Person or Persons Unknown (16 page)

‘But she's been happy with her adopted family?'

‘Very. I've met them, and they're a pleasant couple. A little dubious about the search, though.'

‘With reason. What's her job?'

‘Primary school teacher.'

‘Good for her. She must have more patience than I have.'

‘So tell me about Gemma,' Rona prompted. ‘How long were you flat-sharing?'

Selina poured a generous amount of wine into the two glasses, and raised hers in a silent toast. Rona responded, also in silence, and they both drank.

‘Three years,' Selina said then. ‘She was an odd girl in some ways. She'd adored her father, and when he died, I gather she went a bit haywire. Not particularly close to her mother. She was just seventeen when she replied to my ad, and Mrs Grant was still living locally.'

‘You didn't meet through County Radio, then?'

‘God, no. She was working in some office or other, but having decided my job was the height of glamour, she wangled her way in on the ground floor. Proved a quick learner, too; within a year she was covering village fêtes and suchlike.'

The waiter appeared below them again, this time armed with bowls of tapas which were duly transferred to their table.

To Rona's relief, Selina stubbed out her cigar. Unused as she was to smoking, the pungent aroma had been tickling her nostrils.

‘Did you get on well?' she asked.

‘Well enough. She was a year or two younger, of course, and a bit naïve, but she pulled her weight, taking turns with the cooking and cleaning and so on, and we had some good times together.'

‘Did you meet any of her boyfriends?'

‘Ah, the million-dollar question! Several, yes. We used to go round with a crowd from the tennis club. I was a member, and though Gemma didn't play, she always came with us. The gang called us the Reds, because of our hair. God, fancy remembering that! She was very pretty, and several of the lads lusted after her.'

‘Did any of them emigrate to Australia?' Rona asked with a smile.

‘Absolutely not.' Selina popped a cube of tortilla into her mouth. ‘But Australia apart, I'm sure it wasn't one of the gang. Granted, she flirted with them, but she didn't take them seriously. On the contrary, she used to regale me with everything they'd said to her, hamming it up till we fell about laughing.'

She emptied her glass, and refilled Rona's along with her own. ‘Then, suddenly, everything changed. She made excuses not to come out with us, and she stopped confiding in me. It was pretty clear she was in love, but I'd no idea with whom, and she refused point-blank to tell me. She used to meet him on average once a week, and every so often she'd ask if I'd mind vacating the flat for the evening, so he could come round. I protested at first, demanding at least to meet him, but she said I would when “the time was right”.'

Selina smiled into her wine glass. ‘I hid round the corner a couple of times to keep watch, but it didn't do me any good.'

‘You never saw him?'

‘Not close to. It could have been anyone.'

‘How long did the affair last?'

Selina shrugged. ‘Six months? Thereabouts, anyway.'

‘Then what happened?'

She drew a deep breath and let it out in a sigh. ‘One evening she'd been out as usual and I was asleep when she got back. Next morning when I left for work she was still in bed, complaining of a headache, and told me not to wait for her. Later, she rang in sick, and when I got home I found her lying on the bed, sobbing her heart out. She wouldn't say what was wrong, and I thought it was just a lovers' tiff. Then, finally, she told me her boyfriend's family was emigrating to Australia at the end of the month, and he was going with them.'

‘Rather short notice, surely?'

‘That was my reaction. It seemed she'd always known the family was moving, but he'd kept quiet about going himself. Wanted to avoid the hysterics, I suppose. Anyway, to the best of my knowledge that was the last time she saw him.'

‘And when did she realize she was pregnant?'

‘About six weeks later. She couldn't decide whether to keep it, and kept dilly-dallying until it was too late to do anything.'

They ate in silence for a few minutes, picking delicacies from the selection of dishes – marinated sardines, anchovy-stuffed mushrooms, prawns in Filo pastry. Then Rona said, ‘If you never knew his name, how did she refer to him?'

‘She always called him Morrison. It was a private joke, apparently.'

‘And even after he'd gone, she wouldn't say who he was?'

