Missing (4 page)

There was a moment’s silence, which caused her a beat of unease, until Alice’s husband, Angus, suddenly said, ‘Sorry. Are you there? Is that Alice?’

‘No, Vivienne. How are you?’

‘Snowed under, but not too busy to congratulate my girls on their movie deal. Alice left me a message. Dinner’s on me tonight. Hope you can make it. Rose and Crown, Kew Green? Tell my wife I love her, and book us a table if you get a minute.’

‘We’d starve without you,’ Vivienne informed him, only half joking. And putting the phone down she said to Alice, ‘Angus loves you, and is taking us to dinner tonight.’

Rescuing two fizzing mugs from the tray Kayla was carrying, Alice passed one to Vivienne, saying, ‘Here’s to my husband, our accountant; Irwin, our saviour, and the WI for their crazy schemes, though they’re not going to earn us any money, and frankly I’m starting to feel a bit doubtful about helping them since you got the call from Miles. Kenleigh might be some distance from Moorlands, but it’s still in the same county.’

‘I thought they were only after advice,’ Vivienne replied, aware of the churning feeling inside her. ‘Are you saying we’re getting involved?’

Alice grimaced. ‘Actually, I don’t think we have much choice, and I know you’re going to agree, because the reason for their auction is to help Sharon Goss, who – I’m sorry to break it to you like this – has leukaemia.’

Vivienne’s face drained. ‘Oh my God,’ she murmured, unable to comprehend life’s cruelties as she pictured Sharon’s slight, tragic figure beside her husband’s grave, and how she’d tried to throw herself onto the coffin as it was lowered. It was Miles who’d caught her and wrapped her in his arms before taking her back to the car, while Vivienne had followed behind with the Goss’s two frightened little children. ‘Of course we have to help,’ she said forcefully. ‘Just tell me what they need the money for? Medical treatment? Transport? Living?’

Alice’s smile showed her admiration for Vivienne’s response, which though no surprise, was no less touching for that. ‘Sharon’s not able to earn any more,’ she answered, ‘so she’s worried about how she’s going to take care of her children while she has her treatment. Apparently the first bout has already left her up to her eyes in debt, and the stress of it isn’t doing her any good at all.’

‘Of course not,’ Vivienne agreed, with feeling. ‘Just thank goodness the local WI has stepped in to try and help out. I take it that is what’s happened?’

Alice nodded. ‘And they in turn are calling on you, because you’re the one Sharon has all the faith in, because of what you did for Keith.’ She took a breath. ‘I think, however, that it’s looking as though they’ll have to put up with me, because after the call from Miles we can’t let you go trundling off to Devon …’

‘Don’t be ridiculous. Of course I can do it. I have to.’

‘Vivi, once the press get wind of the fact that Jacqueline’s missing, they’re going to be crawling all over the place.’

‘But Moorlands is at least ten miles from Kenleigh, and anyway, whatever’s going on in my life cannot
take
precedence over Sharon Goss’s needs. Her husband’s dead, Alice, and her children might be about to lose their mother. What can be more important than that?’

Alice looked at her, knowing that Vivienne was fully aware of the answer, so there was no need to spell it out.

‘OK,’ Vivienne said, ‘of course you’re right, but Jacqueline’s likely to turn up at any minute, so we can’t let her disappearance affect our decisions.’

Alice began to speak.

‘No,’ Vivienne interrupted, ‘putting my previous association with Sharon aside, we agreed when we started this agency that we’d alternate on the high-budget projects, and it’s your turn, so the movie’s yours, while I’ll do what I can to help Sharon and the WI.’

‘While Pete takes on
La Belle Amie
,’ Kayla piped up, ‘to bring us in a bit more dosh.’

Vivienne looked at her.

‘They’re willing to pay top whack to get us,’ Kayla cried. ‘Her agent’s already said so, and it’s easy money. Everyone wants to interview someone like her, all tits, ass and a career full of shags. And she’s willing to talk about it.’

‘If she weren’t, we couldn’t help her,’ Vivienne pointed out, ‘but I’m still saying—’

‘Let’s get back to the WI and Sharon,’ Alice interrupted. ‘Without disputing who’s going to handle it for the moment, the idea they’ve come up with is to hold a slave auction.’

‘You’re kidding!’ Kayla exclaimed in shock. ‘They’ll never get away with that.’

