Monday May 8th
Just after Robert had left for his usual visit at
the wholesaler’s, Clear got a distressed phone-call from Gary.
“Sybil has gone,” Gary shouted.
Cleo tried to say hello having read Gary’s private
cell phone number on the little red screen of her net phone, but Gary was not
into a preamble.
“What’s that to do with me, for heaven’s sake?”
said Cleo, as she unwrapped herself out of her duvet.
“Can you find out if she’s at the vicarage?”
“Can’t you find out?”
“She left Anna there for the weekend and I’ve
looked through her wardrobe and behind it and found things missing that she
doesn’t know I know about.”
“What things?”
“A sparkly top, a short leather skirt, long boots,
paste jewellery – and a black wig.”
“A wig?”
Cleo was about to hear something that she had
suspected for some time, but thought that Gary had not yet cottoned on to
because she had been sure that he would not protect or even offer a refuge to a
hooker, however much he might want to help her.
“I don’t know how to tell you this, Cleo.”
“I probably already know. Confirm my suspicions,
please.”
Gary started slowly, as if it were his own
confessional.
“She likes to disguise her appearance. She’s
soliciting, Cleo. She’s calling herself Moira and soliciting.”
“Surely she doesn’t need the money.”
“Some women do what she does for kicks.”
“So what do you want me to do, Gary? I can’t very
well send out a search party.”
“No. Just get through to the vicarage and make sure
the little girl is still there. Tell Edith that Sybil is not well and will get
in touch as soon as she can – but only if she has not already been in touch.
Just play it by ear, Cleo, and leave the child there.”
“Will you wait for Sybil at home, Gary?”
“No. I went to her flat earlier and the neighbour
told me that she had not been home all night.”
“How would she know that?”
“He.“
“But wasn’t Sybil in a relationship with you?”
“Was she?”
“You answer that, Gary. I didn’t see any signs that
she was about to seek pastures new.”
“She obviously already had them.”
“I admit that you have reason to think that, Gary,
but surely you would have noticed by now.”
“I noticed the garb she had hidden behind my
wardrobe, but I thought that was because she did not want to wear it anymore.”
“That was rather naïve, wasn’t it Gary?”
***
The cottage front door was being closed gently.
Robert had forgotten something and did not want to spoil Cleo’s extra hour of sleep.
But he could not resist eavesdropping.
He heard Cleo’s words to Gary.”
“When Anna was at the vicarage Sybil stayed at my
flat and most of her clothes were there because she wanted a bit of company,
she said. She needed her flat so that Anna would have her own room at weekends.
I don’t know what else she used the flat for.”
“I know all that,” said Cleo. “I’m surprised that
you believed her.”
“I was flattered. You don’t want to spend your life
with me, but Sybil did.”
“And you thought she would be at your place last night,
didn’t you?”
“Yes, but she did not come back there.”
“Didn’t you tell her that you would be HQ?”
“I actually spoke to the answering machine.”
“She probably thought that was opportunity
knocking, Gary. Had she said anything about going out in the evening`?”
“No. She only told me when she was going see Anna.””
“Did you phone her on her cell phone?”
“It was turned off.”
“So what are you going to do now?”
“Go to the office, I suppose.”
“You won’t find her there.”
“I’m not going to look for her, Cleo.”
“Why ever not?”
“I wouldn’t know where to start.”
“In which pub or hotel, I suppose you mean.”
“I’ll do some work. Take my mind off things. If she
isn’t back by tomorrow, I’ll report her missing.”
“Let’s hope nothing has happened to her.”
“I’ll be honest, Cleo. I don’t care a damn.”
“You should, Gary, for Anna’s sake.”
***
Robert was aghast when Cleo told him what Gary had
told her. It was about the worst thing that could happen. With Gary single
again he would again be on the lookout for a new partner, and this time it
would be Cleo.
“Phone Dorothy and tell her, Cleo. She should be in
the picture.”
He did not mention his talk with Dorothy the
previous evening. In point of fact, Dorothy was more in the picture than Cleo,
but Dorothy had been fabricating a story she knew would please Robert.
“You’re right. I’ll ask her to go with me to the
vicarage.”
“Can’t you just phone Edith and tell her?”
“No. That sort of thing is better done personally.
Just think how awful it is for Anna. She has to stay at the vicarage for a
while. Frederick won’t like it at all.”
“Neither would I want the kid for longer than a
weekend.”
“She’s a nice kid and that’s a shameful thing to
say, Robert.”
***
“You won’t tell her about Sybil’s nocturnal activities,
will you?”
