Whispers of a Lesser God Read online

  The tour was a staggering success in every major city. Fans could not even buy tickets on the black market, because every ticket was like gold. With great clarity, Dorothy and her band realised what Duncan had been aiming for, and that he had finally scored a bullseye. They had been booked for three sell-out concerts at the Royal Albert Hall to round off the tour, and by this time, to nobody’s surprise, including Dorothy’s, the three concerts were complete sell-outs. Duncan’s promotion had become a work of art on its own. Posters with slogans like Daphne Devine and the Ghost Towns will be pulling into your town on the Last Train from Ghost Town. Don’t forget to buy a ticket were drawing attention wherever they were displayed. The band had measured up far better than anyone could have predicted, and Dorothy watched them with pride as adoring fans accosted them for their autographs. Lorraine in particular responded marvellously to this by mixing with and hugging her fans.

  The only one who looked slightly puzzled, bordering on bewildered by their blinding success was Caroline. Lorraine in particular wondered why she was so shy when people showed their appreciation for her stunning piano playing. Every night when Dorothy introduced her band to the audience she would have to literally grab Caroline by the hand and lead her to the front of the stage to receive her well-deserved round of applause. Although she mixed and got on very well with the band, she had remained quiet and reserved. Lorraine had sensed something about her, but what was it? She had been trying to get to know Caroline over the whole tour. There had grown between them a mutual admiration and respect for each other’s talents, with Lorraine saying, “I wish I could play the piano like you” and Caroline firing back, “I wish I could sing like you.” But when Lorraine asked her about her home and family, Caroline’s answers were rather vague. She would not change the subject, but would keep her answers short. And deftly, yet with great interest, she would ask Lorraine about growing up in Birmingham. Lorraine’s woman’s intuition told her that something was not quite right.

  One incident in particular had been haunting her. It was just after the Manchester concert, after they both went back to crash out at the hotel room that they were sharing. The show had gone so well that the star-struck audience had demanded three encores. Lorraine had just climbed out of the shower and was towelling herself dry. She was about to ask Caroline, who was sitting on the bed watching her, what she thought of the show, when Caroline asked her in a quiet voice, “What does it feel like to grow into a beautiful woman?”

  Although Lorraine was slightly puzzled by this question, she had been so thrilled by the audience’s response that night that she had not really pondered the question until much later. She simply replied, “You’re beautiful yourself. Just look in the mirror.” Although Lorraine was indeed very beautiful, in hindsight she had thought, What a peculiar question to ask. She had not told anybody about this, but all the same she found it rather disturbing. Grow into a beautiful woman. What on earth could she mean?

  The tour had lasted eight solid months and the whole band were beginning to tire. Daphne Devine had made them famous and they would all have followed her to the ends of the earth. It was difficult for their young minds to fully understand the charisma, the sheer adoration that this woman radiated every time she walked out onto the stage. Her voice had got better and better with each show, and the confidence that she projected during each performance made the band rise to the occasion every time.

  As Duncan had predicted, the three concerts at the Royal Albert Hall had been the icing on the cake. Pandemonium and nigh on mass hysteria had erupted when Dorothy walked onto the stage at the start. But by the time she was being interviewed by the press, with burly security guards linking arms just to let her approach the press and her fans without being grabbed and lifted into the air, Duncan decided it was time to step in. She needed time out. But Dorothy Dodd had other ideas. Fans of Daphne Devine had come for miles just to hear, see and meet her, and that is exactly what they were going to get. And much to her fans’ delight, they did not meet a petulant and harassed diva. Instead they met a woman who was more like a seaside-town landlady with a wicked sense of humour. This added even more publicity, more mystery to the phenomenon named Daphne Devine. Duncan could only shake his head, put his hands up and laugh. But still, it was time for them all to take a long break.

  Duncan finally called time two weeks after the Royal Albert Hall concerts. He had rounded off with a few photo shoots and had allowed only a few select press people to interview Daphne Devine and the Ghost Towns. In his own quiet way, he was and had been protecting them right from the beginning, and they all knew it. Without his resolve, planning and quiet confidence in them it might have all fallen flat. It was now time for everybody to go home, reflect, digest and ponder just exactly what they had achieved.

  It had been nearly fourteen months to the day since Duncan had knocked on her door on that fateful and stormy night. Now Daphne Devine paid the taxi driver, walked up her garden path, opened her front door and gratefully turned back into plain old Dorothy Dodd. As she entered the house, her cats greeted her as if she had never been away. Her neighbour Dora had fed them and looked after the house while she was away, and the place was just as she had left it.

  At the same time as Dorothy arrived home, Lorraine was hugging and kissing Caroline goodbye at the train station. It was emotional for both of them because they had come so far and achieved so much together in such a short time. Lorraine was shocked how cold Caroline’s hands were when she squeezed them. She just wanted to hold those hands that could play a piano with such incredible skill and artistry. She was even more shocked when she went to kiss Caroline’s cheeks, because her face was freezing cold. And although it was becoming slightly chilly, it was nowhere near freezing. As Caroline boarded the train and waved goodbye to Lorraine through the window, Lorraine noticed something. She thought she saw a little girl standing just behind Caroline, peering around her waist. She looked again, and the figure had gone. She blinked and looked again to make sure that she was not seeing a reflection, or that her eyes were not deceiving her, but the figure had indeed gone. Lorraine shook her head and thought that she must be very tired indeed. Once again, her intuition had picked up something strange about Caroline. Then an overpowering sense of loss, pain and anguish flooded her mind.

