heavily but she didn’t notice as she walked hesitantly across the car park to where she’d left the car. Not even the deep puddle that lapped over her shoes as she unlocked the door seemed to register with her. She sat stock-still and stared unseeingly through the windscreen for fully five minutes before driving off.
Karen’s mother, Ethel Lodge, who had come over to baby-sit her granddaughter, Kelly, opened the door as Karen drew up outside her house, a smart semi-detached villa on the new Pines estate on the outskirts of Edinburgh.
‘You’re drenched, love,’ fussed her mother. ‘Give me your coat or it’ll drip all over the place. I’ll hang it up in the kitchen. Go and warm yourself by the fire. The kettle’s just boiled. I’ll make some tea.’
She brought through two mugs of tea and handed one to Karen. ‘Well, what did Mr Grossart have to say for himself?’ she asked. ‘Any news?’
Karen looked at her with tear-filled eyes. ‘Oh yes,’ she said quietly, ‘Peter’s left me. He’s run off with Amy Patterson.’
‘Who the hell’s Amy Patterson?’ exclaimed Ethel, sinking slowly into a chair.
‘The scientist Peter went to Wales with.’
‘I don’t believe it.’
‘That’s what Mr Grossart told me,’ said Karen. ‘He said he was sorry but there was nothing he could do about it. If Peter didn’t want to talk to me about what had been going on, that was his prerogative. The company couldn’t involve itself in domestic matters.’
‘But this is absolutely crazy!’ exclaimed Ethel. ‘You two are so happy together.’
‘That’s what I thought too,’ said Karen distantly. ‘I can’t… believe he’s done something like this.’ She buried her face in her hands, and her shoulders heaved as she sobbed silently.
‘Oh, love, there has to be some mistake, Peter wouldn’t do something like this. You two have everything going for you and you know how much he dotes on Kelly. What did this man Grossart say exactly?’
‘I asked him if he knew why Peter had stopped phoning me and why there was never any answer from the number I’d been given for the Welsh field station. I was worried and angry… I demanded an explanation… and he gave me one. He said that the pair of them had gone off together and he’d no idea where. He’d only just heard about it himself.’
Ethel Lodge looked at her daughter, sharing her distress as only a mother can. ‘I don’t believe any of this,’ she said. ‘People don’t just do things like this without having anything planned beforehand. Peter didn’t give you any cause to suspect that anything was wrong, did he?’
Karen shook her head. ‘No,’ she whispered, ‘absolutely not.’
‘Well, you can’t live on love alone, despite what the songs may say. You need money and clothes and food and a roof over your head. Have a look in the wardrobe and see what he took with him, then phone the bank and find out if he took out any money.’
Karen looked at her mother, seeing in her an inner strength she hadn’t realised was there.
‘You do love him, don’t you?’ asked Ethel.
‘Yes.’
‘Then start fighting, girl.’
Karen checked her husband’s wardrobe and found that most of his clothes were still there. He’d taken just what he said he was going to take, ‘the bare minimum’, as he had put it, because there was ‘no one to impress at the field station, apart from the animals’. As soon as she remembered it, the thought planted a seed of worry in Karen’s mind. Maybe the loneliness of being marooned in rural North Wales when the days were short and the nights were long had brought Peter and whatsername together. But even if it had, surely it would have just been a physical thing? Peter wouldn’t have abandoned her and Kelly over something like that… would he?
‘Anything missing?’ asked her mother when she went back downstairs.
‘Nothing,’ said Karen.
‘Good. Get on to the bank.’
Karen did as she was told and contacted the bank to ask about account balances. ‘Nothing taken out,’ she reported.
‘Drink your tea,’ said Ethel. ‘It’s getting cold.’
Karen sipped her tea.
Ethel stared out at the rain-swept garden. ‘Do you know this Patterson woman?’ she asked.
‘I think I may have met her once at a works barbecue in the summer.’
‘Did she seem the type?’
‘What type?’
‘You know what I mean.’
‘I thought she was a bit mousy, to tell the truth, a typical bluestocking, all ethnic skirt and glasses. Didn’t strike me as Peter’s type at all. She and her husband went on about their bird-watching trips. Peter can’t tell a thrush from an ostrich.’
‘Then she’s married, too?’
‘That’s a point. Maybe I should get in touch with her husband?’
‘You certainly should,’ agreed Ethel. ‘It’ll be interesting to find out if he’s as surprised as you.’
The sound of crying came from upstairs. ‘Oh, Kelly,’ murmured Karen as she leafed through the phone book. ‘Give me a moment.’
‘I’ll see to her,’ said Ethel. ‘Sounds like the afternoon nap’s over.’
Karen started dialling her way through the Pattersons in the local book, asking each time if she had the right number.
She was on her eighth call when a man’s faltering voice said, ‘I’m afraid Amy’s not here at the moment.’ He sounded upset.
‘Are you Amy’s husband?’ she asked.
‘Who’s that?’
‘Karen Doig, Peter’s wife. I take it you’ve heard?’
‘I just can’t believe it,’ said Patterson.
‘You didn’t suspect?’
‘No, nothing. Paul Grossart’s call came completely out of the blue. You?’
‘The same. Look, maybe the company’s wrong about this,’ said Karen, her confidence growing by the minute. ‘Peter didn’t take any extra clothes with him and he hasn’t touched our bank account.’
‘So what are you suggesting?’
‘Just because the pair of them have disappeared doesn’t necessarily mean that they’ve run off together. Maybe that’s an assumption on the company’s part.’
‘I hadn’t even considered that,’ admitted Patterson.
‘Nor had I until this very moment.’
‘My God, they could have been involved in some kind of accident or be lost somewhere in the hills… or anything!’
‘I think we should go to the police,’ said Karen. ‘Right now.’ She turned to look at her mother to see if this were possible. Ethel nodded, and Karen and Patterson arranged to meet outside the police station in fifteen minutes.
‘Thanks, Mum,’ said Karen as she put down the phone and started rushing around.
‘It won’t hurt your father to get his own tea for once,’ said Ethel. ‘Off you go.’
Karen recognised Ian Patterson as soon as she saw him. She remembered the thin, serious man who had been wearing a T-shirt with ‘Save the Planet’ on it at the summer barbecue. Today he was wearing a waxed cotton jacket over a Shetland sweater, dark-green corduroy trousers and thick-soled brogues. They didn’t shake hands and Karen could only just manage a wan smile. ‘Shall we go in?’ she asked.
They had to wait in line in the police station, which smelt vaguely of disinfectant, its institution-green walls adorned with a variety of warnings and posters promising rewards for information. It was an alien world, thought Karen as she waited patiently while the man in front tried to explain why he couldn’t produce his driving licence.
She had to step back as the man, having been given a further twenty-four hours, wheeled round sharply and barged his way out. She stepped forward to the desk and explained to the middle-aged sergeant why she and
