Authors: Merryn Allingham
He tried again and this time the sounds were a little more encouraging. ‘Let’s give it a go—you never know, we might enjoy it. Then if we both wanted to, we could make it permanent.’
Did I want to? I hardly knew. But I did know that right now I had little alternative but to stay.
‘Thanks, that would be good.’ I hoped I sounded suitably grateful and then wondered why. Hadn’t I just escaped from years of gratitude?
There was another lengthy pause and it was evident that Nick was thinking hard.
‘I suppose it’s unlikely that Oliver will keep you on as his assistant? I mean, despite the personal stuff.’
I couldn’t quite believe he was asking the question. ‘I have no idea,’ I said tartly, ‘and I’m not about to find out. I’ve no intention of falling into Oliver’s clutches again.’
‘Fine. I can see that.’ He ruffled his hair and despite my annoyance, the gesture was endearing. ‘But things are going to be tight. I don’t have a job either, remember.’
‘I do remember and I’m not going to be sitting around hoping something comes my way. First thing tomorrow I’ll be out looking.’
He looked relieved. That was another surprise. I hadn’t thought anything worried him greatly, least of all money.
He stood up and put his arms tightly around me, dragging me from the chair and pulling me close.
‘Don’t fret, we’ll get through. Did I tell you how delighted I am that you’ve split with him?’ He kissed both my cheeks and then my lips.
‘Not exactly.’
‘Well, I’m telling you now.’ And his kiss hardened. I tried to kiss him back, but I felt too miserable.
‘I’m sorry, Nick. It’s been a difficult morning.’
He smoothed my crazy curls into some kind of shape. ‘I can imagine. But it’s over and the future is bright.’
‘It is?’
He laughed aloud. ‘Sure it is. We’re going to knock this Royde investigation on the head and claim our rightful prize. That means a nice large cheque and by the time we’ve spent it, we should both be gainfully employed.’
It was a good enough plan. He’d already mentioned a store of ideas for his freelance work and been about to share one when I dissolved into water.
‘Sorry, I hijacked the conversation. What are you planning to write?’
He glanced at the Catalogues piled high on the carpet. ‘It’s a pretty vague notion at present, but I think it will run. On second thoughts, though, I should probably put it to one side and concentrate on Royde. That means certain money.’
He let go of me and started searching among the accumulated litter beneath the small gate-legged table that functioned as his desk. After a few minutes of tossing papers aside, he pulled out a large black object.
‘Let’s get on with the research.’
‘Now?’ For the moment I’d lost interest in the Royde story—my own felt too important—but I knew we couldn’t afford to let the investigation slip.
‘Why not? We’ve still got to figure out who the mysterious A is.’
I thought of the handkerchief I’d picked up this morning and the discomfort I’d felt in that schoolroom. It had been an uncanny coincidence, that was all, and I needed to forget it. Nick had been harping on about our missing person for quite some time, all the way back from Dorchester in fact, while I’d been thrilled that we’d finally made the connection between Renville, Royde and the Great Exhibition. It meant that we knew for certain that the Exhibition plans must have existed.
‘It might be that A was an employee, someone working at Renville’s offices.’ I was doubtful but willing to hazard a guess. ‘He could have been deputed by his boss to oversee the design process. Renville himself would probably be too busy, but it would be important for his company to get the Exhibition space right. If Lucas Royde made an appointment to see this man at Renville’s, it would have been to discuss progress. So if we’re still after the plans, I guess we should try to trace A.’
‘I knew he was important.’
Nick’s calm superiority was annoying. ‘You had a hunch,’ I reminded him.
‘And I was right.’
‘Okay, brain, how do you suggest that we trace A?’
‘No idea. Over to you—that’s your province.’
‘I don’t have much idea either,’ I confessed, but I’d started to think.
If A were being trusted to oversee such an important project, then he must have been a particularly valued employee. If he were an older man with a decent salary, he would have lived in his own property and without his name we had no way of tracing him. But if he’d been young and single, he might have lodged with his employer. It was common for proprietors of businesses to house one or two of their employees if they had room. It had to be worth a shot.
‘We could go census searching again.’
Nick looked blank. ‘To find Edward Renville’s home address,’ I explained. ‘It’s possible A lodged with him and if we find him listed at that address, we’ll have his name and age and we can go from there. If not, it’s another dead end.’
