sake. Last week it was something to do with her liver.'
Mark laughed. 'The French are obsessed with their livers. Surely you know that?'
'What I do know is there's no one available at such short notice to take her class. She seems to think she can come and go as she pleases.'
'Calm down, Phil! What about a spot of entente cordiale? The girl's probably ill.'
'Then I'd feel a damn sight more cordiale if she'd inform me of the fact.'
It wasn't until Arlette Picard failed to return to her lodgings on Wednesday evening that anyone registered more than annoyance at her absence.
'I wonder what's keeping her?' Mrs King said worriedly, gazing out of the window. 'She's always back by this time —she knows we eat at seven.'
'She thinks it's too early—she told me,' her daughter volunteered.
'Well, I'm sorry about that, but I'm not going to change the habits of a lifetime to suit her ladyship. When in Rome, do as Rome does.' She glanced again at her watch. 'You'd think she'd phone if she was going to be this late. She's usually good about that.'
'Why not ring the university? She might still be in the Library.'
'Not this late, surely.'
Iris shrugged, returning to her magazine, and after a minute her mother went to the phone. But when she succeeded in locating someone from the French Department, the news was not reassuring.
'Iris, she hasn't been in today!'
'That's odd.' Iris frowned. 'How did she leave it yesterday?'
'She said she'd a date in Shillingham that afternoon, and as she hadn't a class till mid-morning, she'd probably spend the night there.'
'With Sophie, I suppose. That's where she stayed a fortnight ago.'
'That's what I thought. So I didn't expect her last night, and I supposed she'd go straight to work this morning. But if she never turned up—' Mrs King turned, staring at her daughter. 'Sophie's an au pair, isn't she? Do you know the name of the family?'
'No.' Iris stared back at her. 'God, I hope she's all right.'
'Who was she meeting in Shillingham, have you any idea?'
'Simon Marshbanks, I should think.' 'Give him a ring, love. He may know something.' But Simon wasn't in, and his flatmate didn't know when he'd be back.
'I shouldn't worry, Mum,' Iris said bracingly. 'He's probably with her now. If they'd arranged to meet tonight too, she might have stayed on and skipped the class. I wouldn't put it past her.'
'Perhaps you're right. Well, I'm not going to hold supper any longer. I'll leave Arlette's in the oven.'
Nevertheless, they spent an uneasy evening, their ears tuned for the sound of the front door. But it never came. When Mrs King went to the kitchen last thing to let the cat out, she found the oven still on. She took out the plate, stared blankly at the dried-up food on it, and tipped it into the bin. Then she gave a superstitious little shudder. If there was no word from Arlette by the morning, she'd have to contact the police.
CHAPTER 2
Detective Chief Inspector David Webb stood in his office staring moodily out of the window. Below him, the gravel driveway shimmered in the sunlight, and the lawn with its fishpond in the centre lay smooth as brushed velvet. Beyond the gateway, on Carrington Street, women shoppers in gaily coloured dresses hurried past. Out there in the sunshine everyone seemed happy and full of purpose. He sighed deeply.
'What is it, Dave?' Alan Crombie inquired from behind him. 'You've an aura like a thundercloud this morning.' 'Sorry, I'm just thoroughly browned off.' 'On a gorgeous day like this?'
'Particularly on a gorgeous day like this. Half the trouble is having nothing interesting to do. We've not had a case to get our teeth into for weeks, and I'm up to here with paperwork.'
Half the trouble, he had said. And the other half was Hannah. More specifically, having caught sight of her yesterday evening, going into the Grand Theatre on the arm of some dark, self-satisfied-looking bastard. Furthermore, it was the second time in just over two weeks he'd seen her in
Mark laughed. 'The French are obsessed with their livers. Surely you know that?'
'What I do know is there's no one available at such short notice to take her class. She seems to think she can come and go as she pleases.'
'Calm down, Phil! What about a spot of entente cordiale? The girl's probably ill.'
'Then I'd feel a damn sight more cordiale if she'd inform me of the fact.'
It wasn't until Arlette Picard failed to return to her lodgings on Wednesday evening that anyone registered more than annoyance at her absence.
'I wonder what's keeping her?' Mrs King said worriedly, gazing out of the window. 'She's always back by this time —she knows we eat at seven.'
'She thinks it's too early—she told me,' her daughter volunteered.
'Well, I'm sorry about that, but I'm not going to change the habits of a lifetime to suit her ladyship. When in Rome, do as Rome does.' She glanced again at her watch. 'You'd think she'd phone if she was going to be this late. She's usually good about that.'
'Why not ring the university? She might still be in the Library.'
'Not this late, surely.'
Iris shrugged, returning to her magazine, and after a minute her mother went to the phone. But when she succeeded in locating someone from the French Department, the news was not reassuring.
'Iris, she hasn't been in today!'
'That's odd.' Iris frowned. 'How did she leave it yesterday?'
'She said she'd a date in Shillingham that afternoon, and as she hadn't a class till mid-morning, she'd probably spend the night there.'
'With Sophie, I suppose. That's where she stayed a fortnight ago.'
'That's what I thought. So I didn't expect her last night, and I supposed she'd go straight to work this morning. But if she never turned up—' Mrs King turned, staring at her daughter. 'Sophie's an au pair, isn't she? Do you know the name of the family?'
'No.' Iris stared back at her. 'God, I hope she's all right.'
'Who was she meeting in Shillingham, have you any idea?'
'Simon Marshbanks, I should think.' 'Give him a ring, love. He may know something.' But Simon wasn't in, and his flatmate didn't know when he'd be back.
'I shouldn't worry, Mum,' Iris said bracingly. 'He's probably with her now. If they'd arranged to meet tonight too, she might have stayed on and skipped the class. I wouldn't put it past her.'
'Perhaps you're right. Well, I'm not going to hold supper any longer. I'll leave Arlette's in the oven.'
Nevertheless, they spent an uneasy evening, their ears tuned for the sound of the front door. But it never came. When Mrs King went to the kitchen last thing to let the cat out, she found the oven still on. She took out the plate, stared blankly at the dried-up food on it, and tipped it into the bin. Then she gave a superstitious little shudder. If there was no word from Arlette by the morning, she'd have to contact the police.
CHAPTER 2
Detective Chief Inspector David Webb stood in his office staring moodily out of the window. Below him, the gravel driveway shimmered in the sunlight, and the lawn with its fishpond in the centre lay smooth as brushed velvet. Beyond the gateway, on Carrington Street, women shoppers in gaily coloured dresses hurried past. Out there in the sunshine everyone seemed happy and full of purpose. He sighed deeply.
'What is it, Dave?' Alan Crombie inquired from behind him. 'You've an aura like a thundercloud this morning.' 'Sorry, I'm just thoroughly browned off.' 'On a gorgeous day like this?'
'Particularly on a gorgeous day like this. Half the trouble is having nothing interesting to do. We've not had a case to get our teeth into for weeks, and I'm up to here with paperwork.'
Half the trouble, he had said. And the other half was Hannah. More specifically, having caught sight of her yesterday evening, going into the Grand Theatre on the arm of some dark, self-satisfied-looking bastard. Furthermore, it was the second time in just over two weeks he'd seen her in
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