  When Duncan had called time for Daphne Devine and the Ghost Towns, he had other plans. This project was under his control. He had planned it carefully, produced it brilliantly and executed it proudly. Now he was thinking about another album and another tour. The only snag was how on earth they would follow Last Train from Ghost Town. How could anybody in their right mind think they could follow a work of such pure genius?

  The first indication that something was amiss was when Dorothy received a phone call from Duncan, asking her if she had been in contact with Caroline. At first she had not been too concerned and thought that Duncan might have been overreacting to something silly. But when he elaborated on his concerns, she began to think the same. He told her that he had been trying to contact Caroline on her mobile but had got no answer. He had been planning a meeting with the whole band, and she was the only one he had been unable to contact. But what really made Dorothy pay attention was when he told her that he had caught a train out to Watford and gone to the address that Caroline had left with him, and found only a boarded-up shop which, like the flat above it, had been abandoned for years.

  And the plot thickened. The last person to see Caroline was Lorraine, who had seen her off on the train back to Hull, and had since been kicking herself for not asking for Caroline’s address there. Dorothy tried to calm Duncan down by telling him that people relied too much on mobile phones these days, but privately alarm bells started ringing. She then tried to phone Caroline herself from her mobile and landline, but had no luck either. Eventually Caroline’s mobile went dead. Dorothy realised with great clarity that this mysterious, talented girl had entered her life and become a part of her.
Duncan had tried to trace her, or to think of anybody who might know her or her whereabouts, but to no avail.

  This was when both Dorothy and Duncan realised that they knew hardly anything about Caroline. She had entered of their lives and turned them around dramatically and spectacularly. In a desperate attempt to trace her, Duncan had gone to the police to report her missing, but the only information he could give them was a description of her and the very little that he knew about her. Although he never voiced his opinions to Dorothy, he had begun to wonder if something terrible had happened to Caroline. Dorothy had been thinking exactly the same, and likewise kept her feelings of trepidation to herself. But worst of all for both of them was not only that they each felt responsible for her, but that they both felt terrible guilt and frustration for not seeing her as they really should have done. In a final act of desperation, they tried to phone everybody in the Hull phone book who shared Caroline’s surname, Moran. After drawing a blank each time, in frustration they finally gave up. They both knew that they were and had right from the beginning been in love with her. Duncan travelled down to visit Dorothy on the same dilapidated train, hoping to see Caroline. But in his heart, he knew he never would. He was grieving. Dorothy felt exactly the same, and had to lock herself away in her room just to cope with the terrible sense of loss. And both of them knew that project Daphne Devine and the Ghost Towns was over. They could never even contemplate carrying on without Caroline. She had been the instigator, the linchpin, the blinding spark that had sparkled and shone for a split second in time and simply went out, or had been put out, and they would never know the truth. Lorraine’s intuition had been right. Caroline had been a complete mystery.

  Duncan had gathered the remaining members of the band in his office, because he wanted to break the bad news to them all together. Dorothy was not present, because she was too distraught to face anybody; in particular her young band, who had helped propel her back into the limelight. She simply could not face them without letting loose the full force of her pain and anguish. She was grieving. Duncan knew this, and he decided that because he had never seen Daphne Devine like this before, this way would be better for all of them.

  Daphne Devine went back to being plain old Dorothy Dodd. Apart from regular phone calls from Duncan to see how she was, her only company were her two cats. But even they sensed that something was wrong, and they would rub up against her legs and jump onto her lap every time she sat on the sofa. The big question that had been in her mind for the past two weeks was loud and clear. Should she have stayed as Dorothy Dodd? Should she have turned Duncan and the girl away when they came to her door on that fateful stormy night, or was it better that she had been coaxed out of retirement? Duncan had been so sure, so confident that the project would work that it had been difficult to turn him down. On seeing the songs and Caroline’s sheer genius, she simply could not resist the temptation. Her voice was now being heard all over the airwaves by devoted fans, young and old. Her new band had given her strength and vitality that she thought she had lost forever. Yes, it was meant to happen. Something strange and beautiful had happened to her, which she did not and could not quite understand. Also, the bond that she and Duncan never had when they were young had come to them in old age and welded them together. They were now bonded spiritually, emotionally and for eternity. Yes, it was meant to happen, and it had manifested itself in the most unlikely and bizarre way.

  At the same time as Dorothy was contemplating the incredible events of the past fourteen months, Duncan was sitting in his office, mulling over paperwork and bills, when suddenly it struck him like a bolt of lightning. Now he remembered. Caroline had used another surname after Moran. She had only used it once or twice, and he was cursing himself for not remembering it. Now what was it? It began with an F. Flynn, Flanagan, Fleming, Fuller, Finch… No. Flanders, that was it; Flanders. He grabbed the telephone and with shaking hands dialled directory enquiries. The first seven calls drew a blank. But on the eighth call, something completely unexpected happened.