“It’s the Moira half that goes out soliciting, but
heavens no. It would only worry her. She does not know the Moira half of
Sybil’s personality.”
“Typical of Gary to come to you for a shoulder to
cry on.”
“I think he probably needs one, Robert.”
“But does it always have to be yours?”
“I do believe you’re jealous.”
“Have I reason to be?”
“Quite apart from having no intention of leaving
you, Gary is often annoying and anyway, the last bed I would fall into is one
that has just been vacated by a hooker.”
“Thank you.”
“Don’t thank me, Robert. What happened to the
wholesaler’s.
“I forgot my list. I phoned him on my mobile and he
told me business was slack. He’s getting some stuff ready for me so I’ll go
without my breakfast to make up the time.”
“Noble of you, Robert,” said Cleo.
***
Robert fled to the kitchen so that Cleo could not
see his anxiety, but she followed him. Robert was as emotional as Gary could be
ice-cold when he wanted to.
“While you’re making coffee, I’ll chop one or two
big onions, Robert. We could have them fried with those rump steaks I’ve set my
heart on for later.”
“Good idea,” said Robert.
It was the food thing again. The joyful
anticipation of a good meal was enough
to comfort Robert, Cleo thought ruefully and wondered if it had ever occurred
to Robert thought there other kinds of togetherness.
Cleo put her arms round him and told him to pull
himself together. Or was he worried about Sybil?
“I don’t care a damn about Sybil,” he said,
shrugging her off.
“You don’t care about me, either, except as a
trophy, Robert.”
“I don’t know what you mean.”
“Gary doesn’t really care about Sybil especially
when she is acting as Moira , but I am married to you, Robert. Gary is a friend
and colleague.”
“I’ll believe you. Thousands wouldn’t,” said Robert
as he packed a couple of sandwiched in a luncheon box and made for the cottage
door.
“You won’t starve, will you?” said Cleo.
Robert ignored the comment, waved briefly and left.
***
Cleo’s phone call to Dorothy was received very
tersely.
“I’ve got to be at St Peter’s in 10 minutes, Cleo.”
“Oh, I am sorry.”
“So am I. Frederick Parsnip is taking his time over
deciding on a new organist.”
“So you are still playing for the services?”
“Unfortunately yes, when I have to, but a candidate
is coming this morning so I’ll listen to him and make a decision.”
“Can you come to the vicarage afterwards?”
“I’ll be there anyway. Edith has invited me to
lunch.”
“That’s nice. See you there then.”
“You haven’t told me why you phoned, Cleo.”
“Haven’t I? It can wait till I see you.”
“Hmmm!”
***
It was after eleven when Cleo was ready to go to the
vicarage. She would drive there to save time, though it was only a couple of
blocks away. Anna would be at school, so Edith could get over the shock before
the little girl came home. She would meet Dorothy at the vicarage.
***
Edith was surprised to see Cleo. Frederick was out
on is constitutional bike-ride, the children were all at school, and Edith was
up to the elbows in flour because she was baking.
“Come in,” she drawled, and Cleo was again amused
by Edith’s drawl. Edith was fascinated by Cleo’s American accent and did her
best to imitate it when they were alone. The imitation was not good, but Edith
was practising regularly in front of a mirror.
“Is anything the matter?” she asked now, panic in
her voice replacing the slurred syllables.
“I have a message from Sybil,” said Cleo.
“From Sybil? She phoned last night.”
“Oh! So she did get through to you,” Cleo improvised.
“Did she tell you what she wanted?”
“She just said she’d been called away on her job
and could Anna stay here all week.”
“That’s OK then. That’s what I wanted to tell you.”
“You could have phoned.”
“I needed the fresh air.”
“You came in your car,” said Edith.
“But I’m going for a walk on the common before
lunch,” fabricated Cleo.
“Forget the common,” drawled Edith. “Come into the
kitchen and have a coffee instead.”
***
As usual Edith asked Cleo if she would prefer tea.
“I’d rather have coffee,” said Cleo, deciding that
it was the lesser of the two evils. The kitchen table was full of baking utensils
and strewn with flour.
Edith tried her hand at small talk.
“How’s Robert?” she wanted to know. “He looked a
bit pale.”
“You should ask him yourself, Edith. He really
likes talking to you,” said Cleo with match-making in mind.
“Next Sunday is Harvest Festival and Frederick is
trying to get people to bring something for the table.”
“So you could ask Robert for something,” said Cleo.
“Not slaughtered animals, Cleo. Fruit and
vegetables, and nice flowers or potted plants are what go on the harvest
festival table,” said Edith. “Don’t you have that in the USA?”
