A Family Concern (19 page)

The ghost of a smile. ‘Most tactfully put. And you uncovered some of these facts?'

Rona took a deep breath. ‘I discovered that Freya disappeared during that afternoon.'

He tensed. ‘Disappeared? How could she? She was with Nanny the whole time, and a more conscientious and devoted carer it would be impossible to find.'

‘She fell asleep,' Rona said softly.

Robert stared at her. ‘I don't …'

‘She was sitting by the window in the sunshine, and she fell asleep. When she last looked, Freya was playing by her Wendy house at the bottom of the garden. When she woke, half an hour later, there was no sign of her.'

His hands were clenched on the arms of his chair, and his face had paled. ‘What are you telling me? She wasn't—?'

‘You had her examined, didn't you? A day or two later? It was confirmed she hadn't been physically harmed.'

He let out his breath slowly. ‘What, then? How and where was she found?'

‘Miss Gray searched the house and garden thoroughly. Then she discovered that the gate leading to the woods was unbolted.'

‘Oh, my God!'

‘Eventually she found her, crouched at the foot of a tree. She was scratched and bruised, and she either wouldn't or couldn't speak.'

‘Why the devil wasn't I told at once?' he burst out. ‘My God, what was the woman thinking of?'

‘Your wife had just gone; she didn't want to add to your worries. She'd already examined Freya carefully and was keeping a close eye on her, but she was relieved when the doctor confirmed her own findings. And the other reason she didn't tell you was because she was afraid she'd be dismissed. Especially,' she went on, over his protest, ‘since your sister-in-law seemed only too ready to take over the children.'

Robert Tarlton nodded slowly. ‘Yes, Jan, bless her heart, took them under her wing. I was aware there was a bit of resentment there.' He took a long draught of coffee. ‘So what happened to Freya, when she was alone in the woods?'

‘Miss Gray thinks she was frightened by a tramp.'

‘Possible, I suppose. But would the fright have been so long lasting?'

‘That's what I wondered.'

He looked at her closely. ‘So what do you think?'

‘Frankly, I've no idea. But she dreams of whistling and loud, angry voices, and being high up. I was wondering if she could possibly have climbed a tree?'

‘She was only three, for God's sake!'

‘But a tomboy, I heard. Before all this happened?'

He sighed. ‘That's true. Have you mentioned this to Freya?'

‘No, I haven't told anyone. But I should like to go through that gate and see the woods for myself.'

‘After all this time?'

‘If Freya came with me—'

‘No,' he said sharply. ‘I absolutely forbid that.' And then, ‘Not yet, anyway. Not till I've had time to absorb all this. In any case, that gate is rusted solid; it's impossible to get it open.'

‘I asked Kate to have it freed before I go over again on Sunday. It has to be the weekend, because obviously we'll need daylight.'

‘Well, God knows what you'll find. I can't think it'll be anything enlightening.'

Rona said hesitantly. ‘This is really why I wanted to see you, before I go any further. I can stop now, if you like.'

He was silent for some time, staring down into his coffee. Then he said heavily, ‘No. It's clear we can't go on as we are; Freya seems to be heading for a real breakdown. Better to exorcise this thing now, if that's possible, and put it behind us. In the meantime, I shan't mention her disappearance. It would only add to the speculation, and I need to come to terms with it myself. But you'll let me know before you do anything drastic?'

‘You sound like my husband!' she said with a smile.

‘We could have had lunch at the hotel, I suppose,' Sophie remarked, ‘but I can never relax there. I always feel I'm on duty!'

‘This is fine,' Freya assured her, looking around the Bacchus. ‘I haven't been here before.'

‘It's not been open long, but it's quite handy if I want to escape for a quick bite, where no one can come up to me with their problems.'

They ordered wine and pasta, then Sophie put her elbows on the table, resting her chin in her cupped hands.

‘Now, Little Sister, what exactly is going on?'

Freya shot her a startled glance, then smiled. ‘That's what you called me when you were married to Lewis.'

