“And she never wrote?”
She shook her head. “I still don’t understand that. I think,” she hesitated, her assurance slipping for a moment, “I think maybe something happened to prevent her getting in touch.”
“What sort of thing?”
“An accident or…if she ended up broke in London, the options for earning money aren’t very safe, or problems with the baby…I don’t know, a breakdown?”
“You’ve mentioned London a couple of times, did she talk of going there?”
“Not particularly, Paris was our dream. London’s just where people went to escape – still do I suppose.”
The big smoke, I thought, pig enough to get lost in, stay lost in.
“If she had been hurt, if she’d died,” she spoke the unthinkable quickly,” could you find that out?”
“If that had happened, her parents would have been informed,” I pointed out.
“But what if she’d changed her name or they couldn’t identify her, something like that?”
“Then she wouldn’t be on any records that I could find. There are General Records, you know, births, deaths and marriages but they won’t record people who haven’t been identified.”
“And she might be happily married and living in Crewe,” Lisa replied.
“Could be. If I don’t get a lead I may well be able to check out the records for marriages as a way of tracing her but before that I’m talking to people who knew her and checking with the university. Can you think of anywhere else Jennifer might have gone after she left Keele, anyone she’d ask for help?”
“No.”
“And she never contacted any other friends?”
“Not that I heard. I haven’t seen the others for a few years now.”
“Have you got a number for Caroline Cunningham?”
“Yes, if she’s still there. Hang on.” She moved across to the shelves and flicked through a large leather bound book. Found what she was looking for and gave me the number.
“What about Maxwell, do you think she ever got in touch with him?”
She raised her eyebrows. “I doubt it. He’s still around, has a fancy restaurant in Sale, The Grove – I only know because they reviewed it in the Guardian. He’s done very well for himself.”
“Did Jennifer tell him she was pregnant?”
“No, it was awful, he’d broken it off just before she found out. He was playing the field, no intention of settling down. She wouldn’t have married him anyway, he was, childish really, very self-centred. She’d enough on her plate without him as well.”
“What’s his surname?”
“Jones, Maxwell Jones.”
I thanked Lisa and stood up. She picked up the photograph album and hugged it to her. “I still dream about Jenny sometimes, even after all these years,” she shook her head as if that were a failing.
