Rona spent the next day in front of a screen at Chiltern Life, sorting through photographs to accompany the four as yet unpublished articles, and periodically checking her preferences with Barnie. The first two had been well received, and, whether fortuitously or not, a rise in circulation had coincided with publication of the second. Complimentary letters had also been received, and Barnie congratulated her on her suggestion of printing them as a pull-out, complete with binder in which to keep them.
‘You’re getting ’em hooked, girl!’ he said enthusiastically. ‘We should do more of this.’
It was on the Friday evening, as Max was preparing their meal, that the phone rang. Rona lifted it, but before she could speak, a high, staccato voice broke in. ‘Rona Parish?’
Rona frowned. ‘Yes?’ she said cautiously, lifting her shoulders in reply to Max’s inquiring eyebrows.
‘This is Zara Crane. We met at Gavin and Magda’s.’
‘I remember.’ A picture came to mind of a pointed little face and a thick braid of red-gold hair.
‘You were kind enough to agree to discuss a – project I have in mind.’
That didn’t correspond with Rona’s memory. ‘I don’t think I—’ she began, but Zara again cut in quickly.
‘It’s taken me all week to pluck up the courage to phone you,’ she said. ‘Would it be at all possible to meet tomorrow morning?’
‘I’m sorry,’ Rona said firmly, ‘I prefer to keep my weekends free.’
‘Oh.’ She sounded quite downcast. ‘The trouble is, I’m at work all week.’ A pause. ‘I could meet you about four thirty, though?’
Anyone would think she was doing me a favour, Rona thought irritably. ‘You’ll have finished work by then?’
‘I’m a schoolteacher, at Belmont Primary. Do you—?’
‘I went there myself,’ Rona told her.
Zara gave a relieved laugh. ‘Well, that makes things easier! We live just round the corner from the school, in one of the town houses. Could you possibly come over, so we can discuss things?’
‘Zara, I’m not at all sure—’
‘Don’t worry about the publishing angle,’ Zara hurried on. ‘I’ve thought it over since we met, and I can’t see it would do any harm. It might even help. Shall we say Monday? The address is fourteen Grosvenor Terrace.’
It seemed she wouldn’t take a refusal. ‘I’ll come,’ Rona said, ‘provided you realize I’m not committing myself to anything other than a discussion.’
‘All right, but as I said, I think you’ll be interested. Four thirty on Monday, then?’
‘Four thirty on Monday,’ Rona confirmed resignedly, and rang off.
‘What was that all about?’ Max asked curiously, sprinkling salt into the casserole.
‘Remember that young couple at the Ridgeways’?’
‘Whom you thought you’d discouraged from contacting you?’
‘The same. It seems I wasn’t discouraging enough.’
‘Well,’ Max remarked, ‘you’re always saying ideas come from the most unlikely sources, and you’re in need of one at the moment, aren’t you?’
‘I suppose that’s true. She’s a forceful young woman, that. Used to getting her own way, I shouldn’t wonder.’
‘Takes one to know one!’ Max commented, and ducked as she threw a tea towel at him.
Number fourteen was halfway along the terrace of mock-Georgian town houses, and since there was a vacant parking bay close by, Rona slid into it. Perhaps not surprisingly, the house bore more than a passing resemblance to her own, genuine, Georgian home, though it was considerably smaller.
Zara, wearing a blue tunic and grey flannel skirt, opened the door before the bell had stopped ringing.
‘Thanks so much for coming!’ she exclaimed breathlessly.
Inside, any similarity to home disappeared. There was no basement in this modern house, and the ground floor consisted of a kitchen-diner, glimpsed through a half-open door, and an integral garage. Zara showed her upstairs to the sitting room, which took up the whole of the first floor. Another flight led presumably to the bedrooms and bathroom.
The room in which she found herself owed its light, open aspect to three sash windows overlooking the front of the house. The roof of the school was just visible between the houses opposite.
‘You certainly haven’t far to commute,’ Rona commented, taking the seat indicated.
‘No, it’s very convenient. Excuse me a moment, while I bring up the teapot.’
