Deception and Desire Page 8

  ‘I can’t help thinking that if someone had kidnapped her we should have heard something by now,’ Mike said after a moment. ‘A ransom demand or something …’

  ‘If she is being held for money.’

  ‘What other reason … ?’ Mike stopped abruptly as he mentally answered his own question.

  ‘Do you mind if I smoke?’ Maggie already had the packet of cigarettes out.

  Mike sipped his coffee. ‘I don’t mind. Ros would. She hates the smell of smoke in the house.’

  ‘Tough.’ Maggie lit her cigarette, feeling guilty about it but desperately needing the comforting feel of the cigarette between her fingers and the nicotine calming her nerves. She kept intending to give up the habit but not now … oh no, not now. ‘You don’t indulge, I suppose?’

  ‘I don’t. Never have. Sport and smoking don’t go together.’

  But Maggie’s thoughts had already returned to Ros’s disappearance.

  ‘Has she seen Brendan lately, do you know?’ she asked.

  ‘Her ex-husband? I don’t think so, but then she knows it’s my opinion she should give him as wide a berth as possible, so she might not tell me even if she had. Why – you don’t think he’s involved, do you?’

  Maggie sighed. ‘I honestly don’t know. I don’t think we can rule him out. Ros was pretty scared of him, wasn’t she?’

  ‘Was she?’ Mike looked genuinely surprised.

  ‘She was, yes. Didn’t she tell you about it?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘I wonder why not? Perhaps she was afraid of what you might do if you knew how he used to treat her.’

  ‘How did he treat her?’

  ‘Badly. He was excessively jealous, with a fertile imagination; he’d drink and then he’d knock her about.’

  Mike’s face had darkened. ‘ If I’d known that I certainly wouldn’t have been responsible for my actions if our paths had crossed. But are you saying you think Brendan might have something to do with Ros’s disappearance?’

  ‘I don’t know. I only know she was afraid of him.’ Maggie hesitated, unwilling to add that Ros had told her Brendan had threatened that if he couldn’t have her no one else would. ‘I would have thought if he was going to do something stupid it would have been then, when they first broke up, not after all this time. But I suppose with a man as unpredictable as Brendan one can never be certain,’ she went on. ‘His career is well and truly on the rocks now, isn’t it?’

  Mike shrugged. ‘ I told you – we rarely discussed him. But I certainly haven’t heard him on the radio for some time.’

  ‘I’ll try to see him tomorrow, suss out if he knows anything,’ Maggie said.

  Mike looked worried. ‘Do you think you should? If he’s the violent sort, mightn’t he be dangerous?’

  ‘He wouldn’t harm me.’

  ‘But if he was holding Ros …’

  ‘If he is holding Ros he will have gone to ground. If he isn’t I don’t suppose I have anything to fear. Anyway, I can take care of myself.’

  ‘You sound just like Ros,’ Mike said ruefully. ‘ If ever there was a girl I would have said could take care of herself it would be Ros. But something has happened to her. You mustn’t take any chances, Maggie.’

  Maggie shivered. ‘It’s not very warm, is it?’ she said irrelevantly. But she knew the shiver had more to do with thinking of what might have happened to Ros than with the cold. ‘Don’t worry, I’ll be careful,’ she went on. ‘We’ve got to explore every avenue – if there is something suspicious and we can take it to the police they are more likely to take notice, aren’t they?’

  ‘I have to work tomorrow but I could come with you in the evening to see him,’ Mike said. He was silent for a moment, drinking his coffee, then he went on reflectively: ‘I’ve been racking my brains trying to remember anything Ros said that might give a clue. The only thing I can think of is something she said about Vandina.’

  ‘Her job, you mean?’

  ‘Not exactly. What she said was: ‘‘ There’s something odd going on at Vandina. I don’t understand it.” But we got sidetracked, something happened to interrupt the conversation, and she didn’t mention it again. I just wonder, though, if it might be important. Perhaps it would be worth having a word with the people there to see if they have any ideas.’

  ‘Yes, I was going to do that,’ Maggie said. ‘Ros might have said something to someone there about her plans. Has she got any special friends at work? Anyone she might confide in?’

