The Smile

By Ginny A Vere Nicoll

Two women are thrown together through force of circumstances far beyond their control. With courage and determination they set forth to find out the truth and the whereabouts of the two men in their lives, suddenly disappeared, without trace, into thin air.

An unlikely boating accident in the South of France. A macabre funeral in Scotland. Unexpected and erotic happenings in Venice on the night of 'La Sensa', the celebration of that city's marriage to the sea and a final, dramatic, scene on the island of Torcello, played out under the hot Italian sun.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Trafford Publishing
• Release date: Dec 12, 2008
• ISBN: 9781466955516

Ginny A Vere Nicoll

Ginny was brought up in the Cotswolds and educated in England. She spent a year working in the U.S.A, before travelling extensively throughout America, Canada and Mexico. A water-colourist, after leaving school, Ginny attended the Warwickshire College of art, and, more recently, studied both at West Dean College and in Italy. She exhibited, successfully, in the West End of London. Ginny brought up a large, boisterous, family of four, based in London and in Sussex; in an old farmhouse, down a long, rough, track, in the middle of a large, derelict, plum orchard. Here, a few years ago, Ginny put aside her paints and started to write. She enrolled for an Arvon writing course: it was winter and freezing cold, but taught by two well-published authors, she was filled with enthusiasm and given endless encouragement. In the beautiful, frosted, Devonshire countryside, she learnt how to polish and finish her manuscripts. Passionate about travelling, particularly across Europe, either by car, train, or even by foot, she takes every opportunity, either alone or on business with her husband, to gather information and material, as she did when painting watercolours. Ginny loves being surrounded by her noisy family. But, whenever possible, retreats to a refuge in the Alps, where she likes best to join the eagles, high up in the mountains, free from ordinary, mundane, matters and from where she can view the world from another dimension. There, she finds her inspiration for the stories she has to tell.

Book preview

CHAPTER 1

Gianni Vivarini stood tense and still, aware of a deep, inexplicable unease. The nagging discomfort attacked his stomach in persistent, annoying waves. He stood on the beach, on his island, L’Isola Delfino, his beautiful home and wondered how it was possible to experience such disquiet in such a place?

A lone gull wheeled high above his head, its cries reaching him even after it disappeared through a veil of dawn mist, left behind from the receding night sky. Distracted, he took a long, restoring, breath of, fresh, salty air, then, stared out across the sea to the far horizon, considering the sky and his day ahead.

It was early, very early and so the movement in the distance to his right took him by surprise. Gianni recognized the woman; her figure a silhouette against the rapidly lightening sky, she was also turned to look, her pale hair touched by the rising sun. She had arrived late last night, beautiful and sad with very little luggage, surrounded by an aura of mystery and without a smile. He watched with interest. She bent down, perhaps tying a shoe lace or picking up a shell or smooth stone that caught her eye as it reflected in the early morning glow.

Gianni shifted his weight slightly, awkward with the familiar stiffness from the old wound in his leg. The sniper’s bullet had lodged firm and true. Feeling conspicuous and conscious of invading the young person’s privacy he looked down at his own feet, big, reliable and familiar, friendly almost. He’d had them fifty odd years. He moved them apart, scrunching the sand as he took a more solid stance and straightened his back. With his hands in his pockets he could feel the knarled old knife in one and the roll of thin twine in the other. Comforting and normal, these tranquil days, he thought. He looked up again at the forlorn figure standing at the water’s edge, one hand raised to shade her eyes from the glare, but she was, thankfully, still unaware of his presence. I’m intruding, he thought, looking away again, she needs to be alone.

He lingered a minute or two longer, watching the vivid ball of fire achieve its spectacular journey and ascend into an already azure sky. The whole surround was splashed vermillion, the retreating threads of cloud formations scattered and mismatched. A new day was born. Unsettled weather Gianni predicted as he glanced, now to the left, straining his eyes, searching for his brother’s fishing boat and listening for the distant and reassuring beat of the throaty little engine.

