Society Girls Read online

  “We're looking for someone called Tasha? She lives with Emma McKellan in flat three.”

  “That's me!” she beams at us. “But I'm afraid if you're looking for Emma you're out of luck. I think she might have gone to stay with family somewhere.”

  “Yes, we know,” says Holly. “Actually we wanted to speak to you. You don't have five minutes to spare, do you?” Holly puts on her marvelous Labradoresque pleading look that she uses with me when she wants the last bit of chocolate.

  It seems to do the trick. Tasha hesitates for a second and then her face relaxes. “Well, I was only off to the supermarket so I've got a bit of time.” She opens the door again and we follow her into the hall. She uses her key to open another door and we follow her into the flat.

  “We weren't expecting to find you in,” says Holly.

  “I work as a physiotherapist at the hospital. Shift work, so you were lucky to catch me at all!” explains Tasha with a smile. She leads the way into a large sitting room and dumps her coat and bag on the sofa. “Would you like some tea or coffee?”

  “Tea for me, please!” I rejoin enthusiastically. Holly agrees with the request and we follow her to the doorway of the kitchen.

  “So do you know Emma?” asks Tasha cautiously.

  “I worked with her at the paper. This is my sister, Clemmie, who's staying with me at the moment,” says Holly. Tasha looks from one to the other of us, notes the resemblance and looks suitably relieved that we're not from the tax office or anything else heinous. “You know that she's gone to stay with family and obviously she hasn't been in to work,” continues Holly. “But I ran into her fiancé Charlie the other evening.” I look at Tasha carefully to note her reaction. She doesn't seem unduly shocked or surprised. “He wanted to know where he could find Emma and, since we didn't know that she had a fiancé, we didn't want to give him any more information without checking with someone first.” Very good, Holly. Very convincing. The fact that we don't have any information whatsoever to give Charlie is completely immaterial. I just hope the questions don't get that far. “Did you know about Charlie, Emma's fiancé?” asks Holly carefully.

  The kettle switches itself off with a loud POP and Tasha turns toward the countertop. She doesn't say anything for a few minutes while she gets out mugs and teabags. Holly throws me a puzzled look. Tasha finally turns back toward us and looks Holly squarely in the eye.

  “Yes, I knew about Charlie,” she says quietly. So he's not a nutter after all. “But it was a big secret. Might still be for all I know. Why was Charlie looking for her? I actually thought she might be with him.”

  Tasha squeezes the teabags out and plops them in the bin. After she has added the milk, she hands one mug over to me and one to Holly. She leads the way back into the sitting room and we all sit down. It's actually quite a beautiful room: large bay windows, a polished wooden floor and stylish furniture.

  “Charlie says she just disappeared. Apparently she went over to ask for her father's blessing for the marriage.” Holly looks carefully at Tasha for her reaction. “And she never came back.”

  Tasha frowns to herself. “No, she didn't come back that night but I didn't think anything of it. I called her father the next day to see when she would be back, we'd said we would go to a new bar that evening for her social diary, and he said she had decided to have a break for a little while.” Tasha shrugs her shoulders at us. “I thought it was a bit strange but it wasn't as though she was a missing person or anything. Her father absolutely adores her; he would be the first to kick up a fuss if anything happened to her.”

  “But she told you about Charlie?” persists Holly.

  “Oh yes. I don't know who else she told, we're not exactly best friends. Emma can sometimes be a bit difficult to get along with but I think she simply couldn't keep it from me, especially living together and everything. She certainly became easier to be with after she met Charlie—she was absolutely smitten with him! I've never seen someone so much in love!”

  Holly glances over at me triumphantly. “And they were planning to get married?”

  “Yes, in Cambridge on Saturday. I'm not going, I don't think she has really invited anyone. Of course her father knew absolutely none of this. I think he's always wanted her to marry some bigwig with connections and Charlie simply didn't fit the bill. He's a teacher and from the North somewhere. Not like Emma to even give someone like that the time of day, but I have to admit that he looks absolutely gorgeous from the pictures she's shown me. But as the wedding arrangements got underway, Emma became more and more worried about her father. She does care about him and she didn't want to get married without him knowing. I suppose that is what she went over to see him about. It's difficult to have long conversations with her because of my shift pattern. So Charlie is looking for her?”

  “Yes, she hasn't been in contact with him since that evening. Did she seem to have any doubts about the wedding?”

  “God, no! She absolutely couldn't wait!”

  “Do you think you could check her room?” asks Holly. “See if she has picked up any of her stuff?”

  We all get up and follow Tasha down a short corridor and into a room. A brass double bed fills one corner while another wall holds a large dressing table dotted with lotions and potions. I wander toward it and pick up a small framed photo of Charlie. Tasha opens the door of a mahogany wardrobe. “I think all of her clothes are here; it's very hard to tell, there's so many of them.”

  I peep round another door on the far side of the room to find a small en-suite bathroom. Tasha and Holly follow me over.

  “She's left her toothbrush and all her toiletries!” Tasha says. “I don't think she can have come back to pick up anything.”

  Just then my mobile rings. I leave Holly and Tasha in the bedroom while I wander out to the corridor to take the call.

