Missing (15 page)

‘Yeah, it’s fine,’ she answered. ‘I just called to say goodnight.’

With relief, he said, ‘Did you have a good time, you girls?’

‘Oh, you know,’ she said dismissively. ‘Everyone’s in bed now. Martha’s sleeping in my room, and the others are in one of the guest rooms. Dad?’

‘Yes?’

‘Nothing.’

He waited.

‘Do you think …? I mean …’

Still he waited.

‘Well, you don’t think Mum’s, you know, dead or anything, do you?’

Having guessed something like that was coming, he said, very softly, ‘No, I don’t.’

‘So where is she? I mean, it’s starting to get really embarrassing her not coming home and everything. I keep feeling as though people are thinking there’s something wrong with us, for her not to want to come back.’

‘Did one of your friends say that?’

‘No, not really. Well, a bit I suppose. Anyway, it doesn’t really matter. I only rang to say goodnight.’

‘I can come back tomorrow if you want me to,’ he told her.

‘No. No, it’s fine. My friends will still be here, and we’ve got like loads to do.’

‘Such as?’

‘Um, well, there’s a shoot in the top woods in the morning, and they need some pheasant-beaters, so we’re going to do that. Then in the afternoon we’ve got homework and stuff.’

‘OK.’

Her voice was slightly strangled as she said, ‘Sleep well, then.’

‘Kelsey, what is it?’

‘Nothing. Did you have a nice time tonight?’

‘Not bad. You were right, it did me good to get out.’

‘I expect it’s quite nice being away from me.’

‘Now that’s a really daft thing to say.’

She took a breath and held it for a moment before saying, ‘Do you miss Mum at all?’

‘Yes, of course,’ he answered, truthfully.

‘So why aren’t you looking for her?’

Smothering a sigh, he said, ‘I’ve tried everywhere and everyone I can think of, darling. That’s why I called the police. Remember?’

‘Mm,’ she said. Then, after a pause, ‘Was
she
there tonight?’

‘If you mean Vivienne, then no, she wasn’t.’

‘Have you called her again?’

‘No.’

He heard her swallow and knew she was still close to tears. ‘I’d better go now,’ she said.

Wishing he could somehow transport himself back to Devon, he said, ‘You don’t have to. I’m happy to chat.’

‘No, it’s fine. I’m tired and Martha probably wants to turn out the light.’

‘Where are you?’

‘In your study. We all got a bit tipsy earlier. It was quite a lot of fun, actually. Anyway, I’m going now. You don’t have to bother calling tomorrow. I’ll be fine.’

He started to respond, but realising she’d already gone he disconnected too.

For the next few minutes he toyed with the idea of
calling
back, but reminding himself that she’d been mixing alcohol with far too many emotions, he decided to let it go till morning.

However, as he lay open-eyed in the darkness, he couldn’t ignore the sinking sensation inside him. In the morning Kelsey would still feel anxious about her mother, and afraid of him restarting a relationship with Vivienne. So maybe it was time for him to reconsider the way he was handling this, because no matter what, Kelsey had to come first, even though the prospect of a future without Vivienne was one he immediately wanted to reject.

Chapter Six

AS VIVIENNE SPED
past Exeter, leaving behind the sprawling mass of suburbia, she couldn’t help wondering if being in Devon felt so exhilarating because of the times she’d spent here with Miles – or was there just something magical about the county that always filled her with gladness? As a child she’d often visited the coastal resorts, Dawlish, Salcombe, and Torquay, where she and her mother and sister had spent special, happy holidays romping about the beaches with her father, or sailing the estuary, or riding the fun fairs – or hanging onto their tent to stop it blowing away in the wind. They were precious memories, but the most treasured of all were those of walking or riding over Dartmoor with Miles, sitting snugly in front of roaring fires in old-fashioned inns, or working on his house and garden, transforming it into the home of their dreams.

Finding herself steeped in a pleasing nostalgia she eventually left the motorway to begin heading in the opposite direction to Moorlands, towards the remote village of Kenleigh. It felt strange to be going this way, as though she’d taken a wrong turn, but she was relieved not to be too close to the places she knew, for there was no doubt the memories
would
be much harder to deal with if she were.

In next to no time she was plunging deeply into the meandering forests of Haldon, where the trees soared skywards, and enticing nature trails snaked off into the sun-dappled beyond. She was now in territory she didn’t know at all, for she’d never visited Keith Goss at his home, only at the fire station or swimming pool. Though she and Miles had done a lot of walking and riding during their time together, it had almost always been on Dartmoor, certainly never over this way.

