A Question of Identity (8 page)

‘I know, but tomorrow's the weekend . . . OK?' he prompted, when she didn't speak.

‘I suppose it will have to be.'

‘Give her a big kiss from me. See you soon.' And he rang off.

Turning quickly, she hurried into the adjoining room and scooped the baby out of her pen.

‘Bath time!' she said unsteadily, kissing Alice's curls and wetting them with her sudden tears. Holding the child tightly to her, she carried her upstairs.

Fifty miles away in Marsborough, another homecoming was not going as planned. Kevin Coombes strode into the house just after six, brushing past Lucy in the hall, and without a word made straight for the drinks cupboard and the whisky bottle. She watched from the doorway as he poured himself a generous measure and tossed it straight back.

‘Bad day at the office?'

‘You could say that.' He refilled the glass, frowning as the two little boys came running into the room.

‘Daddy!' They hurled themselves against him, hugging his knees and both talking at once, and Lucy, with sinking heart, saw the flash of irritation on his face. To her relief, though, he ruffled their hair.

‘Will you bath us tonight, Daddy?' Archie was pleading, while Ben clamoured for him to come and see his latest drawing.

‘Hey, give me a break, boys! I've only just set foot in the house!' Though his tone was jovial, Lucy could see the effort it cost him.

‘Daddy's tired,' she said quickly. ‘Come up with me and let him relax for a while, then perhaps he'll read you a story.'

Her eyes flashed an appeal, and reluctantly he nodded. ‘Off you go, then,' he said, with undisguised relief.

A month ago, she thought numbly, he'd have tossed them over his shoulder, squealing delightedly, and swept them upstairs. The bathroom would have rung with laughs and yells, and when she went in to collect their clothes, she'd have found the floor awash. If only she could turn the clock back.

The promised bedtime story was short and sweet, after which Kevin left Lucy to settle their sons, and when she came down to join him she found him slumped on the sofa with his head in his hands.

‘Darling, what is it? What's wrong?' She slipped to her knees in front of him, taking hold of his hands, and he pulled her convulsively against him.

‘God, Luce, I wish I knew! What's the
matter
with me? I just can't get my head round anything at the moment.' He paused, and she felt his arms tighten about her. ‘I damn nearly got the sack today, and I'd have deserved it.'

She pulled back, staring into his face. ‘What happened?'

‘Old Netherby was being his usual pompous self, criticizing everything in sight, and I just snapped and . . . lashed out at him.'

‘Kevin!'

‘Oh, he ducked in time, thank God. It was touch and go for a while, but my abject apologies and excuses finally won through. I'm on borrowed time, though; the slightest cause for complaint, and he'll see that I'm out.'

He hesitated, not meeting her eyes. ‘And that's not the only thing. Several times lately I suddenly seem to come to, and – this sounds idiotic – I'm not where I expect to be.'

She stared at him with wide, frightened eyes. ‘You mean you have blank spells?'

‘I don't know what the hell I mean.'

‘But Kevin, you must see a doctor! This could be—'

‘No!' He slammed his hand down on the arm of the chair. ‘It's strain, that's all it is,' he added more calmly. ‘Overwork. I'll look in at the chemist tomorrow and get a tonic of some sort. That should do the trick.' Putting her gently aside, he rose to his feet. ‘Anyway, that's enough of my troubles. Let's go and eat.'

And Lucy, whose world seemed suddenly unsure, reluctantly followed him into the kitchen.

‘Mum?'

‘Lindsey! Talk of the devil! I was just saying to Guy that I've not seen you for a while.'

‘I know; sorry about that. The reason I'm phoning is that I have to visit a client in Belmont on Monday, and I'm wondering if I can scrounge a free lunch?'

‘Of course! That'll be lovely.'

‘I gather Rona's been over?'

‘Yes, last week. One of these days, perhaps I'll see you both together! Did you find out any more about the photograph?'

Lindsey stiffened. ‘What photograph?' she asked carefully.

‘The one of Springfield. I knew a girl who went there. Surely Rona told you?'