  ‘Ros doesn’t seem to make many friends these days. She’s too independent. She works mainly with Dinah Marshall herself. That by definition isolates her from the hoi-polloi.’

  ‘Then I’ll see Dinah Marshall.’

  ‘That might not be altogether easy. Dinah is quite a difficult person to get at, from what I understand.’

  ‘She’ll see me.’ Maggie’s tone was determined. ‘Well, I suppose there’s not a lot more we can do tonight. Perhaps I ought to try to get some sleep – Corfu time is two hours ahead of here and I want to have my wits about me tomorrow.’

  ‘In that case I’ll leave you.’ Mike drained his cup and got up, reaching for his waxed jacket which he had draped over the back of a chair. As he put it on he seemed to fill the kitchen, a big masculine man with a slightly rumpled air. ‘Are you sure you’ll be all right here on your own?’

  ‘I’ll be all right. I only wish I could be so sure about Ros. Oh Mike – where the hell is she? And if there’s nothing wrong why doesn’t she get in touch – phone you, phone me, contact somebody?’

  Mike shook his head, looking suddenly almost helpless.

  ‘I don’t know. I suppose all we can hope for is that things have got on top of her and she’s gone off somewhere to get away from it all.’

  ‘Yes, that’s what I’m hoping. Anyway, I’ll start making some enquiries first thing tomorrow. Will I see you?’

  ‘I’ll ring you after school. Perhaps I can take you out for something to eat. There are some good pubs round here which do excellent bar food.’

  She nodded. ‘Right. I’ll expect to hear from you.’

  She watched him go down the path and reverse his Citroen off the parking space. When it had disappeared from view she went back inside. The cottage felt horribly empty now and all her doubts and fears crowded in on her, making her conscious suddenly of how alone she was. She’d told Mike she’d be all right and of course she would be. But all the same she wished he was still here, filling the kitchen with his comfortable presence.

  Ros was very lucky to have someone like him, she thought. So why, unless there was something very wrong, should she disappear without telling him where she was going?

  Tomorrow I’ll begin to try to find out, Maggie promised herself. Tomorrow I’ll see Brendan, and I’ll go to Vandina …

  She would need transport to do that of course. First thing in the morning she would ring one of the hire companies and fix herself up with a car. But for tonight there was nothing much she could do but go to bed and try to catch up on the sleep she had promised herself.

  Maggie locked up, put out the lights and went upstairs. But when she saw her suitcase standing on the landing she remembered: she and Mike had forgotten to check the attic for Ros’s case. She hesitated, wondering if she should leave it until morning but decided she would be unable to rest until she knew one way or the other.

  The attic door was positioned over the landing, reached by means of a loft ladder. Maggie fetched a chair from the bedroom and stood on it to unfasten the hatch, then she unhooked the loft ladder and eased it down. Above her the attic was in total darkness. She looked in vain for a light switch – obviously the cottage was not sufficiently sophisticated to have an attic light.

  She went back downstairs searching for a torch and found one on top of one of the cupboards in the kitchen, a big wide-angle-beam lantern. Then she climbed the ladder again, hoping against hope that she would not find Ros’s suitcase. If it was not there – if it was not anyw
here in the house – then the chances were that wherever Ros was, she had gone because she had planned to go. Whatever the reason for her leaving it could be sorted out – personal problems, trouble at work, health … nothing was so terrible it couldn’t be dealt with, ironed out, put right in the end, however long it took.

  But if the case was there … Maggie swallowed as she reached the top of the ladder and shone the torch into the dark attic.

  There, in its place just to her left, within easy reach of the well, was Ros’s suitcase. Maggie shone the torch directly on to it, not wanting to believe the evidence of her eyes but staring hard at it all the same.

  The case, smooth pigskin and embossed with Ros’s initials, seemed to stare right back at her.

  Chapter Five

  Next morning Maggie woke with the dawn. Though it had been hours before she had been able to get to sleep the previous night her body clock had not yet adjusted to British time.

