took things easy… She could cope… Liz must have problems of her own… If only she knew! Liz mustn't worry, her mother had said -an impossible piece of advice.
She beckoned Anna out of the room fuil of shells. 'I think we'd better leave Rebecca to it now.'
'Oh, do I have to go home, mummy?'
'You certainly do if you want any lunch. Come on,' she said more gently, 'we'll have rolimops with salad. You like those. Rebecca doesn't want to put up with you all day.'
'Not a bit of it, Liz. I'd happily keep her until closing time.'
'Well, it's very nice of you to say so, Rebecca, but we really must be going.' Rebecca's motives were kind, but she was rapidly undermining her authority. 'I've things to do at home.'
Rebecca must think she could see through that – perhaps she could – for she said, 'Have you heard from Alan?'
'Yes, he's been keeping in touch.'
'How is he?'
'Very well.' Liz wasn't sure if she sounded bitter or ironic. How much did Rebecca suspect? All she should know was that Alan had gone away again – Liz couldn't bring herself to talk about the situation, even to her. As Liz hurried Anna out of the shop, Rebecca watched them dubiously.
The sunlight outside made them blink like moles. At first Liz could see nothing at all. Strangers closed around them, and she kept hold of Anna's arm until they reached the village green, where the crowd was less dense. Anna didn't run ahead as she usually did when Liz let go of her. Instead she gazed up at Liz, looking heartbreakingly old. 'When will daddy come home?' she said.
Liz hurried her toward the coast road to avoid being overheard. 'Do you want him to?' she said, and suddenly felt tactless. 'Yes, I think I do.' 'You aren't sure.'
'Yes, I am.' Anna sounded defiant. 'He just frightened me before he went away, that's all. I thought he wanted to hurt me. He didn't seem like daddy at all. But I do want him to come back, I do.' Suddenly she was near to weeping. 'He hasn't gone away because of me, has he?'
'Of course not, darling. You mustn't think that. You know it's always his work that takes him away.' 'But what made him like that? He did frighten me.' 'Perhaps problems with his work. You know how he can be sometimes.' She hoped that convinced Anna – because it didn't convince her. If anything, Anna had been closer to the truth: Alan no longer seemed like anyone she knew or wanted to know. When he'd called her from Lagos a few days ago she'd felt that she was talking to a stranger -except that no stranger could have made her feel such a mixture of emotions: anger, grief, nervousness, defensive-ness… It had been a bad line, hardly the best medium for confession or explanations, but all the same, she'd been appalled by the way he chatted on to her as if nothing had happened. She could tell that he knew how false he sounded, but what comfort was that? She'd wondered if he'd called for reassurance. If he'd only admitted that, or asked for her help, she would have told him to come back, that together they would deal with whatever was affecting him – but he wouldn't even give her a hint, nothing to hold onto at all. She'd known her father was ill by then, but she hadn't told Alan. He was no longer someone she wanted to tell.
Now that they were in sight of home, Anna was running on ahead. Goats were cropping the grass near the hedge. At least they were safe now that Joseph had been put away. Outside the garden, the parched grass was turning the colour of straw. Above the sea, on which glinting ripples swarmed to the horizon, a few gulls circled, repeating elaborate patterns of grey and white. The white house looked starkly isolated in the flat landscape, the windows blank with sunlight, preventing her from seeing inside. As she drew near she heard that the phone was ringing.
Her mouth tasted sour, her stomach tightened. Was it Alan or her mother? She fumbled in her handbag for her key as she ran toward the house. No time for distractions: nobody was watching her from the field across the road -nobody could be as red as that. The crimson glimpse at the edge of her vision must have been sunlight through her eyelids.
She ran through the hot stuffy house, trying to blink away the dimness, and grabbed the downstairs phone. 'Hello?' she gabbled, afraid that whoever it was might have given up.
'May I speak to Mr Knight?' The voice was sharp, asexual.
'I'm afraid he isn't here.' She was rather annoyed to have been made nervous for no reason – just another business call. 'Can I help?'
'Are you his secretary?'
'If I am, someone owes me a lot of wages. I'm his wife.'
'Oh, I beg your pardon.' The joke had gone down like a lead balloon. 'I take it he's keeping in touch with you?'
'To some extent. Why?'
'I'm sorry, you must wonder who I am. My name is Hetherington, of the Foundation for African Studies. Presumably you know that your husband returned to Nigeria to find out more about the artefact he brought home – the artefact that was stolen from your house. He was supposed to convey it to us. I wonder if you have any news of it?'
Now she knew who he was. Alan had mentioned him.
But she was still bewildered: was that why Alan had gone back to Nigeria? 'No, the police are still looking,' she said.
'If you'd like to take my number, you can keep me informed, if you will. I'm sure you understand that the artefact is the property of the Foundation. If it is retrieved, it should be delivered to us at once.'
She scribbled his number on the pad beside the phone, then replaced the receiver and stood there, pencil in one hand, receiver in the other. So Alan had been so worried about the loss of the African claw that it had taken him back to Nigeria? He'd already had problems with his work, and then she'd allowed the claw to be stolen.'.'. She couldn't condone the way he'd behaved toward Anna, but it seemed that she had to take some of the blame herself. Perhaps she needn't feel so helpless any longer. At least now she could see how she might help.
Anna was in the long room, playing with the remote control, making television channels interrupt one another, giggling. As she remembered how nervous Anna had been of that room while the claw was there, Liz felt a momentary qualm. But there was more at stake than the child's moods. Liz had no idea how she would do it, but if it was within her power, she was going to find the claw – and if Anna didn't like it, that was just too bad.
Twenty-five
In a couple of days both Liz and her ideas were exhausted. Haw did people in novels always know where to search? Because the author always left them a clue – there was always something the police had overlooked. But if the police hadn't searched where Liz was searching, she suspected that it was simply because it was useless.
She drove along the coast, stopping at every antique shop to poke through the musty clutter: books with rickety faded covers, chipped furniture, dusty glass and copper and porcelain – until Anna grew bored and wandered out into the sunlight, and Liz had to keep running to the door like a nervous shoplifter to make sure she was still there. She krlew Anna was basically sensible and wouldn't just wander off, so why was Liz so nervous? She didn't want Anna out of her sight, that was all.
The whole thing seemed hopeless. Why would even a teenage thief sell stolen property in shops like these? Liz drove inland to Norwich and bought all the collectors' journals she could find, then felt compelled to search the shops there too. The streets were full of cars, coasting by or waiting at the kerb, and she refused to let Anna stay outside. When the child said, 'What are you looking for, mummy?' she had to mutter vaguely about a present. She wasn't sure if Anna believed her.
Back home she pored over the journals. Anna offered to help, and so Liz had to watch television with her instead. When the child had gone to bed, Liz searched the columns of items for sale until the tiny print began to writhe before her eyes like dancing snakes and ceased to look like words. Why should thieves advertise? Why should they be less intelligent than she was? In a world that contained so many unsolved crimes, it was ridiculous to look for clues. At last she stumbled upstairs to bed and dreamed she was searching for goats.
