in the bottom of one of the drawers. Otherwise, all her sister’s belongings had gone.
Expelling her breath on a gasp, Rhia hurried to the wardrobe, wrenching open the doors and standing back aghast when she found that here, too, her sister’s clothes had gone, leaving only her father’s spare suits and jackets hanging there.
Turning, Rhia surveyed the room blankly. So that was why Valentina had come to the apartment; that was what she had been doing when Jared Frazer interrupted her. No wonder she had panicked and lied. She must have been planning to leave all along.
But leave for where? Rhia’s brain simply couldn’t come up with a single idea. Surely she must have left a note, something, anything, to reassure her sister that she would be coming back. But although she searched the flat from hallway to bathroom, there was nothing to indicate where Valentina had gone.
The kettle had boiled and gone cold again while Rhia was conducting her search, and she switched it on again weakly, realising how suspicious her sister’s disappearance would appear. The police were bound to want to see her, to ask questions, and if Valentina wasn’t around, they might question her.
Might! Rhia’s lips twisted bitterly. If Jared Frazer had anything to do with it, there’d be no possibility of improbability. He was not going to take this lying down, and who knew? Perhaps they would put out a bulletin for Valentina’s arrest.
Rhia shook her head. Yesterday afternoon she had thought the situation couldn’t get any worse, but it had. This man Frazer had arrived, practically breathing fire, and Valentina had disappeared. Dear God, what was she going to do?
It was while she was drinking her tea that she decided she would have to talk to Simon. She had to talk to someone and there was no one else she could confide in. Simon would listen, she thought, with some relief, Simon would understand. But she couldn’t wait until their date that afternoon. She had to talk to him now.
Tucking her legs under her, Rhia curled up on the couch and picked up the telephone, dialling Simon’s number with fingers that persistently hit the wrong digits. She had to dial the number three times before she made the connection, and then, when the receiver was lifted, it was Mrs Travis, not Simon, who came on the line.
‘Oh, Mrs Travis, is Simon there?’ Rhia asked urgently, clutching the plastic handset tightly. ‘I—er—I’d like to speak to him. It is rather—important.’
‘I’m afraid he’s not up yet, Rhia,’ Mrs Travis replied firmly. ‘He’s had such a busy week. I’m sure the poor boy was exhausted.’
‘Well, do you think you could get him up, Mrs Travis?’ Rhia persisted anxiously. ‘I—I wouldn’t trouble you normally, but this is urgent.’
‘What is it? Perhaps I can help.’ Mrs Travis was evidently unprepared to wake up her son and bring him to the phone unless it was absolutely necessary, and Rhia sighed.
‘No. No, I have to speak to Simon,’ she insisted, hearing the older woman’s cluck of impatience. ‘Honestly, Mrs Travis, I wish you would just ask Simon to speak to me.’
‘Oh—very well.’ Mrs Travis gave in. ‘But I trust it’s something important, and not simply a ruse to get him to come round there. He’s promised to set out some seedlings for me this morning, and I want him to do them while it’s fine.’
Rhia didn’t answer her. She couldn’t, and with another sound of irritation, Mrs Travis went away.
It seemed ages before Simon eventually came to the phone. Rhia herself grew impatient, and she sat, drumming her fingernails against the vinyl arm of the couch, inwardly praying that he could help her.
‘Rhia?’ At last, Simon’s unenthusiastic voice broke into her prayers. ‘Mother says you insisted on speaking to me. What is it? Aren’t you feeling well?’
‘I’m—all right.’ In truth, Rhia felt far from well, but it was not something an aspirin could cure. ‘Simon, I have to talk to you. Could you come round to the flat—right away? I don’t know what I’m going to do!’
Her voice broke on the final words, and Simon responded with a little more warmth. ‘Look, Rhia, what is it, love? Can’t you tell me now? You’ve got my undivided attention.’
‘I can’t discuss it over the phone,’ Rhia insisted huskily. ‘You’ve got to come round here, Simon. I’m sorry, I know your mother won’t like it, but I’ve got to see you.’
‘But I am seeing you—this afternoon,’ Simon pointed out reasonably. ‘Can’t—whatever it is wait until then?’
‘No.’
‘Rhia——’
‘Don’t you dare tell me you’ve got some gardening to do!’ Rhia almost screamed the words. ‘Don’t you understand, Simon? This—this is a matter of—of life and death! What do I have to say to make you believe me?’
‘All right, all right.’ Simon spoke hastily, trying to calm her down. ‘Now, don’t get in a panic. I’ll come. I’ll get there just as soon as I possibly can. Just—take it easy.’
‘Take it easy!’ Rhia choked back a sob. ‘All right. But—be as quick as you can, will you?’
After Simon had rung off, Rhia went to get dressed. There was no point in hanging about in her dressing gown. And besides, the police could arrive at any moment. With her clothes on, she would feel infinitely more capable of facing them.
She put on jeans and a mauve silk shirt, and secured her hair at her nape with a leather thong. But she left it loose, having no patience for coiling it up into a neat roll today, and discarded the idea of make-up because her hands were too unsteady.
She was dressed and ready in half an hour, with her bed made and a pot of coffee perking on the ring. But it was fully another hour before Simon turned up, and she looked at her watch pointedly as she let him into the apartment.
‘I know, I know.’ Simon moved his Harris-tweed-clad shoulders half indignantly. ‘But I’d promised Mother to put in some cabbages and cauliflowers——’
‘Cabbages and cauliflowers!’ Rhia almost choked over the words, but she said nothing more until they were both standing in the living room.
She couldn’t help comparing Simon’s broad-shouldered stockiness to the lean-limbed frame of the man who had stood there the night before. There was no similarity between them, and Simon’s reddish-brown thatch bore no resemblance to Jared Frazer’s night-dark head of hair. They were different in so many ways, and she wondered what Simon would say if she told him how savagely Glyn’s uncle had treated her.
‘Well?’ Simon thrust his hands into the hip pockets of his twill trousers. ‘I’m here. What was so urgent it couldn’t wait until three o’clock?’
‘It’s almost that now,’ muttered Rhia childishly, and Simon sighed.
‘It’s half past eleven,’ he corrected her dryly. ‘Hmm, is that coffee I can smell? I could do with a cup.’
‘Haven’t you had any breakfast?’ demanded Rhia sarcastically. ‘I’m sure your mother wouldn’t send you out without the requisite number of calories.’
‘I have had some toast and marmalade,’ Simon admitted, somewhat defensively. ‘Rhia, what is all this about? I knew something was wrong last night, but you wouldn’t discuss it then.’
Rhia went into the small kitchen and poured two cups of coffee, curiously reluctant now he was here to actually broach what she had to say. How would Simon take it? Would he threaten to go to the police? How well did she really know him, when they were not even lovers?
‘It’s Val,’ she said at last, carrying the coffee back into the living room and handing him a cup. Simon had made himself comfortable on the couch, but now he put the paper he had been scanning aside and gave her his full attention. ‘She’s disappeared.’
‘Disappeared!’