Deception and Desire Page 12

  Before Maggie could question her further she had gone, hurrying back across the car park, and Maggie stood for a moment looking after her and thinking about what she had said. If there really was an industrial spy at Vandina then perhaps it was possible that Ros had gone off to do some checking up. But why should she have been gone so long? It didn’t explain anything – only posed more questions. And it had done nothing to dispel the underlying sense of apprehension for her sister’s safety that had been with her from the moment she had first heard Ros was missing.

  Oh Ros, where the hell are you? Maggie asked silently. And if you are all right, why, oh why, don’t you get it touch?

  Here, as at the cottage, it seemed there was no satisfactory answer.

  She told Mike what had happened at Vandina that evening over a casual meal in a country pub – the type of place Maggie still missed desperately in spite of all the lovely alfresco tavernas she had become used to in Corfu. It was pleasant, of course, to eat at tables covered with neat checked cloths within sight and sound of the sea, pleasant to watch the sun dip towards the horizon so suddenly that it was there one moment, a ball of fire, and gone the next, leaving only a scarlet stain on the dark water, pleasant to listen to the strains of the balalaika while eating freshly-caught seafood and to see the taverna owner performing traditional Greek dances with one or more of his small sons, but enjoying these things did not stop Maggie from longing for the typically English atmosphere of a smoky crowded pub.

  The Haywain was everything she could have wished for. The bare wood tables were set around the centrepiece of a great stone fireplace – though thankfully, poor as the weather had been, it was not so bad as to require a fire to be lit in midsummer – the walls were decorated with horse brasses and there was a shelf housing a collection of eccentric Toby jugs. From a varied menu and a blackboard announcing the day’s specials Maggie had chosen home-made steak and kidney pie, that most English of dishes, but when it arrived, steam issuing invitingly from vents in the thick pastry crust, she found she had very little appetite. Ever since leaving Vandina the knot of anxiety in her stomach had been growing, and now the delicious aroma of the steak and gravy made her feel slightly queasy.

  Mike, however, was not in the habit of letting worry affect his appetite. He too had chosen steak and kidney pie and within minutes both his dish and the one containing the extra chips – ‘Real chips, not French fries,’ he had said with satisfaction – were empty.

  ‘Now tell me how you got on at Vandina,’ he said, taking a long pull from his tall glass of lager.

  Maggie told him. She had promised Liz Christopher confidentiality, of course, but in her book sharing it with Mike did not count.

  ‘Well,’ he said when she had finished. ‘It’s all good, fascinating stuff but I’m not sure how much further forward it takes us. Especially since Liz didn’t tell you who she thought might be responsible for the leaks at Vandina.’

  ‘I know. And not being able to mention it to Dinah is another bind. I can’t imagine what I can find out from her tomorrow night without raising the subject.’ She toyed with a forkful of meat. ‘I spent the afternoon phoning everyone I could think of – all Ros’s old friends – but I drew blanks there too. I feel as if I’ve run into a blind alley, Mike. I honestly don’t know what to do next.’

  He nodded thoughtfully.

  ‘I feel the same. It’s the way I felt before I got in touch with you – absolutely helpless. When I knew you were coming over at least I felt purposeful again, but I think that was just an illusion.’

  ‘I’m sorry.’ She gave up the attempt at eating, putting down her knife and fork. ‘Somehow we’ve got to make the police take this seriously. I still have the feeling something is dreadfully wrong but I just don’t know what to do about it. What did they say about her car?’

  ‘I told you – it’s parked outside the railway station. They maintain that is proof that she’s gone off somewhere by train, and I suppose they could be right. It’s all locked up and legally parked. Who else would have left it there but Ros? And why would she leave it there if she wasn’t catching a train?’

  ‘Have they checked it out?’ Maggie asked.

  ‘Checked it out?’

  ‘Looked inside to see if there’s anything that might give a clue.’

  ‘I doubt it. They didn’t say so. I would imagine they would take the view that they would need more evidence of something suspicious having happened to Ros before they break into a locked car legally parked. What sort of clue were you thinking of?’

