The Caroline Quest: An addictive mystery novel Page 4

  ‘Well, I’m not at all sure I agree. No good ever comes of dwelling on the past.’ He was still smiling that false smile, and his tone had softened considerably. ‘A word to the wise. Take it from one who’s been on this earth considerably longer than you, my dear. I’m not unsympathetic, but it’s been a long time. For your own happiness, put your grief behind you and concentrate on the future.’

  Patronising bastard, I thought, and gave an equally false smile of my own.

  ‘You’re right, of course,’ I said.

  ‘As for finding his friends — well, my dear young lady, I don’t want to discourage you, but really it’s an exercise that’s doomed to failure. London has a very shifting population, you know. People move away, can’t be found. You’re here on holiday, and I hate to think of you wasting your precious time following all kinds of blind alleys. Why don’t you simply enjoy all the country has to offer?’

  If there was one thing I was not, I thought, it was this gentleman’s dear young lady. My hackles rose even higher.

  ‘Perhaps I will,’ I said. ‘After I’ve looked up Steve Maitland, that is.’

  He shook his head at me, apparently more in sorrow than in anger. I turned and walked away towards the door, but when I got there I was forced to stand back and wait a moment as a woman staggered in with a large oil painting. And as I waited I turned and glanced back the way I had come.

  Higginson still stood there, staring after me, his expression blank, the light catching his spectacles again. Then, as if seeing he was observed, he swung on his heel and strode away.

  *

  I had no idea how far Richmond was from London. Wherever it was, it seemed a good idea to telephone ahead, so I went back to the hotel. The friendly receptionist, who told me she had lived in London all her life, said that it was on the river, not far at all, and that I could get there on the tube. Meantime, she would find out the telephone number and put me through right away.

  I listened to the phone ringing at 2, Mermaid Passage, Richmond, with my heart pounding so hard I could hardly hear myself think. A male voice answered.

  ‘Maitland Antiques.’

  ‘Is that Steve Maitland?’

  ‘Speaking.’

  ‘It’s Holly Crozier here. Jim Crozier’s sister.’

  ‘Holly Crozier?’ He sounded astonished. ‘My God, what a surprise! Are you over on holiday? We must get together.’ Suddenly I found it hard to breathe, still more to find words.

  ‘Yes,’ I said. ‘Yes, I’d like that. In fact, I I really want to talk with you. It’s awfully important.’

  ‘Yes?’ He sounded mildly bewildered. ‘This isn’t just a social call, then? How can I help?’

  ‘I’m desperate to find Caroline.’

  ‘Caroline?’ The bewilderment had intensified. ‘Caroline Bethany? I’m afraid I haven’t seen her for years. I’ve no idea where she is now.’

  The disappointment was shattering and it took a second or two to pull myself together.

  ‘What happened to her? Did she leave London?’

  ‘Well, I assumed so. It was just about the time that I was going into business on my own.’ He paused, and when he resumed speaking his voice seemed hesitant, regretful. Even guilty. ‘I’m sorry to say we lost touch. I had an awful lot on my plate around then.’

  Just when she needed all the friends she’d ever had?

  I managed not to say it, but there must have been some outraged quality in my silence that reached him over the wire, for he hastened to explain further.

  ‘I phoned a couple of times and left messages on her answerphone, but she never rang back. Then one day when I was in her area I called round at the flat. The woman in the flat above said she’d gone away without leaving an address. I was sorry. She was a great girl and I know she was shattered when Jim died, but I thought maybe she just wanted to get right away from everything that reminded her of him. You know — start a new life somewhere else.’

  ‘What about the baby?’ The words burst out of me in a rush, far too loud, far too hectoring. There was another momentary silence.

  ‘What?’ he said faintly.

  ‘She was having a baby when Jim died. Didn’t she tell you?’

  ‘Not a word. My God.’ He sounded shocked and concerned and it was a second or two before he got his breath back. ‘Poor Caroline! What must she have felt? Look, Holly, I can understand now why you feel you want to trace her, but I honestly can’t help you. I only wish I could. How the hell did you find out about it, anyway?’

