Carole closed the front door behind her, and set off up the stairs. She found herself on a landing with four doors leading off, presumably to three bedrooms and a bathroom. But the girl had said ‘the top of the house’. That must mean up the uncarpeted wooden staircase which led up to what must be a loft conversion.
Carole went on up. The final step at the top of the flight was not much wider than the others. She stood there for a moment, gathering her thoughts, and then knocked on the door.
There was a gasp from inside, then silence. She knocked again. This time she heard movement from the room, footsteps approaching, and the door was opened a fraction. In the narrow gap Carole could see the frightened face of the woman Gerald Hume had photographed.
“Melanie Newton?” Carole asked, although she knew the answer.
“How did you find me?” The voice was cultured but taut almost to breaking point. “Who let you in?”
“A girl in school uniform.”
“She’s not supposed to. The fact that I’m renting this room is supposed to be a secret. Her mother swore they wouldn’t let anyone in.”
“Well, she let me in.”
“Who are you?”
“My name’s Carole Seddon.”
“And which one of them do you come from? Who do you represent?”
Carole couldn’t really supply an answer to that rather strange question, so she just said, “I want to talk to you about Tadeusz Jankowski.”
The woman’s reaction was mixed. Her face still showed fear and suspicion, but there was also something in it that looked like relief.
¦
Andy Constant wasn’t there when Jude arrived in the Bull. It was loud with University of Clincham students, taking advantage of the ‘Happy Hour’ offers and, in the time-honoured student fashion, converting their grants into alcohol. They looked very young, and completely harmless.
She was annoyed with herself for ordering a pint of Stella for Andy along with her glass of Chardonnay, but given the scrum at the bar it was once again the sensible thing to do. Sitting down at a table for two, she wondered again why the hell she was there. She had no illusions about the kind of man Andy Constant was, and she ought to be too old to go deliberately looking for trouble. And yet there she was.
Jude didn’t recognize any of the students, but she saw again the poster for Magic Dragon with the blurred photograph of Sophia Urquhart. It reminded her that she wanted to ask the girl about Joan, the other Drama Studies student, and Joan’s relationship with Andy Constant.
When he came in, though, sweeping back his long grey hair, she couldn’t curb a little kick of excitement. It wasn’t just his similarity to Laurence Hawker that got to her; Andy Constant affected her viscerally in a way that few men had. And the men who did trigger that response had always been bad news. Jude made a pact with herself to be extremely sensible that evening. No joining him in a guided tour of the Drama Studio.
He brushed his lips against her cheek, and slumped down into the chair opposite. He reached for the pint of Stella and took a long swig. “God, that’s good,” he said as he put the glass down. No thanks for the drink, just ‘God, that’s good.’
“Ooh, am I knackered?” he continued. He was one of those men, Jude felt sure, who were always more tired than anyone else, the implication being that they put so much more energy into their creative lives than mere mortals could even contemplate.
“What have you been doing – lecturing?”
“Why should I be doing that?”
“I thought that was your job description. When you first introduced yourself, you said you were a lecturer.”
“Yes, but in my discipline that doesn’t mean giving many lectures. In Drama it’s more role-playing, work- shopping, you know the kind of thing.”
“Which is what you’ve been doing today?”
“Kind of.” He said it in a way that implied she wasn’t bright enough to understand a fuller explanation. “The trouble is,” he went on, “these kids are full of ideas, but their ideas are all so derivative. Based on the latest movies, based on what they’ve seen on television. It’s a real effort trying to get them to think outside the box.”
“And that’s what you’ve been doing with them today?”
“Sure.” He took another long draught of lager. “Tough, tough, tough.”
“Was Joan one of your group?”
“Who?” he asked. But she felt sure he knew who she meant.
Jude spelt it out for him. “The Joan whom Sophia Urquhart mentioned on Friday.”
“Ah, that Joan.” The idea seemed to amuse him. “Yes, Joan was in the group.”
“But had to go home?”
“What do you mean?”
“When we were in here last Friday, Sophia Urquhart apologized that Joan couldn’t go back with you, she had to get a lift back with her father.”
Andy Constant’s brow wrinkled with aggrieved innocence. “I’m sorry, I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“I am suggesting that there is some kind of relationship between you and this Joan.”
“Hey, whoa, whoa,” he said sardonically. “Aren’t we getting a bit ahead of ourselves here? We’re meeting for a drink for only the second time, and already you’re telling me who I should and shouldn’t see.”
“I’m not doing that, Andy. I’m just trying to clarify your personal situation. You told me about your defunct marriage…I assume that still is defunct?”
“Dead as a dodo. Has been for years.”
“Right, so that’s the marriage dealt with. I was wondering if you were going to tell me about Joan too.”
“Nothing to tell.” He shrugged ingenuously. “You have just got the wrong end of the stick in a very major way, Jude. Apart from anything else, it would be totally inappropriate for someone in my position to be messing about with one of my students. Maybe it’s a long time since you’ve been in an educational establishment, but let me tell you, these days they’re very hot on what’s appropriate and what’s inappropriate behaviour. And me having anything to do with a student would be a very big no-no.”
“I know what I heard on Friday,” Jude insisted.
“No. You know what you think you heard on Friday. Different matter altogether.”
He sounded so convincing that for a moment Jude almost believed him. Perhaps she had misheard, or misinterpreted what she heard. She was aware of his hooded eyes lazily watching her, appraising, wondering what she’d do next. And she was aware of the power those eyes could exert over her.
But she resisted them. “I think you’re lying,” she said.
He spread his hands wide in a gesture of harmless self-depreciation. “Do I look like a liar?”
“Oh yes. And if you’re prepared to lie to me about this Joan, then it’s quite possible you lied to me about Tadeusz Jankowski.”
“About who? Ah, the Pole. The one you came enquiring about. The one without whose existence we wouldn’t have met.”
“Yes. Can I ask you again whether you know of any connection between him and Clincham College?”
“You can, my sweet Jude,” he said, “but I’m afraid you’ll get the same answer you got before.” A new idea seemed to come to him. “Though just a minute…I have thought of some other admission files we can check…then we’ll know if he ever did make any application to the college.”
“Where are the files?”
“Over there.” He jerked his head towards the university campus. “Do you want to come with me and look through them, Jude?”
She should at least have thought about her answer, but immediately, instinctively, she said “Yes.”
