The Caroline Quest: An addictive mystery novel Page 7

  The cab driver had switched off his meter a long time before we arrived back at the hotel, and I had a shrewd suspicion that if I’d understood British money a little better, the amount he demanded in payment would have seemed astronomical. He had, however, put up with my incomprehensible demands manfully and had plied me with tea when I most needed it, so I was grateful to him and paid up without quibbling. I felt, in fact, as if he and I had spent several lifetimes together, and we parted like old friends.

  I was in a fever of impatience to call Caroline now and I hurried up to my room, shrugged off my coat, found her number in the notebook in my purse and dialled it once again.

  This time it was answered on the third ring.

  ‘Is that Caroline Bethany?’ I asked, so excited that I stuttered over the name.

  ‘Yes. Who is that?’

  ‘Caroline - ’ My voice still sounded shaky. ‘Caroline, this is Holly Crozier, Jim’s sister. I’ve only recently discovered that you exist, so I’ve come over to England to find you.’

  I paused, hoping for some reaction, but there was only a pause in response. Then, at last, she spoke.

  ‘Jim’s sister?’ She sounded bewildered, as if this was beyond belief; in fact I had the distinct impression that she was more suspicious than delighted, as I had expected.

  ‘Well, you see - ’ Hastily I rushed into an explanation of the situation. ‘I was very young when Jim died, as you know, and my mother never told me about the baby or anything. It must have been simply appalling for you, being left on your own like that. I just wish she’d told you to come — ‘

  ‘I think,’ said the rather dry voice at the other end of the phone, ‘that you are labouring under a misapprehension, Miss - Crozier. Your brother was living with my niece, who was also called Caroline. We share the same name.’

  ‘Oh!’ The anti-climax was disappointing, but I rallied quickly. ‘Still, you must have her address. Do tell me where to find her! Is she living with you?’

  The other Caroline Bethany laughed shortly.

  ‘Good gracious, no! I haven’t seen or heard of her for over eight years.’

  ‘Oh,’ I said again, thoroughly deflated. This piece of information surprised and dismayed me so much that for a moment I could think of nothing to say in reply to it.

  ‘She came here to have the baby,’ Miss Bethany said. ‘But I’m afraid we — we fell out. You must understand I was a busy woman with a career and interests of my own. Having a baby here was — well, inconvenient, to say the least. Broken nights, the washing machine in constant use, all the disruption I found I simply couldn’t take it. So she made arrangements to leave.’

  ‘To go where?’ I asked. ‘She must have told you.’

  ‘Well, somewhere in the West Country, I believe. Initially, that is. But she didn’t stay there long and now I have no idea where she is.’

  ‘She didn’t keep in touch?’ I must have sounded incredulous. I know I felt it, for Steve had implied that Caroline and her aunt were very close.

  I heard Miss Bethany sigh.

  ‘I’m afraid people can be very ungrateful, Miss Crozier,’ she said at last. ‘I won’t say I wasn’t hurt when she failed to contact me, but that’s the way it is. I don’t know where she is.’

  ‘But didn’t you make any attempt to find her?’

  ‘As I said before, Miss Crozier, I was a very busy woman in those days — the head of English in a large girls’ school. And I would point out that I haven’t moved! She knows exactly where to find me if she wants me.’

  ‘Aren’t you worried about her?’

  ‘Why should I be? She’s not a child, you know. Caroline is a most capable and independent woman who has chosen her own path. If her pride prevents her from getting in touch with her only relative, then so be it. So there it is, Miss Crozier — I’m afraid I’m quite unable to help you. I’m sorry to have to say this. I liked your brother.’

  ‘I’m sorry, too,’ I said. ‘By the way, what name did Caroline give the baby?’

  There was a short silence, and when Miss Bethany spoke again, I could swear there was a softer, more kindly note in her voice.

  ‘What else but James?’ she said. ‘Jamie, she called him. He was a lovely baby, I have to say that.’

