Child's Play (3 page)

The
lobby bisected the building, with another set of double doors at its far end. He pushed through on to a paved terrace overlooking banks of rhododendron, magnolia and azalea, huge formal flowerbeds, and an enormous expanse of lawn that carried the eye to the ever-moving waters of Menai Strait and the shores of Anglesey. Looking up, he saw that this side of the building was gracefully softened by curved, full-height bays, inset with curved windows, and whereas the face of the building he had first seen was dulled by the green-grey reflection of the trees, these walls glistened in the sunshine.

Imagining
that the building, chameleon-like, must change its face and mood according to the time of day, the weather, the seasons, he strolled back to his seat, to find he had company. The chairs outside Matron’s door were occupied by two girls he thought must be fourteen or fifteen years old, dressed alike in green and white striped shirts and navy-blue skirts. There the similarities ceased. One looked as if she had been taken in off the streets as an act of charity: lank black hair framed a pasty face marked with lines of pain, her limbs were like sticks and her breasts a mere grudging admission beneath the shirt. Her bony kneecaps were almost deformed and, glancing at the hands clenched fiercely in her lap, he saw equally prominent and raw-looking knuckles. The other girl was what he could only describe as voluptuous, with thick, curly brown hair, bee-stung lips, and the bloom of health and wealth from top to toe. ‘Chalk and cheese,’ he said to himself, as she looked across at him and smiled boldly.

‘
Hello,’ she said.

He
nodded.

‘
My name’th Daithy Podmore,’ she added. ‘And thith ith my betht fwiend Alith Dewwinger. What’th your name?’

Involuntarily,
he flinched, then felt a rush of real pity. Meeting her eyes, he saw they were strangely opaque, as if she sensed the pity and despised him for it.

‘
I’m called Dewi Prys,’ he replied quietly. ‘I’m waiting for Dr Scott.’

‘
We’re waiting for Matron,’ Daisy told him, before launching into a speech riddled with traps. If nothing else, he thought, it showed her mettle. ‘Alice has got one of her awful headaches,’ she went on. ‘She could have meningitis, you know, or even a brain tumour. She gets asthma, too, especially when she’s been near the horses. That’s because of the dander on their coats.’

‘
I don’t!’ Alice raised red-rimmed eyes. ‘I’ve always had asthma! It’s nothing to do with horses!’ She looked close to tears, but there was temper in the set of her mouth.

‘
How many horses are there?’ Dewi asked hurriedly. ‘Seven,’ replied Daisy. ‘Five dim-witted geldings and two vicious mares.’ Her voice was scathing.

‘
Don’t you like horses?’ he asked.

Before
she could respond, Alice broke in, a sweet smile transforming her dreary face. ‘She doesn’t
appreciate
them. Horses are just gorgeous!’

Dewi
gazed at her. ‘Have you got one of your own?’

‘
Dr Scott only lets the sixth formers have horses on campus, so I’ve got to wait another two years.’

Daisy
prodded her and giggled nastily. ‘Don’t bet on it. You could be dead by then.’

‘
Don’t be so horrible!’ Alice wailed, her voice rising.

A
voice boomed from the far end of the corridor. ‘What’s all this noise about?’ A stout, middle-aged woman stiffly dressed in traditional nurse’s garb squeaked towards them in rubber-soled shoes that left smudges on the gleaming parquet. She favoured Daisy with an indulgent smile, then loomed over Alice. ‘What’s the matter with you this time?’ she demanded, taking hold of Alice’s chin in one huge red hand and pulling down her lower lids with the fingers of the other, while Alice squirmed. ‘Dearie me! Another headache, I suppose?’ Rubbing the small of her back as she straightened, she hefted the keys hanging from her belt and unlocked the door to her room, then turned to Dewi. Uniform rustling, she took a few steps towards him.

‘
I’m waiting for Dr Scott,’ he said, pre-empting interrogation.

