Appetite for Death by Janet Laurence

Author:Janet Laurence [Laurence, Janet]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Fiction, Mystery, Cooking & Food
ISBN: 9780750514019
Google: yO_MHAAACAAJ
Amazon: B06XBXV1RH
Goodreads: 1405423
Publisher: Pan
Published: 1998-01-01T06:00:00+00:00

Wednesday morning Darina collected the copies she'd ordered of the snapshot of Sophie Jemima had given her. Then found her A-Z of London and took the tube up to Ladbroke Grove. The station sat almost beneath the arterial A40 motorway into central London. To the north was North Kensington, a scruffily residential area served by two busy shopping streets, Ladbroke Grove itself and the Portobello Road, which turned into an open-air market every weekend. To the south was the more prestigious village of Notting Hill, which boasted gracious crescents of porticoed houses and a shopping area offering everything from cookery books to Indian artefacts, including a wide selection of restaurants and dress shops.

Darina had checked Martin Price's address in the telephone book. It didn’t take long before she stood outside a well-cared for stucco building that suggested money and class. There was no sign of anyone moving inside and after a few moments she walked back under the A40 and found Portobello Road.

Was she pinning too much on the fact that Sophie had collapsed here? Perhaps she’d been visiting, there were a number of specialist shops in the area. But Darina didn’t think so. Nothing she’d heard about Sophie suggested a girl who shopped far afield. Much, much more likely was that this was where she'd found somewhere to live.

Had someone taken pity on her and offered her accommodation? Had she really not needed money?

Or had she looked for a job?

The more she thought about Sophie's dilemma, the more convinced Darina was that she must have found a job. But what sort? Martin had been adamant Sophie wasn’t retarded but the fact remained she had absolutely no qualifications. She was used to looking after children but would any parent take a girl off the street, without references and only a small bag of clothes? It was surely most unlikely.

One of these small shops or a restaurant, though, might very well be prepared to offer work to a well- spoken and obviously well-bred girl like Sophie, particularly if they didn't have to worry about National Insurance, tax and all the other tedious official bits that went with hiring permanent staff.

Darina looked around her. North Kensington seemed a better bet than the smarter Notting Hill.

Unconsciously, she squared her shoulders, prepared herself for a long slog and walked into the newsagent by the tube station.

It was the first of many calls. The routine was always the same. Darina produced the photograph of Sophie, explained she was trying to trace her and asked if she'd been seen or worked in the shop some eighteen months to two years ago.

The sheer variety of shopkeepers and restaurateurs were what kept Darina going: Cockneys, Liverpudlians, Greeks, Italians, Asians, West Indians; this small area was an ethnic stew pot. Often it was hard to make herself understood and equally often she found it hard to understand what was said to her. Darina decided Lad- broke Grove made Chelsea seem hopelessly rarefied.

As she worked her way along the street, Darina wondered again why Basil hadn't hired someone to do this after Sophie died.

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