‘You can’t blame her, can you?’ said Banks. ‘The things that happened to her. She probably wants to forget, put the past behind her as best she can, the way our parents did with the war. It just sounds like she’s having a bout of uncertainty and anxiety, what with Brexit and losing her job. I’m sure it will work itself out in time.’
‘Easy for you to say.’
‘Maybe she’ll run into problems with Immigration Enforcement and maybe not,’ said Banks. ‘I’ve heard the Home Office can be pretty nasty when they want. Or even stupid. Sometimes they don’t do anything when they really should. But it’s not as if she’s likely to be a burden on the state, is it, even if she is unemployed? And she did work for the government. They owe her something. Think about it. We’re not exactly a nation without a heart.’
‘I wouldn’t put anything past those fascist bastards these days.’
‘Ever the sixties firebrand, Ray.’
‘Someone has to be.’
‘I read the Guardian, too, Ray, but I don’t take it that seriously. Maybe you should try the Mail or the Telegraph as well and get a different perspective, figure out perhaps the truth lies somewhere between.’
‘Traitor. I think I’ll stick with Private Eye.’
Banks laughed. ‘There you go again.’
‘She’s even been talking about wanting to move to Italy or Greece.’
‘And you?’
‘I love Italy and Greece, but I love Britain more. It’s my home. Besides, I just moved from Cornwall to Yorkshire. I don’t want to move again. I’m too bloody old. And there’s Annie to consider. We’ve had a couple of arguments over it, Zelda and me.’ He paused and rolled another cigarette. ‘But if they treat her badly... I’ve considered getting an Irish passport, you know, to make travel easier if we do have to move or spend more time out of the country.’
‘How can you do that?’
‘My mother was Irish. Annie’s grandmother. Country girl from County Clare.’
‘I never knew that.’
‘Hell of a woman,’ said Ray. ‘Tough as nails. Ask Annie. They adored one another.’
‘I will.’ Banks drank some more water. It was already too warm. ‘I really don’t think Immigration Enforcement are after Zelda, though I could be wrong. They don’t confide in me. More likely it’s just a figment of her imagination.’
‘Is there any way you can find out? Put our minds at ease.’
There was one way Banks could think of: ask Dirty Dick Burgess.
‘I’ll see what I can do,’ he said. ‘In the meantime, just try to carry on as normal. Whatever her problem is, she needs your support more than ever.’
Charlotte Westlake lived on a quiet tree-lined street of large detached houses in Adel, near Alwoodley in North Leeds. Gerry parked the car on the opposite side of the street, and she and Annie walked up the path by a well-kept lawn surrounded by colourful flower beds. It was early Monday evening. The house itself, half hidden by a fat old oak tree with a gnarled trunk, was an ordinary enough combination of stone and red brick, with a bay window on the ground floor and a dormer in the slate roof.
Annie rang the bell, and a few seconds later a woman answered. She was casually dressed in tight-fitting designer jeans and a white fuzzy top with a scalloped neckline. She was slender and tanned with expensively coiffed blonde hair tumbling in bouncy corkscrew waves over her shoulders. Sometimes Annie found herself wondering why some women paid a fortune to arrange their hair in exactly the kind of tangled mess her own naturally aspired to. This was one such moment. Annie pegged Charlotte as about forty, with smooth skin, high cheekbones and the kind of figure she would have had to work out at the gym at least three times a week to maintain. Annie felt immediately aware of her own failed determination to lose the ten pounds she had put on recently.
They showed their warrant cards, and Charlotte Westlake invited them in. Annie noticed gold embroidery around the shield-shaped back pockets of her jeans as she led them through to the back of the house. A glassed-in area like a conservatory, but still an integral part of the large open-plan living room, it overlooked a lush and rambling garden, complete with birdbath and gazebo, on to Adel Woods, a vast expanse of woodland, open meadows and heathland popular with walkers, cyclists, and joggers.
‘What a lovely view,’ said Annie.
Charlotte inclined her head regally. ‘Yes,’ she said. ‘One never tires of it, no matter what the season. Please, sit down.’
Annie and Gerry sat in comfortable armchairs facing the windows, and Charlotte sat opposite them.
‘Can I ask you what this is about?’ she said.
‘Of course. It’s to do with Connor Clive Blaydon.’
‘Ah, yes. Poor Connor. Such a sad loss.’
Annie was surprised by the comment but held her tongue. As far as she was concerned there was nothing “poor” about Blaydon, and he was no great loss to humankind. ‘We understand you were Blaydon’s personal assistant,’ she said. ‘What exactly was your role?’
‘Just what you’d expect, really. Pretty much whatever came up. I helped him organise his busy schedule, reminded him of appointments and meetings and so on. Fielded requests I thought he wouldn’t want to be bothered with. Smoothed ruffled feathers, oiled creaky wheels, calmed troubled waters.’
‘Good Lord,’ said Annie, ‘I wish I had someone like you to organise my life for me.’
Charlotte laughed. ‘Maybe you should try it?’
‘On a copper’s salary? You must be joking. What about Blaydon’s parties?’
‘Them, too. Invitations, catering, drinks, performers sometimes — you know, a string quartet, DJ, or a rock band, that sort of thing. I used to be an events organiser. Am again, as a matter of fact.’
‘Do you have any of these old invitations?’ Annie asked.
‘No. I’m not speaking literally, you understand. I didn’t exactly address envelopes and lick stamps. We never sent anything by post. It was all fairly casual. Connor would give us a list of names, then my secretary would either phone, text, or email.’
‘Pity,’ Annie said. ‘Do you remember the names of any of the people who attended?’
‘It varied. I remember some of the more famous people, of course, and I can name you a few media people and local politicians. Tamara took care of most of it.’
‘Tamara?’
‘My secretary.’
‘Is she still around?’
‘I suppose so. She lives in Eastvale, I think.’ Charlotte paused. ‘Why do you want to know? The parties were pretty exclusive, but some of the most valued guests brought friends or colleagues, business people they wanted to impress. You could hardly refuse them entry. And there were gatecrashers on occasion, or people who had fallen out of favour trying to sneak back in. I suppose what I’m saying is there’s no real written record of everyone who attended them. There was a lot of word of mouth. Connor’s parties were very popular, sort of like an exclusive luxury nightclub.’
‘I’ll bet they were,’ said Annie. ‘Who manned the door?’
‘Roberts. He could be quite diplomatic when required to be.’
‘Did you usually attend?’
‘Me? Hardly ever. My job was done by the time the parties started. I had staff members working behind the scenes making sure everything went smoothly, and some making sure everyone’s drink was topped up, the canapés didn’t run out, and nobody was stuck alone in a corner. They chatted with guests, worked the room, helped make people feel at home.’ She laughed. ‘Glorified waitresses, really. I was usually in touch by phone over the evening in case there were any glitches, but there rarely were. Sometimes I’d drop by if there was a special event, like live music I wanted to hear, or a theme night.’