Suddenly, it seemed as if fate had intervened to give her the opportunity to share the grief that gnawed at her. To share it, moreover, with a man. And with a man who, it could not be denied, was evidently attracted to her. But nonetheless, a man in whom she felt there was a deep well of kindness and sympathy. She said, quickly, rushing out the words before the moment passed, ‘I’d like to ask you something. Have you ever in that varied career written about a missing person?’
He took a long pull from his glass, draining the remains of the pint it had contained. He stared at her, his blue eyes keen amid the creases and folds of his haggard features, a living sentinel staring from the battlements of a grand but ruined tower, bright with shrewd interest, as he sensed the beginnings of a story. ‘Indeed, I have written about such matters. But is this a general enquiry, or is there a specific reason for asking?’
‘Nearly two weeks ago, my younger sister Flora disappeared without warning from her house in Gloucestershire, leaving, without a word, her husband and her teenage daughter. There’s been no communication from her and no trace of her ever since.’
‘I see. I’m so sorry. That is a dreadful thing to have happened. So, would you like my opinion on what might have happened to her?’
‘Yes, if you’re willing.’
‘Of course. But first, I’ll need another one of these.’ He stood up and collected his empty foam-flecked beer-glass.
She shook her head at his nodded enquiry towards her own tumbler, the thin slice of lemon curled sadly round a half-melted cube of ice at the bottom.
She watched his broad back as it ploughed a path to the bar-counter. Already the impulse was leaking away, leaving behind a sick feeling. For a moment she contemplated flight, but that would have been juvenile and abject. Then he was back, a fresh pint in his huge fist.
He sat down again, with elaborate care, but even so, the table rocked as he nudged it with a knee, causing him to steady the glass with both hands.
He drank deeply, snuffling through his nostrils as he did so.
‘So tell me about Flora.’
Briefly, she recounted the basic facts of her sister’s life: her career with the airline, her marriage to Bill, family life in Owlbury.
‘We used to speak two or sometimes three times a week, for hours, sometimes. Bill would complain about the phone-bill, in my hearing, almost as if he expected me to contribute to it. Although, to be fair, it was mainly her who called me and she talked while I listened. I used to think that Flora told me everything about the smallest aspect of her life. I realise now that she may have told me the small things, but there must have been some big things she didn’t mention at all. I spoke to her last on Thursday three weeks ago. It followed the usual pattern of our conversations. Flora was complaining about how difficult it was to deal with Charlotte, my niece. How she was grumpy and insolent, dissatisfied, bored – the usual adolescent problems that I was heartily glad I didn’t have to deal with. I didn’t hear from her on the following Saturday, so I rang her myself, and got no answer, not even from the machine. I rang her again on Sunday, several times, but still no answer. I was slightly worried, but then I thought, as it was half-term, she might have gone away – though it wouldn’t have been like Flora to forget to mention it to me. I kept on ringing from time to time with no reply, until on Wednesday evening I got Bill, who had just returned home.’
Like a train going over points, she inwardly felt a bump in her narrative as she crossed back to the main line of the truth, but the version she told was so convincing that it almost seemed to substitute in her memory for what had actually occurred, drowning the sound of Flora’s voice reading her letter, and blanking out the vision of the empty bed and the unsullied whiteness of the sheets.
There was no change in her inflection, and Urquhart gave no sign of having noticed anything amiss, but listened intently as she proceeded to tell him the rest of what had occurred.
‘Her husband said there was hardly anything in the fridge. No fresh food. Flora was a strict vegetarian. She ate a lot of salad, raw food generally.’
‘So if there was none of that kind of thing, it would indicate some preparation on her part? If she were planning to leave, she wouldn’t have bought provisions?’
‘Bill checked with the bank and the credit-card company. Flora drew her usual one hundred pounds in cash from the Lloyds Cashpoint in Cheltenham on the previous Thursday. The card account showed she shopped at Waitrose in Cirencester the same day. That was also her last day at work. She worked only Mondays to Thursday lunchtimes. She used to buy her vegetables from a growers’ co-operative that have a stall in Stroud on Saturday mornings. Bill rang them and asked whether they’d seen her, but they said they hadn’t.’
‘You’ll have checked the hospitals?’
‘Yes, Bill did that. And he went through every number in the desk diary in the kitchen, in case she’d seen or spoken to anyone, a tradesman or workman, during the period she went missing. He’s very thorough.’
‘She and Bill. Had they had a row? Did they have a troubled relationship?’
‘That’s possible, given the way Bill was when I spoke to him, more angry and resentful than upset. But Flora and I had an agreement that we didn’t discuss her marriage. She knew that Bill and I didn’t like each other.’
‘But do you think she might have been having an affair?’
‘Again, it’s possible, but I had no hint of it. Perhaps Bill may suspect she was. That might explain his attitude. But if she had left him for someone else, she would surely not go off leaving Charlotte without even a word? Whatever complaints Flora might have had about her, I know she loved her daughter deeply.’
‘Forgive me for asking, but had she any reason to consider committing suicide?’
‘Suicide?’ Her voice was quite steady. ‘Absolutely not. Flora was, I would say, completely lacking in that kind of mentality.’
‘Was she seriously ill or taking medication?’
‘No, definitely not. Flora had scarcely had a day’s illness in her life. And she didn’t in any case believe in taking drugs, only natural remedies. I often wondered sometimes how this affected her relationship with Bill, given that he works for one of the world’s largest pharmaceutical companies.’
‘So her disappearance is quite out of character? She’s never left home before?’
‘Never. I know from what I’ve said that Flora seems to have every reason for suffering something of a mid-life crisis. An attractive woman, trouble with her daughter, possibly trouble with a husband whose belief system she doesn’t share. It’s a recognisable psychological response, isn’t it? To flee from everything that gives you grief. But I’ve never thought of Flora as having the capacity to behave like that. She’s never been neurotic. Even when we talked about Charlotte, she was calm and rational, sympathising with the child’s problems and coming up with ways of dealing with them. It certainly wasn’t the reaction of someone who was preparing to jump ship because they couldn’t stand life on board.’
‘So did Bill go to the police?’
‘Yes. He went to Stroud police station and filled in a form with Flora’s basic details. She would be given a W/M number – that means Wanted or Missing, but I expect you know that – and entered on the Police National Computer. They also said they would “ask around”, whatever that means.