Deception and Desire (14 page)

‘In that case I'll leave you in peace, Brendan. I was hoping you might be able to help but it seems you can't.'

‘Aren't you going to have your coffee?' he asked.

‘I don't think I'll bother. If you do hear anything from Ros you will let me know, won't you?'

‘She wouldn't contact me. I'd be the last person,' Brendan said.

Maggie nodded and moved to the door. He followed her, undoing the catch. He stood for a moment, watching her go back down the stairs. Then he closed the door again, leaning heavily against it.

Thank God she'd gone! The relief was so enormous it made him dizzy. But why the hell had she come at all? Did she really think he might know what had happened to Ros? Or had she just come to gloat?

The thinking process was too much for his aching, fuddled brain. Brendan lumbered back to the bedroom, lay down on the bed without bothering to remove his dressing gown, and pulled the covers over his head.

Maggie let herself out of the main door and walked across the communal car park to where she had left her hired Metro. Her hands were shaking slightly as she retrieved the keys from her pocket, got in and started the engine. She pulled out of the car park a little too fast, bumping over the dip where drive met kerb, and turned along the road which was lined on either side by imposing Victorian mansions. Only when she reached the roundabout at the end and swung the car back in the direction of town did she slow down.

Her nerves were twanging, her mind seething. She'd been almost afraid to call on Brendan; in spite of her assurances to Mike that she could look after herself she had been well aware that it was not a very sensible thing to do – Brendan had always been a dangerous man and given her suspicions of him she had known she could be walking into danger.

But she had risked it – anything to try and find out what had happened to Ros. And the risk had been well worth taking. She had emerged unscathed and though she had not found Ros, and Brendan had insisted he knew nothing about her disappearance, she knew for a fact that he had lied to her.

She had asked him not once but twice whether he had seen Ros recently and he had denied it, specifically stating that she had not been to the flat since before Christmas. But Maggie knew different. She had used collecting the dirty mugs as an excuse to take a good look around, and in the bedroom she had found a piece of very telling evidence.

On the floor, amidst the general clutter, was a scarf Maggie had instantly recognised. It was a silk scarf, patterned blues and greens with a border of gold. Now she eased her foot off the accelerator and pulled it out of her pocket where she had thrust it out of sight.

She had bought this scarf herself for Ros in one of the fashionable boutiques in Kerkira. At the time she had wondered if it was taking coals to Newcastle to give a scarf to Ros, who worked for one of the world's most renowned producers of luxury neckwear, but she'd thought Ros would like the typically Grecian pattern, might even show it to Vandina's own designers for their inspiration. And she had sent it to Ros only last month as a present for her birthday.

Useless for Brendan to protest that Ros had not been at his flat since before Christmas – the scarf proved otherwise.

Oh my God, Ros, what has he done to you? Maggie wondered, and felt her stomach close with dread.

The very first public telephone booth she saw, Maggie stopped the car and put a call through to Mike's school.

Luckily it was the lunch hour, she knew he would not be teaching now, but it took some time for the secretary who answered the phone to locate him and Maggie had used up almost all her small change feeding the meter before he came on the line.

‘Mike – thank goodness!' She was trembling with anxiety, the receiver sticking to her moist palm.

‘Maggie! Is something wrong?'

‘I'm not sure.' She forced her voice to sound reasonably normal. ‘But I think it might be. I've just been to see Brendan.'

‘What did he say?'

‘Oh, he told me he hadn't seen Ros for months. But he was lying, Mike. Her scarf was there, in his flat.'

‘Scarf? What scarf?'

‘The one I sent her for her birthday last month. She's been there, and recently. I'm going to the police now, to tell them about it, but I wanted you to know first. And to ask you which police station I should report to. Who is dealing with the case?'

‘The local divisional HQ. But to be frank, Maggie, I don't think they'll be interested.'

‘What do you mean – not interested?'

The digital display on the telephone was flashing again. Maggie fed her last ten-pence piece into it.

‘They rang me earlier on. There's been a development. They've found Ros's car.'