  A woman’s voice said jovially, “Good afternoon, residence of Beryl Moran Flanders, Pauline Flanders speaking. Can I help you?”

  Duncan had to compose himself. He tried to sound as jovial as the woman as he said, “Good afternoon, madam, perhaps you can help me. My name is Duncan Goodwin of Goodwin Talent and Media Productions. I’ll get straight to the point. I’m the manager of Daphne Devine and the Ghost Towns. I don’t know if you are familiar them at all?”

  He waited for a reply, suspecting the woman may think that it was a prank call. After a few seconds she answered, still somewhat jovially, but this time with a hint of suspicion, “Yes, I have. Who hasn’t? They are very big at the moment, I believe. Must admit, I like them myself. I’ve even bought their album for my daughter. She is absolutely mad about them.”

  Duncan felt that he had to tread very carefully now, because he must not let the woman think that she was dealing with a madman. He carried on speaking, while trying to sound diplomatic.

  “Well, it’s only a shot in the dark, but my band’s pianist, Caroline Moran Flanders, has vanished and I’m trying to trace her. All I know is that she is from Hull, but she never left an address and she is not answering her mobile. I have been phoning around everybody with the surname Moran, but so far I’ve had no luck. I am sorry to disturb you, madam, but I’m desperate to find her.”

  There was a pause and Duncan waited patiently for the woman to reply.

  “Well, I’m sorry, but I can’t help you. But the ironic thing is that my mother did have a daughter by the name of Caroline from her previous marriage. But that subject is probably better left alone, after all these years. I haven’t even broached it with my mother for many years. Some things are best left well alone when the memories are far too painful.”

  Duncan took stock of what he had been told, but something was niggling and nagging him. He did not know what it was, but it was quite strong, like a sharp hunch, or a strange clue. It was as if he was being guided somewhere, by something or somebody. He then asked casually, “I know it’s a bit of a cheek and I fully respect your privacy, but do you mind if I travel up to speak with your mother? I promise that I won’t ask her too many questions. I really need to ask her if she was familiar with Daphne Devine in the ’60s. I promise I won’t say anything to upset her.”

  “You’re welcome to talk with her. Mum is eighty-five now and she may be very alert and glad to have company. But please don’t even raise the subject of Caroline. All I can tell you is I’m forty-five. If Caroline is still alive, that would make her seven years older than me. From what Mum has told me, Caroline was mad about Daphne Devine. But she simply disappeared one day when she was nine years old and has never been found. Nobody knows what happened to her. She was either snatched or abducted, but that story is another mystery that has never gone away.”

  Duncan thanked Pauline Moran and jotted down her address. Despite everything being out of synchrony, he felt he was on to something. Maybe sheer desperation was making him clutch at any straw or, even more disturbingly, maybe he was actually going insane.

  The train journey to Hull was quite pleasant. Winter was making its first cold breath felt as Duncan boarded, but the carriage was relatively empty and quite warm. As the train began to move away from the city and out into the countryside he became fascinated by the falling sleet outside the window, which was being whipped about and twirling around in the wind like dancing dervishes.

  When the train pulled into the station and he opened the door to get off, the cold bit his face sharply. He made a beeline for the nearest taxi and told the driver the address where he wanted to be dropped off. He soon found himself being driven through a quiet residential area, with pleasant semi-detached houses lining the roads. Most of gardens looked remarkably well kept and even the trees lining the pavements were well pruned. It was obviously a pleasant area, with proud homeowners who liked their houses to be a
s pleasing to the eye as their neighbours’. Finally the taxi turned into a side road and pulled up. After Duncan had paid the driver, he looked around and was struck by how quiet it was. Very little traffic would come through this estate, apart from vehicles that were owned by the residents.

  And here he was at last: Number 7, Millers Road. The house was a brick semi-detached, with new double-glazed windows and a well-pruned hedge either side of the front gate. Duncan suddenly wondered what on earth was he doing here. But he knew that whatever or whoever was guiding him was leading him somewhere. He looked around once again before opening the gate, walking along the short path and ringing the doorbell. Through the frosted glass of the door the outline of a woman appeared and peered through the glass in an attempt to see who was calling. Unable to see thanks to there being no light above the porch, she opened the door.

  Duncan had already pulled his business card from his pocket, and found himself looking into the face of a woman who must be Pauline Flanders. He had intended to come across as businesslike but congenial, because the last thing he wanted was for a woman he had never met before to think that she was dealing with a dodgy character or a raving lunatic. But when he saw her face he immediately had to regroup his thoughts. If this was Pauline Flanders and she was forty-five years old, then she could easily pass for at least ten to twelve years younger. But moreover, what struck Duncan like a sharp slap to the face was that Pauline Flanders could easily pass as Caroline Moran Flanders twenty-eight years down the line. She had the same petite but well-proportioned frame, the same big, almond-shaped chestnut-brown eyes, and the same inquisitive look on her heart-shaped face. Duncan thought that Pauline could easily pass as Caroline’s older sister.