‘It's how I still think of you. But you haven't answered my question. You managed to stall me when I phoned, but you're not getting away with it this time. Something's not right, Freya. You look like a ghost.'

Freya sighed. ‘I suppose you heard of my dramatic collapse,' she said resignedly. ‘I certainly chose a public enough place for it.'

‘But what brought it on?'

Freya looked at the worried brown eyes, the soft, curly fringe, the wide mouth. She'd always felt closer to Sophie than to Kate, who, Freya suspected, was rapidly losing patience with her.

‘Right,' she said. ‘If you really want to know, I'll tell you.'

And she went through the sequence of events: the first dreams, their increasing frequency and explicitness, the tune in the musical box.

‘So Kate asked a friend of hers to look into it,' she finished. ‘She's a journalist or something. Anyway, she was going to see Nanny Gray yesterday. I haven't heard how she got on, but I doubt if she'd have much luck. Nanny would never speak of that time; she couldn't forgive Mummy for going off and leaving us.'

‘I'm not sure I'd want a journalist nosing through such private things.'

‘That's what I thought, but Kate says Rona's not like that, and she seemed very nice when I met her.'

‘You never actually see these people in your dream?'

‘People?' Freya repeated sharply.

‘Well, there must be more than one, if you heard voices.'

‘I suppose you're right. I've always just thought of the man, the one who was whistling and later sobbing.'

‘Was the other voice a man's or a woman's?'

Freya shuddered. ‘I don't know. As I said, there's a blank in the middle, like a radio being switched off.'

‘Radio rather than television? You don't see anything?'

‘Not that I remember.' She forced a smile. ‘Poor Matthew's having a terrible time. I'm quite sure he never expected this, when he asked me to move in with him!'

‘Can you remember your mother?' Sophie asked curiously.

‘I have one or two mental pictures of her, but mostly I rely on photos in the old albums.'

‘Lewis said your father kept her framed portraits out for a year or more, hoping she'd come back, till Jan persuaded him to put them away.'

Freya's eyes filled with tears. ‘Poor Daddy. Thanks to me, the whole thing's being raked up again.'

‘I heard she led him quite a dance, even before she left.'

To Freya's relief, their meal arrived, interrupting their train of thought, and when the waiter moved away, she started another topic of conversation. Sophie was content to follow it. She'd learned what she'd wanted to, but there seemed little she could do to help.

Yet again, Max awaited Adele's arrival at class with apprehension. He'd never known Wednesdays to come round so quickly, he thought grimly. The whole thing was getting ridiculous; she'd made it clear her bruises were not a subject for discussion, and had twice thwarted his attempts to help her. On the other hand, she'd seemed to imply that she'd like to meet now and then to discuss her depression, which was another kettle of fish entirely. He could just imagine Rona's reaction to that. It was probably time to make a discreet withdrawal, revert to a purely tutor–student relationship – which, if he'd had any sense, he would have stuck to in the first place.

She didn't come. Nor did she phone, and she was usually punctilious about letting him know if she had to miss a class. Was this non-appearance a result of their meeting on Monday? Max tried to anchor his thoughts on the rest of his students, moving among them admiring, correcting, suggesting. What the hell was she playing at? he wondered impatiently. And then, before he could stop the thought, suppose she's been badly hurt this time? Should he phone to check? She'd ‘fallen' down the stairs once before; suppose she was now lying unconscious at the foot of them?

He changed his mind about ringing her half a dozen times during the class, but when they'd all left, he made straight for the phone. It rang for a very long time before her voice said faintly, ‘Hello?'

‘Adele, are you all right? Why didn't you come to the class?'

‘Max! I hoped you'd call.' A little life came back into her voice.

‘Are you all right?' he repeated, a little less urgently.

‘Yes, of course. It was just that everything seemed too much of an effort today, so after I'd taken the children to school, I went back to bed.'

He frowned. ‘You've not been there all day?'

‘No, no. I got up about eleven, but I hadn't the energy to go into town. I'm sorry.'

‘You usually let me know,' he said accusingly.

‘I'm sorry. I didn't realize you'd be worrying about me.'

