A Splash of Red Read Online Free PDF Page B

was a diplomatic way of putting it. 'Will you ring me in the morning if you have any further problems?'
    The Stovers, both of them, rang off. Jemima turned off her light. But sleep did not come. She lay for an hour, rather irritated by the whole affair. In the end she decided that it was because she was not quite convinced that Chloe had not set off for Folkestone. A responsible person would ring the police.
    Jemima Shore rang the police, and after being put through to the various exchanges, established that there had been no road accidents involving a Miss Chloe Fontaine in central London or on the Folkestone or Dover roads that night. A call to the hospitals? No, at this point; that was really going too far. It was quite the wrong way to spend her 'disappearing in London' holiday, trying to track down Chloe Fontaine. She drifted into sleep.
    The next time she was woken by the telephone, she was aware that it was morning. The next thing she was aware of was that the anonymous caller was back again.
    At eight thirty in the morning, to her amazement, Jemima Shore found herself listening to words which began something like: 'Shall I come and give it to you in that great bed? I could, you know. Or shall I just watch you through the walls, my private view? I haven't made up my mind. Have you made up your mind? How do you want it, Jemima Shore?' The mention of her own name broke the spell and Jemima slammed down the telephone.
    It rang again instantly, as though the slamming action had set off the ringing. Trembling more with annoyance than anything else, she picked it up ready to swear at her anonymous friend.
    'Look here—' she began in a loud and furious voice. Then she stopped.
    'Miss Shore?' someone was saying at the other end. 'This is Mrs Stover, Dollie's mother. Miss Shore, we don't know what to think now. We had a letter from Dollie this morning. You know what the posts are - it was posted three days ago. First class too. She left out the road number, of course, she always does, although I've written to her about it over and over again, and sent her the Post Office's communication that the name is no longer sufficient, you need the number, and you have to put in Lethermere Road as well as Bartleby Road. Still, as she writes so seldom, I suppose - anyway "Finches" ought to be enough after seventeen years. There's really no call for marking it "Insufficient Postal Address".'
    Jemima thought she distinguished a cry of 'Bloody ridiculous' from the background. Mrs Stover continued hurriedly.
    'Anyway, she said she was sorry she had to be so late, to tell Dad not to be too angry, she was sorry about their words, b ut she'd definitely be with us b y eleven. She said she had something special to tell us. She had to tell it to us personally, couldn't write it. We didn't know what that was, of course. So, Miss Shore, she's not here, her bed's not been slept in, she didn't come in the night. Miss Shore, wherever can Dollie be?'

3
    'Care for a visit?'
    The next voice on the telephone was more vigorous. Mr Stover also sounded angry, as though Dollie had deliberately failed to arrive during the brief period of forgiveness he had extended and must now take the consequences. But his actual words were jovial enough, if hardly likely to cheer Jemima herself.
    'I've just said to the wife,' he half-shouted, 'we're dealing with the Press here. This is Miss Jemima Shore we've got on the other end of the telephone. Jemima Shore, Investigator, no less. People round here would be queuing in their thousands to speak to her about the slightest thing, and we have her on the end of our telephone. She'll find Dollie for us, Mother ...' But Jemima had not, she reminded herself, established a singularly successful career in television without being able to deal with the likes of Mr Stover.
    She interrupted him firmly as he was still relating at some length his dialogue with his wife.
    'I advise you to call the police, Mr Stover. That is, if you're