Person or Persons Unknown (20 page)

‘Oh, I see. Yes, it's my first time; I only met her recently.'

‘She always tries for new people, but occasionally – particularly if there's a cancellation – some of us are recycled.' Her mouth quirked. ‘I'm on the reserve list. A word of warning, by the way: you'll be called on in a minute to give a brief spiel. We all will.'

‘What about, for goodness sake?'

‘Our life's work,' said Ms Playfair, and laughed at Rona's expression. ‘No, not really. Just your name, and a brief account of what you do. No one knows each other yet, so it's a way of giving us a talking point.'

Rona was digesting this when someone tapped her shoulder, and she turned to find herself face to face with Magda.

‘Hello, fellow Professional Woman!' she said.

‘Magda – how good to see you!' Rona half-turned to Lydia Playfair. ‘This is—'

But the two women were already shaking hands. ‘I know who she is,' Magda said. ‘Lydia patronizes my Stokely boutique – in fact, she performed the opening ceremony.'

‘It made a change from supermarkets!' Lydia said with a smile. ‘How long have you two known each other?'

‘From my first day at primary school,' Magda replied.

Hester, reappearing in the doorway, clapped her hands, and the buzz of conversation died away.

‘Now, ladies, if you would all find a seat, we'll have a brief introductory session before we go through for lunch.'

There was a pause, while everyone looked for somewhere to sit. Rona perched on the arm of a sofa next to Magda, and for the first time had a clear sight of her fellow guests, whose ages seemed to range from thirty to sixty.

‘Lydia will start us off,' Hester announced, ‘since she knows the drill, then each of you follow on in turn.'

Ms Playfair, now across the room from Rona, obligingly did so. ‘I'm Lydia Playfair, Conservative MP for Stokely East.' She paused, and added, ‘I think that says it all!'

There was general laughter. Lydia turned to the woman next to her, who said hastily, ‘Cynthia Benson, managing director of Benson Landscaping and Garden Maintenance.'

They followed on in sequence and Rona tried to memorize names and occupations: Davina Medhurst, a surgeon at the Royal County; Beatrice Collins, head of the local sixth form college; Jacqueline Stone, a barrister. Then, after Magda, it was her turn, and her admission to being a biographer and freelance journalist elicited the usual interested murmurs.

‘Right,' Hester said, ‘now we all know each other, do come through for lunch.'

The table in the dining room across the hall was laid for eight, and there was a name card in each place. Rona found herself on her hostess's left, opposite Lydia Playfair and with Cynthia Benson on her own left. Magda, being on the same side of the table, was out of Rona's sight.

‘Whose biography have you written?' Cynthia Benson enquired, as soon as they'd settled themselves. She was a small, dumpy woman in her fifties, but she'd an attractive smile and her eyes were alert and interested.

‘Conan Doyle for one,' Hester answered, before Rona could speak. ‘It was excellent, as was that on Sarah Siddons. And there's another, isn't there, Rona?'

‘William Pitt the Elder,' Rona supplied. ‘I chose him because he seemed less well known than his son.'

‘That's right; but I learned a lot about him from your book.' Hester started to serve soup from the tureen in front of her. ‘You really make your subjects come alive.'

‘If you're into politicians,' Lydia remarked, passing the filled bowls down the table, ‘you should do one of James. I'm sure he'd love it! Has he any odd little foibles, Hester?'

‘None printable! Except, perhaps, a penchant for quoting A. A. Milne. “The more it snows, tiddly-pom”, and so on.'

Lydia gave a hoot of laughter. ‘From now on, I shall address him as Pooh!'

‘I shouldn't advise it! Seriously, though,' Hester added, turning back to Rona, ‘how do you go about choosing your subjects?'

‘I think of someone I'd like to know more about myself, then find out if anyone has written his or her biography recently. I say “recently”, because it's virtually impossible to find anyone of note who
hasn't
been written about at some stage, but if it's a while ago, you can be lucky in unearthing new information.'

‘Are you working on one now?' asked Davina Medhurst, who, sitting next to Lydia, had been listening to their conversation.

