Believing the Lie - Elizabeth George [194]
Deborah and Zed remained where they were, and in less than a minute, the other woman came round the side of the building and went inside. Shortly thereafter, Alatea drove out of the car park, heading off in a direction that suggested she was going to retrace her route to Arnside. This was well and good, Deborah thought. It was time to see what she could get from this other woman.
She said to Zed, “I’m off.”
He said, “Quarter of an hour and I’m ringing you on your mobile.”
She said, “You can do that, of course. But do consider you’re my ride back to Milnthorpe so I’m hardly likely to jeopardise that.”
Zed grumbled a bit. He said at the least he was getting out of the bloody car and having a stretch because two hours of waiting in, virtually, a doubled-up position had taken their toll. Deborah said this was fine with her, it was a good idea, she’d be in contact with him should he wander far while she was inside the soldiers’ home.
“Oh, don’t,” Zed said, “worry your head on that score. I’ll be close by.”
Deborah had little doubt about that. He’d lurk in the bushes if he could do so, one ear pressed to a convenient window. But she knew this was as close as she was going to get to a compromise with the man, so she said she’d be as quick as she could, and she crossed the street.
Inside the Kent-Howath Foundation for Disabled Veterans, she decided on a direct approach, having very little other choice in the matter as she didn’t possess police identification. She approached a reception desk and worked upon her most pleasant smile. She said to the receptionist— an antique soldier himself, by the look of him— that she’d just seen a woman come into the building: “rather tall, brown hair tied back, long skirt, boots…?” She was certain this woman was a schoolmate of her own elder sister, and she would very much like to have a moment to speak with her. She knew this was a silly request. After all, the woman might turn out to be a total stranger. On the other hand, if she was who Deborah thought she was …
“You mean Lucy, I expect,” the elderly man said. He was wearing a military uniform. It hung upon him like a bride to her husband on her wedding night. His neck rose from its collar, corrugated with flesh. “She’s our social lady. Games and exercises and groups and the like. Going to the pageant at Christmas. That sort of thing.”
“Lucy, yes. That was her name indeed,” Deborah said. “Is there any chance …” She cast a hopeful look at him.
“Always a chance for a pretty gel,” he said. “Where’d you get all that lovely hair, eh?”
“Grandmother on my father’s side,” Deborah told him.
“Lucky you. Always had an eye for the ginger, me.” He reached for a phone and punched in a number. He said, “Gorgeous woman out here asking for you, darling,” and then he listened for a moment and added, “No. Someone new this is. How’d you get so popular, eh?” He chuckled at something she apparently said, rang off, and told Deborah that she’d be right out.
Deborah said confidentially, “This is terrible of me, but I can’t exactly recall her surname.”
“Keverne,” he said. “Lucy Keverne. That’d be what she was then and what she is now as she’s not married. Doesn’t even have a boyfriend. I keep trying, but she says I’m too young for her, she does.”
Deborah pooh-poohed this idea as was expected of her and went to wait on a wooden bench across from the receptionist’s desk. She gave scattered thoughts to what on earth she was going to say to Lucy Keverne, but she had little time to consider her approach. It wasn’t a minute later that the woman she’d seen with Alatea Fairclough came out into reception. She looked, understandably, a little puzzled, as she no doubt would be. Deborah reckoned that entertaining sudden visitors