Rona looked about her, at the magnolia walls, the pale blue upholstery and the collection of china dogs on the mantelpiece. Her quick glance detected no photographs and the walls were devoid of pictures. The adjective that came to mind was ‘antiseptic’, though she couldn’t have said why.
Zara returned with the teapot and seated herself opposite, beside a small table already bearing a tray with mugs, plates, and what looked like a shop-bought sponge cake.
‘I know I bulldozed you into coming,’ she began disarmingly, with an apologetic little smile, ‘but I really am desperate for your help.’
Rona raised an eyebrow and accepted the mug and plate handed to her, shaking her head at the proffered sugar bowl. Zara cut the cake into alarmingly large slices, and she perforce took one with a murmur of thanks.
Zara sat back in her chair and stared down into her lap, twisting her wedding ring round her finger. The silence lengthened, and Rona, increasingly impatient to learn the object of the visit, was about to speak when she looked up, squared her shoulders and said without preamble: ‘I was adopted as a baby. My parents didn’t tell me till I was ten, but to be honest it didn’t make much difference. Even when I was eighteen, and could have done something about it, I didn’t try to trace my birth parents.’ She paused. ‘I think my attitude was, If they didn’t want me, I don’t want them, either. It’s only in the last few months, since I became pregnant, that it seemed important to find out about myself.’
‘That’s understandable,’ Rona murmured, but Zara was already continuing.
‘My parents were against the idea from the start, and did all they could to dissuade me. But when they realized I was set on it, they finally told me what they’d known all along, that my mother was dead and my father’s identity unknown. “So you see,” they said, “there’s really no point in bothering.”’
‘That is bad luck!’ Rona sympathized. ‘A double blow.’
‘Yes.’ Zara bit her lip. ‘I could have been the result of a one-night stand.’
She looked up, meeting Rona’s compassionate gaze. ‘Still, I was determined to go ahead, and as my adoption papers were no help, I sent off for my original birth certificate, to find out my mother’s name and where she’d been living. The weirdest part was that my name was given as Amanda Jane. Amanda Jane Grant, and my mother was Gemma Grant.’ She shook her head wonderingly. ‘I don’t feel at all like an Amanda. It’s as though we’re two different people.’
After a moment’s reflection, she went on. ‘So then I sent off for her death certificate. I was adopted at six months, so I sort of assumed she’d died having me.’
This time she was silent for so long that Rona prompted, ‘But she hadn’t?’
Zara shook her head, and, reaching down beside her chair, retrieved a piece of paper which she handed across.
As Rona had anticipated, it was a death certificate. Skipping over names and dates, her eyes flicked immediately to the portion headed Cause of Death, totally unprepared for the stark words that leapt up at her: Asphyxiation by ligature.
‘Oh God!’ she said softly. ‘Zara, I’m so sorry. What a shock for you.’
Zara said rapidly, ‘The address given – in Stokely – is the same as that on my birth certificate, two months earlier. Well, Tony and I scoured all the press archives we could find. The papers had been full of the story: police interviews, house to house enquiries, Lord knows what. They were anxious to trace the baby’s father – my father – but a friend told them he’d moved to Australia with his family months before. He’d not even known Gemma was pregnant.’ She flashed Rona a glance. ‘I think of her as Gemma – it’s easier, somehow.’
‘So if it wasn’t him, who did kill her?’
‘As far as we know, they never found out. The verdict at the inquest was “murder by person or persons unknown”. Does that mean there might have been two of them?’
‘I think it’s just a legal phrase,’ Rona said.
‘Well, we checked through the rest of the year, hoping they caught someone later, but the story just died away.’
‘What exactly happened to her?’ Rona asked tentatively.
‘The friend she was sharing with – Selina someone – found her in the bath, with her tights knotted round her throat. I was screaming in my cot in the next room. They thought it might have been a burglar, but nothing was taken. She’d left the door on the latch for Selina.’
After a minute, Rona leaned forward and passed back the death certificate. ‘It’s a terrible story and I’m very, very sorry, but I don’t see where I come into it.’
