Forget to Remember, page 17
She couldn’t remember the last name of the girl in the swimsuit video. Aiko…what? Rigo would know. It was five o’clock in the morning in California. She’d call him later. She suspected she didn’t need the last name in order to talk to Andrew, the fellow who might have known her. In London the name Aiko stood out.
What she would like to have was Andrew’s last name. Sean didn’t remember it. Carol finished her lunch and went outside the restaurant. She found a relatively quiet spot on a side street and called Lord Binghamton’s number. A woman, probably the maid, answered the phone. Carol explained what she wanted to know. She was put on hold.
“Carol.”
It was Lord B. “How are you, sir?”
“One tries to avoid answering that question when one has the aches and pains I have. The question is, how are you? Did you survive your first day as a model?”
“Yes, it went very well.”
“Excellent. In regard to your question, Andrew’s last name is Martin. He lived in the flat for a bit, but he couldn’t make it as an artist. He didn’t have the kind of talent Sean and Jacques have. He didn’t care for a real job, so he decided to become a street performer.”
“Do you think he might be at Covent Garden?”
“That’s probably the best bet. I’ve lost touch with him.”
Carol took the tube to the Covent Garden station on the Piccadilly Line. The day had become sunny, bringing out crowds of tourists and others to watch the street performers on the flat stone surface, surrounded by unusual buildings such as the Covent Garden Market Building, now a shopping center and tourist attraction.
Carol despaired. How would she find Andrew in this zoo? If he were performing, he’d have a schedule and a venue. She waited through the performance of a young woman who was a mime. She was in full costume with a painted face that was very expressive. She received copious laughter and applause.
When she finished, Carol walked up to her, ostentatiously dropped a pound coin in her hat, and asked the mime whether she knew Andrew Martin, a juggler. Thankfully, the woman could actually talk. She replied in the affirmative, and in answer to Carol’s question about where to find him, she whipped out a cell phone and made a call.
“He’ll be performing here at fifteen thirty.”
Three thirty. Carol thanked her and watched other shows while waiting for Andrew to appear. The performers were very good, and they appeared to collect quite a bit of money. Of course, when the weather turned bad things would be different.
She recognized Andrew partly because of what he brought with him—a unicycle and various balls and pins like bowling pins to be used for juggling. He was fairly short, with unkempt hair, an old jacket, and pants that reached to just below his knees.
However, in spite of his appearance, he put on a good show. He even juggled a live chainsaw in his act. Carol counted his fingers and toes; he performed his act barefoot. Miraculously, they were all there. He obviously enjoyed what he did, and she could almost understand why he preferred this life to that of having a steady job. He received a boisterous round of applause, and people gave him money. Carol trailed behind them with her pound coin, dropping it into his hat and asking for a minute of his time.
While he was packing up, she briefly told him who she was looking for and mentioned the name Aiko.
He stopped and looked at her. “Aiko. Japanese, isn’t it? Yes, it rings Big Ben. She must be the bird who did some modeling for Jacques. I never met her, but the name is unusual enough that it stuck.”
“Do you know what happened to her after Jacques was killed?”
“All the information I have is thirdhand. As I recall, she really liked Jacques and was heartbroken when he was killed. I think I was told she went walkabout.”
“Walkabout?”
“Pardon. I’m from Australia. I think she walked the End-to-end, from John O’Groats to Land’s End.”
Carol had heard of the End-to-end, which went from Northeastern Scotland to Southwestern England. “That must be close to nine hundred miles.”
“If you take the short route.”
“Who did she go with?”
“Now you’re really testing the grey matter.” Andrew paused, thinking. “Someone from one of those quaint villages the English are so proud of. It has a really old church. That’s no help, is it? They all have really old churches. Polstead? No, I think it was Rotherfield.”
“Do you remember a name?”
“Sorry. You’ve stretched my poor brain to the limit, and now it’s about to explode.”