  “Is that Miss Colshannon?” asks a gentle voice.

  “Yes, it is.”

  “This is the vicar of St. John's in Cambridge. I understand that you wish to talk to me?” Here we go, another vicar. It seems you can't swing a cat without hitting a vicar in Cambridge.

  “Yes . . .” And off I launch into my tale, but as soon as I utter the name Charlie Davidson the vicar interrupts me.

  “Yes, I know Charlie and Emma and yes, they are getting married here on Saturday. Is there anything else I can help you with, Miss Colshannon?”

  Chapter Nine

  Holly can hardly contain her excitement as she scoots toward Tristan.

  “This is marvelous, isn't it, Clemmie?” she calls over her shoulder.

  I have to say things are certainly hotting up. “Terrific!” I rejoin enthusiastically. “The old horror must definitely be keeping poor Emma prisoner!”

  “Imagine popping over to your folks for a spot of supper and won't-you-please-come-to-my-wedding-ing and then not being allowed to come home just because your father doesn't fancy your choice of groom.”

  “He must be some kind of monster.”

  “Oh, he is.”

  “But how long can he keep her locked up for?”

  “Probably until Saturday. That way the wedding is postponed. We simply must find her, Clemmie. That poor girl.”

  “I know. She must have missed a few dress fittings as well.”

  “But how on earth are we going to find her?”

  “I don't know. Maybe tomorrow we should have a good look through the archives. See if any past stories about Sir Christopher highlight anything.”

  We muse in silence on this for a moment. “Are we seeing James tonight?” I ask after a minute.

  “Yes! He's got loads of work on at the moment and he's just put his flat on the market so he said he might be late.”

  “He's selling his flat? So is he—”

  “Moving in! I'm so excited, I'd have moved into his place but he used to live there with his ex so he thought it would be better for us if he moved in with me.”

  “Bloody hell! Why didn't you tell me?”


  “You're hardly renowned for your secret-keeping skills, Clemmie. I didn't tell you because I don't want our mother to know just yet. She'll start picking out a hat.”

  “Actually, I think she's already done that.”

  “Oh God,” groans Holly. “I'll have to keep James away from her, she'll start making inappropriate comments.” As you might have guessed, our mother is not a creature of subtlety. She abhors subtlety. She says it's exhausting trying to figure out what anyone is trying to say. “By the way, you can't mention anything about this case to James.”

  “Why not?”

  “He and I have a golden rule that we never talk about work.”

  “Why not?”

  “So neither he nor I can be accused of professional misconduct. Giving each other the inside track on something. It just wouldn't be right.”

  We've only been back long enough to get ourselves some wine and park ourselves on the sofa when there's the sudden noise of a key in the lock and we both instinctively turn our heads toward the door. James must be home.

  Holly gets up just as he enters the room and for once my mother's description is not wrong. James is tall and broad with sandy blond hair and a beautiful pair of green eyes. He is gorgeous, there is no doubt about it, and certainly the nicest police officer I have ever had the misfortune to set eyes upon.

  He dumps the box he's carrying by the door and then turns to me and smiles while extending a hand.

  “God, Clemmie, it's so nice to meet you at last. Holly talks about you all the time.”

  “Anything good?”

  “No, nothing at all.” He grins at me while we shake hands and he then goes forward and kisses Holly. I like the way he clasps her to him and really kisses her. Not just a meager peck on the cheek. It makes me think how much I would like someone to come home and kiss me like that. Seth was always in such a rush to change and go out again that he barely managed to say hello a lot of the time.

  Holly pours him a glass of wine. “I've got a story!” she says.

  “Great! Is it a goody?”

  “It will knock your socks off!”

  “I'll look forward to it. Is there something amazing for supper?” he asks her.

  Holly frowns. “Actually, I haven't really thought about it.”

  “I didn't think you would have so I thought I'd take you both out to dinner.” I think I'm going to like James. He leans back into the sofa, pours us all another glass of wine and then asks me how Norman the seagull is getting on. A subject close to everyone's heart.

  The next day Holly pulls me out of bed at the crack of dawn without any apologies as she is excited about her story. I really hope that one day I could get this much pleasure from a job. She presses a cup of tea into my hand and pleads with me to get dressed quickly. I haul on the obligatory clothes but find that the only footwear I have brought with me are a pair of cowboy boots that I was wearing under my jeans yesterday so I am forced to wear them with a skirt. I barely get a chance to clean my teeth before she drags me out of the flat.

  “Clemmie, what on earth are you wearing on your feet?”

  “Cowboy boots. I would have thought that was obvious.”

  Holly looks absolutely appalled.

  “They are all the rage in Cornwall. Sienna Miller was visiting last month and she was wearing a pair underneath her dress,” I say with as much dignity as I can muster, and all I can say about Sienna is that she might have done.

  I've obviously managed to spin this story with a firm degree of conviction as Holly actually looks quite impressed. At least she doesn't make me take them off and wear a pair of her shoes.

  When we get to the paper, we make our way down to the research library at the Bristol Gazette, which is basically a desk, a computer and a couple of microfiche readers. Holly pulls over another chair from a neighboring desk and together we sit down.