Zara smiled wanly. ‘When I heard you’d unearthed two murderers, it seemed like the answer to a prayer. I – hoped you might unearth me a third.’ And as Rona stared at her, aghast, she added with a terrible little laugh, ‘And when you’ve done that, perhaps you could find my father.’
‘I take it you’re not serious?’ Rona’s voice was hoarse.
‘But I am, Rona! This has made all the difference, don’t you see? My birth parents didn’t abandon me as I’d thought; my father never even knew I existed, and my mother kept me, even though she was only twenty and on her own. I owe it to her to find out who killed her.’
‘But after – what – twenty-five years? If you’re really determined to go ahead, you should get in touch with a private investigator. He’d—’
‘No,’ Zara broke in determinedly. ‘I’d much rather you did it – you’d go at it from a different angle. Magda said you write biographies; you must know how to dig out buried facts.’
When Rona, her head spinning, remained silent, she leaned forward, her hands clasped between her knees. ‘Will you help me? Please?’
‘Zara, how can I?’
‘You’ve done it before,’ Zara said stubbornly.
‘But that was just luck. And as for your father, there are agencies whose job it is to trace birth parents. I’m sure—’
‘They’d need a name first.’
‘For that matter, so would I.’
Zara’s eyes dropped. ‘If you’re wondering about the fee,’ she said awkwardly, ‘I have a savings account; it won’t be a problem.’
Rona flushed and shook her head. ‘That doesn’t come into it. If I decide to go ahead – and it’s a big “if”, because there are all kinds of considerations to take into account – it’ll be Chiltern Life who signs my cheque.’
She met Zara’s wide, uncomprehending gaze. ‘You did say I’d be free to publish my findings?’
‘Well, yes – yes, I suppose so.’
‘Then the first thing I’d have to do is discuss the ins and outs with my editor. I’d need to be sure he’d take it. He might agree if, for instance, we ran a series on people searching for their birth parents. There are plenty of them, though I hope for their sakes they don’t come up with situations like yours.’
‘How soon could you let me know?’
‘The end of the week?’
Zara gave a small sigh. ‘I’d hoped to have an answer today, one way or the other.’
Rona shook her head. ‘And even if I go for it, there are no guarantees. For a start, this is quite different from the other cases I stumbled into. In the first one, the death had been written off as suicide, and in the second, someone else had been charged with the murder, so the police weren’t interested in either of them. But from what you say, this case remains open, and even if they’re not still actively working on it, they wouldn’t thank me for butting in.’
Briefly, she thought of her confrontation with DI Barrett in Buckford. Thank God Stokely would be in a different division.
‘It’s my bet they’ve forgotten all about it,’ Zara said bitterly.
‘Well, as I said, I’ll have to weigh up the pros and cons before coming to a decision. I still think you’d do better to employ someone whose job it is to do this sort of thing.’
A sudden thought struck her. ‘Have you told your parents you’re approaching me?’
Zara shook her head. ‘First, I wanted to see what you’d say.’
‘I’d probably need their cooperation.’
‘But they don’t know anything! That’s the trouble!’
Privately, Rona thought they might know more than they realized – or, at any rate, admitted. Her mind elsewhere, she ate the last of the cake on her plate. There was no denying she was intrigued by the story, but Barnie’s reaction could be iffy – he erred on the side of caution – and she was only too aware what Max’s would be.
She refused Zara’s offer of more tea and rose to her feet. As Zara also stood, Rona was momentarily aware of the rounded shape beneath her tunic. Whether that baby would know anything of its maternal grandparents might depend on her. It was a responsibility she wasn’t sure she wanted.
It would have been natural, being in the neighbourhood, to have dropped in on her mother in the adjacent street, but Rona, though torn by guilt, had no wish to see her. Instead she drove quickly back into town, along Guild Street and up Dean’s Crescent North to Farthings, the little house where Max had his studio and where, before going to see Zara, she had left Gus.
Between Farthings and the house next door was an alley leading to Max’s garage, and she turned the car into it. A gate in the wall to her right gave access to the tiny piece of ground that served as a garden, and as she got out she could hear Gus barking a welcome. She tried the latch but the gate was bolted.