Soon the dark density of the woodland began yielding to a landscape that rose and dipped in a gently billowing patchwork of ploughed earth and verdant meadows. She put down the window to inhale the scent of woodsmoke, mingled with farmyards and wild herbs and even a vaguely salty tang of the sea. Then, pulling into a lay-by to check she was still on the right road, she waited for a tractor to lumber by with a cargo of tightly packed bales before following it to where it turned into a field, allowing her to pick up speed again.

Two miles further on she finally came upon a small signpost directing her to Kenleigh. At the same instant her BlackBerry started to ring. Glancing down to see who it was, she immediately connected via the Bluetooth in her ear. ‘Hi,’ she said. ‘How’s everything?’

‘Pretty good this end,’ Alice told her. ‘Where are you?’

‘About three miles from the village, I think. I must have missed a turn somewhere, because I’ve obviously come the long way round.’

‘Easily done. So what’s first on your agenda?’

‘I’m meeting Stella Coombes at the Smugglers. Is it easy to find?’

‘Very. It’s right in the middle of the village, so whichever way you approach, you can’t miss it. Is Sharon going to be there?’

‘Apparently she’s hoping to make it, but one of her children has a football match he doesn’t want her to miss.’

‘What about the firemen?’

‘No. Today’s about organising, not performing, so I’ll see them separately. Now tell me, did you have your family get-together this weekend?’

‘We did, which is actually the reason I’m calling, because the delightful Theo not only wants to be one of your auction lots, he’s offering to be involved in any way he can, whether it’s publicity, organising, being some kind of gofer, you name it.’

Vivienne’s heart swelled with triumph. ‘That’s fantastic!’ she cried. ‘We’re going to have no problem promoting this now. The firemen were definitely doing it, but with Theo on board … Apart from being a national hero and drop-dead gorgeous, the boy was part of the same Olympic team as Keith Goss.’

‘I think it might be more politic to refer to him as a man these days,’ Alice advised. ‘He’s twenty-one now, and, as you say, an Olympic champion.’

‘This is going to be so wonderful for Sharon to hear. I haven’t mentioned a word of it to anyone yet, because I really didn’t think he’d be able to find the time.’

‘He assures me he’s going to make it. He’s talking to his coach today, as well as the powers that be at Bath University, which is where he does his training. He has to consult them, because he wants to offer their facilities as a part of the package everyone will be bidding for. So it’ll be a day’s coaching from Theo Kenwood-South at one of the nation’s most prestigious
facilities,
plus five sessions of personal fitness training for the highest bidder, either in their own home, or at their nearest gym.’

Vivienne felt like swooning. ‘The next time you speak to him, please tell him I love him,’ she urged.

‘I think he already knows that,’ Alice informed her, dryly.

Laughing, Vivienne said, ‘When, how, can I get in touch with him?’

‘He’ll contact us, as soon as he’s sorted out his commitments for the next few weeks. Now, I’m assuming there was no word from Miles over the weekend or you’d have told me.’

‘No,’ Vivienne replied, aware of the twist in her heart. ‘And before you ask, no more anonymous calls either.’

‘That’s good. How does it feel being down there?’

‘Odd. I mean wonderful, because I love it so much, but this part is quite different to Dartmoor. Much less rugged and wild.’

‘That’s what I found. Oh, hang on, I’ve got another call.’

As she went off the line Vivienne slowed up at a Y-junction, and finally spotting a sign for Kenleigh lurking in a bush, she took the right fork to begin heading down another single-track country lane, where tufts of moist earth and moss wove a route down the centre, and leafy banks rose up into the hawthorns either side.

‘I’m back,’ Alice told her, ‘and you’d better brace yourself, I’m afraid, because I’m about to tell you something you obviously don’t know or you’d have rung me by now. There’s a big piece in the
Mail
about Jacqueline today.’

At that Vivienne felt herself sinking inside. ‘What does it say?’ she asked, pulling into a passing point to allow a horsebox to go by.

‘Needless to say they’ve dredged up the past, going over what happened when Sam disappeared. There’re also a couple of mental-health experts talking about the long-term effects of that kind of trauma. No comment from Miles, but there is a picture of him, taken a few years ago by the look of it, and of Kelsey looking about twelve. Nothing about you, you’ll be glad to hear.’