“I expect they do. I’m not into religion, Edith.”
“What a pity,” said Edith. “God is such a help in
times of stress.”
Cleo resisted the temptation to ask Edith what she
meant.
“What happens to all the goodies after the
service?” she asked.
“It goes to poor families in the district. That’s
why the rich and noble grudge giving anything. They like to donate where they
can get tax relief.”
“Awesome,” said Cleo, and Edith tried to remember
the sound of that word by repeating it under her breath, before explaining that
she was making a crumble for afters.
“Would you like me to make you one?” she offered.
“Wow! That would be nice. Robert is crazy about
your baking, Edith.”
“You’ll have to peel more apples, Cleo.”
“I don’t mind. I always assist Robert in the
kitchen.”
“I wish Frederick could cook. He always rushes to
his study when he thinks I’m about to ask him to help,” said Edith sadly. “I
wouldn’t mind if he spent the time usefully, but he usually sharpens pencils.”
Cleo already knew about the vicar’s foible for
sharpening pencils. Sometimes he sharpened them until there was nothing left of
them. Kind parishioners and others kept him supplied with whole boxes of HP
hard pencils, which he maintained were the best ones for sharpening since they
offered resistance.
The vicar kept his tools in a cigar box high up on
his bookshelves so that the boys could not get at them. Scalpels were better
than knives, he claimed. Edith had pointed out several times that the boys
could climb like monkeys, a talent she had often observed when they climbed the
old trees in the vicarage garden. The previous year Albert had harvested all the
apples, pears and plums. It was only a matter of time before they discovered
the scalpels. The vicar laughed that off. “Ridiculous,” he had mocked. He
thought Edith was very silly sometimes.
“They wouldn’t know what to do with scalpels,” he
argued.
“They’d soon find out,” Edith replied.
***
Cleo was sure Edith was so miserable about her
relationship with the vicar that it was really only the boys, and now Anna, who
kept her at the vicarage.
***
“I’d like to adopt Anna,” Edith said, “but the
vicar won’t hear of it.”
“That’s a pipe dream anyway, Edith. Sybil would
never part with Anna.”
“Sybil does not collect the child very often. I
think she has other priorities,” said Edith. "I heard rumours, Cleo. I’m
sure Gary should not be mixed up with a loose-living woman.”
“That’s all in the past, Edith, and she is Anna’s
mother, whatever else she does.”
“Do you know what she does?”
Cleo was glad of the interruption that followed.
***
“Whose mother are we talking about?” said the vicar.
He had just come in via the kitchen door, followed closely by Dorothy..
“Onward Christian Soldiers was not on my list of
hymns yesterday,” Mr Parsnip scolded, for something to say.
“You didn’t give me a list of hymns, Frederick,”
said Dorothy. “I gave you one and I posted the numbers on the hymn board as
usual.
The vicar, who had been taken by surprise every
time a hymn was led in, had not even glanced at the hymn board or his list.
“But you interrupted my sermon,” he complained.
“You paused, Frederick. I thought it was over,”
Dorothy prevaricated.
“I breathed, Dorothy. I only breathed. Is lunch,
Edith?”
“At one and it’s a snack. We’ll eat warm when the
children are home.”
“Then I’ll go to my study and work,” he said. He
was fed up with the women, and hungry.
The apples were all peeled and chopped ready to go
under the crumble. Edith always prepared enough to feed the five thousand.
“Did you really cut the sermon short yesterday,
Dorothy?”
“Yes, I did, Edith. Frederick was rambling on
aimlessly. When he told people not to kill one another unless absolutely
necessary, I was glad I was sitting at the organ and not downstairs in the
congregation.”
“I expect everyone was grateful to you, Dorothy,”
said Cleo.
“He was improvising, Edith. He told me I was not to
tell you.”
“I’m glad I had a migraine,” said Edith, who often
had migraines to avoid Frederick’s ramblings and evangelical fervour.
“I got a few approving nods when I came out,” said
Dorothy. “And today there’s an audition for the organ job, so maybe I can be
freed of the job.”
“Shall we have our breakfast conference this
afternoon instead, Dorothy?”
“That’s a good idea. 2 o’clock?”
“Make it 3, please.”
“I’ll have to go now, Edith.”
Don't go yet," said Edith in a panicky voice.
"The crumble isn’t ready for 10 minutes.”
***
Dorothy was surprised that Edith had not asked who
the organ job candidate was. Not that she would have told her, but she thought
Edith would be as happy as she could be if Mr Morgan returned with his
ambitious organ pieces and bunches of pilfered flowers. She could not remember
Frederick ever buying his wife flowers.