Then he saw it: Dimitri’s pride and joy the ‘Amica’, chugging home as regular as clockwork from around the next headland after completing its night’s work. It was followed by a cloud of circling, shrieking, arguing gulls and a couple of the island’s namesakes, the dolphins. They made a magical picture leaping and playing in the wake of the boat with the sea spray shimmering and sparkling, caught and coloured by the early rays of the sun. Dimitri, the shape of his body sharp against the dazzling light with one hand bent back to the helm, was also turned to watch.

Gianni looked around once more and studied the motionless form of the girl by the sea. He shivered, but with apprehension, for he was not cold. The goose pimples prickled the back of his neck and he shrugged deeper down into his coat. The Delfinos, as the island men were affectionately called, seldom felt cold for they were a tough breed, these third generation fishermen. ‘We’re just like the real dolphins,’ Gianni would chuckle when the women remarked on his rolled up sleeves in wintertime, ‘and warm blooded too’, he would whisper as an aside to his wife if she happened to be there.

Gianni sighed, for his few minutes of solitude were up and it was time to get on with the innumerable practical matters planned for the day. He retraced his footsteps over the sand towards the little hidden path which wound its way up through the rocks to meet the edge of the rough field bordering his land. His eyes darkened with undefined worry. He was disturbed by the image of the young woman he’d just left, enveloped in sorrow and alone on the beach.

Gianni walked back through the vineyard more quickly than usual, his trained eye automatically checking the vines as he passed, while he pondered this new problem. He was anxious to hear his wife Giuseppina’s thoughts on the subject and wondered what the two of them could do to help put the smile back on the lovely young woman’s face. He was a kind man and he didn’t like to see suffering in one so young. Why was she here all alone and so far from home? It wasn’t the holiday season after all; it was, as yet, much too early for tourists on L’Isola Delfino.

Giuseppina was busy in her warm, fragrant, kitchen. She put the coffee on the hob to percolate while she prepared the pasta for the evening. This done she began on the bread, taking it from its usual resting place near the cooking range where, covered in a clean cloth, she’d set it to rise the night before. The aroma of the yeast filled her expectant nostrils, causing her to grunt with satisfaction as she looked at the size of this living thing that she had created. She loved the idea of the dough growing and expanding in the quiet dark place, while she slept. Now safe in her capable hands she kneaded, pummelled, pulled and shaped the loaf while she awaited her husband’s return. The dough was warm, soft and pliable-a pleasurable job and conducive to thought. It was at such times, when her hands were busy, that she did her best thinking. Giuseppina, also, was worried about their English guest. She sensed an air of torment, vulnerability and heartache engulfing the sad girl, like a damp, all encompassing fog. She needed her mother concluded Giuseppina. Where was she? The poor thing was all over the place. Even though their visitor was a stranger, Giusepinna, with a wealth of experience and a fondness for sorting out other peoples problems, wanted to gather up the young woman’s shattered life and help her to set it straight again. It was in her nature to do these things.

Giusepinna was not accustomed to having unhappiness encroach on her family life, or for it to throw their daily routine into certain disarray. An easy mind was all important as far as Giuseppina was concerned. Trouble of any sort was not welcome and should be checked; otherwise it could spread quickly, far and wide, like a raging fire. The island was inhabited and protected by people with plenty to smile about, a happy, carefree bunch. Minor disputes or sad losses normal in the life span, yes, these were expected, dealt with and overcome. But the Delfino’s gregarious love of life always resurfaced undaunted, with the help of family, friends and often with a large slice of Giuseppina’s generosity and support.

She paused in her work, wiped her hands on her apron and tucked a loose strand of hair back behind her ear. Now she’d have flour on her face, which was pink with exertion and it wouldn’t escape his notice. Her beloved Gianni never missed a thing. She’d only left their warm bed a couple of hours before and was still bathed in that warm afterglow of contentment. She looked down at her increasing figure and chuckled to herself. Not quite the same as when the bambinos were there, but at least it was still firm and he still seemed to take frequent delight in it.

She described herself nowadays as a ‘comfortable’ looking, forty-five year old woman, six years younger than her husband, neat, pink and plump! Her dark hair showed few telltale white streaks and was coiled tidily at the nape of her neck, held there with the same tortoise shell comb that Gianni had given her years before. Her mouth was habitually busy singing and her eyes shone just as they always had, with the sheer joy of living in the place and with the people she loved best.

