A Question of Identity Read online

  ‘Someone produced it at our book group last night, and asked if anyone could throw light on it.’

  ‘Presumably no one could, since you’re now showing it to me.’

  Lindsey looked at her despairingly. ‘Aren’t you the slightest bit curious to know who’s been blacked out, and why?’

  ‘Probably a teacher who gave too much homework?’ Rona suggested.

  Lindsey shook her head. ‘It’s more than that. For one thing, it’s not just the face that’s been obliterated, it’s the whole figure – you can’t even tell if it’s male or female. As though the aim was to eliminate every last trace.’

  ‘You’re reading too much into it, Linz,’ Rona protested.

  When her twin didn’t reply, she asked, with the first flicker of interest, ‘Who did you say it belonged to?’

  ‘The mother-in-law of one of our members. She died recently; his wife’s been going through her things and came across it.’

  ‘Hadn’t she seen it before, while her mother was alive?’

  ‘Yes, that’s just it,’ Lindsey said slowly. ‘She remembered coming across it years ago, at the bottom of a sewing box, of all places. But when she’d asked about it, her mother nearly passed out, snatched it out of her hand, and steadfastly refused to discuss it. Glenda – that’s William’s wife – assumed she’d destroyed it. She said finding it again gave her a creepy feeling – as though the photo still held unsettling memories.’

  ‘A little fanciful,’ Rona commented. ‘And I still don’t see why this – William – took it to your book group.’

  ‘He’s been showing it to everyone, hoping someone might remember the school. Several in the group are in the right age bracket.’

  Rona flipped it over. On the back, written in faded pencil, were the words ‘Springfield Lodge. July 1951.’

  ‘Isn’t there a house of that name out your way?’ she asked.

  ‘That’s right; it’s still there, but in the guise of a private hotel.’

  ‘Did any of the oldies remember it?’

  ‘Only vaguely. Someone thought it had closed down in the early fifties – rather suddenly, they seemed to remember. Which, in view of the date on the photo, might be significant, wouldn’t you say?’

  Rona tossed it lightly back to her. ‘Who knows? If you want to make a mystery out of it, fair enough, but I can’t help you; I’ve never heard of the place.’ She looked up suddenly, fixing her twin with a glare. ‘Wait a minute: how come you’ve got hold of it?’

  Lindsey’s eyes dropped, and she poured two glasses of water with exaggerated care.

  ‘Linz!’

  ‘Well,’ Lindsey began diffidently, ‘you know how good you are at digging things out – your contacts, and so on. I just thought—’

  ‘I hope you’re not telling me you volunteered my services?’

  ‘Not exactly, I just—’

  ‘Because if so, you can unvolunteer them. Pronto.’

  ‘Oh come on, Ro! You don’t want your detective skills to wither while you’re bio-ing! This would keep them ticking over nicely!’

  The waitress reappeared, and they sat in silence while she set down their plates. Then Rona said evenly, ‘As you well know, my detective skills, as you call them, have been greatly exaggerated. All I’ve done—’

  ‘Is solve a few murders!’

  Rona made a dismissive gesture. ‘Quite apart from all that, I’m too tied up to take on anything else, even if I wanted to. Tell your friend to try Google.’

  ‘Oh, he has, but drew a complete blank. Hardly surprising, I suppose, when the school closed so long ago. He also tried Friends Reunited and other sites, but again with no luck. It’s as though everyone who’d anything to do with Springfield prefers to forget the fact.’

  ‘Oh, come on! A more likely explanation is they’re all getting on a bit. The youngest of those in the photo must be in their seventies.’ Rona reached for the print, still lying on the table, and turned it to face her. ‘Obviously this isn’t of the whole school, and since there’s quite an age range, it can’t be one class. A house photo, perhaps?’

  ‘You see!’ Lindsey exclaimed triumphantly. ‘You’ve already come up with something!’

  ‘I can’t see it’s much help. How about the hotel owners? Has William contacted them?’

  ‘Yes, but without luck. After the school closed, it became a nursing home, and the present owners bought it from them.’

  ‘Then I’m sorry. He’s already done anything I could do.’ She raised a hand as Lindsey started to speak. ‘Really, Linz, I’m not interested, so can we please change the subject?’

