Lane's End (7 page)

CHAPTER 8

A blackbird’s call resonated in the morning’s half light, and Ben stirred, the escape he had found in sleep, ending. As he dozed, thoughts drifted through his mind. His father’s anxiety as he lay dying, Peter Van Goren’s ashen face when the sheet fell away, and Emma. What of Emma? The thump of the morning paper hitting the front door sounded and Ben made his way downstairs. Opening the door, he found Joanna about to knock. She smiled through the wisps of fair hair falling from her pony tail and handed him the paper.

‘I didn’t hear from you last night so I take it all’s well and Emma was here when you got home.’ When Ben did not reply, Joanna gaped. ‘She was just out at a movie, wasn’t she?’

‘No. I’ve not heard from her, and neither have any of her friends. Not since last Thursday.’ Ben rubbed the back of his neck. ‘The police have her listed as missing.’

‘Oh, Ben. I’m so sorry. You must be worried sick.’ Joanna looked at her brother’s dishevelled appearance and his haversack still on the floor next to the stairs. ‘I wish you’d called. I’d have come straight over.’

‘You needed to be with Laura, and besides, events took over and I had to go out. The police wanted me to view Peter Van Goren’s body to see if I could identify him.’

Joanna grimaced. ‘And were you able to?’

‘No.’ Ben’s thoughts returned to the morgue and the sense of dread and sorrow that seared through him when he had seen Van Goren’s face. All at once he hit the rolled up newspaper against the side of his leg. ‘Would you like coffee?’

Joanna nodded and followed her brother through to the kitchen where he tossed the paper onto the large wooden table in the centre of the room. ‘I hope you don’t mind instant. I’ve never been home long enough to come to grips with the workings of that “state of the art” espresso machine over there. Emma’s the coffee maker.’ He poured boiling water into two mugs and brought them to the table before slumping down into a chair. ‘God only knows what’s happened to her.’

‘Have you spoken to her dad in New Zealand?’

‘Not yet. With his recent health problems, I didn’t want to alarm him unnecessarily but now, with no news of Emma... I’ll call him this morning.’ Ben sighed. ‘I’ve got to try and find her, Joanna. I can’t just sit here and do nothing.’

Joanna patted her brother’s hand. ‘I know it’s difficult, but I don’t know what else you can do but wait until you hear from the police.’ A moment of silence followed as they both sipped their coffee. ‘Have you spoken to your neighbours? After all, one of them might have seen Emma leave in her car.’

‘I did a door-knock. The neighbours I spoke to haven’t noticed Emma since last week sometime. The only one I wasn’t able to speak to is Ron next door because he’s away. I’ll talk to him when he gets back.’ Ben looked at his sister. ‘I’m not very good company, I know. My mind’s in a bit of a fog.’ Ben took another sip of his coffee. ‘How’s Laura?’

‘She’s coping - quietly. The fact that she’s Dad’s executrix is a distraction because there is a lot she has to do, as well as the funeral arrangements. I have a feeling it’ll be after the funeral that the fact that Dad is gone will hit her.’ Joanna stared at her mug of coffee, turning it around as she did so. ‘It doesn’t seem real to me either. Not yet.’ Joanna looked up. ‘Anyway, I’m staying with her for the time being. I thought a bit of company wouldn’t go astray. For either of us.’ Joanna prodded the pile of letters that sat with the newspaper in the middle of the table. ‘Aren’t you going to open your mail?’

‘No. I’ll open it later.’

Joanna studied her brother’s face. ‘Ben, you have to keep going. You can’t let things slip,’ she said as she spread the letters out with her index finger. ‘This one’s from a solicitor’s office. West Longmire & Associates. It could be important.’

Ben picked up the monogrammed envelope. ‘Why would a solicitor be writing to me?’

‘Why don’t you open it and find out?’

Grudgingly, Ben ran his finger along the inside top of the envelope and took out the folded sheet of soft vellum writing paper. His eyes scanned the letter. ‘What the heck!’

‘Is it bad news or good?’

‘I’m not sure. Listen to this.’

Dear Mr Carmichael

I wish to advise that you are named as a beneficiary in the last will and testament of my client, Peter Van Goren.

Please contact my office at your earliest convenience to arrange an appointment so that we can discuss this matter.

Yours sincerely

Raymond West

Senior Partner

West Longmire & Associates

Barristers & Solicitors

Ben handed the letter to Joanna.

‘Are you sure you didn’t recognise Peter Van Goren when you saw him at the morgue?’ she asked, taking the letter in her hand.

