Twenties Girl (17 page)

“Well, I have plans too.” He nods. “So maybe we should …”

He made dinner plans. Of course he did. He probably has a whole other, superior date lined up.

“Yes, let’s. It’s been … fun.”

We both stand up, make general parting gestures at the businesspeople, and head out of the bar onto the pavement.

“So.” Ed hesitates. “Thanks for…” He makes as though to lean in for a peck on the cheek, then clearly decides against it
and holds out his hand instead. “That was great. I’ll let you know about the
Business People
dinner.”

His face is so easy to read it’s almost pitiful. He’s already wondering how the hell he got himself into this one—but, having invited me in front of a crowd, he can hardly back out now.

“So … I’m going this way. …” he adds.

“I’m going the other way,” I respond at once. “Thanks again. Bye!” I quickly turn on my heel and start striding down the street. What a fiasco.

“Why are you going home so early?” says Sadie crossly in my ear. “You should have suggested going to a nightclub!”

“I have dinner plans, remember?” I say pointedly. “And so does he.” I stop dead on the pavement. I was in so much of a hurry to be off, I’m heading in totally the wrong direction. I turn around and look up the road, but there’s no sign of Ed. He must have legged it as quickly as I did.

I’m feeling pretty starving, and a bit sorry for myself. I should have made real dinner plans, I think as I head back up the road. I go into a Pret A Manger and start perusing the sandwich bar. I’ll get myself a wrap and a carton of soup, and a chocolate brownie, I decide. Go all out.

I’m just reaching for a smoothie when a familiar voice comes across the gentle buzz of customers.

“Pete. Hey, buddy. How’s it going?”

Sadie and I lock eyes in startled recognition.

Ed?

Instinctively I shrink back, trying to hide behind a rack of healthy crisps. My eyes scan the queues of people and land on an expensive overcoat. There he is. Buying a sandwich and talking on the phone.
These
are his so-called dinner plans?

“He didn’t have plans at all!” I mutter. “He lied!”

“So did you.”

“Yes, but …” I feel slightly outraged by this. I’m not sure why.

“That’s good. How’s Mom?” Ed’s voice is unmistakable over the hubbub.

I surreptitiously look around, trying to plan an escape route. But there are massive mirrors everywhere in this shop. He’s bound to spot me. I’ll have to sit it out here until he’s gone.

“Tell her I read the letter from the lawyer. I don’t think they have a case. I’ll send her an email later on tonight.” He listens for a moment. “Pete, it’s no trouble; it’ll take five minutes max. …” There’s another, longer silence. “I
am
having a good time. It’s great. It’s …” He sighs, and when he speaks again he sounds a little weary. “C’mon. It is what it is. You know that. I had a weird evening.”

My hand tightens around my smoothie in anticipation. Is he going to talk about me?

“I just wasted too much of my life with
the
most obnoxious woman in the world.”

I can’t help feeling a pang of hurt. I wasn’t obnoxious! OK, so I’m dressed a bit differently—

“You may have met her. Genevieve Bailey? DFT? … No, it wasn’t a date. I was with—” He hesitates. “It was a strange situation.”

I’m so engrossed in trying to blend into the healthy-crisp stand, I’ve stopped watching Ed. But all of a sudden I’m aware that he’s made his purchase and is striding out of Pret, holding a takeaway bag. He’s heading past me. Right past me, feet away … please don’t look….

Shit
.

As though he can hear my thoughts, he glances over to the right—and meets my eyes. He registers surprise but no embarrassment.

“Later, buddy,” he says, and slides his phone shut. “Hi there.”

“Oh. Hi!” I try to sound casually nonchalant, as though it was always the plan to be found lurking in Pret, clutching a wrap and a smoothie. “Fancy … um … seeing you here. My
dinner plans … fell through.” I clear my throat. “At the last minute. My friends called and canceled, so I thought I’d grab a bite to eat. … The wraps are great here. …”

Somehow I force myself to stop babbling. Why should I be embarrassed, anyway? Why isn’t
he
embarrassed? He’s been caught out as much as I have.