  ‘It’s a long story.’ I sighed, my optimism knocked out of me. I’d banked so much on Steve Maitland providing all the answers and the disappointment was devastating. ‘Steve, can’t you think of anyone who’d know where she went? She must have had other friends.’

  ‘I suppose she must.’ He seemed to be thinking this over, then I heard him sigh. ‘It’s no good. I met one or two people round at her place, but they were just names. There was a Liz, I remember, and someone called Sarah. Who they were and where they are now I haven’t a clue. Mostly, though, it was just her and Jim. They were everything to each other.’

  It was my turn to sigh.

  ‘I was banking everything on you.’

  ‘I’m sorry. But listen.’ His voice changed a little, grew more positive and upbeat. ‘We must meet. Something might occur to me. Besides, I feel I almost know you already. Jim spoke about you a lot. He thought the world of you.’

  ‘It was mutual.’

  ‘By the way’ he was sounding mildly amused now — ‘just out of interest, what does your mother think of this quest of yours? I seem to remember Jim saying she would have a fit at the thought of him marrying an English girl.’

  ‘She died last month.’

  ‘I’m sorry. That means you’re alone, doesn’t it? Or are you married? I’ve lost track of how old you must be.’

  ‘Old enough,’ I said. ‘But no, I’m not married. You?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘I kind of figured it would be great to discover a niece or a nephew somewhere in England.’

  ‘Have dinner with me tonight,’ he said. ‘There’s a little Italian place in Notting Hill where Jim and I used to go. It’s gone upmarket since that bloody film, but it’s still pretty reasonable and they do a damned good fettucini. Where are you staying?’

  I told him, and there was yet another silence.

  ‘Very nice,’ he said after a moment, a touch dryly, I thought. ‘I hope you brought the contents of Fort Knox with you. Well, Luigi’s will make an interesting contrast. I’ll pick you up at eight, if that’s OK with you.’

  It was OK with me and I told him so, but I still felt weak with disappointment about his lack of knowledge regarding Caroline. Or maybe it was just plain tiredness.

  I napped after lunch, I just couldn’t keep awake. My body clock must have been all over the place, but I felt much better when I finally opened my eyes at four thirty. I phoned room service and ordered coffee (I knew it ought to be afternoon tea in these surroundings, but couldn’t bring myself to rise to the occasion; coffee was what I needed).

  Having drunk it I became positively optimistic again. Steve would think of someone who would know the whereabouts of Caroline. And if he didn’t well, there were surely other means. You were supposed to be able to find anyone on the Internet, so I’d been led to believe. Maybe Steve would know how to do it. And wasn’t England the kind of place where everyone was charted from cradle to grave? People couldn’t just disappear, could they?

  Steve would know, I told myself again. I couldn’t wait to meet him. He had sounded nice. Kind. Even Mom couldn’t have complained about his voice, which had none of the arrogance she detested. Higginson, now — oh, my gosh! What would she have made of him? He sounded like he had a whole treeful of plums in his mouth.

  I studied Steve’s photograph again, trying to tie in the voice I had heard with the face that was before me. The cumulative impression was one of warmth and humour, added to which was th
e fact that Jim, whom I had always looked up to, had thought a great deal of him. Also, it had to be admitted that Tracey had erred on the side of caution when she had described him as ‘not bad’. From where I was sitting, Steve Maitland looked very good indeed even if he was as the horrible Mr Higginson had suggested, on his beam ends. And ten years older, I reminded myself. He could look quite different now.

  I spent a long time on my hair, a little amused by the fact that the finished effect looked definitely tousled. But artistically so, I assured myself.

  I changed my clothes a couple of times before deciding on a pair of skinny black trousers I’d picked up in Saks before leaving New York, my Gucci boots, and a white silk blouse that was a particular favourite and had a collar that looked good over an adorable jacket that had been one of my mother’s last presents to me.

  I looked long at the final result in the full-length mirror, changed my earrings several times, added a few gold chains, took them off again and finally settled on a spectacular pendant that had been yet another present from Mom. It was then that I admitted to myself that I was very nervous indeed.

  Why on earth? I could only assume that I was transferring to Steve some of the hero worship I had felt for my brother which made no sense at all! I had no need to be nervous. I assured myself. I, who had been wined and dined by stars of stage and screen.

