17 #3
Lyssa had just taken a long bath and slipped into a pair of leggings and one of Kyle’s over-sized T-shirts that came down to her knees when the doorbell rang.
With a suppressed groan, she trooped to her door.
Her bed felt as if it was calling to her to come back, ignore the summons and slip between its sheets instead, and she almost answered the siren call.
Moments later, however, she was glad she hadn’t. Opening the door, she saw a small, elfin-faced woman in her mid-thirties, with short golden brown hair and wide hazel eyes looking at her. She looked pale, but smiled a little tremulously when Lyssa said, ‘Hello?’
‘Hi – Lyssa, right? I’m Chloe. Is it OK that I came over? Only I just . . .’
Lyssa didn’t let her finish, but reached out warmly and took her hand. ‘Chloe! No, of course it’s fine that you came. How’s your father?’
She gently tugged on her hand, leading Chloe inside.
‘He’s doing much better, and he’s awake at last. He can’t remember much, but the doctors now seem to think he might have had a very slight heart attack, which would explain why he fell.’
‘Oh no. Can I get you something to drink? Tea, coffee, or something stronger?’
‘Oh no, I’m driving, and I had coffee before I came out, thanks,’ Chloe said with a smile, but the dark smudges under her eyes provided evidence of some sleepless nights.
‘Please, sit down,’ Lyssa urged, indicating the sofa. ‘You must be exhausted after the last couple of days.’
‘I am a bit – but I’m so glad to meet you in the flesh at last. And I just thought you’d like to know – I found it!’ And so saying, she reached into her large shoulder bag and brought out a big rusting tin, the kind used to store old cine-camera film.
Lyssa felt her knees go weak. ‘You found it?’ she repeated, astonished. So much for her theory that someone had stolen it from the Tillman residence, then! She was so glad now that she hadn’t told anyone about her suspicions concerning that. She would have sounded like a conspiracy nut!
Chloe grinned happily. ‘I eventually dug it out of an old biscuit tin that was in the front room sideboard, of all places. He must have kept it there for safekeeping. In case of fire, or something, knowing Dad! That’s just the way his mind works!
Anyway, I’ve been busy. You’ll be pleased to know I’ve had this’ – she gave the round tin a little shake – ‘digitalised. I’ve now got the whole thing as a video on my laptop. I thought you might like to see it.’
Lyssa almost did a little jig. ‘You have no idea how much!’ she said, moving to sit beside her.
Chloe called the footage up on her laptop, and the two women watched it in silence. The audio wasn’t that great, but it was all there.
After thinking about her and writing about her for so long, it felt almost magical to watch the real Amelia Montrose moving and talking.
She’d worn one of the iconic 60s midi-dresses for her birthday bash, and looked as ethereal as a fairy or a wood nymph.
She drank, and sat smoking a cigarette on a hanging wickerwork chair, looking tired and faded, almost as if she were already a ghost. Several partygoers were smooching and dancing, and once or twice Lyssa caught sight of an older middle-aged couple who looked very uncomfortable and out of place – presumably Glen Bannister’s parents.
It felt a little weird to see Monty’s Mansion – Evergreen – through the filter of more than half a century ago, and Lyssa noted the antique furniture and traditional landscape paintings on the wall.
Somehow, she’d imagined Evergreen as ultra-modern, with lava lamps, bright colours and chairs shaped like eggs.
But the music playing was pure 60s gold.
‘And here’s the last time we see Amelia, before she goes out into the garden,’ Chloe, who’d watched the film twice through already, pointed out helpfully.
Lyssa watched, sad and fascinated, as the young woman weaved her way out of frame, turning to blow a kiss to someone out of shot.
‘We don’t see her actually leave the house, but my grandad does catch sight of her through the window – here, coming up, you can just see her pale blonde hair showing up in the darkness as she moves away .
. . see?’ She tapped the point on the screen and Lyssa nodded.
Yes, she could just make out the pale figure, moving away, like a ghost in the reflected-back image of the densely populated living room.
‘The police were right – neither of the Bannisters left after she did,’ Lyssa mused, ‘and they were still there when Monty’s body was discovered. You can tell when that happens because everyone’s body language changes and a lot of people leave and wander out on to the patio.’
‘I hope, after all this, Grandad’s film isn’t a disappointment?’ Chloe asked.