Giuseppina glanced towards the stove, drawn by the noise and the pervasive smell of the strong rich coffee forcing its way up through the percolator.

It was ready. She looked out of the open window. Gianni was approaching, his head turned to one side checking the last of his vines as he walked up the path. He loved those bushes, the grapes and finally the wine. She sucked in her breath, shaking her head, an amused smile on her lips as she considered her husband: sound and solid as a rock physically, though a little more robust perhaps, but as upright and strong as ever. He was without doubt the best looking man in the whole of Italy, as she never ceased to tell their three girls, with his shock of thick, dark, unruly, hair and eyes full of humor. ‘A film star’ she would tell them. ‘Your Papa could have been a film star, so just imagine all the women that your poor Mama would have had to fight off at the festival for films’, she would add when, as young people do, they all collapsed in fits of giggles at the mere thought of their parents being feted at Cannes.

Giuseppina would prance up and down the kitchen with her hands on her hips, describing the pretended scene. The long dress, she’d say, would be in dazzling red silk, hugging her body tightly. It would swish and wrap its way seductively around her legs as she floated over the long, thick, carpet between rows of admiring fans. It would be slit high, just so high-she would tell her audience, indicating,-so as to allow her smooth passage while she made her grand entrance to the reception. Her husband would be there at her side bowing and waving to the imagined crowd.

Gianni would play his part until he’d had enough, then he’d turn to their rapt audience and becoming serious again, would wait for the noise to quieten. He’d tell them, almost reverently, that there was no film star born yet who could hold a candle to their mother as a young woman. The laughter would die and they would all nod in agreement, as they believed him. Giuseppina, silenced for once, would smile at her husband and kiss him tenderly, before getting back to cooking their meal. She would feel like a film star for the rest of the evening. What a lucky woman she was to command the enduring love of such a man.

But Gianni was concerned about something this early spring morning.

Giuseppina could tell by the hesitation in his walk. He was thinking, his mind in altogether another place and this time she knew the cause of his disquiet.

After living with her husband both through his active and secretive military life and later, after he’d seemingly left the army to help his father run things on Delfino island, Giuseppina had a sensitivity and an uncanny feel for the atmosphere surrounding people and places. In the early years of their marriage she had instinctively known when Gianni was about something difficult or dangerous. She’d seen it in his eyes when they said goodbye. On these occasions Gianni had always left the house unaware of his wife’s perceptions. In those uncertain days she’d known how important it was for him to leave with an easy mind and so she had hidden her apprehensions well.

The island women had their own ideas about what had taken place on Delfino both during and after the last war. People of different nationalities had frequently arrived unexpectedly, even furtively and sometimes at dead of night, by boat or small plane. All had the same thing in common. They were shrouded in an air of secrecy. Allessandro, her father-in-law and the young Gianni had taken great trouble to see that the visitors had what they needed and were left undisturbed, with their privacy both well guarded and respected.

The islanders, fiercely loyal and above all desperate for a world at peace, absolutely trusted the judgement of both Allessandro and Gianni. They put their own lives on hold without question, whenever they were asked, doing whatever was required of them, in the certainty that it would be for the overall benefit of mankind. But whatever these guests were really up to on the island had never been a subject for discussion amongst the Delfino women, not even when their own men were present. This had been and still remained an unbroken rule. They had merely watched, waited and came to their own conclusions in silence. Gossip, centred around the endless small dramas and problems of their everyday lives, their very life’s blood under normal circumstances, had no part in these events.

First things first, Giuseppina thought: Gianni’s coffee and then she must give Alicia her breakfast in the sun. In Giuseppina’s book, in order to recover from a bad state of affairs, whatever it was, you needed to eat and eat well! And a good dose of sunshine and sea air would do the poor girl the world of good too.

