A Question of Identity (20 page)

‘And then what happened?'

Maureen shrugged. ‘No one ever knew. It was clear there was an atmosphere between them, and Lizzie Barclay came across the Cow crying in one of the locker rooms.' She glanced at Rona in embarrassed apology. ‘That's what we called her; it wasn't meant to be offensive, just a play on her name. Then one morning Bainesy was gone and never seen again. The consensus among us girls was that she was pregnant, and that was shocking enough, believe me, in 1951, but the sixth form maintained they'd had a lesbian affair and been caught out.' She smiled. ‘I didn't let on, but I'd no idea what that meant; we were very innocent by today's standards.'

‘I think pregnancy's the more likely,' Rona said. ‘Miss Baines had a boyfriend.'

‘Well, there you are, then.'

‘But why would Trish Cowley black her out? Why not simply get rid of the photo?'

‘I've no idea.' She looked down at the print. ‘The surface seems scratched, as though a lot of force was used. It was probably done in a fit of temper, and she might have regretted it later.' She peered more closely, as though trying to penetrate the blob. ‘Has anyone tried to wash it off?'

‘Glenda did – Trish's daughter – but the ink had seeped in and sponging was doing more harm than good.'

‘I knew Miss Baines,' Bridget said, determinedly entering the conversation, ‘though not Miss Cowley – she must have come after I'd left.'

‘What was she like, Susie Baines?' Rona asked, tactfully directing the question to Bridget. ‘I'm never likely to see a photo of her, and I've been trying to picture her.'

‘She was a pretty little thing,' Bridget said reflectively. ‘Fair, curly hair and a lovely smile. She wasn't a pushover, though, far from it. She could be quite strict if she thought you were trying anything on.'

‘She'd a mind of her own,' Maureen agreed. ‘Once she'd decided on something, it was no use trying to get her to change it.'

Rona thought for a moment. ‘I suppose no one knew whether she'd left voluntarily, or been sacked?'

Both sisters shook their heads.

‘Could whatever it was have been the reason for the school suddenly closing?'

They answered together, Bridget agreeing the possibility, Maureen emphatically denying it.

‘Oh come on, Mo!' Bridget exclaimed. ‘There was already the scandal of alcohol on the premises and parents threatening to remove their daughters. This business with Bainsey must have been the last straw.'

‘Absolute nonsense!' Maureen declared. ‘The Head had a heart attack, poor man, and that was the sole reason for the closure. I suppose it could have been brought on by whatever happened, but that's the only possible connection.'

It was clear there'd be no agreement between the sisters, and Rona was left to make what she could of their observations. They continued to talk about the school, memories having been revived by the discussion, but there was nothing that had any relevance to what interested her. As Maureen had warned, it was a long way to have come for confirmation of Susie Baines's identity, of which she'd already been almost sure.

It was only as she was leaving after lunch that a casual comment made the whole trip worthwhile. She'd already started down the path when Maureen, standing at the door, called after her, ‘I've just thought: the headmaster had a daughter. She was a lot younger than we were, but if anyone knew the truth of what happened, it'd be her.'

Rona turned back, her face lighting up. ‘That's fantastic! Do you know how I could contact her?'

‘I've no idea; to be honest, I'd forgotten her very existence. Now I think of it, though, I remember hearing years ago that she'd gone into teaching. You might be able to trace her that way.'

‘You don't happen to remember her first name?'

‘Not offhand, but I think it was something biblical.'

‘Well, thank you very much. That gives me a new lead.'

Something biblical
. Salome? Rona thought facetiously as she drove off. Delilah? Jezebel? They didn't sound quite right for a school teacher. It was as well she had the surname Lytton to work on; it was fairly unusual, which should aid her search.

So – she'd completed the first part of her task: Susie Baines had been positively identified as the face beneath the ink. Now, she must try to discover why Trish Cowley had so ferociously scrubbed out her likeness, and why, over fifty years later, she'd almost passed out on seeing the photograph.

Rona hadn't been home long when Avril phoned.