‘No, actually, she didn't.'

‘Oh. Well, she went on to Paola King after leaving me, so perhaps it slipped her mind. What time can I expect you on Monday?'

Lindsey wrenched her mind back to the lunch. ‘My appointment's for eleven, so around twelve fifteen, twelve thirty?'

‘I'll look forward to it,' Avril said.

‘And exactly when,' Lindsey began without preamble, ‘were you thinking of telling me what you learned from Mum about Springfield?'

‘Ah!' Pulling a face at Max, Rona perched on the kitchen table, the phone to her ear.

‘“Ah” indeed! I presume you're paying me back for slipping the photo in your bag?'

‘Partly,' Rona admitted, ‘but as I told you, I didn't want to get embroiled in this while I'm immersed in Elspeth.'

‘Then why ask Mum about it? What gets me, though, is that even though we've spoken since, you never said a word!'

‘All right, it was childish, but I was waiting for you to bring it up.'

‘Well, I'm bringing it up now. I'm seeing her on Monday, so will you kindly fill me in?'

Rona took a sip of the vodka Max handed her. ‘Basically, Mum's friend Kitty Little – the one who was her bridesmaid – had two much older sisters who went to Springfield, and one was still there when it closed. The official explanation was that the headmaster had a heart attack, and presumably no one was prepared to take it over. But it seems rumours were rife.'

‘What kind of rumours?'

‘The usual – sex, drink, abortions. So any one of those – or none of them – could lie behind the defacing.'

‘Anything else?'

‘I'd have thought that was enough to be going on with!'

‘You're sure you're not still holding something back?'

‘Come on, Linz, I'm sorry, all right? But that's all there is, honestly. If Mum's been thinking about it in the interim, she might have remembered more. How come you're going to Belmont on a working day?'

‘I've a client to visit, and thought I might take a leaf out of your book.'

‘Fair enough. Let me know if you learn anything.'

‘I might,' Lindsey said, and hung up.

Daniel had still not mentioned the phone call that had obsessed her since Tuesday evening. Jenny almost wished he would. There'd been no further word from Paul; he must be wondering if there'd been any fallout, and when it would be safe to resume their liaison.

What would she tell him when he contacted her, as he was certain to do? She was still attracted to him, still obscurely angry with Daniel, but Catherine . . . Oh God, what a hopeless, impossible situation!

Now, as they ate their delayed meal and he talked of the problems he'd experienced with his client, her mind circled uselessly round possible courses of action.

Until suddenly, with a flood of relief, the blindingly obvious solution came to her, and, interrupting him, she blurted out, ‘I think I'll go to Mum and Dad for a week or two.'

Daniel put down his knife and fork and stared at her. ‘A
week
or two?'

Jenny's visits to her parents in Cheshire usually took the form of a long weekend.

‘I . . . need to get away,' she said a little wildly.

‘But . . . why? Sweetheart, what is it? Is something wrong?'

‘No!' She shook her head violently.

‘What about work?'

‘It'll be OK, I'll take unpaid leave. Kelly will stand in for me.'

He was looking at her with concern. ‘I knew you shouldn't have gone back so soon. But you don't have to go away, surely? I mean, just stay at home and take it easy. Meet the girls for coffee like you did on maternity leave, take Alice swimming . . .' His voice tailed off.

‘I need to get away,' she repeated, and flinched when she saw his eyes darken.

‘From me?'

‘Just – away.'

‘I'll miss you,' he said.

‘No, you won't. You're hardly ever here.' Her voice was sharper than she'd intended.

‘Sweetie, that's not true! I know I've been extra busy these last few weeks, but this particular job won't go on much longer, then I'll be more or less back to nine-to-five.'

She felt herself waver; yet if she stayed, she knew without doubt that she would sleep with Paul, and that really would be the end. Because even if Daniel never found out, she couldn't lie to him for the rest of her life.

Desperate now to end the discussion, she pushed back her chair and stood up. ‘Then I'll come back when the job's finished. I hate being alone night after night, especially when I spend half of it rocking Alice to sleep. The house rustles and creeks and I keep thinking I hear noises downstairs. I know I'm being silly, but it . . . frightens me.'