‘My reaction to a T,’ Alice told her, ‘at which point I
was
informed that Vivienne would understand right away what they meant, because slave auctions happen all the time in the country.’

Vivienne was laughing. ‘They do,’ she confirmed. ‘It’s when someone offers their skill – gardening, cleaning, plumbing, you name it – to the highest bidder. The money, of course, goes to the good cause, not the tradesman.’

‘I understand that now,’ Alice informed her, ‘but it did give me a bit of a turn when they first said it. Anyway, they’re fully aware that an ordinary slave auction isn’t going to raise much cash, which is why they’ve come to us – or you – to see if we can turn their sow’s ear into a silk purse, I quote.’

Vivienne was already looking thoughtful.

‘Actually, I should add that a few of them have already cooked up a scheme that might just work, given the right spin. They’re thinking that instead of putting local tradesmen under the hammer they could put toy boys up there, or gigolos, or I forget what they called them now, but essentially they reckon they’ll get more interest if there’s a bit of a sexy angle to it.’

Vivienne blinked several times. ‘Well, they’re right about that,’ she replied, ‘but what are these boys supposed to do for the highest bidder? Actually, don’t answer that, I don’t think I want to know. Are you sure it was the WI you saw?’

‘So they said, and I’ve no reason to doubt it, but I have to admit they weren’t the middle-class blue-rinsers I’d imagined. Much more colourful, in fact, especially Stella Coombes. Have you ever met her?’

Vivienne shook her head.

‘Then if you do you’re in for a treat.’

Vivienne took a sip of her champagne as she
continued
to think. ‘So how have you left it with them?’ she asked.

‘A bit up in the air, really, but I don’t think they’re going to take much sorting out.’

‘In which case there’s no reason for it not to fall to me. In fact, I’ve already got a fair idea of how we can do this, but first tell me more about Sharon’s condition.’

After exchanging glances with Kayla indicating that, as usual, they were impressed by Vivienne’s quick thinking, Alice said, ‘Like anyone suffering from leukaemia – at least I think it’s anyone – she’s in need of a bone-marrow transplant. The search is on for a donor, obviously, but it turns out that “our Sharon” as they call her, is a rare tissue type so they’re having trouble finding a match. If,
when
, they do – actually, even before that – she needs help taking care of her children, meeting the bills, paying off her debts, finding a bit extra for the treats, all the usual stuff. It might be easier if she had some family backup, but it turns out she’s something of a waif, because both her parents are dead, so are Keith’s, and there are no sisters or brothers or even extended family capable of helping out in a way that’s going to make a difference. Which is why Stella Coombes, in the shape of the local WI, has stepped in to lend support, but money’s obviously really tight, and it’s only going to get worse.’

Vivienne’s expression showed how hard she was thinking. ‘How much time does Sharon have?’ she asked, bluntly.

‘We’re talking months, and not all that many,’ Alice answered gravely.

‘Oh God,’ Vivienne murmured, finding herself being caught up in the poor girl’s terror.

‘Which is why,’ Alice continued, ‘they need to get the auction under way as soon as possible. Like I said, I’m willing to take it on myself while you do the movie …’

‘You could always let Pete handle it,’ Kayla suggested.

‘No, we’ll give him
La Belle Amie
,’ Vivienne told her. ‘It’s more his thing. And Alice,
you’re
doing the movie, while I sort out the auction. If we stage it right it could turn out to be big news for us, even if we don’t get paid.’

‘See,’ Alice said to Kayla, ‘she’s a genius, because she’s obviously already got some plan worked out that’s going to benefit us too.’

‘Maybe,’ Vivienne said, ‘but our main concern right now is to give Sharon some financial peace of mind.’

‘And what about you and the press and Jacqueline?’ Alice wanted to know. ‘Because you don’t need me to remind you that you’ve got a lot more at stake this time around.’

‘You’re right, I don’t need reminding, but why don’t we think about Sharon first, then deal with any other problems as they arise, because for all we know, they just might not.’

