The Real Katie Lavender (9 page)

Lloyd’s mobile rang and rang until finally Stirling heard his nephew’s voice. Thankfully he didn’t sound sleepy. ‘Sorry if I kept you,’ Lloyd said. ‘I was in the shower. How’s the party going? I spoke to Granza last night. She sounded great and was looking forward to a quiet dinner with you all. How’s the surprise going down?’

Stirling glossed over his response and then casually asked, ‘Have you heard from your father?’

‘No. Why, what’s wrong?’

‘Nothing’s wrong.’

‘Are you sure about that? Because if I’m reading this right, you’ve just left Granza’s party to ask me very specifically if I’ve heard from Dad. What’s going on? It’s not Mum, is it? Is she ill? Has she had an accident?’

Stirling knew he had to be honest with Lloyd. ‘Pen’s fine. It’s just that we’re both worried. It’s your father, he . . . he seems to have disappeared. He told Pen he was going sailing in Greece, a last-minute thing, but didn’t mention anything to me about the trip. On top of that, he hasn’t been in touch all week. I’ve left countless messages on his mobile, but he hasn’t got back to me. It’s not like him. Did you know he was going sailing?’

‘No, I didn’t. Have you checked with the flotilla company?’

‘I don’t know which one he used this time round, so this afternoon I checked with as many as I could find online, and not one of them has any record of a booking with him for this week.’

‘What the hell’s he playing at?’

‘I have no idea. I’m worried, Lloyd. Why would he miss Cecily’s ninetieth birthday? What would make him do that?’

‘I can’t think of a single reason. It’s so out of character it doesn’t make sense.’

‘Then the only conclusion I can reach is that something’s happened to him. I think we have to consider getting in touch with the police to report him as missing.’

‘What does Mum say about that?’

‘I haven’t mentioned the police to Pen, I didn’t want to make her any more anxious than she already is.’

‘I wish she’d called me.’

‘You know your mother; she doesn’t like to make a fuss. I haven’t discussed it with anyone else either.’

‘What do you want me to do? John and Emma’s wedding is tomorrow; as best man I don’t feel I can just leave them in the lurch, but I could fly back as soon as it’s over.’

‘Let’s speak again tomorrow. For all we know, Neil could be tearing up the drive in that Porsche of his as we speak.’

‘If that’s the case, give him a huge piece of my mind for putting you and Mum through all this worry.’

‘Trust me, that’s what I fully intend to do.’

Words of bravado, Stirling conceded when he rang off. He knew in his guts that his brother wasn’t going to be here tonight. Moreover, he knew with every fibre of his being that something was seriously wrong. It had started that day when Cecily had voiced her concern for Neil. Recalling her question, he now had to admit that he was fooling himself if he thought he could lie to her as to why Neil hadn’t made it back for her party this evening. It was fair enough Lloyd missing it unavoidably because he was best man at his friend’s wedding, an event that had been planned more than a year ago, but what possible excuse could Neil have? Other than a delayed flight. For the sake of not spoiling the evening, Stirling knew that Cecily would go along with whatever explanation he gave her, but once the curtain came down on the party, she would want to know what was really going on. Wouldn’t they all?

Having spent most of the afternoon at the office, Rosco was running late. He was in a state of shock. Every time he thought about the implications of what he’d discovered, he shuddered with disbelief. How could it have happened? And what if they dug deeper and discovered this was just the tip of the iceberg? It was unthinkable.

He turned into Willow Bank and slammed on the brakes behind a yellow Mini. He switched off the engine and thought about what he should do. It wasn’t the right time or place, but he had to speak to his father. He had to do it tonight. It couldn’t wait. They would have to figure out how they were going to keep a lid on this. If it went public, it would cause them no end of harm. Worst-case scenario, and not beyond the realms of disbelief, they might never recover from it. Financial institutions of any kind had to be whiter than white these days; the faintest whiff of something dodgy and the tainted reputation stayed for ever.

He was out of his Range Rover and locking it when another car appeared at the end of the drive. It was Pen’s Volvo. His heart sank. How the hell was he going to look her in the eye? Nothing else for it, he would have to find a way to avoid his aunt. He quickly walked round to the back of the house as though he hadn’t seen her.