‘Of course I’m sure. I’ve never seen the man in my life before.’ Ben shook as the image of Van Goren’s wax-like face flashed through his mind.

‘Well, it seems he knew you,’ she replied as she read the letter for herself. ‘You don’t make complete strangers beneficiaries in your will. And he did ask me about you at the cocktail party on Friday night, remember?’

As Joanna spoke, the doorbell rang. ‘That might be the police with news.’ Ben jumped up from his chair. Moments later he returned followed by a dark haired young woman in her late thirties.

‘Joanna, this is Audrey McIntyre, Emma’s research assistant. Audrey, my sister.’

Audrey extended her hand to Joanna. ‘Pleased to meet you, Joanna. I was hoping you’d heard from Emma, but Ben says not.’ Audrey adjusted her dark-rimmed glasses and sat down at the kitchen table before placing her handbag on her lap. ‘I wish I could be of more help,’ she continued. ‘But as I told Ben yesterday, the last time I spoke to Emma was Thursday night.’ Audrey adjusted her glasses again. ‘I’m also sorry to hear about your Dad. I saw it on the news last night.’ She looked to Ben. ‘I had no idea what had happened to him when we spoke on the phone. I’m so sorry.’

‘You weren’t to know,’ said Ben joining them at the table. ‘I take it the police contacted you about Emma?’

‘Yes. They came to see me yesterday afternoon. I tried to remember as much as I could about the last time I saw her. I told you Emma and I spent Thursday afternoon at the Mitchell Library, didn’t I?’

‘Yes, you did. You’re helping her with research for her book on Australian artists, aren’t you?’ said Ben.

‘That’s right. I’ve been researching two South Australian painters for her. Did you know that Emma had decided to also include your mother’s work in the book?’

‘She did mention it,’ replied Ben. ‘But I told her I didn’t think it was a good idea.’

‘Oh.’ Audrey’s brow wrinkled. ‘Then I guess I’ve let the cat out of the bag.’

‘Why do you say that?’ asked Ben.

‘Because as far as I know, Emma’s going ahead with it. She’s already done quite a lot of research into your mother’s work and her life as an artist. The only thing she hasn’t been able to do yet is to visit her studio at Lane’s End. She wanted to go there and take photographs, but for that she told me she needed your father’s permission.’

‘That’s right, and I doubt he’d have given it. None of the family has been back to Lane’s End since our mother died.’ Ben glanced at Joanna. ‘The property’s been closed up since that time. Thirty years.’

‘Mmm. That’s what Emma said, and that’s why she approached your step-mother Laura, rather than your Dad.’ A look of surprise crossed Ben’s face as he recalled telling Emma that her request to visit Lane’s End would, undoubtedly, be refused by his father and that to pursue the matter would only cause her more disappointment. At the time, he had sensed her dismay in his lack of support, but how could he explain his father’s sensitivities about Lane’s End. After all, what had happened there, years ago, was only a memory that lurked in the darkest recesses of his mind and had done so for as long as he could remember. A shiver went through him as it always did when his thoughts drifted into the past with its shadows and untold truths. ‘She was a bit miffed actually that Laura hadn’t got back to her,’ continued Audrey.

‘That’s probably because she was waiting for the right moment to bring the subject up with Dad. It’s always been a closed topic with him,’ replied Ben.

‘Oh, I didn’t know that. It would have made it difficult for your step-mother to broach the subject then.’

‘Did Emma say how else she planned to conduct her research about our mother, Audrey?’ asked Joanna.

‘No, although she did say that she’d spoken to a woman who’d known your Mum. I think her name was Theodora.’

‘Theodora Hunt?’ chimed Ben and Joanna.

‘Yes. That’s it. You know her then?’

‘She’s the wife of our father’s business partner, Emerson Hunt.’

Ben shut the front door behind Audrey McIntyre and returned to the kitchen. ‘So, Emma went ahead with including our mother in her book after I told her it wasn’t a good idea,’ said Ben, sitting down at the kitchen table again. ‘I guess I shouldn’t be surprised, but I’d hoped she’d listened for a change.’

‘Saying it’s not a good idea isn’t telling her not to, Ben,’ replied Joanna.

‘Well, that’s what I meant.’

‘Then you should have spelt it out. Emma is very strong willed. Anyway, why didn’t you want our mother included in the book? I think it’s a wonderful idea. By all accounts she was a talented artist.’