  For a moment Lindsey looked mutinous. Then, with a resigned sigh, she slid the photo back into her bag.

  ‘Any news of the parents?’ Rona went on. ‘I’ve been so wrapped up working, I haven’t spoken to either of them for a while.’

  ‘The big news is that Guy’s house has been sold.’

  Guy Lacey, who had previously lived in Stokely, had moved in with their mother earlier in the year, and put his own house on the market.

  ‘That’s excellent!’ Rona exclaimed. ‘Did he get the asking price?’

  ‘Very nearly. Mum says they’d been afraid, with the market as it is, that it could have hung on indefinitely.’

  ‘And Pops?’ Rona asked after a moment.

  ‘I’ve not spoken to him recently.’

  No surprise there, she thought; Lindsey had always been closer to their mother, particularly during the breakdown of their parents’ marriage. Tom Parish was renting a flat in town, and when the divorce came through, intended to marry Catherine Bishop, a woman Lindsey still resented.

  ‘And Dominic?’

  Lindsey’s mouth tightened. ‘Nothing new on that front.’

  ‘Meaning?’

  ‘That he’s being as bloody un-tie-downable as ever.’

  Rona laughed. ‘That’s the second word you’ve invented in as many minutes!’

  Lindsey picked half-heartedly at her quiche. ‘Damn it, Ro, we’ve known each other for a year now, and we’ve never spent more than a couple of days together – and that was on the blasted boat, with his daughter.’

  Rona said carefully, ‘Well, you did know what you were getting into.’

  Dominic Frayne was a high-flying entrepreneur, twice divorced and with three grown-up children, whose name had been linked with several society women. Although Rona liked him, she was privately surprised that his relationship with her sister – on and off though it was – had lasted so long.

  ‘And talking of his daughter,’ Lindsey went on indignantly, ‘when I suggested we might actually go on holiday together, he calmly announced he’s taking Olivia and the boys to Cyprus for a month in the summer – a month! – and can’t spare any more time off. Says it might be the last chance of a family holiday before Olivia gets married.’

  ‘You’ll have to fall back on Hugh, then,’ Rona said lightly. After an acrimonious divorce some years ago, Lindsey’s ex-husband had tried repeatedly to re-establish their relationship, a fact that, during gaps in her love life, Lindsey had shamelessly exploited.

  ‘Not so sure he’s available,’ she replied. ‘According to gossip, he’s been seen around town with a woman in tow.’

  ‘Really? Who?’

  Lindsey shrugged. ‘No idea. Good luck to him.’

  Despite her offhand manner, Rona suspected her sister regarded Hugh as her private property, and would resent any intruder in his affections. For whatever reason, she was quick to change the subject.

  ‘Doing anything this weekend?’

  ‘We’re going to the Darcy this evening, with the Ridgeways. There’s a hypnotist on, whom Magda’s keen to see.’

  ‘Good grief! Doesn’t sound like Max’s scene!’

  ‘Nor mine, but it might be fun. We’re eating at the Bacchus first.’

  Lindsey helped herself to more salad. ‘Do you believe in all that ESP stuff?’

  ‘I don’t think hypnotism comes in that
category; isn’t it accepted medical practice?’

  ‘Still weird, though. I shouldn’t like anyone messing about with my mind.’

  Rona laughed. ‘They’d probably find more than they bargained for! But as far as ESP goes, we’ve always been telepathic, haven’t we?’

  ‘Well, that’s only to be expected – we’re twins. It would be quite different if a stranger was involved, so don’t even think about going up on stage!’

  ‘Don’t worry, I’ve no intention of doing so! I’ll be interested to see what happens, though.’

  ‘Mind you report back.’ Lindsey checked her watch. ‘I should be going.’

  ‘Me too, though I’ll extend my lunch hour and take Gus for a walk. It’ll be late when we get back from the theatre, and he’ll have to make do with the garden.’

  They joined the small queue at the till, their minds already on the afternoon ahead and the tasks awaiting them, and it wasn’t until an hour later, as Rona felt in her bag for her front door key, that her fingers encountered the school photo. She drew it out with an exclamation of annoyance. Lindsey must have slipped it in while they were waiting at the till. Well, she’d ignore it, she decided, and wait for her to raise the subject. And with a passing glance at the blacked-out figure that was causing so much interest, she dropped it back in her bag and opened the front door.

