The Lady Vanished (6 page)

‘Fine. Said it was very nice, lovely food and service. It seemed to have done her good.’

‘Ok, thanks a lot. Give my best to the cats.’

‘They miss her. I can see they’re disappointed when they realise it’s only me again.’ Her voice lowered. ‘Don’t forget to call by for a coffee some time, Tyrone.’

Swift walked along Buckingham Palace Road, zipping up his leather jacket against the breeze, thinking that it was only the cats who truly needed and missed Carmen; for the people in her life, her disappearance was a worry or an inconvenience but they didn’t miss her. He had begun to feel a tug of sympathy for her and an understanding of how isolated her husband’s death must have left her.

* * *

He and Ruth always met in the Evergreen, a small pub tucked away off Ebury Street. It was quiet on Mondays, and by now they were on first name terms with Krystyna, the waitress. Ruth was there when he arrived, sitting at their usual table by a side window decorated with stained glass. She was reading and twisting a strand of hair around a forefinger, just as she had been the first time he ever glimpsed her in the British Museum café. He had sat opposite her with his coffee, she had moved her bag to make room and smiled at him and that had been that; six years together and then the day she had been waiting for him when he came back from Lyons. He had run up the stairs to their flat in Dulwich, anticipating the sight of her. She had kissed his cheek, made him a coffee, offered him his favourite almond pastry and told him in a tight voice that she had met someone else. Since Ruth, there had been no one significant, no one he could imagine wanting to go home to.

She looked up and saw him, smiled, tucking her hair back. He sat, sliding his jacket off.

‘Hi. How are you?’

‘Okay. The class this morning was a bit oversubscribed but went well anyway. You?’

‘Fine. You look a bit tired.’

‘Emlyn had a broken night, that’s all. But he’s managing to do some work today, so that’s good.’

They ordered drinks and food; Ruth had become a vegetarian, as Emlyn was, and opted for a mushroom ravioli. While they ate, Swift told her about his new case and how he’d made little progress.

‘Don’t you find it frustrating sometimes, after the Met and Interpol,’ she asked, ‘working on your own with no backup?’

‘Rarely and I can always contact old colleagues.’ He laughed and told her about Rachel Breen’s insults.

‘Sounds like you got involved in a domestic there.’

‘The unwitting fate of the private detective.’

‘But what can have happened to this woman? Surely if she’d been murdered, a body would have been found?’

‘You’d have thought so. Maybe it’s well hidden.’

‘You do hear about skeletons being found behind walls and fireplaces. Her family must be so worried.’

‘Hardly. I’ve yet to meet the stepson but there seems to be no love lost.’

They had coffee. She knew far more of his world than he did of hers, being familiar with his extended family. He updated her on Cedric and told her about Mary having a new partner. She spoke of her work and her plan to study for an MSc. Then they were silent for a while. There were only two other customers, men in suits with laptops, discussing sales margins. Krystyna polished glasses and bottles at the bar, making busywork for herself on a slow day. There was usually a point like this, when it became too painful to talk.

‘We’re like secret agents,’ Ruth said at last. ‘Regular clandestine meetings, walks in the park, lives compartmentalised.’

He nodded, touching her hand. ‘I’ve missed you.’

‘Yes. I never stopped loving you, Ty; I temporarily misplaced the love, lost my way. And I am so fond of Emlyn and I married him. We both go through so much pain and I’m the cause of it. If it’s of any comfort, I feel it too, every day. But regrets are pointless. I keep hoping that one day you’ll email me to say you’ve found someone special and you need to say goodbye. Then I could stop tormenting you and myself. I could stop feeling guilty, selfish.’ She rubbed the back of his hand gently.

‘We both know that I would need to say goodbye for myself, for my own reasons alone, and that I probably won’t be able to focus on anyone else until I do.’

She nodded. ‘Then you should, you should.’

