Presence of Mind (9 page)

‘She'll probably be here any minute.' I poured a cup for Lance and carried it across the grass. He was staring out of the window again, with no indication of having done any work at all. He turned sharply at my approach.

‘Well, how is she?'

‘She's not back yet. The test has probably delayed them. Here's your tea, anyway.'

He said restlessly, ‘I wish she'd come. I can't help feeling rather anxious.'

‘Me too. Since you're not working I'll bring my cup and join you.'

Minutes later I lowered myself gingerly on to the stool where Stella had sat that morning. I glanced at my watch for the second time in two minutes and resolved not to look at it again until Briony was walking over the grass towards us. She was sure to be home before we'd finished tea. Yet slowly as I drank it, there was still no sign of her. The restlessness returned.

‘I think I'll go and have a bath. I'm all sticky from sleeping in the sun.'

‘It's really rather inconsiderate of her,' Lance said edgily.

‘She should have realised we'd be a bit anxious today.'

‘She's probably chatting with her friends, comparing answers.'

‘All the same –'

‘She won't be long now.'

Although I had needed his company, his concern was now almost outweighing mine and I couldn't withstand them both. I put the deck chair away in the shed, playing a futile game with myself. She'll be home before I reach the terrace – by the time I've put the chair away – before I go inside. But the shed door was shut and padlocked, the tea tray returned to Mrs Rose, and still there was no sign of Briony.

If she's not back by the time I've had my bath, I'll start phoning her friends, I told myself, and there was a little comfort at the thought of positive action. It was nonsense to worry because a seventeen-year-old girl was – what? – forty minutes late home from school, and in broad daylight too. But Briony hadn't looked well that morning, despite the brave act she had put on, and she was usually very punctilious about phoning to let us know if she was going to be late.

I kept the bathroom door open while I ran the water so that I could hear the front door, bathed quickly and had just stepped out of the water when the telephone shrilled through the house. I dragged a towel round my dripping body and ran barefoot to the bedroom.

‘Hello? Briony?'

There was a brief pause and then a boy's voice answered, ‘No, it's Mark, Mrs Tenby. I was phoning to find out how Briony is.'

‘You didn't meet her after school, then?'

‘No, she wasn't there.'

There was a short pulsing silence. I moistened my lips. ‘You mean she hadn't come out? Perhaps the test –'

‘No, I mean she wasn't at school at all. I waited for a while and then one of the other girls said she hadn't been there today.

So I – I rang to see if she was ill.'

I said carefully, ‘But of course she was there. I didn't want her to go, but she insisted because of the French test.' There was an awkward silence and I added uncertainly, ‘Perhaps the girl you spoke to was in another class and just didn't happen to see her.'

‘No.' Mark's voice sounded shaken but sure of his facts. ‘It was Rebecca Forrest who told me. She has the next desk to Briony. Apparently they were all surprised when she didn't turn up because she'd been working hard for that test.'

The breeze from the open window rippled across my bare wet shoulders and I shivered. ‘I don't understand,' I said numbly.

‘Shall I get my bike out and have a scout round? Perhaps she felt faint and sat down to rest somewhere.'

‘Would you, Mark? Thank you.' I put the phone down and stood staring at the moisture clouding it from my damp hand.

Behind me Lance's voice said sharply, ‘Was that Briony?'

I turned slowly. ‘No, it was Mark. He says she hasn't been at school today.'

‘Hasn't –? But that's ridiculous. She insisted, because of –'

‘Yes, I know.'

We stared at each other across the room, each afraid to move lest the hovering cloud of fear and apprehension should swoop down and engulf us. I said, ‘He's going out on his bike to look for her.'

‘To look where, for Pete's sake?'

I shook my head blindly, clutching at the towel.

‘You'd better get some clothes on. You'll catch a chill.'

‘What time did she leave the house? About eight-thirty?
Someone
must have seen her, children going to school or someone hurrying for a train to work.'

‘Eight-thirty. That's about nine hours. She was all right when she left here. If she didn't go to school, where the hell did she go?'

