SIXTY-TWO
2018
Kate burst out of the communal front door and ran down the path onto the pavement, leaving the metal gate banging behind her. She looked anxiously up and down the street, then realized if anyone was watching, she was drawing attention to herself.
She headed back towards the Tube station, her pace quick but controlled. She forced herself not to keep checking over her shoulder until she needed to cross the road, which would give her an opportunity to stop and glance behind. It was peak commuter time in a busy part of south London, known for its upwardly mobile professionals. There were a lot of people about. Most of them seemed as intent on going about their business as she was. She checked for anyone who had stopped, was perhaps waiting for her to move on. There was a man in a brown jacket with his back to her, looking in an estate agent’s window about ten metres away. Tall, broad. Could he be the man with the moustache? She watched for a moment, then he took a call on his mobile, and turned around. Not him.
The pedestrian lights changed, and Kate moved with the hordes towards the green man on the other side of the road, and then down the steps into the underground. The platform was busy, but she managed to get on a train and stood between the seats hanging onto a yellow side rail. The train doors closed, and it picked up speed. She wondered what had happened to Adam, where he’d gone. She prayed he was safe somewhere, that someone was looking out for him. With a pang, she wondered about his mother, what she knew. When she’d see him again.
Kate shook her head, expelling the thoughts. She had to focus on getting to Jill. She remembered from when she’d scoured Jill’s website that she was based in Westminster – Horseferry Road. It was a short journey up the Northern line and then a couple of stations on the Jubilee. If all went well, she should be there – she checked her watch – in half an hour.
The train stopped at the next station; a few people got out, many more got in. It set off again, the same procedure at the next station, except this time many more exited – it was an intersection with another Tube line. As the doors closed again, Kate noticed the crowds had thinned a little, then she suddenly saw a man sitting three seats down, head bent over a newspaper. He had a moustache. Sweat started to form at the back of her neck. She shrank back, while still trying to get a better look. Then he glanced up and, for a moment, it was as if her heart stopped beating. But it wasn’t him.
She looked at the map displayed above her head. Five more stations to go, then she’d change onto the Jubilee line. She stared at the map, mentally urging her journey on. The train stopped. A few passengers off. More on. Was he amongst them? It was hard to see, the jostling of the crowd meant she couldn’t catch each of their faces as they got on the train. The doors closed, and Kate suddenly felt trapped. She couldn’t stand it on there a minute longer.
As the train pulled into the next station, Kate headed for the doors. The crowd engulfed her, and she had a sudden panic she wouldn’t be able to get off. As the door-beeps sounded, she pushed herself through, just exiting the train as the doors shut behind her.
Desperate to get out of the station, she followed the throng, made her way through the gates and was suddenly in the open air. She got out her phone and opened up the maps app, realizing with much relief that she wasn’t that far from Jill’s office. She could walk.
Kate set off in the direction of the river. Again, she glanced behind her; the mill of commuters was ever-present.
Unnerved, she hurried on, through Cleaver Square with its white-painted, tall Georgian houses. It was quieter here and the central open communal space was lined with trees that could hide someone, so she quickened her step and then crossed Kennington Lane into busy Kennington Road. She sensed a man stride up behind her, making her heart thump as he gained on her. She raced on, not daring to risk a look behind, and then miraculously he passed her, intent on his journey, and her anxiety momentarily subsided.
Kate stopped and watched as he went up the road, telling herself she had to get a grip or she was going to be a nervous wreck by the time she got to Jill’s office. She failed to see the car pull up alongside her and the passenger door open.
‘Need a lift?’ someone called out and she jumped, before realizing the voice was familiar. It was Greg. She leaned down, looked into the car.
‘I thought it was you,’ he said, smiling. ‘I can take you to the office? You’re not walking all the way, are you?’ He glanced at the clock on his dashboard. ‘You’re early! We’re not meeting until eleven.’
He meant the PR event. She thought quickly. ‘I was actually going to see a friend first. In Westminster.’
‘Let me give you a lift.’