‘I've been speaking to Kitty,' she said, ‘and we've arranged to meet for lunch. It'll be lovely to see her again, after all this time. She told me you were going to visit Maureen. How did you get on?'

‘I'm just back, actually, and pretty shattered after all that driving. It was quite busy coming home.'

‘But did you learn anything?'

‘I found out the headmaster had a daughter. My next task is to find her.'

‘You know her married name?'

‘Oh God, I never thought of that! If she married, I haven't a hope in hell of finding her. She went into teaching, that's all I know. I'll go on line in the morning and see if I can track her down.'

‘Well, that's only one of the reasons I'm phoning. The other is to invite you and Max to Sunday lunch. It's a long time since we were all together. Lindsey's coming too; it seems the ever-present Dominic isn't as ever-present nowadays.'

‘He never was,' Rona pointed out.

‘Well, he was always wheeled out as an excuse when she didn't want to come here.'

Rona bit her lip; that was a touch of the old, sour Avril she'd hoped had gone for good.

‘We'd love to come, Mum; thanks.'

But would she really enjoy it? she wondered as she rang off. Sunday lunch at Belmont inevitably brought her father to mind; it would be hard to see Guy Lacey in his place at the head of the table.

‘Linz?'

‘Hi there.'

‘Just reporting back. I've been to see Maureen Little-that-was, and she confirms the anonymous person on the photo is Susie Baines. So at least that's one thing cleared up. She doesn't know why she left so suddenly, though her sister had some lurid theories. The only hopeful thing to come out of it is that they said the Head of Springfield had a daughter, and if we can track her down, we might get somewhere. I'm going to have a go in the morning.'

‘Good; keep me posted. No doubt you've been invited to Sunday lunch?'

‘Yes, Mum's just been on.'

‘She asked very pointedly if I'd be spending the weekend with Dominic.'

‘And I presume you're not?'

‘You presume correctly.'

‘OK; well, I've just got in and I'm starving, so I'm going in search of food. See you on Sunday.'

Jonathan Hurst put his head round Lindsey's office door.

‘I hate to intrude, but your nemesis has surfaced again.'

Lindsey looked at him crossly. ‘I've no idea what you're talking about.'

‘Old man Steinbeck, our wealthiest client whom you stood up to go off sailing with your boyfriend.'

Lindsey flushed, both at the memory of their previous altercation and of that weekend with Dominic. ‘Surely he's all yours now,' she answered. ‘He'll have written me off after last time.'

‘It seems not. He's still convinced we need to work together to protect his best interests.'

Lindsey sighed. ‘What does he want this time?'

‘You know how the super-rich enjoy rewriting their wills. It keeps their relatives on their toes. Well, number two son whom he struck off in October has apparently now redeemed himself and is to be written back in.'

‘That seems simple enough; it doesn't need two of us.'

‘Agreed, but Steinbeck likes to play the “Big I Am”, and while he pays us megabucks, who are we to argue? I managed to dig you out of the hole last time, but I'm damned if I'll do it again. As always, we'll be treated to dinner at the Clarendon afterwards, which helps to sweeten the pill. Or are you flying off to Mozambique with lover-boy?'

Lindsey bit her lip. ‘Don't be absurd, Jonathan.'

‘Ah! Touched a raw nerve, have I? Don't tell me the bed of roses has sprouted thorns?'

‘I'm not telling you anything!' Lindsey said heatedly. ‘But if we must humour the old tyrant, so be it. You arrange it, but this time keep me in the loop.'

She'd expected him to nod and leave the room, but when he didn't immediately move, she looked up to find him surveying her with narrowed eyes.

‘Well?' she challenged, and he smiled his lopsided smile.

‘I've missed you,' he said. And before she could think of a suitable retort, he was gone.

Lindsey pressed her hands to her hot cheeks, conscious of a quickened heartbeat. It seemed that in one respect at least, her boast to Rona had not been empty; too bad it was her least favourite option. He'd told her he was getting divorced, she remembered. How could she have fallen for that old cliché? Or perhaps, she thought with searing honesty, she never had.

