Like a good lawyer Peter was comfortable with the silence. So many people were not, and ended up speaking, often revealing information they regretted.
Isobel took a deep breath and said, “I’ll let you know later. Perhaps we could meet after work. I’ll reflect on it this afternoon.” She paused, wrinkling her forehead, “Could give me their addresses?”
Peter frowned. “What for?”
“I want to go and have a look at where they lived before and where Anne lives now. I might get a better feel for things. It might help me clarify my thinking.”
“Don’t let them see you in case they recognise you.”
Isobel pulled off the wig. “I won’t.”
Peter grinned. He wrote down the addresses. “I didn’t want to influence your assessment before you met them but now let me tell you what I wondered about, or was concerned about –”
“After work, Peter. I haven’t made up my mind yet so don’t influence me now. Let’s meet this evening. You can tell me what you’re worried about then and I’ll give you my impressions, my assessment. We can brainstorm.”
Peter nodded. “I’ll get Patricia to come too. Let’s meet at about eight o’clock. Would my flat be OK with you as this is all confidential and at least there we will have some privacy?”
“Sure. Give me your address as well.”
“We can order a takeaway and chat.”
“See you then.”
Isobel took her stuff and left. She went to the toilets and folded her silver wig into a plastic bag for protection and put it in her floppy handbag. Not being comfortable in formal clothes, she’d brought a bright-pink cardigan with her to wear on the way home. She removed her jacket and shrugged her way into the cardigan, placing her jacket also in her large bag. Finally she took off her glasses and surveyed herself in the mirror. She smiled, the dimple in her left cheek flashing into existence and the fine lines around her wide-set brown eyes showing the depth of habitude. With her now short, dark, highlighted hair and more casual attire she looked different. She knew her accent might give her away if she bumped into the Banks but she wasn’t intending to do that and after all London was full of Irish people.
Isobel had some impressions from the meeting even though it had been short. Giving her assessment of people, especially if Peter was going to use it in his work, was important and really she needed more information, so it was time for some reconnaissance.
Chapter 4
Isobel walked past the address given for Mrs Banks. It was a flat above a clothes shop, not far from Kensington High Street. It was a comfortable-looking building in red brick with large windows.
Wandering down the street she saw there was a grocery shop at the corner. It seemed to be well stocked and even had a noticeboard with information about local people offering babysitting, exercise classes and AA meetings in the area.
Buying a bottle of water, Isobel did her best to engage the shop assistant in conversation.
“A friend of mine lives near here,” she said, as casually as she could. “A tall lady with blonde hair, a Mrs Banks. Do you know her?”
“No,” was the monosyllabic answer.
End of discussion.
Isobel walked back outside and headed down the other side of the street. Obliquely across from Mrs Bank’s flat there was a café and she decided to go in and have some lunch. It was around three o’clock so she got a salad sandwich and sat down at the window table. While she ate she jotted down in her notebook the key impressions that had struck her during the meeting earlier. Gazing at the building across the road, she tried to decide what to do.
In the end the only thing she could come up with was to talk to the lady in the clothes shop and see what she could find out. Finishing her lunch, she crossed the road and entered the shop. As she did a bell tingled and a dark-haired glamorous woman of about sixty looked up. Her face was narrow with high cheekbones and her eyes were bright. This was a woman who was perceptive and would be hard to fool.
Based on the premise that most people are helpful if you ask, Isobel said, “I was wondering if you could help me?”
Politely the older woman inclined her head.
“I’ve noticed a woman walking around who maybe lives near here. She’s about five foot seven with lovely blonde hair and is a beautiful dresser. I really admire how well she looks and dresses and –”
The woman lifted an eyebrow as she openly surveyed Isobel’s height and shape.
“Oh, it’s not for me!” said Isobel. “A friend of mine is a similar size and shape to the lady I described, and she’s been going through a rough time and I thought a makeover, a change of style, might help her.”
She paused, wondering where this elaborate story sprang from and also if she had gone too far.
“Oh, that will be Mrs Banks. She’s beautiful, isn’t she? And, funnily enough, not that interested in clothes.”
Isobel affected a surprised but interested demeanour and, knowing that most people feel responsible for a silence and rush to fill it, she waited for her advisor to go on.
“She came in one day and wandered round and you would think, looking so well, that she would know what to go for – but she was lost. In the end she showed me a photograph of herself and her husband all dressed for a night out and asked me if I could advise her on something more dramatic than the more conservative things she had for everyday wear, something in a similar style to the evening dress. At the time I had nothing suitable but I said I would order some things in for her.”
“It sounds like you’re her stylist and personal shopper now, helping her with dress choices and styles?”
The lady smiled and leant forward. “You wouldn’t believe how much of that I do.”
Isobel frowned and waited.
“More and more people come in now with pictures of celebrities in outfits or Kate Middleton at a function and want something similar. They all just show me a photo on their phone.”
“How do you keep track of the different people and their size and style and colour?”
“Oh, I use my phone too. Sometimes I can bring up images of other dresses to show them. It’s very handy.”
Isobel hoped that she wasn’t pushing too hard now. “Could you show me the sort of thing that would suit that lady I mentioned . . . and hopefully my friend too.”
“Well, like most people she texted me a photo. In fact, she only sent one – most people want to send a number.”
With some deft swishes on her phone she proffered it to Isobel.
“What a lovely couple!”
“That’s what I thought but unfortunately they’re getting divorced.”
“You certainly couldn’t tell from the picture.”
“No, and she said it was very recent.”
“Really? That dress is gorgeous on her. Have you been able to find similar things for daywear then?”
“Yes, a similar shape which flatters her figure.”
“I do think my friend would look good in this sort of style.”
“The new stock should be here later this week.” The assistant paused expectantly.
Isobel thought quickly. A photo of Anne Banks would be handy but she hadn’t thought to get one earlier.