“But there’ll be nothing low key about the wedding itself,” Stephen enthused. “We’re going to ensure that it’s a day when – ”
He was interrupted by the ringing of Gaby’s mobile, which she immediately answered.
“Jenny? Yes, it’s – what? Oh, God.”
“Are you OK? Well, let me know when you’ve checked. And I’ll give you a call as soon as I’ve worked out what I’m doing.”
She ended the call, and looked with horror at Stephen and Carole.
“My flat’s been burgled.”
But the manner in which she said the words made it sound more as though she was announcing a murder.
? The Witness at the Wedding ?
Seven
“She’s very strong-willed.” Stephen spoke with some puzzlement, as though still coming to terms with various unexpected elements in his fiancee’s personality. “I’m slowly learning not to argue when she’s clear about what she wants to do.”
“You’re quite strong-willed too.”
Carole thought back to childhood confrontations when neither she nor her son had been willing to budge an inch.
“Yes.” He took it both as a compliment and an unarguable truth. “That’s why we’re right for each other.” This too was a confident statement of fact.
They were sitting over lunch in the dining room of High Tor. Which, Carole realized, reflected a change in their relations. She couldn’t remember the last time she had cooked for her son. University vacations, it must have been. When he started working, he had distanced himself. Or perhaps that had happened when she moved down to Fethering. The timing was all tied in with her divorce from David. Without either of them commenting on what was happening, Stephen had redrawn the parameters of his relationship with his mother. From that time on, they had always met on neutral ground, in pubs and restaurants, as if he was spelling out to her that the old family intimacy could never be re-established.
But the arrival of Gaby had changed that. Inviting them both to Sunday lunch at High Tor had not seemed incongruous – in fact, Carole had relished the idea and looked forward to reminding herself of her old skills with joint of beef, Yorkshire pudding and all the trimmings.
Except, of course, Gaby wasn’t there. She was in Pimlico, assessing the loss and damage caused by her burglary. And that task was one which, very insistently, she had wanted to do on her own. That was the evidence of her strong will to which Stephen had referred.
Even in Gaby’s absence, Carole still felt the lunch represented an advance, a changed understanding between herself and her son. She had forgotten how rewarding he was to feed, how much he relished his food, how he’d always been in thrall to her roast potatoes. Carole felt closer to Stephen than she had for years.
“And I gather the damage to the flat wasn’t too bad?” she asked. Stephen had spent a long time on the phone to Gaby that morning, but not yet brought Carole up to date on the burglary.
“No. Whoever it was smashed a kitchen window to get in, and managed to immobilize the alarm. He – one assumes it was a ‘he’ – was a real professional.”
“And have they lost a lot of stuff?”
“Hardly anything.”
Rather than pleasing Stephen, this fact seemed to trouble him. “Not even too much of a mess. Gaby reckoned everything in the rooms she and Jenny share had been gone through, but then replaced more or less exactly where it should be.”
“They were lucky.”
“Yes…” But again her son didn’t sound convinced. “The thing that worries Gaby…” he hesitated before sharing the confidence “…is that whoever it was didn’t even go into Jenny’s room.”
“How can they be sure?”
“Jenny’s a bit obsessed by security. She always keeps her door firmly locked. There had been no attempt to force it.”
“Maybe the burglar had skeleton keys, like they do in crime novels?”
“Well, if he did, he didn’t use them. Nothing of Jenny’s had been touched. Maybe he was just put off by the locked door.”
“Is that just Gaby and Jenny’s view, or do the police agree?”
Stephen grimaced. “They haven’t informed the police.”
“What?” His words were an affront to all Carole had learnt during her long career in the Home Office. “But they have to tell the police.”
“There’s been a break-in at their flat. Even if they haven’t suffered too badly, the police might still collect evidence to tie in with other crimes.”
“I used that argument too. All the obvious arguments.”
Stephen shrugged weakly. “As I said, Gaby’s very strong-willed.”
Carole shook her head in disbelief, and took a sip from the rather nice Argentinian Merlot she’d bought from Sainsbury’s specially. “But it’s – well, I just don’t understand. Is Gaby saying that absolutely nothing has been taken?”
“She’s not sure. She hasn’t had time to go through everything in proper detail. But, as of this moment, she can’t see anything that’s missing.”
“Which would imply – what? That the burglar lost his nerve? That he was disturbed while he was in the middle of the job?”
Stephen smiled grimly. “Or that he was looking for something specific?”
His mother nodded thoughtfully. “Yes. Has Gaby any idea what that something might have been?”
“Well, if she has, she’s not telling me.” He didn’t sound as though this was an entirely preposterous suggestion. “There are still areas of Gaby’s life, things about which she’s very secretive and – ” He seemed to realize that he was close to betraying confidences, and lightened his tone. “Still, I guess that’s true of all of us, isn’t it?”
“Yes.” Carole knew it was certainly true of her. But if Stephen had hoped that his words would end the subject, he was mistaken. “So had all of Gaby’s belongings been turned over, or did the burglar concentrate on one specific area?”
She could see the calculation pass through her son’s mind, as he assessed whether this information could be released. He concluded that it could do no harm.
“He seemed to be interested in her personal files. Those had been put back in place, but not quite in the right order. You know, things like her passport, birth certificate, address book, health insurance details, tax records, that kind of stuff.”
“But he didn’t take any of them?”
“Not so far as she could tell, no.”
Carole was silent. They had both finished eating, but she resisted her normal knee-jerk reaction to clear the plates immediately. The current subject had not yet been exhausted.
“Stephen – do you remember, when you and Gaby and I met up in the Crown and Anchor a few weeks back?”
“Mmm.”
“You said that there was a history of murder in her family.”
His pale face reddened and, behind their rimless glasses, his eyes blinked.
“Yes, I remember. I shouldn’t have said that. Gaby really took me to task for it afterwards.”
“But you did say it, Stephen. And presumably you said it for some reason. You didn’t just make it up?”
“No.” He realized he had to make some kind of explanation. “Once again, I’m afraid I misjudged Gaby’s reaction. We’d been talking about murder cases, you remember?”
