Maxwell's Return (28 page)

‘Where’s Max, Jacquie?’

For once, she had no need to dissemble. ‘At home. Catching up on his sleep after a night on the sofa.’

‘You’re sure?’

‘Positive.’ She too had rung Mrs Plocker, to be told that Max had already rung and arranged for Nole to go to that mad old bat next door, oh, I do beg your pardon, Mrs Troubridge. So he was clearly planning a good long sleep. It was nice to be able to tell Henry where he was and
know it was right.

‘That’s all right then. Are you going out with the others or staying here to co-ordinate? I’ll do whichever you don’t do – I don’t mind which.’

‘I thought I’d go out, guv. I’ve met the girl and so that might be a help when they find her.’

‘I thought that’s what you’d choose to do. You have considered the possibility of publicity, I suppose?’

‘What, the parents hiding her, you mean?’

He nodded. ‘Hopefully nothing worse.’

‘The mother seemed genuine. I know this isn’t gospel, but Max said she was rubbish at acting at school, so I doubt she’s improved now. She seemed to be in total collapse and the paramedics agreed.’

‘You’re checking the house first, I take it.’ He didn’t like telling his granny how to suck eggs, but this could be a media minefield.

‘There’s a team there now, guv. And the granny’s. Not that you’d choose to stay with her if you were desperate. She is a truly horrible woman and it’s not many I say that of, as you know.’

‘We certainly do meet them,’ he agreed. ‘I’ll make sure you get any updates. Who are you with?’

‘Jason.’ He wouldn’t have been her first choice, but he was better than many.

‘Fine. I’ll be here.’ And in his usual abrupt fashion, Henry Hall was gone.

Maxwell was dimly aware of a car drawing up outside and a voice that sounded very much like his son’s briefly raised in song. A twitter that could only be Mrs Troubridge and the cheerful goodbyes of the Plockers, mere et fils, joined the mix and then peace again descended on Columbine and Maxwell dropped gratefully back to sleep.

The next noise came just a few seconds later by his reckoning, but in fact it was three games of Scrabble, two brownies and a glass of milk later. It took him a moment to work out what it was, then it resolved into the phone.

‘Mmm?’

‘Max?’ A man’s voice grated anxiously in his ear. ‘Are you all right?’

‘Sleepy,’ Maxwell managed, licking his lips and struggling upright. ‘Bad night last night. Catching up.’

‘Oh. Max, it’s Guy. Is Sylv with you?’

Against his better judgement, Maxwell couldn’t help checking the room. ‘No,’ he said, after a cursory glance. ‘Should she be?’

‘No, no, it’s not that. I know she was with you yesterday. You know, when that girl was in hospital. We didn’t have much time to chat last night and I was gone this morning before she woke up.’

‘I see.’ Maxwell was concerned. This didn’t sound like Guy and Sylvia of old.

‘It’s nothing like that,’ the man said, hearing the tone. ‘It’s my new job. It’s a killer. We’re talking about moving nearer, but… well, these things take time.’

‘Yes,’ said Maxwell, getting into his stride. ‘Have you no idea where she might be? It’s not like Sylv to be dippy and disappear.’

‘No, exactly. She’s got that pad thing, you know, in the sitting room. She’s absolutely rigorous about filling it in. Me, not so much, but I’ve never known her fail. Sometimes I’ve come in and she’s put things like “I’m in the garden” or “I’m in the loo”. She just hates to be off the radar.’

‘I know. Medical training, I suppose,’ Maxwell said.

‘And a tiny touch of control freakery, but in a good way.’ Maxwell sensed that Guy was beginning to wish he hadn’t shaken this particular tree. ‘Look, Max, sorry to have bothered you… she’ll turn up in a minute, I expect.’

But Maxwell was sitting up now and taking notice. When had he last been aware of Sylvia Matthews being in the right place at the right time at school that day? She seemed to have gone awol around three thirty. He glanced at the clock. Gone seven now. That was a long time, in the world of Matthews.

‘Guy, we need to talk. I’ve just got to pop next door and palm Nole
off on Mrs Troubridge for the evening and then I’ll be ready. Can you pick me up?’

‘To go where? We can’t just drive around looking for her, can we?’

‘Well, it won’t be quite as random as that, I hope. I have an itinerary in mind. But please, Guy,
please
leave a note on the pad!’

‘Will do,’ the man said, thoroughly rattled by now. He had rung Peter Maxwell up for reassurance and was now in the grip of full scale panic. ‘I’m on my way.’

