The Honorary Male

By Julia Drum

Amanda has disappeared. For over a year there has been no news of the English teenager with a passion for dance. Has she followed her dream to join an international ballet company or is there another reason for her silence? Is it possible that a sighting in a far-off country could be her?
A missing person charity entrusts Jude Francis, a former nurse, to verify a young woman's identity and potentially bring her home to her family.
The year is 1994. Former Soviet states are undergoing extensive modernisation. Two British reconstruction workers in Central Asia help Jude's quest for the dancer. Will the outcome be what Amanda's family and friends hope? And what will be the consequences for the people involved if they succeed?

• Language: English
• Publisher: Austin Macauley Publishers
• Release date: Jan 31, 2022
• ISBN: 9781398419391

Julia Drum

Julia Drum comes from a musical and theatrical family. She worked in theatre and education before relocating to Singapore, where she acted and directed for educational television programmes. On her return to the UK, she worked as a director/producer in the BBC’s educational departments before building on her varied experience and retraining as a consultant, coach and coaching supervisor. Her first novel Springwell was published in 2018.

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About the Author

Julia Drum comes from a musical and theatrical family. She worked in theatre and education before relocating to Singapore, where she acted and directed for educational television programmes. On her return to the UK, she worked as a director/producer in the BBC’s educational departments before building on her varied experience and retraining as a consultant, coach and coaching supervisor.

Her first novel Springwell was published in 2018.

Dedication

Dedicated to Jenny

Copyright Information ©

Julia Drum 2022

The right of Julia Drum to be identified as author of this work has been asserted by the author in accordance with section 77 and 78 of the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988.

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without the prior permission of the publishers.

Any person who commits any unauthorised act in relation to this publication may be liable to criminal prosecution and civil claims for damages.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, charities, companies or events or places, is entirely coincidental. The experience and views of the characters do not reflect the author’s attitude to those countries mentioned by name for the purposes of the plot.

A CIP catalogue record for this title is available from the British Library.

ISBN 9781398419384 (Paperback)

ISBN 9781398419391 (ePub e-book)

www.austinmacauley.com

First Published 2022

Austin Macauley Publishers Ltd®

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London

E14 5AA

Acknowledgement

My thanks are due to Jenny Stevens who gave me the opportunity to travel to Central Asia in the 1990s.

The late James Supervia inspired the story of a young dancer and helped with the ballet terms in the months before his death. I appreciate his friendship and encouragement in spite of his overwhelming health concerns. In addition, my local Silver Swans classmates, led by Judy Fitt-Dixon, have continued to stimulate my interest in ballet as well as keep me in reasonably good shape during the development of this novel. They have expressed encouragement for my writing and given useful feedback on my previous book.

On the journey to Central Asia, I enjoyed the company of several reconstruction workers whose names I never recorded. They gave me valuable information about the situation in post-Soviet states and their roles in the modernisation.

Thanks are due to the delightful Uzbek people I met who entertained me and shared information about the health issues they faced during the upheaval.

I appreciate the continuing faith in my ability to tell a story shown by Sally Cakebread and Jacky Hyams. Thank you.

I am grateful to my publishing team for agreeing to publish my second novel and for the care they dedicate to their work.

Above all, thanks to David, my husband, for sharing caring duties for our son Nick so that I had time to complete this book. And, of course, to Nick himself, Jessica, Alex, Jasmine, Stella and Theodore for their continued love, entertainment and support.

Prologue

‘We need a woman; a girl would trust a woman.’

‘But the environment is very male, Trevor, not the sort of place for a woman to visit, unless she’s working there.’

‘True of local women, yes, but European women can go virtually everywhere—treated as honorary males, even.’

‘Well, I hope that’s right.’ Philippa opened the file on her desk.

‘Believe me, she’d be safe. I’d make sure of that. And anyway, we need a woman to verify that Stan’s found the right person. Discretely talk to her. Check her out.’ He looked at the picture Philippa had passed to him. ‘My word, she looks young. She will have changed since that picture was taken, given what she’s been through.’

‘Any idea what state she’s in, emotionally, physically?’