Gianni whistled as he passed the last of the vines. Bending down, he deftly tied up a branch that had come loose in the wind, with his large, but sensitive hands, giving Giuseppina the time she needed to make sure that his coffee was hot once she had seen or heard him coming. On this particular morning he really didn’t think he wanted any coffee, but he’d have to have it or his wife would guess that something was up, that he was worried. She’d give him English tea instead, to settle his digestion. He hated the insipid drink, far preferring the strong black expresso coffee. But these days it affected his stomach, particularly when he was anxious.

He walked through the door, smiling. There she was, as usual, as if she didn’t know after all this time. It was still their unspoken little joke together, the same every morning. The coffee was poured, ready and waiting.

" Gioia mia, how can you know I am here?"

Come here, you silly man, she replied, as she pulled out the chair and put his own special mug on the table before him. She took his coat from him as he sat, then gave him a kiss, stepping back quickly, laughing, as he tried to grab her around her large waist.

"Enough! Sei cosi pazza, you have already had some of ‘that’ for breakfast! Now: what about our unhappy guest? Giuseppina, asked quietly becoming serious again. How can such a beautiful girl be so sad… perhaps it’s a man?" she finished hopefully looking up at him as if in question.

"Si, mia cara, we must do something, but I think it’s more than that," replied Gianni as he sipped his coffee carefully.

I think so too. In fact, I have this feeling that it is something very much more than that, Giuseppina answered, patting her equally large chest and becoming thoughtful too. Anyway she’s too thin. She needs building up with good, nourishing, Italian food. she said returning to practical matters. Now drink up and I will see to it. She bent to ruffle his hair affectionately. She is not down yet.

"Si si, yes she is, said Gianni, as he turned to look out of the window to watch the lonely figure wending her way slowly back through the distant vines. She’s been out and about for some time already and up in the night several times too. I heard her."

Poor girl! muttered Giuseppina sadly, but maybe that’s just a woman’s thing.

I very much doubt it. answered Gianni getting up from his chair as he finished his coffee. He kissed the top of his wife’s head and went out of the room to get on with his day. Giuseppina agreed with her husband. Yes, she thought, their guest’s lovely face was bathed in undiluted misery, it was quite obviously very much more than just ‘a woman’s thing’.

* * *

CHAPTER 2

Alicia Spence was twenty-six, tall and angular, with genuinely blonde hair and startling aquamarine blue eyes. She was intelligent, with an enquiring mind, interested in everything, which she put to good use as a freelance travel journalist and writer. She dressed with an understated air of sophistication. Her natural charm drew both men and woman of all ages to her side and children suffered no adult threat of exclusion or patroniza-tion. She would talk and play with them at their own level with evident enjoyment.

Normally Alicia was a serene, happy person, but not today, nor for many days past, since it had happened.

Today was to have been the day; the day that she should have married Guy Hargreaves, an erudite young lawyer with a brilliant mind, good looking fit and funny. That was what had attracted Alicia most when they had first met: the constant fun and laughter which seemed to surround him and infect everybody else within range. He believed nothing to be out of reach. His life, mapped out ahead, had spelled success. Together they’d had everything, or so she had believed.

They’d met two years previously, over a bank holiday, at a week-end party given by mutual friends in Scotland. Alicia had thought she was going to be bored stiff, she had only gone to please her mother, in the first place. She was busy, with several articles to finish for her office, she was tired and in need of a break. The trip to Scotland, often grey and dismal in wintertime, was not what she would have planned from choice. It was a long way, an expensive journey and Alicia didn’t even know the couple who owned the house very well. Their parents were friends of her mother, but against her better judgement, she had travelled north. There, fate had played its inevitable hand: little did Alicia guess what life had in store.

There was one conspicuously empty chair when they had all sat down to dinner on the Friday night, but just as the first course was put on the table the late arrival had walked in.

‘Good timing’, Guy announced surveying the room, then staring unashamedly at Alicia, as he caught and held her eyes, whilst greeting their host. Alicia’s stomach lurched, her heart beat double time and she felt unable to speak. Her world turned upside down in one soul-stirring moment. The other guests glanced from one to the other with amusement as they recognized the symptoms and sensed the charged atmosphere. Alicia sat down again, very fast, saying to herself, ‘this is ridiculous, it just doesn’t happen this way’. But it did happen for them both, ‘just like that’. Instead of being embarrassed, Guy took over the room. He soon had everyone laughing with him over his journey on the train, with a dreadful woman and her equally awful dog and then, without further ado, made them all move around so he could sit next to Alicia.