‘Let’s get cracking and then we can wrap up this investigation for good.’ He’d started to bounce very slightly.
‘Tomorrow maybe.’
I felt weary and worn. The morning’s upheaval had taken its toll. I could have easily tucked myself into the chair, moth-eaten or not, and dozed the afternoon away. But Nick was on to it in a flash.
‘Why not now?’
‘Aren’t you tired?’ I was still suffering from waking in the early hours and I hoped he was, too.
‘What’s to be tired about? Come on, let’s get going. We’ll use two computers and if we narrow it to the four districts that I searched to find Royde, it shouldn’t take too long.’
‘Edward Renville might have lived in the City,’ I warned. ‘Near his workplace.’
‘Then why did he employ a firm of architects based in Holborn?’
‘Not too many architects in the City?’
But Nick naturally had an answer. ‘He could have gone to the West End—I’m sure there would have been plenty there. No, I think he went to de Vere’s because it was well known and because it was on his doorstep.’
I must have looked unconvinced. He came up to me and wound one of my curls round his finger, letting it unravel slowly. He did it again and I felt a wave of tenderness seep through me.
‘Okay,’ I agreed. ‘We can try, but if we don’t hit gold with Bloomsbury or Holborn then we give it up for today at least.’
‘It’s a deal.’ He turned on one of the most battered computers I had ever seen. He saw me looking. ‘Salvation Army reject,’ he said cheerfully.
Reject or not, it worked and it was Nick who found the Renvilles rather than me and my flashy laptop. There he was: Edward Renville, aged forty-five, importer and living at Wisteria Lodge, Prospect Place, in the borough of Holborn, a short distance from Great Russell Street. There were two children living at the house, girls aged eight and six, named Florence and Georgina. But no lodger.
Chapter Twelve
‘No lodger,’ Nick said excitedly, ‘
but
there is an A at Wisteria Lodge. A wife, Alessia Renville, aged twenty-eight.’ He mused a while, ‘That’s not too far off Royde’s age.’
I couldn’t see why that was relevant and couldn’t believe the A who had met Royde was indeed Mrs Renville.
‘That’s it, Grace,’ he insisted, seeing my doubtful expression. ‘Alessia Renville
must
be A.’
‘She might be,’ I conceded, ‘but it would be most unusual. It’s more likely that we’re chasing a different A.’
‘But why? It makes sense that she was involved in the scheme and sense that Royde was asked to meet her at her husband’s offices in Onslow Street. He said as much in his note on the theatre programme.’
‘We can’t make that jump, Nick. You may be right, but why would she be in charge of any project? As a middle-class wife and mother of young children, it would be strange for her to be involved in anything other than household affairs.’
But Nick wasn’t giving up. ‘Perhaps this was a particularly enlightened marriage.’
Doubt must still have been written large on my face because he immediately cast around for more ammunition. ‘Perhaps she had experience that would make her useful to an architect like Royde. Her name sounds Italian.’
‘Maybe.’ I tried to think it out. ‘We know that Royde spent time in the Italian states and that the display space at the Exhibition was to sell Italian goods. And it’s true that he and Alessia Renville would share a knowledge of Italian culture.’ My confidence was returning. ‘So if she was Italian—and we can’t be sure of that—it might just provide a clue to the unusual arrangement.’
Nick was beaming. ‘Great. It’s sounding good, so where do we go from here?’
‘It might be worth trying the newspapers again.’
‘How’s that?’
‘When I was searching the British Library, I found Edward Renville mentioned in an article published in
The Daily News
. Only his name, but I’m wondering…’
Nick leaned towards me, his eyes bright, urging me on.
‘…he was probably too small a fish to be of major concern to a national paper but a smaller, local weekly might be more interested. Local events, news of important families residing in the borough, and so on. There was a paper for the Holborn district around the mid-century—
The Holborn Times, The Holborn Mercury
—something like that. I think it survived for about ten years.’
‘And there’ll be records?’
‘I’m not sure, but it’s worth a try. I’ll check online first—we may be lucky. If not, I’ll have to visit Colindale tomorrow.’
‘Is that in London?’
‘Yes, of course it’s in London—North London to be exact.’
