Private Sorrow, A (10 page)

Molly said no and she handed him her card. ‘I hate to bother you but I’m looking for a Lenny Barr.’

‘Better come down to the house,’ he said, before turning to the man who was driving the bogey. ‘Better have our piecie time now, George.’ George waved and all the tattie pickers made a beeline for their bags, which held their sandwiches and drinks.

The man walked ahead into the house. Molly had to walk between Wellington boots encrusted with inches of dried mud and jackets that seemed to take up one entire wall. The kitchen was basic with a large table and a few assorted chairs but it was warm because of the Aga cooker. A kettle was boiling on the top. ‘Do you want some tea,’ he pulled out a pair of reading glasses and squinted at her card, ‘Miss McQueen?’

Molly said no, that she didn’t want to hinder him in his work. As they sat down at the table, she looked at him more closely and suddenly had a niggling feeling that she recognised him from somewhere. ‘I’ve just got a few questions,’ she said. She mentioned Vera and Etta. ‘I was wondering if you were the same Lenny Barr who used to lodge with Mrs Barton. This would be inabout 1930.’

He made a deep, gravelly sound and Molly realised he was laughing. ‘1930? Heavens, that’s a long time ago, and you say this girl Etta disappeared then?’

‘Yes, just after her father’s accidental death.’

‘Oh, I’m sorry to hear that. What a tragedy. But I’m not the man you’re looking for. My name is actually Eck Barr and not Lenny. Eck is short for Alexander. In 1930, I was working on a farm in England and, in 1938, I married the woman who owned the farm. Sadly, she died last year and I moved here with my stepson George. We’ve never been to this part of the world before but we saw this farm advertised in the
Farmers Weekly
and we thought we’d give it a try. My wife had been ill for a few years before she died and we thought the farm held too many sad memories for us.’ He looked ruefully around him. ‘Still, one farm is much like another but we’re going to sell up here as it’s got too many hilly fields. It’s not good for my old legs.’

There was a sound in the lobby and a figure passed the open door. ‘That’s my stepson.’ Molly saw a hefty figure with short grey hair. He was dressed in dark dungarees, a thick polo-neck jumper and wellington boots. Pulling on a woollen hat, he nodded as he went back out.

Eck said, ‘I’d better be getting back. We’re hoping to finish the lifting today while the weather’s good.’

As Molly got into the car, the two men strode out towards the field. By the time she reversed, she heard the sound of the tractors. Molly was depressed as she made her way back along the road. This case was going nowhere and except for some snippets of Etta’s personality, she was no closer to finding her. In a way, she would be glad when the month was up. The agency needed her and she realised she hadn’t seen Edna, Mary or any of the cleaners for days.

She decided to go and see Anita again to see if she could remember any of the lodgers and if she’d seen them out with Etta. When Anita opened the door, she looked delighted to see her. Once again, Anita was dressed in the height of fashion. She wore a pink woollen cardigan with a black, full-skirted dress.

Molly apologised for bothering her again. ‘I won’t keep you long, Anita, as I see you’re going out.’

‘No, I’m not, so don’t worry about asking me more questions.’

‘I’ve talked to someone who told me Etta had loads of boyfriends who were mainly the young students who lodged in the house. Do you remember if you saw her with any of them?’

Anita shook her head. ‘She was always on her own every time I saw her or else she was with her father.’

‘Does the name Pedro ring a bell?’

Anita looked doubtful, then shook her head again. ‘Sorry.’

‘Oh well, it doesn’t matter.’

‘I don’t think Etta had any friends, boys or girls.’

‘Mrs Pert says she saw her with a young man in the backgreen on one occasion at least.’

Anita almost choked. ‘Mrs Pert? Surely she’s not still alive?’

Molly smiled. ‘Yes, she is. She lives with her sister and niece. At the moment, they are busy hiding from unscrupulous antique dealers.’

‘Well, all I can say is that doesn’t sound like the Mrs Pert I remember. The old Mrs Pert would have dealt with anybody in those days, regardless of whether they were unscrupulous antique dealers or the Archangel Gabriel.’

Molly was still laughing as she made her way back to the office. She liked Anita. She was sharp-witted and funny and she had the most marvellous clothes. Business must be booming in the hardware trade she thought. Still, if Anita ever needed a job, then Molly would snap her up immediately.