‘Sorry, boy,’ she told him. ‘I’ll have to go round the front.’
The solid wooden door opened directly off the pavement, opening on to a small passage with doors to left and right and another, standing open, straight ahead. Through this Gus now came skittering, paws sliding on the polished boards, tail wagging as though he’d endured a week’s absence rather than a couple of hours’. Rona bent to fondle his ears.
‘Hi!’ she called up the steep, open staircase.
‘Hi!’ Max responded. ‘Come for the hound?’
‘Yep, but I’d like a word, if you can spare the time.’
It was an unwritten rule that she didn’t disturb him during working hours, nor he her, unless it was urgent.
‘Yes, I’m knocking off now. Come on up while I finish off.’
Leaving Gus in the hall, she went up to the studio that spread across the entire upper level. It had originally been a loft, but the carpenter next door, who had done a lot of work for Max when he first bought the cottage, had transformed it, putting in skylights and opening up dark corners.
As her head and shoulders emerged above the stairwell, she saw him drape a cloth over the easel, and knew better than to ask to see his work. He’d show it to her when he was ready.
‘I need to get things ready for the class,’ he said, ‘but fire away; I can listen while I’m doing it.’
She walked to the window and looked down at the street, not many feet below. It was homecoming time; men and women with briefcases, and old ladies with shopping baskets, were making their way along the narrow pavements, and Guild Street, running along the end of the road, was now clogged with traffic. Behind her, she could hear Max setting up the stools and easels for his students.
‘I have a problem,’ she said, her eyes following two boys cycling, to the peril of pedestrians, on the opposite pavement. ‘You know I went to see Zara?’
‘Don’t tell me,’ Max replied. ‘She wants you to investigate a murder!’
Rona spun round. His back was towards her, but when she didn’t respond, she saw his shoulders stiffen before he turned slowly to face her.
‘Joke!’ he said heavily. ‘Rona, that was a joke. Right?’
For a minute longer they stared at each other. Then he let go of the stool he was holding and it fell with a clatter to the floor. ‘God Almighty!’ he said explosively. Then, turning towards the stairs, ‘We’d better go down and you can tell me about it. I have to get supper, anyway.’
Class evenings necessitated an early meal.
He clattered down the stairs ahead of her. Gus, seeing their set faces, waved his tail uncertainly and trotted after them into the kitchen.
‘Going back outside?’ Max asked him, and the dog hastily sat down and looked up at him, tongue lolling. ‘Apparently not.’ He closed the back door. ‘There’s a bottle of wine in the fridge,’ he added. ‘Help yourself, and pour one for me. Are you staying for supper?’
‘I’m not hungry,’ Rona replied. ‘I’ve just had the most enormous piece of cake.’
‘Then you’ll have to sit and watch me, and while I eat, you can recount your problem. Though I might as well tell you, if murder really is involved, I wash my hands of it. You’ve put the fear of God into me twice already this year.’
She watched as he took a dish of lasagne out of the oven, crisply brown on top, sauce bubbling round the edges. He spooned a generous portion on to a plate, set it on a tray together with knife, fork and his wine glass and, motioning to her to follow, went through to the living room and placed the tray on the small table at one end. Beyond it, the little walled garden lay bathed in mellow sunshine. Gus settled himself in his usual position under the table.
‘Right,’ Max said, ‘you’d better fill me in.’
Slowly, sorting it out in her mind as she went, she did so.
‘So, you have a mother who got herself murdered,’ he summarized, ‘and a father who scarpered. Connected, obviously.’
‘It seems not. He emigrated before he even knew she was pregnant.’
‘If they know that much about him, they must know his name,’ Max argued.
‘You’d think so, but Zara swears not.’
‘What about her grandparents? Surely they must have known him?’
Rona sipped her wine thoughtfully. ‘I didn’t think to ask, but Gemma wasn’t living at home. She was sharing a flat with another girl – the one who found her.’
Max shook his head despairingly. ‘God, love, you attract them like a magnet, don’t you? The Harvey business was bad enough, but once it was cleared up, I thought that was that. I never dreamed it was the start of your becoming a pseudo-detective. I tell you, my nerves won’t stand it. How many more times are you going to put yourself in danger?’