He was staring at her, a line between his brows. ‘You've never mentioned that! Why didn't you tell me?'

‘It's not only that – we just don't seem close any more. When you
are
home
,
you're tired all the time.' Her eyes, full of tears, challenged him. ‘Can you even remember when we last made love?'

He looked as though she'd struck him, made an instinctive move towards her, but she backed away.

‘Please don't try to stop me, Daniel. I
need
to go.'

‘Jenny . . .' He lifted his hands helplessly. ‘At least give me a chance to put things right. Why not invite your parents down here for a while? They'd be company for you, and I'm sure they'd love—'

‘
No!
' she cried desperately. ‘Please!'

Already she was lying to him. Of course she was tired, of course the house was a bit creepy at night, but she could deal with that. What she couldn't admit was that she had to get away in order to save their marriage.

Paul would get the message. She'd never fooled herself either of them was in love; now, with searing insight, she accepted that were she no longer available, he'd move on to someone else. He must have thought he'd fallen on his feet! she thought bitterly: an absent husband, a susceptible, lonely wife and an empty house. He'd even said as much. God, what a fool she'd been!

Daniel was still standing by the table, staring at her with pain in his eyes.
Had
Catherine said anything? Surely she couldn't have, or he'd have accused her by now.

‘Only for a week or two,' she pleaded. ‘I'm sorry, Daniel, I've just got thoroughly run down and I need some pampering.' She forced a smile. ‘And you needn't worry that I'll make a scene next time you have to be away for a night or two. It's just . . . a combination of things at the moment.'

‘Well, if you're really sure. And I
shall
miss you. It's knowing you and Alice are at home waiting for me that keeps me going when things get tough at work.'

Her tears spilled over, and this time she didn't stop him putting his arms round her.

‘Just for a week or two,' she repeated.

He tilted her chin back, looking searchingly into her eyes. ‘And even though I'm a thoughtless brute at times, you do still love me?'

‘Of
course
I do!' Of that, at least, she was sure.

‘That's all right then,' he said.

L
indsey didn't report back on her visit to Belmont, leaving Rona to wonder whether she'd not learned anything new, or, in fact, had, but was determined not to pass it on. Not that it mattered, one way or the other; as she'd told her mother, she'd no intention of following up the photograph.

The decision was, however, taken out of her hands in an unexpected way. On the Wednesday morning, having made a note of the galleries she still had to visit, she turned to an appendix listing the names of lesser known paintings in private possession, together, where possible, with the name and address of the owner. And, unbelievably, a small watercolour titled
Samson and Delilah
was shown to be in the possession of a Mrs Beryl Temple of Springfield Lodge Private Hotel, Marsborough.

It was not only the coincidence that piqued Rona's interest; she'd been unaware that Elspeth painted biblical subjects, and was at a loss to understand how she'd missed this. She must get in touch with Gwen Saunders, but first, her curiosity mounting, she reached for the telephone directory, checked the number of the hotel, and promptly dialled it, asking to speak to Mrs Temple.

‘Is it in connection with a booking, madam?' an efficient voice enquired.

‘No, it's . . . a private matter.' She gave her name, and a moment later an older voice came on the line.

‘Ms Parish?'

‘Yes; good morning, Mrs Temple. I hope you don't mind my contacting you, but I believe you're the owner of a painting by Elspeth Wilding?'

‘I am indeed.'

‘I've been asked by the family to write her biography, and I—'

‘Of course! I thought I knew the name! You're the writer, aren't you?'

‘That's right, and I was wondering—'

‘You'd like to see the painting?'

‘I should, very much, if that's possible.'

‘Of course, you're welcome to come any time. You know where we are?'

‘Yes, my sister lives out your way.' Rona hesitated. ‘Would this afternoon be convenient?'

‘I've a meeting at two, but it shouldn't take long – an hour at most.'

‘Shall we say three thirty, then?'

‘Fine. I look forward to meeting you.'