In the days following the newspaper insertion, Rona had received about a dozen calls on her mobile, equally divided between people claiming to have known Gemma, and those recalling families who had emigrated. All of them, to Rona’s relief, could be dealt with over the phone.
The ones regarding Gemma described her variously as ‘pretty’, ‘moody’, ‘good fun’ and ‘difficult’, depending on the perception of the caller, but nothing significantly new emerged. On the emigrating families, four names came up, two of them more than once, and included several young men who were confidently asserted to be the father of her baby. However, since the rider: ‘as I told the police at the time’ was invariably added, it was clear Rona could discount them. As to the departing families, their destinations varied and emigration dates were vague – ‘It must have been either ’78 or ’79’ being the closest they came. She’d follow them up as a matter of course, but she was not hopeful.
And that seemed to be that, she thought, discouraged; the newspaper hadn’t been much help after all. Admittedly she still had pointers to Jonathan Hurst and Philip Yarborough, neither of whom she was anxious to pursue. An added worry was how could she alert Lindsey to Jonathan’s connection without arousing her antipathy.
On impulse, she phoned her. ‘We mentioned a foursome,’ she began. ‘Any chance of it coming off?’
‘Could be tricky,’ Lindsey replied. ‘Incidentally, Mamma nearly caught us in flagrante yesterday! She called at the flat while Jonathan was on one of his lunch-time visits.’
‘I didn’t know he made lunch-time visits,’ Rona said mildly.
‘He does when I’m working from home. Anyway, Mum has a new hair-do to go with her altered image, and she called round for my approval.’
‘What’s it like?’
‘Very chic, actually, but she bit my head off when I said Pops would approve, insisting she’d done it for her own benefit.’
‘Sounds as though things are no better, then. But about Jonathan – what do you think?’
‘Well, weekends are out, naturally. Whether or not he could swing a ‘business dinner’ on Friday, I don’t know.’
‘Like to ask him?’
‘Yes, I will. Thanks, Ro. Are you free for lunch, by the way?’
‘Sorry, I’m off to Hester Latymer’s in an hour or so.’
‘Name-dropper!’ Lindsey retorted. ‘Enjoy yourself, and I’ll get back to you about the meal.’
As Rona replaced the receiver, she thought back to the family group in the park, the children running happily ahead, the parents strolling after them. They’d not looked like a couple in the process of divorcing, she reflected uneasily, and yet again found herself fearing for her sister’s happiness.
Tom sat at his desk, restlessly tapping his pen. This week, there’d been another notch-up in Avril’s self-improvement programme. He admitted to himself that he’d not expected it to last, and by the end of the previous week it had seemed he was right. Now, though, with her ultra-modern haircut, she looked like an executive of a multinational.
Her manner was different, too. Last week she’d seemed uncertain and vulnerable, anxious for his approval. Yesterday, there’d been a take-it-or-leave-it air about her, and when – since he could scarcely ignore it – he’d complimented her on the new style, she’d merely shrugged and turned aside with a careless, ‘Glad you like it’, as though his opinion were of no consequence.
Irritably, he wished she’d at least be consistent. For years now her drab appearance had gone hand in hand with constant sniping at himself and, to a lesser degree, the girls. Consequently, her sudden smartening up had startled him, as had her palpable effort to be pleasant. Admittedly this latter was of short duration – possibly, he thought uncomfortably, because he’d not met her halfway – but instead of reverting to type, she’d changed again, acquiring a hard gloss that, intentionally or not, seemed to exclude him. And after briefly relapsing to supper on trays, they were again eating in the dining room. He no longer knew what to make of her, and the fact annoyed him. Whether or not her metamorphosis would make easier the parting he’d decided on remained to be seen.
The Latymers’ constituency home was in Park Rise, a leafy avenue of substantial houses at the upper end of Furze Hill Park, much sought after for its high position and views over the town. Its paintwork, like that of its neighbours, was a dazzling white against the rose brick, but its exaggerated Dutch gables gave it a character of its own, emphasized by the nameplate, Holland House, attached to the gatepost.