  ‘I don’t know really. But all sorts of things get left in cars, don’t they? I wonder if Ros had a spare set of keys? If she had, and I could find them, I’d go and have a look inside myself.’

  ‘Could be an idea. But somehow I can’t imagine Ros leaving anything of importance in her car.’

  Maggie said nothing. He was right, of course, Ros wasn’t the sort to leave things lying about. She was far too well organised. But that was exactly what was so disturbing about this whole thing – there was so much that simply did not fit in with Ros’s character. Maggie had held back from voicing the thought that was in her mind; she did not want to add that what she really wanted to see was if there was any evidence of someone else having been in the car with Ros – Brendan perhaps?

  ‘Do you want another drink?’ Mike asked.

  She shook her head. ‘I don’t think so.’

  ‘Shall we go, then?’

  ‘Don’t you want another one? If you do, don’t let me stop you.’

  ‘I’d better not. I don’t want to fall foul of the breathalyser.’

  ‘We could always go back to the cottage and have a coffee.’

  ‘Good idea. I shall be glad to get away from that racket anyway.’

  He jerked his head in the direction of an electronic gaming machine which stood in a corner. When they had first arrived Maggie had not even noticed its presence, but whilst they were eating a small group of youths had come in and were feeding it with money. The steady whirr and the occasional clatter as a shower of coins cascaded into the metal tray was annoying. Maggie wondered why a pleasant country pub specialising in good food should have resorted to such a thing.

  ‘There’s money in it, I expect,’ Mike said, reading her thoughts. ‘Tenants have to make what they can where they can.’

  The sun had set now. As they walked to the car Maggie pulled on her cardigan – a long, loose Professor Higgins style in white cotton – but there was no real warmth in it and she shivered slightly as a cool breeze whipped across the car park.

  ‘Cold?’ Mike asked.

  ‘I’m all right. It’s just that English weather is a bit of a shock to the system after Corfu.’

  ‘It must be.’ Mike unlocked the car and reached across to open the passenger door for her. ‘I don’t think I’ve really thanked you properly, Maggie, for dropping everything at such short notice and coming over.’

  ‘I don’t need thanks,’ Maggie said, fastening her seat belt. ‘Ros is my sister after all. I’m worried about her too.’

  ‘What did your husband have to say about you jetting off at the drop of a hat?’

  ‘He wasn’t very pleased,’ Maggie admitted, deliberately understating Ari’s reaction. ‘ But it won’t make a great deal of difference to him, except that it might make life marginally easier. He’ll stay in town, I expect, while I’m away, instead of having to drive from Kassiopi to Kerkira and back twice a day as he normally does in the summer. We have an apartment in Kerkira, for business purposes.’

  ‘What exactly is it he does?’

  ‘He’s an architect. And Corfu is a growth island. Everyone who has a bit of suitable land wants to put up a hotel or apartment block on it. They have suddenly woken up to the fact that tourism means prosperity – and a much easier way of earning a living than harvesting olives. Most of the interesting little tavernas and cafés came about because the people who live on the main road or the seashore realised that all t
hey needed to do was open their front doors and put up a sign announcing refreshments for sale and the visitors would flock in. Not so long ago many of them were incredibly poor; now, suddenly, they’ve found themselves with a licence to print money, so much they scarcely know what to do with it. They are simple people at heart, you see, very family and religion orientated. I only hope the influx of the Western world doesn’t change them too much.’

  ‘It sounds as though you like them.’

  ‘I do. Basically they are good people. Take the family structure, for instance – it’s terribly strong. As it was in this country maybe fifty years or more ago. Because of the extended family there is always someone with time for the children and they grow up with a strong respect for authority. They don’t do anything dreadful, in the main, because it would bring shame on the family.’

  ‘Sounds like a system that would be good for some of my pupils,’ Mike said drily.

  ‘It certainly helps to keep the wayward on the straight and narrow. I assure you, a Corfiote mama is a force to be reckoned with.’

  ‘From your rueful tone I suspect you have some experience of Corfiote mamas.’

