‘Surely they have enough evidence to charge him.’ She thinks they are dragging their feet.
‘They don’t want to risk him getting off if they aren’t fully prepared,’ I remind her. To us, from our point of view, the case seems obvious, but to a jury, all of whom must be unconnected to the characters involved, it might not appear so clear cut.
‘Well, what about France? Any news from there?’ She’s desperate for some progress, somewhere. Lying confined to her hospital bed is torture for one normally so active and decisive.
‘Tim’s on the trail. Don’t even begin to worry about that. They have all arrived safely and are just settling in before they go to meet your parents. And Amelia, of course.’ In one way I am deeply jealous of the four of them, who are going to make the acquaintance of this very special little girl before I do. And yet my love for her mother dictates that I must be here, guarding her, as no matter how much I wish it I cannot be in two places at once.
‘No sign of the gruesome twosome, then?’ She gives me a smile, which lifts my heart. If she can joke about this horrendous pair then her spirits must be bearing up. Their threat is anything but a laughing matter, as we are all only too well aware.
‘He might have a lead – he texted a while ago. He’ll let us know as soon as there is anything definite. You know Tim – he won’t want to raise our expectations but he won’t leave us languishing in ignorance either.’
‘Ignorance is bliss.’ She cocks her head to one side and attempts a pout.
‘Knowing you is bliss,’ I say, stepping forward and planting a gentle kiss on her forehead. God knows I want nothing more than to gather her into my arms but I know I cannot, or not for the moment at least. To think that I went to all those lengths to protect her, making it widely known that we were married, moving her into my house, and yet it still wasn’t enough. Somebody wanted her dead and we were looking in the wrong direction, fearing recriminations from her late husband’s associates, when all the time the real danger lay closer to home. And we still are none the wiser as to the whereabouts of Amber Simpson. The police are on full alert, as am I, waiting for her to make her move. Which they and I are fully convinced she will do, now her plot has been thwarted. The only question is when and where she will do it. For now, I have to remain on red alert at all times.
It will be agony for someone as obsessive as her to be uprooted from the order of her home and routine of her work. She must be growing increasingly anxious and liable to commit a desperate and random reprisal. I could do with Tim’s take on her, how the balance of her mind will be affected by this major setback to her plans, but he’s got a more vital role in this grim piece of theatre. He can fill me in later. Perhaps he can write a paper on it and make his name – there must be something good to come out of all this.
I mentally upbraid myself. I have to have faith that everything will work out, not allow myself to succumb to despair. That’s not like me. Look what she’s done, my Kate – she’s got me feeling emotions after all these years and it’s not at all comfortable. With love comes pain. For most of my life I dismissed that as a cliché, but now the truth of it has made itself all too agonizingly real.
Yet it is worth it. Life before Kate – I can hardly believe how rapidly that is receding into the far distance. Since I met her, colours have become sharper, sounds more vivid, tastes more pronounced; the very air smells different. I am more vitally, thrillingly alive than I’ve ever been, more indeed than I ever dreamed possible. She has done this, she alone. I am powerless to stop it, and I don’t want to.
So, quite simply, I have to keep her alive.
*
Brenda twisted nervously in the back seat as Tim put the car into gear. It still didn’t feel right, this driving on the wrong side. But she had to admit she felt better for a lie-down in the hotel. She had no complaints about the place, even if the pillows were a funny shape compared to the ones back home and there was a strange thing in the bathroom that looked as if it might be for washing your feet. All the plugs were wrong, too. Julia had come prepared and lent her a spare adaptor.
Tim had filled them in when he’d returned to the hotel. No lying down for him – he’d been out exploring the place and asking around to see if there was any news to help them. From the newagent’s he’d gone to the bike hire shop and what he’d heard there had sparked his interest. True, there had only been one English man, not two, but the assistant’s description had matched one of the photos he’d seen in the papers. The assistant had been uncertain about the man’s state of mind, as the language barrier had prevented his getting a clear picture, but the man’s size was indisputable. It made him stand out and stick in the memory. The assistant had got the impression he was pretty jumpy, especially when he’d come back to return the bikes – he had brought them separately and the second time had been more nervous than ever. However, he had given no clue as to where he was going next, only that he had a car and so didn’t need the bikes any more. There had been no sign of a travelling companion, but the fact that there had been two bikes suggested he wasn’t on his own.
