Plotted in Cornwall (18 page)

Steam spiralled up from Jack’s coffee. He took a sip and burned his mouth. Was one of those letters the one Rose had seen? And if so, what was going on? Even if Louisa had known all along where her husband was, it didn’t mean anything illegal had taken place.

‘Inspector Pearce, I know my father owed money to Uncle Roger. Do you think that’s why he disappeared?’

‘Did he tell you this?’

‘No. Joel did.’

‘Have you any idea of the figure?’

Miranda looked at the floor. Her face was flushed. ‘Somewhere around two hundred thousand pounds. Joel overheard his parents discussing what to do about it. They’re rich, Uncle Roger makes loads of money but even so that’s an awful lot of money and a debt’s a debt.’

Yes, that amount was worth disappearing for. And if Frank Jordan owed one person
he might also owe others. ‘Where are the letters?’

‘At home. In my mother’s bedroom drawer.’

There was absolutely no chance of obtaining a search warrant. Jack knew something ought to be done, but he wasn’t sure what. ‘When do the Penhaligons get back?’ he asked.

‘The day after tomorrow.’

He would speak to them. It was the least he could do. If Jordan was in Spain he had either reapplied for a passport or managed to obtain a false one.

‘Was there something in particular you wanted?’ Rose asked, suddenly realising he had given no reason for his unexpected visit.

‘Yes. I could have rung, but I fancied a walk. I came to invite you out for a meal.’ It was far easier to ask in the company of a third party. He did not have to offer any explanations in front of Miranda and he knew Rose would ask for none.

‘When?’

‘How about tonight?’

Rose was aware of the girl watching them and tried to remain cool and in control, but inwardly she was pleased, more than pleased. She hoped she wasn’t blushing.
How could it be that it was only yesterday her parents had left and she had felt so low? ‘Yes, tonight’s fine.’

‘Good.’

‘Can you do anything? About the letters, I mean?’ she added quickly aware of Jack’s almost casual response to her answer. He, too, was more pleased than he was trying to pretend.

‘Not until I’ve spoken to Miranda’s uncle. Look…’ he turned to the girl. ‘Are you sure she doesn’t have relatives or a penfriend in Spain?’

‘No relatives, no. And she’s never mentioned a pen-friend.’

‘Then don’t say a word about this to anyone. I’m sure there’ll be an innocent explanation, but for now it’s best not to let your mother know what you’ve told me.’

Miranda nodded as she stood. ‘I’ll go and see Joel now, he’s expecting me.’ She paused. ‘My aunt and uncle will be back soon. I intend to see them. I owe them an apology and an explanation.’

‘Don’t even mention this conversation to Joel,’ Jack added firmly.

‘Okay.’

Rose saw her to the door. Now she was alone with Jack she felt awkward. ‘What
time tonight?’ she asked.

‘Sevenish?’

‘I’ll meet you in the Yacht, shall I?’

‘I’ll be there.’

Jack stood, ready to leave. It was obvious he didn’t want to talk further just then. If he had something to tell her no doubt he would do so later. Rose shook her head as she watched him go. She still had no idea where she stood with him. He might even decide not to turn up later. It didn’t matter, she knew most of the early evening customers in the Yacht. It was an art deco pub, set back from the sea-front opposite the open-air swimming pool which had also been built in the thirties. I’ll doll myself up, she thought as she picked up the canvas bag which contained her painting equipment. I’ll make a real effort for once.

Echoing her own upswing in mood, the weather changed. The sky began to clear, greyness gave way to white cloud interspersed with ever-increasing patches of blue. Outside the air smelled of damp foliage and earth, a clean refreshing smell. Rose felt good. It was only ten thirty. She would drive to the moors and do some work.

Petra and Roger were glad to be home. Although their return flight had been delayed, somewhat spoiling the last few hours, the break had relaxed them and they were ready to face a new year.