  I munch on the conciliatory bacon sandwich that she bought me en route. I couldn't eat it in the car because I was concentrating too much on bending into the corners as Holly hurtled through the streets. “So what are we looking for again?” I finish my bacon sarnie, professionally lick my fingers and then focus on the microfiche reader.

  “Well, I'm going to search for information about Sir Christopher on the Internet and I thought you could go through all the past stories that the paper has written about him.”

  “That sounds very long-winded. Is there no super whizzy high techno thing we can use?”

  “No, Clemmie,” says Holly patiently. “There is no super whizzy high techno thing we can use apart from your brain. If we can call that super whizzy and high techno. Now, I'll just get you the reference microfiche pages from the computer and then you have to get the relevant page up on the reader, like this.” She demonstrates how to use the reader and then I get to work.

  An hour and a half later, I have found absolutely zilch. Lots of stories about Sir Christopher McKellan's dazzling legal career but nothing that could be useful to us when we're trying to find his daughter. Of course, it would help no end to know what I am actually looking for.

  “Holly.”

  “Clemmie.”

  “I have read an awful lot about Sir Christopher McKellan's numerous court appearances, his closing briefs and his statements to the press. So, just remind me. What are we actually looking for?”

  Holly looks up briefly from the screen and leans back thoughtfully in her chair. “Anything that might lead us to Emma.”

  “And what would that be exactly?”

  “Well, if you're right then Emma isn't with her father. So who would Sir Christopher trust enough to put her with?”

  “Maybe she's just staying in a hotel somewhere.”

  “With no one to guard her? Don't be silly, Clemmie!”

  “Holly, all I have read about for the last hour and a half is his bloody court appearances and various cases. I can't see anything that might give us a clue as to Emma's whereabouts. Unless he's put her with one of the many people he's put away. Which seems kind of doubtful. Does he have any family? Sisters, cousins?”

  “I'm looking for any relatives. His father was a high court judge so I've looked him up in Who's Who and Sir Christopher is an only child.”

  “Aunts and uncles?”

  “All dead as far as I can see. I can't find out if he's got any cousins.”

  “But you'd have to be pretty close to them to ask them to hold your only daughter hostage, wouldn't you? I mean, we don't know our cousins that well, do we?”

  “Exactly. So while I haven't ruled that option out, I'm now looking for old friends, which isn't as easy because obviously they're not so well documented.”

  With renewed enthusiasm I start my search again. The microfiche is starting to make my eyes hurt so I have to read each story about three times before I can make any sense out of them.

  “Holly?”

  “Hmmm?”

  “Do you think people he was at university with might count as old friends?”

  “Have you found someone?”

  “Well, this article doesn't say they were friends but it mentions that Sir Christopher McKellan was at Cambridge with the now MP for Bristol, John Montague. I suppose they thought it was a little bit of throwaway trivia.”

  “Hmm. They might never have even met each other, let alone be bosom buddies. It's hardly a strong lead.”

  Something starts to stir slightly in my head. Something I can't quite put my finger on.

  “Holly,” I say suddenly. “Could you find me a picture of this John Montague?”

  She shrugs. “I suppose.”

  I get up and walk around to her computer while she taps away. A couple of minutes later she pulls up a piece on John Montague complete with a picture.

  “That's him!” I say in high excitement, pointing at the screen.

  “Yes, I know. It says so underneath. John Montague, MP for—”

  “No, I mean I saw him. At Sir Christopher's house.”

  “What? He was there?�
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  “Sort of,” I say, still transfixed by the very serious-looking older man before me. Attractive looking in a wrinkly kind of way. “I saw some photos while I was there. In one of them Emma was standing between two men—her father and this man.”

  “Are you sure?”

  “Completely. I thought he looked familiar at the time. Must have seen him on the news or something.”

  “So they are friends.”

  “Of course, why else would there be a photo of him in the house?”

  “God, that's been kept quiet. I can't believe it.”

  “Well, I suppose it's like you and James. It would look awfully unprofessional if they were seen to know each other. People might suppose they're scratching each other's back.”

  “James and I are hardly in the same league as the MP for Bristol and one of the top barristers in the country.”

  “So no wonder they can't be seen to have a link. Do you think he would have put Emma with him?”

  Holly leans back in her chair. “I don't know but it's our strongest lead so far.”

  “He would be the perfect choice simply because no one knows they even know each other.”

  “I suppose it would keep Emma close to her father in Bristol too, so he could keep an eye on her.” Holly starts to look more excited.

  “So what do we do now?”

  “We could go and have a scout around his house, see if we can pick up any clues.”

  I look at her suspiciously. This has a slight overtone of the Sir Christopher McKellan debacle to me.

  “Now, don't look like that, Clemmie. We'll sit outside his house or something.” It's the “or something” I don't like.

  “What happens if she really is there?”

  “Then we'll spring her!”

  “Spring her?” I ask doubtfully, wishing Holly wouldn't lapse into TV crime speak because I have no idea what she is talking about.

  “You know, free her!” Holly is already shrugging on her coat and picking up her bag.