House of the Lost (46 page)

‘That sounds all right. You don’t intend to talk to Mara, do you?’

‘No,’ said Theo. ‘I was thinking of Sister Catherine. I’ll say I don’t want it mentioned to anyone because it’s a project that might not come to anything.’

‘Sounds reasonable. The children would be well before her time – early 1970s – but she might be able to find something out. And,’ he said thoughtfully, ‘Sister Catherine is absolutely trustworthy.’

The locksmith came out to Fenn within half an hour of Theo phoning. ‘Not often we get break-ins around here,’ he said. ‘Still, I daresay this house is a bit of a magnet for one or two oddballs.’

If you only knew, thought Theo, but he said, yes, that seemed to be the problem, and he was grateful the locks could be changed again so quickly.

‘Priority job,’ said the locksmith. ‘There you go, squire. Snug as the Bank of England now, not that that’s saying much these days.’

He accepted the cheque Theo wrote, handed over three sets of new keys, and went off, whistling cheerfully, after which Theo called Sergeant Leigh.

‘I’m just checking in to let you know I’ve had the locks changed and I’ve survived the night, and I’m hoping you’ve traced the missing key.’

‘We’re having a word with the shops this morning,’ said Leigh, ‘and we’re going along to St Luke’s later.’

‘Sergeant, when you were investigating Charmery’s death, did you find any record of her travelling to Romania?’

‘Not as far as I remember. When would it have been?’

‘No idea.’

‘I can get it checked if you think there’s any point,’ said Leigh. ‘We did look at where she’d been for the last couple of years – Paris and Italy as I recall – but there didn’t seem any need to go back further.’

‘It’s just a mad idea I had,’ said Theo. ‘Probably nothing in it, but if you can check that would be great. Listen, I’m calling at St Luke’s later this morning though – I want to trace something I read in their centenary book. Just a bit of research, purely for my own use. That won’t confuse your enquiries, will it?’

‘Shouldn’t do. We probably won’t get there until this afternoon,’ said Leigh.

‘OK. I’ll make sure to be out of the way by then.’

‘I’ll call you later to let you know if we trace the key,’ said Leigh.

Theo rang off, then remembered he had promised to phone Lesley with some explanations. It was slightly disconcerting to find her phone on voicemail, so he tried the gallery, who said she wouldn’t be in today.

‘She’s not ill, is she? I’m her cousin – I was with her yesterday.’

‘No, she’s just taking a couple of days’ holiday owing to her. She phoned in earlier. Can I give her a message when she gets back?’

‘No, I’ll probably catch up with her later today,’ said Theo, and rang off, unsure whether to be puzzled or worried. But as he set about tidying up after the locksmith’s session, it occurred to him that Lesley might be taking Charmery’s portrait to a rival house for appraisal and did not want her present boss to know.

He checked all round the house, found no signs of disturbance, locked every door in sight, and set off to walk to St Luke’s.

Catherine was writing up some patient notes in the clinic wing when the message came that Mr Kendal had called and wondered if she could spare him half an hour. Her heart lurched with treacherous excitement, but she finished the paragraph she was writing as calmly as she could, then went along to the main hall where he was waiting.

He was standing in front of a pair of sketches of St Luke’s which Catherine had always admired, but he turned at once and said, ‘Hello. If I’ve come when you’re in the middle of something, tell me at once.’

‘Nothing that can’t wait,’ said Catherine. ‘Are you all right after your attack? We were horrified to hear about it.’ She did not say that when the Bursar told them, she had wanted to rush to Fenn House at once.

‘Never better,’ he said.

‘Have they caught the man?’

‘No, but they’re working on it,’ said Theo. ‘I was reading your centenary book last night. It’s very interesting, by the way, very well written.’

‘Tell the Bursar that, would you? She agonized over it for weeks. And even then she was convinced it was rubbish.’

The smile deepened, as if this was something he could relate to.

‘I
will
tell her,’ he said. ‘The thing is, there’s a reference in it that intrigued me – and I’d like to find out a bit more.’

‘Well, you really want the Bursar for that. Or Sister Miriam, even—’

‘No, I don’t,’ he said at once. ‘I want you.’ And then, before Catherine could think how to reply to this, he went on, ‘There’s a mention of some children being brought to England from Romania in the 1970s. Twelve of them, actually. I’d very much like to know more about that.’

‘It was way before my time,’ began Catherine.

‘I know that. You’re the youngest one here, aren’t you? Sorry, that sounded intrusive, but you mentioned it the first time we met.’

‘You remember that?’ said Catherine involuntarily.

‘I remember our first meeting very clearly,’ he said, and looked at her so intently Catherine felt as if he could see straight into her mind. I’ll look away in a minute, she thought, or he will. We can’t stand here staring at each other like this. And we’re in the main hall, for pity’s sake! Her heart was beating wildly, and she felt as if something was squeezing the breath from her body and she did not trust herself to speak.

‘It’s really just a wild idea I’ve got,’ said Theo. ‘So I don’t want it spread around.’

‘Yes, of course,’ said Catherine, thinking he probably had an idea for a new book, but wanted it kept quiet in case it didn’t work out. ‘I remember the Bursar getting a lot of stuff together for the centenary,’ she said. ‘Photographs and old records. You could look through them. I don’t think anyone would mind.’

‘Could I?’

‘They’re stored in the attic,’ she said. ‘I could take you up there now if you’ve got time. I don’t know how easy it will be to find anything, though.’

‘Let’s go and see,’ he said, and looked so pleased and eager that Catherine thought the moment earlier on had just been in her imagination. He was in pursuit of a new idea, and probably still suffering the effects of the bang on the head as well.