This was leading back to the bruises, and he'd decided not to go there again. ‘As long as nothing's wrong,' he said lamely. ‘See you next week, then.'

‘If not before,' she said.

Dorothy Fairfax took the express lift up to her apartment. She felt one of her headaches coming on, and intended to lie down for a while before changing for the evening.

The top floor of the hotel was the private domain of the family, and contained a small suite of rooms for Dorothy and a larger one for Stephen and Ruth. Though there was provision for the two boys, both now lived elsewhere, Gerald round the corner in Dean's Crescent North, and Chris, since his marriage, on a new estate up Alban Road. Chris and Sophie had, however, retained possession of his former rooms to relax in when off duty or between shifts, an advantage of which Gerald never availed himself. Admittedly his hours were more erratic and his home a mere two minutes' walk away, but for odd breaks he retreated only as far as a small room off the kitchen. Dorothy sighed. He was a solitary and private young man who preferred to keep to himself, and she worried about him.

If only, she thought, turning down her bed, he could find himself a nice girl and settle down. Not, of course, that it was always the fairy-tale ending. She sighed; love, or the lack of it, caused so many problems. Dear Henry had had a wandering eye in his younger days, causing her much heartache, and even Stephen and Ruth had gone through a difficult patch – though how anyone could fall out with Ruth was more than she could fathom. Then there'd been Christopher, hankering after Sophie and having that deplorable affair with the waitress.
La Ronde de l'amour
, she thought whimsically.

She slipped out of her blouse and skirt and reached for her kimono, feeling some of her tension dissolve as its silken folds caressed her body. A couple of aspirins, she told herself, going to the bathroom medicine cabinet, and an hour or so's complete rest, and she'd be fine for the evening ahead.

But when she lay down and closed her eyes, another set of worries swarmed into her head, chief of which being the unpleasant fact that there appeared to be a thief on the premises. First, one of the guests had mislaid an expensive scarf, and then today, another reported the loss of a gold fountain pen which had, he swore, been on his bedside table. If neither object reappeared in the next day or so, Stephen would have to contact the police. Dorothy intended to tell him so over dinner. Ruth had already seen to it that the staff were being closely watched; the fact remained that fellow guests were unlikely to go into each other's bedrooms – which were, in any case, accessible only with a key card.

Mentally, Dorothy ran through the staff who would have the opportunity to steal. She'd known most of them for years, and could not believe they'd succumb to temptation. At the Clarendon, there was no excuse for theft; the staff were well paid, and encouraged to go either to Ruth or Mrs Bailey, the housekeeper, if they had any problems, financial or otherwise. There had always been a family atmosphere at the hotel.

Gradually, the circling anxieties began to fade, disintegrating into a misty blur, and she drifted into sleep.

‘I had lunch with Freya Tarlton today,' Sophie remarked later that evening, as the family sat at dinner. It was their practice to eat in the restaurant when the last of the guests had gone, relaxing after the day's duties. It was the one time Gerald was able – or chose – to join them, and Dorothy always looked forward to it.

‘Has she got over that upset?' Ruth asked.

‘Not really. She's been having disturbed nights, and they're trying to find the cause.'

‘She should try sleeping pills,' Stephen said. ‘This is an interesting sauce, Gerald. What are its components?'

Gerald looked up, his eyes anxious. ‘Basically redcurrant and red wine, as you'd expect, but I put a touch of ginger in, to give it a lift.'

‘It's delicious, darling,' Ruth said, and Stephen nodded approval.

Dorothy noted her grandson's flush of pleasure. If only Stephen wouldn't be so hard on the boy, she thought. He blossoms when he's given a little praise, and goodness knows, he deserves it. Gerald's cooking was the reason the restaurant was nearly always fully booked.

Chris said, ‘I don't agree about the sleeping pills, Dad. She's too young to get into that habit.'

Stephen shrugged. ‘If she has trouble getting off, it would see her over the problem.'

‘It's not that she can't get to sleep,' Sophie told them. ‘She keeps having nightmares.'

‘Shouldn't eat cheese before bed,' suggested Chris with a grin.