‘Where?'

‘That's just it. It was in the car park outside Bristol Temple Meads railway station. The car park attendants say it's been there for more than a week and the police seem to think that confirms their theory that Ros has simply gone off somewhere.'

‘But she wouldn't!'

‘Try telling them that. With her car sitting outside a main-line station it does seem to point to her having taken a train.'

‘Yes, but …'

‘Tell them about the scarf if you like but I think you'll be banging your head against a brick wall.'

‘What are we to do then?' Maggie asked desperately.

‘Have you been to Vandina?'

‘No, not yet.'

‘I think you should. I keep thinking about what she said about something odd going on there. It's possible it does have some bearing on her disappearance. And someone like Dinah Marshall might be able to throw some light on it.'

‘But the scarf …'

‘Could be leading us up a blind alley. There was no other sign of Ros being there?'

‘No, but …'

‘It's not much to go on then, is it? And if she's not there now we're no further on. I think you could be overreacting, Maggie. Go and see Dinah, see what you can find out there, and we'll talk again tonight.'

‘But …'

But the display was showing zero again and before she could finish, the line disconnected. Maggie stood for a moment looking at the telephone as if it might reconnect her to Mike by magic, then she hung up and walked back to her car.

She felt a little calmer now. Just talking to Mike had made her feel better, and perhaps he was right. Perhaps she was over-reacting. The fact that Brendan had lied to her didn't necessarily mean he was hiding something sinister. It could simply be that for some reason he didn't want her to know that Ros had been to see him. But still she was uneasy. All very well for Mike to take the sensible, unmelodramatic point of view. He didn't know Brendan as she did. And he seemed to have it in his head that they might find the reason behind Ros's disappearance at Vandina.

Was it possible he had something there? Had something happened that had upset her so much she had simply taken off for a few days? Her car had been found at the railway station, Mike had said, and that certainly pointed to her driving herself there and leaving by train. As for the suitcase – perhaps she had treated herself to a new one, or taken an overnight bag and then stayed away longer than she had intended, unable to bring herself to return and face … whatever it was that was troubling her.

But whatever it was, why hadn't she confided in Mike? He had been away when she left, it was true, but she had already mentioned ‘something funny going on' – why hadn't she explained further? Mike was the easiest person in the world to talk to, Maggie thought, straightforward, easy-going, with plenty of sound common sense – the very opposite of her own explosive, impatient husband who was totally unsympathetic to anything which did not directly concern him. And surely whatever the reason for her going, Ros could have got in touch with Mike since his return – unless something was dreadfully wrong.

Maggie realised she had begun to tremble again.

She started the car, trying to subdue the feeling of rising panic.

She would drive over to Vandina now, she thought, and see what she could find out there before going to the police with the evidence of the scarf.

Resolutely she pulled out from the kerb into the heavy traffic and concentrated on finding the right lane to take her out of town once more.

The Vandina factory and office block, architect-designed to be both functional and aesthetically pleasing, stood in open countryside on the outskirts of a small village. As Maggie pulled into the spacious car park the bright June sunshine seemed to be reflected from endless panes of glass, and from the landscaped gardens which surrounded the car park the scent of hundreds of rose bushes perfumed the air.

Maggie locked up her hired Metro and went in through the main entrance. A receptionist seated behind a polished wood desk looked up and smiled at her.

‘Good afternoon. Can I help?'

‘I'd like to see Dinah Marshall,' Maggie said.

The receptionist's smile became a little more fixed.

‘Do you have an appointment?'

‘No, I don't, but I was hoping to see her anyway. I'm Maggie Veritos, Ros Newman's sister.'

‘Oh, I see.' Clearly she did not, but Ros's name carried weight anyway. ‘I'm terribly sorry but I'm afraid Miss Marshall isn't in at the moment. She had a lunch appointment and she hasn't returned yet. And when she does I believe she will be tied up in meetings. Could her secretary help you, perhaps?'

