The words obviously meant nothing to the people in the room. But they were of great significance to him.
Chapter Eighteen
Perez stood on the pavement and felt the heat reflect from it. After his meeting with the team from Bright Star Productions, he couldn’t face seeing Eleanor’s mother that evening. He’d had an early start and the travel and the encounter with Fran’s parents had left him restless and lacking in concentration. He knew that his decision to keep custody of Cassie was purely selfish – she was all he had left of the woman he’d adored – but it had been Fran’s wish and, no matter what her parents thought, there was no way he would change his mind. He found himself walking through the streets until he came to a quiet coffee shop. It was eight at night and he marvelled that the place was still open. A couple of students with laptops sat at the tables. He ordered tea and a toasted sandwich and perched on a high stool at a counter near the window and watched the passers-by. He phoned Eleanor’s mother.
‘Yes?’ An imperious voice, but one that sounded old and exhausted.
He asked if he might visit her the next morning.
‘I suppose so, but I’m not sure what good it will do. My daughter wasn’t killed in London, after all.’
‘But you might have some questions for me,’ Perez said. ‘We could have a conversation about Eleanor.’
There was a pause. He imagined her sipping from a glass by her side. Perhaps he even heard the faint sound of her pouring more wine. ‘Yes,’ she said. ‘I’d like that.’
‘What time would you like me to come?’
‘Whenever you like. I won’t be at work. They’ve forced me to take compassionate leave, though I think I’d be better off there.’ She paused. ‘Not too early, though. I’ve never done early mornings.’
‘Eleven o’clock?’
‘Fine. Whatever.’ The teenage slang sounded strange coming from her. She’d lost interest in the conversation now, he thought.
‘I’ll see you then.’ But he thought she might have cut off the conversation before he’d even finished speaking.
Willow Reeves answered her mobile so quickly that he wasn’t ready to speak to her and he wasn’t quite sure what to say.
‘Jimmy? Are you there?’ Amused rather than irritated by his failure to speak, when he’d been the one to make the call. ‘Do you have anything useful?’
‘It sounds as if Eleanor’s company wasn’t doing as well as her friends led us to believe. Maybe this ghost show was just about keeping it solvent. It might be worth getting the forensic accountants to check out the figures.’
‘I can certainly organize that.’ Her voice was suddenly very clear. He could imagine her in the next room.
‘Eleanor had made contact with a couple who’d claimed to see Peerie Lizzie,’ he said. ‘They’re called Arthur, and they live in Unst.’ A pause. ‘The address is Meoness.’
‘Well, there’s a coincidence.’
He wasn’t sure how to react to that. ‘The house is called Spindrift.’
‘I’ve seen the name somewhere.’ He could sense her excitement down the line. ‘The new bungalow on the way to Sletts. They’ve carved the name on a bit of driftwood and stuck it on the front wall of the garden. I’ll go and talk to them tomorrow and see if Eleanor visited. Maybe she was there on the night she died, sitting up waiting for the spirit to appear.’
He could tell she was being flippant and didn’t bother answering.
‘Jimmy?’
‘Yes.’
‘We’re all missing you. Come back soon.’
Again he wasn’t sure what to say. He switched off his phone, climbed down from the stool and continued walking until he reached his hotel.
He woke early and, instead of going straight to see Eleanor’s mother, headed instead to Hampstead and the Folklore Society library, where Polly Gilmour worked. It was an ordinary house in a leafy street, standing out from the others only because it was shabbier. When he pushed open the door, a bell rang and a middle-aged woman with long grey hair fluttered down the stairs to greet him. She wore a long skirt and a silk tunic and many silk scarves.
‘Can I help you? If it’s anything terribly esoteric I’m afraid you’ll have to come back later. Our fabulous librarian is away on holiday.’
He explained who he was.
‘Poor Polly! She was so looking forward to her trip north with her friends.’ The woman wrung her hands. She was shrouded in so much fabric that there seemed to be no real substance to her.
‘How had she seemed in the last few weeks?’ Now that he was here Perez wasn’t sure what he had expected from the visit. Perhaps only to feel that he understood Polly Gilmour a little better.
‘Well, excited of course. Being a bridesmaid at the wedding in Kent and then going to Shetland for the party. And having a new man in her life. There were times when we’d given up hope of her ever finding someone. And Marcus does seem such a nice chap.’
‘Did you ever meet Eleanor Longstaff?’ He’d already turned for the door when the question occurred to him.
‘Oh yes, a few times. They were almost like sisters.’
‘When was the last time you saw her?’
‘She came to meet Polly the day before they set off for Shetland together. Last-minute plans, I suppose. Polly was in a meeting, and I made Eleanor tea in the members’ room while she waited. Her phone rang, so I hustled her into the staffroom. We’re still rather old-fashioned here about mobile phones, and the members detest them.’ She hesitated. ‘Of course I wasn’t eavesdropping, but Eleanor was very angry and even from the office I couldn’t help hearing.’
‘What exactly did Eleanor say?’ Perez appeared to be taking no more than a polite interest.
‘Of course I can’t be certain of the exact words, though I do pride myself on my memory.’
‘If you could just do the best you can.’ He smiled.
The woman smiled back, obviously charmed. ‘The gist was: “How can you expect me to go away with you, with this hanging over us. Just sort it out!”’
Perez nodded, as though to compliment her memory. ‘That’s very helpful. You have no idea who was on the other end of the line?’
The woman shook her head. ‘I assume that it was her husband, but from the office of course I couldn’t hear anything from the other end of the line.’
‘Of course.’ Perez thought they’d be able to trace the call from Eleanor’s mobile records, though that would take time. ‘Have you ever met Mr Longstaff?’ It was hard to imagine the dour man in this whimsical place, but perhaps he’d come along to a social event with Eleanor.
The woman shook her head. ‘Just the lovely Eleanor. We’ll all miss her.’
Perez left the building. Walking down the quiet street, he was still not sure what he’d achieved by the visit.
Eleanor’s mother lived in an apartment in a large white terrace in Pimlico. Ringing the bell, which was an old-fashioned pull, Perez felt momentarily overwhelmed. It came to him that there might be another door, a tradesmen’s entrance, and perhaps he would be expected to use that; he even wondered if he might be greeted by a housekeeper. But when the door was opened, it was by a woman who could only be Eleanor’s mother. The hair was a different colour – it had been immaculately cut and dyed various shades of dark blonde to make it look almost natural – but there were the same nose and cheekbones as he’d seen in Eleanor’s photo on Polly Gilmour’s computer.
She led him into a wide hallway. The walls had been painted a deep green and there were pictures everywhere. The art was unfamiliar. Some looked like prints of cave paintings, scratched images of animals and birds. Primitive, but also amazingly lifelike. There were photos of strange dwellings growing out of a hillside, a collage made from scraps of woven cloth and two large abstract oils. He would have liked to spend more time with them, but she’d already moved on and had settled on the windowsill in a room that seemed half-sitting room and half-study. There was a desk and the walls were hidden by bookshelves. In one corner an armchair was covered with a batik throw and next to it stood a coffee table made from animal hide. There was a glass on the table and Perez thought that she’d been sitting here when he’d phoned the night before. Now she was framed by the window, so she looked like a piece of art herself. The background was a small courtyard garden, where the sun had been trapped by a brick wall. In the corner stood a tree covered in pink blooms in a pot.