Missing (2 page)

‘Hello? Vivi, are you with us?’

Vivienne looked up from her computer screen to find her assistant waving at her, a cheery grin lighting up her impish little face.

‘Alice for you, line one,’ Kayla told her.

Vivienne reached for her extension and was about to say hello when Alice’s voice came down the line in an avalanche of excitement. ‘Brace yourself,’ she commanded, ‘because this is the news you’ve been waiting for. In fact, it’s going to knock your knickers off.’

Considering where Alice had spent the past two days Vivienne’s heart gave an anxious jolt, but she was laughing as she said, ‘I never imagined the weekend was going to produce such results. In fact, I wasn’t expecting any at all.’

‘Weekend?’ Alice said blankly. ‘Oh, yes, that. We’ll come back to it. Right now I need to congratulate you, actually
us
, because Irwin’s project has just been given the green light. They’re all systems go from next Monday and we, my sizzling little superstar, are on board to handle the publicity.’

Vivienne’s eyes lit up. This was indeed the news they’d been waiting for, and it couldn’t have come at a
better
time, for they were now so badly in debt to the bank that they’d lately been forced to discuss closing down the public relations agency they’d started together, a little over seven years ago. ‘When did you hear?’ she demanded eagerly.

‘I just got the call – from Irwin himself, bless his frilly little socks. I’ve told Kayla to go and splash out on some champagne. We’re celebrating when I get there.’

‘Where are you now?’

‘Still on the train. Just left Reading, so about half an hour from Paddington.’ There was a shuffling of paperwork as she presumably rearranged her notes. ‘OK, back to the weekend,’ she declared. ‘I should begin by telling you that they were seriously disappointed it was me who showed up and not you.’

Vivienne blinked. ‘Are we talking about the Kenleigh Women’s Institute?’ she asked, needing to make sure they were on the same page.

‘Of course. I did my best with the advice they wanted, but their confidence is entirely in you.’

‘But I’ve never met them. Have I?’

‘Not that they mentioned, but you do know – or at least
knew
– one of their husbands. Keith Goss.’

Vivienne was taken aback. ‘You met Keith’s wife, Sharon?’

‘I did, and it seems her husband never stopped raving about how good you are at your job, getting him all that publicity and sponsorship when he was in training for the Olympics – which never earned us a bean, I might remind you, but I guess that’s not really the point.’

Remembering those days only too vividly, and for many more reasons than the help she’d given Keith Goss, Vivienne forced her thoughts to remain with the
gifted
young swimmer who’d lost his life while trying to save one of his fire-fighting colleagues in a factory blaze. The tragedy hadn’t only rocked the local community to its core, the rest of the nation had felt it too, for Keith’s easy-going nature and cheeky grin had made him almost as popular with the sports-loving public as his athletic prowess. ‘How is Sharon?’ she asked. ‘And the children?’

‘Didn’t see the kids, but Sharon was at the meeting. It’s all about her, actually. I’ll explain more when I get back to the office, but the bottom line is, you did Keith a favour once, now the local WI are hoping you’ll do one again for his wife.’

Curious, Vivienne said, ‘What kind of a favour?’

Alice’s reply was drowned out by static, leaving Vivienne to recall the only occasion she’d ever met Sharon Goss, though it was doubtful Sharon had any memory of it herself, for it had been at Keith’s funeral.

‘Are you there?’ Alice said, coming back on the line.

‘Yes. Why didn’t the woman who rang last week tell me it was about Sharon? I’d have gone down myself if I’d known.’

‘Really? To Devon?’

‘Of course.’ Then, after a pause, ‘Actually yes, I would have.’

‘Well you might have to yet, but we’ll discuss it when I get back. Are you OK? How was your weekend?’

‘Fine.’

‘Any more calls from you know who?’

‘No, but there was an email waiting for me this morning saying he still needs to talk to me. I emailed back asking what about.’

‘And?’

‘No answer yet.’ She looked up as Kayla came out of the kitchenette in her woolly hat and a parka jacket, saying, ‘Can you ask Alice if she’s got the Brennard file?’

‘Tell her yes, I have,’ Alice answered.

‘Why do you need it?’ Vivienne wanted to know.

Before Kayla could answer Alice said, ‘We’ve had a similar enquiry, which Kayla and I have been drafting a proposal for.’