‘I’m OK. Fancy the walk.’
‘Sure? It’s no trouble.’
She looked at him, trying to see behind the smile. Who was he? Could she trust him? The cars behind Greg were beeping their horns and, agitated, Kate didn’t know what to do.
Greg looked in his rear-view mirror. ‘I’m in the way. Just jump in a sec, will you, and I’ll pull over up there.’ He nodded to further up the road. ‘I can give you a copy of the press release to look at. I think it’s good, but we won’t send it out until you’re happy.’
The driver in the car behind was doing one long continuous beep and, under pressure, she got into Greg’s car. ‘Thanks,’ she said as she did up her seat belt, putting her bag at her feet. As they drove off, it suddenly occurred to her it was a coincidence, seeing Greg there, and she said as much.
‘It’s my usual route in,’ he said. ‘I live in Dulwich. Always cross the river here, then I’m practically at the office.’
It was true; it was the easiest route for him to take.
He smiled at her. ‘You look well. Tanned. Been away?’
‘Er . . . yes. I took your holiday.’
He laughed delightedly. ‘You did? And how was it?’
Caught, she wondered whether to tell him she’d changed the destination. Something made her not do so. ‘Lovely. Sunny!’
‘The hotel?’
‘Wonderful.’
‘I’ve stayed there myself. It’s amazing. Simone still working on the desk?’
She faltered. ‘Yes . . .’
‘Lovely lady. Can’t do enough for you.’
Kate did a small laugh, which she hoped served to acknowledge Simone’s top-notch hospitality.
Was he looking at her sceptically or was she imagining it? She tried to smile it off. An awkward moment that was blessedly interrupted by her phone ringing. It was Iris.
‘Hi, everything OK?’ asked Kate.
‘Everything’s fine. I had to ring, I got something in the post this morning.’ Iris sounded excited, tense. ‘The hotel wrote to me – you know, where we stayed in Anguilla . . .’ Kate’s heart skipped a beat and she avoided looking at Greg. Iris continued. ‘A very polite, very apologetic letter, saying they were extremely sorry, it was most unusual for this to happen, and assuring me of their utmost commitment to high-quality service, and so on and so on.’
‘Go on,’ prompted Kate.
‘They’d been handed an envelope to pass to me before we left – and they hadn’t done it. Got put in the wrong pigeonhole or something. So, they posted it.’
‘OK . . .’ said Kate.
‘Inside the envelope was a single piece of paper with a name on it.’ Iris paused. ‘It’s from Errol, I know it is. He couldn’t be seen to be telling me who the director of Foxgold is, so he left an anonymous note for when we flew back home.’
Kate suddenly realized she was holding her breath.
‘I’m sorry, Kate, I don’t think you’re going to like this. It’s Greg Hollander. He owns everything, Kate. The farm, the chemical company, the whole damn lot.’
Spasms of fear coursed through her body. The silence ticked on. Say something. But horror was splintering all her thoughts and she didn’t know what to say. She was suddenly aware the fingers holding her phone had locked up and she flexed them.
‘Wh
ere are you?’ asked Iris.
Kate swallowed. ‘That’s right,’ she said, trying to keep her voice pleasantly neutral, ‘my friend Greg’s giving me a lift into town.’
He glanced across and she tried to smile at him. She felt it falter, felt the sickness rise up in her throat. Has he noticed?
‘Good God, get out of the car,’ said Iris. ‘I don’t want you anywhere near that man.’
Kate felt her stomach tighten. She forced the rising panic back down.
‘Are you doing it?’ said Iris urgently.
Be careful what you say, her brain was screaming. He’s listening. Her right hand was sweating and so she moved the phone into her left.
Think, think. You need to get out of the car. Then she suddenly realized he hadn’t pulled over to let her get out again, as he’d said he would.
‘Yes, shouldn’t be long. We’re just going up Black Prince Road. About to cross the bridge.’
‘Oh, Kate, Kate. Get out of the car. You need to get out of the car!’ shouted Iris.