“Where’s Rotherfield?”
“South of here. Small place, but it dates back over a thousand years. As I said, it has this old church—”
“Do you have any other information about Aiko or the person she went with that might help me?”
“The person she did the End-to-End with—for some reason, I think she might be a school teacher.”
CHAPTER 28
Out of the corner of her eye, Carol saw Sean stand back from his easel and take a wide-angle look at the painting and at her. He had done this plenty of times before, but this time he spent longer than usual in contemplation. Finally he said, “That’s a wrap.”
“Is it finished?”
“A painting is never finished. At some point you just give up. Picasso said that, and he was right.”
Carol put on her robe. “May I see it?”
Sean waved his arm toward the easel in invitation. She had been anticipating this moment for six days. It was Sunday morning. They had worked every morning since Tuesday with no day off. She was glad the painting was finished. She was tired of posing. Any feeling of excitement or trepidation she had at the beginning had degenerated into boredom and pain as she tried to hold her pose, hour after hour.
Melanie dropped in, unexpectedly, often enough so Sean hadn’t hit on her. She had grown to like him enough that she wouldn’t have been put off if he had. She chose to think he feigned indifference because of Melanie.
Now she found she was afraid to look at the painting. Not because Sean might not have done a good job. She had seen enough of his work to know he was an excellent artist. No, her fear was that she just wouldn’t translate well to canvas. She approached the easel gingerly and peeked around it.
Was that her? “You made me look better than I am.”
“Don’t be so modest. I just painted what I saw. Lord B will love it.”
***
Carol celebrated with another hamburger at McDonald’s. She had her modeling money in her purse. She had come close to breaking even since she’d been here, in spite of taking tours of places like the Tower of London with its costumed Beefeaters, seeing a Shakespeare play at the Globe Theatre, and watching the show Mamma Mia at the Prince of Wales Theatre.
What she hadn’t done in the last few days was find any more information on Cynthia or Aiko. She had squeezed all she could from Lord Binghamton, Sean, Melanie, and Andrew. Sean had told her where some of the young artists and models were living, and she had gone there and talked to a few, but they were too new to London to have known the missing girl.
She’d completed her commitment to Lord B and had some fun. Now it was time for her to get back to work.
***
The sky was gray, and it was drizzling rain off and on as Carol got off the train at Crowborough Station. She could probably take a taxi, or even a bus, but she didn’t know exactly where she wanted to go. She figured it was somewhat less than two miles to the center of Rotherfield. Her North Face protected her from the weather. She wore her backpack and carried the suitcase, switching hands frequently.
She could see more of the country while walking than riding. She walked on the right, facing traffic, because the road was narrow and she had to constantly be on the alert for oncoming cars, stepping off the road when two cars passed each other. Even so, she felt comfortable and enjoyed the scenery that changed from urban to rural and back again as she approached Rotherfield.
She was glad of the sidewalk that materialized as she came to the center of Rotherfield, because when cars were parked on the street, as they were now, it was reduced to one-way traffic, with drivers headed in opposite directions having to take turns to get through the bottleneck. She came to what was probably the main road through the village and strolled along it, admiring the old buildings.
She spotted an old brick building containing a pub, the Queens Arms. That might be a good place to start. Besides, she was hungry and thirsty. Carol went in, parked her pack and suitcase at a small table, and went to the bar. She ordered a sandwich and a half-pint of lager from the bartender—she was afraid a full pint would put her to sleep. As she paid, she asked whether he knew of any place to stay.
The red-faced bartender gave her a smile. “You’re in luck, lass. We happen to have a room available for tonight. Finish your food and you can have a look at it.”
Gratified things were going so well, Carol ate beside the brick fireplace that had a fire in it to ward off the chill. There were a number of customers who were talking and joking, probably locals, but she also saw several couples who looked more like tourists. When she finished, the wife of the bartender took her upstairs and showed her the room. It looked nice enough, and they agreed on a price.
