Robert Goddard - Name To a Face

“Are you saying that’s why Barney sacked him? Because he was a witness to what happened?”

“I’m not saying anything. But it’s what Ray says to anyone who’s willing to listen.”

“But surely if Barney was culpable in some way and Ray knew it, that would be a reason for not sacking him.”

“You’re right. It would.” Hayley smiled faintly. “The guy’s not strong on logic.”

“What did you mean earlier when you said you’d told him everything was in Isbister’s hands?”

“Well, it is. The auction, I mean. All Gabriel’s… things. Have you seen how much there is?”

“I’ve taken a look round, yes.”

“Did you spot the videos?”

“I… don’t think so.”

“In the drawing room. There’s a corner cupboard stacked with them. Hundreds, I should say. All unlabelled.”

“What’s on them?”

“Old documentaries. Gabriel loved that kind of thing. Global warming. Ancient civilization. Life on Mars. He’d watch stuff like that for hours.”

“What’s that to do with Ray Trathen?”

“It’s why he’s been round here so often lately making a nuisance of himself.” Hayley sighed, as if weary of the subject she was about to embark upon. “Ray claims he lent Gabriel a video a couple of years ago. He got it back. But then, recently, when he played it, he found what Gabriel had actually returned to him was, well, wouldn’t you guess, an old edition of Horizon. ”

“Gabriel had recorded over it?”

“No, no. He never recorded over anything. That’s why there are so many. Ray claims Gabriel deliberately gave him back the wrong video so he could hang on to the one Ray had lent him.”

“Why would he want to do that?”

“Because of what was on it, I guess.”

“And what was that?”

“Ray’s not saying. Something important, apparently, something he badly wants back-but isn’t going to get unless he buys the entire collection at the auction. Assuming his video really is among them, of course. Assuming he hasn’t imagined the whole thing.”

“Do you think he has?”

“How would I know? It’s like the family feud about the ring. The likes of you and me are never going to find out what the truth is, even if we want to.”

“And do you want to?”

“Not really. I’m more concerned with finding another job. And somewhere to live when this place is sold.”

“Will you go back to London?”

“Not if I can help it. All the reasons I left… are still there.”

“Maybe that’s where we met. I used to live in London. When I was first married.”

“It’s a big city.” Hayley went swiftly on. Perhaps, Harding thought, she wanted to forestall a discussion of where in that big city they might plausibly have met. “Is your wife over here with you?”

“No. She died… a few years ago.”

“Sorry.” And a look of genuine sorrow did indeed cross Hayley’s face.

“That’s OK. I’m used to it now.”

“Do you ever get used to something like that?”

“No,” Harding admitted at once, feeling strangely happy to be caught out in the pretence. “As a matter of fact, you don’t.” She knew as much herself, he sensed, quite possibly from personal experience. Maybe bereavement was one of the reasons for her flight from London. “Well,” he said, swallowing the last of his tea and standing up, “I’d better be going.”

“It’s been nice talking to you,” she said, smiling up at him. “Even if we don’t know each other.”

“But we do, of course.” He returned the smile. “Somehow.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yes.”

“I’m sure we don’t.”

“Quite a stand-off.”

“How could we settle it?”

“We’d have to… compare notes, I suppose. About our lives. Our pasts. That kind of thing.”

“Yeah.” Hayley frowned thoughtfully. “I suppose we would.”

“I’m… at a loose end until the auction,” said Harding. “Maybe you’d like a… break from the circus upstairs. It’ll be going on again tomorrow.”

“I know. In fact, I was already planning to make myself scarce.”

“Really?”

“There’s a Turner exhibition on at the Tate in St. Ives. I was thinking of going up there tomorrow. If you want, you could come along… and have another go at convincing me we’ve met before.”

“I’d like that.”

“Good.” Her smile acquired a sheepish edge. “So would I.”

The cupboard stacked with unlabelled videos was attracting little attention when Harding returned to the drawing room after leaving Hayley’s basement flat. The note on the lot-number tag-SOME BETAMAX-might have gone a long way towards explaining why. If Ray Trathen really meant to buy them up in search of the one that supposedly belonged to him, Harding reckoned he was unlikely to face fierce competition.

First a ring in a starburst box. Now a switched video. Gabriel Tozer had apparently been determined to auction several secrets along with a lifetime’s worth of possessions. The minor mysteries wrapped round them would have intrigued Harding even without the personal interest he had in some of the questions they raised. Why had Carol never mentioned the diving accident? Where had he met Hayley before? What did all the contradictions and coincidences amount to? Something? Or nothing?

“Ray Trathen’s the man to ask about that,” Hayley had told him, meaning the accident. But maybe there was more Trathen was an expert on. Maybe a lot more.

Harding went back upstairs and tracked down Clive Isbister in one of the bedrooms.

“Still here, Mr. Harding?” Isbister asked, looking surprised to see him again.

“Just leaving, actually. But I wondered if you could… help me with something.”

“Happy to. If I can.”

“Do you know where Ray Trathen lives?”

“Taroveor Terrace. I’m not sure of the number. But… why do you ask?”

“Oh, I… just wanted to check if he’d be… bidding against me at the auction.”

“Unlikely, given the state of his finances. Plus his”-Isbister smiled-“interest in another lot.” The smile faded. “I don’t think you need worry about Ray”

“I’m just trying to… cover all bases.”

“Well, it’s up to you. I expect he’s in the phone book. But you might do better to try the Turk’s Head in Chapel Street around six. I believe he starts there most evenings.” The smile returned. “A creature of habit, our Ray.”

Harding had wandered through the subtropical haven of Morrab Gardens earlier in the day. He returned there after leaving Heartsease and listened to Carol’s voicemail message while sitting on a bench near the bandstand.

Barney’s playing golf, so I thought I’d give you a call. What are you doing? Treating Humph to a cream tea? It’d be wasted on him. He doesn’t appreciate the good things in life. But I do. Our afternoons together are very good, Tim, very, very good. Shall we pencil one in for Thursday? You’ll be back by then. And I’ll be… well, you just wait and see. Call me before five if you can. Otherwise, I’ll call you Take care. And take it easy. I want you firing on all cylinders. Know what I mean? Of course you do. Bye for now.

It was gone four o’clock, gone five in Monaco. He was surprised at how relieved he felt not to have to respond to the message. He had been in Penzance for less than twenty-four hours, but already the Côte d’Azur seemed a long way away. He was aware that something more than déjà vu had infected his encounter with Hayley Winter. His inability to recall where and when they had previously met was only part of the reason he had suggested they spend the following day together. The other part he did not care to examine too closely. But its existence he did not doubt. Though as for what it amounted to… only time would tell.