‘No idea. And if she’s the right person, she may or may not want to come back. We don’t know why she disappeared in the first place.’

‘True.’ Philippa skimmed through a few reports. ‘The police couldn’t find problems in the family. A bit over-protective, but no abuse. Not physical, anyway. And you think a woman could tease that out, check any reasons for her not to want to return to her family?’

‘Well, it would have to be a particular kind of woman. Someone who can ask questions without putting the girl’s back up; who can check that she’s well, emotionally and physically, as you said,’ Trevor added.

Philippa moved away from her desk, lifted up her handbag, opened it and rummaged through the detritus until she found her address book.

‘I know just the right person. She doesn’t work for us but she might agree to do a temporary job, and I think she’ll be available.’

She started to write something on the inside cover of the file she and Trevor had pored over.

‘I’ll leave it up to you then, Pip.’ He put the photo in his jacket pocket and turned towards the door.

‘And what about you, Trevor? You seem, er, well, stronger, more resilient.’ He turned back to her.

‘It’s taken time. I’m OK. Working overseas has helped. And you, of course.’

‘All part of the service,’ Philippa laughed. ‘When will you be back?’

‘Just a short hop this time. Back dreckly.’

‘Yes, the sooner we sort this out, the better. If it’s her, we need to get her home. But don’t let Stan do anything heroic.’

‘No, he said he’d wait till I bring the photo, to make sure it’s the right person.’

He patted his jacket pocket, took his anorak off the hook on the back of the door, gave Philippa a quick peck on the cheek and left her office.

Chapter 1

1994

‘You’ll need a man!’ Philippa exclaimed as she passed Jude the beige folder.

‘Don’t we all,’ came the response.

Jude had been called into the nondescript, low-rise building near the older Hammersmith Station. Grey it was, as was the day. The murky weather had determined her outfit which echoed the subdued mood of the area. Just a smear of fuchsia-pink lipstick and an occasional flash of raspberry-coloured wool above the top button of her herringbone coat relieved the blandness and hinted at a brightness within her. However, as she got off the bus, she almost regretted accepting this assignment as her confidence had dipped during the two years she’d nursed her mother through her final illness. What an irony: nearly fifty years previously, her mum, Trudy, had nursed her, feeding her the weaning mashed up food, in taste and consistency so similar to what she’d recently fed her mother. Nappy-changing, another role reversal. The repetitive afternoons watching reruns of things Trudy enjoyed when she was younger: Fred Astaire and his sister, Adele; Fred Astaire and Ginger Rogers; Fred Astaire and Leslie Caron. Jude could almost reproduce the steps she’d seen on the videos. Gradually things had deteriorated. Trudy began to see things that weren’t there, or rather misinterpreted objects that were. A vase suddenly became a face looking at Trudy, disturbing her for a few moments before it returned to its normal appearance. But now, unencumbered by that responsibility, Jude had offered her nursing skills to Philippa’s charity, unsure whether they’d be of any use, or whether she still had the stamina to take on a full-time role, albeit on a freelance basis.

‘I mean, it’s a very male environment,’ Philippa continued, ‘but I’ve organised for someone you can liaise with. You’ll meet him before you leave.’

‘Leave to where?’

‘I can’t say yet; just waiting for verification that the missing person might still be there, but it means travelling. It’s not the best time to send you there.’

‘Sounds ominous,’ muttered Jude.

‘Two reasons really: can get down to minus 10 or even much lower; snow-covered for the next few months, depending how high up you are.’

‘Gets nearly that low here sometimes. Certainly felt like that on the way here.’

‘Second, the country is—’

Just then the phone interrupted her, so Jude took the folder to a nearby desk. Feeling warm enough at last, she removed her coat and sat with her bright cardigan draped over her shoulders.

Opening the thin cardboard flap, she flicked through a couple of sections, each containing papers held together by paper clips. A medical summary from the family doctor: nothing unusual, record of vaccinations, list of childhood illnesses, no known allergies, no signs of depression, general health good. Another clip held together some newspaper cuttings: one, an advert from a theatrical publication, others about the search for a young woman in her late teens who’d followed her dream of being a dancer. She’d just turned to a bundle listing the efforts the police had made to find her when Philippa’s call ended. She walked the few steps over to Jude’s desk and perched on the edge, revealing brown woollen tights that nearly matched her copper-coloured hair.