“Never mind,” said Cleo.
“But I do mind, Cleo.”
Then, as if a brainstorm had struck Edith, she said
“I know what! Take it with you and put it in a
fairly hot oven for a bit.”
“That’s a great idea. Robert will be delighted.”
***
When Cleo had left, Edith finally got round to
asking Dorothy who was going to audition for the organ job. She was curious.
Dorothy was able to tell her that whoever it was came from the same valley as
Gareth Morgan, the previous organist, for whom Edith had developed a
partiality.
“Wouldn’t it be nice if Mr Morgan came back?” she
revered. “Now Mr Parsnip has said he will put the fee up, he could have stayed
after all.”
So that had been Mr Morgan’s real reason for leaving?
It did not escape Dorothy that Edith had referred to her husband as Mr Parsnip
again. She was obviously still angry that he had virtually driven Gareth away,
though Edith did not know that the vicar had wanted the organist out of the way
not because of the money, but because he thought Edith was carrying a torch for
him. If there was one thing the vicar could not abide it was upheaval in his
own daily life. He treated Edith below par most of the time, but he thought of
her as his property.
Dorothy had decided not to reveal to Edith that it
was in fact Mr Morgan who would be there, since she was not sure if he would be
tempted by the offer. She had written to him that the fee was going to be
higher now and Mr Morgan had interpreted this as a request for him to return to
Upper Grumpsfield.
Mr Morgan had not told Dorothy that it would also
mean merciful removal from his mother, who disapproved of his blue jeans and
musky perfume and was trying to pour him back into the mould she had made for
him. He was also hoping to push the fee up a little. It was obvious that they
were desperate at St Peter’s. It served Mr Parsnip right. He would let him
squirm for a while.
Back home, Cleo phoned Gary to report that Sybil
had been in touch with Edith the previous evening and had asked her to keep
Anna at the vicarage until further notice. Edith said Sybil had told her she
would be out working. Gary was annoyed that Sybil had not been in touch with
him. The message was clear. She wanted him out of her life, but since he wanted
her out of his, Sybil’s, or rather Moira’s outing was actually a good thing.
“That’s all very well,” said Cleo. “Maybe you
should first find out if she has a life with you if she wants you out of it.”
“What do you mean by that?”
“You don’t know who she was meeting. You don’t know
for sure where she went after she left your apartment dressed as a hooker. You
don’t even know if she’s still alive. You’d better get a move on and find her
before it’s too late, even if you want her out of your life. I’m going to spend
the afternoon at the office and the evening with Robert, if he doesn’t have a
table tennis match..”
With those words she slammed the phone down. It was
hard enough having to tell Gary she was staying with Robert though if she would
rather be with him. On the other hand, it was unbearable that Gary expected her
to be interested in the fate of the women he picked up.
Cleo thought she might be more amenable to thinking
about a future with Gary one day if he stopped behaving like a rake. As it stood
right now, Robert was the right guy for her.
***
If Cleo had achieved anything by talking to Gary so
bluntly during their phone call, it was to stir him into action arising out of
his indignation and resentment. After all, Gary had known since the previous
evening that Sybil had gone out. Since early morning he had known that she had
spent the night elsewhere. A visit to her flat had revealed that she was not
there either. He had let himself in with a key. Her bed had not been slept in.
She had contacted Edith, but had not tried to
contact him apart from speaking “I’m going out” into the answering machine.
Gary did not want to report to his colleagues that the woman he withy whom he
was to all intents and purposes in their view having an affair was missing. It
was not an option. He would try to find her without telling anyone what he was
doing.
***
An exhaustive tour of bars Gary thought Moira could reach on foot brought no
positive results, so she had probably taken a cab somewhere. He phoned the main
taxi company in Middlethumpton and they kindly requested all drivers to report
back if a rather strikingly dressed woman named Moira, who had long black hair and
was wearing a short black leather skirt and long black boots had hailed a cab
and been driven somewhere the previous afternoon or evening.
To Gary’s surprise there was a quick reaction from
two cab drivers when he used the name Moira. The first had left her standing at
the cab rank because he already had a fare, but he remembered her being rather
beautiful and thinking it was a shame that she was probably a prostitute. That
information made Gary wince. The second driver reported taking a woman with
that description to a bar on the corner of Beethoven Road.
So Moira had gone back to her old haunt, Gary
decided. He should have guessed that. Moira had worked as a call-girl from a
high-rise building in the Beethoven Road, but had been known there as Sybil and
had had a little girl called Anna who was kidnapped. After that, Sybil move away.