The gates themselves stood open, but since the circular drive was already clogged with cars, Rona parked outside. Easier for a quick getaway, she thought guiltily.
She was admitted by a uniformed maid and shown into a large, airy room seemingly full of well-dressed women. Hester materialized beside her and handed her a glass of champagne.
‘Rona – I hope I may call you that? – I’m so glad you could come. We’ll all introduce ourselves shortly – I find it breaks the ice at these little gatherings – but in the meantime, come and meet one of James’s colleagues, Lydia Playfair.’
The MP for Stokely, Rona remembered; she’d seen a by-election poster on her last visit. The woman turned at the sound of her name, holding out her hand with a smile.
‘Lydia, this is Rona Parish,’ Hester said, and immediately excused herself to greet the latest arrival.
‘Is this your first attendance?’ Lydia Playfair enquired lazily, surveying Rona over a pair of large tortoiseshell glasses.
‘Attendance?’
‘At a Professional Women’s Luncheon. Hester holds three or four a year.’
‘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.’
Catherine was quiet for a moment. Then she said tentatively, ‘Will you come here?’
‘Good God, no! I mean – I’d hardly announce it like that, would I, without even consulting you? No, no; it might seem old-fashioned in today’s climate, but I’ve no intention of compromising you. People accept young couples living together, but rightly or wrongly, they’re harsher on older ones. So as soon as I’ve set the divorce in motion, I’ll rent a flat somewhere until it comes through.’
‘Have you told your wife?’
‘Not yet, I’ve only just decided.’ He tipped his glass, watching the liquid coat the sides. ‘In spite of her criticizing,’ he went on slowly, ‘I’ve always felt she’s been – dependent on me. Now, though, I’m sure she’s quite capable of managing on her own. She’ll have the house, and there won’t be any money worries. It’ll probably be a relief to be rid of me.’
Catherine leant forward and laid her hand on his. ‘I’m not worried about what people might say, Tom. You’re very welcome to come here if you’d like to.’
‘Bless you, but no. It’s better this way. We’ll be free to spend time together, and it won’t matter by then who sees us, but we’ll sleep under different roofs. At night, anyway!’ he added with a smile.
Since her only meeting with Jonathan had been brief, Rona was interested to see if, on further acquaintance, her impressions of him would hold or need amending. She also hoped, during the course of the evening, to assess not only his relationship with her sister, but his earlier association with Gemma Grant.
Two things struck her at once: his apparent ease of manner, though there was wariness at the back of his eyes, and his subtle distancing from Lindsey. It was as though he were saying: If I’m being paraded here as a future member of the family, forget it.
Lindsey, on the other hand, had no such reservations. She had pinned her hair up and was wearing a dress Rona hadn’t seen before. She looked, Rona thought achingly, young, happy – and in love. The word ‘darling’ peppered her remarks to Jonathan, but was never returned. Rona wondered if she noticed.
On their arrival, they went into the sitting room for drinks, where, as before, Jonathan made a fuss of Gus.
‘We have a bassett at home,’ he remarked, forgetting he’d already told Rona. ‘Name of Caesar.’
‘Yes,’ she answered casually, ‘I think we saw you with him, up in the park.’
Jonathan shot her a quick look, but she had turned to offer Lindsey a dish of olives.
‘Quite likely,’ he said evenly. ‘It’s a favourite exercising ground – for the kids as well as the dog.’
‘How old are they?’ Max asked, unaware of Lindsey’s bitten lip.
‘Twelve and ten. Dominic started at Buckford College this term, as a weekly boarder. Tamar’s still at Greenacres Prep.’
This information, over and above what was asked for, struck Rona as defiance. He was fencing with them, showing her he didn’t care if she’d seen him with his family – that he’d nothing to hide. Before he could proceed to his wife’s interests, she said quickly, ‘How long have you been with Chase Mortimer?’
