Peter Lovesey - Upon A Dark Night

‘Good thing your friend Ada was there to help you.’

‘And how!’

‘I think you should keep your head down now,’ Doreen continued the sisterly pressure. ‘That’s why I didn’t tell the social worker exactly where we’re staying. I told her Bathford, which is on the other side of town. You don’t want too many people knowing.’

Rose didn’t have much patience with the cloak and dagger stuff. ‘I don’t think Imogen goes round talking to all and sundry about her clients.’

‘All I’m saying is better safe than sorry. You’ll be all right here. You wouldn’t think of going out tonight, would you?’

Rose giggled at that. ‘It isn’t the back streets of Cairo out there.’

‘But you’ll stay in? Promise me.’

‘Your hotel is nearby, isn’t it?’

‘Hotel?’ Doreen said with a pained expression. ‘I keep telling you it’s only a private boarding-house. Yes, it’s very near, just around the corner in Marlborough Street, in fact. What’s that got to do with it?’

‘What’s it called if I need you?’

She was evasive. ‘Look, you won’t need me if you do as I say and stay in tonight. I’ll show you where we’re staying tomorrow.’

‘Why the mystery?’

‘No mystery at all. I feel responsible for you, right? Look, this may sound high-handed, but I think I’d better hold on to the keys of this place. Then you won’t be tempted to go for an evening walk if you know you wouldn’t get back in.’

Rose reddened and said, ‘That’s absurd.’

‘Not after all the trouble I’ve been to for your sake, it isn’t.’

They finished the tea. At Doreen’s suggestion, they explored the central heating system and succeeded in getting the boiler going. Rose, trying her best to be appreciative, said she was looking forward to a bath.

Before leaving, Doreen showed her the spyhole in the door and urged her to use it if anyone called. ‘It should only be me, anyway, and I won’t be back before ten tomorrow. Don’t open the door to anyone else, will you?’

Rose assured her that she would not.

‘If your bell rings, ignore it. Nobody knows you’re here except for me.’

‘Hadn’t I better have the keys? What if there’s a fire?’

‘You open the door and walk out. You don’t need a key to get out.’

‘All right.’

‘And there’s a chain on this door.’

Rose rolled her eyes upwards. ‘All these precautions. I should be so lucky – strange men beating a path to my door.’

‘Use it. Promise.’

Reluctantly, she said, ‘All right, I promise.’ She smiled at Doreen. ‘Just my luck.’

‘What’s that?’

‘To have Bossyboots for a sister.’

At about this time a woman called at the Central Police Station at the top of Manvers Street and handed over a sheet of paper. She explained that she was from the Tourist Information Office and she had been asked to translate something a German woman had wanted to tell Detective Inspector Hargreaves. It was about an incident in Bathwick Street the previous day. The desk sergeant glanced through it, thanked her, and had it taken upstairs to Julie’s desk.

The same evening a phone message reached the sergeant with responsibility for missing persons. He noted the details and turned to the computer operator on the adjacent desk. ‘When you get a moment, you can close the file on this one. She’s one of the Harmer House women, the one found wandering on the A46 suffering from loss of memory. Her family have surfaced now. Taking her back to Hounslow, where she lives. The name is Rosamund Black.’

‘Nice when there’s a happy ending,’ the computer operator said.

A bell was ringing intermittently and the sound fitted into a dream Rose was having. After the third or fourth time, she wriggled down in the sleeping bag and covered her exposed ear. Then the idea penetrated that this had to be a real sound. But if it’s the doorbell I’m supposed to ignore it, she told herself, remembering enough of yesterday’s instructions to justify her sloth. Fine. She felt so drowsy she could sleep for another six hours. Soon, surely, the bloody thing would stop.

Through the padded sleeping bag she could hear the ringing almost as clearly as before. Please give up and go away, she silently appealed to it.

Now the sound changed to knocking. Whoever it was had no consideration. Angrily she freed one arm and felt for the small digital clock on the shelf by the bed.

10.08.

She sat up and took in the scene, registering that she was in a strange room and that it was daylight and that her head felt like a butterfly farm.

The doorbell started up again.

Her surroundings began to make sense – the twin divans, the chipped tallboy, the wardrobe with a door that wouldn’t close properly – a job-lot of second-hand furniture to fill a flat. She remembered being brought here by her sister Doreen. Squirming out of the sleeping bag, she put her feet to the floor, padded through the living-room and looked through the spyhole. Doreen was out there, alone.

Rose released the safety-chain.

‘I thought you’d never come,’ Doreen said as she entered.

‘Asleep. Sorry.’

‘Why don’t you swish some cold water over your face and wake yourself up?’

‘Sadist.’

‘I did say I’d be here by ten. I’ll make coffee.’

Still light-headed in a way she didn’t like or understand, Rose went into the bathroom. The sensation of the water against her face helped a little. She took a shower and then remembered there was no bath-towel. After the bath last night she’d had to improvise. Fortunately the kitchen-roll she had used was still here and there was enough left, just. The coarse feel of the paper against her goose-pimpled skin did more to waken her than the shower. She slipped the nightdress over her head again. She could smell bacon cooking when she stepped into the living-room.

‘I’m getting you some breakfast,’ Doreen called out from the kitchen. ‘One egg or two?’

‘One’s enough. I feel just as if I took a sleeping-tablet.’

‘You did, darling. I popped a sedative into your tea last night.’

There was a second of shocked silence.

‘You didn’t?’ She went to the kitchen door and looked in, to see if the remark was serious.

Doreen said without looking away from the frying-pan, ‘It’s always difficult sleeping in a strange place, so I helped you out.’

‘You had no right.’ If she had not felt so muzzy, she would have objected more strongly. ‘I’m trying to get my brain working properly, not make it even more woolly.’

‘I guessed you’d say something like that. Get some clothes on and don’t be too long about it. This’ll be ready in five minutes.’

She didn’t feel alert enough to stand there arguing, but she would later, she would.

Over breakfast, she registered another protest about the sedative, but Doreen dismissed it. ‘That was only something herbal that I take myself. It might have a very good effect on your amnesia.’

‘I don’t know how.’

‘Relaxing you.’

She made it as clear as she could that she didn’t want any more sedatives secretly administered. ‘Look, if we’re going to stay on speaking terms, there’s got to be some trust between us.’

Doreen started to say, ‘I was only doing it-’

‘… for my own good? Well, I’d rather decide for myself what’s good for me.’

Doreen suggested a walk. The sun was out, she said, and they should make the best of it.

They strolled around St James’s Square and left at the north-west end to make their way up the hill in search of a good viewpoint.

Rose asked, ‘Are you and Jerry planning anything today?’