She
consulted the fob watch pinned to her apron. ‘She won’t he long.’ She stood over him, breathing heavily, her gaze dour and steely. There were broken veins on her ruddy cheeks, grey hairs bristling stubbornly and spitefully round her mouth and on her chin, and the puffs of breath issuing from her smelt of chloroform, as if in her quiet, lonely moments, she drank from the brown glass bottles he imagined must fill the cupboards in her room. ‘You shouldn’t have been talking to the girls,’ she chided. ‘Dr Scott doesn’t allow strangers to have truck with them.

He
reddened. ‘I’m sorry. We were just chatting about the horses.’ Feeling like a small child caught out in mischief, he added defensively, ‘It would have been churlish to ignore them.’

Frowning,
she pursed her lips. ‘Don’t answer back, young man, if you please.’ With that she wheeled away to usher the girls into her room. Before the door closed Daisy, her shoulders shaking with mirth, turned to make an obscene gesture.

Dewi
was furious: with the woman, with Daisy, but mostly with himself, for letting reserve fall prey to curiosity. The murmur of voices came from Matron’s room, punctuated by yelps from Alice. A telephone rang in the secretary’s office and was answered within seconds. Still smarting from Matron’s rebuke, he once more wandered into the lobby, to stand at the front doors lost in thought.

A
light step, a drift of perfume, jolted him back to awareness. Turning quickly, he saw a tall, fair-haired woman in the shadow of the staircase. She wore a dark-grey suit in some silky fabric and a pristine ivory shirt. ‘May I help you?’ Her voice was warm and cultured, the words accompanied by an enquiring smile.

‘
I’m Detective Sergeant Prys,’ he said. ‘I’ve come to see Dr Scott.’

‘
I’m Freya Scott.’ With a couple of long strides she moved near enough to shake his hand, then gestured for him to follow. ‘I’m sorry to have kept you waiting,’ she added, unlocking her door. ‘I teach most mornings.’

Her
study was a large white room with a wide, curved window offering a tranquil view of the gardens and Strait. Carpet, cabinets, chairs, the massive chrome and leather desk were surely artefacts from the building’s heyday, he thought. Behind the desk was a large fireplace, a simple hole in the wall, its empty mouth filled with a wrought-iron screen. Above the mantel hung photographs and an impressive array of certificates, with pride of place given to a reproduction of Annigoni’s portrait of the Queen. The desk top was clear except for a gold fountain pen, a telephone console and a closed manila file with the name ‘Suzanne (Sukie) Melville’ printed on the cover in black letters.

‘
Do sit down,’ Freya said, sliding into a leather chair. She pressed a button on the telephone, ordered coffee and biscuits for two, then gave him her full attention.

She
was probably in her early forties, he decided, with streaky blonde hair rolled neatly into a French pleat and a beautifully made-up face. Her features were well defined and even attractive, but her eyes commanded attention. Heavy-lidded and of a deep blue-grey, they were startlingly sensual. Her perfectly manicured nails were varnished a brilliant red and she wore sparkling diamond rings on each hand, yet something about her bearing or manner brought military metaphor to mind, and he could easily envisage her dressed in uniform and even armed.

‘
Thank you for responding so promptly to my call,’ she said. ‘Tell me, where are you based?’

‘
Bangor. The Hermitage is on our patch, so to speak.’ She raised her eyebrows a fraction. ‘But I contacted the divisional headquarters.’

‘
And they routed it to us.’ He smiled disarmingly. ‘Now, I understand you’ve already searched the grounds,’ he said. ‘What other steps have you taken?’

‘
Thus far, we’ve questioned all the sixth form as well as the few juniors Sukie’s friendly with, but no one has the faintest idea where she might have gone. Or, indeed, why.’

‘
Has she disappeared before?’

Freya
shook her head.

‘
How often do girls abscond?’

‘
Very, very infrequently. Our aim is to identify and manage any difficulties the girls may have
before
they become problematic.’

‘
Who’s in charge of pastoral care?’