  For a moment she found herself wondering where on earth she was, then, as she took in the pink and mauve curtains which she had forgotten to draw last night, the mullioned window through which early sunshine was streaming, and the unfamiliar pale-green walls, she remembered.

  She was in Ros’s bed, in Ros’s room. The spare bed had not been made up, its duvet covering bare mattress, and she had been too tired to begin searching for clean sheets. Now, however, she felt a little guilty at the liberty she had taken. Who’s been sleeping in my bed? she thought, hearing, in her imagination, the voice of an aggrieved Mummy Bear as played in a pantomime she had seen as a child, and the ridiculousness of it seemed to heighten the feeling of nightmare closing in.

  She pulled herself up against the pillows, wondering what Ari was doing at this moment. It would be half past seven in Corfu, he would be having his breakfast on the patio, might even have finished it by now and be getting ready for the drive to his office in Kerkira. Always supposing he had come home last night. Perhaps he had not. Perhaps he had stayed in the town apartment. And if he had – was Melina with him?

  As the familiar wave of helpless jealousy engulfed her, Maggie pushed aside the duvet and got out of bed. Pointless to waste time and energy worrying about Ari now. There would be time enough to sort out her marital problems when Ros was found. Maggie crossed to the window and drew the curtains fully. The garden, lush and green from all the recent rain and now bathed in a golden glow of early-morning sunshine, looked wild and unspoiled, a little corner of the England she missed so much.

  Corfu was a green island, of course – if it had been dry and dusty like Crete or some of the other Greek islands Maggie did not think she could have borne it. But there was a different intensity to the greenness of olive groves and tall cypress trees beneath a sky which was almost endlessly sapphire-blue, a shimmering shiningness that was a world apart from this heavy dew-wet foliage.

  The birds, too, were different. Maggie was used to wheeling flights of swifts, swallows and house martins who sometimes built their nests in the overhang of the balcony of her home at Kassiopi, and the wagtails who loved to splash in the puddles on the patio after the autumn rains. She knew that in winter there were robins, blackbirds and thrushes, but she had rarely seen one; now, standing at the window, she listened to the tail end of the dawn chorus and watched a pair of blackbirds searching for worms in the long grass of the lawn, their heads cocked, whole bodies alert, as they tapped and listened for the sounds, indistinguishable to the human ear, that would announce the arrival of breakfast.

  It was so beautiful, so peaceful, so typically English, that it was hard to imagine anything seriously amiss in this idyllic world. For a moment Maggie felt as though she must have fallen asleep and dreamed the whole worrying scenario of Ros’s disappearance. But the fact that she was here at all made it all too indisputably real.

  Ros’s towelling robe was hanging behind the bedroom door. Maggie pulled it on over the oversized T-shirt she had worn to sleep in. Ari hated her wearing T-shirts to bed, he liked her in seductive silk and lace. But after the balmy Corfu nights Maggie had half expected to feel cold, and besides, the T-shirt was comfortable, much more comfortable than spaghetti shoulder straps and flowing floor-length skirts. If she couldn’t be comfortable sleeping alone, when could she be? It was a small, self-indulgent luxury, but when the thought occurred to her that perhaps in future she was going to have a great deal more opportunity for such luxuries, Maggie quickly brushed it aside.

  She drew a comb through her hair, splashed cold water on her face at the bathroom basin and then went downstairs, collecting the pile of mail from the wire basket beneath the letter box as she passed it. In the kitchen she leafed through the post whilst she waited for the kettle to boil – a couple of letters offering guaranteed prizes in return for a viewing of a timeshare, advertising from two mail-order houses and a club specialising in CDs and cassettes, and an envelope promising a free film for each one processed by the company. Maggie dumped the lot in the waste bin, angry to think that trees had been cut down to make the paper for such unsolicited rubbish, and turned to the only two envelopes that seemed even vaguely interesting.

  The first – in an envelope printed with the name of Ros’s bank – was disappointing; it was simply more advertising in a more sophisticated guise – this time an attempt to sell financial services. But as she tore it in two and dumped it in the bin with the other junk mail Maggie thought that perhaps the bank might offer another avenue of enquiry – they should be able to tell her whether cash had been drawn out of Ros’s account in the last week or so.

