Later that week, Lady Anne herself opened the door when Valerie returned from the conservatory. In her hand she held a stack of mail.
“I met the postman coming in,” she said, brushing Valerie’s cheek with her own. “All bills, except for this one.” She held out to Valerie a letter she had sent to her parents two weeks earlier. “It’s been returned. Is the address wrong?”
Valerie saw that the address was right. Al and Vicki must have pulled their usual trick, moving in the middle of the night when they were behind in the rent, leaving no forwarding address.
“They must have moved,” she said.
“But wouldn’t they have told you?” Lady Anne asked, her eyes worried. “Shouldn’t we phone?”
“Oh, I’ll hear from my mom when they’re settled,” Valerie said.
A week later when she still hadn’t heard from Vicki, Valerie asked Lady Anne if it would be all right if she tried to call them. All she managed to reach was a recording telling her the number was no longer in service. Confused and frightened now, she dialed Max Perlstein’s number.
“Well, hi, kiddo,” Max said when he heard her voice. “How’s my little genius?”
“I’m fine, Max,” she said. “I really miss Los Angeles. I miss you, too. I can’t wait to come home.”
“Well, your letters sound as if you’re doing okay,” he said, and Valerie could almost see him grinning. “Limousines and fancy houses. Studying with Leon Stern for the Van Cliburn Competition. I wouldn’t have let you go for the Van Cliburn for another couple of years.”
Valerie sensed Max waiting for her to get to the point.
“What’s wrong, Valerie?” he said at last.
“I can’t find my mom and dad,” she said, beginning to cry. “They’ve moved, and their number is disconnected.”
“Well, they’ve moved before,” he said, his voice kind. “It’s probably just the mail, kid. But look, let me see what I can do. I’ll check it out. If you hear anything, you call me right away.”
“Okay, Max,” she said, stifling her sobs. If anybody could find them, Valerie thought with relief as she hung up the phone, Max would be the one. He had sounded so glad to hear from her. She wished she were back in Los Angeles with all its sunshine, with her parents and friends, instead of in this house in cold and gloomy London where it rained all the time.
The call from Max came a couple of afternoons later just as Valerie was sitting down to tea with Lady Anne in the drawing room. She caught Lady Anne’s eye for an instant and saw her concern before she hurried from the room to answer Janet’s summons. She was panting by the time she picked up the extension in the library and heard Max’s voice.
“Kiddo, I don’t know how to tell you this. I called every one of Al’s clients, but nobody knows a thing. I called the places where Al tended bar. No one’s heard from him either. I stopped by the beauty salon on Sunset Strip where Vicki worked, and talked to the owner, the other employees, some of Vicki’s clients. Nobody has seen or heard from her.
“I asked them how she had seemed the last time they saw her, which was about a month ago,” he said. “They said she was just the same, bragging about you in London, talking about Al’s business opportunities.
“I checked the police, the hospitals, the morgue, even the animal shelter to ask if they’d seen an apricot poodle that fit Muffin’s description. I ran Al’s name and address and a description of his car through a friend who works at the Department of Motor Vehicles. The Cadillac was repossessed a couple of months ago.”
With a sinking feeling, Valerie knew why the Cadillac had been repossessed, knew why they had moved. The money they had spent to get her to England had wiped them out. It was her fault, pure and simple.
“Are you okay, kiddo?” he asked. “Do you need anything? Can I send you some money?”
“I’m fine,” she whispered into the receiver.
“You know how flaky Al is,” said Max in an unnaturally hearty voice. “Don’t worry too much about it. You’ll hear from them.”
When she went back to the drawing room, Lady Anne was pacing back and forth, wringing her hands. When she saw Valerie in the doorway, she stood still.
Valerie just shook her head.
“Two people can’t just disappear from the face of the earth,” Lady Anne said tensely, one pale hand at her throat. “What could have become of them?”
“I don’t know,” Valerie sobbed, her whole body heaving. “I don’t know.”
“I think the first thing to do is meet with Mr. Carrington,” said Lady Anne, sipping the sherry she had asked Janet to bring her. “It was Mr. Carrington who handled the details of your scholarship with the Penn International people. He’s certainly in contact with people on the proper level there.”
“What can they do?” Valerie asked, her tone hopeless.
“Penn International is a huge international banking organization,” Lady Anne pointed out. “Surely they’ll realize your dilemma, and do whatever they can to help. After all, if it weren’t for them, you wouldn’t be here.”
Valerie didn’t think Penn International would be able to help. She didn’t think anybody could help after all of Max’s efforts had led nowhere. Where could Vicki and Al be? she asked herself over and over again, too stunned even to cry.
“Surely, Mr. Carrington, you can do something.” Lady Anne said the next morning. “It seems to me Valerie’s welfare is as much the responsibility of the conservatory as it is mine.” Valerie tried to make herself as inconspicuous as possible in her high-backed chair.
“What would you suggest, Your Ladyship?” he asked.
“I should think the very least you can do is try to reach someone at Penn International and explain the problem,” she said firmly.
“Yes, of course,” he murmured. “I believe the music scholarship is handled by a Mr. George Bothwell in the public relations department there.”
“Well, try him,” Lady Anne commanded.
Bothwell was sympathetic, Mr. Carrington reported as he hung up the telephone. He would make some calls and get back to Carrington as soon as he could.
“Thank you for your time, Mr. Carrington,” said Lady Anne, pulling on her full-length mink coat as she rose and held out her hand to him. “I suppose that’s all we can do for now.”
“I’m sorry about all of this, Lady Anne,” Valerie said as they left Carrington’s office.
“Oh, don’t be,” Lady Anne said, smiling sympathetically. “If there’s one person who isn’t to blame in all of this, it’s you.”
As Valerie watched Lady Anne’s limousine slide away into the heavy traffic, she wondered what she had meant. How could Valerie be the one person who wasn’t to blame in all of this? After all, her parents were the ones who had disappeared. If anything, she was the only person who could be blamed.
Walking up the stairs to her music theory class, Valerie felt a small shock of pleasure as she saw Julian.
“That was your aunt, wasn’t it?” he asked, falling into step beside her. “She’s attractive, don’t you think? Better than her pictures in the papers.”
“She’s very nice, too,” Valerie said as she hurried up the narrow stairs.
“How