Stuart Harrison - Lost Summer

He found out later that Thomas had tried to assault Liz on the train and when she had resisted he’d pushed her out. Later he’d driven back to the spot where she’d fallen and recovered her body.

When he finished the story he wrote Adam sat for a long time in the dark. The light on the phone didn’t blink. By then Louise had left him.

Part Two

Two Years Later

The Reception area at Condor Publications was self-consciously trendy. Visitors were confronted with a long, curved silver counter behind which sat two young women who might have been part-time models. Having given his name and stated his business Adam was invited to take a seat. There was a choice of three couches, each a different colour. He chose the grape and idly flicked through a magazine, one of Condor’s mass-market coffee-table monthlies.

The phone call that had brought him here had been slightly mysterious. Karen Stone had managed to avoid revealing exactly why she wanted him to come in, except to say that she wanted him to meet somebody she was certain would interest him. Beyond that she wouldn’t be drawn. He wasn’t busy, in fact wasn’t working on anything at all, and so he’d agreed. He was also a little bit intrigued, he admitted to himself. The past six months had been spent ghostwriting the autobiography of a twenty-five-year-old pop star. He’d laboured to make the accumulation of obscene amounts of money by somebody who was largely uninteresting and devoid of talent sound interesting, and he was relieved to have finished. It had reaffirmed his belief in the notion that there is no justice in the world. The book had been a break from his normal work. An attempt to make some changes in his life. It had been a largely unsuccessful experiment, he decided.

‘Adam.’

Jolted from his reverie he turned to find Karen Stone smiling warmly at him. He stood up and she offered her cheek to be kissed. She smelled of expensive perfume and looked, as ever, fantastic. He tried to remember when he’d last seen her. A month ago? Longer, he thought. Too long.

‘You look well,’ she said. ‘Thanks for coming. Come on through.’

She led the way through a set of doors and along the corridor that housed the various editorial offices.

‘By the way, congratulations on the promotion,’ he said.

‘Thanks. It’s brilliant isn’t it? I still can’t believe it.’

He could, however. She was only twenty-nine, but then magazine publishing was a young person’s business and in her field Karen was the best editor he knew. They’d met about a year earlier when he’d first started casting around for commissions. She knew his work and though she’d expressed surprise at his change of direction, she’d been happy enough to give him the odd lifestyle piece. He’d accepted two before he’d decided that writing features about liposuction and country hotels didn’t do it for him. This time she hadn’t been surprised, and though they hadn’t worked together since, they had remained friends.

They came to a door with a plate bearing Karen’s name and her title of Publishing Editor.

‘Impressive.’ He ran his finger over the raised gold lettering.

She grinned. ‘I think so.’

‘So, are you going to tell me what this is all about now? Who’s the mystery person you want me to meet?’

‘Her name’s Helen Pierce, she’s an old friend. She came to see me a few days ago to ask for my help and after I’d listened to what she had to say I thought of you.’

He was immediately wary. ‘What kind of help does she need exactly?’

‘I think it would be better if she explained that herself. Come and meet her.’

He put his hand on her arm to stop her opening the door. ‘I get the feeling I’m not going to like this. Listen Karen, if this is about your friend’s missing child I can’t help. I’m sorry but I don’t do that any more.’

She regarded him steadily, searching the depths of his eyes. ‘So, what are you going to do? Another hack job on some flash-in-the pan pop star?’

‘Ouch.’

‘I just can’t believe you’d waste your energy on something so frivolous.’

He looked around with mock confusion. ‘Sorry, there must be some mistake. I didn’t realize this was The Times. ’

‘Very funny. Look, you’re here now. At least come and meet Helen, hear what she has to say. Do it for me, please. She doesn’t know who else she can turn to. And incidentally there’s no missing child. Helen doesn’t have children. In fact nobody is missing.’

This last part finally convinced him and he gave in, as he was sure she had known he would. ‘No promises though,’ he said.

‘Fair enough.’ She squeezed his hand briefly, then opened the door.

A woman who had been standing at the window turned to face them. She was about Karen’s age and was wearing a dark-coloured suit. She was attractive, he thought, but not stunning. Her suit was well tailored, probably expensive, but not the sort of cutting-edge fashion favoured by most of the women who worked for Condor. She might have been a consultant of some sort, or maybe a lawyer.

Karen did the introductions. ‘Adam Turner, Helen Pierce. Helen, this is the writer I told you about.’

As he shook her hand he had the feeling it was his turn to be appraised. Her expression was guarded. ‘Karen’s told me a lot about you, Mr Turner.’

‘Don’t believe any of it,’ he joked. She offered a hesitant smile. She was nervous, he thought, and then revised his judgement. She was on edge.

They sat around a small conference table where Karen held her meetings and wielded her power. On the wall behind her desk were the framed covers of the magazines under her control, including Landmark, which occupied pride of place and was the prize that went with her recent promotion. Condor published mostly gossipy coffee-table monthlies, but Landmark was the exception, mixing arts and social commentary along with the occasional investigative piece. It was the least profitable magazine in the Condor stable, but it conferred a degree of respectability on Ryan Cummings, Karen’s boss and the owner of the company.

‘Karen tells me you two are old friends,’ Adam said, breaking the ice. ‘Are you in the publishing business too?’

‘Actually, I work for a research company.’

‘Helen and I were at university in Exeter together,’ Karen explained. ‘We shared a horrible flat for two years.’ To Helen she said, ‘I told Adam that it would be best if he heard what you have to say first-hand.’

‘Alright, though I’m not sure where to begin, exactly.’

‘Take your time,’ Adam told her. He felt himself slip easily into his old persona. How many times had he sat with parents who needed his help to find their son or daughter, trying to get them to open up and talk freely about a subject that, despite them having sought him out, was inevitably painful for them. ‘If I need to clarify anything I’ll ask questions.’

She nodded and dropped her gaze while she composed her thoughts. ‘About a month ago, at the beginning of September, I learned that my brother, Ben, had been killed in a car crash. The fact is that since then I’ve come to believe that his death wasn’t an accident.’

She paused and met Adam’s eye. She was, he knew, trying to evaluate his reaction. She would have told her story before, most likely to people who hadn’t necessarily believed her, including the police. She would have been listened to politely at every level. Sympathy and condolences would have been offered, but in the end the disbelief she encountered would have become increasingly obvious. Frustration and a sense of isolation would have set in. He knew all this had happened otherwise she would not be sitting at this table now.