Federica called Hester. Her friend detected the strange tone in her voice and
knew that something dramatic had happened. ‘What has he done to you?’ she asked.
‘I need you now,’ Federica pleaded and her eyes filled with tears. ‘Will you come and pick me up?’
Hester put down the telephone, grabbed her keys and slammed the door behind her, all without a word to Molly who poked her head out of the steaming bathroom and wondered what on earth was going on.
When Hester arrived at Federica’s house she was standing in the doorway in her dressing gown, clutching a plain wooden box. She ran down the steps, fearfully looking about her, and dived into the waiting car.
‘You’re coming like that?’ Hester gasped in amazement.
Federica collapsed into sobs. ‘Yes, because this is all I took into my marriage. My box and my trust.’
It was only once she was safely in the flat in Pimlico that Federica’s sobs turned into hysterical laughter. Molly and Hester looked at each other anxiously, both recalling Helena’s wedding when she had sobbed manically for Sam. When she had calmed down enough to speak she dried her eyes on her
dressing gown sleeve and sniffed.
‘Are you all right?’ Molly asked anxiously.
‘Oh, I’m much better,’ she replied, controlling herself with difficulty. ‘It’s just that I forgot to turn off the bath!’
Chapter 39
Torquil returned home to find water pouring down the stairs. Fearing that Federica might be in trouble, he raced up to the bedroom, his feet slipping on the slimy carpet, the blood flooding to his head with anxiety.
‘Federica!’ he shouted, ‘Federica! Are you all right?’ He stumbled into the bathroom where the water was cascading over the edges in a final act of defiance. He turned off the taps and thrust his hand to the bottom and pulled out the plug. It gurgled with satisfaction. ‘Shit!’ he swore, looking at the expensive carpets which would all have to be replaced.
He cast his eyes about for his wife, but all that remained were her clothes neatly folded on the bed. He noticed only one dressing gown hung on the back of the door. He called her name again and proceeded to check the rest of the house. There was no reply, only the empty echo of his own voice as it bounced off the walls. He sat on the edge of the bed and rubbed his chin with his hand.
He was very worried. She had simply disappeared. But there was no indication of a struggle, or a break in, just the overflowing bath. Finally, he picked up the telephone and called the chauffeur.
‘Well, Mr Jensen,’ Paul replied thoughtfully, ‘she goes shopping in St James’s for about an hour, then when I’m driving her back, see, she asks me to stop, all of a sudden. Well, as you can imagine, Mr Jensen, I was a bit worried. She looked upset . . . No, I don’t know why, Mr Jensen, she just looked pale like. She runs up the pavement and disappears into a caff for about an hour. When I drop her off, see, she’s all right. So I go home, Mr Jensen. She said she didn’t need me any more.’ A short silence followed. ‘Mr Jensen?’ asked the chauffeur, afraid that he had perhaps made a mistake. ‘Mr Jensen? Mrs Jensen didn’t need me after that, did she?’
‘It’s fine, Paul,’ Torquil replied, but his voice cracked mid-sentence. He put down the telephone and scratched his bristled jaw line ponderously. Then something caught his eye. The drawer to the bedside table was open a crack where Federica had failed to close it properly. Torquil always noticed details. He opened it to find his pocket book lying upside down, not as he had left it at all. He picked it up and studied it. With a deep groan he eyed the photograph of Lucia, which he had stuck onto the inside cover. Then it all made sense. She had run off in such a state she had forgotten to turn the taps off.
He unstuck the picture and tore it into small pieces before throwing them in
the bin in fury. She had completely misunderstood, that photograph had been taken years before. He’d explain it all to her and she’d forgive him. He cast his eyes fretfully about the room to see if she had packed a bag. She hadn’t. She hadn’t taken anything, not even her underwear. She must have left in her dressing gown. He relaxed his shoulders. She was obviously planning on coming back. After all, how far could she go in a dressing gown?
Federica told Molly and Hester everything, omitting the part about the anonymous notes of poetry, which would remain her secret until she managed to track down her father.
The three friends sat in front of the gas fire with two bottles of cheap red wine, while Kenny Rogers sang ‘It’s a fine time to leave me, Lucille’.
Molly was fascinated by Federica’s unhappy world. She had failed to see past the designer clothes and crocodile handbags.