He held her eyes for a moment, aware of her deflection and seemingly amused by it, damn him. ‘Man and boy; my great-uncle was the original Mortimer.’
‘You’re a partner, then, like Lindsey?’
‘I am indeed.’
And therefore even less likely to cause a stir by divorcing his wife. Solicitors, Rona felt sure, could be stuffy about affairs between partners. Surely Lindsey realized this? Whether or not, she obviously didn’t care for the turn the conversation had taken, and changed it abruptly by saying, ‘I was telling Jonathan about your work, Max.’
Jonathan smoothly took up her cue. ‘Indeed, yes – I hadn’t known of the connection. I went to the exhibition at the Beaufort Gallery – last year, was it? – and I particularly liked your portrait of that young girl.’
‘Good of you to say so,’ Max said briefly, and, though he disliked his work being discussed, he allowed himself to be drawn into a discussion on techniques, which safely distanced them from the previous topic and lasted until it was time to go down for supper.
Jonathan was genuinely interested in the house, commenting with enthusiasm on the alterations they’d made to it, particularly the yellow and blue kitchen overlooking the now moonlit patio garden.
‘This is fabulous!’ he exclaimed. ‘I must say I envy you having a place like this, and in such a convenient position, too. I have a half-hour drive into work each morning, which can take twice as long if there’s a traffic hold-up.’
It was as they were beginning their dessert that Lindsey said out of the blue, ‘Did you see the letters in today’s Gazette?’
‘No?’ Jonathan looked up. ‘What letters?’
‘Referring to Rona’s insert last week about the girl who was murdered.’
‘Gemma Grant,’ Rona underlined, her eyes on Jonathan. She caught the involuntary tightening of his jaw, but he made no comment.
‘One of them mentioned Selina O’Toole,’ Lindsey was continuing. ‘She’s the one you went to see, isn’t she?’
‘Yes.’ Rona paused, still watching Jonathan, who seemed intent on spooning wine sauce over his pears. ‘I believe you knew her, Jonathan?’
His hand jerked, spilling some wine on the table, and with a muttered apology he wiped it with his napkin. ‘Knew whom?’ he asked, his voice for the first time not entirely under control.
‘Both of them, actually. Selina – and Gemma.’
Max shifted uncomfortably. Lindsey was staring at Jonathan in disbelief. ‘You knew Gemma?’ she demanded.
He cleared his throat. ‘As it happens, yes.’
‘But – how? When? And why didn’t you say so, when I mentioned her on Tuesday?’
After a minute he said quietly, ‘It’s something I’ve spent my life trying to forget. Quite frankly, it – was a shock, to have it suddenly spoken of again.’
I’ll bet it was, Rona thought grimly. He looked up, finally meeting her eyes. ‘What exactly did Selina tell you?’
‘That you went round with Gemma, and were upset when she broke it off,’ Rona replied, embroidering slightly.
Lindsey gave a little gasp and her spoon dropped on to her plate.
Jonathan paled. ‘I assure you I was exhaustively questioned, as was the rest of our group.’
‘Even so,’ Rona said enigmatically.
He lifted a hand and let it fall, turning to Lindsey with a crooked smile. ‘As to why I’ve never mentioned it, it would hardly be a good career move, would it, to let it be known I’d dated the victim of an unsolved murder?’
Lindsey, who looked on the verge of tears, didn’t reply, so Rona stepped in again. ‘What was she like, Gemma? I’m trying to build up a picture of her.’
Jonathan took a long draught of wine and wiped his mouth on his napkin. Delaying tactics, Rona thought. ‘I was at university at the time,’ he said then, ‘so I wasn’t around as much as the others. But from what I remember she was good fun. Pretty, a bit flirty. Most of us went out with her at one time or another. Then, from one week to the next, she changed.’
‘Changed how?’
‘Stopped playing around, joining in the fun. And shortly after, she dropped out altogether.’
‘No explanation?’