‘Sorry about that, but it’s relevant to what I’m suggesting for this project, I suppose that’s what we should call it.’

‘You said assignment on the phone.’

‘Yes, yes, that’s a better word.’

‘You said there were two issues.’

‘Probably many more than two, ASKK has never worked in this region, but now NGOs are getting involved there we have some support, should we need it.’

‘The mystery thickens.’

‘One issue I’ve been alerted to is that, since becoming independent, the country has been left with crumbling infrastructure and is not very safe for travelling, not just because of the state of the transport system, but for personal safety too; very draconian penalties for violating confusing regulations.’

‘You explained that before I accepted. I’ve been in difficult situations before; I know how to look after myself. And anyway, who’s interested in a grey-haired woman in her late 40s who doesn’t have model looks.’

‘You’re underplaying your talents, Jude!’

‘Just being realistic.’

‘Back to the case in hand. Have you had any thoughts yet?’

‘Come on, Pip, I’ve hardly even skimmed through the file, but one thing I’ve picked up is that she’s not in this country, and that she might have been duped into travelling through a dodgy advert. That’s as far as I got.’

‘Sorry, the adrenaline’s pumping; I’m so certain that our source has spotted her that I keep jumping ahead of myself.’

‘What have the police done about it?’

‘They first of all assumed she was still in this country; then they understood she’d been taken, or travelled willingly abroad. They interviewed several dance companies, some here, some overseas, who all confirmed that girls stay for a while, then go off without much warning, either tempted by better salaries, less exhausting schedules, or even falling for a member of the audience, who whisks them off with the promise of a better life. A member of the Foreign Office tracked her down to a dance company in the Ukraine, interviewed her in the presence of Ivan and Yulia something or other, Russian sounding names, who ran the company. Decided she was happy and well-treated, obviously there of her own volition. Told the police who assumed she’d made the decision herself and perhaps didn’t want to be found.’

‘I suppose that’s the case with some people.’

‘Yes, it certainly is. But they questioned the parents extensively and there didn’t seem to be any reason for her to leave home.’

‘No row, or disagreement, you mean, or even maltreatment? That’s so often the reason for a teenager to disappear, to avoid abuse.’

‘Nothing of the sort, although the parents had said she was too young to embark on that sort of adventure, not streetwise enough.’

‘So she hadn’t got their approval?’ Jude turned to one of the newspaper articles. ‘She was 18, surely she’d be able to look after herself.’

‘Actually, only just 17. That newspaper got it wrong. There’s a more accurate account here.’ And she rummaged through a few other reports until she found it. ‘Soon after her 17th birthday, Amanda Black disappeared from the family home, taking her passport, her dance outfits and a few changes of clothes. The only clues to her disappearance were stacks of dance magazines with adverts circled in black biro.’

Jude glanced at the paper cutting.

‘Nice photo: that her mum? She takes after her. Was she a model?’

‘She’s certainly very glamorous. I don’t know what she did before she married. She was only in her early 20s and had Amanda within the first year.’

‘Where was Amanda brought up?’ Jude was determined to refer to the missing person by her name to help her start building an idea of her personality. ‘It must have been somewhere quite isolated for her not to be streetwise.’

‘Just near Brighton, but over-protected, the police said. Private school; parents, or rather the mother, drove her everywhere. Father worked in London, was away a lot, either staying in town if he had late meetings, abroad, or catching an early train from Hove station and returning, usually after Amanda was in bed. Very particular about the sort of friends she had.’

‘I’d like to meet them.’

‘I hoped you would, so I’ve arranged for you to visit next week, maybe Thursday if that’s OK with you.’

Jude nodded and mouthed, ‘Fine.’

‘I’ll book a B&B in Hove, not far from their house. Two or three nights: give you time to get inside the mother’s head and pick up anything that might help. You’re great at building relationships quickly. And listening. Much better than I could do.’

‘That’s praise indeed.’