Seeing a chance to get more information, Carol found out her name was Lydia. She told Lydia she was looking for a woman who might be a schoolteacher and had walked the End-to-end.
Lydia laughed. “Rotherfield’s not a large place, but that’s not much information with which to find someone, and I’ve lived here all my life. The closest school is a primary school. You wouldn’t have a hint of a name, would you, or know what age she teaches?”
Carol admitted she didn’t have that information. This might be a wild goose chase, as she had heard Mrs. Horton say. The woman said she would call some of the local schools and make inquiries. Carol protested she could do it herself if she had their phone numbers, but the woman insisted, saying she could do it more efficiently.
Overwhelmed by this offer, Carol thanked her profusely and offered to pay her.
“Don’t thank me yet. I haven’t found anything. If I do, the best thing you can do for us is to spread the word in the States about Rotherfield and the Queens Arms.”
Carol laughed. “That I’ll be happy to do.”
***
She spent the afternoon walking around Rotherfield, dropping into several retail establishments and visiting the ancient Church of St. Denys. The most notable thing about the churchyard, other than the stone church, itself, which still appeared to be in good condition, was an old tree in front of the church building with branches spreading out at odd angles propped up by a number of logs. Somebody at the pub said the legend was if the tree died the church and village of Rotherfield would cease to exist.
At one end of the church property was an iron gate that rotated in an arc inside an elongated semicircular frame, so it had two closed positions. A person going through had to move it one way or the other. As Carol was about to enter, a man approached from the other side. It was obvious they both couldn’t go through in opposite directions at the same time, so she waited for him, but he motioned for her to go first.
She went through the gate and smiled at him. “What is this called?”
“It’s a kissing gate. Would you like me to demonstrate why?”
“No thanks. Does it have a practical use?”
“To keep livestock from getting through it. Although, I guess this one’s outlived its usefulness.”
That was true. There were no animals outside the churchyard, only buildings and a parking lot.
Carol returned to the Queens Arms and chatted with Lydia, who told her she hadn’t been able to find any information on a teacher who walked the End-to-end. Carol thanked her and called Rigo from her room. She had talked to him several times, focusing on the sights she’d seen in London, not telling him about her modeling job, because she wasn’t sure how he’d react.
Now she told him she was in Rotherfield and described the quaint village. She asked him for Aiko’s last name.
“Hang on. I bookmarked the site—in case we needed more information from it. Here it is. Her name is Aiko Murakawa. Why?”
Carol explained that Aiko might be Cynthia, not her, and Cynthia might have been using the name Aiko in England.
“That’s confusing. Looking at the video again, which I am at the moment, I still say Aiko is you. Assuming it’s Cynthia, why would she be using a false name in England?”
“Why is the grass so green here? I’ll let you know when I find out—if I find out.”
They talked for a few more minutes. Rigo ended the call by telling her to be careful, as he always did. Carol realized there was something unspoken between them, but she preferred to leave it that way for the moment. She was lonely, especially now she had left Sean and Melanie behind. They hadn’t exactly been her buddies, but at least they’d become familiar to her. In Rotherfield she didn’t know anyone.
She went downstairs at seven to eat dinner. This time she allowed herself a full pint of lager. There were more people in the pub than there had been earlier, and the place was noisier. She felt self-conscious, sitting alone, and decided not to tarry long. She had purchased several bargain-priced paperback mysteries during her afternoon walk, since, unlike London, there didn’t appear to be any nightlife here except for the pub. She would read herself to sleep with one of them.
“Aiko!”
Carol was startled to hear that name, especially since it was obviously directed at her. She looked up to see a woman in her thirties wearing sensibly short hair and glasses, standing beside her table with a surprised expression. When Carol didn’t immediately answer, the woman said, “What are you doing here?”
Carol’s immediate reaction was to correct the mistake, but in the same instant, she realized she needed to talk to this woman. She attempted a smile. “Hi. Can you sit down for a minute?”