‘Should I read it?’

‘It won’t tell you anything you don’t already know, so maybe don’t bother.’

‘Is it in any of the other papers?’

‘Most. The
Mail
has the biggest spread, though.’

‘Well, with any luck it’ll prompt someone to come forward and tell us where she is.’

‘True, but it also means there’ll be a lot of reporters hanging about Moorlands over the next few days. Are you OK with that?’

‘I don’t have much choice, but it’s at least ten miles or more from where I’m going to be, so there’s no reason for me to run into them. Besides, I’m hardly going to turn back now, when everyone’s waiting for me. In fact, I’d better ring off, because I think I’m just about to hit the outskirts of Kenleigh. Very quickly, though, has Pete met with
La Belle Amie
yet?’

‘He’s with her as we speak, and I’m about to go off to a cast meeting, so we’ll catch up again later. Will you be staying at the Smugglers?’

‘No, apparently Stella Coombes has my accommodation in hand, so I wait to find out what treat I have in store.’

As she disconnected via her earpiece Vivienne tried pushing aside the feelings the call had left her with, not wanting Jacqueline’s disappearance, or even Miles to become her focus now. She was here for entirely other reasons that mattered a great deal to the women she was about to meet, and to her relief, as she began passing between two rows of colourful cottages, each one painted in a different shade of blue, or yellow, or rose pink, she felt her tension starting to ebb. She really did love these Devonshire villages, and the gentle welcome they seemed to exude – and now Theo had committed to helping, she felt a pleasing rush of enthusiasm well up inside her.

Following the road round to the left she came to a high drystone wall that protected the churchyard, and just beyond that a central grassy area with toadstool pillars connected by looped black chains. What appeared to be the high street, and probably a more direct route in and out of the village, ran along the top of the small park, with a village store-cum-post office set back between a charity shop and a smattering of thatched cottages, next to which was a car park belonging to the pub.

As she turned onto the main street she caught a glimpse up ahead of red brick houses with grey tiled roofs and white-framed sash windows. These, she suspected, were some of the council properties that had been built during the early seventies to replace the prefabs that had gone up after the war. Apparently Sharon Goss and her children lived in one of them.

She’d just pulled into the pub car park and drawn up alongside a battered-looking Subaru, when someone startled her with a sharp rap on her driver’s window. She turned quickly, and immediately started
to
smile, not only in response to the beaming, round face with its wind-mottled cheeks, pixie nose and crowning thatch of carroty hair, but at how accurate Alice’s description had been.

‘Stella Coombes is a cross between Benny Hill, Dennis the Menace and Wendy,’ she’d claimed, and she clearly hadn’t been joking.

‘Hello, hello,’ Stella gushed in her engaging West Country burr as she pulled open the door. ‘Welcome to Kenleigh. I bin looking out for you. You did jolly well to get here so quick. Did you come M4, M5, or 303?’

‘Motorway,’ Vivienne answered, getting out of the car.

‘Oh my,’ Stella clucked, as she took Vivienne’s hand in a rough, stumpy grasp, and to Vivienne’s astonishment she went off into peals of laughter.

‘I’m sorry,’ Vivienne said, looking around uncertainly, ‘did I miss something?’

‘No, not at all,’ Stella assured her. ‘It’s just me. Can’t help laughing sometimes, specially when someone looks like you.’

Vivienne started to laugh too. ‘What’s wrong with me?’ she asked, wondering what kind of paroxysms the woman might go into when she looked in the mirror. Not that she wished to be rude, but really, if anyone was strange around here, Stella Coombes had it in spades.

‘Nothing’s wrong with you,’ Stella replied, dabbing her eyes. ‘It’s just that you and Alice … I’ve never come across a pair who look more like their namesakes. Her, with all her golden hair, and you … Go on, tell me, I bet your dad named you after Vivien Leigh.’

‘Actually, you’re right,’ Vivienne admitted, ‘but he spelt it differently.’

‘With those twinkly blue eyes and all that black hair, you’re the spit,’ Stella informed her cheerfully. ‘Anyway, come on in now, let’s get you a drink, bet you’re dying for one after the drive. It’s a lovely day, innit? Bodes well that, the sun shining on your arrival. Some of the others is already here. Not everyone, because a lot of us has jobs. Meself, I’m a farmer’s wife, well you knows that, so I’m a bit of an early bird, which gives me a couple of hours to meself in the afternoons.’