Vivienne’s expression darkened as she looked at Kayla. ‘What do you mean, similar?’ she asked.

‘Her name’s Belinda Bellamy,’ Alice replied, ‘otherwise known as
La Belle Amie
. We didn’t tell you, because we knew how you’d react, so before you go off on one …’

‘I know what you’re going to say, that we’re in no position to be choosy, but cleaning up the image of porn stars isn’t what we want to become known for.’

‘If we want to survive it might have to be.’

Reluctantly conceding the point, Vivienne said, ‘OK, we’ll look at it when you get here. Now, tell me more about the WI and Sharon Goss.’

No reply.

‘Alice? Are you there?’

Realising the connection had been lost, Vivienne hung up and returned to her computer. Alice would ring back when she emerged from whatever tunnel, or dip, or black hole of the English countryside she’d plunged into. Meanwhile it would be a good idea to start reacquainting herself with Irwin’s movie, for six months had passed since their original pitch for the business.

Ten minutes later the phone rang again. Presuming
it
was Alice she picked up, saying, ‘OK, where were we?’

There was a pause before the voice at the other end said, ‘Now that isn’t a question I was expecting, so I’m afraid I don’t readily have an answer.’

The blood drained from Vivienne’s face as her heartbeat slowed and her head started to spin. ‘Miles,’ she said, thrown by the intensity of her reaction, even though she’d known, since receiving his message last week, that it would affect her profoundly when they did finally speak. She just hadn’t realised how powerfully the sound of his voice would move her.

‘Am I interrupting?’ he said. ‘Is this a bad time?’

‘No, it’s not a bad time,’ she assured him, and as though needing to confirm it she glanced at the clock. Five minutes to ten on a Monday morning. She took a breath to speak again, but suddenly too many thoughts were crowding her mind, while too many emotions filled the spaces inside her. She had never loved anyone the way she loved this man, and as the force of it came swirling out of the past, intensifying the hold on her heart, she had no way to resist it. ‘Did you get my email?’ she asked.

‘I did, but I wanted to speak to you in person. Incidentally, I hope it was OK that I gave your number to the WI?’

‘Yes, yes of course.’

‘I was going to get in touch anyway, then they called and … Well … How are you?’

‘Fine. I’m … Uh, it’s good to hear you.’ Was it? Yes, of course, but why was he calling? Had he found out what she’d been keeping from him? What would she do if he had? Suddenly it was hard to breathe. ‘Is everything OK?’ she asked, managing to push her
voice
through the tightness in her chest. ‘It’s been a long time.’

‘Just over two years.’

She stood up, and carried the phone to the window. Outside an impervious world was going about its business, carrying on as though nothing extraordinary or momentous was happening anywhere, when it surely must be – not only here, in her small space, but in all the random vehicles crossing Kew Bridge, the planes flying overhead, the barges cruising the river. ‘What are you doing these days?’ she asked, wanting to delay the real reason for his call. It was safer this side of knowing, where hope still had a chance and dread could be ignored. ‘I know you resigned.’ There was an ironic lilt to her voice which echoed in his as he said, ‘Faced with Hobson’s choice I tried to remain as dignified as possible.’

She laughed, and felt the pleasure of it moving through her like warmth after an endless chill.

‘As to what I’m doing now,’ he said, ‘I’m supposed to be writing a biography of our illustrious ex-prime minister, but I confess progress is slow and the subject is, shall we say, not always thrilled by the author’s approach to his inimitable … achievements.’

Again she smiled. As the ex-editor of a national newspaper who’d made no secret of his contempt for recent government policy, or his loathing for the American mogul who’d acquired his paper by fouler means than fair, it was no surprise that a publisher was keen to get Miles into print. Not that his name had disappeared from the media since his very public resignation a year ago, for his opinion was regularly sought on any number of topics, from Middle East unrest to education reforms.

How exhilarating their time together had been, in so many ways, and inspiring and right – and doomed, though thank God she hadn’t known it then.

‘How are things in the world of public relations?’ he asked.

She grimaced. ‘They’ve been better, but it’s starting to pick up again.’ She only hoped she was speaking the truth, but Irwin’s movie was a good sign.