‘Not from her, but Selina said she’d met someone and wanted to spend her time with him.’
‘Any idea who it could have been?’
He shook his head. ‘Not one of our crowd, that’s for sure.’
‘How did you all react? Those of you who’d been out with her, I mean?’
‘Were any of us insanely jealous enough to kill her?’ Jonathan asked bluntly. ‘I’d say definitely not. We simply shrugged and moved on to someone who was available. None of us had had anything heavy with Gemma, it was all very light-hearted.’
Max stood up and refilled everyone’s glass. ‘I hope you don’t think we invited you here to give you the third degree,’ he said, with a look of reprimand at Rona.
‘I’m sure he doesn’t,’ she said blithely. ‘It was Lindsey who brought the subject up, not me. And actually, Linz, there’s someone else we know who belonged to that crowd – Philip Yarborough. That’s right, isn’t it Jonathan?’
‘Philip Yarborough?’ Lindsey echoed, her voice rising. ‘But – my God! …’
Rona sent her a warning look as Jonathan nodded. ‘Yes, Phil was there.’
‘Are you still in touch with him?’
‘We meet occasionally, in the course of things, but we were never that close. Also,’ he added frankly, ‘we remind each other of a period of our lives we’d both rather forget.’
‘But he went out with Gemma too?’ Lindsey pursued.
‘For a while, though he was more involved with Selina.’ He paused, allowing himself a faint smile. ‘Now, there’s someone who’s made a name for herself.’
Max had been busying himself with the coffee, and they drank it in sporadic silence, thinking over what had been said.
Jonathan looked at his watch. ‘The hypothetical Masonic dinner finishes at eleven,’ he said. ‘I should be making tracks.’
Max glanced at the clock. ‘You’re cutting it fine, if you’re running Lindsey home first.’
‘We came in separate cars for that very reason,’ Lindsey told him. ‘What’s more, we had to park at the far end of the road. I’ll walk back with you,’ she added to Jonathan, getting to her feet as he did.
‘Thanks for a delightful evening,’ he said at the front door, adding with his crooked smile, ‘though I could have done without the This is Your Life interlude!’
‘It was all in a good cause,’ Rona said equably.
Lindsey gave her a summary kiss and said tersely, ‘I’ll be in touch.’
‘I rather think we’ll be hearing from her before cockcrow,’ Max observed, shutting the door behind them. And it was in fact barely half an hour later – presumably as soon as Lindsey had gained her own living room – that the phone rang.
Max, at the sink washing glasses, raised his eyebrows, and Rona, with a resigned shrug, picked it up.
‘What the hell do you think you were playing at?’ Lindsey’s voice exploded in her ear. ‘How dare you question Jonathan as if he were a criminal? And why in heaven’s name didn’t you tell me he’d known Gemma, not to mention Philip Yarborough? At least you needn’t look any further for your murderer; it seems Max was right all along. Adele should be thankful he’s only beaten her. So far.’
‘Are you stopping for breath?’ Rona enquired sweetly. ‘If so, which question would you like answering first?’
‘Rona!’
‘All right, all right. I didn’t tell you about Jonathan because I was afraid you’d react exactly as you are doing, and anyway I haven’t seen you since I found out, and it’s not something you can chat about on the phone. The same goes for Philip Yarborough.’
‘Are you going to invite him to dinner, too?’ Lindsey asked nastily.
‘You’re in a better position than I am to approach him.’
‘Oh no! I’m not doing any more of your dirty work! I don’t want to be found dead in my bath, thank you very much!’ Her voice changed, became small. ‘You don’t really suspect Jonathan, do you?’ she asked.
Rona bit her lip. ‘I’m sure he’s all sweetness and light,’ she said. ‘Now go to bed, sis, and stop worrying.’
Well, she thought as she broke the connection, she’d wanted to warn her sister about Jonathan’s connection with Gemma. That she had most certainly done. It was now up to Lindsey to take any precautions that might be necessary.