‘I don't know.' The trembling had started and I fought to control it. ‘Suppose on the way she decided after all she couldn't face the test. What would she be most likely to do?'

‘Come back here, I should have thought.'

‘She might not have wanted to worry us.'

‘This is ten times worse.'

‘Mark said she might have felt faint and sat down to rest somewhere.'

‘For eight hours?' His voice cracked. ‘If only she'd let me take her in the car as I suggested. I should have insisted.'

If only. How many times had those sad little words been whispered in an agony of self-reproach? If only I'd done that, or not done something else. If only – if only.

My teeth were chattering. Lance took my dressing-gown off the back of the door and brought it over, exchanging it for the damp towel. I said, ‘I'll ring Rebecca first and find out what I can.'

But Rebecca merely repeated what she had told Mark. To their surprise Briony had never arrived at school and as far as she knew no one had seen her on the way there. My legs gave way and I sat down shakily on the bed. ‘Did she take her bicycle?' I asked Lance, who was still hovering at my side.

‘I'll go and see.' He seemed glad to have something definite to do. Envying him, I sat unmoving. Minutes later he was back. “No, it's in the garage.'

‘Then she either walked or took the bus.'

‘She said something about wanting some fresh air.'

‘Suppose she walked then. How far is it to the school? About a mile?'

‘Along the road, yes, but if she hadn't got her bike she would probably have cut across the fields. That would explain why no one saw her.'

Across the fields. The words rang in my head like a knell. Might some strange, sick person have been waiting in the fields for a pretty girl to come along?

Lance said abruptly, ‘I'll get the car out and comb the side streets. If that doesn't do any good I'll walk across the fields and see if there's any trace of her.'

‘I'll come with you.'

‘No. First get dressed, then ring everyone you can think of whom she might have called to see. Anyone she's ever mentioned. And try to keep calm. She could still walk in at any moment, wondering what all the fuss is about.'

But suppose the Other One had intruded into Briony's troubled consciousness? Suppose without Mark's, restraining influence this unknown entity had really taken Briony away? What would it do with her?

‘Ann! Did you hear what I said?'

‘Yes.'

‘Then do as I say, there's a good girl. I'll get back as soon as I can and if there's any news I'll phone at once.' He looked at me doubtfully for a moment but I couldn't speak, and he went out of the room. I heard him run down the stairs, the slam of the front door and minutes later the car engine. Eventually, cautiously, I stood up and began automatically to get dressed, carefully holding my mind above the abyss of terror which waited just beneath the surface. First I'd phone the Pomfretts, then Cynthia, then -

Half an hour later when Lance returned I was still hopelessly phoning. A quick glance at each other's face was all that was needed to tell us there was still no news. It was now six o'clock and we could no longer pretend that she might walk in at any moment. It was Lance who put our joint decision into words.

‘We'd better phone the police.' I watched him start to dial but my ears were closed to what he said. ‘They don't seem to regard it as serious under twenty-four hours,' he said testily when he put down the phone. ‘Say she might have decided to go to the cinema or something. You'd think they'd give us credit for knowing she'd never do that without letting us know.'

‘But she might, Lance,' I said through dry lips. ‘She's not herself at the moment.' Then who was she? The question leapt out at me and I winced at its impact.

‘They also asked if there was a suitcase missing or anything in her room that might give us a lead. Have you looked in there?'

I shook my head. Together we went across the landing. Briony's room was in its usual happy chaos – laddered tights on the floor, letters strewn over the dressing-table.

‘Where does she keep her case?'

‘Up there.' I nodded to the top of the wardrobe. The lid of the suitcase was plainly visible. It was ludicrous even to consider that she might have taken it. She wasn't running away, for goodness sake – was she?

Lance had moved over to the desk by the window and begun opening drawers at random. ‘What are these?'

Something in his voice dragged my attention back and I went quickly towards him. He was holding a sheaf of rather stiff white paper and on the top sheet was a sketch of the house – surprisingly good.