  The second envelope was handwritten and Maggie hesitated before opening it. But when she did, she discovered it was only a note from Ros’s dentist advising her that an appointment had been made for her six-monthly check up for 19 July at 4.30 p.m. Would Ros be able to keep it? Maggie wondered uncomfortably.

  So – there was nothing even vaguely illuminating amongst the mail. What about Ros’s telephone answering machine? Would there be anything there? The display was showing nine messages; Maggie rewound it and punched the replay button.

  Again she was disappointed. Three of the calls were from Mike, two from her mother, one from a man who must be an upholsterer telling her the chair she had been having re-covered was ready for collection, and one saying nothing at all – some callers’ reaction to hearing a recorded message at the end of the line. But one call was from Ros’s old friend in Scarborough asking her to get in touch – that must mean Ros was not with her, Maggie realised – and the other was evidently someone from Vandina.

  ‘Ros, Liz here. I was just wondering if you were back yet. There are one or two queries that really only you can answer and Dinah is going spare without you. Oh – and I’ve got a little bit of information on you-know-what that I want to tell you about. I think you’ll find it rather interesting. Please ring me as soon as you get back. Ciao.’

  Maggie rewound the tape and listened to the message again. Clearly things at Vandina were floundering a little without Ros, clearly her departure had been unexpected and unexplained as Mike had said, clearly they didn’t know when to expect her back. But the sotto voce mention of something too sensitive to be discussed over the telephone was intriguing. Maggie found herself remembering what Mike had said about Ros’s comment that there was something odd going on at Vandina. Might there be some connection?

  There was a pad and pencil beside the answering machine; Maggie reached for it and wrote ‘ Liz – Vandina’ in large letters. At least she now had the name of a contact at Vandina besides the reputedly elusive Dinah Marshall herself. And when she went to the office she would have a word with this Liz and find out exactly what she had meant.

  The kettle had boiled by now and switched itself off. Feeling suddenly more purposeful, Maggie made herself toast and coffee. When she had finished it was still too early to set out on the calls she intended making and she decided to use the time to search the cottage for any other clues. It felt like prying – but wasn’t that why she was
here?

  Maggie started methodically enough, checking the post Mike had taken in earlier in the week and left piled neatly on a kitchen worktop, and moving on to examine anything that would help her to build up a picture of her sister’s life. Mike could tell her how Ros lived, of course, but it wasn’t quite the same as finding out for herself, trying to see it through Ros’s eyes, and in any case there might be things Mike did not know. He might be Ros’s man, but Maggie suspected that after her disastrous marriage to Brendan, Ros would find it difficult to trust anyone totally, and in any case she had always had a slightly secretive side to her nature. It was quite likely she had kept certain things back from Mike, Brendan’s violence being a case in point.

  As she went from room to room examining the evidence Maggie felt her new-found optimism beginning to wane. Though Mike had thrown away the dairy foods that had gone sour or curdled there were other things in the fridge he had missed – a vacuum-sealed pack of peppered herring fillets, out of date by a week, and a piece of cooked chicken wrapped in foil, the smell of which made Maggie wrinkle her nose in disgust when she opened it. In the tiny scullery there was a pile of ironing waiting to be done, and in the Ali Baba basket in the bathroom some dirty linen. It was all negative, negative, negative – every single thing pointing to the conclusion that Ros had not intended to be absent for long, whilst giving no clue as to where she might be or what had happened to her.

  The tour of the cottage completed, Maggie returned to the kitchen and checked the clock. Just after nine. She had better telephone her mother before she did anything else, she supposed – but it was not a call she was looking forward to making. She did not relish the prospect of having to explain that Ros was missing in much clearer terms than Mike had used when he had been trying not to worry her. And she was not looking forward either to the personal questions that were bound to be asked – about Ari and Corfu and why she had seen fit to leave both and come dashing home to England. But there was no avoiding it. Maggie sighed, picked up the receiver and dialled her mother’s number.