“So, I thought
you
had dinner arrangements,” I say lightly, raising my eyebrows. “What happened to your plan? Was it canceled too? Or is it such a fancy dinner you’re worried you won’t get fed properly?” I glance at his takeaway bag with a little laugh, waiting for him to look discomfited.

He doesn’t even flicker. “This
was
my plan. Buy some food and get some work done. I have to fly to Amsterdam first thing tomorrow for a conference. I’m giving a paper.”

“Oh,” I say, thrown.

His face is dead straight. I have a feeling he’s telling the truth. Damn.

“Right,” I say. “Well…”

There’s an awkward pause, then Ed nods politely. “Have a good evening.” He strides out of the Pret A Manger, and I watch him go, feeling wrong-footed.

Josh would never wrong-foot me. I
knew
I didn’t like this guy.

“Big Issue?”
A voice interrupts my thoughts.

“Oh.” I focus on the skinny man in front of me. He’s unshaven and wearing a woollen hat and an official
Big Issue
seller’s badge. Feeling bad for all the times I’ve walked by because it’s too much hassle, I decide to make amends. “I’ll buy five copies,” I say firmly. “Thanks very much.”

“Cheers, love.” The man nods at my vintage outfit. “Nice dress.”

I hand over the money and take five magazines, then pick up my supper items and head to the checkout. I’m still trying to work out exactly the witty, snappy thing I should have said to Ed. I should have given a lighthearted laugh and said, “Next time you make dinner plans, Ed, remind me to—”

No, I should have said, “Really, Ed, when you said
dinner—
”

“What’s the
Big Issue?”
Sadie’s voice breaks me out of my trance. I blink a few times, feeling suddenly annoyed with myself. Why am I wasting brain space on him? Who cares what he thinks?

“It’s a street magazine,” I explain. “The money goes to projects for the homeless. It’s a really good cause.”

I can see Sadie digesting this.

“I remember people living on the streets,” she says, her eyes distant. “After the war. It seemed as though the country would never find its footing again.”

“I’m sorry, sir, you can’t sell that in here.” I notice a girl in uniform escorting the
Big Issue
seller out of the sandwich shop. “We do appreciate the work you do, but it’s company policy. …”

I watch the man through the glass door. He seems utterly resigned to being ejected, and after a moment I can see him offering copies to passersby, all of whom ignore him.

“Can I help you?” I realize a cashier is calling out to me, and I hurry forward to the till. My credit card has lodged itself right at the bottom of my bag, so I take a while paying and lose track of where Sadie is.

“What the—”

“Bloody hell! What’s going on?”

Suddenly I become aware that all the cashiers are exclaiming and exchanging looks. Slowly, I turn around to see what they’re looking at. I don’t quite believe my eyes.

There’s an exodus of customers from the shop. They’re all piling out onto the pavement and accosting the
Big Issue
seller. I can see some holding several copies in their hands, others thrusting money at him.

There’s one last customer remaining in the shop. Sadie is floating next to him, her face intense, her mouth to his ear. A moment later, with a startled look, he puts down the sushi box he’s holding and hurries to join the throng outside, already
pulling out his wallet. Sadie just stands back and watches, her arms folded in satisfaction. After a moment she glances at me, and I can’t help giving her a huge beam.

“You rock, Sadie!” I mouth. The next moment she’s right beside me, looking puzzled.

“Did you say I’m a
rock?”

“You rock!” I pick up my bag and start walking. “It means … you’re great. You did a really good thing.” I gesture at the customers outside, all milling around the
Big Issue
seller. Passersby are now joining the crowd to see what’s up, and the seller looks overwhelmed. We watch them for a moment, then turn and start heading down the street together, an easy silence between us.

“You rock too,” says Sadie in a rush, and I look up in surprise.

“I’m sorry?”

“You did a good thing too. I know you didn’t want to wear this dress tonight, but you did. For me.” Her gaze is resolutely ahead. “So thank you.”

“That’s OK.” I shrug and take a bite of chicken wrap. “It wasn’t that bad in the end.”