Guests were everywhere; some were seated on the terrace, some were drifting about the garden, some were down by the riverbank. Which made Dee and Katie’s job all the more difficult as they had so much ground to cover. And all the while she was scurrying around with trays of canapés and drinks, and worrying that the real waitress from the agency would arrive, she was keeping an eye out for Stirling Nightingale.

Maddeningly, she was spoilt for choice with potential candidates – there were plenty of grey-haired, prosperous-looking men here; he could be any one of them. To make matters worse, the mental picture she had of him from the internet had begun to fade from her memory. She had asked Dee to point him out to her, and the girl had vaguely thought he was inside the house. ‘Why are you so keen to know?’ she had said with a frown. Not wanting to attract suspicion, Katie had smiled and said, ‘Oh, you know, just curious. It’s quite some set-up here, isn’t it?’

Her voice low, Dee said, ‘The Nightingales are loaded.
Seriously
loaded.’

That much Katie had worked out for herself. As F. Scott Fitzgerald had said, the rich are different, and that difference was abundantly apparent at Willow Bank. Edwardian in style, no expense had been spared in its decoration or furnishings. It was lavish, but stylishly positioned on the right side of extreme good taste.

As to who the party had been thrown for, that was easy to figure out. Mrs Nightingale senior was seated at the head of the large wooden table on the terrace. In front of her on the table was a pile of unopened presents. Chatting happily with guests, and dressed in a navy-blue dress with white trim, a simple pearl necklace at her throat, she looked a very elegant lady. Her hair was white and stylishly swept to the back of her head, held in place with a tortoiseshell comb. Her face was soft and lightly made-up, and her eyes were bright and alert. Dee was right: Mrs Nightingale senior didn’t look her age.

So far Dee had worked the terrace, but since she was currently occupied elsewhere, Katie approached the table with a tray of smoked-salmon blinis. She was suddenly struck by the thought that she was actually related to this elderly woman. It was the weirdest feeling.

‘Thank you,’ the old lady said as she helped herself to a blini. She was one of the few guests actually to make eye contact with Katie. ‘You girls are doing a splendid job taking care of us this evening,’ she said. ‘The food, as ever, is delicious.’ Her voice was measured and clear-cut, but not so much as to be unfriendly.

Katie smiled. ‘Thank you.’ And before she knew what she was doing, she added, ‘Happy birthday.’

The old lady smiled, and for a moment it seemed to Katie that the woman’s bluey-grey gaze intensified. Was it her imagination – or her paranoia – but was she being scrutinized? Then the moment was gone and the woman looked away, her attention caught by a strident voice. ‘Happy birthday, Granza!’

Moving on to serve the other guests, Katie observed a good-looking man about the same age as her approach the table – a confident, well-dressed man who liked an entrance, she thought, as everyone watched him embrace the old lady.

‘You’re late, Rosco,’ she chided him good-humouredly.

‘Sorry,’ he said. ‘I’m a terrible grandson, I know. But you love me anyway, don’t you, Granza?’ Something about him didn’t ring true for Katie; it was as if he was putting on a performance.

‘You’re growing on me,’ the old lady said, flicking a dismissive hand against his shoulder.

He laughed, then spotted Katie. ‘Any chance of a glass of wine?’ he asked, at the same time reaching for a blini and putting it straight in his mouth.

‘Certainly, sir,’ she replied. ‘Red, white or rose?’

With an unsubtle cocky glance at her legs, he took a napkin from the tray she was carrying and wiped his mouth. ‘Red,’ he said.

Red,
please
, you arrogant sod, she thought as he turned his back on her and resumed chatting to his grandmother. He was so utterly self-possessed, his every gesture giving off a grating sense of entitlement. Then, with a jolt that brought her up short, she realized he had to be one of two things; her cousin or a half-brother.

‘Do you know where Dad is?’ she heard him say as she finished serving the seated guests and turned to go inside the house to fetch him his glass of wine.

So preoccupied was she with her thoughts that she turned the corner in the hallway too fast and went smack into a couple of guests. She let out a startled cry and the empty metal tray dropped to the floor with a deafening crash. ‘I’m so sorry,’ she said as she bent to pick it up, along with the scattered paper napkins.

‘Are you all right,’ the man said as he hunkered down beside her to help.

‘I’m fine, sir.’

He put the napkins on the tray and they both stood up. That was when the photograph that had faded from her memory returned with total clarity, and she realized she was finally face to face with Stirling Nightingale.