  ‘You could say that. Oh, it’s fine if you’re born to it, I guess. I wasn’t.’

  ‘So how did you come to marry a Corfiote?’ he asked, slowing for a crossroads and accelerating away again.

  ‘I met him when he was in this country studying to qualify.’

  ‘You were at college too?’

  ‘Oh no, not me.’ She laughed. ‘Ros was always the clever one in our family. I was a secretary – well, typist, really. Ari came to the firm I was with for work experience.’

  She broke off, remembering the way it had been. He had seemed so impossibly romantic to her, totally different from any of the other young men she knew. When he had asked her out she had been thrilled, the whole of their whirlwind romance had been conducted in a hot, heady haze, and when he had asked her to marry him she had hardly hesitated at all – she had been so afraid she would lose him when he returned to Corfu that she hadn’t really stopped to examine any of the realities of what it would mean.

  ‘I guess I was swept off my feet,’ she said drily.

  ‘Any regrets?’ He glanced sideways at her, then added swiftly: ‘I’m sorry, I shouldn’t be asking that. I didn’t mean to be personal.’

  ‘It’s all right.’ She bit her lip. ‘Well, yes, if I’m honest – a few, I suppose. But that’s life, isn’t it? Nothing ever turns out as you expect.’

  They were back at the cottage. Mike pulled on to the hard standing but left the engine running.

  ‘Aren’t you coming in for that coffee?’ she asked.

  ‘I thought maybe you could use an early night.’

  She could – but suddenly she didn’t want him to go, didn’t want to be alone with the emptiness and her anxiety. She realised with a shock that subconsciously she had been half expecting to see lights on in the cottage and Ros’s car miraculously there in the drive. There was something so strangely unreal about this whole thing. Ros couldn’t simply have disappeared. Yet she had …

  ‘Do please come in for a coffee,’ she said.

  ‘All right, if you insist.’ He switched off the engine, turned and smiled at her, and quite unexpectedly her tummy tipped, a strange little spiral not unlike G-force deep inside her. It shocked her, that sharp indication of physical attraction, and she felt suddenly flustered and gauche.

  ‘There might be some message or other on the answering machine,’ she said foolishly.

  There was – but only from her mother.

  ‘Margaret, are you there? Oh dear, I do so hate these things! Darling, you didn’t ring me. I’ve been expecting you to all evening. Could you come over tomorrow? For lunch, maybe? Harry will be playing golf and we could have a nice chat. Oh, love to Ros if you see her. Perhaps she could come too. It would be wonderful to be all together again – quite like old times. ’Bye for now, darling.’

  ‘Honestly!’ Maggie exploded. ‘She just cannot, or will not, accept the fact that Ros is missing.’

  ‘Probably just as well. There’s no point in worrying her until we’re sure there’s something to worry about.’

  Maggie laughed shortly. ‘I can see you don’t know my mother very well. She doesn’t worry – unless you count fussing over Harry as worrying. She finds the real thing far too exhausting.’

  She followed Mike through into the kitchen. The momentary vortex of emotions she had experienced in the car had passed now.

  ‘So, you aren’t going to ring her back?’ he asked.

  ‘Not tonight. She’s probably making Harry’s cocoa by now. I’ll do it in the morning.’ She reached across him for the kettle and suddenly there it was again – an awareness sensitising her body as acutely as a touch, though there had been no physical contact between them.

  ‘Cocoa sounds rather nice,’ he said, seemingly unaware. ‘ I haven’t had cocoa for years. It reminds me of winter evenings in front of a blazing fire, fresh from the bath and ready for bed.’

  ‘I take it you are talking about when you were a little boy.’

  ‘Unfortunately, yes. My flat is all night-storage heaters. The blazing fires seem to have gone the way of the cocoa. Ros hasn’t got any, I suppose?’ He began opening cupboards, moving things around, and after a moment he whooped in triumph. ‘ Yes! What’s that if it’s not cocoa? I’ve never seen her drink the stuff though.’

  ‘She probably uses it for cooking. You want some?’