‘See you shortly,’ Maxwell said and crashed the phone back on the rest. He grabbed his coat from the rack as he hurtled past and was soon ringing Mrs Troubridge’s doorbell. It went without saying that she would be delighted and scurried off to put a hot water bottle in the bed in Nolan’s room, as her spare room was now called, down to the little plaque on the door. Nolan loved it now; it would only be in the years to come that the Bob the Builder decoration would come to be an embarrassment, when Sir Nolan Maxwell was Architect Royal to King William V. As Maxwell reached the pavement he stopped. Caught in the crosshairs of Metternich’s disapproving glare he suddenly had lost the use of his feet. He tried to brazen it out.

‘Count,’ he said, curtly, and nodded, trying to sidestep the animal.

The enormous black and white beast didn’t even blink. He got up from his classic cat-sat-on-the-mat position and stretched extravagantly. He then walked up to the man laughingly referred to as his master and
sunk a thoughtful pawful of claws into his calf. Then he quietly walked away.

‘I love you too,’ Maxwell muttered and, hoping the blood wouldn’t show on his dark trousers, limped in the direction that he knew Guy Morley would be approaching from – anything rather than stand there being eyeballed by a cat planning to sue for desertion. Guy’s car came round a corner in what even Maxwell could tell was the wrong gear. He got in as the car slewed to a halt and fastened his seatbelt. It was going to be a bumpy night.

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

Thingee One, Sarah to her friends, was on her third drink before she remembered her promise to Sylvia Matthews. She had said she would text her number to her and it had gone right out of her head. And now, it was too late because she didn’t know her number, not right off the top of her head, anyway. She could remember about half the numbers, but, she thought with a giggle, that wasn’t much help with a phone number. It had to be right or not at all. She had taken her phone out of her bag, ready to text and sat there with it in her hand, irresolute.

‘I’m glad you’re enjoying yourself,’ her date said, bitterly. He had picked this one at the Speed Dating evening at the Red Lion and was beginning to regret it. She was pretty enough, legs up to here, but she wasn’t much in the way of company. She’d just sat there necking drinks at his expense and now she had her bloody phone out. Great. He started thinking of excuses to leave – even his missus was a better bet than this silly little chickie. There was raucous laughter from the bar – the yachtie crowd were out on the tiles. Starting early by their normal standards but they hadn’t had much wind to keep them on the water and they were stuck for anything to do on dry land except drink.

‘Sorry.’ She looked up at him and his heart melted. Those big blue eyes – they did it for him every time. ‘It’s just that I promised I’d let someone have my number, for emergencies, if you know what I mean, and I forgot. Now I don’t know how to get hold of her.’

‘Emergency?’ he asked. He had thought she was a receptionist or something. How many emergencies did they get when they weren’t at work? Or when they
were
at work, come to that.

‘It’s a friend,’ she began, and ended up telling him the whole story, leaving nothing out. ‘And so,’ she said, ‘I ended up missing Mr Maxwell
and
Mrs Matthews, so now I don’t have any way of finding out what’s going on or whether Charlotte is all right.’ Her eyes were swimming with unshed tears now and he was lost.

‘Don’t worry, Sally…’

‘Sarah.’

‘Sarah,’ he said, scarcely missing a beat. ‘I know Mr Maxwell’s phone number. Both home and mobile.’

She narrowed her lovely eyes at him. ‘Why?’ she asked.

‘Because,’ he said, ‘I am a reporter on the
Leighford Advertiser
and there isn’t a reporter in the town who would dream of not having Mad Max’s phone number in his little black book.’

‘But Mr Maxwell never answers his phone. He’s famous for it.’

‘It’s worth a try though, don’t you think?’ He smiled down at her. Oh, you lovely little thing, he thought. I do believe I may get lucky after
all.

‘Why not?’ she smiled at him, and carefully wiped away a tear. You may have breath that can stop a clock, she thought to herself, but you have your uses. It’s a shame I won’t be paying in any currency you’d understand. ‘Ben.’

‘Bob.’

‘Yes. Sorry. Bob.’

‘Shall we ring or text? Mr Maxwell.’

‘Oh, ring, I think, don’t you? He might not know how to pick up texts.’

‘We’ll text if he doesn’t answer. Okay?’

‘That sounds good. Let’s have your book, then.’ She had her phone out in readiness.

‘It’s on my phone,’ he smiled. ‘I’ll ring him. Hang on.’ He whipped out his iPhone and scrolled through his contacts, choosing a name finally and holding the gadget to his ear. ‘No reply,’ he mouthed. Then he rang off. ‘No point in leaving a voicemail. There’s certainly no way he knows how to pick them up. Hold on, I’ll text. What shall I say?’

