‘Hello, Adam.’ I make my voice hesitant, as if I’m dreading what he’s going to tell me. ‘Have you managed to find out anything?’
‘Only that Jack hasn’t been admitted to any of the hospitals I phoned, which is good news.’
‘It is,’ I agree, giving a sigh of relief.
‘On the other hand, I phoned as many people as I could think of but no one seems to have heard from him, at least not over the last few days. So I’m afraid we’re back to square one, really.’
I look at Margaret, who nods encouragingly. ‘There’s something I need to ask you, Adam,’ I say.
‘Go on.’
‘Is it possible that Jack was having an affair, maybe with someone at the office?’ My words come out in a rush.
‘An affair? Jack?’ Adam sounds shocked. ‘No, of course not. He would never do anything like that. He barely looked at another woman before he met you and he certainly hasn’t since. You must know that, Grace.’
Margaret, who gets the gist, gives my hand a squeeze. ‘I do,’ I say, chastened. ‘It’s just that I can’t think of any other reason he would suddenly disappear without trace.’
‘Can you think of any other friends he has, people that maybe I don’t know?’
‘Not really,’ I say. ‘Wait a minute, what about Moira and Giles, you know, the people who were at Millie’s party. Maybe you could contact them. I don’t have their number, though.’
‘Leave it with me. What’s their surname?’
‘Kilburn-Hawes, I think.’
‘I’ll give them a ring and get back to you,’ he promises.
He calls back half an hour later and, when he tells me that they haven’t heard from Jack either, I become distraught. Nobody seems to know what to do. The general consensus—from Margaret, Richard, Adam and Diane—is that it’s too early to launch a missing person’s inquiry so they tell me that the best thing would be to try to get some sleep and see if Jack turns up the next morning.
He doesn’t. The day passes in a blur as Mr Ho, Margaret, Richard and Adam take over. I tell them I want to go home, but they persuade me to stay for one more day in case Jack turns up, so I do. In the early afternoon—eight o’clock in the morning in England—Adam calls to say that he has spoken to the local police and that, with my permission, they’ll be happy to break into the house to see if they can find anything to indicate where Jack might have gone.
They call me first and ask me to run through the last time I saw Jack and I tell them it was when Esther came to pick me up to take me to the airport, that he had waved me off from the study window. I explain that he hadn’t been able to drive me to the airport himself because he’d had quite a large whisky when he’d come in from work and add that I hadn’t particularly wanted to leave for Thailand by myself even though Jack had warned me, when the Tomasin case began to look as if it would overrun, that I might have to. They say they’ll get back to me as soon as they can and I sit in my room and wait for them to phone with Margaret by my side, holding my hand. I know the news I’m waiting for is going to be a long time coming so after a while I tell Margaret that I’d like to try to sleep, and lie down on the bed.
I manage to sleep until the moment I’ve been waiting for since I arrived in Thailand finally comes. It begins with a knock on the door and, because I don’t move, Margaret goes to answer it. I hear a man’s voice and then Margaret comes over to the bed and, with a hand on my shoulder, gives me a little shake, telling me that there’s someone to see me. As I sit up, I see her slip out of the room and I want to call her back, to tell her not to leave me, but he is already walking towards me so it’s too late. My heart is beating so fast, my breathing so shallow that I don’t dare look at him until I’ve managed to compose myself. With my eyes fixed firmly on the ground, it’s his shoes I see first. They are made of good leather and are well polished, just as I would expect them to be. He says my name and, as my eyes travel upwards, I see that while his suit is dark, in keeping with the occasion, it’s made of a lightweight fabric, because of the climate. My eyes reach his face; it is pleasant, but grave, just as it should be.
‘Mrs Angel?’ he says again.
‘Yes?’ There’s a trace of anxiousness in my voice.
‘My name is Alastair Strachan. I’m from the British Embassy.’ He turns, and I see a young woman standing behind him. ‘And this is Vivienne Dashmoor. I wonder if we could have a word?’
I jump to my feet. ‘Is it to do with Jack, have you managed to find him?’
‘Yes—or rather, the police in England have.’
Relief floods my face. ‘Thank goodness for that! Where is he? Why wasn’t he answering his phone? Is he on his way here?’
‘Perhaps we could go and sit down?’ the young woman suggests.