Gary got into his car and drove to the bar Moira
had frequented. Moira had to be found fast, if only for her daughter’s sake.
***
Barkeepers and pub proprietors can often smell a
cop ten miles against the wind, Gary claimed. He was now subjected to the kind
of wall of silence he liked to attribute to the careless handling of cases by
colleagues. He ordered a beer and perched uncomfortably on one of the bar
stools. The bar was almost empty. It was too early for night life.
“Is your visit official?” the barkeeper wanted to
know.
“No, I’m looking for someone.”
“A woman?”
“Yes.”
“And you’ve lost her?”
“Seems like it. She went out last night and I
haven’t seen her since.”
“So what brings you here?”
“A cab driver told me he drove a woman with her
description to this bar.”
“Have you got a photo of her?”
“Useless. She was disguised.”
“Disguised? How?”
“She was probably wearing a short leather skirt, a
top with sequins, long black boots – and a black wig, and using the pseudonym:
Moira.”
“She was dressed as a hooker, you mean.”
“Yes.”
***
The barkeeper thought for a moment. He wasn’t sure
he wanted to tell this cop anything about the woman, even if he was off duty.
On the other hand, concealing evidence was a criminal offence and he’d done
enough time not to want to be sent down again.
***
“Are you talking about Sybil Garnet by any chance,
Mr?”
“Yes. But she plied her trade as Moira, and Sybil
was respectable.”
“Schizophrenic? We often get them here.”
“Or multiple personality syndrome. AS Sybil she had
left the scene and I found her on her parent’s far. Anna, her daughter, had turned
up at Upper Grumpsfield church with a woman we later identified.”
”Banu Akbari?”
“Yes.”
“The woman who died in the bell-tower?”
“Yes. So you can understand that I want to find
her,” said Gary. “I’m a cop, but I’m also a human being.”
“Have the next one on me,” said the barman. “You’re
a good guy.”
“Thanks. Non-alcoholic. Please.”
“I’m puzzled you are mixed up with such a woman,”
said the barkeeper.
“You heard the story.”
“Come off it!” said the barkeeper. “Nice bit of crackling,
Moira, and she has a private life, too.”
“I’ve been helping Sybil to start a new life with
her little daughter.”
“Very commendable. But she has gone out dressed as
a tart.”
“Sybil does not know about Moira,” said Gary. “It’s
a weird setup.”
“I’ve never heard of anything like it.”
“She was not in my flat,” said Gary. “I found the
outfit I described behind my wardrobe a week or so ago and it has gone now. I
don’t know what to do about her, to be honest.”
“If I was you, I’d think the worst,” said the
barkeeper. “I know Moira from the old days, but I used to think she was Sybil’s
sister or cousin. A few weeks ago she started coming here regularly again. She
likes to change her appearance and her name, but she doesn’t work from here, if
that’s what you’re thinking.”
“No. I don’t think that. You say she was here last
night?”
“Why do you need to know?”
“I want her to come home and be Sybil.”
“She will, in due course. She’s got a big fish in
the net, she said, so it might take a while. Big car. Fat wallet. Signet ring.
You know the type.”
***
Despite himself, Gary was shocked. Had Sybil’s life
gone so far downhill? Why hadn’t he noticed? Was he too busy with his own
problems? That’s what Dorothy had accused him of and he had laughed at what he
thought were the rantings of an older lady.
“Do you know where she went?”
“Judging from the size of the man’s car, to one of
the big hotels.”
“Do you know the man’s name?”
“I can’t tell you that. It’s more than my life’s
worth.”
“You might have to tell me before long, but it can
wait. Thanks for telling me what you did. Can you do one more thing for me?”
“It depends what it is.”
“Give me a bell if she turns up again.”
“I could do that.”
Gary scribbled his mobile number on a beermat and
handed it to the barkeeper. The barkeeper was relaxed. He knew that Gary would
not be in a hurry to reveal that he was privately chasing after a notorious hooker.
***
Gary stood on the pavement in front of the bar for
a while wondering if he should do the rounds of all the good hotels in town. He
thought better of it. He had not brought a photo of Sybil alias Moira. He would
print out the old one of Sybil that he had in his computer from the previous
time he had looked for her, and retouch it to look like Moira. This time he
could not depend on Cleo to help him. Could he even ask her? She would guess
what Sybil was up to soon enough if Sybil was having fun and games with some
nabob or other. Gary even took out his mobile to call Cleo, but thought better
of it. Then he had the agonizing thought that Sybil might have tried to call
him to get help. Damn and blast. Was she in trouble? He thought he would go
home and report her missing immediately.
No comments:
Post a Comment