A Question of Identity (11 page)

For a long moment their eyes held, while Lindsey's blood rushed in her ears and she wished, frantically, uselessly, that she could retract the question. Too late.

‘Friday night,' he said flatly.

For a wild moment, she thought she had misheard. ‘
What
did you say?'

‘I said Friday night.'

‘
Last
Friday?' Her voice rose. ‘You're telling me you slept with Carla the night before you made love to me?'

‘You did ask,' he said stonily, and watched the emotions cross her face in quick succession: disbelief, incredulity, hurt, anger.

‘But . . . what about us?' she stammered.

‘What
about
us?'

‘Don't you love me?' she cried.

A spasm crossed his face. ‘I'm very fond of you,' he said more gently, ‘as you must know. But we haven't an exclusivity agreement, have we?'

For a moment longer she stared at him. Then she stood up and laid her glass carefully on the coffee table.

He frowned. ‘Where are you going?'

‘Home,' she said.

‘Lindsey, let's get this in proportion. As you said, you knew—'

‘That you'd slept with her, yes. Not that you were still doing so.'

She turned to the door, and he rose quickly. ‘For God's sake, sit down again. Things will look different in the morning. Anyway, you're in no state to drive.'

‘I've had less than half a glass.' She was mildly surprised at the calmness of her voice. Her suitcase was still in the hall and she bent to pick it up.

‘Now, yes, but at lunch—'

‘Will you ask for my car to be brought round?'

He hesitated, but she waited, unmoving, and he picked up the internal phone and rang the basement garage. ‘This is Dominic Frayne. Would you please bring round Miss Parish's car?'

‘I'll make my own way down,' she said, pressing the lift button.

‘You'll do no such thing. And if you insist on leaving, I think I should drive you.'

She gave a twisted smile. ‘You've had more to drink than I have.'

He couldn't deny it. ‘Lindsey—'

But the lift arrived, its doors glided open, and, taking the case out of her hand, he followed her inside. They rode down in silence. As they reached the foyer, Lindsey's red sports car drew up to the front entrance. Dominic went out with her and handed her case to the attendant, who placed it in the boot.

‘Are you sure you want to go?'

‘Positive.' She looked up at him, her eyes brilliant. ‘Thanks for the weekend. I hope I wasn't an anticlimax.'

And before he could reply, she gunned the engine and the car shot forward in a spray of gravel. Dominic stood watching until her tail lights turned the corner, then, with a sigh, went back into the building.

Rona and Max had just sat down to watch a DVD when there was a prolonged ring on the front doorbell, followed immediately by impatient knocking. Gus, who'd been asleep on the rug, shot up and started barking.

Max paused the DVD, frowning. ‘Who the devil is that, at nine o'clock on a Sunday evening?'

‘In a hurry, whoever it is,' Rona commented, as he went to answer it. A minute later, to her surprise, Lindsey appeared in the doorway, her face flushed.

‘Linz! I thought you were in France?'

‘Just back,' said Lindsey briefly. ‘Sorry to drop in on you like this. Is it OK if I stay for a bit?'

Behind her, Max raised his shoulders in puzzlement.

‘Of course,' Rona said quickly. ‘Can we get you a drink? Tea? Coffee?'

‘Gin,' said Lindsey succinctly.

Max went to pour it, and she seated herself next to Rona on the sofa, glancing at the frozen figures on the screen.

‘I'm interrupting,' she said. ‘Please go on watching.'

‘It'll keep,' Rona replied, reaching for the remote, but her sister interrupted her.

‘Really. I'm perfectly happy just to sit here and . . . watch.' She took the glass Max handed her with an absent-minded smile.

Max said smoothly, ‘In that case, since it's only just started, I'll rewind it so you can see it from the beginning.'

Lindsey nodded and took a gulp of her drink. ‘Cheers!' she said belatedly.

For the next hour and a half, unable to concentrate on the film, Rona kept stealing anxious glances at her twin. Lindsey's eyes were fixed on the screen. She laughed and exclaimed in the right places, but Rona doubted that she was following the plot any more than she was.