  She sounded almost sorry that Caroline had left her and that she had thus been deprived of seeing Jamie grow from a baby into a little boy, but in view of what had gone before I remained unimpressed. I had not warmed to this Caroline Bethany, for it seemed to me that she had been both unsympathetic and unhelpful. Of course babies were disruptive! I didn’t know much about them, but I knew that. What else had she expected? Broken nights didn’t go on for ever, and the baby’s mother must have suffered considerably more than she did.

  Still, there seemed little else to say. We exchanged a few meaningless pleasantries, I told her where to find me in case any information came her way, and I put the receiver down, my spirits once more at an all-time low. I had no expectations of ever hearing from her again; indeed, I gained the strong impression that she was hardly listening to me when I told her the name of my hotel. She had, it appeared, closed the book on her niece.

  How odd it seemed that the aunt Caroline had written about in her letter, the aunt who had always been so good to her the same aunt who owned a valuable ring she was determined to leave to her — should prove, in the end, so hard and unfeeling. Why, she had sounded as if she didn’t care a bit whether Caroline lived or died!

  There was, I felt sure, much that she hadn’t told me. The more I thought about it, the more I felt that no matter what temporary strains had been caused by one small baby, they surely could not have been sufficient to nullify all the goodwill and affection of previous years. It didn’t make sense.

  It was not only inexplicable, but devastatingly disappointing. All day, through all the dismal activities at Chiswick and the nagging anxiety regarding Steve’s altered attitude towards me, I had been buoyed up by the thought that I had found Caroline. Now I knew I had achieved nothing.

  Back to square one. I thought drearily. A whole day wasted. I could have gone to Greenway Development and put the ads in the papers, but now it would all have to wait until tomorrow. And none of this, I told myself, would seem half so bad if I had someone to talk it over with. Someone who would commiserate with me. Someone, perhaps, like Steve.

  No, dammit, I wouldn’t phone him! I might have thought of it earlier in the day, but Caroline wasn’t the only one with a fair quantity of pride.

  I found a miniature bottle of brandy in the minibar and poured it into a glass, sipping it slowly, feeling lower than a snake’s belly. What is it with these people, I asked myself? There was Steve, seeming one minute to be delighted with me, the next colder than the Russian steppes, and Caroline Bethany the elder turning against her niece, who had been grieving for Jim at the same time as struggling with a tiny baby. If ever there was a reason for post-natal depression, this surely was it! How un-understanding could you get?

  Was this why my mother was so anti-Brit all her life? Had she found, the hard way, that you couldn’t rely on any one of them to stay the same for two minutes together? I sipped my brandy and found, as I did so, that I didn’t really buy this theory. After all, Jim had thought a lot of Steve and what about Luigi and Anna? Their fondness for him was obvious in the warmth of their welcome at the restaurant. A good man, Anna had called him, and whatever Miss Bethany was like, I couldn’t really believe that he was as rigid and unbending as she appeared to be.

  By the time the brandy was finished, I found I had come to a decision. I would call Steve after all and tell him what Caroline’s aunt had said. To hell with pride and to hell with wondering if it would make me seem forward or pushy to do so; I simply needed to hear his voice.

  Without hesitating further I put down my empty glass and reached for the phone.

  Six

  All I heard in response was his answering machine. He was, it seemed, still away from home.

/>   I left a message asking him to call me but had a horrible suspicion that he wouldn’t do so or, at least, wouldn’t do so immediately, which was what I had in mind. I should have made my message sound more intriguing, I thought. Said I had something important to tell him. My hand hovered over the telephone while I wondered whether to call again with a kind of postscript to my previous message, but decided against it. If he phoned, then he phoned; if not, I’d manage without him. It was in the lap of the gods.

  What a day, I thought a little later as I consumed my solitary dinner in the hotel dining room. What a lousy, rotten, disappointing day. The sooner it ended, the more thankful I would be. I would have an early night and try to forget it; get some rest so that tomorrow I could be all bright-eyed and bushy-tailed as I set out once more on my quest. And then I remembered that tomorrow was Saturday and offices would be closed and that a dreary weekend yawned before me with nothing to do and no one to do it with. Well, I’d have to act like a tourist, I thought. There were trips I could go on, sights to see. Unless, of course, Steve phoned and suggested something different...

