Stage Fright (19 page)

As we walked towards the bridge, the river gradually came into view, and we heard the cries and laughter of inexperienced punters trying to avoid collisions. We paused on the bridge to watched the punts floating underneath, and then we made our way up the side of the sloping lawn towards the Front Court of King's College. Geoff had lapsed into silence again. For both of us, I guessed, the shadow of Melissa's absence lay across the beauty of the day and the setting. I thought of her as I had last seen her, waving goodbye as I drove down the track from the cottage.

We emerged into the big open space of the courtyard, its central lawn a little faded now in late summer. This wasn't the oldest college, but it was perhaps the most imposing. The chapel on the north side was one of the finest medieval buildings in Britain, the spectacular tracery screen that separated the court from the street was a bravura display of Gothic revival, and the west side had the calm authority of the eighteenth century. Unusually we had arrived at a moment when there were no tourists. The quietness was broken only by the rhythm of our footsteps on the path that skirted the lawn. A new idea about what might have happened to Melissa was forming in my mind. I wondered if it had occurred to Geoff, too. I looked sideways at him. He was walking slowly along, deep in thought, his hands thrust deep into his trouser pockets. I was reluctant to break in on his reverie, but at last, as we stepped out of the court into the busyness and noise of King's Parade, I said what was on my mind.

‘Do you think Melissa found out about Belinda?'

Geoff shot a glance at me. He pursed his lips and nodded.

‘That would be my guess.'

‘I can understand her leaving, but why didn't she take Agnes with her?'

He shook his head. ‘I've been wondering about that, too.'

We threaded our way along groups of tourists and strolling shoppers. We turned right and cut across through the market place. Geoff didn't speak again until we were passing W.H. Smith's.

Then he said, ‘Maybe she thought that leaving the baby with Kevin would cramp his style.'

‘It's done that, all right. But I don't know … Would she have let it go on for so long? I mean, it's been two days now, more than two days. What if…' I hesitated.

‘Yes?'

‘It sounds stupid, I know, but what if she doesn't know that she's got a baby?' Geoff stopped and stared at me. ‘I mean, what if she's suffering from amnesia brought on by the shock of finding out about Belinda. It does happen, doesn't it? I think it's called a fugue.'

‘I suppose it's not impossible,' Geoff said slowly.

‘It might explain why she abandoned the car near the flat in London. Maybe she drove there on automatic pilot, then didn't know why she was there. Maybe she's sitting in some hotel or boarding-house, wondering who she is.'

Geoff didn't seemed to be listening. He was looking past me now. A new expression had appeared on his face, as if he had suddenly spotted someone he recognized, but hadn't expected to see. I turned to look.

He was gazing at a newspaper-stand, heaped up with piles of the lunch-time edition of the
Cambridge Evening News.
I found myself looking into Melissa's eyes. A life-size photo of her covered almost the entire front page. From newspaper after newspaper her face stared out at me.

‘You could be right,' Geoff said, ‘but I don't think she'll stay incognito for long, do you?'

Chapter Twelve

T
HE
fine weather broke that evening. The wind threw handfuls of rain at my bedroom window. Sitting up in bed against the pillows, I tried to read, but my thoughts wandered. Stephen hadn't rung me yet that day. He'd be at work now. I pictured him in the head office of some vast conglomerate, all glass atrium and huge indoor plants. I still didn't know the name of the company. I thought about the suddenness of Stephen's departure for LA. I thought about how disconcerted I'd been when I rang the hotel and they told me he'd cancelled his booking. For a day or two I'd had no idea where he was. Did I really know now? I had a phone number, it was true, but I'd never tried to ring Stephen there. He always rang me. He wouldn't be there during office hours. Or would he?

Another picture was forming in my mind: a swimming pool shimmering in the heat like the ones in the Hockney prints, palm trees, a bedroom with sun striking in through the slats of the blind. I got as far as rolling over in bed and putting my hand on the phone, before I changed my mind. Stephen lying to me? Being unfaithful? The thought was absurd. A little voice in my head said: that's probably what Melissa thought, too, and remember how your second marriage ended. You came home to find your husband in bed with one of his students. I told the little voice to shut up. Call it instinct, call it the triumph of hope over experience, but I did trust Stephen. Once I started checking up on him, I might as well throw in the towel.

