took him into the sitting room and rang the school. The headmaster was most cooperative. He would expect the sergeant tomorrow. It would be least interrupting to Simon’s timetable if Lambert could call in the early afternoon.
‘Simon’s flying off to Turkey tomorrow week, to join his father,’ Mrs Norbury said when she had replaced the receiver. ‘He’s spending the whole of the summer holidays out there. He’s looking forward to it tremendously. It’s the first time he’s flown anywhere on his own.’
She walked over to a handsome set of bookshelves, one third filled with books neatly ranged. ‘My husband made this set of shelves as a Christmas present for Simon, the year before he died.’ She ran a hand lovingly along the silky wood. ‘Simon’s always loved books. He goes poking round second-hand shops and market stalls, looking for them.’
Lambert scanned the shelves: Jules Verne, Marryat, Conrad, Jack London, Zane Grey, Edgar Wallace, bound copies of the Rover and the Champion. Shades of his own boyhood returned for a moment. ‘Quite a collection he’s got there,’ he said on a fleeting note of envy.
‘Julie and Simon had a good long natter about books,’ Mrs Norbury said. ‘Julie read a lot as a child – she got that from her father. His hobby was books; he had hundreds of them. Not first editions or anything grand like that, just old books he’d picked up over the years. Most of them went to a dealer after he died. Julie kept the ones she liked best and some of her father’s favourites.’
She picked up some small pieces of carved wood from shelves set in a niche by the fireplace. ‘Simon made these. Not bad, are they, for a young boy?’ She indicated a tiny fieldmouse. ‘He was only nine when he made that.’
She picked up another piece. ‘This is one he made this last time, when he was laid up with his ankle.’ A little retriever puppy, lovingly fashioned, a mellow, golden shade of wood. She passed it to Lambert.
‘He has quite a gift,’ Lambert said.
‘It’s made from pine,’ Mrs Norbury told him. ‘A beautiful piece of wood. It was the colour decided Simon to make the puppy out of it, just right for a golden retriever.’
He handed the puppy back to her and she replaced it on the shelf.
‘He made some lovely little good-luck charms, too, out of the same wood, to take back to school for the boys – and Matron.’ She smiled. ‘Matron’s quite young. And pretty. He made a special one for Julie, a four-leafed sprig of clover. He took tremendous care over the finishing. Julie was delighted with it. She said she’d always carry it, it was certain to bring her luck.’
She came out to the car with Lambert when he left. ‘I really don’t think the Eardlows need worry about Julie,’ she said as he switched on the engine. ‘She left here three years ago and there was never a word from her, then one day she rang my doorbell.’ Her tone was buoyant, confident. ‘I’m sure that will happen again one day, and probably sooner rather than later. The bell will ring and there she’ll be, on the doorstep, smiling at me.’
The preparatory school where Simon Norbury was a boarder lay a good hour’s drive from Cannonbridge. Lambert left his digs shortly after breakfast – and wasn’t at all sorry to leave. His landlady’s eyes constantly searched his face for any sign that he had reached a decision about where he was going for his holiday and when he would be setting off.
It was a warm, sunny day. The grass glittered on the breezy commons, rosebay willowherb flowered along the banks. He enjoyed a leisurely drive, stopping from time to time for a snack, a spot of sightseeing.
It was almost 1.30 as he approached the school, an Edwardian mansion set at the head of a long avenue of lime trees breaking into blossom. Lunch was over. In the relaxed, end-of-term atmosphere, all examinations finished, lessons were confined now to the mornings, the afternoons being devoted to cricket, to a series of house matches.
The headmaster, a young, energetic man, was shut away in his study, composing a moving appeal for funds to be sent out to all the parents, in the hope of raising enough to update all the school’s computer equipment. When Lambert tracked him down he dispatched a passing pupil to the changing rooms to winkle out young Norbury.
Simon came hurrying along a few minutes later. He wore cricketing gear; a dark-haired, athletically built lad with a confident grin, a face plentifully sprinkled with freckles.
The headmaster made the introductions, presenting Lambert as a sergeant with the Cannonbridge police – no mention made of his being a detective – who was here now with the permission of Simon’s grandmother to ask him a few questions, in case he might be able to help them in one of their inquiries.
Simon looked mightily intrigued; his face glowed with pleasurable importance. ‘You can take Sergeant Lambert out into the grounds,’ the head added. ‘Find somewhere quiet to sit down and have your chat, then you can get off to the cricket.’
As they went along the corridor Lambert inquired about Simon’s ankle.
‘It’s fine now, thank you.’ Simon looked up at him with lively curiosity. ‘Are you a friend of Gran’s?’
‘No, I can’t say I am,’ Lambert admitted. ‘I met her yesterday for the first time. We had a good long chat. We’re trying to get in touch with a young woman called Julie Dawson; her relatives are anxious about her. She seems to have gone off somewhere without telling anyone where she was going. Your grandmother tells me you know Julie, she came to see you in May, while you were staying in Calcott.’
Simon nodded. ‘That’s right.’ A question burst from him. ‘Are you a detective?’
‘Yes, I am.’
‘Are you the detective Julie met? She told me she’d met a detective sergeant the last time she’d stayed at Calcott House. She’d never met a detective before.’
‘Yes, that’s me,’ Lambert confirmed.
Simon’s eyes darted over him as if expecting to discover some extraordinary attributes.
‘A person couldn’t tell you were a detective by looking at you.’ His voice held a strong note of disappointment but a moment later he added as if a more favourable thought had struck him, ‘But I expect that’s the idea?’
‘Something like that,’ Lambert acknowledged.
They came out into the soft, sweet air. From every direction boys in cricketing gear, singly or in groups, hurried towards the playing fields, an occasional master among them. The air was full of excited chatter.
Simon gazed after them with an expression of longing. ‘I don’t suppose it’ll take very long, whatever it is you want to ask me,’ he suggested hopefully.
‘Not if we get started right away,’ Lambert told him briskly. He spotted a wooden seat beside a stretch of lawn. ‘We’ll sit down over there, then we can get on with it.’ Simon almost broke into a run in his eagerness to reach the seat and get the whole thing over with.
They sat down. From the seat, fortunately, there was no view of the playing fields. ‘Your grandmother told me you got on well with Julie,’ Lambert began at once. ‘I thought maybe when you were chatting she might