Selina shook her head, confirming what Mrs Jones had said. ‘Still, she perked up eventually, and when Amanda was born she changed yet again, becoming altogether more responsible, and determined the child would lack for nothing.'

‘Had her mother gone to South Africa by this time?'

‘Oh yes, long since.'

‘Were they still in touch?'

‘Spasmodically. She sent a silver bracelet for the baby.'

There was another silence. Then, bracing herself, Rona said tentatively, ‘You found her, didn't you?'

Selina sighed and nodded.

‘Do you mind talking about it?'

‘My dear, I've gone through it so often, all the emotion has leached out of it.' She signalled to someone on the floor below to bring another bottle. Rona didn't want it – she had to drive home from the station – but this was not the moment to protest.

‘That particular evening there'd been a leaving party, so I was later than usual getting home. Gemma was still on maternity leave – the baby was only a couple of months old – and since I always arrived back with my arms full of shopping bags and other clobber, she used to leave the door on the latch for me, to save my juggling with the key.

‘It was just after eight when I got there, and I knew Amanda would be bathed, fed, and in her cot. Once she'd got her down, Gemma often had a bath; it helped her to relax – soaked the tiredness out of her, as she put it – so I wasn't surprised to see the bathroom light on. What
did
surprise me was that Amanda was crying, and obviously had been for some time. And Gemma never – but
never
– left her to cry.

‘I went to the baby first. She was very hot and the sheet under her head was soaked with tears. I lifted her over my shoulder, and she immediately released some wind – which, no doubt, had been part of the trouble. I carried her to the bathroom door, knocked, and called, “Gemma, have you gone deaf? Amanda's crying.”

‘There was no answer, so I pushed the door open – we never bothered to lock it – and … then I saw her.' Selina stared down into her glass. ‘For as long as I live, I'll never forget standing there, Amanda's warm little head on my shoulder, staring down at Gemma with her tights round her neck.'

Not all the emotion had leached, Rona thought. After a minute she said, ‘Was it the tennis crowd you'd been with?'

Selina, lost in her memories, looked at her blankly. ‘Oh – no, I told you; it was a leaving party. For someone at work.'

Rona said carefully, ‘So although none of the crowd was Gemma's lover, one of them
could
have killed her. Jealousy, perhaps? Resentment at being rejected?'

‘Don't think that wasn't considered,' Selina said harshly, nodding to the waiter who was handing up a fresh bottle of wine. ‘We were grilled mercilessly – everyone who'd ever known her, as far as I could see – but there was absolutely nothing to point at anyone. We were all just – numb.'

She poured the wine and Rona did nothing to stop her, resolving simply not to drink hers. And into their silence seeped an increased volume of sound from below. People were leaning from one table to another, seemingly passing on an item of news. Several stood up, looking at their watches, and others took out their mobile phones.

‘What is it?' Selina called down to someone passing.

‘The rail talks have collapsed. The guards called a lightning strike and walked out, so there are no bloody trains.'

‘Oh, God!' Rona said.

‘Don't even think buses,' Selina advised. ‘There'll be queues to kingdom come, and the same goes for taxis.'

‘I'd better go. I'll have to try to book in somewhere.'

‘Along with the world and his wife.'

‘Then what do you suggest?' Rona snapped, resenting Job's comforter.

Selina calmly sipped her wine. ‘I can put a sofa at your disposal, if that's any help.'

Rona stared at her. ‘But I couldn't – I mean …'

‘What's the alternative? God knows how long it'll take for things to get back to normal; if it's a wildcat strike, all the trains will be in the wrong places. Added to which, it so happens I'm driving up to Buckfordshire tomorrow, so I could drop you off.'

It was a lifeline, Rona thought, watching as half the clientele impatiently queued at the cash desk. ‘It's awfully good of you,' she said hesitantly. ‘I'd be extremely grateful.'

‘That's settled, then. So now you can relax and enjoy that wine you've been sitting looking at.'

Rona laughed and, as she met the other woman's eyes, the last of the restraint that had lingered between them dissolved.

‘I'm not as black as I'm painted, you know,' Selina observed mildly, ‘though I don't advertise the fact. My bad press is very dear to me – hard-nosed interviewer, bolshie bitch, and the rest. You're lucky I like you, mind; I've been known to reduce people to tears.'

