Free The Lady Vanished by Gretta Mulrooney Page A

asked me if I could recommend anywhere and when I couldn’t she made her own arrangements. That’s all I know.’
    ‘Okay, thanks. I’ll look into it. You didn’t tell the police this?’
    ‘Like I said, I only just remembered. Should I have?’
    ‘Oh yes, they need to know.’
    He rang off and called Ronnie Farley.
    ‘Oh, hello,’ she said, ‘I’m just at Mrs L’s now, feeding the hungry horde.’
    He explained about Dr Forsyth’s information. ‘Presumably you know about this, as you’ll have been in to look after the house and cats?’
    ‘Aye, I recall that now. She’d had a bad cold and chest infection and she reckoned she needed to recuperate. Would it be of any significance? That was months ago.’
    ‘Probably not but I might as well look into it. Do you know where she went?’
    ‘Hang on a minute. I put it in my phone calendar. It was a fortnight, as I recall.’
    Ronnie whistled softly. The bus driver was arguing with a woman who wanted to board with a buggy. There were already two by the crowded stairwell and he said he couldn’t allow any more. The woman raised her voice and her baby started bawling. They were nearly at Victoria and Swift was early so he hopped off the bus, leaving the argument in full swing.
    ‘Are you working part-time in a nursery?’ Ronnie asked.
    ‘Not likely. Found anything?’
    ‘Aye. She went to a place called Lilac Grange in Kingston upon Thames on September fifth for two weeks. Shall I text you the number?’
    ‘Please. How was she when she came back?’
    ‘Fine. Said it was very nice, lovely food and service. It seemed to have done her good.’
    ‘Ok, thanks a lot. Give my best to the cats.’
    ‘They miss her. I can see they’re disappointed when they realise it’s only me again.’ Her voice lowered. ‘Don’t forget to call by for a coffee some time, Tyrone.’
    Swift walked along Buckingham Palace Road, zipping up his leather jacket against the breeze, thinking that it was only the cats who truly needed and missed Carmen; for the people in her life, her disappearance was a worry or an inconvenience but they didn’t miss her. He had begun to feel a tug of sympathy for her and an understanding of how isolated her husband’s death must have left her.
    * * *
    He and Ruth always met in the Evergreen, a small pub tucked away off Ebury Street. It was quiet on Mondays, and by now they were on first name terms with Krystyna, the waitress. Ruth was there when he arrived, sitting at their usual table by a side window decorated with stained glass. She was reading and twisting a strand of hair around a forefinger, just as she had been the first time he ever glimpsed her in the British Museum café. He had sat opposite her with his coffee, she had moved her bag to make room and smiled at him and that had been that; six years together and then the day she had been waiting for him when he came back from Lyons. He had run up the stairs to their flat in Dulwich, anticipating the sight of her. She had kissed his cheek, made him a coffee, offered him his favourite almond pastry and told him in a tight voice that she had met someone else. Since Ruth, there had been no one significant, no one he could imagine wanting to go home to.
    She looked up and saw him, smiled, tucking her hair back. He sat, sliding his jacket off.
    ‘Hi. How are you?’
    ‘Okay. The class this morning was a bit oversubscribed but went well anyway. You?’
    ‘Fine. You look a bit tired.’
    ‘Emlyn had a broken night, that’s all. But he’s managing to do some work today, so that’s good.’
    They ordered drinks and food; Ruth had become a vegetarian, as Emlyn was, and opted for a mushroom ravioli. While they ate, Swift told her about his new case and how he’d made little progress.
    ‘Don’t you find it frustrating sometimes, after the Met and Interpol,’ she asked, ‘working on your own with no backup?’
    ‘Rarely and I can always contact old colleagues.’ He laughed and told her about