She walked to the window and drew aside one of the curtains. Leaning her hot head against
the cool glass she saw nothing but the blackness outside. ‘Beth, oh, Beth, what I did was so very wrong,’ she whispered.
No one would ever forgive her for what she had done to the child. And how much of the truth Marcus had guessed at she couldn’t bear to think about.
Marcus realised that the days he had taken off to be with Carol had been wasted. Her husband and children were away, as arranged, yet he had hardly seen her.
He had not really meant what he had said about telling her husband. He loved her but he didn’t want her on those terms, and if she had decided that she didn’t want him, then he would have been hurting the man unnecessarily. What he really wanted was a straight answer and he’d hoped to shock her into making one.
Carol had refused to see him again until Sunday. ‘I’ll call in on the way to collect the children,’ she had promised.
Naturally, Marcus had to assume her answer would be no. If she needed time to think about it there was no point in continuing.
Of course, part of the reason for her state of mind was the disappearance of her niece. She
loved the little girl. But he also gathered, from unguarded comments, that the same feelings were not extended to her sister, Sally.
With no other plans for a Saturday night, Marcus took himself to the cinema. Anything was better than sitting at home alone and he did not feel like socialising. The Savoy, in Causewayhead, now had three screens and a plaque which proudly announced the fact that films had been shown continuously ever since it had opened, despite the war. It was the only cinema to have done so. Marcus was aware of this but as he sat through a film, the plot of which only vaguely registered, he couldn’t have cared less.
Was it a coincidence that Carol’s family were all away at the time Beth was taken from that beach? But why would she wish to harm a child she claimed to love so much, he asked himself as the credits finally rolled and people were getting up, ready to leave.
He put on his coat and followed them out into the night. He had watched an early performance, it was only just after eight. If he hadn’t met Carol he would have been anticipating a night out with friends, not about to return home alone. I’ll ring her, he decided as, hands in his pockets against the chill, he headed towards his flat which was
situated up a side street just past the railway station.
A train was pulling out, a 125, brightly lit, the passengers clearly visible. Marcus wished he were on it, wherever it was going. But I’d not get an answer from Carol then, he realised. Deep down he knew that solution would probably be for the best, but the idea of it happening was unbearable.
Walking past a plate glass window of an unlit shop, Marcus realised that the hunch shouldered man reflected there was himself. If it hadn’t been for his height and his close cropped blond hair he would have thought it was a stranger.
Back at his modern, purpose built flat he felt glad of the warmth and familiar surroundings. He had never married because he had never found anyone he wanted to share his life with, not until he met Carol. He would have taken on her children, too, if that was what she wanted.
But he had no idea what she did want. He picked up his cordless phone and carried it out to the kitchen where he pulled down the blind because the people in the building opposite could see straight in when the light was on. There was some beer in the fridge. He might as well have one. In his anxiety he poured it too fast and
it frothed up over the edge of the glass and left a pool on the worktop surface. Disregarding this, he took a sip, wiped the foam from his mouth and dialled Carol’s number. It rang for a long time. There was no reply, nor did the answering machine click on. She had told him that she was staying in, that she needed time alone to think.
So where, exactly, is she? he wondered as he made another call, this time to order an Indian takeaway. He was told it would be ready in forty minutes. Going to collect it would give him something to do, for which he was grateful.
Admitting that showed the state of his own mind. Never before had he felt so restless and so in need of Carol’s company.
Michael Poole was unable to face the meal placed in front of him. There was nothing wrong with the food: it was a perfectly cooked Cornish breakfast with a generous helping of the local Hog’s Pudding. He had no appetite since the police had first visited him and everything he ate tasted the same. However, he knew that he must eat something if he were not to become ill. He had sat drinking cups of the strong tea until his eggs had gone cold, feeling it wrong to be sitting in front of a full plate whilst his daughter might be starving, or worse. If she was even alive, he amended grimly.
‘I’m sorry, I really can’t finish this,’ he said when the landlady came to clear the table.
‘I understand, dear. No one feels like eating when they’ve got problems. Can I get you some toast?’
‘No, I’m fine, thanks.’ He went back up to his room and tried the number for the Camborne police station again. This time he was in luck; Inspector Pearce was available.
‘Thank you for getting back to me. What can I do for you, Mr Poole?’ Jack asked. Several cups of black coffee had not repaired the damages of a disturbed night but his mood improved because there might be a lead here.
‘I want to know why you’ve called off the search. You can’t just give up like that.’
Jack explained, as patiently as he was able, that this was not strictly the case. ‘What it actually means is that some of the men have been stood down. We still have a large number of people out there looking for Beth.’
‘I see. I just thought … well, Sally said.’ He stopped, unable to form a complete sentence because the reality of the situation hit him. The police believed, as he had come to do, that Beth would not be found alive.
‘Mr Poole, may I ask you what made you decide to come down here?’
‘Goddamit, man, what do you think? You
asked me to stay put, but would you have done?’