‘Oh, not at all. And I know Elizabeth, my client, will be happy to pay good money to have a copy of this. I’ll give her your email address, shall I, so you two can set something up?’
‘Yes, please – with Dad laid up, I’ll be seeing to all that. And a little windfall will be doubly welcome just now.’
Lyssa nodded, still watching the small moving pictures on Chloe’s laptop. And that’s when she saw it.
She wasn’t surprised that the police had missed it – or that Chloe and her father had either. The image was only there for a second and even if it had registered with the investigators at the time, they’d probably have dismissed it as irrelevant.
But Lyssa felt her heart miss a beat and then begin to pound.
The next morning, Lyssa left the flat early, having fully filled Bibbie’s bowl and put down fresh water for him.
Although she felt a bit bruised and stiff, she had too much on her mind to hang around and take it easy all day.
So, after taking some paracetamol, she treated herself to a taxi to the railway station.
She spent the train journey wondering if she was mad, or if she really was about to find out just what had happened on the night of Monty’s birthday party, all those years ago.
For some time now she’d begun to seriously consider how and why Monty had died, and one idea had begun to take root and continue to grow.
The only thing that hadn’t fitted with her theory was all the weird things that had been happening to her recently.
But now that last night’s series of revelations had cleared away all that extraneous baggage about Jonas and Jennifer, she was more determined than ever to find out if she was right.
After getting off the train she took another taxi to her ultimate destination (after all, Elizabeth was paying her expenses, and right now she wasn’t feeling so kindly towards her client that she felt inclined to skimp) and it wasn’t until she was in the foyer of the nursing home, and asking to speak to Emily Bannister that she wondered what she’d do if they actually turned her away.
But after a brief telephone conversation with the woman in reception, someone came and escorted her to a large and pleasant light-filled room overlooking a flower-filled courtyard garden.
The room contained a double bed at one end, and a comfortable couch and a couple of armchairs at the other, but the occupant was sitting in a straight-backed chair by the window.
As Lyssa approached, she could see that Emily appeared to be watching the antics of a robin, bobbing about and looking for food in one of the flower borders.
She only turned her head to look at her visitor when the carer gently said her name and then introduced Lyssa. After asking the old lady if she wanted some more tea and biscuits, and inquiring of Lyssa if she wanted some herself, she left them alone with a gentle smile.
Emily Bannister, Glen’s youngest sibling, was now painfully thin, with the skull beneath her nearly translucent skin clearly showing.
Her eyes were deep set and looked full of dull pain, and she was wrapped up in a thick housecoat, despite the warm day.
Lyssa didn’t need to be told that whatever the nature of Emily’s illness, the old woman was dying from it.
And for a moment, she faltered. Perhaps her coming here wasn’t such a good idea after all? Especially if she had got things very wrong.
But then Emily spoke.
‘So you came,’ she said. Her voice was faint but audible and sounded as tired as she looked.
‘I did wonder if you would.’ She nodded, as if to herself.
‘When they told me someone wanted to talk to me about Amelia Montrose, I wasn’t the least bit surprised.
I think I’ve always been expecting something like that to happen. Strange, it’s taken so long.’
She tried to wave Lyssa to a chair but could only manage a weak flutter of her fingers. Lyssa nervously sat in the nearest armchair to her and automatically took out her digital recorder. ‘Do you mind if I record our conversation?’
For a moment, Emily merely looked at her, and then her thin, colourless lips twisted.
‘Oh, I think not. Unless you just want bland, vague remembrances about the old days. Then by all means, go ahead and turn that thing on.’ She paused to take a long, dreary breath.
‘But if you want to know the truth, as I suspect and hope you do, then . . . leave it off. I’ve kept my silence too long to make any dying declarations now. ’
She took another breath, as if it was a chore that seemed barely worth the effort, but the deep-set and suffering eyes still had a spark of fire behind them. A spark that, despite the warmth of the room, made Lyssa shiver a little.
For a moment, the two women simply looked at one another; they were so utterly unalike, with each regarding the other from such vastly different moments in their lives, that it seemed impossible that they could have anything in common.
And yet, on just one single point, they were in perfectly harmony.
Emily Bannister wanted to talk.
And Lyssa Moore wanted to listen.