Guy had never left her side throughout the whole week-end, yet, whenever he tried to get Alicia alone, someone had disturbed them. They all went for a walk on the Sunday. He made her walk more slowly than the rest until they were well behind. Then he had grabbed her and pulled her behind a tree, kissing her until she could hardly stand. If it hadn’t been for the others they would have made love then and there despite the cold, frosty weather. They couldn’t wait to be on their own together. He had insisted that he’d fly back with her on the plane to London on the Monday night, wasting his own return train ticket. He had taken her out to dinner the following evening, after which they saw each other at least twice a week. It was as if they’d known each other always. From then on their relationship progressed and developed, enriched by an intense and spontaneous love life, which surpassed anything that either had experienced before.

Guy had soon persuaded Alicia to leave her own flat and move into his immaculate house in Fulham. They couldn’t survive apart and were happier than either could have ever imagined. She loved the house, with the extra space it gave them and had immediately seen the potential for its unkempt and unloved garden. It hadn’t remained so for long. Once Alicia went into action, the small piece of land was speedily transformed, much to Guy’s amazement and admiration. He teased her mercilessly about her ‘green fingers’, saying that perhaps she should give up her hectic journalistic pursuits and go into horticulture instead.

Nonetheless, she hadn’t sold her flat, rather renting it out to an American couple, just in case. Looking back now, she wondered if that decision had been in some way a premonition of what was to come.

Over and over again Alicia would reflect on the recent sequence of events, remembering as much detail as she could. What could possibly have happened? Where was he? Was he safe? Could he have been ‘taken’ for some reason? Was he alive? These last possibilities sent shivers racing down her spine. How could she not know? How could he have disappeared without trace and without a word? They were on the same wavelength. Nobody knew Guy as well as she did. He would face up to a problem, no matter how difficult. He always did. They discussed everything and had no secrets, until now. He would have told her, if he could; and there lies the rub thought Alicia, ‘if he could’. What or who was stopping him?

There had seemed to be no cloud on their horizon. Alicia could swear that Guy was looking forward to their wedding as much as she was. She had scoured the house for a sign, any clue that something else was wrong, but that hadn’t taken long, they didn’t have many possessions. They both liked plenty of space. Guy’s desk was tidy, with the bills and correspondence up to date. Everything was in order, as always. She had leapt on the post as soon as it had fallen through the door each morning, but had found nothing ofinterest and only disappointment followed.

A discreet search in Guy’s office had not revealed anything either, except his immediate travel plans, cut short. His secretary and partners had, so far, showed little concern. Alicia realized they were at a loss as to what to say to her, they didn’t know where he was themselves. So she had left quickly to avoid further embarrassment. She sensed, but with no real, reasonable, explanation that for the moment perhaps the whole world shouldn’t be alerted to her belief in her own fears, as yet unfounded.

Alicia had telephoned friends, family and acquaintances, trade and business contacts at home and abroad, both past and present, everybody she could think of. She had literally spent hours on the telephone. This was difficult, as quite a few hadn’t been invited to the wedding. Perhaps she had rather under-played things. She had taken such care not to spread alarm, just gently enquiring if they’d seen Guy recently as she was trying to pass on a message and had lost track of where he said he would be on his travels. Nothing. Nobody else had heard anything since the day before the flowers had arrived, when he had been to a scheduled meeting at his bank in Guernsey and gone on to lunch at a restaurant with a business associate. She had managed to trace his lunch companion who had merely said that Guy had been well and had been intending to continue to Paris that evening. She hadn’t admitted that he’d disappeared or that she was worried and the man had politely wished them well for their wedding.