‘Perhaps she really is interested in taking up art,' I suggested. He did not reply. He turned over the next sheet and to my alarm swayed suddenly. I caught his arm, holding on to the paper which his shaking hand was agitating violently. A girl's face gazed up at us, wide-eyed, mischievous, framed in a cloud of waving hair. To the right of the wide, humorous mouth was a small mole. It was astonishingly life-like. I said unbelievingly, ‘Briony drew that? What does it say?' I leant closer. Across the bottom corner was scribbled ‘Self Portrait 1958'.

Self
portrait? But it doesn't look at all like her. At least – not really. And the date obviously can't be right. She wasn't even born then.'

As I stopped speaking I became conscious of the quality of Lance's silence His face had taken on a greenish tinge and was gleaming with sweat and the violent shaking which, as my hand released the paper, rattled it ferociously again, had taken hold of his entire body in a merciless series of convulsions.

‘What is it, Lance?' I cried stridently. ‘Whatever's wrong?'

He dropped the papers and turned away, stumbling to the open window and leaning on the sill to draw in gulps of air. He muttered something in a low voice, more to himself than to me. It sounded like, ‘It can't be happening, but it is.'

‘What did you say?'

He turned to look at me, bewildered fear in his eyes. ‘It's
Briony
we want.'

‘Yes darling, I know, but it won't do us any good if you crack up as well.'

He didn't seem to hear me. He said wonderingly, ‘Am I going mad, Ann? Is this some sort of revenge?'

I stared back at him, fear lapping over me. ‘Lance, please pull yourself together. I need you.' My voice broke. His eyes shuttered and refocused on me. Silently he held out a hand and I ran to him, leaning against him for support. I could feel the heat of his body scorching through the thin shirt and the erratic pounding of his heart. His arms came up suddenly and gripped me painfully, making me gasp for breath, but there was an element of fierce pleasure in the pain. It was the first time I could remember that Lance had seemed to need me as much as I needed him. The moment passed. His arms slackened and I moved away from him.

‘There must be
something
we can do,' I said desperately. ‘Did you go all the way along the field path?'

‘Yes. It's pretty open. She'd have been in full view if she'd fallen or anything.' His voice was jerky, as though he was having to search for the individual words he needed. A tap on the door spun us round to see Mrs Rose standing nervously, her hands plucking at her apron.

‘Excuse me ma'am, sir, I was wondering what time Miss Briony will be home. Dinner is almost ready.'

Lance answered, ‘We don't know, Rosie. Apparently she never arrived at school today. We're very worried about her.'

‘Oh mercy!' The woman's face was frightened. Her fingers intensified their compulsive plucking. ‘Could she have been kidnapped or something?'

‘I don't think that's very likely, but as you know she's not been too well and we're afraid she might be ill somewhere and perhaps – not know where she is.' I looked across at him swiftly. Although I had said nothing to him of my deepest fear, the idea of amnesia had apparently occurred to him too.

‘You hear such dreadful things, though,' the housekeeper went on tremblingly. ‘Young girls disappear and are sometimes never heard of again. And sometimes, years later –' Her voice faded.

‘Yes, well we certainly don't want to think along those lines,' Lance said rallyingly, and I was aware from the twitching muscle in his temple what the effort cost him. ‘In the meantime, we all need to keep up our strength, so we must eat even if we don't feel at all like it. Come along, dear.'

He took my arm and led me gently across to the door. Just for a moment his eyes fell to the drawings scattered on the carpet and a tremor passed over his face. Then the three of us, each wrapped in a separate dimension of fear, went shakily downstairs to the waiting, unwanted meal.

The next forty-eight hours were of unremitting strain and fear. As hour slid into hour I had to fight an increasing hopelessness which began invidiously to pervade my thoughts. Resolutely I kept telling myself that if in truth Briony had simply ‘gone away' – mentally as well as physically – then sooner or later she would ‘come back' and realise who she was. And whenever that happened, she would surely phone us. In anticipation of this call I refused to undress that first night, lying on top of the bed beneath the quilt so as to be ready to leave the house at a moment's notice. In the next bed I knew that Lance too lay unsleeping.