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Janine shifted in her chair, her expression sheepish. "Look, I'm hoping you won't be annoyed about this, but the reason I know he won't be there is because I'm having lunch with him."
Amy tried to make sense of what she'd just heard. Janine was having lunch with Roger? Janine and Roger? The little frown wrinkling Janine's forehead made Amy want to laugh. Janine really was worried, in case she was upset about it.
"Of course I'm not annoyed. Quite the opposite in fact, but how did that come about?"
"He came up here after you left on Friday afternoon." She nodded over at the door. "Stuck his head round and asked if I was Amy Norton." The corners of her mouth lifted, as if the remembrance had already become a fond one.
Amy couldn't quite believe it.
"Well, you know, with that voice of his and all, I said, no, I wasn't Amy, but I sure as hell wished I were."
Amy was so thrilled she did something akin to a Mexican wave.
Janine laughed. "I don't usually come on strong, but I'm glad I did."
"Yes, yes, go on."
"Well, to cut a long story short, we got talking. Oh, by the way, I said you'd been called away on business."
"Cheers, I owe you one."
"My pleasure. We ended up going for a drink after work. We hit it off really well. In fact we spent most of the weekend together."
Amy clapped her hands, laughing with delight at the idea. How perfect, how utterly perfect. "And what are you up to today?"
"I'm headed for the West End in a few minutes." She lowered her voice, conspiratorially. "Keira Knightley's hairdresser has agreed to talk products with me."
Amy gave her a thumbs up.
"Roger is doing some location research nearby and asked me to join him for lunch, that's how I know you've got a clear window at the studios."
Amy couldn't suppress her grin. She was off the hook with poor old Roger, and she was having the affair of her life. To be able to get into the studio and ask a few questions about Quentin topped it very nicely indeed.
* * * *
The interior of Quentin's apartment belied its modern facade and Sebastian whistled under his breath as he let the front door shut quietly behind him. The hallway was furnished with ostentatious period furniture—Baroque, if he wasn’t mistaken—and an expensive looking Persian carpet ran its length. He hit the lights and a chandelier flickered into life overhead. As he walked down the corridor, he glanced into each room. The Baroque theme was echoed throughout. The sitting room opened out at the end of the corridor. It was equally splendid. Natural light flooded through gauzy muslin curtains on the casement window. He stepped closer. The windows opened onto a balcony overlooking the gardens at the rear of the block.
The place was impeccably neat and tidy. Harry, the concierge, had informed him the cleaner had been in twice since Quentin's disappearance. Although Sebastian didn't say anything at the time, it had annoyed him somewhat because it meant the bins would have been emptied and clues might have been inadvertently removed by an overzealous cleaner. The apartment was indeed spotless. It had a showroom quality about it, museum-like, almost. Harry had obviously been glad of the company and had kept him talking for quite a while, stating that Quentin was a man of fine tastes. He'd been forthcoming with gossip and had readily accepted the studios had hired Sebastian to do a bit of digging.
The only real signs of habitation were focused around an oak table located in a smaller room that appeared to be used as a study. The table was littered with books and papers that were obviously research for the TV show. The cleaner must have been warned off this spot, because there were signs of dust and scrunched up notes that hadn't been put in the waste paper basket.
Sebastian approached the kitchen. The room was immaculately clean, clinical in design. This space was purely functional. A notice board was covered in delivery menus. Quentin was no cook and he had expensive tastes. The menus weren't standard fare. Instead, they were from exclusive West End restaurants that charged an absolute fortune to deliver.
The fridge was empty apart from a few jars of sauces and mustards, all labeled with the distinctive Harrods insignia, and three bottles of white wine. He opened up the dishwasher and scanned the contents. Two sets of everything. Two plates, two cups and saucers, two sets of cutlery. Either Quentin used exactly the same dishes for two meals each day or the last time he had eaten, he'd had a guest. "Now we're getting somewhere."
He shut the dishwasher. The concierge had mentioned infrequent visitors, people who were introduced to him as work colleagues from the television studios. In the bedroom Sebastian found the bed was made up, not surprisingly. On the dresser, a framed photo caught his eye. It appeared to feature the full camera crew on location, with Quentin in the foreground waving at the camera. Sebastian scanned the group. He noticed a man standing at the back of the group with a boom in his hand. This was possibly the man who had been talking to Amy. Compared to everyone else in the photo he wasn't showing any enthusiasm. He wasn't even smiling. In fact, he looked positively grim, Sebastian noted. Perhaps he should talk to him—if he could do so without Amy finding out.
He went back to the study and went over the desk with closer attention to detail. No sign of a diary, which might have been most useful. Had Quentin had it with him, when he'd gone missing? Sebastian moved a stack of books to one side and shifted a sheaf of papers. Beneath one corner of the splayed pages he noticed a dish of paper clips hidden under the papers. Two cigarette butts had been squashed into one corner. Both were marked faintly with lipstick. He hadn't seen any ashtrays or signs of smokers elsewhere, which would indicate it was only Quentin's guest and not Quentin himself who smoked. The guest was a woman.
A letter tray marked "GH locations" stood on a nearby shelf. Sebastian lifted it up, took a seat and flicked through the brochures. When he reached a publicity brochure from Hammer House he smiled, reminiscing over the time he'd spent there with Amy. Just after that was a brochure for another place Sebastian recognized, a Tudor hotel on the North Yorkshire Moors called Tall Gables. He flicked through the brochure then slotted it back into its space. The next brochure was slightly different. It was for an exclusive holiday complex on the North Yorkshire coast. Had Quentin been considering holidaying, retirement or even buying property in the north? It could be an important question to factor in. If so, how could he raise it with Amy?
He put the tray back in its place and walked along the bookshelves. There was a conspicuous absence of books on the occult or any such arcane subject matter. Quentin appeared to be a fan of the classics and modern day mysteries. Sebastian gave a wry smile. Quentin had become a bit of a modern mystery himself. The London network news radio station had commented on his "still missing" status that morning. The media interest was rising. They would have to act quickly if Amy was to get her scoop. An image of her darting across the high street in Arundel, notebook in her hand, rose up in his mind. She was keen, and she was a good journalist. She deserved to get a good story. Something like a vow to help her get that story had lodged in Sebastian's subco
nscious.
Before he left the apartment he went back to the framed photograph in the bedroom. He looked for lipstick-wearing, cigarette-smoking women amongst the faces. There were two possible candidates—a short bubbly character with fluffy blonde hair and a taller more glamorous brunette. The brunette was standing close to Quentin and wearing a secretive smile.
Was Amy aware of whether Quentin had a girlfriend, or had recently begun a relationship of any sort? From what she'd said, it sounded as if she thought Quentin was single, with no immediate family in the country. She'd mentioned he had a retired older brother in New Zealand and, otherwise, the Ghost Hunter show represented both his livelihood and his social life. The next stop would have to be the Ghost Hunter television studios, Sebastian decided, as he left the building.
