Maestro Read online

  Sara cringed. A sharp reprimand was coming. The Inspector still looked powerful, even in his diminished state.

  "I've got to...to talk to you...Sir," Sara stammered, "Were you... an Inspector at..Goldarn, Sir?"

  "Yes! Put that damn car off!"

  Sara realised that she must have appeared mad, when she leaped out of the car, with the engine still running. Neither had she pulled up the hand brake.

  She collected her bag with the all-important notepad and approached Mr. and Mrs. Jay cautiously. With his free arm, the Inspector waved to the side of the cottage.

  "Walk around the back!" he commanded Sara sternly.

  He retreated into the cottage and closed the door.

  Sara made her way round to the rear. Obviously, the Jays were not prepared to let a stranger into their cottage.

  The Inspector was already waiting for her standing in the middle of a stone patio decorated with flowering pots. Opposite the patio, Sara noticed the well-tended vegetable garden, the rows covered over with a dark coloured mesh.

  The Inspector bade Sara to sit down on one of the iron chairs grouped around a small table. Mrs. Jay came out to join them and sat next to her husband.

  "Have you come a long way?" asked Mrs. Jay

  "From Glymeer," replied Sara

  "You're not from Glymeer are you?"

  "No. No. I'm renting a cottage there. I'm on holiday. I'm from London."

  Unlike his wife who appeared content to banter on, the Inspector was clearly impatient for the conversation to move along.

  "What's this about then? What can I do for you?"

  "I..I want to talk to you about a case from twenty years ago. Can I? Is that all right?"

  "Get some tea, Hennie."

  Mrs. Jay breathed a sigh of relief as she rose to follow her husband's instructions. The Inspector leaned back in his chair, the cane resting against his left leg. He searched Sara's face with the dexterity of a trained policeman. Finally, he nodded for her to speak.

  "Mr. Jay, I’m staying at Downswold. It belongs to Mr. Gillane."

  The old man's face didn't flinch.

  "And what case you'd be wanting to know about?"

  The name hadn't rung a bell. Sara started worrying that the Inspector wouldn't remember.

  "Sarah LUNN," she articulated the girl's name loudly, to jog the Inspector's memory.

  She needn't have bothered.

  "Sarah Lunn? But that was twenty years ago. What of it?"

  "I need to know if you remember anything. Anything at all. Why did you drop the case?"

  The Inspector looked embarrassed by the question.

  "If I recall, the young lady vanished. She wasn't getting on with her family. She didn't like Glymeer. We all assumed she went off to find herself a better life."

  "But.. Mr. Jay, people don't just vanish. Sarah would have known her family was sick with worry. At some stage, she would have been in touch with them."

  The Inspector interrupted her.

  "I was an Inspector before you were born, d'you hear me? When folk disappear, they want to get away."

  "Surely you could have tried to find her though." retorted Sara, her tone accusatory. "Instead of her family thinking she was dead..."

  The Inspector picked up his cane, pointing it at Sara.

  "Dead?! Dead?! What you be saying then? Her mother and father never thought she was dead. It was them who said she'd gone away!!!"

  The Inspector dropped the menacing cane.

  "You mean they accepted that their daughter had vanished? Left without saying goodbye?"

  Dumbfounded, Sara could barely raise her voice above a whisper. The Inspector gave an exasperated reply.

  "Yep. And it was them who wanted the case closed."

  Mrs. Jay returned carrying a tray. She unloaded the contents onto the table and began pouring out the tea.

  "Sugar? Milk?" asked Mrs. Jay, cheerfully going about her task.

  "No, thank you." managed Sara, desperate to steady her shaking hands.

  The Inspector drank his tea thirstily, the scalding liquid tempered with a good dose of milk.

  The tea pouring over, Mrs. Jay sat down.

  "Mr. Jay," continued Sara, treading carefully, "I must ask you this. Did you personally, ever suspect that Sara Lunn had come to some harm?"

  The muscles in the Inspector's face tightened.