Deanna hurried into the office on Friday morning, her face pink with pleasure. Molly and Jean, who were dealing with invoices and bookings, looked up as she breezed in. She sounded a bit breathless. ‘I’ve got a part in a play.’

‘That’s great news, Deanna,’ said Molly, secretly hoping she could still count on her to do some of the bookings that were coming in. Molly had a few friends who helped out when needed but they were all on the secretarial side. She couldn’t imagine any of them taking on cleaning chores. But if need be, then she could always ask.

‘Where will you be acting?’ asked Jean.

‘I’ll be at the Dundee Repertory Theatre in Nicoll Street. It’s just a small part, but I’m hoping it will lead to more work and, hopefully, larger parts.’ She suddenly looked anxious. ‘I hope I can still work here, Molly, in between rehearsals and the two matinees.’

Molly couldn’t answer her at this point because she didn’t know which days she needed off. ‘If you can give me a list of the days you can’t do, then we’ll try and work something out.’

Deanna looked pleased. ‘Oh, thanks. Thank you.’ She didn’t dance around the office but Molly got the impression she would have liked to. ‘My professor in Windsor Street says he doesn’t mind what days I work, so I can always manage to work for him. He’s a darling. In fact, it was him who got me this part because he knows someone who knows the director.’

Molly and Jean looked at each other, smiling. It was hard not to feel Deanna’s joy or amusement about the fact that the client was now ‘Deanna’s professor’.

Jean asked, ‘What’s the name of the play?’

Deanna came down to earth and put on a sober face. ‘It’s a serious historical play called
Glencoe’s Tragedy
and it’s all about the Macdonald massacre.’ Well, it’s not a bundle of laughs, Molly thought. ‘The Rep is putting it on in two weeks’ time and I want everybody here to come and see me.’

Molly said she could count on herself but Deanna would have to ask the others. On that high note, Deanna departed with her day’s assignment.

Molly was planning to go to St Andrews again to see Sasha Lowson. The doctor had given her the surgery’s telephone number and Molly had phoned last night. Sasha didn’t sound pleased. In fact, she was almost downright rude and told Molly that she hoped she wasn’t going to have to put up with this questioning forever. Molly assured her it was just a small thing she wanted cleared up. She was hoping to get the truth out of Sasha regarding her relationship with Dave Barton. Mrs Pert was a nosy neighbour but Molly believed her story. There was something not quite right about the doctor and her so-called platonic friendship with Dave.

Molly caught the mid-morning ferry and was soon on her way. Sasha had said to come at about midday. There wasn’t a lot of traffic on the road, so she made good time, parking the car overlooking the beach. She checked her watch – it was only 11:30 a.m., so she sat looking at the sea. Noisy squawking gulls flew overhead and the sea looked rough. It was a grey cloudy day but there were quite a few people out, either walking along the beach or on the road. Molly was wishing she had brought sandwiches and a flask of tea, but maybe she would go to the small café on the High Street after speaking to Sasha.

At twelve o’clock she was sitting not in the surgery but in the kitchen where Sasha was busy making coffee in a blender. The smell was wonderful and the cup of steaming black coffee tasted delicious. Molly never normally drank coffee, much preferring tea, but she didn’t want to antagonise the woman even more.

Molly decided to leap right in. ‘I’ve spoken to someone who saw you and Dave Barton coming out of the woodshed in the close on two occasions at least. Is it true you were having an affair with him?’

Sasha gave Molly a long cool look. ‘Actually, it’s none of your business.’

‘I know it isn’t and I’m not trying to rake up old gossip. Nothing you tell me will go any further. The only thing I’ll tell Vera is that I spoke to you in the hope you remembered something about Etta. Do you think Etta knew about you and her dad? I’m just trying to find a reason for her disappearance.’

Sasha cradled the cup in her hand and looked out of the window at the well-tended garden at the back of the house. ‘It’s true what I told you before. Dave and I were just friends; at least that was how I felt. I think he was more serious about me and that, along with Etta’s threat, made me leave. We used to go to the pictures now and again and before going home we would sit in the woodshed. There was a small bench in there and we would smoke a cigarette and just talk. Dave always said we couldn’t have a decent conversation in the house because Etta would sit and listen to every word.’