In spite of her carefully worded questions, Alicia could tell that some of their friends, sensing intrigue, thought she’d most likely just been dumped, albeit in a rather callous way. ‘Let’s face it’, those that knew her well enough would say, ‘these things do happen’. ‘Not to me they don’t’, she’d mutter, after finishing the conversation more abruptly than she meant, hoping she hadn’t been rude. Then her natural confidence would begin to dwindle. Perhaps they were right. She’d almost start to believe these faithless people with their glib comments and knowledgeable explanations, but not for long. After quietly reviewing the whole scenario, yet again, she returned to the same conclusion every time. Something extraordinary had to havehappened.

Guy’s last assignment abroad had seemed un-noteworthy. A short hop to the Channel Islands: from there to Paris and on to New York, before returning home in time for their wedding. Then they’d both made no commitments for a month, until after the honeymoon they had planned in the West Indies.

The last she had heard was the card on the box of freesia’s flown in from Guernsey signed, ‘For Ever and Always G.’ Nothing odd, nothing untoward. He always managed to send her flowers en route. When she’d left the house for Italy the freesia’s had remained limp and colourless in their vase. Alicia could not bring herself to throw out this last link.

She discovered that Guy’s meetings in Paris and New York had been inexplicably cancelled by somebody unknown to those offices. At this point his text messages had also suddenly stopped. The last ‘goodnight’ text had come through the day before the flowers arrived. Her answer was never received. She continued to try his mobile, only to be told ‘please hold, this call is being transferred’, then, maddeningly, ‘please try again later’ and finally, ‘I’m sorry, this number is no longer available’, followed by an ongoing, eerie, silence. The line was dead.

Guy’s elderly parents lived in Devon. They’d had a call from Guernsey the same day as her last text so they knew he was travelling. She hadn’t wanted to worry them and had again played the whole thing down. As far as the rest of the world was concerned they had merely postponed their wedding for work reasons. At least she hadn’t had to send all the presents back.

Alicia wracked her brains day and night. She was unable to sleep. How could someone go missing or just vanish without trace? The relevant authorities had said that the Channel Islands were one of the easiest places from which to disappear, with regular ferry sailings and scheduled flights, not to speak of the constant comings and goings of small private boats and planes. They hadn’t been very helpful. She supposed it was because Guy wasa so-called responsible adult rather than a wayward child and that they were too busy to deal with domestic problems. After two weeks the police had given up. She suspected that, finding no evidence of foul play or violence, they had decided Guy had probably planned the whole thing for some personal reason. They were not particularly sympathetic and made it quite clear that she was wasting their time and that ‘time was money’.

She had gone home and waited-waited for something, anything, to happen. It had turned out to be the longest and worst week of her life. She couldn’t eat. She felt anaemic, weary, thoroughly depressed and totally abandoned.

Alicia needed to talk to Julian. Julian Birchall was Guy’s oldest friend. They had been in the army together as younger men and before that at the same school. She had rarely, if ever, heard either of them refer to their mutual military experiences. Alicia always thought this strange, as they talked about their shared adventures at school on many occasions. Perhaps that branch of the army had been some special unit, not to be discussed. She often wondered what their actual work had been. If ever she mentioned the subject they both neatly turned the conversation around, so neither she, nor Julian’s girlfriend Adriana, ever bothered to pursue it. After all, it in no way encroached on their present day lives, or so they had thought.

Alicia wished that Julian had been at home in England. He might have some idea, or be able to throw some light on the matter, the two men were always talking. She needed his reassurance. Adriana, unaware of the full extent of Alicia’s misgivings, had merely said that Julian was still in America on some job, but was also overdue in returning to his office. He was a war correspondent and Adriana was used to him being out of touch. Nevertheless she was obviously concerned for Alicia and promised to contact her if she heard anything.

Alicia considered the last few days she had spent with her fiancé. Work was normal. There were a couple of business dinners and an evening at the theatre with friends. It had been fun and they’d all laughed a lot: she remembered an especially light-hearted, late night. Nothing could have been wrong then, surely?

There had been one curious telephone call on Guy’s mobile, in the middle of the night, before he left for the Channel Islands. He’d said it was a business man from the Far East, who had mistaken the time difference. Guy had definitely been uneasy after that call. He’d gone next door and Alicia heard his voice, lowered purposefully. The conversation had been short and intense, followed by a gap. Then she thought he’d made another call: she could tell from the murmurings and the slight noise as he punched in the numbers. He hadn’t said anything more to her but she had the distinct feeling that it hadn’t been a misdirected call and that he had responded to it. This was the only odd occurrence that Alicia could come up with. No doubt it could be easily explained by others, but for the moment she kept it to herself.

