The Lady Vanished Read Online Free

requested.
    ‘What’s a DH?’ he asked. ‘You said it about your husband.’
    ‘It’s shorthand for Darling Husband; women use it all the time on Mumsnet.’
    ‘Ah; well, I don’t have much reason to use that website.’
    She giggled. ‘I meant what I said, about giving you some style tips. With your raven hair and slate eyes, a sage green would really suit you.’
    ‘Okay, I’ll bear it in mind. I’ll contact you in about a week and give you an update. I need that cash deposit, please.’
    She rummaged in the yellow handbag and gave him the money. He handed her the receipt he had prepared and a contract for her to sign. The transaction seemed to relax her.
    ‘Listen,’ she said, cradling one hand inside the other, ‘it’s true that I’ve never been close to Carmen and we’ve had our differences. But in the end I always remember that Daddy loved her so I feel some family obligation towards her. I think I need to try and help because I’m sure she’s in some trouble. Does that make sense?’
    Her sincerity sounded forced to Swift. ‘Yes, it makes sense.’
    ‘Will you talk to the police?’ she asked at the door.
    ‘I’ll let them know you’ve engaged me, yes.’
    * * *
    Swift waited for Mary Adair in a wine bar off Regent Street. It was tucked down one of the parallel side lanes that tourists rarely explored as they swarmed up and down the main drag. Swift always thought of London as two cities: one, the teeming beehive where you had to be careful not to get knocked off the pavement; the second, the backstage capital where, if you had the knowledge, you could walk, eat and talk in comparative tranquillity. At six thirty the bar was quiet, inhabiting the lull between offices closing and true night owls appearing. Miles Davis played plaintively in the background. It had started raining and it was snug to sit by the window, watching the misty droplets slide down the pane. Swift had already ordered a glass of Merlot; if it was going to be wine, it had to be red, as far as he was concerned. Mary went for white or red depending on her mood.
    As children, he and Mary had enjoyed Cluedo, reading Sherlock Holmes, writing with invisible ink and sending each other messages in secret codes. As adults, they had continued their interest in concealment and exposure, joining the Met within a year of each other, as graduate entrants. After a couple of years, he had been seconded to, then taken a permanent post with Interpol, tracking illegal arms sales across Europe. Mary meanwhile had risen rapidly through the ranks, enjoying her fragmentation of glass ceilings. These days she seemed to spend most of her time in interminable meetings and committees, which he would never have been able to stomach. Mary had consoled him after Ruth, saying little, buying him a case of Rhone Syrah with which to drown his sorrows. Close as they were, he hadn’t told her that he had been seeing Ruth again. No one knew; his heart was too troubled to talk about it.
    Mary dashed in, shaking her head, smiling, chucking an umbrella on the floor. He stood and hugged her; she was tall too, her head just below his shoulder.
    ‘White or red?’ he asked her, signalling to a waiter.
    ‘Better make it a sauvignon, I have to read a report later and red beckons the sandman.’
    When her drink arrived, they clinked glasses.
    ‘You look well,’ she said, ‘been out on the river?’
    ‘Twice so far this week. How are you?’
    ‘Fine. I gave an inspirational talk at a girls’ school this afternoon, about the Met as a career; at least I hope it inspired one or two of them. They asked good questions. I saw Mark Gill earlier in the week, he was asking after you.’
    ‘That’s a happy coincidence. I’m planning to ring him tomorrow to ask him if he knows about a case I’ve taken.’
    ‘The one I may have unwittingly sent your way?’
    ‘That’s it; the disappearance of Carmen Langborne. Her stepdaughter, Florence Davenport, has a friend who