Then Kate did something mad. She hung up the phone. She was terrified Greg could hear Iris shouting at her. Conscious he was looking across at her, she arranged her features into a neutral expression.
‘Everything OK?’ asked Greg.
She nodded, then realized she hadn’t made eye contact so turned and smiled at him. ‘Fine.’
‘Was that your friend?’
‘Who?’ Dazed, she had answered automatically.
‘That you’re meeting,’ he said, amused.
‘Oh. Yes, it was.’ She affected a light tone. ‘Weren’t you going to drop me off?’
‘Oh! Yes, sorry. Got carried away hearing about the holiday. Like you just said, we’re about to cross the bridge. Mind if we just get over? It’ll be hell to stop now.’
Should she insist? Or was it better to act as if nothing was wrong? The traffic was flowing; if she opened the car door and flung herself out, she’d be hurt. That was if she managed to get away quick enough. Was this all just some kind of madness? Had she been doing this too long and she was losing her mind, imagining terrible things because she missed Becky?
As she fidgeted in her seat an uneasy thought suddenly caught up with her.
The coincidence hadn’t been seeing Greg in Kennington. It was seeing him at that exact moment, when she, Kate, was walking along the road. And he hadn’t even questioned the unlikeliness of that happening. Her phone was still in her hand. The phone Greg had given to her. Was he able to track her? The hairs went up on her arms. It meant he knew she’d been to Adam’s flat that morning. He knew she’d been to Anguilla, not the Bahamas. God, he’d known every single one of her movements for weeks.
More madness. An overactive imagination?
They were almost at the roundabout that led onto the bridge. The first exit. Only a couple more minutes and he’d drop her off.
‘The press release is in the glove compartment,’ said Greg. ‘Help yourself.’
She looked down and clicked open the hatch. Sure enough, inside was a folded sheet of paper. She opened it to see a printed-off press release on corporate headed paper. As she looked up again, she just noticed they’d passed the turn to the bridge.
‘What the . . .?’ she started. ‘You’ve missed the turning!’
‘It was gridlocked,’ said Greg, with a smile. ‘Taking another route.’
She took this in, panic tightening in a ball in her stomach. Then an awful thought struck her. What if he isn’t taking me to Westminster? She almost cried out then, a small gurgling noise, a sound of fear. What is he going to do with me?
They drove on in silence, Kate’s mind racing out of control. A drop of sweat rolled down the side of her face and she resisted the urge to wipe it away.
They were moving away from the river now, in the opposite direction. Did Greg just glance at her bag that was resting at her feet? Rigid, she forced herself not to touch it.
Now they were heading towards Elephant and Castle. In a few minutes, they’d be on the A3, a faster road that would take them out of London. Where is he going?
She looked across at him, at his smooth, expensive suit, his air of supreme confidence, and was filled with a sudden clarity. He was a man who gave himself permission to do whatever he liked, whose motivation was power and excessive riches at the expense of others, who refused to tolerate anyone getting in his way. This was the man who had had her daughter killed. He’d taken away the only person who had really mattered to her.
Kate was suddenly consumed with revulsion and hatred. A black rage spread through her. She grabbed hold of the steering wheel and spun it hard to the right.
‘What the . . .?’ started Greg as the car swerved across the road but he was silenced by an almighty crunch as his car smashed into a parked van. The deafening blare of alarms rang out.
Get out of the car!
Kate started fumbling for the seat-belt catch, it gave way, snaked its way back into the roller and she was free. Greg looked at her then, and in that split second she knew it was all true.
He grabbed her arm, but she wrenched it away and frantically fumbled at the door. Snatching her bag, she half stumbled out, aware that she’d bought herself precious seconds as Greg was trapped as his door was wedged against the crumpled van.
She saw people staring, bemused faces.
Run!
She dodged past onlookers and ran as fast as she could. Some were filming on their mobile phones but she had no time, no breath to stop and explain.