  By nine, still without a call from him, I was in my room — clothes discarded, face creamed, teeth cleaned when the phone rang.

  ‘Hi,’ Steve said. ‘It’s me.’

  ‘You got my message?’

  ‘Message? No. I’ve not been home yet. I called because I wanted to. How are you and what are you doing?’

  Sheer surprise at hearing his voice made me breathless. I sat down on the edge of the bed and did my best to gather my wits.

  ‘It’s been a terrible day,’ I told him. ‘I’m about to draw a veil over the whole thing and go to bed.’

  ‘At nine o’clock on a Friday night? That’s positively immoral. Possibly even illegal. Friday night is party night, didn’t your mother ever tell you? Come on — come out and have a drink.’

  He sounded in high spirits, and his voice was persuasive. Even so —

  ‘I don’t know,’ I temporised. And it was true, I didn’t. Ninety-five per cent of me longed to rush out to meet him, but the remaining five per cent was still wary and unforgiving. How did I know this wouldn’t end in another let-down?

  ‘Why was today so terrible?’ he asked.

  ‘Well’ It was hard to know what portion of this disastrous day to pick. My mission in Chiswick? The disappointing phone call to Aunt Caroline? I decided on the latter.

  ‘I managed to track down Caroline’s aunt, and she knows nothing. They fell out, she said, and she hasn’t seen Caroline in years. Can you beat that?’

  There was a short silence from Steve as he digested this.

  ‘No,’ he said at last, sounding mystified. ‘That’s the oddest thing I ever heard.’

  ‘That’s what I thought. I got the impression they were devoted to each other, but the aunt sure didn’t sound it.’

  ‘It doesn’t add up at all. Listen, come out and tell me all about it. Please! I’m not so far away - I just managed to find a meter close to the Athenaeum with ten minutes on the clock, which is the kind of thing that doesn’t happen twice in a lifetime. I was sure it had to be a lucky omen.’

  ‘Give me ten minutes,’ I said, making up my mind. I couldn’t help laughing at myself, a touch derisively. Last night I had been consigning Steve to hell, yet on the other hand I had never managed to rid myself entirely of the hope that we would meet again and all would be as it had seemed at the beginning of the evening. Was I being a fool? Well, possibly - but there was no time to debate the issue. I sprang into action, flung on jeans and a sweater, washed my face, fastened my hair with a barrette, pulled on my boots and was ready for action. I might even have made it in five minutes.

  I waited for him at the entrance and ran down the steps when I saw his car drive up. The awkwardness of the previous night seemed to have evaporated totally. We were both so pleased to see each other than spontaneously we kissed, just lightly, like old friends. Then he looked at me a little warily.

  ‘I had an awful feeling we weren’t going to see each other again,’ he said. ‘I — sort of blew it last night, didn’t I?’

  ‘Sort of,’ I agreed.

  ‘I’m sorry. I suffer from this chronic case of idiocy, you see.’ He started the engine and pulled away from the sidewalk. ‘I’ve had it from childhood. Just as I think I’m over it, back it comes.’

  ‘So long as it’s not contagious. Or terminal.’

  He said no more, and I still had no idea what had caused his change of mood, but I resolved to leave it right there. Maybe he’d explain, maybe he wouldn’t. I found myself so pleased to be with him again that it didn’t matter any more. I felt, suddenly, less despondent about my terrible day. It was going to be all right. I didn’t know how, or why, but somehow I felt quite sure of it.

  He took me to a wine bar somewhere near the river. We managed to find a secluded corner where we could talk and there I gave him a blow-by-blow account of all that had happened.

  ‘At least you know that the baby was born safely and that she called him after Jim,’ he said. ‘But I still can’t get over her aunt’s attitude. It doesn’t add up in any way to the impression I had of her. I can’t believe they didn’t keep in touch — they seemed so close! Someone must know where she is. We must get those ads in the paper and try to scare up some of her old friends. I just can’t believe she would have dropped everyone.’