‘It needn’t be dangerous,’ Rona protested unconvincingly. ‘People are searching for their birth parents every day.’
‘Well, she’s already found her mother, hasn’t she? Or rather, she knows who she was. The fact that she’s dead should be the end of it. As to her father, are you proposing to fly to Australia and search the outback for him?’
‘Don’t be facetious, Max,’ Rona said crisply. ‘I came to you for advice.’
‘Well, that’s easy enough: don’t touch it with a bargepole.’ He eyed her over a laden forkful of lasagne. ‘Not that I flatter myself you’ll take it. You’re using me as a sounding board, aren’t you?’
She smiled wryly. ‘I hoped you wouldn’t notice!’
‘What’s your gut feeling about it?’
‘I don’t know. It smacks of banging my head against a brick wall, but I admit I’m intrigued. If Barnie’s agreeable and I do take it, I’ll set myself a time limit. If I don’t get anywhere in, say, six weeks, I’ll give up.’
‘I thought these things could take years.’
‘I can’t spare years. I need to earn a living.’
The clock on the mantelpiece chimed seven.
Max put his empty plate on the tray. ‘I’ll have to make a move, love. I didn’t finish preparing upstairs, and they start to arrive at quarter past.’
‘OK. Thanks for listening.’
‘Let me know what you decide.’
Rona garaged the car in Charlton Road, snapped on Gus’s lead, and turned towards home. The dog, ever hopeful, tugged in the direction of the footpath leading up to the park, but she shook her head. It would be dark soon.
‘Tomorrow,’ she promised.
As she walked slowly back to the house, her mind replayed the conversations she’d had, first with Zara Crane and then with Max. He had a point, she thought; Gemma’s parents must surely have known who the father was. She wondered if Zara had obtained her mother’s birth certificate, which would give their names.
Back in the house she fed the dog, but still wasn’t hungry herself. She went up to the study, switched on the computer, and typed out everything she could remember that Zara had told her. Then she sat staring at the screen, trying to decide what to do. Would Barnie be interested in articles on the search for birth parents? Surely it would be fascinating to learn of the different reactions – parent to child, child to parent, and how often parents refused even to meet their offspring? She would have to sell it to him if she were to proceed with Zara’s request; though she was freelance, she tended to confine herself to Chiltern Life, and couldn’t offhand think of anyone else to whom to send the article. And the more she thought about it, the more she felt she’d like to do it.
Finally, hunger at last beginning to stir, she turned off the computer and went downstairs, deciding to go along to Dino’s for a meal. She hadn’t booked, but a Monday evening shouldn’t be too busy, and she was confident he would squeeze her in. She and Max were regular customers and, hating cooking as she did, she often went alone when he was working.
Ten minutes later, with Gus at her side, she set off down the avenue and turned into Fullers Walk, at the top of which lay Guild Street, the main shopping area. Dean’s Crescent, however, branched off about two thirds of the way along, winding its way past the restaurant and the offices of Chiltern Life to the upper end of Guild Street, and, having crossed it, became Dean’s Crescent North, where she’d left Max an hour or so earlier.
Dino greeted her with his usual exuberance. ‘Ah signora! Benvenuto! You are alone this evening? We will find you a nice table.’
She was following him across the room when a voice hailed her, and she turned to see Gavin Ridgeway rising to his feet at a table nearby. ‘Rona! Max not with you? Come and join me.’
‘Hello, Gavin. Are you on your own, too?’
‘Magda’s off on a buying trip. Let’s be lonely together!’
She hesitated, not sure she wanted an evening in Gavin’s exclusive company; it unsettled her that he should look so exactly the same as when they’d been together – attractively irregular features, thick, ash-blond hair. However, she could scarcely decline. With an apologetic glance at Dino, she went to join him, and he pulled out a chair as Dino signalled a waiter to lay another place. She was being foolish, she told herself; their romance was five years in the past and both were now happily married. All the same, an underlying guilt remained that, while considering his proposal, she had met and fallen for Max.