  TWO

  Rona saw them as soon as she walked into the Bacchus – Hugh and a woman she didn’t recognize, deep in conversation in one of the booths. They’d not seen her, but they would, and she’d no option but to speak to them.

  As a waiter led her to their reserved table, she paused at their booth.

  ‘Hello, Hugh,’ she said lightly.

  He looked up, and in his startled expression, she saw that for a heartbeat he’d thought she was Lindsey. Then he came to his feet.

  ‘Rona – hello.’ He paused, colour tingeing his pale face. ‘I don’t believe you’ve met my work colleague, Mia Campbell? Mia – my ex-sister-in-law, Rona Parish.’

  His companion nodded with a faint smile.

  ‘Max not with you?’ Hugh asked, and Rona sensed the fear that he might have to ask her to join them.

  ‘He’s parking the car,’ she said. ‘We’re meeting the Ridgeways here. Since you’re eating early, I presume you’re also going to the theatre?’

  ‘We are, yes. It should be . . . very interesting.’

  ‘Different, anyway!’ Her smile encompassed them both. ‘But don’t let me keep you from your meal. Enjoy the show!’ And she walked to her own table, where the waiter had already pulled out her chair. Max came in as she was seating herself, and, seeing Hugh, exchanged a word on his way over.

  ‘Well, well, well!’ he said softly, as he joined her. ‘What have we here?’

  ‘Lindsey did say he had a girlfriend.’

  ‘Woman friend might be more accurate. Who is she? I didn’t wait for an introduction.’

  ‘A colleague, he said, so I’d guess she works at Hesketh’s. She wasn’t particularly forthcoming, but then there’s no reason she should have been.’

  ‘Especially when she learned who you were.’

  ‘Oh, I doubt that would worry her; she looked very sure of herself, though she mightn’t have enjoyed being introduced as a work colleague.’

  ‘Could be that’s all she is,’ Max said.

  The layout of the wine bar, where the tables were separated by five-foot high partitions, meant that, once seated, they couldn’t see Hugh nor he them – possibly a relief all round, and as Magda and Gavin joined them, Rona put the unexpected meeting out of her mind. But not before she’d filed away her impressions of ‘Mia’ to pass on to Lindsey: red-haired, self-assured, attractive. And Max was right – more woman than girl; she looked in her early forties, the same age as Hugh.

  ‘Before I forget, Mama sent her love,’ Magda was saying. ‘She rang at the most inopportune moment, bless her, and when I phoned back, it was the answer machine. I meant to try again, but never got round to it.’

  ‘I must call in and see her,’ Rona said. Paola King had been an important part of her childhood. With her flamboyant clothes, her rich laugh and obvious joy in life, she’d been a stark contrast to her own mother, and their house – where Rona was always welcome – seemed deliciously foreign, with religious pictures and crucifixes on the walls, and the pervading scent of exotic breads and pastries, rich meat stews and succulent pastas. During Rona’s early teens, it had been more of a home to her than her own.

  ‘How is she?’ she added. ‘And your father?’

  ‘Both fighting fit,’ Magda replied. ‘Though as always, Papa has trouble getting a word in!’

  Rona laughed, remembering the quiet Englishman who was happy to let his beloved wife hold sway. It was from George King – ‘Just call me King George!’ – that Magda had inherited her height of marginally under six feet, which Gavin topped by a few inches. They made a striking couple, she with her heavy-lidded dark eyes and black hair and he ash-blond and blue-eyed.

  They ordered a selection of tapas, and as the meal progressed, Magda and Rona exchanged news on mutual friends, while the men discussed rugby.

  ‘So what’s the form this evening?’ Max asked, as their coffee was served. ‘Does this bloke hypnotize people for a solid two and a half hours?’

  Magda gave a quick shake of her head. ‘Oh no, he’s the star attraction and doesn’t appear till the second half. First, we have a conjuror, and someone demonstrating telepathy.’

  ‘In other words,’ Gavin remarked, ‘we’re in for a wacky evening!’

  ‘You and Max can amuse yourselves by trying to see how it’s done.’