Chapter Two

MILES AVERY’S SUNKEN
dark eyes appeared solemn and slightly wary as he shook hands with Detective Inspector Sadler. The inspector’s parka jacket was dripping rain on the grey flagstones of the entrance hall, where a cosy seating area was presided over by a wall of abstract watercolours, and a hand-carved wooden staircase began its ascent to the upper floor. At the far end of the hall, opposite the door, a floor-to-ceiling arched window framed an exquisite view of stone terraces and balustrades, and the wide, sloping sweep of the lawns down to a small lake, rippling now in the rain. All around the grounds thick clusters of trees were already changing colour with the season, while on the hillsides that protected the valley deep, dense woods grouped like a haze-shrouded audience across the horizon.

Though Miles stood at least a head taller than the balding police officer, it wasn’t so much his height, at six feet one, that was unusual, as Sadler’s lack of it. Having had experience of short men – at best defensive, at worst downright hostile – Miles was trying to keep an open mind as he closed the front door, while Mrs Davies, the housekeeper, took the detective’s coat.

‘DC Elaine Joy,’ Sadler said, turning to introduce the ruddy-cheeked female officer who’d accompanied him.

Miles’s expression was polite as he greeted the young DC, who was doing a poor job of concealing how thrilled she was to be in this important man’s house.

‘He’s not that important,’ Sadler had informed her snappily before they’d arrived. ‘He only edited a newspaper, for heaven’s sake.’

‘And owns that lovely house and grounds right next to the moor. And writes all those columns. And tells dumbass politicians where to get off when they need to. In my book, that makes him important, but if it’s bugging you, sir, I won’t say it again.’

Miles Avery was also a bit of all right, DC Joy was thinking to herself, as the housekeeper carried off their coats and Miles directed them towards a set of double doors. Not that that was any surprise, she’d seen him on the telly or in the papers often enough, so was perfectly aware of what he looked like, but it had to be said, in the flesh he was definitely not a let-down. Of course he was a bit old for her at forty-five, and probably a bit posh too, considering her own humble roots, but since she wasn’t here to assess his looks or suitability, she quickly reasserted her professional neutrality and followed him and Sadler into the sitting room.

For quite a large room it was surprisingly cosy, with a wood fire crackling in a wide, open hearth, and all sorts of colourful paintings hanging on the walls that weren’t of anything DC Joy could recognise, but she liked them anyway. The furniture wasn’t what she might have expected, since it was kind of shabby and
plush
all at once, and covered in downy cushions and throws – in fact, it was just the sort of thing a person could sink into and spread out on to watch the TV. Not that there was any sign of a telly in here, though it could be hidden in one of the antique wood cabinets, or, for all she knew, one of the paintings might transform itself into a screen. Anything was possible these days, especially if you had the money, and there wasn’t much doubt, looking at this place, that Miles Avery had plenty of that.

Noticing the young detective taking in her surroundings, Miles treated her to a friendly smile before his eyes were drawn back to Sadler as the detective said, ‘I hope we’re not interrupting anything. We probably should have called …’

‘No, it’s fine,’ Miles assured him, waving them towards one of the sofas while he went to stand with his back to the fire. ‘Can I get you anything? Tea? Coffee?’

‘No, we’re OK, thank you,’ Sadler replied, before Joy made the mistake of accepting.

Miles’s expression was benign as his eyes moved between the detectives. He wasn’t particularly surprised that a senior officer was following up on yesterday’s routine visit from the two PCs who’d come in response to his call, but he did wonder how much digging around Sadler might already have done into his family’s affairs. It was that thought, amongst others, that was making it necessary for him to conceal his ingrained antipathy towards the police as best he could. ‘I was told yesterday,’ he said, ‘that someone would be contacting the transport police.’

Sadler nodded. ‘It’s been done,’ he said. ‘They’re still checking the CCTV tapes. Naturally, we’ll let you
know
when they come back to us.’ He cleared his throat. ‘I’ve looked through the information you gave the response team yesterday, but I’m afraid it might be necessary to go over the same ground …’

‘That’s fine,’ Miles assured him.

Sadler looked at him with cautious eyes. There was something about this man that was already getting under his skin, but for the moment he couldn’t put his finger on what – apart from all the privilege and dosh, not to mention how well connected he was, a fact that rarely made Sadler’s life easy. ‘You say it’s been three weeks since you last saw your wife?’ he said matter-of-factly.

‘That’s right.’

Miles’s expression, DC Joy was thinking, had become not so much defensive as guarded, though not in a hostile way, more sort of … well, like he didn’t really want to be going through this, and who could blame him for that?