As the credits began to roll, Max stood up. ‘I'll take Gus for his walk,' he said, and left the room, the dog dancing at his heels.

There was a moment's silence, then Lindsey said fervently, ‘God, I wish I smoked!'

‘Are you going to tell me what's wrong?' Rona asked quietly.

Lindsey looked down at her tightly clasped hands. ‘He's sleeping with bloody Carla,' she said.

‘Oh, Linz!' Rona reached out impulsively, but, as Lindsey backed away, let her hand drop, accepting that physical contact might breach her twin's fragile defences. ‘How do you know?' she asked tentatively.

‘Because he told me.'

Rona stared at her. ‘He just . . . came out with it?'

‘No, he told me because I asked him.'

Rona looked bewildered. ‘But you did go to France?'

‘Oh yes. We had a lovely time. But when we got home, I found out that he'd slept with Carla on Friday night, before taking me to France on Saturday and sleeping with
me
.' Her voice cracked. ‘You can imagine how . . . how . . .
special
that made me feel.'

‘Linz—'

Lindsey cut her off with a gesture. ‘I was going to drive home, but once in the car I found I wasn't quite . . . up to it. So I came here.'

‘Would you like Max to take you back?'

‘I'd rather stay the night, if that's OK? I've got my work clothes with me, because I was going straight there from Dominic's in the morning.'

It was the first time she'd said his name, and there was a tremor in her voice.

Rona said doubtfully, ‘Well, you're welcome, of course, but as you know, we haven't a spare room.'

‘If you could just put up the camp bed in Max's studio, like you did before?'

Lindsey had stayed with them a few months earlier while her flat was being redecorated. ‘I don't need all the mod cons,' she added quickly, ‘the lamp and the dress rack and stuff. It'll only be for tonight.'

‘Well, if you're sure . . .'

‘I couldn't even make a dramatic gesture and ask him to choose between us,' Lindsey continued, ‘because I know damn well who he'd pick. She's so much a part of his business life, he'd never let her go. And if by any wild chance we
did
get back together – which is unlikely in the extreme – I'd always be wondering. Even if we were
married
,' she added savagely, ‘and had what he terms an
exclusivity agreement
, I could never be completely sure.' She looked up, meeting her sister's sympathetic eyes. ‘So you do see how hopeless it is, Ro? We're finished. There's no going back after this.'

‘Did you tell him so?' Rona enquired.

‘Not in so many words, but I think he got the message.'

‘He'll probably phone, or call round, or something.'

‘He probably won't,' said Lindsey.

Eight thirty on Monday morning. Max had left for his studio and Lindsey for her office, still shying away from the hug her twin was aching to give her.

Rona stood in the large empty space that, before they bought Farthings, had been Max's studio. Old canvases were still stacked against one wall, suitcases, a picnic hamper and rolls of carpet against another. And in the centre, as though marooned on some desert island, the hastily erected camp bed, whose crumpled sheets and dented pillow spoke of a restless night.

Rona felt a surge of pity for her sister, albeit tinged with impatience.
Why
was Lindsey's love life always so fraught? Was she simply unlucky, or did she bring these regular heartaches on herself? What was it her mother had said?
That girl never had any sense where men are concerned.
Rona conceded that she was right.

She sighed, shook herself out of her retrospection, and, pulling the sheets off the bed, dismantled it and stood it back in its corner. Order restored, she thought ironically, looking about her. Then, scooping up the bedlinen, she started down the stairs; but had gained only the first floor landing when the telephone rang. Dropping the sheets, she went into her study to answer it. ‘Hello?'

‘Rona.' To her surprise, it was Gavin's voice and she felt a shaft of alarm. ‘Look,' he hurried on, before she could reply, ‘I know this is an ungodly hour, but I'm on my way to work and I need a quick word with you.'

‘Yes?'

‘Not over the phone. OK if I pop in for a minute? I'm just turning into Fullers Walk.'

‘Of course,' Rona said quickly. ‘Gavin, is Magda—?'

‘Be there in two minutes,' he said, and rang off.

