outside or maybe she found it easier to talk of her sister without looking into someone else’s eyes.
'Jim doesn’t like me smoking, but an occasional one doesn’t hurt and it sure as hell helps.' She laughed and for the first time I thought I could see a trace of her sister Gloria in her face. 'You want to ask about Gloria’s lover.'
I nodded, relieved she’d broached the subject.
'Yes.'
'It always comes down to that in the end doesn’t it? Sex.'
'It’s a powerful force.'
'Is that what you call it?… He was very hush-hush, Gloria’s amour.' Sheila pulled a brown-edged leaf from a bush and crushed it between her fingers. 'They never found him you know. It wasn’t for the want of looking.' She opened her palm, looked at the crumpled leaf and then let it drop to the ground. 'He’s never said so, but I know Jim thinks Gloria just made a lover up to make life a little more exciting.'
'And what do you think?'
'I think he was probably married.'
The rain that had threatened all day started to spit; Sheila and I moved back indoors, she glanced at her watch and I got the sensation that our interview was drawing to its end. I asked, 'If there was a lover do you think that Gloria would have left her husband?'
Sheila looked at me.
'I don’t know and I’ve thought about it a lot over the years. That day has coloured everything since, even when I met Jim there was the shadow of it hanging over us. I used to think that she would have, but as I’ve got older I’ve wondered. She was devoted to Billy and his father wouldn’t have let him go easily. Maybe if it was the love of her life, maybe then, but the maternal bond is the strongest one of all; I think it would have taken a lot of persuasion for her to jeopardise it.' She nodded towards a dresser where a group of framed photographs crowded together. 'I should know, I’ve got two of my own.'
I glanced at the photographs: two nondescript boys in school uniform, flanked by the graduation photographs of two nondescript young men, followed by the formal portraits of the same boys/men, balding now, wearing dark suits reminiscent of their school blazers. I wondered how many more pictures it would take to complete the set. To the right of the arrangement in a chased silver frame was a studio portrait of Gloria Noon.
I said, 'Do you mind?'
Sheila nodded her permission and I picked it up.
'She was a beautiful-looking woman.'
'Not just to look at, she was beautiful inside too.' She gave me the smile that was like Gloria’s. 'It sounds silly, but sometimes I imagine that she’s on a long journey around the world. I can picture her in Egypt or Turkey… Marrakech; always somewhere exotic, somewhere sunny.' She took the photograph from me and for the first time since we’d met I thought that she might cry, but instead she gave a short laugh. 'You know, if she came back now and said she’d just been on an extended holiday I might kill her myself.'
I watch Sheila’s slim hands replace Gloria’s portrait on the dresser and a second framed photograph caught my eye. I reached over and lifted it, keeping my voice as casual as I could.
'A family friend?'
'What made you say that?' Sheila’s smile was warm. 'That’s my husband, Jim.'
'Mr Bowen?'
'Bowen was my first husband’s name. He died two years before Gloria vanished.' She shook her head. 'Myeloid leukaemia, he lasted six months after the diagnosis. Gloria going would have hit me hard whatever happened but after Frank’s death…’ She shook her head, remembering. 'Well you can imagine, I thought that was going to be the end for me too.
Then along came Jim.' She smiled again. 'He was part of the investigation team. I think deep down the rest of them just thought Gloria was an immoral woman who’d left her husband. Those were different times. But Jim never believed that. He kept on pushing and that was when I fell in love with him.' She smiled. 'I kept the name Bowen over the shop, Frank’s grandfather was the founder and it would have been wrong to change it.' She smiled. 'That was how I knew that you were phoning about Gloria. No one calls me Bowen any more. I’ve been Sheila Montgomery since I married Jim.'
My mind was full of what might have happened had James Montgomery come home early and found me in his front room interrogating his wife. Part of me wished he had.
What could he do with her there? But a larger part was relieved to escape.
I walked as swiftly as I could away from the Montgomery house, cursing suburbia’s open streets, not daring to catch a train back in case I passed him en route to his home.
Eventually I found a parade of shops and managed to catch a bus that would take me out of the district.
Back in central London I used a public email telephone to check my VeritableCrime inbox. Technology might have moved on but people were still pissing in phone boxes. I held my breath and tried to work out how to use the machine. The connection was painfully slow and I had time to read the details of a dozen women eager to dance, massage or generally entertain me. I wondered if they knew the risk they were taking.
The Viagra people had got back in touch and so had Drew Manson. He was keen to meet and had left a mobile number.
He answered on the third ring. I explained that I was heading off to a publishing conference tomorrow but would love to see him before I went, was he free for a late lunch?
Mr Manson was free. He suggested a gastropub somewhere near Farringdon. I’d taken a dancer there once. The food had been expensive and she’d gone home for an early night saying she had to keep fresh for the next day’s show. I hoped I’d have better luck with Mr Manson.