Maggie hesitated. It wasn't what she wanted but if Dinah Marshall wasn't here it might be an option.

‘Well, possibly …' she demurred.

The receptionist lifted the receiver of a dove-grey telephone and dialled a number.

‘Liz – I have Ros Newman's sister here in reception. She wanted to see Miss Marshall but I have suggested perhaps you might be able to help.'

Liz – the person who had telephoned and left a message on Ros's answering machine. She could do worse, Maggie thought.

‘Thank you, Liz.' The receptionist replaced the receiver and smiled at Maggie again. She was clearly either a very bright-natured girl or else she had been trained to do a lot of smiling, Maggie decided. ‘If you'd like to go through, up the stairs, turn left and it's the third door on the right.'

Maggie followed the directions, her feet sinking into the pile of a luxurious carpet of deep blue. As she reached the head of the stairs a door away to her left opened and a pretty but rather plump girl wearing a smart navy-blue coat-dress came out.

‘You must be Ros's sister. I can tell that just by looking at you.'

‘I didn't know we were that much alike,' Maggie said.

‘Well, perhaps you're not. But I can certainly see the likeness. Do come in.'

She led the way into a square office. Like the corridor it was carpeted in blue. The walls were lined with filing cabinets, pine-faced, not metal, and above them hung framed prints of some of the most successful Vandina advertisements and one or two original design sketches. The girl plumped down in her own swivel chair and indicated a blue-leather upholstered chair drawn up at right angles to the desk.

‘Have a seat. I'm Liz Christopher.'

‘Maggie Veritos.'

‘Pleased to meet you, Maggie. What can I do for you?'

‘It's Ros. No one seems to know where she is. I was wondering if you could help.'

Liz shook her head, dark hair bouncing about her round, pretty face.

‘Sorry, I can't. She's not here. She called in and said she needed to take emergency leave.'

‘She didn't say why?'

‘No.'

‘Are you sure?'

‘Quite sure. I took the call myself. She didn't give any explanation at all.'

Maggie chewed at her lip. Liz must have been the last person to speak to Ros before she went … wherever she had gone.

‘How did she sound?' she asked. ‘I mean, was she upset?'

Liz considered. ‘Not upset, exactly. A bit strained, perhaps. But then she had been strained for a few days.'

‘Do you know why that was?'

‘Not for sure. She had been under a certain amount of pressure.'

‘What sort of pressure? You see the reason I ask is that she had told Mike Thompson, her boyfriend, that there was something odd going on here but she didn't say what it was. I was wondering if you might know.'

‘Oh, I see.' Liz's plump cheeks turned a gentle shade of pink. ‘Well, I don't know that I ought to talk about that … it's really very awkward –' She broke off suddenly as a door to an inner office opened and a young man emerged. Tall, fair, stunningly good-looking in a striped shirt and chinos, he seemed to dominate the office. Liz's flush deepened and she became overtly flustered.

‘What is awkward, Liz?' he asked. There was a slight transatlantic twang to his voice, Maggie noticed. Then, without waiting for an answer, he swung his gaze to Maggie, piercing blue eyes offset by a smile that could almost take your breath away. ‘ I'm sorry to interrupt. I'm Steve Lomax, Dinah Marshall's son.'

Maggie was surprised. She hadn't known Dinah had a son. No reason why she should, of course, but she didn't think she could ever remember having heard Ros mention him.

‘Maggie Veritos, Ros Newman's sister.'

‘Yes, I gathered that.' His voice, his whole manner, was pleasant, but was there something guarded in those startlingly blue eyes? ‘Do I understand you've come here looking for Ros?'

‘Not looking for her in the way you mean. I realise she's not here. But I am trying to find out her whereabouts. I'm very concerned about her.'

‘I'm sorry, I don't quite understand. Why are you concerned about Ros?'

Another disbeliever, Maggie thought wearily. Aloud, she said: ‘No one seems to know where she is. I was hoping someone here might have some idea.'

Steve's eyes narrowed slightly. ‘ Who, exactly?'