On the drive there, Jude reminisced about how she and Philippa had become involved.

‘I’m Philippa; call me Pip,’ said the confident girl with long auburn hair sitting next to her in a draughty lecture theatre at their initiation into what an English degree would entail.

‘Judith, from London, well just outside. Hounslow really.’ Jude felt in awe of her.

‘Jude better than Judith, too formal. I’m from London too, North though.’ They’d chatted for a while, or rather Pip talked, Jude listened. They met up occasionally for coffee or bumped into each other at various parties and of course saw each other at lectures.

However, by Christmas, Jude contracted glandular fever, then called the kissing disease. Was it the result of her first adult relationship, or just mixing with thousands of new people and their various germs? Being ill started her thinking about her mother’s socially useful career: nursing. She enjoyed reading but the analysis of some of her favourite books took away the pleasure, so she reassessed her options and left at the end of the first year.

Much later, Jude displayed a confidence befitting a master, or rather mistress, of her craft and was working as a triage nurse in a local A&E department. She thought she recognised a woman accompanying a young man in the waiting room.

‘Is it you, Pip?’

Philippa looked blank, but gradually her eyes widened.

‘Jude! I’d heard you’d gone into nursing. What a surprise.’

‘We’ll catch up later.’

Philippa had brought in a young man who had been missing from his family for several years. Jude assessed him and passed him to the appropriate team. He had recent injuries sustained during his existence living on the streets, and older ones from acting as a rent boy when he first arrived in London as an innocent from a small village in Yorkshire. Jude kept in touch with Philippa, partly to find out how Jason had fared, but also because she’d regretted losing touch with her. She realised they shared the same values now, but above all, she admired her organisational skills. When Jude left her own job to look after her mother full-time, Philippa had helped Jude retain some connection with the outside world, popping in for coffee and a chat occasionally and once even keeping an eye on her mother when Jude herself had to visit the doctor. Recently, Philippa had moved from her work tracing missing youngsters in the UK to helping find those who had been sighted overseas: a big step up in the hierarchy of the Association Searching for Kith and Kin.

Chapter 2

The B&B was in a road at right-angles to the sea. The owner was a former RAF pilot. He did most of the cooking and his wife serviced the six bedrooms with the help of two part-time staff.

‘Parking’s a nightmare, but if you put your car round that corner, yes, where the No Entry sign is, it should be fine.’ Mr Bilton indicated the junction of a narrow lane which seemed to emerge from behind the row of houses opposite.

Jude twisted round to see where she could enter the one-way street.

‘That’s it, well spotted. Just up the road, turn right and park anywhere, apart from in front of people’s garage doors.’

‘And it should be OK overnight too?’

‘Yes, for as long as you want. Your reservation’s for the minimum of three nights, with an option to extend, and quite honestly it’s easier to go up to Church Road and get a bus rather than trying to park in Brighton.’

‘I’ll be visiting friends in Hove mainly, but I expect I’ll wander into Brighton. That’s where the action is, I gather from my son.’

‘Is he at college there?’

‘A few years ago, yes. Had a room above a second-hand shop in the North Laines in his last year.’

‘And now?’

‘Working in the States for a year; not sure what as, but he sounds happy.’

‘We’ve got some students here at the moment, at one of the language schools. I expect you’ll meet them at breakfast tomorrow morning.’

Jude opened the boot of her Nissan and the owner took her case into the double-fronted house.

Once she’d parked, she went to her room on the first floor. Her hopes of a sea-view were dashed, but at least her window overlooked the back garden. It could almost be part of a wild-life corridor in the way the gardens were linked either side by overhanging shrubs and foliage similar to hers in Isleworth. Amongst the trees and bushes there were feeding stations for small birds, and a small pond with a water-feature, or rather, just a feature as there was no water flowing through it. Where were the small birds? Perhaps they would appear later in the day. The only avian life was the ubiquitous presence of gulls. Certainly, apart from their argumentative squawking, the place was quieter than the coast road she’d driven along which hummed and vibrated with heavy traffic and the speeding motorbikes that assaulted the ears with their undulating screaming.

She quickly unpacked and