  "It was such a long time ago. Look, I've been retired for seventeen years. There's nothing more I can remember after all this time."

  Sara couldn't give up now. This time, the cane might land on her head but she had to keep going.

  "Gillane. Guillaume Gillane. Did you ever suspect that he had something to do with Sarah's disappearance?"

  The Inspector finished his tea and placed the empty teacup on the table. He did not reply.

  The gnawing in Sara's stomach was becoming unbearable. She had to hang on, to wait.

  It began to torture her. The thought of Sarah Lunn lying dead somewhere and everyone content to believe that she had run away. Run off to start a new life. It seemed absurd.

  Mag had described the terrible arguments Sarah had with her mother. Reason enough to want to get away. But when Sarah disappeared, she had already moved away from her mother and was living with Mag.

  Mag cared for the girl deeply. Sarah would have at least sent a message to her beloved aunt to tell her where she was.

  Her head spinning, Sara looked at Mrs. Jay beseechingly.

  "Would you mind if I ate something? My...I'm feeling a bit light headed."

  "Are you ready to eat then? Come inside the kitchen." replied Mrs. Jay promptly.

  The Inspector looked startled by his wife's advance.

  Mrs. Jay began to clear the table away, oblivious of her husband's reaction.

  "Come along. There's plenty to eat inside," she said, leading the way and ignoring her husband's smouldering gaze.

  Sara waited for the Inspector to get up from his chair then followed him into the kitchen.

  "Oxtail soup," chirped Mrs. Jay, "Winter food but just as good now."

  The thick, dark stew was delicious. With each mouthful, Sara felt more revived.

  The Inspector ate his food slowly.

  Mrs. Jay left her lunch halfway, to boil the kettle. She placed a pot of tea on the table, along with three mugs. After a few minutes, she stopped eating again to pour the tea out.

  Sara watched Mrs. Jay's arthritic fingers clutch onto the teapot. She could imagine this gentle woman bringing up children, tending the vegetable garden, ironing a daily mountain of clothes, scrubbing the house clean, and all without a single word of complaint ever passing her lips.

  Sara looked down at her own unblemished hands and the expensive diamond rings. It had been years since she had cleaned a toilet or ironed clothes. She felt ashamed, humbled.

  The Inspector finished his meal last. Mrs. Jay cleared all three plates away.

  "Thank you, Mrs. Jay. That was delicious."

  Sara hoped the complement would rouse the Inspector.

  Without saying a word, the Inspector picked up his mug of tea, left the table and went out onto the patio.

  Excusing herself, Sara followed him.

  She found the Inspector filling a pipe with tobacco.

  Sara sat down next to him.

  "Can we continue our conversation?"

  The Inspector nodded, puffing small clouds of smoke from his pipe.

  "Guillaume Gillane. The village is full of talk that he had something to do with Sarah Lunn's disappearance..."

  "Gillane was on his farm all day," interrupted the Inspector, "he had workers dismantling the stables. He couldn't leave."

  "Were they romantically involved, Gillane and Sarah?"

  "That's between the girl and Gillane, Miss. He never said as much to me."

  The Inspector's patience evaporated as he sat there digesting his lunch. He would say no more on the issue.

  "Forgive me, Inspector. I've just found myself i
n an uncomfortable position, that's all..."

  "Well what do you expect," came the swift reply. "Everyone's gotten on with their lives, haven't they? You should remember that."

  Sara pulled her bag over her shoulder and went to say goodbye to Mrs. Jay. She had overstayed her welcome. Mrs. Jay was at the sink washing dishes. She smiled sweetly as Sara thanked her yet again for the delicious offering.

  The Inspector had drawn himself out of the chair and was leaning on the cane.

  Sara held out her hand.

  "Thank you for your time. I needed to talk to you. I can't provide any other explanation than just that."

  The Inspector shrugged.

  "Leave well enough alone, Miss. Leave it alone."

  Sara gave the Inspector one last valiant smile, her heart heavy.

