Dead And Buried

Thirteen

Lady Proud smiled as she gazed at her husband, settled in his armchair, his face slightly flushed. Normally such a coloration would have worried her, but he had come back from his mysterious meeting in the Balmoral Hotel looking like his grandson always did after a trip to Toys R Us. She never asked him about his business, and normally he did not volunteer information, but on this occasion he had blurted out the whole story as soon as he had hidden his Jenners bags in the cupboard under the stair. ‘She must be quite a woman, this Trudi,’ she said. ‘It’s a long time since I put a look like that in your eye.’

Sir James blinked. ‘Really, Chrissie, I don’t know what you mean by that. She’s attractive, certainly, with her Mauritian blood, but she’s not, well, she’s not like you at all.’

‘Keep digging, Jimmy, keep digging.’

‘What? Och! It’s got nothing to do with her. It’s her story that’s got me interested: her missing mother, the involvement with Adolf Bothwell. It’s a proper mystery when you think about it. This young woman, she has her illegitimate child with the help and advice of her sister and her husband, who also oversee its transfer into the care of Barnardo’s. After it’s all behind her, she goes off to make a new life for herself, but she still comes back to them for her holidays, the last time all excited about this man she’s met, and is going to marry. And then she disappears, from their lives, from the school, from everything, without leaving any trace. Yes, a real puzzle.’

‘And you’re going to solve it, are you, Sherlock?’

‘I’m damn well going to try.’

‘It’s what you’ve always wanted, Jimmy, isn’t it?’

‘What?’

‘To be a detective, like Bob Skinner, that man McGuire and all the rest.’

‘I’m quite happy with the way my career’s turned out,’ he said defensively.

‘Of course you are, but still, don’t tell me you’ve never envied Bob his skills.’

He frowned. ‘Some of them, I admit; others, no. For example, I think I’ve proved myself rather better at marriage than him.’

Chrissie Proud laughed. ‘You’ve had expert help.’

He almost asked, ‘From whom?’ but realised, just in time.

‘So now you’re going to prove that you can find things out too.’

‘I think I can help the woman, if that’s what you mean.’

‘But you have a couple of thousand people at your disposal who could help as well.’

‘No, no, that would never do. This situation doesn’t warrant police time being spent on it. This is something I have to handle myself. Who better than me anyway? I was there at the time all this happened. So were quite a few other people: I know who they are, and where they are today, as you’ll find out if you sit down and listen. Just wait for a moment until I get my book.’ He rose from his chair and left the room, returning a minute later, empty-handed. ‘Do you know where it is?’ he exclaimed. ‘It’s not where it should be. Have you been tidying up again?’

Lady Proud rose, walked over to the television cabinet, opened it and took from its shelves a loose-leaf notebook, bound in heavy brown leather. ‘You used it on Tuesday,’ she reminded him pointedly. ‘When you were finished, you put it in there.’

‘Sorry,’ he muttered sheepishly, avoiding her gaze as he took it from her and resumed his seat. He unclipped it, opened it, and flicked through the thick directory section until he found the number he sought, and dialled it. ‘Bertie,’ he said, as his call was answered. ‘Glad I caught you; I thought you might be at Muirfield. It’s Jimmy Proud here.’ He laughed. ‘I’m doing fine, and you’re not in trouble, if a Court of Session judge can ever get into trouble, that is. I want to pick what’s left of your brain about our schooldays.’ Pause. ‘Of course you can go that far back, it’s only forty-five years or so. Remember Adolf Bothwell?’ Pause. ‘That’s right: taught French and German. More than a bit full of himself, we all thought. Do you remember any whispers about him being involved with a junior school teacher called Annabelle Gentle?’ A longer pause. ‘No? Do you remember her?’ Pause. ‘No? Pity. Do you remember anything about his leaving the school?’ Pause. ‘Yes, that was my recollection too. There was no warning, his timetable was fixed, and he just didn’t turn up for the new term. Your brother, the Solicitor General: would he have been in the junior school then?’ Pause. ‘Upper primary, you reckon? Maybe I’ll have a word with him. There’s just one other thing. Remember when we were in our fourth year and we won the relay trophy at the school sports? Who presented it?’ Longer pause. ‘Yes, that matches my recollection. I was sure it was Adolf’s wife.’