  Rona stirred her coffee. ‘Lindsey and I were discussing telepathy over lunch,’ she said.

  ‘I suppose it’s run-of-the-mill to you two!’

  ‘It happens quite often, yes, but only with each other.’

  ‘That’s a relief, I must say!’ Gavin commented. ‘I shouldn’t like anyone to know what I’m thinking!’

  ‘Then you’d better keep a low profile,’ Magda told him. ‘We’re in the fourth row!’

  Rona looked surprised. ‘But the seats aren’t numbered, are they?’

  ‘They have been for several months. It’s much more civilized now; we don’t have to rush in and bag places before ordering interval drinks! Even so, we should probably be going. We want time to get settled and look at the programme.’

  The Darcy Hall was a two-minute walk away, just the other side of the car park, and they joined a stream of people making their way there. The billboard outside displayed a head and shoulders photograph of the man they’d come to see – bald, smiling broadly, wearing a bow tie.

  ‘I wouldn’t buy a used car from him,’ Max muttered in Rona’s ear.

  The Hall, splendidly decorated in green and gold, offered a less expensive alternative to the Carlton Hotel for wedding receptions and dances, since its tiered seats could be removed as required. It was also the venue for concerts, lectures and, of course, plays, being the home of the Acorn Amateur Dramatic Society.

  The fourth row seemed uncomfortably near the front, Rona thought uneasily as they took their aisle seats. She wondered where Hugh and his companion were seated, but had no intention of looking for them. The little theatre was filling rapidly, and there was an undercurrent of excited anticipation.

  The telepath, Rona noted from the programme, rejoiced in the name of Jerome Hilton. She hoped fervently that he wouldn’t divine a kindred spirit in her. Then the lights dimmed, the orchestra struck up, and the entertainment was under way.

  From the start, it was an evening of audience participation. The conjuror, first to occupy the stage, lost no time in calling for volunteers, and two giggling girls from the front row were persuaded to respond. The routine was pretty run-of-the-mill: watches were removed and reappeared in unexpected places, chiffon scarves were produced from the girls’ pockets, a series of objects taken from a supposedly empty box.

&nb
sp; Then another couple of volunteers – man and wife this time – took their place, and were suitably amazed when coins appeared in their ears, a live mouse was retrieved from a shirt pocket, and a box of matches placed under one of four beakers apparently kept changing position. The act continued in much the same vein, with varying sets of volunteers, for about forty minutes, before the conjuror was applauded off the stage, bowing repeatedly as he went.

  ‘Old hat, but he’s quite good,’ Max said grudgingly. ‘I’m damned if I could see how he did it.’

  As the last of the applause died away, the stage lights were lowered, the triumphant notes of the orchestra sank to a low, rhythmic beat, and a very different personage appeared on stage – Jerome Hilton, no less, resplendent with goatee beard and a velvet jacket. Rona was only aware her hands were clenched when Max patted them reassuringly. She glanced sideways at him, and they exchanged a smile.

  Hilton took his time in establishing his routine, starting in a manner reminiscent of a spiritualist meeting. ‘Is there anyone in the audience with the initials C. A. B.?’

  ‘Safe bet!’ muttered Max, and sure enough a hand was raised.

  ‘Could you stand up, please, sir?’

  Rather unwillingly, a bushy-haired young man came to his feet, blinking as a spotlight picked him out.

  ‘And you are?’

  ‘Colin Andrew Bradshaw.’

  ‘Quite so. And you have a sister, I believe, whose name is Alison Jane?’

  Rona, who, with the rest of the row, had turned to see who was speaking, saw what seemed to be genuine surprise on his face.

  ‘Yes,’ he stammered, ‘that’s right.’

  ‘And your father’s initials are the same as yours, are they not, in his case standing for Charles Arthur Bradshaw?’

  ‘How . . .?’

  Hilton smiled. ‘Thank you, sir. You may sit down.’ He clasped his hands together and closed his eyes for a moment. ‘Now, I believe we have a Mrs Elsie Breen in the audience?’

  A woman in the row behind them gave a startled exclamation. ‘Jack!’ she accused in a stage whisper. ‘You never told them we were coming?’

  There was laughter from those close enough to hear.