  ********************

  The return journey to Glymeer took just over an hour. It was 3.30pm when Sara turned on to the main street of the village.

  John was packing up the fruit and vegetables outside his shop into large wooden crates. Sara parked the car and walked up to him.

  "Hello John. You're not closing early, are you?"

  John swung round to look at her but remained silent.

  "Can I come in to get a few things?"

  John was back in "ruddy face" mode and squinted disdainfully at her.

  Sara walked past him into the shop. No doubt, the news had broken of her tête-à-tête with Gillane. John was no longer on speaking terms with her, the enemy who had befriended the stranger.

  Right now, Sara decided, she couldn't care less. She proceeded to fill up a basket.

  John had lined the wooden crates of fruits and vegetables along the counter. Sara helped herself to a couple of oranges, spinach and potatoes.

  Next she found one of two remaining loaves of bread on the shelf. She selected the bigger loaf for her basket.

  John came in carrying a crate full of dark burgundy plums.

  "Can I have some meat to go with these?"

  John took his place behind the counter and converted his squint to a frown.

  "That piece of steak there. A couple of rashers of bacon. And four more of those tasty sausages."

  Sara thought she might buy out the whole damn place.

  The frown subsided temporarily as John weighed and wrapped the meat. Sara emptied her basket onto the counter for him to ring up the total. She remembered there was no wine left at the cottage and fetched two bottles of vin de table, to add to the basket.

  "Thirteen pound seventy."

  The frown had intensified and the squint had returned.

  Sara handed over a twenty-pound note. John placed her change on the counter.

  Sara reassured herself that John was normally sullen around her so there was no difference in his behaviour now. She pushed the change into her jacket pocket, picked up the bag of groceries and gave John a big smile.

  "Thank you," she said gaily as she walked out of the shop. Silence followed her to the door.

  ********************

  There were no flowers greeting Sara on her return to Downswold.

  She entered the cottage, put her things on the kitchen table and drank a long glass of water.

  She looked out the kitchen window towards the back of the property where she had seen a man beating a hasty retreat one morning. The sight of that man had been enough for her to want to leave Downswold for good. But she had stayed. She wondered why she had never bothered to explore that part of the garden. Although she was still wearing her jacket, Sara began to shiver. She could almost "see" a young girl dressed in a flowing white dress, standing under the apple tree, a cache of the shiny fruit at her feet.

  Sara pinched herself and checked that the back door was securely locked.

  "Now I'm bloody seeing things!"

  The bottle of scotch looked inviting.

  Undecided about a drink, Sara chose a very long soak in the bath instead. She sat on the laundry basket watching the bath fill.

  Her mind turned to Sarah Lunn over and over again as she bathed in the hot, steaming water.

  Maybe she's alive. Maybe Mag is spreading vicious lies about Gillane. But surely if Sarah were still alive, Mag would know.

  Another plausible explanation involved Gillane fathering Sarah's child. Rather than face the shame and prying eyes, she leaves Glymeer to give birth. Gillane promises never to tell anyone, to protect her. But again, Sarah would have resurfaced eventually.

  Someone would know by now what happened to Sarah. Gillane. Gillane would know.

  Gillane, the keeper of secrets.

  Chapter Eight.

  The rain was thundering down as Sara opened her eyes. She had gone to bed eight hours earlier, a terrible tension hanging over her. She awoke now to find the sky breaking in two over her head.

  The half open shutters revealed a sky black with clouds. The early morning birdsong that she had grown accustomed to drowned out by the sound of raindrops crashing to the earth.

  Sara attributed the stormy weather to all the bad blood in Glymeer. A sign that the villagers, or could it be her, had fallen out of favour with the gods.

  She lay back against the pillows, contemplating the dreary start to the day.

  In London, she usually swore by the weather forecast in the Times. Without a weather forecast, it was difficult to plan the Maestro's day. The Maestro refused point blank to set out anywhere in the rain. He often recounted the silly story of how more accidents occurred during rainy weather. Why? Because people drove more slowly in the rain. Cautious drivers, according to him, were a health hazard.