‘Did he come through to Arbroath to see you?’

She nodded. ‘I suppose your numerous informers told you that my parents used to live there. Sorry to not have told you myself, but I just couldn’t stand the thought of Vera thinking I would betray her in any way. So yes, if you have to know, he came twice but by then I didn’t want to see him and my parents were also planning on moving here by that point, so that put an end to it.’

‘Did you see him on the day of the accident? Maybe you told him you didn’t want to see him and he jumped from the cliff path?’

Sasha was outraged. ‘He didn’t jump deliberately. It must have been an accident because he once told me he would never leave Etta. I didn’t see him that day but I wish now that I had. Maybe he would still be alive. Poor man.’

Her story was convincing but as Mrs Pert said, even the most innocent of people had an absence of truth in what they said. However, Molly couldn’t see how this friendship had caused the events that followed.

Sasha saw her to the door but there was no social conversation on the step. The minute Molly stepped out onto the front path, the door was firmly and noisily slammed shut behind her. Oh dear, she thought, I wish I hadn’t taken this job as it’s making people angry. Also, there was the fact she had an agency to run and she couldn’t afford to make enemies.

When she got to the ferry, she sat in the car. The sky was dark with thick, black clouds and the rain was heavy. She could hear it on the roof but it was a therapeutic noise and took away the thought of the rough crossing as the small paddle steamer thrashed its way through large waves. Molly had not recovered completely from last year’s trauma but as she sat in the confines of the car, her mind was going round in circles. After two weeks, she still had no idea what had happened on that fateful day and afterwards.

As the Fifie neared Craig Pier, she made up her mind to see Vera next week and tell her not to waste any more money on the search. After all, if the police couldn’t find the girl, then what chance did she have? However, by the time she reached the Wellgate, she decided to go and see Frances Flynn in one last attempt to uncover any missed details.

Luckily, a number eleven bus drew up as she reached the stop, which she saw as an omen, and by the time she stood outside Frances’s door, the rain had stopped. She knocked loudly twice and Maggie appeared – did this girl never go to school? Maggie shouted up the lobby, ‘It’s that woman again.’

Frances appeared and she looked flustered. ‘I’ve got a visitor.’

‘It’s just a couple of final things I’d like to ask you. It won’t take a minute.’

‘Oh well, you better come in,’ she said. ‘But it’s not convenient.’

When Molly went into the living room, she saw a woman sitting at the fire. It was obvious Frances had been smoking because of the blue haze that lingered near the ceiling and the overflowing ashtray on the small table by the chairs. ‘This is an old neighbour of mine,’ said Frances, but she never gave the woman a name. The woman was plump but not fat and it was her face that Molly noticed. Her dark hair was set like a helmet that was very unflattering to her round face, which held a sullen expression. Deep lines ran down from her nose to her down-turned mouth and there were also deep frown marks between her eyebrows. She looked as if a smile had never crossed her face.

Molly was unsure about asking any questions but Frances said quite crossly, ‘Well, what do you want now?’

Molly tried to put a brave face on but this was another unfriendly welcome. ‘I wondered if you remembered anything else about Etta?’

Frances lit another cigarette, totally forgetting a half-smoked one still sitting in the ashtray. The woman looked scornfully at Frances, while screwing her eyes up at the smoke, but she didn’t budge from her chair. ‘No, I don’t. I told you everything when you came here and I won’t remember anything else now after all this time.’

Molly’s eyes were beginning to smart with all the smoke, so she decided to finish up and clear out into the fresh air. ‘There’s just one more thing. Do the names Robert and Michael McGregor mean anything to you? Or Pedro? These were apparently Etta’s boyfriends and some were lodgers at her house.’

Frances coughed loudly. ‘Etta’s boyfriends? I don’t believe it. She never had any friends, I told you that.’

She didn’t get out of her chair when Molly left but Maggie saw her to the door. Before she left, she heard Frances complaining to the nameless woman. ‘Etta, Etta, Etta. I’m sick of hearing her name. She was trouble then and she’s trouble now.’

Maggie shrugged her shoulders in embarrassment. ‘Sorry about that.’ Molly smiled at her. She seemed a nice girl but it was a pity she was losing so much schooling. ‘I’m leaving school soon and I wondered if you were taking on any staff in your agency. I would love to work as a secretary.’