He handed her the menu and, recalling the appetizing smell of Max’s supper, she ordered lasagne al forno.
‘It was a good party the other week,’ she began, as he poured her some wine.
‘Glad you enjoyed it. The trouble with that sort of do is there’s never time for a proper conversation, especially if you happen to be the host.’
Rona toyed with the roll on her plate. ‘That couple I was talking to when you “rescued” me,’ she began diffidently.
‘The Cranes?’
‘Yes. You were right; I was in need of rescuing.’
He smiled. ‘To be honest, I wasn’t sure they’d fit in, but I like young Crane and he’s been a bit down in the mouth lately.’
Rona looked up quickly. ‘Oh?’
‘Turns out his wife was adopted, and, now they’re expecting a family, she’s set her heart on tracing her parents.’ He hesitated. ‘And strictly entre nous, they had rather a shock when they looked into it.’
‘Oh?’ Rona said again, conscious of her quickened heartbeat.
‘Her mother had been murdered, would you believe?’
She took a quick decision; Zara had not requested secrecy, and if she undertook the task, her involvement would soon become common knowledge. ‘Actually, Gavin, I know about it,’ she admitted. ‘That’s what I meant about needing to be rescued. She wants me to find her killer.’
He put down his glass and stared at her. Then he gave a shout of laughter. ‘God, Rona, you’re not serious? How the hell did she …? Ah, I remember now: Magda was proclaiming your successes in that field last time we saw them. I thought at the time young Zara seemed unduly interested. Did she ask you at the party?’
‘Only to discuss something; I went round this afternoon.’
‘Are you going to do it?’
‘I don’t know.’
Their plates were set before them and they began to eat in silence. Then Rona said tentatively, ‘You say her husband seems depressed?’
Gavin shrugged. ‘He wants her to drop it, obviously. Thinks it might harm the baby if she has any more upsets. Whether that’s feasible or not, I wouldn’t know.’
‘It’s odd they never found out who did it. The absent father seems to have been the only suspect, and he had the best of alibis.’
‘How so?’
‘By emigrating to Australia months earlier, blissfully unaware of impending parenthood.’
‘Ah! That, I didn’t know.’ Gavin glanced at her. ‘How does Max feel about this? Your taking it on, I mean?’
Rona pulled a face. ‘As you’d expect.’
‘Can’t say I blame him. You’ve had some narrow escapes this last year.’
‘His point exactly.’ The corners of her mouth lifted. ‘I have to say, though, that hunting murderers adds a certain piquancy to life!’
‘Well, for God’s sake be careful.’
‘Oh, I shall. Now, that’s enough about me. Where’s Magda swanned off to?’
‘Paris,’ he replied, refilling her glass. ‘Some people have all the luck.’
‘Is she still planning on putting cafés into her boutiques?’
‘In principle, yes; there are a few where it wouldn’t be practicable, but she’s doing some market research.’
‘The one in Buckford was great.’
Gavin smiled. ‘That’s her flagship.’
The waiter approached to enquire if they’d like a dessert, but they settled for coffee and the accompanying amaretti.
‘And separate bills, please,’ Rona added as he moved away.
‘Oh, now look—’ Gavin began, but Rona cut in.
‘No, Gavin, I mean it. The last time we met here, with Magda, you insisted on paying, which was very generous, but I can’t let you make a habit of it. This is one of my favourite haunts, and I can’t run the risk, every time I come, of someone I know trying to treat me. It was great having your company, but I pay my own way. OK?’
‘Far be it for me to argue, Ms Parish.’
‘Good,’ she said, and purposefully took out her credit card.
Minutes later they were on the pavement outside. Gavin’s car was parked in the small yard behind the restaurant. ‘Can I run you home?’ he offered, but she shook her head.
‘As you know, it’s just round the corner, and Gus will protect me from any bogeymen.’
‘As long as you’re sure. It was good to see you, Rona. Mind how you go.’
‘I will. Love to Magda. Goodnight, Gavin.’
With Gus’s lead tightly in her hand, she walked swiftly down the pavement and rounded the corner without looking back. Where Gavin was concerned, she thought, it was a policy she’d be well advised to follow.