As she led him up the two flights of stairs, and along to the narrow little stair leading to the attic, Theo said, ‘Apparently, a nun called Sister Teresa brought the twelve children here in the early 1970s to escape Ceau
escu’s dictatorship.’

‘Yes, it’s one of our bits of folklore. I should think it was all very risky and maybe even illegal.’

‘I daresay the Church wouldn’t necessarily have worried about that,’ said Theo. ‘It’s harboured some odd things in its long history, hasn’t it? Religious conflicts and spies.’

‘It’s switched sides a few times as well,’ said Catherine rather caustically.

‘Would Reverend Mother or the Bursar remember the children coming here?’ said Theo.

‘It’s over thirty years ago. I don’t think either of them were here then,’ said Catherine. ‘But it might be possible to write to the Romanian House – or email them – to ask if they’ve kept any records.’

‘Would you do that? Or could I?’

‘I’d have to ask Reverend Mother if I can give you the address. I shouldn’t think she’d mind, though.’

‘Thank you. Did you ever meet Sister Teresa?’ he said, as they went up the second flight of stairs.

‘She came over for the centenary celebration last year,’ said Catherine. ‘She’s getting on – she must be eighty – but she’s still very spry and bright. The attic’s up here – the stairs are a bit narrow, so be careful.’

The attic was quiet and dim, and as Catherine found the light switch tiny cobwebs stirred in corners.

‘As a storage place,’ said Theo, surveying it, ‘it’s unnaturally tidy.’

‘Is it? I haven’t got much experience of attics. The centenary stuff’s over there, I think. Yes, look, two boxes, labelled Centenary.’

‘These look like the Bursar’s original notes,’ he said, lifting one of the boxes out and setting it on a battered table. ‘Yes, she’s made a folder of odd letters and accounts. Would she mind if I read this, d’you think? Or even borrowed the folder for a day or so?’ Then, seeing her hesitation, said, ‘I’ll ask her myself if that’s easier. I can truthfully say I want to find out what happened to the children.’

Catherine looked at him. ‘Is there a bit more to this than an idea for a plot?’

At first she thought he was not going to answer, but then he said, ‘Yes. There’s quite a lot more to it, and I hope I can tell you soon. But at the moment it’s not my secret to tell.’

‘Is it something to do with your cousin’s death?’

‘It might be. Will you trust me as far as that?’

‘Yes,’ she said at once. ‘Will you trust me to ask the Bursar very discreetly if you can borrow her notes?’

‘I’d trust you with anything, Catherine,’ he said, softly, and quite suddenly the attic had become an intimate cave, and the world beyond it ceased to matter or even exist. He was standing so close to her Catherine could see the flecks of black in his grey eyes. She had the absurd thought that if he touched her she might faint.

But when he did touch her, she did not.

He put a hand up to her face, tracing the line of her cheekbone and then her lips, and it was as if his fingers set up a tiny series of electric sparks across her skin. Almost without realizing what she was doing, Catherine stepped forward, and his arms went round her.

She thought he said, ‘Catherine, this is the maddest thing I’ve ever done,’ but then he was kissing her. It was a soft, deep exploratory kiss, and she had to cling to him to stop herself falling over because the attic was whirling round, and even if this was the maddest thing ever, it was the most marvellous feeling. I’ll have to stop in a minute, she thought, I can’t do this, I
can’t.
But just another minute . . .

When at last he released her, there was a faint flush of colour across his cheeks, and his eyes were lit to brilliance.

‘I expect I should be sorry,’ he said. ‘I’m not, though. But I didn’t mean to do that. You have the most extraordinary effect on me.’

‘I don’t want you to be sorry,’ said Catherine, surprised to hear that her voice came out with hardly a tremor. ‘Oh, Theo, I wanted you to do that ever since . . .’

‘Ever since we met?’

‘More or less.’ Ever since I watched you with Charmery all those years ago, she was thinking, and ever since I held your dead son in my arms.

‘What now?’ he said. ‘Do we talk about this, or do I go away politely and leave you to—’

‘Untangle my emotions? Yes,’ she said, frowning. ‘I think I should do that. I think I need to be on my own . . .’ This time her voice did tremble.

‘All right. I’ll come back to see you in a couple of days,’ he said. ‘But I’ll be at Fenn if you want to talk to me before then.’

‘I know.’

‘Will you have to – to confess or something?’

‘Yes.’

‘Will that be embarrassing?’

‘I should think the Church has heard worse than—’

‘Than a confession of a snatched kiss in an attic? Was that what you were going to say?’

‘Was that all it was? Or an experiment to see what it would feel like to kiss a nun? Sorry, I shouldn’t have said that.’

‘Was it what you were thinking?’

‘Yes.’

‘You know it wasn’t that,’ said Theo. ‘You must know how – how strongly you attract me, and . . . Dammit, I’m even afraid to use the ordinary chat-up lines with you!’ He thrust his fingers angrily through his hair. ‘This is probably the most bizarre conversation I’ve ever had – and that’s saying quite a lot,’ he said. ‘This would normally be the point where I’d ask you out, but I suppose I can’t do that. Or can I?’

‘I don’t know.’ For a dreadful moment Catherine thought she might burst into tears, but if she did he would take her in his arms again and then she would not be able to think properly. She made a huge effort and said, ‘I think we’d better go.’

As they went downstairs neither of them spoke, but when they got to the main doors, Catherine managed to recall the main purpose of Theo’s visit, and said, ‘I’ll ask the Bursar about borrowing her notes. And I’ll ask Reverend Mother if you can have the Romanian address.’