Plotted in Cornwall by Janie Bolitho Page A

portraits.’
    ‘She never said a bloody word,’ Jack muttered. ‘She met me in the pub that night and never mentioned a word of any of this.’ He sighed. Of course she hadn’t. She had said there was something she had wanted to discuss with him but he had dropped his bombshell first and Rose had made an excuse to leave early.
    Monday evening had arrived. Jack sat in his ground-floor flat in Morrab Road nursing a small whisky, pen and paper to hand. The road outside ran down to the sea and was lined with sturdy properties, some of which had been converted into premises for professional people. Others catered for bed and breakfast and many of the remaining houses had been divided into flats.
    There was certainly something going on in the Jordan/Penhaligon family but it might all be innocent. A week or so ago he could have discussed it with Rose, now he wasn’t certain what his reception would be. It was all very well her saying she wanted friendship but he had seen the expression on her face when he had told her about Anna. He had to admit it had pleased him to recognise it as jealousy.
    Without realising it he had been making a list. He looked down and read it.
    Frank Jordan does a bunk.
    Roger Penhaligon reports his niece missing.
    No police action is taken.
    At the same time Louisa Jordan moves to Bodmin Moor, closely followed by her sister, Wendy Penhaligon.
    Solicitors try to trace Frank Jordan.
    Penhaligon gets in touch again.
    Rose Trevelyan discovers relationship between the two families. She’s the link between the family members who have not disappeared.
    ‘She would be, damn her. She already knows more than we do.’ The second sigh was deeper. He had no option but to speakto her. Face to face. But if he rang in advance she might come up with an excuse not to see him.
    No, he decided, this wasn’t really a case, no crime had been committed. Miranda Jordan had been of age and her mother had been unconcerned, her father had run off with a bimbo and now an ancient relative had left him a few hundred quid, it was as simple as that. But it was still an excuse to see Rose. And if she was taking an active interest there might be something in it. ‘That woman’s curiosity is boundless,’ he said, talking to himself as he often did when alone.
    He drove over to Newlyn and pulled into her drive. Rose’s car was there and a dim light showed through the kitchen window. It was the hall light, set on a timer, the one Jack had persuaded her to purchase and he had installed. He rapped on the door, sensing already that Rose wasn’t in. He went home and left a telephone message.
    To his surprise and anger she returned none of his calls until Thursday evening. Meanwhile he forgot Frank Jordan and got on with more important matters.
    On Wednesday he took Anna to the cinema. She was a little subdued but he didnot know her well enough to ask what was the matter.
     
    Rose promised Joel she would find out what she could from his aunts, although how she was to go about it was beyond her. Bring up marriage, she thought, talk about David and not having children and see how Louisa reacts to that. Joel’s confidence had increased now that he knew where his future lay. He had produced another fine drawing.
    Rose worked steadily from Sunday until Wednesday when she packed up early because of her class. The storm had broken by Sunday morning and she had taken advantage of the bright blue sky and gone out to photograph its violent effects. The Zennor painting was near completion and she had sketched in the background to the portrait, outlining the position of the two figures. Soon the really serious part would begin.
    Thursday morning dawned dry and sunny. December had arrived but it seemed more like April. Rose set off knowing that she would not be able to remain silent, that she would have to say something to draw the sisters out.
    She pulled up outside the house, surprisedto see a second car to the side of it. No one had