Obscurely anxious, Rona retrieved the bedlinen and ran down the two remaining flights to the basement kitchen, where, having dumped it beside the washing machine, she switched on the percolator. He'd seemed in a hurry, but he might have time for coffee. Her unease at his imminent arrival was, she knew, not wholly on Magda's account; before she'd met Max, she and Gavin had been on the point of becoming engaged, and though both were now happily married, there was still a faint, unacknowledged link between them that sometimes caused awkwardness in each other's company.

She poured coffee into two mugs and carried them up to the sitting room, setting them on the coffee table as the bell rang. She went to answer it, accompanied, as always, by Gus, barking hysterically.

‘Gavin, hello. Come in.' She accepted his kiss on the cheek, and gestured him into the sitting room. ‘You've time for a coffee?'

‘If it's ready, I'd love some.' He bent to pat the dog. ‘Hello, old fellow.'

He looked tired, Rona thought, surveying him critically. There were lines round his eyes and smudges beneath them. He took the mug she handed him, nodding his thanks.

‘Sit down,' she invited.

He did so, and she seated herself opposite him. ‘Now, tell me what's wrong.'

‘Have you seen Magda recently?' he asked abruptly.

‘Yes, last week.'

He looked up, meeting her eyes. ‘How did she seem?'

‘Fine; why?'

‘Did she mention these dreams she's been having?'

Rona's unease spread. ‘Yes,' she admitted slowly. ‘Always about the same people, whom she doesn't know.' She hesitated. ‘She thought she saw one of them locally the other day; I . . . told her she must have seen him before without realizing it.'

Gavin nodded and took a sip of the hot coffee. ‘I said much the same. But Rona, it's not only the dreams.'

‘How do you mean?'

‘Well, for one thing she seems different in herself, more . . . unpredictable. As you know, she could always be pretty cutting when she wanted and she's never suffered fools gladly. But lately . . . I don't know . . . she seems to fly off the handle for no reason at all.' He paused, then added almost reluctantly, ‘And though I tell myself there can't be a connection, she told me she wakes up from these dreams feeling angry. It's almost as though they're spilling over into everyday life.'

‘Has she extra worries at work, do you know?'

‘I don't think so. In fact, considering the economic climate the boutiques are doing exceptionally well. But there's another thing: she's started . . . remembering things that haven't happened. Only a couple of times, but it scared the hell out of me.'

Rona moistened her lips, her own coffee untouched. ‘What kind of things?'

‘The first one was pretty innocuous; she started talking about a film she insisted we'd seen together. I'd certainly never seen it, but I couldn't convince her, and when I suggested she must have been with someone else, she became quite upset.'

There was a brief silence. Rona said, not entirely truthfully, ‘I'm always accusing Max of doing or saying something he swears he hasn't.'

Gavin nodded absently and gulped down some more coffee. ‘But last night it was much worse. We were watching a documentary on TV about Hong Kong's floating market, and she suddenly said, “It doesn't look as good as the one in Thailand, does it? Remember the houses on stilts and that fabulous woodcarving workshop, where they made elephants and buffalo out of rotten wood?”

‘I said I'd not seen that programme, and she said, quite sharply, “What do you mean, programme? I'm talking about when we were
there
, in Thailand.”' He looked up, his eyes haunted. ‘Rona, neither of us has been to Thailand in our lives.'

‘It must have been another documentary, as you—'

Gavin was shaking his head. ‘She went on and on about it, about the wonderful furniture they'd made – dining suites with elephants' heads carved in the backs of the chairs, and how we'd joked about the difficulty of getting them home on the plane. I was getting more and more worried, and she finally stopped arguing and said accusingly, “You think I'm making this up, don't you? But you're the one who can't remember!” Then – God help me – I said, “Perhaps you dreamt it?”

‘I could have bitten my tongue out, because she immediately went still, her eyes wide and staring. Then she jumped up and ran out of the room, and the next minute I heard the front door slam and the car start up. I ran after her, but she'd shot out of the gate and away. I rang her mobile continuously for fifteen minutes before she picked up.'

‘What did she say?' Rona demanded fearfully.

‘Oh, she was perfectly calm. Said she'd just felt like a drive before bed, and she'd be back in half an hour. And she was.'