‘This guy gets his leg over more times than I’ve had hot dinners,’ Wey said.
‘Dear God, this man is a scumbag, isn’t he?’ Reid muttered.
‘Good-looking guy, not working, lot of free time on his hands, some would call him the fucking lucky one,’ Wey remarked.
‘Okay, thanks for letting me know. Keep at it and find the women he slept with. I should be back after lunch if you get any further news.’ Reid cut off the speakerphone call and continued driving. The sat nav told him to turn off for Ascot and he went past the racecourse and onto Windsor Great Road before turning into Broadlands Ladies’ School. It was previously a large Victorian manor but now there were modern outbuildings that seemed to hold gymnasiums, an indoor swimming pool complex and indoor tennis courts. The vast surrounding grounds were covered in playing fields for hockey, lacrosse, and even cricket. Built onto the square courtyard, which was the main entrance to the school, were various cottages used to accommodate the staff, and behind the old house was a large 1960s building that contained the main boarding dormitories.
Reid parked in a visitors’ bay alongside numerous cars he presumed belonged to daytime staff. He stood surveying the old manor, which had a plaque on a side door engraved HEADMISTRESS AND PRIVATE STAFF ENTRANCE ONLY. As he bleeped his car locked he could see a hockey game in progress on one of the playing fields.
The girls reminded him of those from St Trinian’s, but the school’s similarity ended there. The gardens were well tended and the lawns mown, and numerous large stone plinths with vast plants stood to either side of the entrance. Immaculate white steps led to the arched double entrance doors, featuring a bell with brass surrounds. He waited a moment before pressing it and, looking around, noticed the wooden painted signs with arrows pointing to dormitories, dining hall, assembly hall and art studio. Three girls wearing grey blazers, white shirts, dark ties and navy-blue pleated skirts walked past, carrying a tray of fresh oranges and water jugs, as they headed towards the playing fields. The tall leggy girls were, he reckoned, about fourteen or fifteen years old, but they did not even glance in his direction.
A small woman with half-moon glasses opened the door. She was wearing a neat blue suit with a bow at the neck of her white blouse. Introducing herself as the school administrator, she led him along a marble mosaic floor with polished side tables filled with magazines and vases of flowers.
‘Miss Harrington is expecting you,’ she said primly and gestured for him to walk ahead of her towards a polished heavy door with HEADMISTRESS on a plaque. He could smell a mixture of polish, scented flowers and cooked mince, which, perhaps with the exception of the mince, could not have been more different from his old school.
The headmistress, Celia Harrington, was sitting behind a vast carved desk; oil paintings adorned the walls and the thick plush green carpet looked like one of the playing fields. She was younger than he had expected and rather attractive in a motherly sort of way, with curly grey hair, a printed blouse and slim-fitting grey skirt.
The glass-fronted cabinets were full of books, and there were two green leather chairs placed in front of her desk. She rose to shake his hand, and then placed both her well-manicured hands on top of a large open diary.
‘I spoke to Mrs Fulford earlier to express my sincere sympathy as this must be a dreadful time for her. All of us have been greatly distressed; Amy is such a lovely girl and a great asset to our school. She is truly missed and we say a prayer for her every morning at Chapel. We have so many boarders from around the world, and I don’t know if you are aware but we have pupils from aged eleven up to eighteen, and we have over four hundred pupils, only a small per cent of whom are day pupils. The girls that are full-time boarders remain at weekends and we try to make things entertaining for them.’
Reid liked her voice, it was soft and cultured, and she spoke unhurriedly and with eye contact. Eventually she gave a sad smile.
‘I presume by your presence you have no news yet?’
‘No, sadly I don’t.’ Reid held her gaze. ‘I would like your permission to talk to Amy’s classmates as well as her teachers, and I will obviously be as diplomatic as possible. She has now been missing six days and I am hoping that perhaps one of them might have some clue about her disappearance.’
‘Quite, however we were interviewed previously by a Detective Sergeant Lane and a Detective Constable Wey and they were extremely kind and thoughtful. We will endeavour to give you every assistance but truthfully no one had anything of relevance to explain her non-appearance here; she is an excellent pupil, very quiet and studious and also very athletic and extremely well liked. She was to be sitting her exams, but as she has already shown a higher than average ability in her half-term assessment we doubted that could be a reason for her not to return here.’
Reid took a sly glance at the large clock on the marble mantel. ‘I would especially like to speak with Serena Newman, as she was one of the last persons to see Amy and it would seem they were very close.’
‘Certainly. I have of course spoken with Serena myself and she was most concerned for Amy and in floods of tears. School protocol and governing rules dictate that I or another teacher must be present when you interview any of the pupils.’
Rules and regulations was something that had crossed Reid’s mind, but he was hoping under the circumstances Ms Harrington would not be so rigid. He really wanted to speak to Serena without any teachers present as it might make her feel more at ease. However, he was in Miss Harrington’s domain and had no choice but to abide by her rules.
Almost as if she read his mind she pushed back her leather desk chair and said that Amy’s class, 11A, were in one of the new buildings and as it was rather a complex route to get there she would walk him over and introduce him to their form teacher.
Reid followed Miss Harrington along one corridor after another, until they left the old manor and crossed a small courtyard to a new annexe. Pupils passing gave a polite good morning to Miss Harrington and he was very impressed by the overall cleanliness and organized notice boards. Along the walls were photographs of past sports teams and trophies in glass-fronted cabinets. On the first floor they passed windowed doors bearing form numbers and lists of pupils; he could hear the muted voices coming from the classrooms, but like everything else it all appeared to be controlled and the girls attentive to their teachers. Reaching the last classroom in the corridor, Miss Harrington tapped and slowly opened the door, causing the ten pupils to all rise in unison.
‘Good morning, Miss Harrington,’ came the chorus from the girls.
‘Good morning and please be seated.’
They sat down and Miss Harrington turned to a florid-faced woman who wore round glasses that gave her an expression like an owl. She was chunky and rather overweight, but had a lovely smile as Reid shook her hand. Miss Harrington introduced him quietly to Mrs Vicks, the history teacher, and then turned to the class. ‘This is Detective Inspector Reid of the Metropolitan Police and he is leading the inquiry into finding Amy Fulford. I want you all to pay close attention to what he asks, and think about your answers before you speak. This is a very serious matter and one where we all need to take every opportunity to help in any way we can.’
Reid would have liked to announce himself; the quiet cordial voice was starting to get on his nerves. He also did not want her to remain in the classroom, or the owl-like woman. It came as an unwelcome surprise when Miss Harrington said Mrs Vicks would remain with him and she would be in her study awaiting his return. As she left the classroom he turned to Mrs Vicks; she blinked quickly, even more reminiscent of an owl, but gave him another warm smile and sat behind her desk.