reluctance to contact his family concerned him deeply.
She said, ‘I’ll ask Xander if Johnnie was here.’
But Horton wondered if she already knew the answer. And if she did, then why not tell him? Perhaps she needed authority to divulge that information. But why, for heaven’s sake? Eyeing her closely, he said, ‘Has Europol got anything on Johnnie Oslow?’
‘Not that I’m aware of,’ she answered steadily, but he knew she was lying and her eyes said
don’t ask me again because I can’t tell you
. Not yet, maybe, but she would. He’d make sure of that.
She slipped out of the seat. ‘I’ll find out about Johnnie’s movements in July and contact you. Will you still be here?’
‘No. I’m heading back to Portsmouth early tomorrow morning.’
‘OK. I’ll call you.’
He watched her leave with mixed feelings. His heart wanted to trust her, but his head and his gut told him he couldn’t. She halted on the promenade, and her head turned to the right as if someone had hailed her. Following the direction of her gaze he saw Stevington join her. He kissed her – not passionately, but with enough vigour to cause Horton a twinge of jealousy, especially as she didn’t put up any kind of protest. They broke apart as another couple joined them. It was Sarah Conway and the skipper of her RIB. Stevington said something. They all laughed. Horton turned away, feeling sore. But why shouldn’t they laugh? Johnnie meant nothing to them and he meant nothing to Harriet Eames.
He stood in the cabin, trying to ignore the smell of her perfume and his confused feelings for her. It was late, but he knew sleep would elude him, and there was only one way to banish that perfume. He made the yacht ready to sail.
FIVE
Sunday
H orton swung the Harley into a side road close to Oyster Quays on the Portsmouth waterfront. It was just before nine. He felt refreshed after a good night’s sailing and six solid blissful hours of dreamless sleep, which surprised him given there was so much to occupy his thoughts. He hadn’t heard from Cantelli which meant there was still no news of Johnnie, and as he made his way through the busy Wightlink car ferry terminal and past the modern apartments that fronted on to the narrow strip of Portsmouth Harbour he didn’t even want to think they might never find him, or discover the truth behind his disappearance, because he knew how that could destroy a family.
There had been no chance of Jennifer’s disappearance haunting her parents though because he’d discovered through the Register of Births, Deaths and Marriages that her father had died when she was seven and her mother shortly before Jennifer had taken herself off to London aged sixteen. As far as he was aware she’d had no brothers or sisters. He’d also checked to see if there was a record of her death, but there wasn’t – not in that name, and certainly not in the UK. He’d never looked further into her family background, and the social services files on him had conveniently gone missing, but the fact that no relative had come to claim him made him believe there wasn’t anyone, or if there were then the last thing they had wanted was to be saddled with a child. And if that was how they had felt, then the last thing he wanted was anything to do with them.
He located the marina manager and asked him what time Masefield’s yacht,
Naiyah
, had moored up there last Wednesday. The manager, a bulky man with a shock of light grey hair and a wide friendly grin, consulted his records and confirmed that it had been three forty-five p.m. ‘It left just after five,’ he added, pointing to the log on the narrow counter in front of them.
Half an hour after Johnnie was supposed to have met them. Masefield hadn’t hung around for very long.
‘Did you see anyone join them?’ Horton could see from the log that Johnnie hadn’t signed into the marina, but there would have been no need if he’d been leaving almost immediately by boat.
The
She said, ‘I’ll ask Xander if Johnnie was here.’
But Horton wondered if she already knew the answer. And if she did, then why not tell him? Perhaps she needed authority to divulge that information. But why, for heaven’s sake? Eyeing her closely, he said, ‘Has Europol got anything on Johnnie Oslow?’
‘Not that I’m aware of,’ she answered steadily, but he knew she was lying and her eyes said
don’t ask me again because I can’t tell you
. Not yet, maybe, but she would. He’d make sure of that.
She slipped out of the seat. ‘I’ll find out about Johnnie’s movements in July and contact you. Will you still be here?’
‘No. I’m heading back to Portsmouth early tomorrow morning.’
‘OK. I’ll call you.’
He watched her leave with mixed feelings. His heart wanted to trust her, but his head and his gut told him he couldn’t. She halted on the promenade, and her head turned to the right as if someone had hailed her. Following the direction of her gaze he saw Stevington join her. He kissed her – not passionately, but with enough vigour to cause Horton a twinge of jealousy, especially as she didn’t put up any kind of protest. They broke apart as another couple joined them. It was Sarah Conway and the skipper of her RIB. Stevington said something. They all laughed. Horton turned away, feeling sore. But why shouldn’t they laugh? Johnnie meant nothing to them and he meant nothing to Harriet Eames.
He stood in the cabin, trying to ignore the smell of her perfume and his confused feelings for her. It was late, but he knew sleep would elude him, and there was only one way to banish that perfume. He made the yacht ready to sail.
FIVE
Sunday
H orton swung the Harley into a side road close to Oyster Quays on the Portsmouth waterfront. It was just before nine. He felt refreshed after a good night’s sailing and six solid blissful hours of dreamless sleep, which surprised him given there was so much to occupy his thoughts. He hadn’t heard from Cantelli which meant there was still no news of Johnnie, and as he made his way through the busy Wightlink car ferry terminal and past the modern apartments that fronted on to the narrow strip of Portsmouth Harbour he didn’t even want to think they might never find him, or discover the truth behind his disappearance, because he knew how that could destroy a family.
There had been no chance of Jennifer’s disappearance haunting her parents though because he’d discovered through the Register of Births, Deaths and Marriages that her father had died when she was seven and her mother shortly before Jennifer had taken herself off to London aged sixteen. As far as he was aware she’d had no brothers or sisters. He’d also checked to see if there was a record of her death, but there wasn’t – not in that name, and certainly not in the UK. He’d never looked further into her family background, and the social services files on him had conveniently gone missing, but the fact that no relative had come to claim him made him believe there wasn’t anyone, or if there were then the last thing they had wanted was to be saddled with a child. And if that was how they had felt, then the last thing he wanted was anything to do with them.
He located the marina manager and asked him what time Masefield’s yacht,
Naiyah
, had moored up there last Wednesday. The manager, a bulky man with a shock of light grey hair and a wide friendly grin, consulted his records and confirmed that it had been three forty-five p.m. ‘It left just after five,’ he added, pointing to the log on the narrow counter in front of them.
Half an hour after Johnnie was supposed to have met them. Masefield hadn’t hung around for very long.
‘Did you see anyone join them?’ Horton could see from the log that Johnnie hadn’t signed into the marina, but there would have been no need if he’d been leaving almost immediately by boat.
The
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