  ‘Why not – if there’s enough milk.’

  ‘Go and sit down then, and I’ll bring it in to you.’

  Ros’s little sitting room was incredibly cosy – soft, squashy chintz-covered chairs, a cane table covered by a cloth, and softly draped curtains. Mike was sprawled out in one of the chairs, his feet propped up on a pouffe. He looked very much at home – and why shouldn’t he? Maggie asked herself. He probably spent a good deal of time here with Ros. She set the mugs down on the table and went across to draw the curtains.

  ‘So,’ she said, deliberately drawing the conversation back to Ros’s disappearance. ‘ What do you think our next move should be?’

  ‘I honestly don’t know.’ He sipped the cocoa foaming in the earthenware mug. ‘ This is good!’

  ‘Well, as I said, I’ll have a good look round for spare car keys and I’ll see if I can think of anyone else she might have been in contact with – check out her private papers and things. I don’t like doing it but …’ She perched on the chair furthest from Mike, putting as much distance between them as possible.

  ‘You seem to have covered practically everything in one day and not come up with anything.’

  ‘Well, that’s not quite true. At least I’ve found out what she meant by ‘‘something odd” going on at Vandina.’ She hesitated, almost afraid to put into words the thought that had been worrying at the back of her mind. ‘You don’t think, do you, Mike, that she suspected someone of being a mole and something has happened to her because of it?’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘Well, it’s big business. There could be big money at stake. If she found out someone was involved in industrial espionage they wouldn’t … harm her, would they, to prevent her exposing them?’

  He frowned. ‘ Sounds pretty far-fetched to me. If anyone is holding Ros I should have thought it was more likely to be a nutter.’

  ‘Like Brendan, you mean.’ She saw his disbelieving expression and hurried on: ‘ I’m still not happy about him, Mike. He was lying to me. He had to be. Her scarf in his flat proves that. And I’ve got this sick feeling in my stomach that something is very wrong. You don’t think, do you, that he could have …’

  ‘I am beginning to think that perhaps the police are right and we are wrong.’ The cocoa was mellowing Mike; he sounded almost lazy. ‘I am beginning to think Ros has gone off somewhere on her own account. Take this Vandina business, for instance. If she was suspicious of someone, this ‘‘mole” as y
ou call them, she could very well have gone haring off to check out some lead. If it’s all so confidential then she wouldn’t want anyone to know where she had gone or why.’

  ‘But she’s been gone more than a week!’

  ‘Not so long really.’

  ‘And why hasn’t she phoned to let you know where she is? She must know you’re back by now and you will be anxious about her.’

  ‘Perhaps I don’t rate any more.’

  Maggie glanced at him sharply. Had she imagined that note in his voice – a note of … what? Resignation? A slight edge of bitterness? She couldn’t be sure, but quite suddenly she found herself remembering that Brendan had said he had seen Ros in Clifton with a man – a man who was not Mike. At the time she had thought he was simply trying to divert attention from himself – now suddenly she wondered if he had been telling the truth. Was there another man in Ros’s life? Someone she knew nothing of? Had she gone off with him, perhaps? But it didn’t really add up.

  Mike’s voice interrupted her thoughts.

  ‘I have a feeling,’ he said, ‘that Ros could turn up at any time. And she will not be at all amused to find that we have reported her missing.’

  Maggie sighed and shook her head. She wished she could be so sure.

  When he had gone she prepared for bed, using Ros’s room once again. But though her limbs ached and her eyes burned, sleep refused to come.

  In spite of what Mike had said, she was still dreadfully worried about Ros. All very well for him to make light of her fears about Brendan – he didn’t know the man as she did, did not know just what his insane jealousy could render him capable of. And Ros had been there, at his flat – the presence of her scarf proved it.

  As for the Vandina mole business, that was yet another unsolved mystery.

  But tonight it was not only her fears for Ros’s safety that were preventing Maggie from relaxing. However she tried to keep from remembering it, that quirk of attraction she had felt for Mike was there too, teasing at her insistently.