  ‘You’re sure you want to be in on this?’ I asked him. ‘I know you’re busy, and I don’t want to be a nuisance.’

  For a moment he looked at me without speaking, eyebrows raised, lips pursed. Then he gave a grunt of rueful laughter.

  ‘I deserve that,’ he said. ‘Holly, I want to be involved. I’m sorry I seemed so detached last night. I can’t tell you what an effort it took for me to walk away from you like that.’

  ‘It was — disconcerting,’ I said, sticking to my resolve to ask him nothing.

  My hand was resting on the table and when he covered it with his I could feel the electric shock right through to my backbone.

  ‘I told you, I was an idiot,’ he said. ‘Please don’t hold it against me.’

  ‘Do you get these unfortunate attacks often?’

  He didn’t answer, but looked at me with his bottom lip caught between his teeth as if the question required thought. He had relinquished my hand, but I still felt shaken. What was it about this guy?

  He chose not to answer my question.

  ‘Another drink?’ he said, and picking up both our empty glasses he went to the bar while I observed him, still puzzled but liking what I saw, even from the back. He was tall and rangy and his butt was kind of well, sexy, I guess. No other word for it. He was wearing jeans and a navy-blue sweater yet somehow managed to stand out in the crowd. There were two miniskirted girls up at the bar eyeing him appreciatively and, knowing I was being both childish and foolishly unsophisticated, I felt pleased that they would see he was with me. See, I said to myself, didn’t I say that Mary Lou McAllister was a clever bit of typecasting? Was it not true that she and I were sisters under the skin?

  ‘Tell me about your day,’ I said when he came back to the table. ‘Have you had a good one?’

  His expression lightened immediately, but whether with relief that the previous subject was dismissed or with enthusiasm at the treasures he had found, I couldn’t tell.

  ‘Yes, I did. I had a great day,’ he said. ‘That’s what’s so incredibly fascinating about my job I just never know what’s round the next corner. I was after silver and managed to buy a bit, but there was some absolutely wonderful porcelain I didn’t expect at all. Worcester, but quite rare and very beautiful. I could have bought more if I hadn’t set myself a limit. There was a marvellous Queen Anne desk I positively lusted after!’

  ‘Was it the contents of a mansion, or something?’

  ‘Not just one house. The sale was at auction rooms, down in Sussex. A town called Lewes.’

  ‘I’m not too sure where that is. My geography
is hopeless.’

  ‘Maybe you need to get out more.’

  ‘Nothing I’d like better. Perhaps I should go to auctions, too, and buy something really fabulous to take back to the States with me.’

  ‘Yeah. Why not?’ He smiled at me but I seemed to detect a distinct look of caution in his eyes that I couldn’t attempt to explain. I felt as if, all unwittingly, I had said something wrong. Hastily I rushed on.

  ‘What made you so crazy about antiques?’ I asked him. ‘Oh, I learned about good craftmanship at my grandmother’s knee. Her house was stuffed with lovely furniture and every piece seemed to have a story attached to it. I was hooked from a tender age. When she died she left various bits and pieces to different members of the family and I came in for a Sheraton worktable and a couple of Chippendale chairs. I wouldn’t let anyone else touch them and insisted on having them in my room and dusting them myself. What a poisonous little bastard! Though, mind you, I did have my reasons.’ ‘Like what?’

  ‘Well, dusting and polishing was never much of a priority at home. My parents were too busy and too unworldly to care if they ate off orange boxes. They were left quite a number of lovely things but most were sold right away. Possessions meant very little to them, you see. A table was a table, and money meant that more could be spent on good works. There was a mission station in Uganda that profited mightily, I seem to remember, much to my annoyance at the time. I was of the Charity Begins at Home tendency.’

  His father, he told me, was vicar of a large parish and their home was chaotic, never without a full complement of hard-luck cases, battered wives and assorted down-and-outs.

  ‘Did you really mind?’

  He considered the question.