Next Door to Murder (17 page)

She sighed deeply, hoping she wouldn't be expected to coo over the baby. She hadn't a maternal bone in her body, and made no secret of the fact. Just as well, considering the chaotic state of her love life. Moodily, she reviewed it. Jonathan, with whom she was still having a half-hearted, on/off affair, had been in Spain with his family for the last fortnight, and was due back today. Hugh, encouraged by the night they'd spent together, was still very much to the fore, but she'd no wish to see him. And Dominic, despite his meeting with Rona, still hadn't been in touch. And there was no doubt, she thought miserably, that it was Dominic she wanted. It was now three weeks since their day in France, which at the time she'd felt had marked a step forward in their relationship. They'd seemed easier with each other, more relaxed in each other's company, and then there was that single, casual kiss on which, foolishly, she'd built so much. Had it meant nothing at all?

Her thoughts turned to Miranda Barrington-Selby. Rona had thought she didn't look well. Was that why she was at the family home in the middle of a working week? Lindsey was aware – since she'd made enquiries –that she
did
work, in some obscure art gallery near Covent Garden. Perhaps, she thought uncharitably, she drifted in and out as she chose, taking time off whenever she felt like it. But the fact remained that her name had been linked with Dominic for several months, and for all Lindsey knew, he still cared for her.

Oh, damn, damn,
damn
! she thought, pounding her fist on the duvet. Perhaps she should get away for a while; she'd not had a holiday this year, foolishly postponing plans in the hope that Dominic might suggest something. Which, she thought now, was unlikely in the extreme, and she was damned if she'd wait any longer. The only drawback was that since all her friends were married, she'd no one to go with. Admittedly Hugh would be glad to take her, but that was a commitment too far. There were singles holidays, of course; perhaps she should look into them.

Dispiritedly, she again picked up the newspaper, and this time began to read it.

It was a warm, sunny day, and they were having drinks on Catherine's patio, while baby Alice, now four months old, slept peacefully in her carry-cot under the cherry tree, and Gus, equally peacefully, lay under Max's chair.

As always, Rona was struck by how natural her father and Catherine were together – like a married couple already, starting to say the same thing, and breaking off with a laugh, seeming to anticipate each other's needs. Tom looked years younger than during the last stressful year before his retirement, when his marriage had gone into terminal decline; while Catherine seemed to have blossomed under this new love. Although she could still not be called pretty, there was a bloom about her, a glow, that added considerably to her attractiveness.

Rona's eyes moved on to meet those of Catherine's son, Daniel, who had smilingly observed her study of their parents. She smiled back, knowing he shared her pleasure in their happiness. Though she barely knew him, she liked Daniel and would be glad to welcome him as her step-brother, despite Lindsey's dark forebodings on the enlargement of the family.

She looked across at her twin, and her contentedness diminished. Though Lindsey's sunglasses afforded some concealment, it was obvious to Rona that she wasn't happy. She'd not taken to Catherine and her family as Rona had, blaming her for the break-up of their parents' marriage, and though she was considerably more amenable than she had been, the reserve was still there. But the root of Lindsey's malaise was, as Rona well knew, the ambiguity of Dominic Frayne. Why couldn't the wretched man put her out of her misery, either by ending the association altogether, or making it more stable, so that at least her sister knew where she stood?

‘A penny for them, Rona!' Tom said laughingly. ‘You're looking positively fierce!'

‘Sorry! I've one or two things on my mind, but I shouldn't have brought them with me.'

‘Anything it might help to discuss?'

Rona hesitated, and Max said, ‘She's weaving a mystery about the family who've moved in next door.'

Lindsey looked up. ‘Family? Ro said it was an elderly couple.'

‘That's what we thought at first,' Rona replied, throwing Max an irritated glance. ‘But it turns out they have a daughter. Or at least, they might have.'

Tom leant forward interestedly. ‘Now, that
does
require explanation.'

So Rona related the story, starting with her first meeting with Louise, going on to explain her loss of memory and consequent loss of identity, and finishing with the fact that her own researches in Harrogate had shown no trace of her.

