Love, Lies and Lizzie Page 15

  Lizzie tossed her phone on to her bed and was about to take a shower when a thought hit her like a bullet from a gun.

  If Lydia had ditched Denny, and Amber was with Tim, that only left George. Or Ben. It would be Ben. That was OK. Lydia had remarked about his sexy bum often enough and because Ben had flirted with Katie, it was as good as done that Lydia would want to take him off her. That’s who it would be.

  ‘Now Lizzie, you mustn’t be overwhelmed this evening,’ Drew informed her on the afternoon prior to the charity dinner. ‘There will be a lot of VIPs from Figeac and Cahors here and the food will be – well, it will be such as you’ve never tasted before – and of course, wine will flow and if you’re singing you mustn’t drink because —’

  ‘Drew, I’m going to be fine,’ Lizzie assured him, despite the butterflies slowly gathering in the pit of her stomach. ‘I have sung at concerts before, you know.’

  ‘Oh yes, but here – in these sort of surroundings . . .’

  ‘Drew, cut it out!’ Emily came over and winked at Lizzie. ‘Everything is going to be fine, OK?’

  ‘Well, I hope so, because it will reflect on me, you know.’

  ‘Ah,’ said Lizzie with a smile, ‘but when someone has had as much experience as you have in the hotel industry . . .’

  ‘You’re right.’ He nodded, beaming at her. ‘Absolutely.’

  ‘Emily,’ Lizzie sighed as Drew disappeared through the door from the banqueting room to the kitchen, ‘you are a saint. Is he like that all the time?’

  ‘Off and on,’ she grinned. ‘When he gets on my nerves, there’s always Jacques or Leon . . .’

  ‘Emily? Are you telling me . . .?’

  ‘I’m not telling you anything,’ her friend giggled. ‘But hey – this is the first time in my entire life I’ve had guys to choose from. You think I’m not going to make the most of it? Get real!’

  ‘James, I have to speak to you. It’s urgent.’

  James’s eyes lit up as Lizzie touched his arm as the guests for the charity dinner assembled for aperitifs in the newly restored Orangery.

  ‘Lizzie, I wanted to see you too – I’d like you to meet my sister, Jenna.’

  Lizzie turned to see a pretty, raven-haired girl with huge dark eyes and skin the colour of buttermilk looking at her anxiously.

  ‘Hi,’ she said, her voice barely above a whisper.

  ‘Jenna, it’s great to meet you,’ Lizzie said. ‘I don’t know if James told you, but I heard your CD and I thought it was stunning.’

  Jenna beamed. ‘Really? I thought he was stringing me along. You really liked it – you’re not just saying that because he told you to?’

  ‘I don’t say things I don’t mean,’ Lizzie assured her. ‘And certainly not when I’m told to!’ Then, as a shadow crossed James’s face, she wished she had chosen different words. ‘Tell me about it – how did you come to make it?’

  ‘Well,’ Jenna said, glancing at James, who gave her an imperceptible nod, ‘I was in this unit – I had a kind of breakdown after my father died . . .’

  For a moment she paused, biting her lip.

  ‘Anyway, when they found that music was my thing – I play the harp as well – they encouraged me to join this music therapy class and I started writing songs about – well, all the things that had happened.’

  ‘That’s such a coincidence,’ Lizzie exclaimed. ‘I’m here doing just that – it’s a music therapy placement.’

  ‘I know, James said,’ Jenna replied. ‘Go for it – I can’t tell you what it did for me. Even though I’m back at school, I still go to the sessions.’

  ‘Could I see some of the stuff you’ve written?’ Lizzie asked. ‘I mean, if it’s not an intrusion. I run this choir – Voices Raised, it’s called – and I was just thinking . . .’

  ‘Could you two possibly pause long enough for me to get a word in?’ James asked pleadingly. ‘If we don’t go into dinner, Auntie Kay will have apoplexy and trust me, that’s not a pretty sight!’

  ‘We’ll talk later, yes?’ Lizzie said to Jenna.

  ‘Sure, that’d be great.’

  ‘And James? I really need to talk to you too.’

  ‘That was wonderful, Lizzie,’ James said after the dinner was over and the guests were dispersing. ‘You sing like an angel.’

  ‘There’s nothing very angelic about me, I’m afraid,’ Lizzie said. ‘Can we talk?’

