The space was dominated by a polished oak staircase, spiraling dizzyingly upwards in symmetrical right-angle turns. But the grandeur of the staircase was offset by the iron boot rack near the door, festooned with pairs of polka dot wellies in varying sizes, and a jumble of hats. A bicycle stood beside it, a helmet hanging by its chin strap on the handlebars.
The walls were painted the same warm green as the exterior trim, and through an open doorway Gemma glimpsed a comfortable-looking sitting room.
“Charlotte is your friend’s little girl?” Gemma asked.
“Yes. She’s not quite three. Naz was supposed to come for a visit, and we were going to let the girls play. But that was hours ago, and he never showed up at our house, or came home, and he’s not answering his phone. Look, let’s go down to the kitchen. You should talk to Alia.”
He led them to the back of the staircase, where a much less ornate flight led down into an open plan dining/kitchen area that stretched the length of the house.
Light from the well at the front fell on a sofa slipcovered in a cheerful dahlia print, and at the back, French doors opened onto a small garden. Cupboards and a large dresser lined the walls, and a trestle table stood in front of an enormous fireplace.
The air smelled of Indian spices, and a young Asian woman sat at the table, trying to coax a child to eat. The young woman was slightly plump, with straight black hair pulled back into a haphazard ponytail. When she looked up at them, her eyes were red-rimmed behind the lenses of her dark-framed glasses.
But the child…Gemma stared at the little girl, transfixed. Her light brown hair formed a mass of corkscrew curls almost as tight as dreadlocks. Her skin was the palest cafe au lait, and when she glanced up, Gemma saw that her eyes were an unexpected blue-green. She wore little Velcro-fastened trainers, and a dirt-smudged overall over a pink T-shirt. The ordinary clothes seemed only to emphasize her unusual beauty.
At the moment, however, she was turning her head away from the offered fork, and the young woman looked at Tim in appeal. “I made samosas,” she said. “A treat for Mr. Naz and Charlotte. My mum is always telling me I need to learn how to cook so that I can get a man, which is really stupid.” She shrugged. “It’s a Bangladeshi thing. But I don’t mind cooking for
The child shook her head, lips clamped firmly shut, but leaned back against the young woman’s chest.
“Your daddy will be home soon, and he’ll be cross if you haven’t had your tea.” The young woman’s attempted sternness ended on an uncertain quaver, and Tim stepped in.
“Alia, this is my wi-” Tim regrouped in midword. “This is Dr. Cavendish.” He gestured towards Hazel, then Gemma. “And this is Gemma James. Gemma’s with the police, and I thought she might-”
“Police?” Alia’s eyes widened in alarm. “I don’t want-I didn’t mean to get Mr. Naz into any sort of trouble.”
“I’m just here as a friend, Alia,” Gemma said quickly. “To see if I can help.” She slipped into the chair beside Alia’s at the table. “Why don’t you tell me about your day.”
“My day?” From Alia’s expression Gemma might have asked her the square root of pi.
“Yes.” Gemma smiled, trying to put the girl at ease. She gave Hazel and Tim a glance that they interpreted correctly, taking seats at either end of the sofa. Turning back to Alia, Gemma asked, “Do you usually look after Charlotte on a Saturday?”
“No. Mr. Naz likes to spend as much time with her as he can on the weekend. But he rang this morning and asked if I could come in for a couple of hours. I thought he had to go to the office, but when he left he didn’t have any papers or nothing. Mr. Naz is a solicitor. But then Dr. Cavendish will have told you,” she added uncertainly.
“And Mr. Naz didn’t say where he was going?”
“No. Just that he’d be back in time to take Charlotte with him to visit Dr. Cavendish.” She looked from Tim to Hazel, obviously confused by the two Dr. Cavendishes, but this wasn’t the moment to enlighten her.
“Was there anything else different in what he said, or how he looked?” Gemma asked.
Alia’s broad brow creased as she thought. “He only gave Charlotte a kiss. Usually he picks her up and swings her round.” At the sound of her name, Charlotte put her thumb in her mouth.
Perhaps he had been distracted, Gemma thought, but she went on matter-of-factly. “Then what did you and Charlotte do? Did you go out?” She smiled at the child but got no response.
“Just in the garden.” Alia glanced at the back doors. “Charlotte has a sandbox, and it was nice outside. Then Mr. Naz had got mangoes, so we made a lassi in the blender. Mr. Naz had said he’d be back by three, so I had everything tidied up by then. But he didn’t come home.”
Gemma took in the neat kitchen. One of the work tops held the baking sheet Alia had used to heat the samosas, and a Tupperware container. The fridge, a retro Smeg, was adorned with magnets and bright crayon drawings, an ordinary scene in a household with a child. But something here was not ordinary at all. Thinking that Toby, now almost six, had not stopped talking since he’d learned how to form words, she smiled again at Charlotte and said, “Hi, Charlotte. I’m Gemma. Did you make those nice pictures?”
Charlotte merely gazed back at her, expressionless.
Wondering if the child was developmentally delayed, she said softly to Alia, “Is she very shy?”
“Shy?” Alia sounded startled. “Oh, no, I wouldn’t say that. It’s just that…since her mum…she doesn’t talk much, especially round strangers.”
“She doesn’t see her mum?”
Alia stared at her, the finger she had been twining in Charlotte’s curls suddenly still. “You don’t know about Sandra?” she whispered.
Gemma shot an accusing glance at Tim, who shrugged, mouthing “No time.”
“No. I’m afraid I don’t.”
Tim sat forward, hands on his knees as if holding himself down. “It was in May,” he said. “I saw an appeal Naz put in the papers afterwards. That’s why I got in touch.” He glanced at Charlotte, then seemed to choose his words even more carefully. “She-Sandra-left the baby with a friend at Columbia Road. It was a Sunday, just as the market was winding down. She said she had an errand and she’d only be gone a few minutes. She never returned.”
CHAPTER FOUR
– Dennis Severs,
Gemma and Hazel both gaped at Tim, but it was Hazel who got in the first word. “She disappeared? This man’s wife disappeared, and you didn’t tell me?”
“When would I have had the chance?” protested Tim.
Standing, Hazel balled her small hands into fists. “You rang up this man you hadn’t seen in years because his wife disappeared? And you offered him counseling? That’s-that’s unethical. And just sick.”
Tim looked up at her. “It wasn’t like that. I just thought Naz needed to talk. I never charged him. And since when are you the queen of ethics?” The bitterness on both sides was out in the open now, blistering as acid, the air in the room charged with animosity. Charlotte started to cry.
“I don’t understand.” Alia looked from Tim to Hazel. Hugging Charlotte tighter, she whispered, “Hush, Char, it’s all right.”
“What either of you think, or did, isn’t the point right now,” Gemma said sharply. The simple fact of a man missing an appointment and failing to ring his child’s nanny had suddenly become infinitely more complicated, and Hazel and Tim’s bickering was not going to help. Rapidly, Gemma considered options.
“Tim, I think you should take Charlotte home with you for the moment, if there’s no immediate family to call in. It’s too much responsibility for Alia, and-”
“I can take her,” put in Hazel. “I can take both the girls.”
