kettle’s boiled. I’ve looked all through the house and so has Charlie, and we can’t find her. The door was open, though.’
I didn’t like the sound of any of that, especially not the open-door bit. Tom knew very well, and I’d told Adrienne specifically, that that was a no-no, with all the strangers in the village through the summer. ‘Are you sure she’s not in the bathroom?’ I asked him.
‘Yes, I’m sure. And she’s not in her bedroom either, or in the laundry room, or watching television, or on the computer.’
‘She’s probably gone to get bread, or fruit.’
‘I got toastie bread from the freezer before Charlie and I went out, and there’s plenty of fruit.’
I felt myself start to shake, and had to make damn sure that my voice stayed calm. ‘She’ll have gone somewhere for something, love. You get your own cereal and juice and wait for her to come back. Or if you’d rather, if you want more to eat than that, take some money from my dressing-table drawer,’ I always keep a few hundred euros about the house, ‘go to one of the cafés and get something there.’
‘Don’t want to go on my own,’ he grumbled, giving me a major guilt spasm. ‘I’ll have something here and wait for her to get back.’
‘Okay,’ I replied, as casually as I could manage. ‘Whatever you want. But when Auntie Ade gets back, you tell her to phone me right away.’
‘Yes, Mum. Have you found Frank yet?’
‘No, but I expect to today. Either way I’ll try to get home tomorrow.’
‘Promise?’
‘Promise. Now go and feed yourself. Love you.’
‘Love you too, Mum,’ he said. As he hung up I suspected that he was trying as hard as I was to sound cool.
I felt my heart thump as I leaned against the wall. However positive I might have sounded, I did not like what Tom had told me. I looked at my phone. I’d forgotten Mark’s stricture, and the battery level was down a couple of notches; I’d have to use it carefully. That said . . .
I went into my phonebook and called Adrienne’s office. Fanette, her middle-aged assistant, picked up on the fifth ring, just as the answer-machine kicked in. I introduced myself. ‘I’m looking for my aunt’s mobile number,’ I told her.
‘Sure,’ she replied, with a trace of a French accent, and recited it. I made her do it again, more slowly, and noted it on the title page of my book. ‘You haven’t heard from Adrienne this morning, have you?’
‘No, but I’m only just in. I haven’t heard from her since she left for Spain. But,’ she continued, ‘I was going to phone her myself this morning. Someone called last night, asking for her. It was a woman, Swiss or German accent, I’d say, and she said that she was ringing on Frank’s behalf, trying to locate his mother.’
‘Frank?’ I exclaimed.
‘That’s what she said. I told her that Adrienne was with you in Spain, and suggested that she call her mobile. She said that Frank hadn’t given her the number, so I did. The woman knows where he is. That’s good news, isn’t it?’
Not to me it wasn’t. ‘You told this woman where Adrienne is,’ I said. ‘You had no idea who she was, but you gave her my address. Is that what you’re saying?’
‘Yes. What’s the harm in that?’
‘Maybe there’s none,’ I snapped, ‘but if there is, then heaven help you. Frank’s been missing for weeks, in God knows what circumstances, you get a call out of the blue and you give a stranger my home address, my son’s home address. And now Tom says that Adrienne’s vanished while he was out. If you put them in danger . . .’ I slapped the phone shut, ending the call before I got round to telling her what I was going to do to her.
I waited for a few seconds, until my temper and my breathing were back under control, then called the number the woman had given me. It rang four times, and . . .
‘Hello?’ said a young voice.
‘Tom. It’s Mum. You’re on Auntie Ade’s mobile. Where was it?’
‘On
I didn’t like the sound of any of that, especially not the open-door bit. Tom knew very well, and I’d told Adrienne specifically, that that was a no-no, with all the strangers in the village through the summer. ‘Are you sure she’s not in the bathroom?’ I asked him.
‘Yes, I’m sure. And she’s not in her bedroom either, or in the laundry room, or watching television, or on the computer.’
‘She’s probably gone to get bread, or fruit.’
‘I got toastie bread from the freezer before Charlie and I went out, and there’s plenty of fruit.’
I felt myself start to shake, and had to make damn sure that my voice stayed calm. ‘She’ll have gone somewhere for something, love. You get your own cereal and juice and wait for her to come back. Or if you’d rather, if you want more to eat than that, take some money from my dressing-table drawer,’ I always keep a few hundred euros about the house, ‘go to one of the cafés and get something there.’
‘Don’t want to go on my own,’ he grumbled, giving me a major guilt spasm. ‘I’ll have something here and wait for her to get back.’
‘Okay,’ I replied, as casually as I could manage. ‘Whatever you want. But when Auntie Ade gets back, you tell her to phone me right away.’
‘Yes, Mum. Have you found Frank yet?’
‘No, but I expect to today. Either way I’ll try to get home tomorrow.’
‘Promise?’
‘Promise. Now go and feed yourself. Love you.’
‘Love you too, Mum,’ he said. As he hung up I suspected that he was trying as hard as I was to sound cool.
I felt my heart thump as I leaned against the wall. However positive I might have sounded, I did not like what Tom had told me. I looked at my phone. I’d forgotten Mark’s stricture, and the battery level was down a couple of notches; I’d have to use it carefully. That said . . .
I went into my phonebook and called Adrienne’s office. Fanette, her middle-aged assistant, picked up on the fifth ring, just as the answer-machine kicked in. I introduced myself. ‘I’m looking for my aunt’s mobile number,’ I told her.
‘Sure,’ she replied, with a trace of a French accent, and recited it. I made her do it again, more slowly, and noted it on the title page of my book. ‘You haven’t heard from Adrienne this morning, have you?’
‘No, but I’m only just in. I haven’t heard from her since she left for Spain. But,’ she continued, ‘I was going to phone her myself this morning. Someone called last night, asking for her. It was a woman, Swiss or German accent, I’d say, and she said that she was ringing on Frank’s behalf, trying to locate his mother.’
‘Frank?’ I exclaimed.
‘That’s what she said. I told her that Adrienne was with you in Spain, and suggested that she call her mobile. She said that Frank hadn’t given her the number, so I did. The woman knows where he is. That’s good news, isn’t it?’
Not to me it wasn’t. ‘You told this woman where Adrienne is,’ I said. ‘You had no idea who she was, but you gave her my address. Is that what you’re saying?’
‘Yes. What’s the harm in that?’
‘Maybe there’s none,’ I snapped, ‘but if there is, then heaven help you. Frank’s been missing for weeks, in God knows what circumstances, you get a call out of the blue and you give a stranger my home address, my son’s home address. And now Tom says that Adrienne’s vanished while he was out. If you put them in danger . . .’ I slapped the phone shut, ending the call before I got round to telling her what I was going to do to her.
I waited for a few seconds, until my temper and my breathing were back under control, then called the number the woman had given me. It rang four times, and . . .
‘Hello?’ said a young voice.
‘Tom. It’s Mum. You’re on Auntie Ade’s mobile. Where was it?’
‘On
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