‘So I believe,' Rona replied, drinking her wine as instructed.

Selina glanced at her wedding ring. ‘Hubbie expecting you home?'

Unwilling to embark on their domestic arrangements, Rona merely said, ‘Yes; I'll give him a ring in a few minutes.'

‘Wait till we get to the flat, where you can hear yourself think.'

‘You really are driving up tomorrow?'

‘I really am. It's my mother's birthday at the weekend. My parents still live in Chilswood. They complain I use their house as a depository, which is true: I hoard my excess baggage there, and it saves cluttering up my place.'

Selina's flat was located in the maze of similarly named streets behind Sloane Square. It comprised only one bedroom, one living room, kitchen and bathroom, but all the rooms were large and airy, and Rona was entranced with it.

‘I bought it after my first divorce,' Selina informed her. ‘It took all the settlement and then some, and I was on starvation rations for weeks. Now, it's worth a king's ransom.'

While she busied herself cooking spaghetti, Rona phoned Max.

‘What did I tell you?' he greeted her. ‘Now I suppose you're stuck there?'

‘Selina's very kindly putting me up for the night, and as luck would have it, she's driving to Chilswood tomorrow and will give me a lift.'

‘Trust you to land on your feet. So Gus and I are on our own tonight?'

‘'Fraid so. And would you be an angel and collect my car from the station? The parking ticket will have run out by morning, and I'd rather not leave it there overnight.'

‘OK; we'll make that our evening stroll.' He paused. ‘Did what's-her-name come up with the gen?'

‘We had a very interesting talk,' Rona said, aware of Selina's proximity, though she had tactfully switched on the kitchen radio. ‘I'd better go. Thanks, love, and I'll see you tomorrow.'

She had cast an anxious glance at the sofa when she first came in, relieved to see it was both wide and long and that the cushions looked soft. The furniture throughout was in pale wood, the dining table being protected by a sheet of glass. On this, the royal-blue crockery lent an exotic air, enhanced by the stubby blue candles in their squat glass holders. All this, she marvelled, within a ten-minute walk of the square and tube station. She'd never wanted to live in London, but she admitted she could just about come to terms with this.

‘Are you still in touch with the tennis-club crowd?' she asked over coffee.

‘Not really, we've all dispersed now. Occasionally I run into one or other of them, or see their names in the paper. No doubt you've heard of Penelope Jacobs, the actress? She was one of us, and I actually interviewed her for an arts programme. It was a novel experience, I can tell you.'

‘It would have been interesting to have met them,' Rona said reflectively. ‘How many of you were there?'

Selina topped up her coffee. ‘A hardcore of eight, but others came and went. We were all in our early twenties, and some were at university. They joined us in the vacations.'

‘Did you go out with any of them yourself? On a one-to-one basis, I mean?'

Selina smiled reminiscently. ‘I ran through most of them, yes. Philip Yarborough lasted the longest.'

Rona stiffened. ‘Philip Yarborough? The sales director at Netherby's?'

‘Quite possibly. When I knew him, he was something lowly in the Stokely store.'

Rona's mouth was dry. Philip Yarborough, whom Max suspected of maltreating his wife, had been a friend of the murdered Gemma Grant.

‘I gather you know him?' Selina prompted, surprised by her continuing silence.

‘I've met him. He and his wife live near my sister.' She hesitated. ‘It never occurred to me, but I might know some of the others, too.'

‘Quite possibly. You live in Marsborough, don't you? Stokely's not a million miles away, and as I said, we've all dispersed. Let me think, now: there was Judith Perry and her brother Gordon; Penny Jacobs, as I've said, and Philip, and Susanna Martin, and – oh, what was his name? Steve Deacon.'

She raised a questioning eyebrow, but Rona shook her head. ‘What about those at university?'

‘That's more difficult. There was one chap whose name I can't remember – he only came a couple of times – and Frances – Kendrick, I think, and Russ Blakison. Oh, and Jonathan Hurst.' She looked up at Rona's convulsive movement. ‘Ring another bell?'