No, Jack thought, I wouldn’t. ‘I’d very much like to speak to you in person. Would sometime today be convenient?’ The man’s anger had sounded genuine, the outburst of an innocent person, but over the telephone it could have been faked and they could not afford to take anything for granted. It was an unpalatable fact, but parents did harm their children then give tearful media interviews begging for their safe return when they knew that would never be possible. Although what Poole’s motive could be was not clear. Beth didn’t live with him, in fact, he hadn’t seen her since she was a toddler so it wasn’t a case of her continual whining or crying getting on his nerves. But there had been the custody application; it might be a case of if he couldn’t have her neither could Sally. But the case had not made it to the courts. Everyone had agreed that Sally was a fit mother and that Poole would have had great difficulty in bringing up the child himself. And that had been almost two years ago, why would he wait until now to act? Jack sighed. Perhaps the answer was obvious; immediate action would have drawn attention to himself.
‘Inspector Pearce, I can meet you sometime this afternoon if that’s convenient. Only I promised I’d go and see Sally this morning.’
This afternoon it was then. He did not want to be accused of making things hard for the father of a missing child. ‘What time would suit you?’
‘Two o’clock?’
‘That’s fine. Where can I find you?’
Michael had expected to be asked to come to the station for some sort of formal interview. He did not want to take the Inspector to his hotel bedroom, it did not seem fitting for the occasion and they might be overheard in the guests’ lounge. ‘How about the Godolphin Arms?’
That was fine by Jack, although he’d have to stick to coffee. If Poole had a couple of drinks under his belt he might be more inclined to let something slip. It would be interesting to meet him, to sum up the father of Sally’s child in person.
He walked over to the window and stared out, hardly noticing the few passing cars, their occupants no doubt on their way to relatives for Sunday lunch or to visit one of the supermarkets. Even in Cornwall Sunday was beginning to lose its different feel from the rest of the week. It had once been a day off for everyone, apart from pub landlords, hoteliers and the women who had stayed in the kitchen to cook the traditional roast. Now the big stores remained open as did
many of the smaller shops once the season had started.
Knowing that there was little more he could do until his arranged meeting with Poole, Jack decided to ring Rose. There was no reply. ‘Give me a call when you’ve got the time,’ he said after her voice had told him to leave a message. He had not meant to sound abrupt but life seemed to be frustrating him in all directions.
As she woke on Sunday morning Rose heard the familiar whine of the wind in the chimneybreast of the blocked off fireplace in her bedroom. At least it wasn’t raining. She tried to keep Sundays as a rest day but in the winter, if the weather allowed, she would work out of doors because there was so little opportunity to do so with the shortened days.
Still in her dressing gown, she made coffee and watched the waves rolling in and breaking against the concave Promenade wall. It was a magnificent sight. Spray was sent high in the air, threaded with rainbow colours as the sun backlit it. Further out the bright red salvage tug swung on its anchor. The sky might be clear and blue but she could see by the way the flags on the Queen’s Hotel were blowing that the wind
was from the east. It would be too cold to work outside for long. However, the whole day lay in front of her and she had no idea what to do with it. She smiled at her indecision. It was typical. How often had she wished for such a day when she could lie in the bath, have a face pack, maybe, then laze around reading. This was what she always wished for but she had too much energy, too much zest for life to do so.
Jack would still be fully occupied, her friends had all made arrangements and even her father had told her he was driving over to Redruth to meet a man with whom he had become acquainted on one of his previous visits to Cornwall. As she wandered back to the kitchen Sally Jones’s face came into her mind. Surely no one could look more grief-stricken. I must speak to her again, I must see if there’s anything I can do no matter how trivial or useless it might seem.
Just over an hour later she was on her way to Marazion. It was still relatively early for a Sunday morning but she doubted Sally would still be in bed, if she had slept at all.
Traffic was light and the supermarkets didn’t open until ten so she made good time.
Having parked she walked through the quiet Sunday streets. Curtains were still drawn
at some of the windows of the small terraced cottages. The high tide was beginning to recede but it would be some time before the causeway leading to St Michael’s Mount was walkable. The occasional car or van used it, too, at low tide. Rose had often wondered what it must be like to live there. Unlike an island where you knew you were totally cut off, twice in every twenty-four hours access by foot was possible, otherwise you could only reach the mainland by way of one of the small boats that ferried people backwards and forwards. But if you wanted a late night out and there was a full tide, how did you get back home? Rose realised that you probably didn’t, that you made arrangements to stay with someone.
She was about to ring the bell with the name Jones above it when the front door of the house opened. Norma Penhalligon was as surprised as Rose when they came face to face so suddenly. ‘I was just going out. You startled me, dear, but it’s nice to see you again. Have you come to see Sally?’
‘Yes. How is she? I mean, do you think she’s up to receiving visitors?’
‘It would seem so, there’s two with her now, as well as her mum.’
‘Two?’
‘The sister, and the ex-boyfriend.’
Rose had guessed he would not have been able to stay away for long no matter what his relationship with Sally was now like. ‘Perhaps I’d better leave it then.’ But before she could decide either way they both looked up as they heard raised voices from the floor above.
‘You’ve always wanted what was mine. Always. Sometimes I think you must actually hate me.’