‘
It’s a team effort.’ Lacing her fingers together, she leaned forward. ‘Let me explain how the Hermitage is organised. All but a few of the teaching staff are resident, as is Matron. On entry to school, a girl is assigned to one of the four houses, each with a captain from the sixth form as well as a housemistress. There are also prefects and a head girl. The system is designed to ensure that each girl is monitored at every stage of her school career.’

‘
What about security arrangements?’

Amusement
flickered briefly in her eyes. ‘I see you noticed the absence of electrified fencing, armed guards and snarling Rottweilers. However,’ she went on soberly, ‘we propose to install closed-circuit television during the summer holidays, to augment existing facilities. We already have internal and external building alarms, staff on waking duty every night, the lodge keeper and his dog, and twenty-four hour mobile patrols throughout the grounds. That you failed to see them is testament to their effectiveness, I think.’

‘
Nonetheless,’ Dewi persisted, ‘they can’t possibly be everywhere at once. The water frontage of this site is about two miles, the road frontage is nearer three, and between the two it must be two miles, if not more. Someone bent on escape wouldn’t encounter too many obstacles.’

‘
No, I agree. And—’ She broke off as someone rapped on the door and rose quickly to answer. When the door opened, Dewi thought night must have fallen. Every vestige of light was obliterated by a mountainous woman in chef’s tunic and trousers, proffering a tray draped with a snowy cloth. Freya took the tray, murmured her thanks and shut the door. ‘I was about to say,’ she went on, removing the cloth to reveal white china and a plate of mixed biscuits, ‘that I’m more concerned with the possibility of Sukie’s having had an accident in the grounds.’ She poured coffee, her movements steady and methodical. ‘We began searching when she failed to show up at the stables yesterday morning to exercise her horse.’ Handing him a cup, offering biscuits, she continued, ‘By nightfall, every building and most of the woods had been thoroughly scoured.’

‘
Is there any chance she’s gone off with a man?’

‘
If that were the case I would know.’ Her mouth tightened. ‘My girls do not associate with the locals and her parents are not aware of any significant relationships in her life.’

‘
When did her parents last see her?’

‘
The day she returned here after the Easter holiday.’

‘
And how did she get back? Train? Car?’

‘
Their chauffeur drove her up to London, where she caught the express. She’s quite old enough to travel alone.’

‘
She’s quite old enough to do a lot of things,’ Dewi insisted, ‘which is why I said she might be with a man. And with all due respect, ma’am, you’re the last person her friends would tell, whether she’s missing or not.’

‘
I’m afraid I disagree, Sergeant Prys.’ Her tone was chilly. ‘My girls
would
tell me and as they have not, I’m confident there is nothing to tell. So,’ she went on, ‘how will you proceed?’

‘
I’m only instructed to take details, ma’am. My inspector will decide on the next step.’ Pulling a form from his briefcase, he laid it on the desk. ‘Perhaps you’d be kind enough to complete this.’

Freya
’s nails dragged the paper towards her. She uncapped the pen and, without once referring to the closed file at her elbow, attended to every question.

‘
A recent photo would also help,’ Dewi said when she handed back the form. Sukie, he saw, was seventeen years old, five feet four inches tall, slimly built, Caucasian, with medium-length, wavy brown hair, grey eyes and no distinguishing marks, scars, or tattoos. Her parents had a grand-sounding address near Newbury and her mother, but not her father, had a title.

Freya
slipped a photograph from the file and pushed it across the desk. Contemplating another very pretty girl with the sheen of wealth about her, Dewi asked, ‘Why doesn’t her father have a title as well?’

‘
Lady Hester’s father is a peer of the realm and she therefore has a title in her own right. As she married a commoner, her children remain untitled.’ She paused. ‘I should say “child”. Sukie’s an only child.’

He
stowed form and photograph in his briefcase. ‘Are you sure she wasn’t worried about anything? Exams, for instance?’

‘
She has no external examinations until next year. In any case she isn’t academically ambitious. She prefers to coast along, taking what life offers. Horses are her current passion.’