‘I don’t doubt she was. I just thought it would cause more friction between Dad and me.’

Joanna reflected for a moment. ‘Mmm. You’re probably right. Let’s face it, Dad never did get over you choosing a photographic career instead of academia, did he? But I did think that when you became so successful at what you do, he’d have eased off a bit.’ Joanna paused. ‘I wonder what was really at the bottom of his contempt.’

‘What do you mean?’

‘I mean that I believe there was another reason that Dad made life difficult for you. If you think about it, things weren’t much better between the two of you even before you went to university.’

Joanna was right, of course. Things had never been good between him and Dad. Why was that? Did it have something to do with the past? After all, he knew that Lane’s End, once the Carmichael’s summer house by the sea, was a source of sorrow for his father. It was almost as if he wanted to erase it from his memory. Ben thought of his father’s last words. “He told me you s... I’m sorry...”. What had his words meant? Was he saying sorry for the hostility that had existed between them or did they have some other special significance? ‘Well, whatever it was, Joanna, it doesn’t matter now, does it?’

‘No, I guess not.’ Joanna picked up the solicitor’s letter again. ‘What are you going to do about this letter?’

Ben shook his head. ‘I can’t deal with that right now.’

‘I think you must. After all, Dad is still a suspect in this man’s murder. You might be able to find out why he asked after you.’

Ben shook his head. ‘It’ll have to wait, Jo. I’ve got to find Emma first.’

CHAPTER 9

With his dark wavy hair falling over his forehead, his skin browned by the Middle Eastern sun, Ben Carmichael cut a striking figure as he walked into
Fabrique en France
later that morning. He found Theodora humming to herself while rearranging a table full of bric-a-brac, lost in her own world. A friendly woman in a light kind of way, Ben had always seen her as possessing an innocent gaiety. She had never professed to have been close to his mother, but he was comforted in the knowledge that she was, nevertheless, a link.

Theodora looked around when the bell on the door rang, her face full of concern. ‘Ben, I’m so glad you’ve come by. I did plan to call you today. I heard about Emma on the news. I’m so sorry, darling. Is there any word?’

‘No, Theo. Nothing yet. I’m just trying to retrace Emma’s steps before she disappeared. One of her friends said she came to see you recently.’ Ben sat down on a stool next to the table of bric-a-brac.

‘That’s right, she did. It was last Monday morning around ten o’clock. We’d never met before. She’s a lovely girl, Ben. I liked her immediately. Very straight forward and to the point.  A good attribute to have when you’re a freelance journalist, I imagine.’

‘What did you want to see you about, Theo?’

‘She wanted to ask me about your mother because she said she plans to include her in a book she’s working on about Australian artists. She said she hoped I could provide her with some background information on her early work. I was able to help her with background, of course, but as far as her work was concerned, I failed miserably. I can’t say I’ve ever been interested in any form of art so I took little interest in your mother’s talent. All I could tell Emma was that your mother spent a lot of time at Lane’s End and that she used the cottage for her studio. And that she adored the place, of course. Anyway, that wasn’t quite what Emma had in mind, so I suggested she speak to your Uncle Sebastian. After all, he’d known your mum the longest.’

‘I didn’t know that,’ replied Ben, with growing interest. ‘But then I know very little about my mother. Other than Laura giving Joanna and me the barest of facts, no one’s ever spoken of her.’

‘So I understand. It’s almost as though your Dad wanted to erase all memory of her, so painful was her death to him. I must say, it did become clear, early on, to Emerson and me that there wasn’t to be any discussion about her and the way in which she died.
Ever
. So, of course, we honoured your father’s wishes.’

‘What do you know about her death, Theo?’

‘The little I do know, Amanda Marsh told me. She was your mother’s housekeeper at the time. But you know that. She said she and your mother had taken you and Joanna to Lane’s End for the long weekend. It was a Friday morning so your Dad was to follow later in the day after he’d finished work in the city. I don’t know all the details, only that your mother was found to be missing that afternoon by Sebastian. At the time, the police suspected foul play because your parents’ gardener went missing after the alarm was raised.’

‘Gardener? I don’t remember any gardener.’

‘That’s not surprising. You couldn’t have been much more than six years old at the time.’

‘What happened when the police found him?’ asked Ben.

‘Well, that’s just it. They didn’t.’ Theodora looked back down at the table she was rearranging.

‘So, what happened with the police investigation?’

‘As far as I know, the case was never solved.’

‘Meaning no real closure for my father.’

