Significant Others: A thriller full of suspense and intrigue by Robert Richardson

Author:Robert Richardson [Richardson, Robert]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Endeavour Media
Published: 2018-01-11T08:00:00+00:00

London

Possible leads for pages three and five of the Sunday Times had collapsed, giving the mystery of a celebrity’s disappearance greater urgency; Richard Harvey had reached the stage where Katrina Darcy being found would be a major irritation. He had put three reporters on to the story, one to research the background, the others to chase what few facts were available. There was no shortage of contacts, but nothing more than guesswork and rumour was emerging until somebody remembered Tom Darcy.

‘For Christ’s sake, he’s next door on the Times.’ Hamilton threw an internal phone directory at Penny Conrad, who had returned empty-handed from visiting Katrina’s flat. ‘Get on to him.’

‘I thought they split up years ago.’

‘They did, but there’s a daughter, so they must have kept in touch over her if nothing else. Even if he doesn’t know where she is, he’s got to be good for a quote.’

‘Won’t he give the story to the Times?’

‘We’ll have to risk that. Anyway, it’s too late for them to do a proper job on it for tomorrow. Just don’t tell him anything we know.’

She checked the directory, then dialled the extension. ‘Is Tom Darcy about?’

‘He’s just gone on his break. Who’s calling?’

‘Penny Conrad on the ST. Is he in the canteen?’

‘Probably. Can anyone else help?’

‘No, it’s OK.’ She rang off and turned to Harvey. ‘I can catch him on his break. What does he look like?’

‘Tom Darcy? Tall, mid-fifties, small grey beard—’

‘Raddled,’ added the girl next to him. ‘And he’s got seriously wandering hands. Wet your lips and he’ll tell you anything.’

‘Man of my dreams.’ Conrad commented.

She crossed to the main block, taking the lift to 4A. As she entered the self-service area, she spotted Darcy carrying his tray through to the pay desk and collected a coffee for herself while he found a table. In the restaurant she couldn’t see him at first, but then realized he must be in the smoking area behind the slatted wooden partition. He was sitting alone beneath one of the abstract prints that lined the wall, reading the Evening Standard open beside his plate; he had the resigned, defeated air of a middle-aged journalist going through the motions of a career leading nowhere until he was offered acceptable terms for early retirement.

‘Tom Darcy?’ The way his eyes flicked down to the outline of her breasts and back again appeared automatic, even subconscious.

‘Yes. I’ve seen you around, haven’t I?’

‘Probably. Penny Conrad, Sunday Times. Have you got a minute?’

He gestured with his knife. ‘Sit down. What is it?’

‘It’s about Katrina. We’re trying to get in touch with her, but she seems to be away. I wondered if you knew where she was.’

His face, which had been interested, went blank. ‘No, I don’t. My very famous ex-wife and I don’t have anything to do with each other. Why do you want her, anyway?’

Conrad hesitated. ‘Off the record?’

‘If you want.’

‘She’s disappeared. They’re panicking at the Register, and we’re doing a piece on it. We thought you might know something.’

Darcy shrugged.

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