Misleading Engagement. Marjorie Lewty

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      CHAPTER TWO

      IT WAS nearly nine o’clock and beginning to get dark when the blow fell. After a leisurely supper Anne was unpacking her holdall in the editing suite when the horrible fact emerged—cassette number two, the most important one, the one which held her recording of the heart of the wedding, was missing. A feverish search of every comer of the holdall confirmed the fact. She stared down at the worktop. Cassettes four, three and one were in order, but there was a gap where two should have been.

      Don’t panic, she told herself. Think. Think. When did you take cassette two out of the camera and what did you do with it? She sank onto the stool and pressed a shaking hand to her forehead.

      After the signing of the registry in the vestry, that was it. In a hurry to get down to the front of the church and record the bridal couple walking back down the aisle together, she had pulled the cassette out of the camera and slipped the next one in. It had been quite dark in her corner and she must have dropped cassette two on the floor instead of putting it back in the holdall, and later, when she’d been struggling to get her jacket free, she must have swept the cassette behind the pillar or under the choir stall. So—it must still be there, and all she had to do was drive back to the church and find it.

      Another two hours’ driving! But it would be worth it—anything would be worth it if she could only lay her hands on precious cassette number two. Without it the video would be useless.

      She had changed when she got home, into jeans and a cotton top, and now she hurried upstairs and pulled on a thick woollen jumper, swilled her face in cold water and went to get the car out again.

      The church clock was striking ten when Anne reached Offleigh. The single streetlamp was situated in the main street of the village, some distance from the church. When she had parked her car and turned out the lights she had to wait for a moment to accustom her eyes to the darkness and then she found the front path and made her way to the porch. ‘Please let the church not be locked,’ she breathed.

      She was fumbling with the heavy ring handle of the massive door when steps sounded behind her and the light of a torch shone round her feet. A gruff voice said, ‘Sorry, I’ve just come to lock up.’ Not the vicar’s voice. It must be the church warden.

      Anne turned and the light of the torch fell on her face. ‘Oh, please,’ she said. ‘Could you wait for a few minutes? I was at the wedding this afternoon and I’ve lost something rather valuable. I know exactly where I dropped it, and if I could just have a chance to look round...’

      He must have heard the desperation in her voice. He leaned nearer and looked into her face, and after a short time for consideration he said, ‘OK, come in. I’ll switch on the lights.’

      ‘Thank you,’ Anne whispered fervently. She scurried up the side-aisle to the place by the pillar where she had parked her gear. The church warden followed more sedately. He helped her to search while she explained the circumstances to him.

      After ten minutes they had covered every square inch of the floor where the cassette might have fallen, but had drawn a blank. Anne felt like bursting into tears. ‘It isn’t here,’ she said in a wan voice.

      The church warden agreed. ‘But the vicar might have it, miss. It might have been handed in to him.’

      Anne clutched at the straw. ‘Where could I find him? Would you direct me to the vicarage?’

      He shook his head. ‘He doesn’t live in the village. He lives in Lifton-on-the-Hill. He has to look after both parishes. And there won’t be any services here tomorrow.’

      ‘I see,’ Anne said in a defeated voice. ‘Well, thank you very much; you’ve been very helpful.’ She got back into the car as the elderly man switched off the church lights and ambled round to the side-door.

      Anne drove a short way out of the village and stopped to think. Should she drive out to Lifton-on-the-Hill now? It must be over ten miles away, on the Stow road. It would be nearly eleven o’clock by the time she got there, and it would probably mean knocking up the vicar and getting him out of bed. Don’t be ridiculous, she told herself. Putting the car into gear, she headed once more for home.

      The journey back seemed to take hours as she stared ahead at the road and refused to let herself consider what it would mean if she had really lost the cassette. But once in the house the emptiness closed round her and panic stirred, giving her a hollow feeling inside. She relied mainly on recommendations from satisfied clients, and had had high hopes of doing a good job for the influential Brent family. Things soon got around—negative as well as positive. ‘Oh, I shouldn’t have any dealings with Anne Grey—she’s most unreliable.’ She could almost hear the words already.

      She had to face the fact that she might have lost the cassette for good. Perhaps one of the cleaners had thrown it into a rubbish bag, or a choirboy had picked it up and slipped it into his pocket. To a boy any video was a video and might be interesting. Anne shivered. The house felt very cold. She made a pot of strong tea—the panacea for all ills—and drank it sitting in the kitchen.

      She tried to cheer herself up. There was still the vicar. She could find him tomorrow morning, and surely he would have the cassette? As she drank the tea she glanced wearily at her watch. She might as well go to bed; there was nothing else to do tonight.

      She emptied the teapot and her glasses fell off into the sink. Picking them out, she saw that one of the side pieces had come off. A hasty search in the sink revealed the fact that the tiny screw had vanished—probably down the plughole. Tears of frustration СКАЧАТЬ