‘No, I'm wearing my journalistic hat at the moment.'

‘She did the Buckford series in
Chiltern Life
.' Hester seemed to have appointed herself publicity agent, but Rona, feeling she'd had more than her share of attention, didn't elaborate. Even so, the subject wasn't allowed to drop.

‘You're still working on it?' Cynthia Benson pursued.

‘No, I'm – actually trying to find someone's birth parents,' Rona said reluctantly.

‘There was something about that in last week's
Gazette
,' interposed Jacqueline Stone, adding astutely, as Rona bit her lip, ‘Is that the one you're involved with?'

The whole table awaited her reply. ‘Actually, yes,' she acknowledged quietly.

‘The girl whose mother was murdered?' Cynthia again.

‘Poor child,' observed Beatrice Collins. ‘Imagine being all excited about finding your mother, only to discover she'd been killed.'

‘Obviously it's her father we're looking for,' Rona said aridly. ‘But that's enough about me and my work.' She turned determinedly to Cynthia beside her. ‘Tell me about landscaping. I've only a tiny garden myself, but I've always been interested in it.'

Cynthia hesitated, sensing everyone's reluctance to let the subject drop, but politeness demanded an answer, and Rona was at last able to withdraw from the spotlight.

For the rest of the meal – salmon in pastry with green salad, followed by syllabub – the conversation remained reassuringly general, each woman in turn being quizzed on her speciality. Rona had to hand it to Hester – her method
was
a good means of getting to know people. She learned among other things that Cynthia's firm did landscaping for the borough council and had been responsible for the layout of several parks, as well as advising on private gardens; that Jacqueline Stone was defending a case at the Old Bailey, and that Davina had successfully separated conjoined twins. An interesting group, indeed.

Talk continued over coffee in the drawing room, where they sat chatting in small groups, and it was almost three thirty by the time the party broke up and people began to leave, promising each other to keep in touch. Rona wondered how many would follow through that transitory resolve.

She and Magda left together, and stood talking on the pavement beside Rona's car.

‘You created a stir with your investigation,' Magda commented.

‘Thanks to you!' Rona retorted.

‘I?' Magda exclaimed indignantly. ‘I never said a word!'

‘You started it in the first place; if you hadn't admitted to knowing me at that office party, none of this would have happened.'

Magda conceded the point. ‘Are you getting anywhere?'

‘Well, we tracked down the maternal grandparents, but they're no great shakes. Zara didn't even like them.'

‘Nothing yet on the father?'

Rona shook her head. ‘Still, I said I'd give it six weeks, and I will. Whether or not I find him in that time is in the lap of the gods, but at least it won't be for want of trying.'

‘You should join the Mounties,' Magda said with a smile. ‘They always get their man! See you!' And with a lifted hand, she walked along the pavement to her own car.

When Rona reached home, there was a message from Lindsey to the effect that she and Jonathan would be delighted to come to supper on Friday. She broke the news to Max on his return, and he was less than enthusiastic.

‘I'd been going to suggest the cinema; there's a good film on, and it's some time since we've been.'

‘We can go on Saturday,' Rona said.

He glanced at her suspiciously. ‘You're not going to tax him with knowing that girl, are you?'

She smiled. ‘How well you know me, darling!'

‘Well, I don't want sparks flying round the dinner table, it's bad for the digestion. Added to which, it would get Lindsey's back up.'

‘I'll be the soul of tact,' Rona assured him.

Selina phoned the next morning.

‘I wanted to thank you for the flowers,' she began. ‘They were totally unnecessary, but much appreciated.'

‘Just a small token,' Rona said. ‘I'd have been really stuck without you. How did the birthday go?'

‘Oh, a great success. The only drawback to the weekend was that I was requested to remove my boxes that have been cluttering up their spare room. I went through most of them – no point in carting them back here only to throw them out – and I came across some things of Gemma's.'

Rona stiffened. ‘What sort of things?'

‘Just odds and ends she'd had at the flat. With her mother out of the country – and seemingly not interested anyway – there was no one to pass them to, and they were of no value anyway. Quite frankly, I forgot about them.'