I’m not going to admit it to Sadie, because then she’d crow over me and be unbearable. But actually, this whole twenties look is kind of growing on me.

Kind of.

ELEVEN

hings are on the up! I feel it in my bones. Even this second date with Ed is a positive thing. One has to seize one’s opportunities, like Uncle Bill said. And that’s what this is all about. Going to the
Business People
dinner will be a great chance for me to meet loads of senior professionals, give out my card, and impress people. Natalie always said she had to be “out there” and keep her profile up. Well, now I’ll be “out there” too.

“Kate!” I say as I enter the office on Monday morning. “I need all my business cards, and I need to buy one of those little holders, and I need all the back issues of
Business People—
” I break off in surprise. She’s clutching the phone with one hand and circling the air wildly with the other. “What’s wrong?”

“It’s the police!” She claps her hand over the receiver. “They’re on the phone. They want to come and see you.”

“Oh, right.”

A chunk of ice seems to descend nastily into my stomach. The police. I was hoping the police might just forget all about me.

I glance around to see if Sadie’s here, but there’s no sign of her. She was talking about some vintage shop in Chelsea at breakfast time, so maybe she’s gone off there.

“Shall I put them through?” Kate is agog.

“Yes, why not?” I try to sound confident and unconcerned, like I’m someone who deals with police matters every day. Like Jane Tennison or someone. “Hello, Lara Lington speaking.”

“Lara, it’s DC Davies here.” As soon as I hear her voice, I have a flashback to myself sitting in that room, telling her I’m a speed walker training for the Olympics, while she took notes, her face utterly impassive. What was I
thinking?

“Hi! How are you?”

“I’m well, thanks, Lara.” She’s pleasant but brisk. “I’m in the area and was wondering if I could pop by your office for a chat. Are you free now?”

Oh God. A chat? I don’t want to chat.

“Yes, I’m free.” My voice has risen to a petrified squeak. “Look forward to it! See you then!”

I put the receiver down, hot around the face. Why is she following this up? Aren’t the police always supposed to be chasing car fines and ignoring murders? Why couldn’t they ignore
this
murder?

I look up to see Kate staring at me, her eyes like saucers. “What do the police want? Are we in trouble?”

“Oh, no,” I say quickly. “Nothing to worry about. It’s just about my aunt’s murder.”

“Murder?”
Kate claps a hand over her mouth.

I keep forgetting how
murder
sounds when you just drop it into a sentence.

“Er … yes. So, anyway! What were you up to over the weekend?”

My distraction ruse doesn’t work. Kate’s boggled expression doesn’t change; in fact, it becomes even more boggled.

“You never told me your aunt was murdered! The aunt whose funeral you went to?”

“Mmm-hmm.” I nod.

“No wonder you were so upset! Oh, Lara, that’s awful. How was she killed?”

Oh God. I really don’t want to go into the details. But I’m not sure how else to get out of this conversation.

“Poison,” I mumble at last.

“By who?”

“Well.” I clear my throat. “They don’t know.”

“They don’t
know?”
Kate sounds totally outraged. “Well, are they looking? Did they take fingerprints? God, the police are useless! They spend their whole time giving you parking tickets and then someone’s actually murdered and they don’t even care—”

“I think they’re doing the best they can,” I say hastily. “They’re most likely giving me an update report. In fact, they’ve probably found the culprit.”

Even as I’m speaking, the most horrific thought is hitting me. What if that’s true?

What if DC Davies is coming here to tell me they’ve found the man with the scar and the plaited beard? What do I do then?

I have a sudden image of a gaunt, bearded man with wild eyes and a scar, locked up in a police cell, banging on the door, shouting, “You’ve made a mistake! I never knew the old lady!” while a young police officer watches through a two-way window, folding his arms in satisfaction and saying, “He’ll crack soon enough.”

For a moment I feel quite hollow with guilt. What have I started?

The buzzer goes, and Kate leaps up to answer it.

“Shall I make some tea?” she says when she’s pressed the buzzer. “Shall I stay or go? Do you want moral support?”