Joel had heard the car and went to open the door. ‘Hi,’ he said, smiling broadly. ‘Welcome home.’ It was the first time he had been left on his own and he had been surprised by how much he had missed his parents even though he tended to take them for granted when they were around. And with all that had been going on he was looking forward to what he had come to recognise as his father’s sound way of thinking. That, of course, was down to Rose Trevelyan. He respected her, as a woman as well as an artist. If he could ever be half as talented he would be extremely happy. Joel’s future was now set, as was Miranda’s. He was pleased for her but slightly jealous of her relationship with Michael, a man he had not met. It was a sibling jealousy rather than
a sexual one.

‘It’s great to be home,’ Roger said as he patted his son on the shoulder.

Petra glanced around anxiously as she entered the lounge, then she smiled. ‘No wild parties, then?’ The house was tidy but the furniture could do with a polish. The cleaner had been given two weeks’ holiday.

‘Far from it.’ He paused. ‘Mum, Miranda’s been here.’

‘Miranda?’ Her face paled beneath the light tan she had acquired in Madeira.

‘Yes.’

‘How is she?’ Petra wasn’t sure what else to say.

‘She’s fine. She looks well, but I don’t think she’s very happy.’

Petra sat down. ‘Why did she go away, Joel? Did she tell you?’

‘I’m not sure. Oh, hell, I suppose you ought to know. I think the police might want to talk to you.’

‘The police?’ Roger stood in the doorway, his car coat over his arm. ‘I’ve put the cases upstairs, love. What’s this about the police?’ he asked, turning back to Joel. ‘It was time they took some notice. They haven’t found Frank, have they?’

‘No, but I think they’re finally taking you
seriously, about Uncle Frank, that is. You see, Dad, I was just telling Mum, Miranda’s been here.’

‘Knowing we were away, I take it. I don’t understand any of this, only that my brother-in-law owes me money which I’m never likely to see again.

‘Anyway, what’s up with the girl? Why can’t she come out in the open, doesn’t she realise she’s had us worried sick?’

Joel took a deep breath. ‘We’ve been to Uncle Frank’s lock-up. The boat wasn’t there but his holdall was, with his clothes and passport and stuff. The police took it away.’

‘My God, what on earth’s been going on in our absence? I think I need a drink.’ He turned to where the bottles were kept and poured a stiff whisky. Without asking Petra he poured her one, too. Then he lit a cigar which filled the room with its not unpleasant odour. ‘I think you’d better start at the beginning, son. I want to know everything that’s happened since we’ve been away.’ He stood in front of the fire which Joel had thoughtfully lit knowing that his parents would feel the difference in temperature. It crackled cheerfully in the grate.

It took Joel almost twenty minutes to
explain and even then there were no hard facts to impart, only supposition.

‘Louisa killed Frank? That’s ridiculous.’

‘I know, but that’s what we all thought at first. Then it seemed more likely that Wendy might have done.’

‘The “we” includes Rose Trevelyan, no doubt.’ Roger’s smile was wry. He had summed up Rose as quickly as she had done him. Asking her to keep her ear to the ground, he had noticed the expression on her face and he realised she was the sort of woman who would go to further lengths than that.

‘Yes. But now there’s a new development.’

‘Which is?’

‘Miranda told me there are some letters. She saw them in a drawer, she’s certain they were from her father. From Spain.’ Joel blushed. Inspector Pearce had told Miranda to keep this information to herself but they had always shared things. He hoped he hadn’t got her into trouble.

‘So that’s where he’s hiding.’ Roger turned to flick ash into the fireplace.

‘But Roger, don’t you see what this means? Louisa’s known all along where he was but Miranda didn’t. How could she do that to the girl. All right, Miranda and
Frank weren’t close but he was still her father.’

‘It’s beyond me, Petra, but if the police are finally doing something about it perhaps we’ll eventually find out what the bloody family are playing at. And perhaps I’ll get my money back. It’s Frank’s debt, not Louisa’s, whatever she might have done I couldn’t ask her for it.’ He reached for his glass which he had placed on the mantelpiece and went to refill it. ‘I think I’ll give Rose Trevelyan a ring. I’d like to find out what she knows before we speak to the police.’

But Rose was either out or not answering the telephone. He left a message for her to ring back then uncharacteristically offered to help his wife to unpack.

