Read Online Smoke and Mirrors by Elly Griffiths - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Elly Griffiths
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had an idea.’
This struck Max as even worse news. He shrugged off his coat and took out his cigarette case.
‘Want one?’
‘Thanks.’
‘What about the fire regulations?’
‘Bugger the fire regulations.’
Max inhaled deeply. ‘Well, what’s your idea?’
‘Stan Parks. Isn’t he a friend of yours? I heard he was living in Hastings. Anyway, I tracked him down. He’s staying with a theatrical landlady called Queenie. I rang him last night and offered him the part. He jumped at it. Said he couldn’t wait to see you again.’
Stan Parks. The Great Diablo. Max didn’t know whether to laugh or cry.
*
Annie and Mark attended adjoining grammar schools in Hove. Today both schools flew the Union flag at half mast but, as Emma entered the girls’ school, she was comforted by the unmistakable signs of life going on: girls giggling in the corridors, posters advertising the Christmas carol concert, lists of hockey and netball teams. She was sure that some of the people in the building would be mourning Annie but it also felt right that most of them were carrying on as usual. Maybe there would be a memorial to Annie, a cup named in her honour, but then she would be forgotten. In some brutal way it made sense.
The hallway – polished oak, scuffed skirting boards, imposing staircase with notices saying ‘Keep Right’ – reminded Emma of her own school. She had been to Roedean, something she kept very quiet from her colleagues. She remembered Bob making some comment once about the school, which towered above the cliffs at Black Rock, saying that it was ‘a prison for posh girls’. Emma was a posh girl (‘Nothing but the best for my princess,’ her father had said whilst signing the cheques) but she didn’t see that it was her fault exactly. Besides, when she thought about school, she didn’t think about the fortress on the cliffs but of the wonderful few years when the school had been evacuated to Keswick and she had experienced the country childhood that she had previously only read about in books. At Keswick, she had ridden, rowed and skated on frozen lakes. She had a furtive romance with a village boy called Ernie. Recently she had read an interview with Nancy Mitford in which the author had described the war years as ‘heaven’. Miss Mitford had received a lot of criticism for this but Emma thought that she knew the feeling. Certainly going back to Roedean for her last few years of schooling had been dull and depressing. Maybe that was why, despite achieving excellent academic results, she had been determined not to go to university, which she saw as a bigger, grimmer Roedean, but to go out in the Real World. Well, this was the Real World, if you like, a place where children could be murdered and their bodies left out in the snow. Emma squared her shoulders and set out in search of the headmistress’s office.
The headmistress, a surprisingly young woman called Patricia Paxton, shook Emma’s hand and agreed that it was a very sad day.
‘She was an extraordinary girl, Sergeant Holmes. Exceptionally bright, especially considering that she came from a home where . . . well, maybe academic achievement wasn’t automatically expected.’
Emma thought of Annie’s home, of the bedroom shared with her siblings, of her attempts to find somewhere ‘tidy’ to do her homework. She said, ‘Annie was in the second year, wasn’t she?’
‘Yes, she was one of the oldest in the year, thirteen in October. That was one reason why she was made form captain.’
‘Had she settled in well here? Made friends?’
Emma had half expected to hear that clever, working-class Annie had struggled to fit in at the grammar school but Mrs Paxton smiled warmly. ‘She was very popular. A natural leader. Always surrounded by friends.’ She took a lace handkerchief from her sleeve and dabbed her eyes. ‘There are going to be a lot of very sad girls here today and for many days afterwards. The teachers too. She was a
This struck Max as even worse news. He shrugged off his coat and took out his cigarette case.
‘Want one?’
‘Thanks.’
‘What about the fire regulations?’
‘Bugger the fire regulations.’
Max inhaled deeply. ‘Well, what’s your idea?’
‘Stan Parks. Isn’t he a friend of yours? I heard he was living in Hastings. Anyway, I tracked him down. He’s staying with a theatrical landlady called Queenie. I rang him last night and offered him the part. He jumped at it. Said he couldn’t wait to see you again.’
Stan Parks. The Great Diablo. Max didn’t know whether to laugh or cry.
*
Annie and Mark attended adjoining grammar schools in Hove. Today both schools flew the Union flag at half mast but, as Emma entered the girls’ school, she was comforted by the unmistakable signs of life going on: girls giggling in the corridors, posters advertising the Christmas carol concert, lists of hockey and netball teams. She was sure that some of the people in the building would be mourning Annie but it also felt right that most of them were carrying on as usual. Maybe there would be a memorial to Annie, a cup named in her honour, but then she would be forgotten. In some brutal way it made sense.
The hallway – polished oak, scuffed skirting boards, imposing staircase with notices saying ‘Keep Right’ – reminded Emma of her own school. She had been to Roedean, something she kept very quiet from her colleagues. She remembered Bob making some comment once about the school, which towered above the cliffs at Black Rock, saying that it was ‘a prison for posh girls’. Emma was a posh girl (‘Nothing but the best for my princess,’ her father had said whilst signing the cheques) but she didn’t see that it was her fault exactly. Besides, when she thought about school, she didn’t think about the fortress on the cliffs but of the wonderful few years when the school had been evacuated to Keswick and she had experienced the country childhood that she had previously only read about in books. At Keswick, she had ridden, rowed and skated on frozen lakes. She had a furtive romance with a village boy called Ernie. Recently she had read an interview with Nancy Mitford in which the author had described the war years as ‘heaven’. Miss Mitford had received a lot of criticism for this but Emma thought that she knew the feeling. Certainly going back to Roedean for her last few years of schooling had been dull and depressing. Maybe that was why, despite achieving excellent academic results, she had been determined not to go to university, which she saw as a bigger, grimmer Roedean, but to go out in the Real World. Well, this was the Real World, if you like, a place where children could be murdered and their bodies left out in the snow. Emma squared her shoulders and set out in search of the headmistress’s office.
The headmistress, a surprisingly young woman called Patricia Paxton, shook Emma’s hand and agreed that it was a very sad day.
‘She was an extraordinary girl, Sergeant Holmes. Exceptionally bright, especially considering that she came from a home where . . . well, maybe academic achievement wasn’t automatically expected.’
Emma thought of Annie’s home, of the bedroom shared with her siblings, of her attempts to find somewhere ‘tidy’ to do her homework. She said, ‘Annie was in the second year, wasn’t she?’
‘Yes, she was one of the oldest in the year, thirteen in October. That was one reason why she was made form captain.’
‘Had she settled in well here? Made friends?’
Emma had half expected to hear that clever, working-class Annie had struggled to fit in at the grammar school but Mrs Paxton smiled warmly. ‘She was very popular. A natural leader. Always surrounded by friends.’ She took a lace handkerchief from her sleeve and dabbed her eyes. ‘There are going to be a lot of very sad girls here today and for many days afterwards. The teachers too. She was a
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