  I lifted my chin and gave myself a supermodels arrogant stare then sagged with a rueful smile. Who was I trying to kid? The outward appearance might fit, but I’d never felt easy in the glitzy showbiz world in which I had moved with such apparent assurance the LA world where grass was bought by the yard and unrolled like a carpet, and smiles were so often as false as plastic flowers. I might have looked much like every other blonde starlet, but hidden beneath wide-eyed, unsophisticated Mary Lou McAllister was wide-eyed, unsophisticated Holly Crozier, and I was far from confident that Steve would like me. So what? I asked myself, lifting my chin once more. What did the approval of one hard-up antique dealer matter to me?

  Inexplicably, quite a lot. I took a deep breath, picked up my purse, and made for the door.

  Four

  I was too impatient to wait for the elevator so took the stairs that led me down to the reception area.

  Steve was already waiting there, and I saw him a second or two before he saw me. He was a little taller than I had imagined, and broader than in his photograph, his hair not quite so dark as it had appeared. Essentially, though, he was unchanged and I would have known him anywhere. As I came down the last few stairs he turned and saw me. He took a step towards me, and as he smiled at me I was conscious of a great thump in my chest and a wonderful, heady feeling of excitement, as if sparks were flying as if a laser beam had suddenly zipped between us.

  Is this it! I thought, half delighted and half afraid. Could it be? It just might. It really might! I felt like letting out a whoop and a holler, but it helped, being an actress. Even a not-very-good one. I smiled and calmly approached him, giving no clue as to the turmoil inside of me. I went towards him with my hand outstretched and he took it in both of his.

  ‘Hallo. Steve Maitland,’ I said. ‘I feel, somehow, that you are a very familiar presence.’

  ‘I’m — dazzled!’ He shook his head, laughing. ‘I would have said the same until now, but the girl Jim told me about had pigtails and braces on her teeth.’

  ‘I’ve changed. Just a little.’

  ‘You certainly have!’

  There was a pause while we assessed each other, a moment of slight awkwardness which we filled by grinning at each other like zanies, neither of us appearing to know quite what to do or say next. I liked the shape of his smile, his clear grey eyes and their shapely winged brows. Even the marginally oversized nose seemed just right. His clothes were OK, too. I don’t know quite what I expected, not being experienced in dating Englishmen, but the chinos, dark blue shirt and casual jacket would have passed muster anywhere.

  ‘Well!’ we both said together, and laughed.

  ‘Would you mind if we made a fairly rapid exit?’ he said. ‘I’ve left my car on a double yellow line.’

  ‘Sure.’ I turned at once for the door. Outside Quentins’ flight of steps there was a vehicle the like of which I doubted they had seen many times in their long history. It was a large, rather battered station wagon long past its first youth, and it clearly had many utilitarian uses.

  ‘It’s not exactly first-class travel,’ he said apologetically.

  ‘It’s just fine,’ I told him; but, as we pulled away from the kerb, I remembered what the odious Mr Higginson had said with such glee. It looked as if he had been right about Steve and his business. I hadn’t been in such a ramshackle vehicle since I was in high school. And I didn’t give a damn! I was just so glad to be there, sitting next to Steve. Once the initial shyness wore off we talked nineteen to the dozen, as if we truly had known each other for years. His laugh, his hands on the wheel, the way his lips quirked when he was amused — it all seemed familiar to me in a quite astonishing way. I know this man, I thought. I know him! I wanted to throw back my head and laugh at the miraculous, incredible turn of events, but I continued to play it cool — or, at least, no more than lukewarm.

  ‘What was Caroline like?’ I asked him.

  ‘In appearance? Dark-haired, brown-eyed. Rather Gallic, I suppose.’ He smiled when he spoke of her, as if he had only happy memories. ‘Actually, she was of French extraction, way back. I remember her saying so. There was a sort of...’ He hesitated, his eyes screwed up in thought. ‘I dunno it’s hard to describe. There was a sort of quickness about her. A vivacity that was very attractive; but she was a good listener. Maybe that’s what I remember most of all. She really listened. She wasn’t one of those ghastly girls whose eyes roam all over the place while they’re talking to you, checking that someone more interesting hasn’t just entered the room. That wasn’t Caroline. There was a feeling of - oh, I don’t know how to put it! I suppose “calmness” describes it best, though that sounds dull and she definitely wasn’t that. I suppose it was a kind of assurance, as if she had life all sussed out.’