Rose leaned against the sink in Laura’s neat but cramped kitchen. She and Trevor had lived there all of their married life and had no intention of moving. They had brought up three sons there and, to them, the place now seemed spacious. Rose was amazed how they coped when their now extended family came to stay, although neighbours always helped out with the use of a spare room. That was the beauty of such a small
community, people were always willing to help.

‘So,’ Laura said, tossing back her hair as steam rose as she added something to the pan on the stove. ‘What sort of trouble are you in this time?’

‘I’m not in trouble, Laura, just helping some new friends. They’re young and confused and, I think, just a bit frightened.’

Laura snorted and looked over her thin shoulder. ‘You’ve only known them for a few weeks. I don’t know how you do it.’ She grinned. ‘Our glasses are empty, it’s unlike you to be so dilatory. Hurry up, it’s ready.’

They sat at the table to eat beef in red wine, accompanied by fresh vegetables. Like Rose, Laura believed in eating well, and local fresh food was better quality than any that could be purchased in a supermarket.

‘There’s some scam going on,’ Rose said, unable to think of anything but Frank Jordan. ‘But I just can’t make out what it is. It seems he’s alive and living in Spain, if what Miranda tells me is right, and I did see one of those letters myself. And there’s all the paintings and antiques.’

‘What paintings?’ Laura speared some broccoli.

‘Louisa’s house is full of them. They’ve got
to be worth a fortune.’

‘But you said they live without electricity and everything.’

‘I know. Still, given the choice, I’d rather have the paintings.’

‘That’s because you’re an artist. I know what I’d prefer. Can’t you talk about anything else?’ She leaned forward. ‘Anyway, I want to know how it went with Jack on Saturday.’

Rose blushed. ‘I’m not sure. He refuses to talk about Anna.’

‘Hmm. I wonder if she exists.’

‘What’re you talking about? Jack wouldn’t lie to me.’

‘Ah, listen to you. You’re suddenly very defensive of him. Well, she didn’t come to your party either, did she?’

‘Don’t grin at me like a bloody Cheshire cat.’

‘Teasy tonight, aren’t we?’

Rose laughed. Laura always knew how to put her in her place.

‘Come on, we were talking about Jack.’

‘All right. We met in the Yacht and had a couple of drinks then we walked back across the Promenade and had a meal in the Newlyn Laundry restaurant. He’d already booked it.’ Rose bit her lip. She hadn’t
forgotten it was where Jack had taken Anna; neither had Laura.

‘Which meant he knew you’d accept his invitation.’

‘Or Anna had let him down.’

‘How cynical you’ve become, my dear. Of course Anna didn’t let him down, if anything it would’ve been the other way around. It’s you Jack wants, that’s obvious to everyone except you.’

Rose shook her head. It had been an enjoyable evening although their old intimacy had been missing. They had talked of general things; not Anna, not the Penhaligons, not the sisters. Rose still didn’t know what footing their relationship was on. And I didn’t have the courage to ask, she admitted. But she had invited him for a meal in a week’s time, an invitation he had accepted very quickly. He hadn’t said he needed to check with Anna, or he’d let her know. Just, ‘I’d love that. Thank you.’ Then he had paid the bill and walked her home.

Laura raised her eyebrows. ‘And?’ she asked when Rose had finished speaking.

‘And nothing. He went home himself then.’ It was time to change the subject.

They chatted until gone eleven when Trevor returned from a card game and Rose
decided it was time to leave.

There was one message for her but it was too late to return Roger Penhaligon’s call. She would do so first thing in the morning.

‘Rose, hello. Did you have a good Christmas? Joel told me what a feast you put on for him and Miranda.’

So he knows all about it, Rose thought. ‘Yes. And you? Good holiday?’

‘One of the best. Now look, Inspector Pearce just called. He’s coming over to see us this morning. Could I ask you a favour? We’d like it if you were here, too.’

I’ll see Jack again, she thought, wondering why that was more important than what she might learn. ‘Yes. What time?’

‘Come as soon as you’re ready. We can have a chat first. Oh, by the way, Miranda will be here, Joel rang her earlier. I thought it was for the best if he sees us all together so we can all put in our twopence worth.’