“No, you go.” Trying to stay calm, I push my chair back, knock over a pile of post with my elbow, and scrape my hand picking it up. “I’ll be fine.”

It’ll all be fine
, I tell myself fervently.
It’s no big deal
.

But I can’t help it. As soon as I see DC Davies walking in the door, with her clumpy shoes and sensible trousers and air of authority, I can feel my calmness disintegrating into childlike panic.

“Have you found the murderer?” I blurt out anxiously. “Have you locked anyone up?”

“No,” DC Davies says, giving me a strange look. “We haven’t locked anyone up.”

“Thank God.” I subside in relief, then realize how that might sound. “I mean … why not? What are you doing all day?”

“I’ll give you some privacy,” says Kate, backing out, while simultaneously mouthing “Useless!” behind DC Davies’s back.

“Have a seat.” I gesture to a chair and retreat behind my desk, trying to regain a professional air. “So, how are things progressing?”

“Lara.” DC Davies gives me a long, hard look. “We have conducted some preliminary inquiries, and we have found no evidence to suggest that your aunt was murdered. According to the doctor’s report, she died of natural causes. Essentially, old age.”

“Old
age?”
I adopt a shocked expression. “Well, that’s just … ludicrous.”

“Unless we can find any evidence to suggest otherwise, the case will be closed. Do you have any other evidence?”

“Um …” I pause as though considering the question carefully from all sides. “Not what you’d call
evidence
. Not as such.”

“What about this phone message you left?” She pulls out a piece of paper. “‘The nurses didn’t do it.’”

“Oh, that. Yes.” I nod several times, playing for time. “I realized I’d got a tiny detail wrong in my statement. I just wanted to clarify things.”

“And this ‘man with a beard’? A man who didn’t even appear in your original statement?”

The sarcasm in her voice is unmistakable.

“Absolutely.” I cough. “Well, it suddenly came back to me. I remembered seeing him in the pub at the time and thinking he looked suspicious. …” I trail off, my face hot. DC Davies is looking at me like a teacher who’s caught you cheating in the geography exam.

“Lara, I’m not sure you’re aware of this,” she says in calm, even tones. “But wasting police time is a criminal offense which can carry a penalty of imprisonment. If you have made a malicious accusation—”

“I wasn’t being malicious!” I say in horror. “I was just…”

“What, exactly?”

Her eyes are fixed on mine. She isn’t going to let me off the hook. Now I’m really scared.

“Look, I’m sorry,” I say in total panic. “I didn’t mean to waste your time. I just had this very strong instinct that my great-aunt was murdered. But maybe … thinking about it in the cold light of day … I got it wrong. Maybe she did die of old age. Please don’t prosecute me,” I add in a rush.

“We’re not going to charge you this time.” DC Davies lifts her eyebrows. “But consider this a warning.”

“All right,” I gulp. “Thank you.”

“The case is closed. I’d like you to sign this form, confirming that we’ve had this talk.”

She proffers a piece of paper with a printed paragraph which basically says
I, the undersigned, have had a telling-off and understood it and I won’t pester the police again
. In so many words.

“OK.” I nod humbly and scribble my signature. “So what will happen now with the … the …” I can hardly bring myself to say it. “What happens to my great-aunt?”

“The body will be handed back to the responsibility of the next of kin in due course,” says DC Davies in a businesslike way. “Presumably they’ll then arrange another funeral.”

“And how soon will that be?”

“The paperwork might take a while.” She zips up her bag. “Maybe two weeks, maybe a little longer.”

Two
weeks?
I feel a jolt of horror. What if I can’t find the necklace by then? Two weeks is nothing. I need more time. Sadie needs more time.

“Can that be … delayed at all?” I try to sound casual.

“Lara.” DC Davies gives me a long look, then sighs. “I’m sure you were very fond of your great-aunt. I lost my gran last year; I know what it’s like. But delaying her funeral and wasting everyone’s time is not the answer.” She pauses, then adds more gently, “You have to accept it. She’s gone.”

“She isn’t!” I say before I can stop myself. “I mean … she needs more time.”