  ‘You must have liked her an awful lot,’ I said, feeling, ridiculously, rather jealous of this unknown girl.

  He nodded. ‘I did.’ He turned his head and gave me a swift grin. ‘But not in the same way that Jim did... Hold tight we turn just here.’

  He pulled off the main road and brought the car to a clanking halt. It heaved and puffed for a moment after he had turned off the engine.

  ‘Now, don’t say anything rude to hurt the old girl’s feelings,’ he said warningly. ‘She and I have been together a long time.’

  ‘I wouldn’t dream of it,’ I assured him.

  ‘I don’t suppose it’s the sort of thing you’re used to.’

  ‘It got us here, didn’t it?’

  We walked back towards the street of shops we had left and in only a few moments arrived at Luigi’s, a small restaurant that I could see through the windows was already half full.

  Inside, it was warm and colourful and throbbed with a hubbub of voices. A small, dynamic man with a shock of white hair surged forward to greet us, arms stretched wide as if to embrace us both. He stopped short of this, however, but reached to give Steve a friendly clap on the shoulder and an enthusiastic shake of the hand.

  ‘Signor Steve!’ he cried expansively, his voice heavily accented. ‘How pleased I am to see you. Long time no see — and now you bring this lovely lady!’ He bowed towards me, brown eyes sparkling with life. ‘You are most welcome, signorina.’ Again he turned to Steve. ‘It’s been too long, signor. I tell Mama you book table for tonight and she say she come out to see you and say hallo. Come. I give you my best table in the corner.’

  We had barely seated ourselves before a plump, smiling woman emerged at a run from somewhere backstage, coming straight over to give Steve smacking kisses on both cheeks.

  ‘You naughty boy, so long you don’t come,’ she said, standing ba
ck and shaking a finger at him. ‘Why you forget your friends, eh?’

  ‘Anna, as if I’d ever do that! I’ve been busy, that’s all.’

  ‘Busy making lotsa money, yes?’

  ‘Er — no! I wouldn’t go that far. Still, we get by. Hey, let me introduce you to Holly. Do you remember, years ago, I used to come in here with a friend called Jim? Jim Crozier?’

  Anna’s good-humoured face fell into sorrowful lines.

  ‘The nice American boy who had the accident? I will never forget him.’

  ‘This is Holly Crozier, his sister.’

  ‘Hi,’ I said, stretching out across the table to offer her my hand.

  ‘Ah!’ Anna seized it and pumped it up and down with great energy. ‘Such a tragedy, and such a nice young man. But it is good you come here, Mees Holly. Your brother loved my cooking — isn’t that right, signor?’

  ‘Absolutely.’

  ‘Then it’s a sure thing I will too,’ I said.

  ‘You’re bound to, Holly,’ Steve said. ‘It’s the best.’

  ‘Huh!’ Anna pretended disbelief. ‘The best, eh? So that’s why you not here for so many weeks?’

  ‘Not from choice, I promise you. But now I am here, tell me the news. How are you, Anna? You’re looking marvellous.’

  She laughed dismissively.

  ‘No, no — not marvellous!’ She patted her stomach. ‘Oh, healthy, yes, but my trouble, I eat too well. What is a woman to do when all her life she is in the kitchen with good food all around?’ She lifted her hands, palm upwards in entreaty, her mouth pulled down.

  ‘You look great to me,’ Steve said. ‘And tell me, how’s the family? Are they all well?’

  ‘All very well, thanks be to God. Gianna has another another bambino. Luigi, she call him. Gianni will get his degree this year. Francesca and Lisa are doing well at school.’

  ‘That’s great.’ He was involved, I could see — genuinely interested, not just putting on an act, and I could also see the pleasure he was giving Anna. ‘What does Francesca want to do with herself?’

  ‘She wants to cook! I tell her, computers are the thing, not cooking stoves, but she not listen! She wants to go to Italy for a year, then maybe to college here.’