It had certainly had its excitements, their time together, not least because of its forbidden pleasures: the secret meetings at her flat when she was working from home, and the time her mother nearly caught them; the occasion when his wife arrived unannounced in his office as they were on the point of embracing. Sexy, self-indulgent Jonathan, with his overlong fair hair, his deep-set grey eyes, his mobile mouth. A shudder ran through her. Oh God, she thought, here we go again.

To her relieved surprise, Rona struck gold almost at once. After the expected links to Lytton Strachey and Bulwer-Lytton, she came across one Esther Lytton with a choice of sites to her name. Until recently, Rona learned, moving from one to the other, she'd been principal of an eminent girls' school, and was on a number of committees and associations connected with education. She had also been an external examiner and school governor, and had taught for a while at an international school in France.

Rona clicked hopefully on ‘Biography', but was rewarded only with her professional appointments; no mention of her own education or background.

But despite the listed information, when she phoned the named schools to ask for a message to be forwarded her luck ran out and she repeatedly came up against a brick wall. ‘I'm sorry, we have no means of reaching Miss Lytton,' was the standard reply. Nor did she do any better with the BT on-line phone book, that had stood her in good stead in the past. No entry appeared for Esther Lytton; ex-directory, it seemed.

Rona sat back in frustration. So near and yet so far. Well, all she could do was write to her at the last school mentioned with the request that it be redirected; and she'd mark it ‘Private and Confidential' for good measure. It was less than a year since Esther Lytton had retired, and Rona couldn't believe she'd not left a forwarding address, with the post office if not the school.

Later, she phoned Glenda Stirling.

‘Rona, hello! Have you some news for us?'

‘Nothing very exciting, I'm afraid. I've seen both the lady who stayed at the hotel and the friends of my mother, and have at least confirmed the person behind the blob was Susie Baines. But no one has been able to suggest why. She and your mother were close friends, as you know, but for some reason their friendship ended acrimoniously.'

‘Oh, dear.' Glenda sounded despondent.

‘My last hope is the headmaster's daughter,' Rona continued. ‘She's recently retired from teaching and I've been trying to trace her, so far without success. However, I'm going to write to her at her last school, in the hope they'll pass the letter on.'

‘Well, thank you. It's so good of you to give up your time like this.'

‘I enjoy a challenge!' Rona said. ‘I'll be in touch when, or if, I have any further news.'

Catherine was slightly apprehensive as she awaited the family's arrival that Saturday. Would Jenny feel awkward with her? If so, would Daniel notice? She resolved to be as natural as possible, and hoped her daughter-in-law would respond accordingly.

In the event, it turned out that their big news, held back as a surprise, was that Alice was now walking, and in the excitement any lingering embarrassment painlessly dissolved.

‘She took her first unaided steps on Easter Sunday,' Jenny told her, as the baby tottered unsteadily across the room and sat down suddenly on her well-padded behind. ‘I'm so glad it was when Daniel was there.'

Later, when Daniel had volunteered to change his daughter's nappy and Catherine and Jenny were temporarily alone, Jenny said quietly, ‘I'm so sorry about what happened. Thank you for being so understanding.'

‘I'm not sure that I was,' Catherine admitted.

‘Well, at least you didn't shop me. It was just a silly thing, with Daniel being away so much and feeling tired and depressed. The shock of you finding out brought me to my senses; I just needed time away to get my head together.'

‘And did it work?'

‘Oh yes. I realized how much I loved him and how stupid I'd been. I can promise you it won't happen again.'

‘Then it's all forgotten,' Catherine said, and Jenny bent to kiss her.

It was a happy family day, and Catherine reflected contentedly on how lucky she was. After all her years alone she now had a new love, whom she'd be marrying in a few months' time, and her beloved son was himself happily married with an enchanting baby daughter. She had a great deal to be thankful for.

‘Who's this?' Jenny's voice broke into her thoughts and Catherine, glancing across, saw she'd picked up the copy of last week's
Gazette
, which Catherine had kept in order to check the crossword. Its front page bore a photograph of Kevin Coombes under the headline ‘STILL ON THE RUN'.