  ‘If you want to.’ James sounded doubtful.

  ‘I do. You know what you said, in your email – well, I’m sorry. I’m sorry I got it all so wrong. But there’s something more important. About Jane.’

  She realised her words were tumbling over one another, but the agitation she felt prevented normal coherent speech.

  ‘You saw her with Simon at the races,’ she began.

  ‘Too right I did,’ James muttered, raising an eyebrow.

  ‘And you saw him kiss her – NOT her kiss him,’ she said.

  ‘What’s the difference?’

  ‘The difference is that you clearly turned away so fast that you didn’t see her slap him round the face and tell him to get lost,’ Lizzie said. ‘He came on to her, James, not the other way round. They’re finished – they were months ago.’

  ‘Oh, so how come in the hospital . . .’

  ‘She’d had a bump on the head,’ Lizzie reasoned. ‘OK, I admit, back then she probably still had a bit of a thing for Simon. But she soon forgot him when she met Charlie.’

  She paused, offering up a prayer that she hadn’t said too much.

  For a moment, James didn’t speak.

  ‘She never telephoned or sent texts to Charlie on holiday,’ he murmured.

  ‘That’s not her style,’ Lizzie said. ‘He didn’t ring her and don’t say he didn’t have her number because . . .’

  ‘He didn’t. I deleted it from his mobile.’

  Lizzie’s mouth dropped open. ‘You – you did what?’

  ‘Lizzie! Lizzie, come quickly!’ Emily, still in her waitress uniform, came dashing up to them waving a telephone handset.

  ‘It’s your dad, and it sounds urgent.’

  Lizzie’s stomach leaped as she seized the phone. ‘Dad?’ She glanced at her watch. It was half past eleven at night – what could be wrong? ‘Dad? What is it? . . . Lydia’s done what?’

  At his words, all thoughts of James’s deception were forgotten.

  ‘Oh, Dad, no. No. Oh my God.’

  ‘Jenna, go and get a glass of water. Lizzie, sit down. What is it? What’s happened?’

  Lizzie took a deep breath and tried to compose herself.

  ‘It’s Lydia. She’s disappeared.’

  ‘Disappeared? What do you mean?’

  ‘She went to Newquay with the Forsters,’ Lizzie said. ‘A whole gang of them were there. We thought Mrs Forster and her man would be there all the time but the day they arrived, they dashed off to the Scilly Isles.’

  ‘And left the kids alone?’

  Lizzie nodded miserably.

  ‘You can guess what happened.’ She sighed.

  ‘They had a party?’

  ‘Not just a party – a full-blown rave from what the neighbours say. Someone posted it on MySpace and a whole bunch turned up uninvited and the place got trashed.’ She swallowed. ‘Amber rang her mother and by the time she got back, the place was wrecked and Lydia and George were nowhere to be seen. And Mr Forster’s Smart Car was missing.’

  ‘Dear God!’ James breathed. ‘Have the police been informed?’

  ‘They rang them straightaway, but at that point they didn’t realise Lydia and George were missing,’ Lizzie said. ‘They do now. Dad didn’t phone before because he didn’t want to worry me. But it’ll be on the TV . . .’

  ‘That quickly?’

  Lizzie couldn’t keep it in any longer. She burst into tears. ‘Yes, that quickly. Because they found a stash of drugs at the house and – oh God!’

  ‘What?’

  ‘Amber says that Lydia is besotted
with George and had been acting really wild, and for Amber to say that . . . Lydia is such a fool! She’d act first and think later. If at all.’

  James reached for her hand, and she didn’t snatch it away.

  ‘I’ve got to go home, James. I need to be there. You probably think I’m overreacting . . .’

  ‘No, I don’t. I think you’re quite right. Leave it to me – I’ll organise a flight and drive you to the airport first thing tomorrow.’

  ‘That’s really kind, but you don’t have to,’ she protested.

  ‘I do,’ he stated firmly. ‘I blame myself. If I’d told a few more people about what George was really like, this might never have happened. But now it has – well, we have to do everything we can to sort it.’

  ‘There’s nothing we can do,’ Lizzie said. ‘Except wait.’

  CHAPTER 13

  ‘You are too sensible a girl to fall in love merely because you

  have been warned against it.’

