Missing From Home (15 page)

CHAPTER
VII
I

HOWEVER comforting Jerry Penrose’s intervention might be to Marilyn, for Clare and her husband it provided no special lifting of the heart. All they could think of was the urgent necessity of starting once more on the weary, agonising search for the now genuinely lost Pat.

“Shall I come with you to the police, Greg
?
” Clare got up and came to her husband’s side, as though sensing that his need of her was as great as her need of him. “I might know some fact or remember some detail that escaped you.”

“If you feel you can bear it,” he said bleakly.

“Of course I can bear it! Much better than sitting here waiting for news, to tell the truth. Let’s go together, dear.”

She slipped her arm into his, and for a moment he brushed his lips across her cheek, as though unspeakably thankful to have her there.

“Will you trust me to stay here and look after Marilyn?” asked Jerry at that point.

“I doubt if she needs anyone to look after her,” replied Greg drily. “She seems to have shown herself well able to take the initiative—for good or ill
—
without the support of anyone else.”

“I’d like Jerry to stay,” Marilyn said humbly. “It would be better than waiting here alone.”

Jerry looked disproportionately pleased at this modest estimate of his company, and Clare said, “Please stay, then, Jerry. I expect the police will want to see Mari later. But perhaps it’s best for my husband and me to make the first approach.”

“Yes, indeed!” And as Marilyn looked startled and anxious, Jerry moved to her side with the obvious intention of putting fresh courage into her.

“It’s still half make-believe to those two young idiots,” Greg observed grimly as he and Clare went to the lift. But Clare said,

“Oh, no, I don’t think so. It’s just that, having confessed their disgraceful part in this, they’re almost weak with relief, and they can’t help feeling things will somehow be all right now.”

“Having unloaded their anxiety and trouble on to us, you mean
?
”

“Isn’t that what parents are for?” Clare smiled faintly. And after a moment he made a slight face and said,

“Yes, I suppose they are. How much do we tell the police
?
”

“Everything.” Clare was resolute about that.

“Even the girls’ so-called reason for doing this preposterous thing
?
”

“How else can we make the situation clear? They were so unhappy about the break-up of their family life that they thought they must do something. That’s the sole reason for Pat’s disappearance in the first instance.”

She saw from his expression that he very much disliked the idea of laying their private affairs before a stranger. But he accepted her commonsense ruling. And when they arrived at the police station, it was he who took on the disagreeable task of telling their story to the stolid-looking sergeant, who sat at a desk taking notes.

“So you mean, sir, that in your opinion the young lady disappeared intentionally in the beginning, but that now she would like to come back but can’t.”

“I know it sounds an improbable story, but—”

“No, sir. Nothing is improbable these days,” the sergeant said resignedly. “You couldn’t tell me anything about young people that would surprise me. What makes you think she wants to come home now but can’t
?
”

“She has practically no money—” Clare began. “That’s usually the least of their worries. If they’ve got a bit of push they can get a job almost anywhere. If this young lady really intended to leave home—”

“But she didn’t! Not really. It was a—a sort of hoax,” Clare pointed out. “Then it became vital for her to contact her sister. She arranged to do so—and then there was nothing from her. Not a word or sign.”

“She could have changed her
min
d.”

“There was no
reason
for her to change her mind.”

“Oh well—” the sergeant’s tone said clearly that in his experience people constantly changed their minds for little or no reason at all.

“Then her bag was found—rifled.”

“She might have disposed of it herself.”

“With her passport in
?
”

“No,” the sergeant conceded. “No, that’s unusual.” And he made another note. “Now what’s this about her bracelet being worn by another girl? You say there’s no possibility of its being a duplicate?”

“Hardly the smallest chance.” Clare spoke quickly, before Greg could. “I had it made to a special design for her.” And, slowly and clearly, she repeated the story Greg had already told.

“You say you have the number of the car these people drove off in
?
” The sergeant turned to Greg. “Yes. Here it is.”

The sergeant noted down the number. Then he studied what he had written and said,

“Well, we’ll make the routine enquiries for a missing person, and we’ll try to trace the owner of this car and make enquiries there too. Meanwhile, if the young lady turns up—” he seemed to regard this as a distinct possibility—“perhaps you’d let me know immediately.”

“Yes, of course.” Greg spoke a little stiffly. And then, with
Clare
’s imploring eyes on him, he added, “Isn’t there anything
we
can do
?
”

“You’ve enquired at the homes of her various friends, I take it? Anywhere where she might be staying.”

“There’s nowhere she would go and not be able to come back,” Clare insisted.

“Assuming she really has changed her mind and still doesn’t
want
to stay away. We’re not really sure about that, are we
?
”

“Everything points to it!”

“Well, no, madam, I wouldn’t say that exactly.
The only thing we know positively—according to her sister’s admission—is that she went away of her own accord in the beginning. It’s possible that the situation has changed, and of course we’ll follow up that possibility. That’s all I can say.”

It seemed that was all anyone could say. And on the short drive home Clare and Greg hardly addressed a word to each other. Then finally she burst out,

“He wasn’t very helpful, was he?”

“I suppose he thought the chances were that it was just another crazy, inconsiderate kid playing up her over-anxious parents.” Greg’s mouth was set grimly. “It could be, too, of course,” he added after a moment.

“It’s not! I know my child—At least, I think I do.” Clare pressed the back of her hand against her forehead. “She was happy at home. There was never any real reason for her to go away, as I always thought.
It was just this mad idea she and Marilyn had. And now that things have gone wrong for her—as shown by the empty handbag and the bracelet on another girl’s arm—she would want only one thing—to get in touch with Mari. She knew how to do so. She’d suggested the very way herself. And yet there’s this utter silence. No one can tell me she isn’t in trouble
—
or danger.”

