Page 127 of The Love Letter

‘At Mahon airport in Menorca. Oh Simon.’

He heard her choke back a sob.

‘What is it? What’s the matter?’

‘It’s Jamie. He’s gone missing. His headmaster thinks he might have been kidnapped or abducted. God, Simon, he might be dead. I—’

‘Hold on a minute, Zoe. Tell me calmly and carefully what’s happened.’

She did her best to do so.

‘Has the headmaster called the police?’

‘Yes, but Art wants it to be as low-key as possible. He says he doesn’t want the media involved unless absolutely necessary, because of—’

‘Putting him, you and Jamie back in the spotlight,’ Simon finished for her. ‘Well, he might have to suffer it. At the end of the day, it’s more important that Jamie is found. It’s always more helpful if members of the public are alerted to a missing child.’

‘How did Jamie seem when you went to see him?’

‘A little quiet, admittedly, but okay.’

‘He didn’t say he was worried about anything, did he?’

‘No, but I got the feeling that maybe he was, which also tells me Jamie is probably all right. Maybe he just needed some time alone. He’s a sensible kid, Zoe. Try and keep calm.’

‘I’m not going to be back in London for hours. Would you do me a favour?’

‘Sure.’

‘Would you go to the house in London? You still have the key, don’t you? If he’s not there, try Dorset. The key’s under the water barrel round the back to the left side.’

‘Surely the police—’

‘Simon, he knows you. He trusts you.Please. I . . .’ Zoe’s voice disappeared.

‘Zoe? Zoe? Are you there?’

‘Damn!’ He slammed his hands on the steering wheel. He should go to Ireland immediately, help someone else who didn’t realise she was vulnerable, someone who needed him too.

So . . . where did his loyalty lie?

Logically, there was no contest. It lay with his oldest friend, and his allegiance to the government he served. But his treacherous heart lay with a woman and a child whom he’d known for no more than a few weeks. He agonised for a minute, then indicated out into the flow of traffic. As soon as he could safely do so, Simon swung the car into a U-turn and headed back for central London.

The Welbeck Street house was in darkness, and there seemed to be no sign of anyone outside. Simon had half expected the media still to be there, waiting for a spectre that had long since vanished. He turned the key in the lock, then switched on the light. He checked all the rooms downstairs, knowing from his highly trained instincts that the search was fruitless. The housefeltempty.

Still, he checked in Zoe’s room, then Jamie’s. He sat down on Jamie’s bed, looking round the room, its mixture of teddies and remote-control cars a testament to the betwixt-and-between age Jamie was at. His walls were covered with a variety of nursery prints; on the back of the door hung a Power Rangers poster.

‘Where are you, old chap?’ he asked the air, staring blankly at a small but intricate tapestry sampler that hung above Jamie’s bed. Receiving no reply, Simon went up again to investigate the top floor of the house.

Returning downstairs, he wandered into the drawing room and saw a Panda car halt in front of the house. A police officer climbed out and headed for the front door. He’d opened it before the man had time to press the bell.

‘Hi.’

‘Hello, sir, are you a resident of this establishment?’ enquired the detective.

‘No.’ Simon wearily produced his identification.

‘Right, Mr Warburton. I presume you’re looking for the young man who’s done a bunk, are you?’