Norma looked at Rose and raised her eyebrows. It was hard to tell whose voice it was. ‘I don’t think a visit’s a good idea after all. Still, it’s hardly surprising, the tension must be getting to them all.’ Norma sighed and picked at a thread hanging from a buttonhole on her coat. ‘It seems far longer than five days since I saw Beth leaving here with her mother. She looked so cute, too, in her new jacket. You know, one of those brightly coloured padded ones all the little ones wear these days. They’re warm, but practical. You can put them in the washing machine, not like when my ones were small. Winter coats had to be dry-cleaned in them days.’ She stopped as footsteps sounded on the landing and a man made his way down the stairs. ‘Hello, it’s Mrs Penhalligon, isn’t it?’
She nodded. They had met briefly yesterday. ‘And this is Rose Trevelyan. Rose, this is Michael Poole, Beth’s father.’ They shook hands. ‘It was Rose who saw the man who took Beth.’
‘You did? The police told me they had a witness. I never expected to meet her. I didn’t know you actually knew Sally.’
‘I didn’t. I didn’t meet her until after it happened. I just called in to see if there was anything I could do.’ Rose studied the good-looking man. He had short, fair hair and was smartly, but casually dressed. But the lines in his face and his drawn expression showed how he felt.
‘I think it would be better not to disturb her right now. She and Carol have had a row and they’re both upset. Perhaps you could come back some other time.’ He looked down at the black and white tiles of the entrance hall which Norma kept spotlessly clean. ‘If Sally hadn’t left me this wouldn’t have happened. I’m not blaming her for it, far from it. It’s my fault, I should have been more persuasive, talked her into staying, and if that failed I should at least have insisted upon proper access. But she really convinced me it was better the way she wanted it. What a fool I was.’
Norma and Rose had no idea what to say to
the man. Nothing would make any difference now. In any case there would be tremendous guilt on all sides. And blame. And that could tear families apart.
‘I’m going back to the guesthouse. They know where I am if they need me. And I’m meeting Inspector Pearce later on. I want to know exactly what they’re doing.’
Poor Jack. Rose knew she would see little of him until the case was over, but she felt guilty for not having telephoned just to see how he was. ‘Goodbye,’ she said. It was hardly appropriate to add something along the lines of it being nice meeting him.
More footsteps were heard as Michael shut the door behind him. These were lighter, those of a woman. Carol Harte came slowly down the stairs, her hand resting on the polished wood of the banister. She looked older and more defeated than when Rose had last seen her. ‘Oh.’ She jumped. She had not realised that she was not alone.
‘Are you all right, maid?’ Norma asked.
She shook her head. ‘Not really. No, I’m not at all all right.’ Tears filled her eyes. She wiped them away impatiently with her fingertips. ‘I just feel so bloody alone at the moment.’
Geoff Carter had sensed this but Rose wondered if it was an act. After all, she had a husband and children, a sister and mother and a lover.
‘Do you want to come in for a coffee?’
‘It’s very kind of you, Norma, but I need to get away from here for a while.’ She only hesitated for a second before adding, ‘Why don’t you come out to my place for one? I could do with some sane company. Why don’t you both come? I can drop you back, Norma.’
Rose could not resist this invitation. This was a chance to get to know Carol better, a chance, maybe, to put her theory to the test. She accepted the offer.
Laura had mentioned the Bradley twins and their jealousies, which she had found odd. Rose had imagined that all twins were especially close, almost telepathic at times, but it was possible that as they had grown older they had needed to find their own identity and the bond had been broken. Thinking about them had led her to question the relationship between Carol and Sally, even more so since she had overheard part of their quarrel. She hoped Carol would tell them what it was about.
Norma went in Carol’s car. This caused Rose
some frustration. Carol may confide in the older woman before they reached their destination. But the journey was not long enough for much of a conversation to have taken place.
She pulled up behind Carol’s car on the neatly raked gravel. The bungalow was built on high ground and the wind tugged at their hair and clothing. For once Rose was wearing a skirt. The tan corduroy swung to one side revealing the tops of her boots. The last of the autumn leaves were sent scurrying across the lawn. Carol’s flowerbeds were empty; the soil dug and turned over. No doubt there would be daffodil bulbs beneath its surface and bedding plants to follow later, but Rose preferred some greenery and coloured heathers all the year round.
‘It’s so damn cold,’ Carol said as she unlocked the front door. It was not that cold now that wind had veered to the south, but Carol was in a state of shock, it was emotional distress taking its toll.
They were shown into the lounge with its view over the rolling countryside. It was so very green after all the rain, so very English.
‘Tea or coffee?’ she asked as she gestured for her guests to sit down. She stood in the doorway, her dark hair framing a face as white as the carpet beneath their feet. The dark smudges beneath her
eyes made her look ill. She seemed to be almost at breaking point.
‘Let me do it,’ Norma said as she took off her coat in a businesslike manner. ‘You look worn out. Sit down, dear. I’m sure I’ll be able to find everything.’
Carol nodded and sank into an armchair. Rose had chosen the settee. ‘Are you feeling any better?’ she asked to break the silence, but not expecting the answer she received.