She was gazing at her reflection in the window, a hazy figure merging with the slick, viscous strip of the river outside and the greyness of the sky. It could almost have been the ghost of her former self, staring back with haunted eyes and a pale, heart-shaped face. In reality, her eyes were a lustrous blue. Her cheekbones were high and naturally blushed, her mouth full and red, her hair long and heavy and almost black. ‘We’re still in Pier House, next to the river,’ she said.

‘… and close to home.’

‘And close to home,’ she confirmed, letting him know that she hadn’t moved from the small town house she’d had when they were together, though the arrears on her mortgage meant this might soon become necessary. ‘We have another partner now,’ she continued. ‘Pete Alexander. Actually, he’s freelance, but Alice and I like to think of him as ours.’

‘How is Alice?’

‘She’s OK. I’m sure she’d want me to say hi. Actually she’s been in Kenleigh this weekend.’

‘In response to the WI?’

‘Yes. I’d have gone myself but I was … otherwise engaged.’ What an absurd thing to say. She wished she could take it back.

‘Does that mean what I think it does?’

Realising what he’d read into it, she said, ‘That I’ve met someone else? No, I haven’t.’ Maybe she should have lied, but it was too late now. ‘Where are you?’ she asked, presuming he was at home in Kensington, since it was a weekday and he no longer had an office to go to.

‘I’m in Devon.’

At that her heart gave a painful twist and her eyes closed, but it was impossible to shut out the image of him at the sprawling seventeenth-century farmhouse his grandfather had bought in the twenties and Miles had inherited six years ago. She’d loved the place almost as much as he had; it was where they’d spent every weekend and holiday while they were together, and they had even drawn up plans to modernise it in keeping with its heritage. They’d been so happy then, and in love, until fate had intervened to tear them apart.

‘I guess I should come to the point of my call,’ he said.

The earnestness of his tone caused her heart to trip.

‘Actually, I should probably have said this at the start,’ he went on, ‘but I want you to know that I wouldn’t be putting either of us through this if it weren’t necessary.’

Experiencing a quick panic as the loss she’d felt when he’d told her it was over seemed to move out of the shadows to claim her again, she took a step back as though to escape it. ‘This sounds ominous,’ she commented with a shaky laugh.

‘Maybe it is. I’m not sure.’ Then, after a pause, ‘I need to know … Have you seen or heard from Jacqueline recently?’

She became very still. It could hardly be a serious
question,
yet he’d never have asked if it weren’t. ‘You mean your wife Jacqueline?’ she said, as if there could be any other. ‘Why would you think I’ve seen her?’ A voice was crying out in her head,
you were separated when we were together, she has no reason to come looking for me
. She put a hand to her mouth, as though to prevent the words from tumbling out.
I’m not the cause of her problems
, she wanted to say.

Only when he answered did she realise how tense he’d sounded before. ‘I guess that tells me what I need to know. She hasn’t been in touch at all?’

‘No, but why are you asking?’

He took a breath. ‘The last time any of us saw her was over three weeks ago. She was supposed to be going up to London. As far as I know she got on the train at Exeter, but I haven’t heard from her since.’

Vivienne’s agitation was mounting. ‘She always had a habit of taking herself off without warning,’ she reminded him.

‘But it’s never been this long before.’

With a multitude of unworthy, as well as unnerving thoughts whirling around in her head, Vivienne said, ‘What about Kelsey? Surely she must have …’

‘She hasn’t contacted Kelsey either. We’ve both tried calling and leaving messages, but I’m afraid things haven’t changed with Jacqueline, she still disappears at random, and never answers until she’s ready to.’

Feeling the craziness of his life mixing with the anger she felt at how resolutely it stood between them, she asked, ‘Are you sure she came to London?’

‘Only insofar as I dropped her at the station. I didn’t wait around to make sure she got on the train.’

The image of Jacqueline Avery turning heads as she strode into the station at Exeter, all Chanel couture and
chic
blonde chignon, was an easy one to conjure, and perhaps even to admire. Yet it wasn’t real, because very little about Miles’s wife was what it seemed. She was like a book whose cover told the wrong story, a glittering window masking a room full of dark secrets. To look at her there was simply no way of telling that she often couldn’t cope with her life, because there was nothing to see on the outside that set her apart from any other attractive woman of her age.