‘That’s fine.’ Rose glanced at her watch. ‘I’ll leave here in about half an hour.’ She hung up. Once again work would have to wait, but the sooner this was all over with the sooner she could settle down again. Well, maybe in a few days’ time. It’s New Year’s Eve, she thought. I’d completely forgotten.
Tonight she would be at Laura’s again. There were only going to be eight of them. Four couples, not that she and Barry were a couple. And then, hopefully, she could get back into her usual routine. And Jack, how would he be celebrating? It was best not to think about it.

Within twenty-five minutes she was on her way. The weather was almost springlike. Wisps of cloud floated across the sky occasionally obscuring the pale sun and causing shadows to dance across the countryside which became more barren with each passing mile. There was very little traffic on the St Just road. She turned into the Penhaligons’ gateway and parked.

Petra opened the door to her and smiled. ‘We’re all here, except Inspector Pearce. He’d said he’d come at about ten thirty. Come on in.’

Rose followed her into the lovely lounge and said hello to those present. Both Miranda and Joel sat on the edge of their seats as if they were guilty of something. Perhaps they were.

For twenty minutes they discussed all they knew then, when the doorbell rang, Roger went to let Jack in and Petra went to get the coffee.

‘I didn’t expect to see you here, Rose,’ Jack said when Roger showed him in.

‘I was invited,’ she replied defensively. ‘Does it matter?’

‘Of course not.’ He smiled to soften the harshness of his tone. He had been unprepared to see her and hoped it wouldn’t affect his professionalism. ‘Firstly,’ he began, once he was seated and had established how much the Penhaligons knew, ‘even if these letters exist, there is no way I can ask to see them.’

‘They do exist,’ Miranda stated firmly.

‘Yes, they do,’ Rose added

‘Okay. But what we can do is to make some inquiries in Spain. The boat for a start, that should be traceable, if it hasn’t already been sold.’

Roger shook his head. He was in the process of lighting up. He leaned back to put his lighter in his jacket pocket and blew a stream of smoke at the ceiling. ‘He loved that boat, I can’t believe he’d have sold it.’

‘If we find the boat, we might find him. Mr Penhaligon, may I ask you a very personal question?’

‘Feel free.’

‘Did Frank Jordan owe you money?’

‘Ah, that. There are no secrets down here,
are there, Inspector Pearce? Yes, he did. Is that why he disappeared? He knew there was no rush to pay me back, I made that clear from the start. It was an interest-free loan, too.’

‘That was very generous.’

‘Don’t sound so cynical. I did it for Louisa, my sister. She’d bailed him out before, I didn’t want to see her suffer any further financial loss. And, without meaning to sound boastful, we can afford it.’

‘I see. Miranda, what made you so sure something had happened to your father?’

‘I don’t really know.’ Her face was pale and she looked as if she hadn’t had much sleep. ‘He just left, without saying anything, and Mum didn’t seem to care. She loved him, idolised him, almost. Even I could see that. Then all of a sudden she was acting as if he had never existed. She even refused to talk about it. I thought … well, never mind. I just felt I needed to get away.’

‘Jack, I don’t know if this is relevant, but it seems only Wendy was aware he was leaving. She was the only one there at the time,’ Rose told him.

Although Jack already knew that, he asked, ‘Who told you this?’

‘Miranda did.’

‘And who told you, Miranda?’

‘My mother.’

The same source I heard it from. Then it might not be true, he thought. Mrs Louisa Jordan was conveniently out of the house all morning on the day before they moved. Sorting out final details, she had claimed, yet surely they would have been attended to before then? ‘Right, let’s go over everything once more then I’ll get on to the Spanish authorities.’ Jack was now convinced that Rose was right, that something was wrong, but he didn’t know what. Louisa’s behaviour was hard to fathom.

An hour later he left. Driving back to Camborne he realised that he understood Miranda a little better. Immaturity had caused her to panic and she had run away from a situation which she didn’t understand, and probably hadn’t wanted to, and which must have frightened her if she believed her mother to be guilty of murder. To a logical mind carrying on as normally as possible would have been the answer but Miranda had been barely eighteen and had had two major upheavals ahead of her: the move and university. My mother would describe her as highly strung, he thought as he pulled into the police station car-park.