Read Empty Vessels for Free Online Page B

street for some fresh air. He didnʼt feel too well. As he reached for the door knob he jumped back quickly as the door burst open and Boase rushed through into the office. His face was flushed red and his eyes glowed with excitement.
    Ê»Sir, sir, youʼll never believe this one ...ʼ he stopped, savouring his moment.
    Ê»Well, come on man – surprise me.ʼ Bartlett rubbed his chin in exasperation and went back to his chair to await his assistantʼs news.
    Ê»Iʼve just spoken to the solicitors in London; I told them what was happening and that weʼd be coming up to London tomorrow, just as you said, and then …ʼ, he paused again, enjoying the delicious feeling of triumph, ‘and then …ʼ
    Ê»Then what?ʼ Bartlett was becoming more irritated.
    Ê»Then, they told me that Ivy Williams had been to their offices last week ! Boase stood tall and proud at the effect his findings were having on his superior.
    Ê»Are you quite sure about this, Boase? There must be some mistake, must be some mistake.ʼ
    Ê»No mistake, sir. She turned up last Thursday with the copy of the newspaper and they said to me that they had been satisfied with her means of identification. They wouldnʼt discuss it further on the telephone but theyʼd be glad to see us tomorrow if weʼd like to go up .ʼ
    Ê»If weʼd like? Weʼll be there. But …ʼ Bartlett paused, frowning, Ê»but what do they mean, she went there last week – the girlʼs been dead almost a fortnight.ʼ
    Bartlett had a headache.
    The day dragged on slowly and mundane enquiries continued. Bartlett called Boase into his office.
    Ê»Doing anything tonight, lad?ʼ
    Ê»No, sir, nothing.ʼ
    Ê»Mrs Bartlett asked if youʼd like to have supper with us tonight – I forgot to ask you what with everything going on today. Not too short notice is it?ʼ
    Ê»Not at all, sir. Iʼd love to come.ʼ Boaseʼs thoughts turned to Irene.
    Ê»Well, good. Come over about eight then?ʼ
    Ê»Thank you, sir, Iʼll look forward to it.ʼ He walked on air from the office. He knew heʼd be doing the washing-up with Irene, alone in the scullery.
    Bartlett looked at the handbag which had been found on the beach. It was old and cheap. The leather was cracked and it had definitely seen better days. He thumbed through the address book. It was almost empty, save for a couple of grocery items where the book had been converted for use as a shopping list. The few names therein had already been eliminated. He turned to the notes section at the back, nothing there either. What was the point of an address book with no addresses? Mind you, how sad if the dead woman really had had no friends, he thought.
    At about seven thirty Boase, dressed in his decent suit and carrying a bunch of flowers for Mrs Bartlett (although they could never compete with George Bartlettʼs home-grown blooms), left his lodgings, walked up Melvill Road and headed for Penmere Hill. Arriving at the house he knocked at the front door and waited, straightening his collar and smoothing his hair. A figure was visible through the glass, walking slowly to the door. Caroline Bartlett appeared, smiling. A slim woman in her late forties, she was always well dressed although not particularly fashion-conscious. Her long, mousy-coloured hair was always in a loose but tidy bun. She wore ankle-length skirts with high-necked blouses and always a gold pin at the centre of the collar. She was quite a contented woman now but things were very different and her life had changed so much, especially since the death of John. Secretly, Bartlett was very, very proud of his wife – she had her own opinions and ideas and that was one of the things that had made her attractive to him in the early days. Not so many years ago she had been such a lively young girl and in the peak of health. Nowadays, she had difficulty getting about but he still often caught