The Lady Vanished by Gretta Mulrooney Read Free Book Online

ochre tiles in the kitchen over the butler sink, and the open shelves with copper pans and spice rack; all these things were a pleasant reminder of Lily and the sanctuary that the house had always offered him. He had friends who lived in homes that were minimalist, with plain walls and stark, modern furniture that made him feel edgy. Mary said that shabby chic summed him up, with his fraying shirt collars, unkempt curling hair and random pairings of suit jackets and jeans, so in her opinion, the décor suited him perfectly.
    He made a cheese and tomato sandwich, adding a dollop of damson chutney made by Cedric, who regularly cooked up batches of jams, marmalades and relishes. While he ate he rang Mark Gill who suggested he come round for an Indian takeaway that evening. There was an added enticement that Mark had some new additions to his collection of vintage detective magazines. He and Mark had met soon after he joined the police and had worked together on several cases. Mark was now an inspector operating in digital investigations but said he could take a look at what was happening regarding Carmen Langborne.
    Swift then emailed Rupert Langborne, asking for a meeting and giving his contact details. He made coffee, went back to his office and tidied up some accounts, checked the tides and decided that he could get an hour’s rowing in if he was quick. He donned a blue all-in-one Lycra suit and picked up a woollen hat to ward off the breeze. After he had changed, he ran up to Cedric’s flat with half a dozen empty glass jars. Cedric was back from the pub and when he opened his door there was a mouth-watering smell of fruit.
    ‘Ah, terrific timing, my boy!’ he said, waving Swift in. ‘You look like an elongated super hero in that outfit, about to save the world. I’m just making lime marmalade with Milo. You remember him, don’t you?’
    Swift certainly did remember Milo, who had fallen down the stairs at midnight due to inebriation, several months back, and fractured his wrist. Swift had been woken and had to call an ambulance and accompany Milo to hospital. He was older than sprightly Cedric, slightly bent and slow-moving; they called themselves the hare and the tortoise. They were both wearing aprons and there was an amazing mess in the kitchen. On the cooker a deep pot was making noises like a rumbling volcano.
    ‘Tyrone, my dear one, my rescuer,’ Milo called, waving a wooden spoon. ‘Come and taste this.’
    He held out the spoon and Swift licked it.
    ‘Lovely. Has it set?’
    ‘Almost,’ Cedric said, prodding a glob of the mixture that was chilling on a plate. ‘We must keep close watch now; we’re reaching a critical point.’
    Milo was ogling Swift. ‘Dear one, that outfit leaves very little to the imagination. If I was younger I might pounce on you!’
    Swift waved a warning finger. ‘You concentrate on your marmalade, Milo.’
    ‘Yes, Milo,’ Cedric said. ‘Tyrone isn’t of your persuasion so behave nicely.’
    ‘Ah,’ sighed Milo, ‘there was a time when I was young and fleet and I might have turned him. Now I get my thrills boiling fruit and sugar.’
    Swift left them to it and set off. So far that day he had been propositioned by a sexagenarian and an octogenarian; perhaps by night time a nonagenarian would eye him up.

CHAPTER 4
    Mark Gill’s flat in a small modern block in Ravenscourt Park wasn’t so much minimalist as almost empty. Swift had been there a couple of times in the eight years Mark had lived in it and apart from a few expensive pieces of furniture and state-of-the-art TV there was little evidence of his personality. He rarely ate in, so his kitchen gleamed in the same pristine condition the builders had left it when he bought it off-plan. Mark was a medium-height, intense man who spoke, moved and acted rapidly. Even when sitting, he was restlessly tapping his fingers on the chair edge or drawing imaginary diagrams on surfaces. He talked constantly, in a stream of thoughts