They had time for a short walk under the trees in the park before turning back for the station. He walked her to the ticket barrier and kissed her forehead. He could feel her trembling and backed away, holding up a hand in farewell. He walked through back streets as far as World’s End, hardly noticing his route, where he caught a bus to Hammersmith. Closing his eyes, he dwelled for some moments on Ruth’s face, bathed in the lemony light from the stained-glass window, thought of the roughened skin on her fingers, from where she had been sanding a door. Then, annoyed with himself, he rubbed his head vigorously and raised and lowered his shoulders three times, causing a woman sitting opposite to give him a strange look. He took out his phone and rang Lilac Grange. He asked for the name of the manager and was told it was Maria Berardi. He asked to speak to her and after a brief wait he was put through and explained his reason for calling.

‘I don’t see how we can help you,’ Ms Berardi said, her voice rising and falling with Italian inflections. ‘Mrs Langborne only came here once.’

‘I don’t know if you can. I just need to follow up anything that might contribute to understanding her disappearance.’

She sounded hesitant. ‘Why have the police not been in touch?’

‘They don’t know about this. Her GP just remembered today and informed me. I advised her to tell them but I don’t know if they’ll think it significant enough to follow up on.’

‘Well, we are very busy here . . .’

He softened his voice. ‘I do appreciate that but Mrs Langborne’s family are very distressed about this and so far there has been no trace at all of her. I will be as brief as possible when I come. If I could just speak to you and any staff who worked with her. It would mean a lot.’

She capitulated and agreed to see him on Wednesday afternoon. Back at the office, he wrote up a synopsis of the information he had gleaned that morning, then polished off the casserole Cedric had given him for supper. He sat watching a game show on TV, aware that he was in danger of drifting into the kind of fugue that often crept over him after a meeting with Ruth. He was checking conditions on the river when there was a knock on his door.

‘Hello, my dear one,’ Cedric said.’ I was wondering if you could come and take a look at my boiler. I can’t get any hot water.’ He was wearing a gold-and-blue Hawaiian print shirt and yellow Bermuda shorts, and lit up the shadowy hallway.

Swift followed him upstairs and managed to relight the pilot in the boiler. By way of thanks, Cedric insisted on taking him to the Silver Mermaid, where worse for wear after too much red wine and several card games, they staggered back around midnight, holding each other up, Cedric singing
it ain’t what you do, it’s the way that you do it.

* * *

The Abelie was a two-storey restaurant overlooking the river, all snowy white tablecloths and stark décor. Swift had assumed that a permanent secretary wouldn’t be slumming it and had put on one of his classier suit jackets, an ironed white shirt and his least frayed jeans. Langborne was there when he arrived, sitting at a table overlooking the river and drinking bottled water. He looked up as the waiter escorted Swift across the room and stood, holding out a hand.

‘Mr Swift, good to meet you.’

‘Hi. And you.’

‘A drink? I stick to water during the day. The minister is teetotal and doesn’t appreciate alcohol on the breath.’ His voice was deep and smoothly confident.

Swift’s head was still slightly cloudy from the night out with Cedric. ‘Water’s fine for me, thanks.’

Langborne poured him water as the waiter brought two menus. He was tall, almost Swift’s own height, fleshy and big boned and nearly bald with dark freckles on his scalp. There was little resemblance to his sister except around the mouth, with a full lower lip. His eyes were slightly bloodshot but his look was penetrating. He had the sleek, assured appearance of a man who ate well and had a wardrobe of tailored clothes. His suit on this occasion was dark blue, his tie grey; a gesture of idiosyncratic colour was added by the buttonhole he was sporting, a small spray of thistles and heather on a blue ribbon.

‘Shall we choose our food before we discuss my stepmother? Everything in here is good. I always have the steak and kidney pie. My wife only allows red meat occasionally, so I cheat when I lunch out.’

Swift ordered a cod bake, Langborne his pie with seasonal vegetables. He smoothed his tie and spread his broad hands on the table. His fingers were thick, the nails square and short.