‘Just say it’s Sarah and that I meant to leave my number with Mrs Matthews. Put my number in as a link, why don’t you?’

‘Yes, why don’t I… tell you what, you can do it.’ Bob Skinner had always pretended he was at the cutting edge of technology, but he knew his limits. He looked down at the girl, texting at lightning speed with her
thumb and sighed. He felt very,
very
old.

Guy Morley and Peter Maxwell were sitting in Morley’s car in a car park to the north of Leighford. They were hunched together over the satnav, trying to work out a plan. How a minute streetplan of Leighford could possibly be of help, Maxwell couldn’t really see, but it seemed to please Guy and so he was happy to go along with it.

‘So, Max,’ the man said finally, sitting back. ‘Where did you say this Charlotte girl lives.’

‘I told you, Guy,’ Maxwell said for the fifth time. ‘I can take you there from Leighford General. I just can’t point it out on this stupid thing. Have you tried her phone again? If she has been in the hospital, she’ll have had it switched off.’

Guy reached into his pocket and flicked some screens around, finally putting the phone to his ear. He looked into the middle distance while he waited for a reply, but all he got was voicemail.

‘That’s funny,’ Maxwell said. ‘Sylvia’s ringtone is the same as mine.’

‘Really? That
is
funny.’

‘Why? I thought they were all just preset on the phone.’

‘God, Max, you
are
a dinosaur. I downloaded the theme tune from
Emergency Ward 10
from YouTube. That’s her ringtone.’

‘Oops. I’ve just missed a call, then.’ Maxwell dug his phone out of his pocket. ‘Yes. One missed call, one text.’

‘It’s probably Jacquie. Or Sylv.’

‘No. I don’t know this number. Hang on, let me open this text.’

As all people did when near Maxwell and a mobile phone, Morley held out his hand, but Maxwell shook his head.

‘Jacquie says I have to do it or I’ll never learn,’ he said, pushing buttons at what looked like random. ‘Here we are. Oh, it’s from Thingee One. She promised Sylv her number, apparently, but missed her this afternoon, so she’s sent it to me. I expect that’s in case there’s any news on Charlotte.’

‘Ring her back,’ Guy said, nudging him and making him drop the phone. ‘Oh, sorry.’

Maxwell scrabbled to pick up the phone and when he had retrieved it looked at the screen in disbelief. ‘It’s gone.’

‘What has?’

‘The message.’

‘Please let me look, Max. No, look, here it is. You’d just minimised the screen. Ring her back. Perhaps she knows where Sylv is.’

‘I’m not sure if she would have texted if she knew that. Although… I suppose if she knows she’s with Charlotte.’ The Head of Sixth Form was following a meandering train of thought. He would usually try this
kind of thing out on Metternich, but Guy Morley would do just as well. He wasn’t quite so black and white or indeed, so feline, but he would do. ‘If she knows she’s with Charlotte, why didn’t she just ring her? And how does she know my number?’

‘And why is that text not from Thingee’s phone? Look,’ Guy pointed, ‘two different numbers.’

‘I wouldn’t have spotted that,’ Maxwell said. ‘Thanks for noticing that. So, with all these questions, I’ll ask one more.’

‘Which is?’

‘How do I phone her back? I’ve never done this before.’

‘Max, Max, Max… it is true what they say. Give me your phone a minute.’ Morley punched a key and handed the mobile back to Maxwell. It was ringing. It was answered.

‘Hello?’ She had to cover one ear to hear him over the row from the bar.

‘Thingee? I thought I’d ring you back.’

Sarah could hardly contain her surprise. ‘Mr Maxwell. I wasn’t sure whether you…’

‘Thank you, Thingee my dear. I can use a mobile phone, you know. Anyway, I’m here with Mrs Matthews’ other half, Mr Morley. We’re a little concerned about her because she hasn’t come home.’

‘Not come home? Perhaps she’s shopping.’ Sarah always liked to look on the bright side, hence her weekly attendances at the Red Lion Speed Dating Nite.

‘No, she always leaves a note. Tell me, did you see her to speak to this afternoon?’

‘I popped in. To her office, you know.’

‘When was this?’

‘Just before I spoke to you. I… well, I went to ask her if she had heard from Charlotte and ended up telling her what I thought of that pig Baines.’ She looked up and saw Bob Skinner jotting down a note. He smiled at her and put the book away. Just because he had other plans for this evening didn’t stop him being a journalist and this had the smell of something that could be quite juicy.