I turned my attention back to my book. After a few minutes I was yawning. A few minutes after that, I was asleep.

It seemed that I was woken by an unexpected sound. At first I thought I'd been dreaming, but no, when I opened my eyes, I could still hear it, a faint sussuration, a kind of sucking and sighing. I got out of bed and went over to the window, and stood looking out towards Ely, the floorboards cool under my bare feet. Under the full moon the fields glimmered with a strange radiance. They absorbed the moonlight and reflected it back to a sky that was awash with pallid light. The strange sound was that of water lapping against the side of the house. I was gazing out at a flooded landscape. A great sheet of water stretched out as far as the eye could see. I could make out the dark irregular shape of Ely and its cathedral standing proud of the water.

The little city was again an island, just as it had been before the fens were drained. The scene was so silent, so beautiful, so mysterious that at first I felt only awe. I looked down into the garden and then came the first prickle of fear. Only the tops of the tallest shrubs were poking out of the water. The water had almost reached the first floor of the house and it was still rising. How had all this happened so suddenly?

All at once I realized that it hadn't happened at all. This was a dream. Yet curiously that knowledge didn't at all diminish my terror. I ran over to the other window, and looked out towards Journey's End. On that side too, there was no land to be seen. It was as though my house were a ship adrift in an ocean. I was stranded here alone with Grace.

I snatched up the binoculars and trained them on Journey's End. The house was dark, but as I lowered them I caught a glimpse of movement. I raised the binoculars again. There was a rowing boat, heading towards me. There was only one person in it, pulling the oars in long smooth strokes. I went on watching through the binoculars, but as I watched, relief gave way to a sense of unease. There was something I didn't like about that figure. The boat was making steady headway. The figure was growing more distinct now. I saw a black coat, dark hair. The figure stopped rowing and leaned on the oars to rest. I saw that the hair was really a hood. And now it was turning towards me.…

With a prodigious effort, I forced my eyelids open. The room was full of light. I was lying flat on my back in bed. The T-shirt I'd been wearing as a night-dress was drenched with sweat and sticking to my body. I got out of bed and went over to the window. The rain had stopped during the night. There was that intensely still, newly washed feeling of early morning.

I thought about the dream. Much of it could be explained by the book I'd fallen asleep reading. I opened it and read the end. ‘The sun was rising now, and the wide area of watery desolation was spread out in dreadful clearness around them … The boat reappeared but brother and sister had gone down in an embrace never to be parted: living through in one supreme moment the days when they had clasped their little hands in love, and roamed the daisied fields together.' George Eliot's
The Mill on the Floss
was on one of the courses I was teaching in the autumn, but it was comfort reading, too. It was far from being her best novel, but the stupendous and pathetic ending in which Maggie Tulliver rows across the flooded fens to rescue her brother Tom had thrilled me as a girl and I still found it moving. But the hooded figure in my dream hadn't been Maggie Tulliver, I knew that. I wondered whose face I would have seen if I hadn't managed to wake myself up.

I went downstairs to check on Grace. She was yawning and making the preliminary little noises that meant she'd be crying in earnest soon. I badly needed to talk to Stephen. It was six o'clock in the morning here, but evening in LA. I rang the number he'd given me. The receiver was picked up straightaway at the other end.

‘Cass!' He sounded delighted. ‘I've just got in. I was going to ring you, when it got a bit later. Any news about Melissa?'

I told him that the car had been found and that Belinda had given Kevin an alibi.

‘Can't say I'm very surprised to hear that Kevin was playing away,' Stephen said.

‘Well, I was! I mean, they've got a baby!' I realized how naïve I sounded.

‘Oh, Cass, it's a classic set-up. A man like Kevin, he's used to being the centre of attention – of his wife's attention especially. He probably felt neglected. Started to feel sorry for himself.'

‘Did
you
feel that?'