“I’m with friends, but…” The woman sat in the chair opposite Carol. “When did you get back?”
Carol felt very awkward. “First, I’m not actually Aiko.”
“Look, I know you have security issues, but this is bloody nonsense. It’s me, Louise, remember? I taught in the room beside yours for two years.”
“I’m sorry, Louise. I’ll try again.” Carol had to work through her embarrassment. “I’d better explain. I…I have amnesia. I don’t remember anything that happened before a few weeks ago.”
Louise looked at her with disbelief but then her look softened. “You poor dear. But you went to the States. If you have amnesia, how did you find your way back here?”
“It’s a long story. Before I get into it, let me ask you one question. Did you and Aiko…did you and I walk the End-to-end together a couple of years ago?”
“No, that was Janet—Janet Hudgins. She also teaches at the school. She’ll want to see you. She’s been worried sick about you. You haven’t responded to her e-mails. I think she’s at her cottage tonight. I’ll call her right now.”
Louise hauled a cell phone out of her purse and called a number. “Hello, Janet? Louise. You’ll never guess who I ran into at the Queens Arms…Aiko…I have no idea. She’s apparently lost her mind. She can’t even remember you or me…All right, I’ll send her over.”
Louise disconnected. “I have to get back to my party, but Janet wants you to go to her cottage right now. Since you can’t remember anything, I’m going to give you specific directions on how to get there.”
CHAPTER 29
Louise’s directions were very precise. Carol was standing in front of the cottage within five minutes. The sun had set, but she could see with the aid of a couple of outside lights, including the light beside the front door, that the cottage was made of brick with a new dark brown door and matching trim. The steeply sloping roof was slate. It looked familiar. Something stirred inside her. A memory, perhaps? No, it couldn’t be.
She was on the verge of finding out things about Cynthia. But, somehow, she and Cynthia had merged and become the same person. She knew that couldn’t be true. Maybe she was losing her mind. She was afraid of what was happening, but she couldn’t stop it. She went up to the door and rang the bell.
The door was opened almost immediately, and a tomboyish woman with short hair like Louise’s swept Aiko into her arms. They hugged for what seemed like an eternity while Janet said, “You poor dear. What has happened to you?”
Carol couldn’t say anything.
Janet finally broke off the hug. “Come in and tell me everything.”
She dragged Carol into the small house. In the hands of an irresistible force, Carol didn’t try to resist. Janet led her to a glass-enclosed room at the back that looked out onto a garden, sat her down in a padded chair, and poured her a glass of wine. Janet, who’d already been enjoying a glass, sat opposite her.
Janet had the look of an athlete. She was trim but not skinny, and her movements showed a hidden strength. Carol could easily believe she walked the End-to-end. Her brown hair was lighter than Carol’s, and she had freckles that suggested her light skin was at odds with the sun. She also had a ready smile and an attentive look on her face.
Carol took a sip of wine and burst into tears. She didn’t know where to start. Janet waited patiently. “Take your time.”
“I have amnesia. I’m using the name Carol, but it isn’t my real name.”
“All right, amnesia explains a lot. Keep going.”
“I don’t think I’m Aiko or Cynthia.”
“Same girl. Why not?”
Faced with a good listener, the story erupted from Carol in a flood of words. She started from when she was found unconscious in the Dumpster and covered all the major events since then. Janet didn’t interrupt. Occasionally, she gave verbal nods such as ‘uh huh,’ encouraging Carol to go on with her story. When Carol came right up to the present moment, she collapsed in her chair, exhausted.
Janet stood and refilled Carol’s glass. Then she sat down again and thought for a moment. “Wow. You’ve been through a lot. No wonder you’re confused. We’ll get to the issue of your identity in a moment. First, let me tell you what I know about what happened to Aiko, as she wanted to be called here, before she went back to the States.