On she went, back towards the river. Ahead she could see Lambeth Bridge, its iconic red paint glowing in the morning sun. She risked a glance over her shoulder and, to her horror, saw Greg gaining on her. She wouldn’t make it. Jill’s office was too far, and Greg would get to her first.
She dodged down a side street, then another. Lungs heaving, she flung herself behind an industrial waste bin under the railway bridge and tried to catch her breath. A train thundered overhead, and she cursed; she needed to be able to hear if anyone was approaching.
Her phone rang.
Shit! She’d forgotten all about it, the fact Greg could track her. Frantic, she pulled it out of her bag, was about to smash it on the ground, when she saw the screen. It was Tim. She’d risk a few seconds.
‘Tim, I’m under a railway bridge right near Lambeth Bridge. Greg is following me – he did it, he did everything,’ she garbled, as quietly as she could.
‘I know,’ Tim said, urgently. ‘Iris called me.’
‘I need to get to the lawyer’s office in Horseferry Road. It’s so close but I don’t know if I can make it.’
‘Can you see him now?’
‘I don’t know . . . I don’t think so. I need to get off the phone, Tim, he can track me. He’ll find out where I am.’
‘Shit. Head to Horseferry Road. I’m nearby. I’ll come and find you.’
Another train thundered overhead. Kate hung up and, fingers shaking, smashed her phone on the ground. She listened hard but could hear nothing.
Very, very slowly, she crept from behind the bin. The tunnel was narrow and dark, lit by just a few strip lights. To her right, at the end of the tunnel, she could see daylight, the main road. Tentatively at first, she started to walk, then jog towards the light, looking back over her shoulder, but no one was there. When she reached the junction, she looked both ways, but couldn’t see Greg.
She broke into another run, heading towards the river. Soon she was at the bridge and her flagging limbs were energized. Not long now. The Palace of Westminster loomed larger, beckoning her over the bridge. As she ran, she glanced backwards.
He was right behind her.
She let out a howl, nearly stumbled. She had about a hundred metres on him. Faster, you have to go faster. But her legs couldn’t. As she crossed to the other side of the bridge, he’d narrowed the gap to fifty metres. She was on the right road, but the office was further up. Come on.
She could hear him get louder, closer, his feet t
hudding on the tarmac, the pump of his arms brushing against his jacket. Gasping, she knew he’d be on her in seconds. A few people were walking about, paying her no attention. The odd car passed by. City living. Everybody minding their own business. Greg would silence her scream in seconds. She’d fight him, though, she’d fight him like a tiger—
Kate suddenly felt a vast swoosh of air and, losing her balance, she stumbled onto the ground, stupefied with fear as a red bus mounted the pavement and came to a stop between her and Greg, taking out the wall of the adjacent building as it did so.
The driver jumped out.
Tim. Oh my God, it’s Tim.
‘Go! Go!’ he shouted, gesturing blindly up the road. She saw Greg come around the side of the bus and she ran, sweating, lungs rasping for breath, until she reached Jill’s building, then thundered up the steps and barged through the door.
‘I need . . . to see . . . Jill Pattinson,’ she gasped at a man sitting at a desk in the reception area.
‘She’s in a meeting right now,’ said the young man, taken aback at Kate’s appearance.
Kate shook her head in defiance, and, seeing him stand protectively in front of a door ahead of her marked with Jill’s name, barrelled across the room to open it.
‘Hey!’ interjected the man but she was already in. Jill was sitting behind a large, sweeping wooden desk, examining some papers in front of her.
‘Do not send me away,’ gasped Kate. ‘As I won’t go.’
Jill looked up, astonished, and then slowly pushed her glasses onto the top of her head.
‘Aren’t you that student from—’
‘Yes,’ said Kate. ‘Gloria Chapman’s class.’ She held out a sweaty hand. ‘Kate Ellis.’
Jill looked at her proffered hand and smiled politely. ‘Anil, could you please get Miss Ellis a glass of water?’ she said to the young man and he nodded and disappeared out of the room.
The Daughter Page 33