Not only was Katie face to face with her biological father, but she was being stared at by the woman she’d met that afternoon at The Meadows. Standing next to Stirling Nightingale, the woman was looking at Katie as if registering that there was something familiar about her. More than anything Katie wanted to draw out this encounter with Stirling Nightingale for as long as possible, to gain more than just a passing observation of him. But not if it would give his sister-in-law the chance to realize where she had seen her before. So with her head down, she mumbled another apology and shot off to the kitchen.

With both Sue and Merrill busy loading more trays of food into the oven, and no sign of Dee, Katie grabbed a glass and filled it with red wine. With her heart pounding fit to burst and her hands shaking, she had to concentrate hard on what she was doing. She took a deep steadying breath. Her natural inclination was to run, to escape before she was found out: Penelope Nightingale had definitely recognized her.

But she couldn’t run. She hadn’t gone to this much trouble for a mere two-second exchange with her biological father. She couldn’t leave here without gaining a better insight into the man. Into him
and
his family. And anyway, what was she risking by continuing with the subterfuge? So what if she got caught out and ended up having to explain herself? That was Stirling Nightingale’s problem, not hers. She was perfectly innocent in the whole thing. She had done nothing wrong. Impersonating a waitress was hardly a crime, was it?

Feeling calmer, she took the glass of red wine and went back outside to find the person who’d asked for it.

There was no sign of him on the terrace with his grandmother – an attractive blonde girl seemed to have taken his place – but after scanning the garden, she located him down by the boathouse. He wasn’t alone; he was with Stirling Nightingale.

She was a short distance from the boathouse when the two men moved so they were partially hidden by a screen of weeping-willow branches. With their backs to her, they had no idea she was there. Something about their body language and the intensity of the exchange between them made Katie hesitate; whatever they were discussing was apparently for no one else’s ears. Her curiosity irresistibly roused, she flattened herself against the side of the boathouse so there was no danger of her being spotted.

‘You’re wrong. You have to be mistaken.’

‘Dad, I’d give anything to be wrong but I’m not. I double-checked; I swear it. What I want to know is why. Why did he do it? I mean, how much money did he need, for God’s sake?’

‘I still think there has to be an explanation.’

‘There is, it’s called defrauding the company.’

‘Don’t be flippant!’

‘Dad, face up to it, Uncle Neil’s had his hand in the till and has been stealing from clients. And not just small amounts; he’s stolen almost—’

‘He wouldn’t! Rosco, I know my brother. He would never steal from anyone. It’s got to be someone else who’s been doing it and has deliberately made it look like Neil’s responsible.’

‘How do you explain his disappearance, then? Coincidence? And let’s not forget his strange behaviour just before he fell off the radar. Didn’t I say to you that he wasn’t himself?’

Stirling shook his head. He felt sick. Sick in the pit of his stomach. He wanted to defend his brother, wanted to do it till his dying breath, but instinct was telling him that there was an appalling chance that Rosco was right.

Irrationally he felt angry with his son. If Rosco hadn’t played tennis that morning and overheard a snippet of conversation in the club bar between one of Neil’s clients and an accountant from High Wycombe with whom Rosco had had dealings in the past, he would never have done what he did next, which was to drive straight to the office and check through Neil’s client files. Why hadn’t Rosco come to him first? And why couldn’t he have kept this to himself tonight? Why did he have to go and spoil Cecily’s party? Oh God, how would Cecily react to the news?

‘Let’s not jump to any hasty conclusions,’ he said. ‘There’s got to be a reasonable explanation for what you’ve found and for why Neil’s not here.’

‘There is, it’s staring us right in the face. He’s helped himself to a ton of money that doesn’t belong to him and then buggered off with it. And worse still, he’s left us to clear up the shit he’s left behind.’

‘Don’t you dare talk about my brother like that!’ Stirling exploded. ‘Not when you don’t have any real proof. All you’ve got—’

‘Dad, listen to me. You have to forget that Neil’s your brother. You’ve got to look at this objectively. As for proof, take my word for it, it’s there. I’m talking irrefutable proof.’ He took a folded piece of paper out of his pocket and passed it to Stirling. ‘As I said earlier, I checked and I double-checked and for no other reason than I didn’t want it to be true.’