Wally passed over the envelope he had been holding, and said, ‘I don’t know who it is, but I reckon he’s American.’
The first picture had been taken from below. Kollek was caught prominently, holding a large plastic cup – gingerly, it had to be said, like someone trying to fit in. She looked at the men on either side of him: on Kollek’s left sat an Asian man in a yellow windcheater; he was staring intently at the play, seemingly oblivious to his neighbour. Kollek was turned towards the man on his right, his head tilted down as if he were listening carefully.
‘It’s the tie,’ she said numbly.
Wally looked at her curiously.
‘Look at the stripes,’ she said, pointing to Kollek’s other neighbour. ‘They go the opposite way from ours. That’s how you can tell he’s a Yank.’
‘I’m afraid he left at lunchtime, Liz. He tends to work at home on Friday afternoons these days.’ The tone of Wetherby’s secretary made it clear they both knew the reason for this -Joanne.
‘Right. I’ll ring him there.’
‘Do you want the number?’
‘That’s all right – I’ve got it. Thanks.’ Liz thought for a moment. She was loath to interrupt Charles at home, but felt he needed to know at once.
‘Charles,’ she said when he answered, ‘it’s Liz. I am sorry to ring you at home, but something’s come up.’
She listened for a moment. ‘The morning’s fine – that’s no problem. Of course I can. No, I think I’ll drive down.’ She paused, then wrote down the directions he gave her. ‘Got it,’ she said as he finished. ‘Ten thirty will be fine. See you then.’
She hung up, relieved he’d understood the urgency at once. It was unfortunate to disturb his weekend, but there it was – and it wasn’t as if she’d had anything planned herself. It would be odd seeing Charles at home. More to the point, she wondered what Joanne would be like. Well, she thought, at last I’m going to find out.
THIRTY-TWO
There was little traffic this early on Saturday morning, which made it a rare pleasure to meander south in the Audi through the centre of London. Shops were just opening, and along Bayswater Road artists were hanging their pictures from the iron railings of Hyde Park ready for the weekly art sale. Liz drove south through Earls Court and over to the Hammersmith roundabout, then crossed the river at Chiswick with her window down, though a cloudless night meant a chill hung in the air.
Within a quarter of an hour she entered the leafy, affluent belt of the Surrey suburbs. The houses grew larger, as did their gardens, separated from each other by the occasional woodland or pony paddock. It always amazed her how many pockets of green had been preserved within twenty miles of Westminster.
At Twickenham she crossed the river again; the Thames was snake-like in this stretch. As she got further on, traffic started to build up in the high streets and on the outskirts of towns, as cars headed for the shopping centres, or ‘retail parks’ as they described themselves on the signposts.
After Shepperton she looked at Charles’s instructions and took a small road, then a smaller lane; she could sense the river was not far off. Taking a final left onto a track that ended in a cul de sac, she parked, and looked across a large lawn to a mid-sized Arts and Crafts house, with high wooden gables. A small sign on the front gate said
She walked along a path of paving stones with rose beds on either side, and up some steps to the front door. Ringing the bell, she waited until eventually she heard light steps approach in the hall. Then the door opened.
A woman stood in the doorway, wearing a simple blue cotton dress with an unbuttoned cardigan. She was thin -too thin; this must be Joanne. She had a handsome, gentle face, and her hair, chestnut turning grey, was tied back in a pony tail. Her eyes were a rich, deep blue and set wide apart, which made her look vulnerable.
‘Hello, I’m Liz Carlyle. Here to see Charles.’
The woman smiled. ‘I’m Joanne,’ she said, extending her hand. ‘Do come in. I’ve just put the kettle on.’
Liz followed her down a hall that stretched past a large oak staircase. The house seemed lived in, and comfortable.
In the kitchen a tabby cat lay asleep in a basket next to an enormous, ancient-looking Aga. There was a refectory table in the middle of the room, half-covered by sections of newspaper and a jar of marmalade. It was quiet, peaceful and sunny.
‘What a pretty cat,’ said Liz, wondering where Charles was.
‘That’s Hector, though he’s too old for the wars now. Coffee or tea?’
‘Coffee please,’ said Liz, and sat down at the table while Joanne filled two big blue and white striped mugs.
‘Charles had to go out,’ she explained, as she joined Liz at the table. ‘We’ve had a minor family emergency.’ She smiled to make it clear nothing dire had happened. ‘One of my sons broke his foot playing cricket. He’s decided to come home for the weekend so we can suffer with him.’ She gave a small laugh. ‘Normally he’d walk here from the station, but his foot’s in a cast, so Charles went to fetch him. They’ll be back soon.’
Liz looked around the cosy room. It had old wooden cupboards, copper pots hanging from hooks along one wall, and a vast cork board covered with notes and phone numbers and a crayon drawing of a horse.
‘It’s very nice to meet you at last,’ said Joanne. ‘I’ve heard a lot about you.’ She gazed penetratingly at Liz, but her voice seemed friendly.
‘Likewise, and I’ve seen your picture. Charles has one on his desk.’
‘Really?’ She seemed pleased. ‘I wonder which it is.’
‘You’re by a river, with a straw hat on. The boys are on either side of you, and each one’s holding an oar.’
‘Oh, I know that one. We bought them a little rowing boat once they knew how to swim. For a couple of summers they seemed to live on the water.’
‘I imagine the boys must have loved growing up here.’
She nodded. ‘Sam – that’s the one Charles is picking up – says he wants to live here when we’re gone. He’s the one who takes after Charles. He’s a worrier, though he doesn’t like to show it. Just like Charles.’
‘I must say he hides it very well.’ This was true; even in tense situations, Charles was a model of calm.
‘Does he?’ Joanne’s face brightened. ‘I wouldn’t know. I do know that he enjoys working with you.’
Liz didn’t know how to respond. ‘We were in different departments until recently.’
‘Yes, and he’s delighted to have you back again.’
It was said so frankly that Liz struggled not to blush.
Joanne went on, ‘It’s funny, sometimes I think life would be a lot easier if we moved into town – it’s quite a long commute for Charles. And as you probably know, I haven’t been very well the last few years. But Charles won’t hear of it. He says if he didn’t have the garden to come home to he’d go mad.’
She paused, and looked wistfully at the mug she held in her hands. ‘I know between his job and looking after me it must be an immense strain. I worry about him – and about how much he worries about me.’ She paused, then laughed and looked at Liz. ‘Have you ever been married?’
Liz shook her head, and felt suddenly awkward.
‘Well, I recommend it.’
They sat silently for a moment, then Joanne cocked an ear. ‘They’re back,’ she said. A moment later Charles came into the kitchen followed by a gangly boy, who must have been sixteen or so. He wore a school uniform of blazer and grey trousers, but his right foot was encased in a plaster cast. The boy had inherited his mother’s large blue eyes, but otherwise took after Charles.
‘Hello, Liz,’ said Charles. ‘This is Sam.’
She got up and shook hands with the boy. Joanne said, ‘Why don’t you go into the garden, darling? Take your coffee with you, Liz. I’m so glad we had time for a chat.’
Outside the brisk air of the morning was turning mild, and Charles took off his coat and left it on a bench by the kitchen door. A wide herbaceous border ran down one side of the garden and a small ring of tall roses stood in the centre of the lawn.
‘How beautiful,’ she said.
