births, deaths, and marriages.” Patsy paused before adding: “I’ve been thinking…perhaps we ought to go to Dr. Barnardo’s Home, make inquiries there. They may be able to throw some light on what happened to you. And to your mother.”

Meredith looked at her askance. “No way. I know those places. They never tell you anything, they’re cloaked in secrecy. I’d go to see them only as a last resort.” Her mouth settled in a grim line.

Glancing at her, Patsy decided to say no more for the moment. On the drive back to Ripon she talked about a variety of other things, wanting to take Meredith’s mind off her mother. And orphanages.

Laughing suddenly, all at once she said, “You know, Meredith, we’re really quite awful.”

“What do you mean?”

“Once we’d discovered who Eunice Morgan was, we put her through an interrogation and then fled, raced off to find your mother. The poor woman must think we’re crazy. We didn’t even finish our interview with her.”

“I realized that myself a short while ago. Anyway, how do you feel about hiring Eunice?”

“I’m all for it. I think she’s the best of the lot. I found Lloyd Bricker a bit of a snob and too arrogant by far, and Mrs. Jones didn’t really impress me that much.”

“In my opinion she’s a goldbricker,” Meredith said.

“I agree with you about Lloyd. So let’s hire Eunice, shall we? She’s certainly a good chef. We’ve sampled her fare.” Meredith gave Patsy a small Her Own Rules / 305

smile. “And obviously she no longer burns the food as she did when I was a child.”

Patsy laughed, glad to see a flash of Meredith’s old humor.

The telephone call came the next morning.

Meredith and Patsy were sitting in the dining room, having breakfast and going over their notes about the inn, when Claudia Miller came hurrying over to their table.

“Excuse me. You have a phone call, Meredith. It’s a Mrs. Alexander.”

Meredith and Patsy exchanged startled glances, and Meredith immediately got up. “Thanks, Claudia. I’ll take it over there on the phone by the door.”

“All right. I’ll just go and put it through.”

A few seconds later Meredith was saying, “Hello, this is Mrs. Stratton.”

“Mrs. Stratton, good morning. Annette Alexander here, I hope I haven’t called too early.”

“No, not at all, Mrs. Alexander.”

“I thought I’d better ring you immediately. I just received a bit of information that might help you. Do you know, I racked my brains last night, trying to remember the name of the man Kate married, but to no avail. And then it occurred to me that my sister might know who he was. She used to work for me at Place Vendôme at the same time as Kate Sanderson. In any case, I rang her up last night, but 306 / Barbara Taylor Bradford

she was out. She just got my message and phoned me ten minutes ago. Apparently Kate married a man called Nigel. My sister thinks his last name was Grange or Grainger, and that he was a veterinarian. In Middleham. I know it’s a trifle sketchy, but I do hope it helps.”

“It does, thank you very much, Mrs. Alexander.

While I have you on the phone, perhaps you can tell me something else. Do you recall when Kate Sanderson left Place Vendôme?”

“She left my employ in the early seventies.”

“I see. Well, thanks again, Mrs. Alexander.”

“I was happy to be of help, and give Kate my best, if you find her.”

“I will. Good-bye, Mrs. Alexander.” Meredith hung up and returned to the table.

Patsy looked at her questioningly, raising a brow.

“Well?”

Meredith took a deep breath, exhaled, then said,

“According to Annette Alexander, my mother married a man called Nigel, and his last name was either Grange or Grainger. He is, or was, a vet. And in the early seventies, when my mother left her employment, he was living in Middleham. Or, rather,
they
were.”

“Middleham! Good heavens, Meredith, that’s right next door practically. It’s a small village on the moors, about half an hour from Ripon. You see, I told you I had a sense that your mother was close by.”

“We don’t know that she is. We don’t know what Her Own Rules / 307

happened really. And they could have divorced or moved away.”

“I’ll soon find out if he’s still around,” Patsy cried assertively, and jumped to her feet. “I’m going to look him up in the local telephone directory. He’s bound to be listed if he’s the vet in Middleham.”

Meredith sat back in her chair and watched Patsy walking across the floor with great determination.

Whatever it took, her friend was hell-bent on finding Kate Sanderson. And what a
good
friend Patsy had turned out to be. Meredith knew that she would have been lost without her in the last few days.

Patsy was suddenly back at the table, looking pleased with herself. She sat down, glanced at the paper she was holding, and said, “His name’s Grainger, not Grange, and he lives in Middleham. At Tan Beck House. And there’s the phone number.”

Meredith took the paper and glanced at it, then raised her eyes to meet Patsy’s. “Thank you,” she said, and looked down at the paper again. “Now that I know she could be only a few miles away, I feel rather strange.”

“Do you mean about seeing her?” Patsy asked, her brow furrowing.

“Yes.”

“Perhaps you’re afraid.”

“Do you know, I think I am.”

“I’ll go with you to Tan Beck House.”

“Thank you, but perhaps I should go alone, Patsy.”

308 / Barbara Taylor Bradford

“Shouldn’t you phone her first?”

“I’m not sure. In a way I prefer to see her face-to-face before she knows anything about me. If I phone first, I’ll have to start explaining myself.”

“You’re right. So do it your way.”

CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

I
t was with some trepidation that Meredith walked up the path to the front door of Tan Beck House.

For the past thirty minutes she had been sitting in Patsy’s Aston-Martin, trying to gather her courage to go there in search of Kate Sanderson.

Since her apprehension had seemed only to increase the longer she sat, she had, in the end, turned on the ignition and driven back down the road.

As she had alighted from her car a moment earlier she had seen that the lovely old stone house was sub-stantial but not overly large, the kind of house a vet or a doctor or lawyer would live in. It was well kept, with a freshly painted white door, sparkling windows, and pretty lace curtains; an array of spring flowers brought color and life to the

310 / Barbara Taylor Bradford

beds in the garden on either side of the flagged path.

Now she stood at the front door, her hand on the brass knocker. Her nerves almost failed her. Taking a deep breath, she banged it hard several times and then stood back to wait.

The door was opened almost instantly by a youngish woman with dark hair who was dressed in a gray sweater and matching slacks under a green-striped pinafore.

“Yes, can I help you?” she asked.

“I’m looking for Mrs. Grainger. Mrs. Nigel Grainger.

Is she at home?”

The young woman nodded. “Is she expecting you?”

“No, she’s not.”

“Whom shall I say is calling?”

“I’m Mrs. Stratton. Meredith Stratton. She doesn’t know me. I’m a friend of a friend. I was hoping she could help me with something.”

“Just a minute,” the young woman said, and leaving the door ajar, she hurried across the highly polished floor of the small entrance foyer.

She returned within seconds, opened the door wider, and said, “Mrs. Grainger would like you to come in.

She won’t be a minute, she’s on the phone. She told me to take you to the sitting room.”

“Thank you,” Meredith said, stepping into the foyer and following the young woman, at the same time glancing around quickly, wanting to see everything.

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She noticed a handsome grandfather clock standing in a corner and a collection of blue and white porcelain effectively arranged on an oak console table.

Showing her into the sitting room, the young woman said, “Make yourself at home,” and disappeared.

Meredith stood in the middle of the room, thinking how welcoming it was, struck by its warmth and charm. It was of medium size, tastefully decorated, the walls painted red, with bookshelves running floor to ceiling on two of them. The woodwork was a dark cream, hand-painted to resemble faux marble, and there was a dark red and blue Oriental rug in front of the stone fireplace. Between two tall windows an antique desk faced out toward the back garden and a small lawn. Beyond were rolling moors and an endless expanse of blue sky filled with scudding white clouds.