‘How would I know?’ he said a tad indignantly. ‘I imagine it’s just another fusty record office.’
‘A fusty record office that might provide our most important breakthrough.’
I started to type in the Colindale website while he switched his computer off and came to stand behind me.
‘This could save me a long journey,’ I told him. The site was complex and it was taking me time to navigate. He leant over me, his lips brushing the top of my hair.
‘Do we have to do this right now?’ It was another of his rapid mood changes. A minute ago he’d been impatient to get on with the search, to follow the new clue wherever it led.
‘Let’s leave it till tomorrow and have fun instead.’ His voice was soft and persuasive. I felt him nibbling at my ear and then his hands began doing nice things to my breasts.
‘We haven’t celebrated your freedom yet.’
I wasn’t sure how tasteful celebrating the breakup of a long-term relationship was, but the occasion seemed to need marking in some way.
‘It won’t hurt to do a brief search first.’ My protest was half-hearted.
‘We could, but this will be more interesting.’ He was nuzzling my neck and his hands had begun their downward journey. ‘Much more interesting. Party time, Grace?’
‘Shall we open the champagne then?’
‘Later.’
‘But I’m thirsty,’ I teased.
‘And I’m hungry, so what are we waiting for?’
I gave up and closed my laptop down. I decided that I wasn’t waiting for anything and followed him through the bedroom door.
* * *
A loud hammering shook me awake. Someone appeared to be attacking us and the outer door was creaking under the onslaught. Nick groaned and turned over and I was ready to follow suit, but the noise was too persistent. I staggered to my feet and turned the key just as I heard the sound of receding footsteps.
The woman turned back. She was a stylist’s dream, groomed from head to toe, immaculate from her tweaked pixie cut to her shining Louboutins. She stood looking at me, surprised, no doubt horrified. The picture couldn’t have been very pretty. I was wearing only a bra and pants and both had seen better days. With Oliver huffing downstairs, I’d had to swoop swiftly and my choice of clothes had been eccentric. My bare legs and arms were pimpling in the cool of early morning, and it
was
early. It couldn’t be more than seven o’clock and here was this svelte goddess standing on Nick’s doorstep. I couldn’t even begin to make sense of it. Then I looked more closely at her face and saw she had the very bluest of eyes. It began to make sense after all.
She smiled uncertainly. ‘I’m so sorry to disturb you at this hour, but I have a hectic day ahead.’ The voice was well modulated and clearly embarrassed. ‘I was hoping to speak to Nick, but I’ll ring him later.’
‘No, no,’ I stuttered. ‘Nick’s here. I’m sure he’d want to see you.’
I wasn’t sure after what Nick had said about his family, but I couldn’t turn his sister from his doorstep, even at seven in the morning. It wasn’t, after all, my doorstep.
‘Do come in,’ I said. A duchess could not have been grander.
Lucy came in, stepping gingerly across the stained carpet and looking forlornly for somewhere half-decent to sit. I didn’t know whether she had ever visited her brother here before. From her reaction, it seemed unlikely.
Nick appeared in the bedroom doorway at that moment, his yawns almost filling the space.
He glanced across at his sister. ‘Ugh,’ he said, hardly courteous, and staggered to the sink to fill the kettle. I agreed with him; strong coffee seemed a very good idea. While he was banging mugs around, I took the chance to retrieve my jeans and jumper. I couldn’t compete with Lucy’s elegance, but I wouldn’t feel quite so mortified if I weren’t half naked.
When I reappeared, Nick made perfunctory introductions and Lucy smiled benignly, or at least made a game effort. She refused coffee, very wisely, and perched daintily on the edge of the least disreputable chair.
‘If you’ve come about the Royde thing, no worries,’ Nick decided to get in first. ‘We’re almost there.’
Lucy looked enquiringly.
‘Grace is an expert’, he said and then choked slightly from the scalding coffee. ‘The report will be with you in two shakes.’
‘That’s good news,’ she said graciously, ‘but that’s not why I’m here. I would have rung, but I thought it was too important to leave to the phone.’
‘What’s up, Luce?’
His use of the affectionate diminutive hinted he was more at ease with his sister than he’d suggested. She was obviously looking out for him; hadn’t she given him the job researching Royde’s plans?