  (Jane Austen, Pride and Prejudice)

  ‘THIS IS THE NEWS FROM LOOK EAST. POLICE ARE APPEALING for help in tracing a fifteen-year-old girl from Meryton and the twenty-one-year-old man she is believed to be with. Lydia Bennet disappeared from a friend’s holiday home after a gang of youths trashed a party in Newquay . . ..’

  Lizzie had only been in the house ten minutes before the television, which Jane said was almost permanently on BBC News 24, flashed a picture of Lydia on to the screen.

  ‘ . . . George Wickham is tall with dark hair . . .’

  Mr Bennet zapped the remote control and turned to face Lizzie. His face was grey with worry as he paced up and down the room.

  ‘It’s been three days now,’ he said, his voice flat and expressionless. ‘I thought when they found the car yesterday that maybe she’d be nearby. If anything’s happened to her . . .’

  ‘The car was OK, there hadn’t been an accident,’ Lizzie assured him, trying to be positive. ‘Jane said that the police guessed it had been dumped when it ran out of petrol.’

  ‘Yes, but I haven’t told you the worst bit,’ he said. ‘Yesterday a text came through. Look.’

  He shoved his BlackBerry into Lizzie’s hand.

  I’m OK but want . . .

  ‘From Lydia? It’s not her number – must be George’s phone?’ Lizzie queried.

  ‘The police said it was – they managed to find out where she was when she sent it but . . .’

  His voice broke and Lizzie deduced that the police had been too late.

  ‘And why did she stop? What did she want? To come home? To stay away?’

  He paced the room while Lizzie struggled to think of something helpful to say to him.

  ‘I’ve been a useless father,’ he blurted out suddenly. ‘Anything for a quiet life, that’s always been my motto. And now look where it’s got us. If I’d refused to let Lydia run wild so much, if I’d stood up to your mother and told her that she was making things worse. . . ’

  ‘Don’t be so hard on yourself, Dad,’ Lizzie pleaded. ‘You’re a great father – and Lydia’s just going through a phase. She’ll settle down when —’

  ‘Lizzie?’

  Katie appeared in the doorway, her face even paler than usual and her eyes red-rimmed.

  ‘Can I talk to you? Alone?’

  Lizzie was about to protest, but a brief nod from her father was enough and she followed her sister out of the room and up the stairs to her bedroom.

  The instant the door was closed, Katie burst into tears. ‘It’s all my fault, it’s my fault,’ she sobbed. ‘I should have said something, but I thought she was just joking and winding me up like she always does . . .’

  ‘Katie, stop. Nothing’s your fault. But if you know something – anything – that might help find Lydia, you have to tell us.’

  ‘Dad will kill me for . . .’

  ‘He won’t. What is it you know?’

  Katie opened her dressing table drawer and shoved a sheet of lurid pink paper into Lizzie’s hands. ‘It’s an email,’ Katie said. ‘I printed it off and hid it like Lydia said, but . . .’

  We’re here! And it’s your own fault you weren’t invited – Amber knew you couldn’t keep a secret and it’s taken her for ever to persuade her mum and this new bloke to go off for the weekend so we can rave! But the best bit – AND YOU ARE NOT TO TELL ANYONE YET AND IF YOU DO I’LL NEVER, EVER SPEAK TO YOU AGAIN – George and me are an item! No, really – he says I’m sexy beyond my years – imagine that? He says he fancied me the very first time he saw me in the minibus on the way to the races! Bet if Lizzie knew that she’d go ballistic. George wants us to keep it quiet because he’s so much older than me and like he says, it’s no one else’s business anyway. He is so cool, and so adorable.

  Anyway, see you in a week’s time! Enjoy boring old Longbourn.

  Lyddy.

  PS Tell anyone and I’ll never forgive you.

  By the time Lizzie had finished reading the note, Katie was sobbing uncontrollably. ‘What if she’s dead? What if something terrible’s happened to her? If I’d known it was going to turn out like this, I’d never have agreed to . . .’

  ‘To what?’

  ‘She said that I could go to all the parties and stuff with her and she’d find me a guy, as long as I covered up for her whenever she wanted me to. And I’ve never been like her, popular and getting to do loads of stuff and now I’ve messed up and . . .’

  ‘Katie, stop. You’ve done just the right thing. I’m going to take this note to Dad, and . . .’