‘You mean – clothes and things?'

‘No, those were all disposed of at the time. These are just a few personal items – cassettes of interviews she'd conducted, one or two letters and some odd bits of make-up. Pathetic, really, to think that's all that's left of her, but her daughter might like to have them.'

‘I'm sure she would; thanks. No diaries, I suppose?'

Selina's rich laugh came down the phone. ‘Now wouldn't that be handy? Sorry, definitely no diaries, and the letters were all from her mother, so nothing of interest there, either, which is no doubt why the police didn't take them.'

‘Surely they'd have gone through the cassettes, though?'

‘Well, yes they would, but the fact is they never found them. I didn't myself till I was leaving the flat about a year later; they were mixed up with our commercial tapes. I skipped through them, but it was just routine stuff – people opening fêtes, getting prizes at flower shows, that kind of thing. A couple had been taped over, because while she was on maternity leave, she used the recorder as an aide-memoire, still beginning each entry with the date, mind you, like she'd been taught at County. I used to tease her about it. Anyway, I left what there is with the parents, to save you trailing down here. There's no hurry about collecting it – just give them a ring first. If you've a pen handy, I'll give you their address and phone number.'

Rona made a note of them. ‘Thanks very much, Selina. Incidentally, Amanda-that-was would very much like to meet you.'

‘I was afraid of that. I can't tell her any more than I've told you.'

‘But she'd ask totally different questions; much more personal, and I'm sure you could answer those. Her grandmother was of singularly little help.'

Selina sighed. ‘OK, but let's wait awhile. Until you've finished your investigation, for preference. In the meantime, phone me next time you're in town, and we'll meet for a meal.'

‘I'll do that,' Rona promised.

Yes, she thought as she returned to her work, Zara would be delighted with the mementoes, but she'd have a good look at them herself first.

The re-emergence of the Gemma case produced a couple of letters in that week's
Gazette
.

Reading about it brought it all back
,
one began.
I didn't know Gemma Grant, but I remember the shock and horror when she was killed. She was the same age as me, and, like her, I was sharing a flat with a friend. We had extra locks fitted to all the doors and windows.

The second was more factual:
Gemma's flatmate at the time was Selina O'Toole, the television interviewer. She found the body. Amanda might try contacting her
.

‘Some people have long memories,' Rona commented to Max.

He shrugged. ‘Local girl makes good. It's the kind of thing they would remember. Anyway, it's all grist to your mill, giving you a second bite at the cherry in the publicity stakes.'

Rona laughed. ‘A gloriously mixed metaphor, if ever I heard one!'

‘Never mind the critical analysis; make yourself useful by laying the table. I'm keeping this meal strictly informal, by the way. I don't see why we should lay out the red carpet for Lindsey's latest fly-by-night. How's that for a metaphor?'

‘More apt, I grant you. What are we having?'

‘Chilli, rice and green salad, followed by pears in red wine.'

‘Admirable.' Rona took out the cutlery and laid four place settings, wondering as she did so how she could bring the conversation round to Gemma. Jonathan's reaction might well be enlightening.

Tom said flatly, ‘Quite frankly, I don't know what the hell's going on.'

Catherine handed him a glass and settled herself opposite him. This was an unscheduled visit, on his way home from the bank, and he was clearly on edge.

‘In what way?' she asked quietly.

‘With Avril. She's a chameleon at the moment, not the same for three consecutive days.'

Catherine frowned. ‘Moody, you mean?'

‘No, in appearance. After taking no interest for years, she's suddenly had her hair styled and bought new clothes.'

‘Well, good for her.' When he did not reply, she added uneasily, ‘Or do you think it's an attempt to win back your interest?'

Tom gave a brief laugh. ‘It might have started out like that, but it isn't now. She made it clear she doesn't give a fig what I think.'

‘That's good, isn't it?'

‘Oh God, I don't know.' He ran a hand distractedly through his hair. ‘It doesn't make for a very comfortable existence, I can tell you that, but at least it's made up my mind on one thing: as soon as I retire, I'm moving out.'