Local champion of the people. Any move against Ryall wouldn’t be popular,
Nadine got out of the car and buzzed the security intercom by the gate.
Elena felt the walls and barriers go up as they went deeper into the Ryall house.
They were ushered into a large open entrance hallway, then on through a narrow, walnut-panelled passage by the Ryalls’ maid, who — according to Nadine’s report — also doubled as a cook and was at the house daytimes four days a week. Cameron Ryall maintained it was important not only that they should have time together privately, as a family, but also that they shouldn’t become reliant on a housekeeper to the extent that she might become viewed as a surrogate mother by Lorena. ‘She’ll have enough trouble adapting to one new mother, without any such confusion.’
Ryall certainly knew how to score the points. Elena bit at her lip. She should avoid slipping into prior judgement; it wouldn’t help her have a clear view now. Ryall might have been being sincere.
Through half-open doors as they went along, Elena got a glimpse of a large oak kitchen and another room with a piano and some books, games and toys stacked to one side. The centrepiece, though, was the room they were led into: a high-ceilinged drawing room some thirty-five foot square. Overlooking was a book-lined gallery, and the walnut-panelled theme had been continued, with a painting centrepiece on each panel. Elena recognized two originals by Thornhill, the Dorset landscape artist, but on the far wall to their left were more modern works, slightly out of keeping with the Edwardian house: two abstracts Elena didn’t recognize, then a Chagall and a Seurat. They weren’t close enough for her to tell if they were original or not.
The maid asked if they wanted tea or coffee. They both took coffee: Nadine white, Elena black.
The few minutes with her out of the room preparing — the only sound the remote clink and clatter of china — were tense. They didn’t speak. There was only one thing now on their minds, and it wasn’t a conversation they could risk being overheard.
Their eyes were naturally drawn to the over-sized picture window at the end of the room. At least twelve- foot high and asp-shaped, it provided a dramatic view over the pool and the gardens beyond. Flower beds and linking paths flanked one side, and the lawn tabled steadily down so that they could see clearly over the bordering rhododendron hedge towards the sweep of SwanageBay. The wind was steady, and a succession of distant white-caps were just discernible dancing through the sea haze. Approaching the house from the car, they’d clearly heard the ebb and surge of the sea, but now it was deathly silent: muted through eighteen-inch thick stone walls and double-glazing.
As if on cue, the Ryalls walked in just before the coffees were brought through. Eager smiles and handshakes all round. Cameron Ryall looked keenly at Elena as he held her hand a second longer.
‘Nice to see you again. Last time we met was — ’
‘Cerneit orphanage, Bucharest,’ Elena filled the gap.
‘Yes, yes, of course. Must be almost two years now.’
They sat down. The awkward silence settled again for a second, and as Nadine opened by explaining the reason for her visit now — that Lorena had confided in a school-friend about some worries and concerns at home — the Ryalls’ expressions quickly became solemn.
This had been the final game-plan agreed with Lorena: Lorena hadn’t wanted it known that she’d phoned directly about any worries. Elena was watching Cameron Ryall’s expression closely: no visible flinching, just his eyes darkening a shade. Heavier concern.
‘As explained, we do have to follow these things up.’ Nadine took a quick sip of coffee. ‘So, after speaking to you, I would like ten or fifteen minutes alone with Lorena. If that’s okay?’
‘Yes, of course,’ Cameron Ryall said. He sat forward, forearms rested on his thighs; a picture of eager compliance.
Nicola Ryall nodded her concurrence, eyes quickly downcast. Who would be taking the lead became painfully clear. Standard role positioning between them, or had she been coached? ‘This could be delicate: leave it to me.’
When Nadine had phoned and made the appointment with Nicola Ryall, Nicola hadn’t made it clear whether Mr Ryall would also be present. The meeting had been arranged for 4 pm, just after Lorena returned from school. Cameron Ryall obviously considered it important enough to leave early and let his global conglomerate run itself for a couple of hours, or perhaps he had deeper reasons for concern? Elena pushed the thought back again.
Cameron Ryall was stocky, his dark-brown hair heavily greying at the sides, and apart from a few extra pounds looked very much the same as when she’d last seen him. His most startling feature was his dark blue eyes, which in certain lights, depending on their dilation, appeared almost black.
He was dressed casually in dark green rugby shirt and jeans; the soft-edged, caring foster parent. When she’d first met him at the orphanage, he was wearing an oversized parka, as if he was a war-zone journalist. Then later at the Bucharest adoption agency, a dark grey suit and tie. Man for all seasons.
Nicola was a slim, attractive blonde, but her hair was cut short and she was wearing a small-check plaid skirt and plain cream blouse, as if she was trying to appear more prim, reserved and country-setish. Or perhaps this was more of her husband’s stage-management: ‘Less glamour will give the impression of less self-interest. You’ll come across as more motherly.’
Nadine opened up her folder on her knees, pen poised. She glanced down briefly at some typewritten notes before turning to a blank page and looking back at the Ryalls.
‘Now, has Lorena mentioned anything to you recently about something troubling her?’
The Ryalls looked at each other briefly. Cameron Ryall answered with a slight shrug.
‘No, not that we can think of.’
‘Anything at all?’ Nadine pressed. ‘However small and irrelevant it might have seemed at the time?’
Nicola Ryall’s expression lifted, as if a fresh thought had suddenly struck. ‘Well, she did complain not long ago about problems with some school-work. History, I think it was…’
‘Yes, yes,’ Cameron Ryall quickly picked up. ‘Her spoken English is quite good now, but she still has problems with written English. And for history she has to do a fair few essays.’ He forced a weak smile. ‘She finds them something of a struggle.’
Nadine started in on the rest of her check list: Progress with other subjects? Friends at school and how was Lorena settling in generally? Outside friends and interests? Lorena was settling in fairly well, no problems with other subjects that the Ryalls could think of. A few friends made at school, only one from outside that they knew of. After a moment, Elena partly faded it out. Nadine had pre-warned that with much of it routine questioning, she’d be largely redundant until they talked to Lorena. She was there to comfort and reassure Lorena, nothing more.
Cameron Ryall answered politely and methodically, with his wife providing only sporadic input. Eagerness to satisfy any concern was the general tone; no hint of defensiveness or agitation that Elena could pick up on.
Elena got up and walked towards the picture window. It wasn’t so much her redundancy, but frustration that suddenly settled hard. Left to her, she’d have bulldozed in with a chain of direct, awkward questions and by now had the Ryalls pinned in the corner. But that wasn’t, as she knew from past often tedious experience, how the Social Services worked.
Procedure. Questions had to be open, devoid of angle. ‘Subjects must have the opportunity to volunteer information without undue prompt or influence.’
Elena looked out over the gardens and pool. With the winter light fast dying and a chill wind, it looked inhospitable. She recalled two photos Lorena had sent with a short note five months back: one of her in the pool with an oversized beach ball in bright sunshine, the other of her blowing out the candles at her April birthday party with a few friends — probably taken in the breakfast or dining room. Happy days with her new family. Few signs now of a child’s joyful activity, thought Elena; the atmosphere in the house was flat and sterile. Pretty much like Nadine’s interview technique.
The softly-softly approach might work with some, but Elena doubted it would with Cameron Ryall. She remembered from the first adoption report that he’d been a practising barrister for three years before going into business. With now almost thirty years of hard-edged trading under his belt, he could run rings round the Nadine’s