‘No! Grace is the apple of my eye, you know that – and I'm not exonerating Kevin in the slightest. It was a shitty thing to do. But sorry as I am about Melissa, you're the one I'm most concerned about. How are you bearing up?'

‘OK. At least I thought I was.' I told him about the nightmare I had just had.

‘I wish I was there. I don't like you being on your own. You know, if you really felt you needed me…'

‘I feel better now that I've spoken to you. I'll be fine. What will you be doing this weekend?'

‘I'm going with Bob and the family to Big Sur tomorrow. Won't be back until Monday.'

‘What's Big Sur?'

‘It's like a national park. Up the coast, north of LA. A big expanse of wilderness and forest. It's where they have the giant redwoods. They say it's huge. Two hundred and fifty square miles, would you believe? We'll he staying at the Big Sur Inn. Let me give you the number.' I heard him shuffling papers. ‘Here it is.'

I wrote it down on the pad by the bed.

‘How are you going to spend the weekend?' he asked.

‘I said I'd look after Agnes today—'

‘Oh, you didn't! Why can't Kevin take her to the nursery?'

‘It's Saturday.'

‘Oh, Lord, so it is. It's still Friday here. You know, you shouldn't be running around after Kevin. He doesn't deserve it.'

‘I'm not doing it for him, I'm doing it for Agnes.'

We'd hung up before I realized that I still hadn't told Stephen about meeting up with Joe. Recent events had pushed him to the back of my mind and anyway it somehow wasn't the kind of thing to mention over the phone. He'll only worry unnecessarily, I told myself. Not that there was anything to worry about, of course. At least that's what I told myself.…

*   *   *

After I had fed Grace, she fell asleep again. I took advantage of that to have a bath. The doorbell rang just as I was getting out. I pulled on my dressing-gown and looked out of the bedroom window. Kevin's red hire-car was parked below, even though he wasn't due to drop Agnes off for another half an hour. I went down and opened the door. He was standing there with Agnes in his arms, and the bag containing all her paraphernalia at his feet.

‘Cass, I'm know I'm a bit early…'

‘Well…' I couldn't pretend I was pleased to see him.

‘Can we talk? Please? I just want to explain.'

‘It's not me who's owed an explanation.'

‘I know that! Don't you think I've wished a thousand times that I could talk to Melissa.'

Agnes's eyes were fixed on my face. She gave me a big smile and stretched out her arms towards me. I stretched out my arms and Kevin handed her over.

‘Oh, all right, you'd better come in,' I said.

The truth was that, angry as I was with Kevin, I did want to hear what he had to say for himself. And on the level of simple, vulgar curiosity, I did want to know more about what had happened at the police station.

Kevin picked up the bag and followed me into the kitchen. ‘I've brought all her stuff,' he said, ‘and I've made up a couple of bottles. I'll put them in the fridge, shall I?'

I nodded. ‘Want a coffee?'

‘I don't want to put you to any trouble.'

‘I was about to make some anyway.'

‘Let me put the kettle on.'

When he'd done that he sat down opposite me at the kitchen table. The strain was really starting to show. There was a stain on his white T-shirt and his hair was greasy. I'd never seen him so dishevelled. His eyes met mine, then he looked down. There was silence for a few moments.

He said: ‘When Melissa was ill, and the baby, too, of course, it was a terrible time and then afterwards when they came home from hospital. Things hadn't been the same between us. I don't know what it was. Not just sex, though it was that, too. Melissa was worried that she'd get pregnant again. I was worried about that too. I don't know. The whole thing just seemed so much more…' He hesitated. ‘Oh, I don't know, more difficult, complicated than before. And Melissa just wasn't herself. She used to be so much fun. And then on Tuesday, Belinda more or less invited herself round to the flat. Said she wanted to talk about the play. Of course I knew what that meant…' He sighed and shook his head. ‘I don't know how I could have been such an idiot.'

‘Did Melissa find out?'

‘Bloody Belinda. It was when I was talking to Melissa on the phone. Belinda didn't realize. She picked up the extension in the bedroom. Melissa heard the click. She said “You've got someone there, haven't you?”'