  ‘Lydia will kill me.’

  ‘Lydia will thank you one day. Trust me.’

  ‘There’s a first time for everything,’ Katie muttered, a weak smile flickering across her lips.

  Lizzie gave her a hug and ran downstairs. As she did, her mobile bleeped.

  Text message.

  Let it be Lydia, she prayed.

  It wasn’t Lydia.

  Hang in there. It will get sorted. I promise. James.

  She stared at the screen, reading and re-reading his words. That he should have texted her from France – that he should even have been thinking of her when all the time she’d thought of him as a pompous unfeeling snob . . .

  For some reason that she couldn’t quite work out, his message released all her pent-up emotion. She sat on the stairs and wept as if her heart would break.

  And the tears weren’t all for her sister.

  Once she had wiped her eyes and got herself together she went into the kitchen, drawn by the low hum of voices. Her mother was sitting at the breakfast bar, ashen-faced and folding and unfolding a damp handkerchief; Jane, who had rushed back from uni the day Lydia disappeared, was busily making tea and Meredith was systematically sorting rubbish into coloured recycling bins, only her constant sighing indicating her agitated state of mind.

  ‘Where’s Dad?’ Lizzie knew that the contents of Lydia’s note to Katie would cause all sorts of reactions and she wanted her father to be on hand to deal with her mother’s inevitable histrionics.

  ‘In his music room,’ Lizzie’s mother replied, ‘though how he can listen to some stupid opera at a time like this . . .’

  Lizzie crossed the hall and peered round the door. Her father was sitting, head in hands, by the window.

  ‘Dad, Katie’s got a note from Lydia.’

  He leaped to his feet, hope etched in every furrow of his face.

  ‘The mail’s come? Give it to me.’

  ‘No, not in the post – she left it behind when she went on holiday.’

  ‘She left – so why the hell didn’t Katie tell us?’

  He snatched the paper from Lizzie’s hand.

  ‘She thought it was a wind-up at first,’ Lizzie explained. ‘And then, when this all happened – well, I guess she was scared that you’d say she should have stopped it happening.’

  Mr Bennet shook his head. ‘How could she have stopped it? We all know what Lydia’s like when she gets the bit between her teeth.’

&nbs
p; He scanned the note a couple of times, and then slumped back down into his armchair. ‘It doesn’t tell us anything we didn’t know or guess.’ He sighed. ‘Oh, Lizzie, you don’t think George and she – I mean, she’s under-age . . .’

  At that moment, the phone rang. Mr Bennet shot to his feet and snatched the handset. ‘Yes? You have? Thank God – is she all right? Of course, of course – thank you, Detective Inspector, thank you!’ Tears glistened in Mr Bennet’s eyes. ‘They’ve found her. She’s safe. But very scared. They’re bringing her home now.’

  He hugged Lizzie and dashed to the door, flinging it open and shouting down the hall. ‘Alice, darling, Jane, Katie, Meredith – they’ve found her. They’ve got our Lyddy. She’s coming home.’

  Never before had anyone in the family seen Lydia so subdued, so shaken and so obviously pleased to be home. The police officers who brought her back were surprisingly gentle with her and very non-committal about the circumstances in which they found her. It wasn’t until she’d been hugged to death by all her sisters, and Mrs Bennet had taken her upstairs for a bath that they talked more freely.

  ‘So how did you find her?’ Jane asked.

  ‘Was she alone?’ Lizzie said at the same moment.

  ‘Let’s just say that a couple of people with inside information were prepared to be very co-operative,’ the senior of the two officers replied. ‘I’m afraid confidentiality doesn’t allow me to say more than that.’

  ‘But that Wickham – he’ll pay for this, won’t he?’ Mr Bennet asked.

  ‘Oh, he’ll be up on several counts,’ the female officer assured him. ‘Theft, criminal damage – and if we’re not very much mistaken, something even more serious.’

  Mr Bennet’s face blanched.

  ‘Not – I mean, my daughter’s under-age and . . .’

  ‘No, sir. We think George Wickham is a drug dealer.’

  ‘Well, I’ll tell you one thing,’ Meredith burst out. ‘Lydia won’t have touched those. We’ve talked about stuff like that – I used her in one of my surveys at school, and she said that whatever crazy thing she did in life, drugs were for losers and she wasn’t a fool!’