“She was one hundred and five.” DC Davies smiles kindly. “I think she had enough time, don’t you?”

“But she—” I exhale in frustration. There’s nothing I can say. “Well… thanks for all your help.”

After DC Davies has left, I sit staring blankly at my computer until I hear Sadie’s voice behind me.

“Why were the police here?”

I swivel around in alarm to see her sitting on top of a filing cabinet, dressed in a low-waisted cream dress and matching cream hat with blue-black feathers sweeping around to tickle her cheek. “I’ve been shopping! I’ve just found you the most divine little wrap. You must buy it.” She adjusts her fur collar, then blinks at me. “Why were the police here?”

“Did you hear our conversation at all?” I ask casually.

“No. I told you, I’ve been shopping.” She narrows her eyes. “Is something wrong?”

I gaze back at her, stricken. I can’t tell her the truth. I can’t tell her she has only two weeks left before they’re going to … before…

“Nothing! Just a routine visit. They wanted to check a few details. I like your hat,” I add, to distract her. “Go and find me a hat like that.”

“You couldn’t wear a hat like this,” says Sadie complacently. “You don’t have the cheekbones.”

“Well, a hat that would suit me, then.”

Sadie’s eyes widen in surprise. “You promise to buy whatever I choose? And wear it?”

“Yes! Of course! Go on! Shop!”

As soon as she’s disappeared, I yank open my desk drawer. I have to find Sadie’s necklace. Now. I can’t waste any more time. I pull out the list of names and rip off the back sheet.

“Kate,” I say as she comes back into the office. “New job. We’re trying to find a necklace. Long, glass beads with a dragonfly pendant. Any of these people might have bought it at a jumble sale at the Fairside Nursing Home. Can you ring this lot?”

There’s a tiny flicker of surprise in her eyes, then she takes the list and nods without any questions, like some loyal army lieutenant. “Absolutely!”

I run my finger down past all the scribbled-out names and dial the next number. After a few rings a woman picks up.

“Hello?”

“Hi there! My name’s Lara Lington, you don’t know me….”

It’s two hours later before I finally put the phone down and look up wearily at Kate. “Any luck?”

“No.” She sighs. “Sorry. How about you?”

“Nothing.”

I slump back in my chair and rub my telephone-red cheeks. My adrenaline evaporated about an hour ago. As I neared the end of the list, it was turning to a heavy kind of disappointment. We’ve ruled out every single number. I don’t have anywhere else to turn. What am I going to do now?

“Shall I go on a sandwich run?” says Kate tentatively.

“Oh. Yeah.” I muster a smile. “Chicken and avocado please. Thanks so much.”

“No problem!” She bites her lip anxiously. “I hope you find it.”

As she leaves, I sink my head forward and rub my aching
neck. I’ll just have to go back to the nursing home and ask more questions. There have to be more avenues to explore. There
has
to be an answer. It just doesn’t make sense. The necklace was there, around Sadie’s neck, and now it’s gone….

A thought suddenly strikes me. That visitor she had, Charles Reece. I never followed him up. I might as well tick every box. Fishing for my mobile, I find the number for the nursing home and wearily dial.

“Hello, Fairside Nursing Home,” answers a female voice.

“Hi! This is Lara Lington, Sadie Lancaster’s great-niece.”

“Oh, yes?”

“I was just wondering … can anyone tell me anything more about a visitor she had just before she died? A Charles Reece?”

“Just a moment.”

As I’m waiting, I get out the sketch of the necklace and study it as though for clues. I’ve looked at this picture so many times, I could practically draw each bead by heart. The more I’ve got to know it, the more beautiful it seems. I can’t bear it if Sadie never gets it back.

Maybe I should secretly have a copy made, I find myself thinking. An exact replica. I could get it distressed, tell Sadie it’s the original, she might just fall for it—

“Hello?” A cheerful voice rouses me from my thoughts. “Lara? It’s Sharon here, one of the nurses. I was with Sadie when Charles Reece visited; in fact, I signed him in. What do you want to know about him?”