Her voice cuts into my thoughts. ‘Have you thought about calling the police?’
At the mention of the police, my heart quickens. I’ve beenputting off thinking about it, not wanting Matt to be a missing person, hoping he’ll reappear with a credible excuse that will make everything OK.I crashed out at the hotel … I lost my phone.‘I thought it was too soon. They won’t do anything, will they? Not for at least twenty-four hours.’ My voice is husky, the note of panic one I can’t hide. ‘The chances are you’re right. He’s got held up somewhere. It’s probably nothing.’ I say it as much for my benefit as Lara’s. ‘He might have lost his phone – or broken it. Ended up spending the night in a hotel … there could be any number of possibilities.’ But it isn’t what my instincts are telling me. No longer silent, they’re screaming at me that something’s happened to him.
‘Sure.’ Lara doesn’t sound convinced.
Glancing at the clock on the dashboard, I remember the delivery. ‘I should go. I have a delivery to make. Can you let me know if you hear from him?’
‘Of course.’ She sounds uncertain. ‘Can you do the same?’
Chapter Three
I drive towards Brighton on autopilot, barely noticing as the sea, then the town come into view. Reaching the outskirts, I hit the early morning traffic, slowed by roadworks that weren’t there yesterday, unable to stop worrying about Matt. When at last I turn off the main road and head for the quiet tree-lined street of Regency houses where my client lives, I’m running late. Managing to park outside her house, I’m flustered as I take her order from the back of my car and ring the bell. Davina opens the door straight away.
‘Amy. I was about to call you. I was getting worried.’ There’s a look of concern in her clear brown eyes as an air of strong perfume and calm wafts over me. A client for five years, Davina’s always the same, unflustered – her dark hair sleek, her make-up minimal. As she looks at me, she frowns. ‘Is everything OK?’
‘I’m so sorry.’ My nerves are on edge. ‘I should have been here ages ago. I hit the traffic.’ Trying to compose myself, I pass her the order. ‘You should find everything’s there.’
‘Thank you. Is the invoice inside?’
I flounder for a moment, realising my error, then shake my head. ‘I completely forgot. Can I email it to you?’
As I walk back to my car, I’m cursing myself. I’m meticulous about finances and I’ve never forgotten an invoice. But Matt has never gone missing before. With hindsight, I wished I’d told her what had happened. I’ve no way of knowing that when the police talk to her, she’ll tell them I was agitated, flustered, as though my mind was elsewhere. I didn’t tell her that my head was spinning, how worried about Matt I was.
Before I head home, I call him again. When it goes to voicemail, I call his office. A management consultant for a company called Orbital, Matt can work anywhere their clients are based, but at the moment I happen to know he’s working in Brighton.
‘Good morning. Can I speak to Matthew Roche?’
‘One moment please.’ I don’t recognise the clipped, professional voice of the receptionist, unlike her predecessor, Sophie, who would have known instantly who I was. ‘I’ll put you through. Who’s calling, please?’
I forget that he hasn’t called me in nearly twenty-four hours, just feel a layer of normality return, relief flooding through me that he’s there. ‘Amy – his fiancée.’
As she connects me and the line starts to ring, I feel a weight start to lift. Then the ringing stops, but instead of Matt’s voice, it’s the receptionist again. ‘I’m sorry. Mr Roche doesn’t appear to be in his office. Would you like to leave a message?’
Any sense of relief instantly vanishes. Instead my voice is shaking, as my fear comes flooding back. ‘Yes. Please ask him to call Amy. As soon as he gets in. It’s important.’
Ending the call, I sit there for a moment, oblivious to the rush hour traffic flashing past, trying to think of who else I can call. Pete, his best man, is the obvious place to start. Then,even though I’ve never met them, his parents. Knowing their contact details should be in our wedding file, I pull out onto the road again.
In a hurry to get home, I drive too fast, unable to concentrate. Then as I turn into our lane, I catch sight of the stooped figure of Mrs Guthrie, our closest neighbour, who lives in one of the three cottages further up the lane. She may look fragile, but she ferociously maintains her independence. Recognising my car, she raises a hand in greeting, as hope rises in me that she may have seen Matt. Pulling into my driveway, I get out and hurry to meet her. ‘Morning … How are you?’
Wearing a padded coat that hides her diminutive frame, her face breaks into a smile. Then as I get closer, she peers into my face. ‘Amy, dear. I was going to come and see you. My Japanese anemones are still flowering and I thought you might like some for your wedding.’ Her garden has always been her passion, as mine is to me.
‘I’d love some – thank you.’ It’s by some quirk of her garden’s microclimate that her flowers bloom slightly later in the year than mine. But right now, I can’t think about flowers. ‘I don’t suppose you’ve seen anything of Matt?’
‘Now why would you be asking me about Matt?’ She starts to chuckle, then realising I’m serious, stops. ‘Is something wrong?’ A frown wrinkles her brow as she studies me.
‘It’s probably nothing.’ Even now, I try to play it down. ‘It’s just that he went out with a client last night and didn’t come home. He hasn’t called me, either.’
She doesn’t hesitate. ‘Then you should call the police, dear, don’t you think?’
*
As I walk back home and go inside, my fear is building, that something terrible has happened. But when I think about what Mrs Guthrie said, I’m convinced it’s still too soon for the police to be interested. Knowing I need to make some calls, I open my laptop and bring up our wedding file. Sure enough, Pete’s mobile number is there. With shaking hands, I call it.
‘Pete? It’s Amy.’
‘Hey. How’s it going?’ His voice is characteristically cheerful. ‘Not long till the big day, is it! How can I help?’
‘It’s Matt.’ My voice is husky as I grip my phone. ‘I don’t know where he is. Have you spoken to him?’