Greg made no answer to that, but it was obvious from his expression that his thoughts jumped with hers. And by the time they got back to the flat they both looked so dispirited that Marilyn cried anxiously, “No news? N-nothing helpful from the police?”

“Nothing.” Clare ran her hand distractedly through her hair. “Oh, they’ll make what they call the routine enquiries for a missing person. But the sergeant was obviously more than half convinced that she’s still staying away of her own accord. It’s so difficult to explain an individual person to someone else. He just thinks she’s any sort of tiresome teenager kicking over the traces. He doesn’t know she wouldn’t do this or she would do that
just because she’s Pat.
He doesn’t know how Pat ticks. How should he?”

“Give him a little time, Mrs. Collamore,” Jerry said encouragingly. “They never promise anything. They can’t. But they’re much quicker on the uptake than many people think. And they have very efficient machinery for tracing people, you know.”

“Yes, I know. I keep telling myself that, and thank you for reminding me.” She smiled faintly. And then, as she saw him taking prolonged leave of Marilyn, “Must you go now?”

“I’m afraid I must. I didn’t leave word at the office that I’d be missing all the afternoon, and I’d better put in some sort of appearance, however belated.”

“Yes, of course. We can’t thank you enough for all your help and support.” And she followed him out into the hall.

For a whole minute there was silence between Marilyn and her father. Then, as they heard Clare go to her own room, he said, as though with some difficulty,

“Mari, when you were really frightened this morning, why did you go to that young man—a virtual stranger—for help? He’s a nice fellow, I admit, but wouldn’t it have been more natural to go to your mother—or to me?”

“I didn’t feel Mother could stand any more. She’s so alone and—”

“All right,” he interrupted quickly, as though something stung him unbearably. “I understand that. But why didn’t you come to me? Did you think of me as
so
unfatherly and uncaring?”

“No, no!” She was moved by the bitter unhappiness in his face. “I did go to you. I went to the hotel. But you weren’t there. You were out.” And then, after a pause, “Mrs. Curtiss was there.”

“Linda Curtiss?” Her father glanced at her sharply. “Surely you didn’t talk to her about it?”

“She talked to me.” Marilyn looked down at her tightly clasped hands. “She said she knew Pat and I and Mother were all in some absurd sort of conspiracy to—to get you back. She—” Marilyn swallowed
—
“spoke abominably about Mother, and said she would make it quite clear to you that you were being fooled by us all.—What did you say?”

“Nothing!” Gregory Collamore got up and walked restlessly about the room. “Go on with your story.”

“I defended Mother, of course. But I think I let slip the fact that Pat and I
had
been in some silly sort of conspiracy. And then I saw that if I owned up to you at this point, Mrs. Curtiss would easily persuade you that Mother was involved too.”

“She would never have persuaded me of such a thing
!”
He spoke violently. “I know your mother far too well. She’s the soul of integrity. No one could
have made me think she would do anything small or petty or undignified like that.”

“I didn’t know that,” Marilyn said diffidently. “Perhaps it was silly of me not to realise how well you knew and appreciated Mother. But Mrs. Curtiss was very—confident, and seemed to think she could influence you a lot. I was too frightened to take any risks. I could only think of getting away before I betrayed myself further. So I said something rude—”

“Thank God for that!” exclaimed her father unexpectedly.

“—and got away,” finished Marilyn. “But then I realised that I was still without any help for Pat. And suddenly—” she smiled wanly but as though she still savoured that moment of relief—“I remembered Jerry, and I knew he’d help me.”

“You were more confident of him than of me?” said her father bitterly.

“Yes, I was,” replied Marilyn simply.

“But why, child? Why?”

“He’s easier to understand.”

“Easier—?” Greg Collamore caught his breath on a gasp. “Why should he be? I’m your father! You’ve known me all your life, while this young man—”

“Knowing someone all your life doesn’t make you understand them.” Marilyn drew a sigh. “I don’t understand anything about you in the last year. You say you love Pat and me, but you were content to go away and leave us. You speak of Mother as though she’s the most wonderful woman, but you wouldn’t have come near her if Pat hadn’t disappeared. You say you’re glad I was rude to Mrs. Curtiss, but you could have snubbed her yourself any day—only you didn’t. I don’t understand any of that. What I understand about Jerry is that he’s simple and straightforward and says what he means. He told me I’d been a fool, which I knew. But that didn’t prevent his
likin
g me and feeling he must help me when I was in trouble. That’s quite simple to understand and—Oh, I’m sorry!”

She paused in utter dismay, for her charming, self
-
assured, elegant father had dropped into a chair and buried his face in his hands.

“Dad—” She approached him timidly, but he made a slight, though unmistakable gesture of dismissal. Then she heard a sound which made her turn and flee from the room.

“Mother—” she burst into her mother’s room, to find Clare sitting by the window, aimlessly staring out.

“What is it?” At Marilyn’s sudden eruption into the room, Clare turned a white, anxious face upon her.

“It’s—Dad. Please go and talk to him. I—I think I said some things I shouldn’t, and he’s upset. If I didn’t know it was
impossible,
I’d say he was crying—”

“Greg!” Clare brushed past her dismayed child and went out of the room. At the sitting-room door, she hesitated a second. Then she went in. His face was no longer hidden. Indeed, his hands hung slackly between his knees as though they were useless and no longer the clever hands of which both he and she had once been proud. He was staring in front of him
—
as aimlessly as she had looked from her window only two minutes ago—and he looked bleak and bewildered and much older than he really was.