With Julian’s absence there was only one person to whom Alicia told the whole story, with all her fears and worries and that was Guy’s young first cousin, Nick Hargreaves. Nick worked in the Foreign and Commonwealth Office. ‘Our man from the F.O’, as Guy would insist on calling him. He was doing everything he possibly could to help her. Nick seemed to have all the contacts he needed at his fingertips and Alicia liked and trusted him. He’d been brilliant, using his Home Office contacts to help her with the Channel Islands’ police, when she had finally become exasperated with them. Also, most importantly and to this she clung like a drowning person, he believed her when she said that under no circumstance would Guy have left, out of the blue and with no explanation, unless for some very serious and exceptionally dramatic reason.

Alicia’s mother, Diana, was beside herself with worry and devastated by what had happened to her daughter, although she was clever enough not to show too much in Alicia’s presence. It was without doubt the most bizarre of situations.

The final straw for Diana was when she found Alicia sitting one day in her bedroom at their home, literally staring at a blank wall. Her mother had decided to take control. She persuaded Alicia to go away for the period over the cancelled wedding.

‘You’ll end up making yourself ill with the worry of it all’, Tony, her stepfather had commented tactlessly, just at the wrong moment. ‘It depends how you define illness’, Alicia had retorted with annoyance, jumping up and walking out of the room, realizing that he probably wanted to get rid of her as she was becoming a nuisance. She had never liked the man, found his behaviour overbearing and so avoided him whenever she could. She wondered why her mother had ever married him. Perhaps it had just been loneliness.

Alicia felt the usual wave of aggravation flooding over her just thinking about the wretched Tony. Guy disliked him even more than she did. Alicia used to giggle when Guy only just managed to hide his dislike and hold his tongue in her stepfather’s presence. He did so only out of respect and politeness to Diana, of whom he was very fond.

Diana was typically calm and reassuring, dealing with the various wedding cancellations as if they were mere everyday occurrences and Alicia was constantly grateful to her mother for not badgering her with endless questions that she couldn’t answer. It was a difficult time for them both. Diana adored her future son-in-law and was also at a complete loss herself as to what had caused Guy’s mysterious disappearance.

* * *

CHAPTER 3

Diana Trefford-Spence, as she preferred to be called, was well aware of Alicia and Guy’s dislike for her present husband. Alicia was correct in her assumption. Diana had married for the second time out of loneliness and had regretted it ever since. She was an attractive woman and with her first husband had led a busy, smart, life, always together, very social with frequent, international, travel. Diana could never have replaced Alicia’s father, Peter, he was a wonderful man. Much respected and well liked: she missed him as much as ever. He and Guy would have had shared much in common and Guy would have become the son they were never able to have.

It was some years before Diana, only forty-five at the time of her husband’s accident, recovered enough to show any interest in another man. She was just fifty when she finally married Tony, Major Anthony Trefford-Sharpe. He had one obnoxious, unmarried, son from a previous marriage, but luckily Diana and her daughter didn’t see much of him as he lived in Australia.

It still hurt to remember the awfulness of Peter’s untimely death. It had badly affected Alicia, who was at boarding school at that time. Diana went down to tell her as gently as she could. Her heart contracted even now at the memory of the distraught child in her arms beginning to absorb the shocking news that her father was gone.

A fine and experienced rider, he’d fallen from his horse whilst riding in the woods near their home in the Cotswolds. Nobody could work out quite what had happened but he’d been killed instantly and his favourite hunter had to be put down with a badly broken leg. The only living creature left who really knew the answer was the family dog, who had always gone everywhere with Peter. How she’d wished Max could have told them his own, sorry, story. He had stayed faithfully beside his master, keeping him company, until they were found and then wouldn’t eat or come out of Peter’s dressing room until finally persuaded by hunger.

It was her job, Diana told Alicia when