‘So, any idea where Carmen might be?’ he asked.

‘Not as yet. I understand that your view is that she’s gone away and will be back.’

‘It would follow previous form, that’s why I thought it originally. Obviously, as time goes by, it does seem less likely.’

Swift sipped his water. It was warm by the window. The river rippled enticingly in the sun.

‘I don’t believe it was ever likely. Mrs Langborne left her cats unfed overnight and that is something she just wouldn’t do.’

‘Hmm. Carmen can be capricious, you see. She does like to create an air of mystery at times.’

No, Swift thought, it doesn’t add up but he changed tack.

‘How do you get on with your stepmother?’

‘We manage fine. I find her a little rigid and opinionated at times and we don’t see each other that often but when we do, we get along okay.’

‘I’ve had the impression that she gets on better with men.’

‘That’s true, she likes male company, especially since my father died. I expect my sister has told you that she and Carmen don’t rub along too well. Flo has never really forgiven Carmen for breaking up our parents’ marriage.’

‘And you?’

Langborne held his hands up. ‘Live and let live, say I. And it would be a case of pots and kettles for me; I left my second wife for my current one, you see. Although no children were involved.’

Something about his affability struck Swift as surface deep; he sensed a more complex and difficult personality below. ‘I think I read that your mother died?’

‘That’s correct. A couple of years ago.’

‘When did you last see Carmen?’

Langborne tapped his fingers on the table. ‘New Year’s day. I called in about four thirty and we had a glass of wine. I was with her for about an hour. Duty done, I went off to my flat in Knightsbridge.’

‘You live in London?’

‘I have a flat here where I stay several nights a week. My other home is in Berkshire. I rang Carmen once during January, can’t recall exactly when, just to check in. She seemed fine.’

The food arrived and they were silent while the waiter fussed around. Langborne attacked his pie with relish, cutting it open so that it released a heavy scent in a steamy vapour. Swift disliked the smell of offal and felt his appetite vanish as Langborne speared a glistening hunk of kidney. He bet Langborne was the kind of man who liked steamed puddings with custard.

‘Do you think it’s possible that Mrs Langborne was seeing someone?’

Langborne chewed, dabbed gravy from his mouth with his napkin and looked interested.

‘Seeing someone as in a romantic attachment? Well, always possible I suppose. She socialises a good deal, you know, often out and about. Perhaps she had met someone. She’s not one for confiding, you see, that’s not the kind of thing she would have told me or Flo. Come to think of it, she was getting rid of some of my late father’s things a couple of months back. Clearing the decks? What makes you ask that?’

‘Her housekeeper said she seemed in a good mood the day before she vanished. It was just a thought.’

‘Well . . . I hoped she might meet someone, give her something to focus on other than charities. One doesn’t want anyone to be on their own in older age. I wasn’t sure she would, though; she could be rather black-and-white in her views, lacking flexibility. A man doesn’t always appreciate that.’

Swift suppressed an urge to laugh. Rupert’s pomposity and physical heft made him seem older than his years. ‘Your father didn’t mind her rigidity?’

Rupert took the thrust in his stride. ‘He was infatuated with her, thought she could do no wrong. Love is blind, as they say.’

Swift could detect annoyance behind the bland response. There was a practised smoothness about Langborne, which he found unsurprising given his profession, and also an air of authority; polished in the Sandhurst days, no doubt.

Swift declined pudding and asked for coffee. Langborne chose sticky toffee pudding and ice cream. He winked conspiratorially.

‘Puddings; another item forbidden by the memsahib apart from weekends. Why are women so obsessed by their husbands’ diets?’

‘An expression of love?’

Langborne inclined his head. ‘A thoughtful response. How long have you been a private detective?’

‘A while.’

‘Is it lucrative?’

‘I do okay. I got the impression you weren’t all that keen on your sister engaging me.’