  It was the eighth wonder of the world that the Maestro even managed to get to his own performances.

  Out here in Glymeer, the farmers welcomed the rain, without which their crops would die, their livelihood vanish. They didn't have the luxury of being petty and frivolous about their lives.

  Sara pushed the duvet down to the foot of the bed. Her head felt heavy. She had slept badly.

  The rain continued crashing down as she prepared breakfast: scrambled eggs on toast and black coffee.

  Her head cleared up sufficiently for her to write a letter to the Maestro on the laptop. She began the letter by giving him her address. She hoped secretly that he would send word back that she was needed in London, ASAP.

  The rest of the letter was pure fantasy: she was having a wonderful time, taking long walks in the unpolluted air, sleeping like a log, feeling "refreshed." Sara hooked up the portable miniature printer and printed it off.

  She had forgotten to bring any envelopes with her and would have to drop in on Mag. Perhaps Mag would invite her to the back and she could discuss her visit to the Inspector.

  The parting words of the inspector echoed in her head.

  "Leave well enough alone. Leave it alone."

  If Mag was so distrustful of Gillane, why hadn't she pursued the inspector relentlessly? Why hadn't she pecked away mercilessly at him until she had got him to see her side of the story?

  The inspector would have had the resources to dig deep into Gillane's past. But twenty years ago, things were done differently. The Establishment was still in gestation. CCTV and credit ratings were just beginning to take control.

  Sara remembered a story she'd read in the newspaper. A Nigerian boy had come to Britain to attend a private school at the age of fourteen. His parents stayed behind in Nigeria and after some months, could no longer afford to pay the school fees. Forced to support himself, the boy dropped out of school.

  Twenty-five years on, he has become a successful businessman. A pillar of society. Britain is his home. He lives in a nice house, treats his employees well, pays his tax on time.

  At age forty, he decides to go abroad on holiday. He needs a passport but first, must approach the Home Office to regularise his immigration status.

  The Home Office promptly serves him with a deportation notice. Friends, employees, vouch for the man. A good and honest man. After all, he has committed no c
rime.

  Crime.

  What if Gillane had a criminal record? A travelling stranger, moving between three countries, France, Italy and England, able to elude the authorities by living in a remote village.

  Sara could understand taking a holiday in Glymeer - but living here? It didn't add up.

  The Establishment has its uses. Use them. Sara trawled through the address book in her laptop to find the address of the credit agency where twice a year she would write, requesting a copy of her file.

  Banks, mail order companies, anyone could request a copy of an individual's credit history. The charge for providing the information was a democratic, egalitarian, measly two pounds. For the price of a couple of cans of beer, the course of an individual's life could be changed forever.

  Sara considered requesting a copy of Gillane's file. She could use the name of the Maestro's company to request the search. But she would be gone from Glymeer in the two weeks it would take to arrive. Worse yet, her search would be recorded. Gillane would eventually find out that she had been investigating the intimate details of his life.

  Sara threw up her arms in frustration, painfully aware that she was behaving like a rank amateur. Gillane's credit history was useless information. The most she would find out was that he borrowed money or bought things on credit. So what? Big deal. Every man and his dog owe the world money.

  She turned the laptop off, frustrated at the depths to which she was sinking in her boredom.

  She should leave well enough alone.

  *******************************

  Mag was stacking magazines onto the rack near the door as Sara walked into the post office.

  "Hello, Mag."

  Despite the post office being empty, Mag pretended to ignore her.

  Sara leaned over and picked up a copy of the Goldarn Voice. She walked towards the counter. Mag continued stacking the magazines into place.

  "Can I have some stamps to go with this, Mag?"

  Mag dropped the bundle of magazines she was holding, with a thud.

  "What'll it be then?" she asked scowling behind the counter.

  Her eyes were puffy and red. She had been crying.

  "Two First Class stamps please. And this," Sara replied pointing to the newspaper.

  "You'll have to pay for that separately."