‘I feel very sorry for her,' she finished, ‘and I'm dreading having to see her tomorrow, and tell her the result of my search.'

‘But how intriguing!' Daniel said. ‘The couple
did
have a daughter, and she did go to Canada, but her name wasn't Louise.'

‘That's about the size of it. Nor was the man she married Kevin Stacey.'

‘The woman who never was,' mused Jenny.

‘And they themselves have no family photographs or certificates?' Tom confirmed.

‘That's right, because of this alleged fire.'

Catherine laughed. ‘Alleged? You don't believe in it?'

‘As Louise said, it seems very convenient.' Rona looked round challengingly. ‘Well, come on, then. We have mystery readers and puzzle enthusiasts among us – surely someone can come up with an explanation?'

They debated the matter for the next fifteen minutes, tossing ideas back and forth while Catherine put the finishing touches to the meal, but when they all went in to eat, they'd reached no conclusion. Which, Rona thought, was pretty much what she'd expected.

The afternoon was spent lazily in the garden, chatting, looking at the papers, and, in the case of Catherine and Jenny, playing with the baby, who lay kicking on a rug. Occasionally the conversation veered back to Louise, but no one had any further insights to offer.

At about six, Daniel and Jenny loaded the car with baby things, and the three of them left for the drive back to Cricklehurst. The others, urged by Catherine and Tom, stayed on. As the shadows lengthened, drinks were brought out, together with little salty biscuits, which attracted Gus's attention.

‘We must go soon,' Rona said, laughing as he caught one in his mouth. ‘Those probably aren't very good for him, but it's past his supper time.'

‘He ought to have a walk, too,' Max remarked, stretching. ‘He's had as lazy a day as the rest of us.'

‘Speak for yourself!' Catherine protested.

‘Which reminds me,' Rona said, ‘let us help you to clear up.'

‘Not a bit of it!' Tom cut in. ‘What do you think I'm here for?'

‘But at least we can take things through to the kitchen.'

‘Definitely not. We enjoy setting things to rights and talking over the day.'

Lindsey was the first to unfurl herself from her chair. ‘I must go; there are some papers I really should look at before tomorrow. Thank you so much, Catherine, for a lovely day.'

Rona breathed a sigh of relief, and Catherine and Tom looked pleased. ‘Thank you for coming. We've loved having all of you.'

Now that the sun was low in the sky, a chilliness was beginning to invade the warmth, and Rona shivered. ‘We must be on our way, too. As Linz said, it's been a lovely day. Thank you.'

‘Let us know if you make any progress on your mystery,' Catherine said, as she and Tom saw them off.

Max garaged the car in Charlton Road. ‘You go on home, and I'll take Gus for a brisk run round the park. I could do with some exercise myself.'

‘Will you want any supper?' Rona asked.

‘Cheese and biscuits will be fine.'

They walked together as far as the slipway, then Rona continued to the corner, turned briefly into Fullers Walk, and left again into Lightbourne Avenue. As she rounded the second corner, she almost collided with a man lighting a cigarette, and murmured an apology before walking on down the road and into her gateway.

The house was welcomingly warm, and she ran down the basement stairs to the kitchen, to prepare a supper tray they could carry upstairs. With the advance of evening, it was dark below street level, and she switched on the lights, remembering as she did so that the dishwasher needed emptying. Her mind on the afternoon behind her, she set about the task, methodically stacking plates on the counter under the window, prior to carrying them to the appropriate cupboard.

She couldn't have said what alerted her – possibly a primeval sense of being watched – but she looked up suddenly, seeing beyond the eye-level black railings a pair of stationary trousers, and as her eyes flew upwards, they met those of the man she had recently passed on the corner. For a long minute they stared at each other, Rona frozen with a plate in her hand, he motionless on the street. Then, abruptly, he turned and walked briskly away.

Convulsively, Rona leant forward and dragged the blind down over the window. Her heart was clattering against her ribs. He must have followed her, she thought distractedly. But why? She'd never seen him in her life.

