Page 64 of Perfect Strangers

The raised patio at the back of the house was empty – in fact, as Ruth peered in through the windows, it did rather look as though the house itself was abandoned too. Actually, it was a bit of a mess, with drawers left open and stuff all over the floor. I thought these country types kept their houses neat, she thought, walking back to the front of the house.

Spotting a love seat underneath the large apple tree in the garden, she went to sit in it.

‘So what now, genius?’ she wondered out loud, desperate for a cigarette. The truth was, it had been so easy to find the address of the Ellis family home, Ruth had rather assumed the rest would come easily too. It had taken all of two minutes to find Wade House on the internet: a quick look at Sophie’s Facebook page had revealed she had studied at Tassleton prep school in Surrey, and the messages of condolence on her wall told her that Sophie’s dad Peter had recently passed away; then a quick search for ‘Peter Ellis – funeral – Tassleton church, Cobham’ had given her the address on Meadow Lane. Thank you, modern technology.

She had set off half hoping that Sophie might even have run straight home to Mommy. If not, she felt sure Julia could help her flesh out her picture of Sophie and possibly give her a lead on where her daughter was now. One thing she was sure of: a girl like Sophie wouldn’t be able to go too long without touching base with her mom.

She glanced at her watch. Eleven a.m. She was just debating whether to try the local pub, or perhaps the post office, both usually excellent sources of local gossip, when a taxi turned into the drive. She leapt out of the love seat and ran back towards the front door.

‘You there!’ trilled a plummy voice as the cab pulled up. ‘What are you doing on my property?’

Julia Ellis stepped out of the cab and Ruth made an instant assessment. Mid-fifties, very attractive, but with a pinched and cold expression that made Ruth remember the phrase that at fifty you got the face you deserved.

‘Mrs Ellis?’ she said, collecting her thoughts. ‘Could I possibly have a word? It’s about your daughter.’

‘What do you want?’ Julia Ellis replied. She looked even more defensive at the mention of Sophie.

‘My name is Ruth Boden. I’m a reporter.’

‘Then I will have to ask you to get off my property,’ said Julia tartly. ‘The police are due at any moment.’

Ruth was not surprised, or even insulted. Knocking on doors that didn’t want to open was her job; like a dentist, she didn’t take the moans personally.

‘I just wanted to ask if you had heard from your daughter since yesterday evening.’

‘My last contact with her was yesterday afternoon. But I have spoken to her lawyer and we have every confidence that this matter will soon be dropped.’

Ruth saw her opening. If Sophie hadn’t spoken to her mother, it was likely that she hadn’t contacted anybody. With the police wanting to question her, and men with guns on her tail, it was no surprise she had gone to ground.

‘So you haven’t spoken to her today?’

‘I left a message for her this morning to say I was on my way home. I’ve been in Copenhagen visiting my dearest friend. My husband passed away recently and I needed a change of scenery.’

‘You haven’t spoken to your daughter, Mrs Ellis, because she is missing,’ Ruth said, letting the statement hang in the air.

‘Missing? What do you mean?’ she said, looking startled.

‘Sophie has disappeared, Mrs Ellis. I think she’s in trouble and I would very much like to help. I was the last person she spoke to before she went underground.’

‘Underground?’

Ruth felt a knot of guilt. She didn’t want to worry the mother unduly, but she had to make sure she got an invitation inside the house.

‘A police contact of mine was supposed to meet her last night, but she didn’t show up. We think she’s with a boyfriend who lives in Chelsea.’

‘Boyfriend in Chelsea? Do you mean Will Lewis?’

Ruth had already run a name check on the registered owner of the houseboat. It was one Joshua McCormack, not Will Lewis.

‘We think she’s on the run from the police,’ she said. She declined to mention the armed Russians. Julia Ellis looked pale enough as it was.

‘You’d better come in,’ said Julia quickly, looking around as if a neighbour might have heard about the scandal.

She pulled out her keys and rattled them into the lock.

‘You’ll have to excuse the mess, I have been away since Thursday . . .’ Julia let out a little shriek. Stepping in behind her, Ruth immediately recognised that the mess she had seen through the back windows was not everyday domestic disarray – the place had been burgled. There were papers and broken ornaments all over the hall floor and, looking through to the living room, Ruth could see a sofa on its side, with the cushions slashed open.

‘No, no,’ gasped Julia, her breathing becoming heavy and uneven. ‘My home.’