‘No,’ replied Theodora, thoughtfully. ‘I think that was one of the most difficult things for him. Not knowing what really happened to your mother. Whether she fell or...’

Ben sensed Theodora’s discomfort. ‘You mean it was never made clear how she died?’

Theodora looked awkwardly at Ben. ‘I’m really not the one you should talk to about this. Really, I’m not. Whatever I know, or think I know, I’ve heard from others.

‘Tell me anyway.’

Theodora sighed. ‘All I know is that the Coroner couldn’t decide whether your mother had accidentally fallen from the cliff, was pushed or...’

‘Or what?’ Ben glared at Theodora. ‘You mean it was thought she might have committed suicide?
God!
No wonder Dad never got over it. He’d have wondered whether he’d done something to cause her death.’

‘I believe he did,’ replied Theodora. ‘A terrible thought for him to live with.’

Ben got to his feet. ‘Thanks for telling me, Theo. It helps make some sense of a lot of the past.’

‘It hasn’t helped as far as Emma is concerned though, has it? Perhaps if you have a word with Sebastian. I’m sure Emma planned to speak to him after she left here because as I said, he’d known your mother the longest. Ever since art school when they were quite young. And of course, that’s how your parents eventually met. Through Sebastian.’

Ben left Theodora to rearrange her tables, what she had told him about his mother and the circumstances of her death, rushing through his head. In a way, it helped to explain his father’s resolve never to speak of that time, but it did not explain the animosity that had existed between them. Perhaps it had nothing to do with the past after all. He also pondered Sebastian’s part in all this. By all accounts, not only his father’s half-brother but his mother’s friend since they were young, and the person who found her missing the day she died. It surprised him, therefore, that Sebastian had never played a part in his and Joanna’s life, remaining all but a stranger. Nevertheless, he hoped that if Emma had spoken to Sebastian, it might bring to light a clue as to her whereabouts.

The morning sun filtered through the windows of the Ultra Design showroom giving a little warmth to the otherwise austere modernistic surroundings. Ben could only remember being in the showroom once before, as a teenager when he had accompanied his father. It was perhaps one of the few times he had come into contact with Sebastian.

‘Can I help you?’

Ben looked past the displays of interior furnishings to the far end of the room to see a slim young woman with shoulder length auburn hair, sitting at a desk. ‘I’m here to see Mr Newberry.’

‘Is he expecting you, Mr...?’

‘Carmichael. Ben Carmichael, and no, he isn’t.’

‘Very well. I’ll have a word with Mr Newberry. If you’d care to take a seat, I won’t be long.’ She gave a quick smile and gestured to the chair in front of her desk.

A few minutes later Sebastian emerged from an inner office. Dressed in a light grey suite and blue and white striped tie, Ben realised he would not have recognised him if they had passed on the street. There was also a sense of grimness about him. Obviously, his father’s death had affected Sebastian greatly.

‘Ben,’ he said, extending his hand. ‘It’s been a long time. Come through to my office. We can talk there.’

Sebastian’s office lay at the back of the building where the warmth of the morning sun could not reach. It remained, therefore, subject to the stark minimalist style that he obviously preferred. He gestured to one of the chairs in front of his desk before he sat down himself. ‘I take it you’re here about your father’s funeral arrangements. Of course I will help in any way I can.’

‘That’s very kind,’ replied Ben, settling himself into a chair. ‘But it’s not that I’m here about. You probably haven’t heard that my fiancée, Emma Phillips, has gone missing.’

Sebastian’s face darkened. ‘
What!
But it’s only a few days ago that she was here.’

‘So she did come to see you. Theodora said she might have.’

‘Yes. It was last Monday. She said she’s working on a book about artists and wanted to include your mother. I told her I thought it a marvellous idea. Your mother was so talented. Her work shouldn’t be forgotten.’

Ben sensed an enthusiasm in Sebastian’s demeanour as he spoke about his mother. ‘I wish I could remember her. You obviously knew her well.’

‘I did, and that’s why I encouraged Emma. She mentioned that she wanted to go to Lane’s End to see Ivy Cottage.’

‘I can’t imagine that my father would have agreed to that, do you?’ asked Ben.

‘Not really. No. But I didn’t say that to Emma. She seemed so keen. I hoped she might be able to persuade him.’

‘Did she happen to mention what her other plans were? If she did, it might give me some clue as to what’s happened to her.’

‘I’m sorry, Ben. She only spoke of her wish to go to Lane’s End. She seemed bent on the idea.’