Sudden fear seized her: she'd left the front door on the latch for Max! She flew up the stairs, hurled herself against the door, and pulled down the catch. Illogical, she told herself, struggling for breath; she'd seen him walk away. But perhaps he'd gone only a yard or two, and was intending to return? Oh God, Max, come home! Gus doesn't need
that
long a walk! Thank God this hadn't happened on an evening when he was holding classes, and wasn't due back at all.

Slowly, she went back downstairs and finished unloading the dishwasher, putting everything away in its appointed place. Then she laid a tray with biscuits, butter and cheese, two glasses and a bottle of white wine from the fridge. Finally, carrying the tray, she returned to the ground floor. The last blue light of day was seeping into the sitting room through its uncurtained windows. Rona set the tray on the coffee table and moved cautiously to the windows, looking up and down the road. It was deserted, though as she stood there, a car drove past, its headlights cutting a golden swathe in front of it. She drew the curtains across, making sure there were no chinks, then switched on the lamps and perched on the edge of a chair to await Max's return, ears straining for the sound of footsteps on the pavement outside.

Minutes later she heard them and stiffened, listening as they turned to come up the path towards her. There was a rattle at the door handle, then an irritated ring of the bell. Rona went to answer it and, about to open the door, paused. She
knew
it was Max, but . . .

‘Who is it?' she called.

‘Who the hell do you think it is?' came Max's testy reply. ‘Why did you lock the door?'

She pulled it open, and his annoyance faded as he saw her pale face.

‘What's the matter, love?' he asked quickly. ‘What's happened?'

Gus nosed her hand, and she bent to unclip his lead before replying.

‘Rona?'

‘A man followed me home,' she said unsteadily. ‘I was in the kitchen, and I saw him staring in at me.'

Max frowned. ‘What man?' Then, ‘You say he followed you; where from?'

‘The corner. I almost bumped into him – he was lighting a cigarette. I didn't think any more of it, till I saw him watching me.'

‘You're sure it was the same man?'

‘Yes; I didn't pay much attention the first time, but I did notice he was wearing a pink shirt, because it was very like one of yours.'

‘Can you describe him?'

‘Average height, brown hair, pink shirt, as I said. And light-coloured trousers.'

‘Age?'

‘Mid-thirties, I'd say.'

‘What did he do when you looked up and saw him?'

‘Stared at me a moment longer, then walked quickly away.'

‘In which direction?'

‘Further on down the road, so you wouldn't have passed him. Anyway, it was some time ago now.'

‘Well,' Max said after a pause, ‘I shouldn't let it worry you. He could merely have been walking in the same direction, and the light from the kitchen caught his eye.'

‘But he didn't just glance inside, Max. He was standing still, facing me.'

‘Never mind, he's long gone now. I'll have a quick wash, then I'll pour you some wine. That'll calm your nerves.'

Though she said no more, Rona wasn't reassured. Had the man been waiting for her on the corner, or was his being there pure chance? Had he, as Max suggested, merely paused to light his cigarette, then continued on his intended route? Even if that were the case, he'd stopped to stare in at her – not, surely, normal behaviour. A disturbing thought lodged in her head: whether or not the meeting was accidental, the fact remained that this stranger now knew where she lived.

Rona didn't go to Oak Avenue the next morning, since she'd an appointment in Woodbourne at ten thirty. She spent the time in her study, sorting out her notes and hoping Louise wouldn't realize she was at home. She'd have to see her this evening, though, and she'd still not decided on the best way of breaking the news.

Had Mrs Griffiths passed her card to the Johnsons, who'd been the Franks' next-door neighbours? And, even supposing she had, would they bother contacting her? She very much doubted it. It seemed that for all their joint efforts, she and Louise would never have proof, one way or the other, of her true identity, and whereas the passing of time would put the matter out of her own head, it would remain a life sentence for Louise.

Beset by such thoughts, Rona was glad when it was time to leave for her appointment. Max had taken Gus with him when he left that morning, since after seeing Mrs Willow, she would go straight to Oak Avenue. She'd have welcomed him at her side as she approached the corner of Fullers Walk, but today the only people around were an elderly couple some yards ahead of her, and a mother wheeling a pushchair, a dancing child at her side.