Hind’s are red-rimmed. They are silvery in their ageing, as if covered by a hoar frost. Carter runs a hand through his hair and the cameras seem to flurry in response.
Harriet introduces the pertinent facts about the investigation, the timeline of Edith’s disappearance, details of the police hotline. Her glance repeatedly flicks to Will, whose gaze is directed at the cameras.
Somewhere in the room behind Manon, a phone starts ringing.
‘Crikey, already,’ says Colin. ‘Here come the tank-top-wearing schizophrenics.’
‘Shut it, Colin,’ says Manon.
‘It’ll be the ladies offering to comfort Mr Carter,’ says Kim. ‘Even if he’s killed her, he’ll get a few marriage proposals.’
They watch Harriet introduce Sir Ian. There is a pause before he speaks.
‘We are desperately worried about Edith,’ he says, lifting his gaze to the phalanx of reporters and cameras, and for a split second, utter distaste is visible on his face. Lady Hind strokes his hand. ‘She is a resourceful, clever, and talented girl, but the circumstances of her disappearance are obviously giving cause for mounting alarm. Edith, if you are watching this, please contact us to let us know you are safe. And if anyone out there has seen our daughter, do please contact the police.’
‘Mr Carter,’ says a female voice. ‘Keeley Davis,
Hunts Post
. You must be devastated.’
‘I am. I’m … I’m …’ Will Carter looks about the room. ‘I haven’t slept. This is torture, a nightmare. We just want to know where Edie is.’
Manon thinks she can see Lady Hind close her eyes in a tiny grimace, but perhaps she’s imagining it.
‘Sorry, one more question,’ says pushy Keeley Davis, who will no doubt be off to
The
Mail
any day now, with her tight suit and that retro Nissan she drives, the automotive equivalent of a Prada handbag. ‘Was there anything about her behaviour in the days before she disappeared that gave you cause for concern?’
‘No, not at all,’ says Will. He is giving Keeley maximum eye contact, furrowed and serious and frankly adorable. ‘This is totally out of character. We were happy,
are
happy. We’re incredibly close. She is my world. Y’know, she was working hard on her PhD, looking forward to Christmas. Normal stuff.’
Harriet points to another member of the audience. ‘Yes, Terry.’
‘Terry Harcourt,
The Mirror
. Sir Ian, can you tell us more about Edith – what sort of girl is she?’
Sir Ian looks vaguely lost. ‘Well,’ he says, halting for a moment as if he hasn’t understood the question, ‘as I say, she is clever. She has a double first from Cambridge and is studying for her PhD. She is quite sporty, dedicated to the environment.’ Manon watches his bewildered face as the shutters click and the flashes blind him. He knows what they want – incontinent emoting. They want him and Miriam Hind to break down over ‘their angel’.
Harriet moves it along. ‘Yes, Andy, from
The Herald
.’
‘Sir Ian, you are physician to the Royal Family. Has the Queen sent you any messages of support?’
‘I don’t think that’s relevant to the purpose of this press conference,’ says Sir Ian.
‘Right, yes. Nick, ITN,’ says Harriet, pointing to the back of the room.
‘Sir Ian, you are personal friends with the Home Secretary. Is he putting extra resources behind this investigation?’
‘I can answer that one,’ says Harriet. ‘All the resources of the police force are at our disposal in the search for Edith. This would be the case for any high-risk missing person.’
‘Is it true you’re looking for a body?’ shouts a voice into the room.
Manon sees Lady Hind flinch. The room buzzes with enlarged murmurings.
‘What’s your name?’ asks Harriet.
‘Tony Thackeray,
Eastern Daily Press
. Missing person, more than forty-eight hours, sub-zero temperatures. This must surely become a murder investigation at some point. And isn’t it also true that Cambridgeshire MIT has been
Harriet introduces the pertinent facts about the investigation, the timeline of Edith’s disappearance, details of the police hotline. Her glance repeatedly flicks to Will, whose gaze is directed at the cameras.
Somewhere in the room behind Manon, a phone starts ringing.
‘Crikey, already,’ says Colin. ‘Here come the tank-top-wearing schizophrenics.’
‘Shut it, Colin,’ says Manon.
‘It’ll be the ladies offering to comfort Mr Carter,’ says Kim. ‘Even if he’s killed her, he’ll get a few marriage proposals.’
They watch Harriet introduce Sir Ian. There is a pause before he speaks.
‘We are desperately worried about Edith,’ he says, lifting his gaze to the phalanx of reporters and cameras, and for a split second, utter distaste is visible on his face. Lady Hind strokes his hand. ‘She is a resourceful, clever, and talented girl, but the circumstances of her disappearance are obviously giving cause for mounting alarm. Edith, if you are watching this, please contact us to let us know you are safe. And if anyone out there has seen our daughter, do please contact the police.’
‘Mr Carter,’ says a female voice. ‘Keeley Davis,
Hunts Post
. You must be devastated.’
‘I am. I’m … I’m …’ Will Carter looks about the room. ‘I haven’t slept. This is torture, a nightmare. We just want to know where Edie is.’
Manon thinks she can see Lady Hind close her eyes in a tiny grimace, but perhaps she’s imagining it.
‘Sorry, one more question,’ says pushy Keeley Davis, who will no doubt be off to
The
any day now, with her tight suit and that retro Nissan she drives, the automotive equivalent of a Prada handbag. ‘Was there anything about her behaviour in the days before she disappeared that gave you cause for concern?’
‘No, not at all,’ says Will. He is giving Keeley maximum eye contact, furrowed and serious and frankly adorable. ‘This is totally out of character. We were happy,
are
happy. We’re incredibly close. She is my world. Y’know, she was working hard on her PhD, looking forward to Christmas. Normal stuff.’
Harriet points to another member of the audience. ‘Yes, Terry.’
‘Terry Harcourt,
The Mirror
. Sir Ian, can you tell us more about Edith – what sort of girl is she?’
Sir Ian looks vaguely lost. ‘Well,’ he says, halting for a moment as if he hasn’t understood the question, ‘as I say, she is clever. She has a double first from Cambridge and is studying for her PhD. She is quite sporty, dedicated to the environment.’ Manon watches his bewildered face as the shutters click and the flashes blind him. He knows what they want – incontinent emoting. They want him and Miriam Hind to break down over ‘their angel’.
Harriet moves it along. ‘Yes, Andy, from
The Herald
.’
‘Sir Ian, you are physician to the Royal Family. Has the Queen sent you any messages of support?’
‘I don’t think that’s relevant to the purpose of this press conference,’ says Sir Ian.
‘Right, yes. Nick, ITN,’ says Harriet, pointing to the back of the room.
‘Sir Ian, you are personal friends with the Home Secretary. Is he putting extra resources behind this investigation?’
‘I can answer that one,’ says Harriet. ‘All the resources of the police force are at our disposal in the search for Edith. This would be the case for any high-risk missing person.’
‘Is it true you’re looking for a body?’ shouts a voice into the room.
Manon sees Lady Hind flinch. The room buzzes with enlarged murmurings.
‘What’s your name?’ asks Harriet.
‘Tony Thackeray,
Eastern Daily Press
. Missing person, more than forty-eight hours, sub-zero temperatures. This must surely become a murder investigation at some point. And isn’t it also true that Cambridgeshire MIT has been
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