The assistant had checked the date when the bikes had been brought back and it was back in May, and there had been no sign of the man since. That didn’t mean that Max was no longer in the area, of course, just that the assistant hadn’t seen him, but in such a small village it would have been hard to hide if you were that conspicuous.
It was hard to know for sure based on such slender evidence, but it could be that Max and Trev had gone to ground for some reason. That didn’t mean that they were no longer a threat, only that they hadn’t yet carried out the act they had been dispatched to commit. In one way it was reassuring to know that the four of them hadn’t set off on a wild goose chase: the criminals had almost definitely been seen in the area, or at least one of them had. It also meant that they were in time to save Amelia, if they acted fast. So they were now on their way to meet Kate’s parents and the little girl. The beautiful green countryside flashed by the window, and Brenda took a deep breath and then sighed it out. They just had to hold their nerve and get this job done, for Kate’s sake and for Alex’s. Those two must be beside themselves with worry back in Liverpool, but she for one was determined not to let them down. She glanced over at Julia, whose thinness was more pronounced than ever in the bright sunshine and contrasting deep shadows.
Julia bit her lip. Then she realized that the older woman was looking at her and she smiled in what she hoped was a comforting way, knowing how anxious Brenda was about being away from home on foreign soil. She fought to hide her own anxiety, as it was something she could not share with anyone, not even Tim. It would have been selfish in view of what they had all set out to do.
She dreaded meeting Kate’s father. Even when she said that to herself it sounded mean and ungrateful. But she’d spent so long nursing her mother, and her father had been ill before that – she could not stand the thought of encountering another sick old person. She knew this was a totally different scenario and she berated herself, trying to push away her fears, but logic had nothing to do with it. The sights and smells of the sickroom were too close still, her mother’s death hanging over her, and she baulked at the thought of crossing the threshold into another place of illness. She shuddered involuntarily. She couldn’t fall apart, not here, not when the Bees were relying on her and Tim. She had not hesitated to give up her at-home honeymoon to come on this rescue mission, but she hadn’t quite thought it through – what it might entail. Too late now. Tim was barrelling along the country lanes, happy now that he was actively doing something, and she admired and loved him for it. She could not let him down.
‘All right, love?’ Brenda asked quietly. ‘You’re not getting car sick being in the back with me, are you? I know some people do and these roads are all windy, aren’t they?’
‘No, no, I’m fine.’ Julia forced her face to relax and her voice to carry conviction.
‘I’ll wind down my window anyway,’ offered Brend
a, but she couldn’t find the right button in the unfamiliar car.
Tim, overhearing the muttered conversation, obligingly slid down his own window, and a fresh breeze drifted back to the occupants of the rear seats. It carried the unfamiliar and tantalizing scents of the area and Julia breathed them in, knowing she should be glad of the chance to be here, despite the circumstances. She turned her face to the window so that the others wouldn’t see her expression and read her thoughts. She had to steel herself for the coming encounter somehow.
‘Not long now,’ said Tim, thinking this would be exactly what his new wife wanted to hear.
‘Lovely,’ was Julia’s reply. But she didn’t mean it at all.
Fifteen
The old-fashioned brass bell clanged above the door as a very well-dressed woman entered the discreet antiques shop. She wore dark glasses and a neat dark red straw hat, which the shopkeeper thought could be because of the rare bright sunny day – you didn’t see many of those in Manchester. Or, as was the case with so many of his customers, she might just wish to keep her identity hidden.
Since she removed neither hat nor glasses as she approached him, he assumed it was the latter.
Amber paused for a moment to reach into her capacious bag, which she’d just about managed to sling over her shoulder in an attempt to make it seem as if it was just another designer model, although it was straining at the seams. The antiques dealer smirked slightly; not only did his visitor wish to remain anonymous, she didn’t want it to be known she was carrying heavy, and possibly valuable, items either.
Manchester was the ideal destination. It was easily reached from her current base, and she’d been able to prop her heavy bag on the train seat beside her without anyone’s raising an eyebrow. The city had a large population, with plenty of big spenders – traditional fans of antiques, or newer media types keen to furnish their new homes; even developers seeking to make their refurbished properties look more authentic than they actually were. All of these groups added up to a decent market for her goods.
She’d assessed the contents of her new flat with a detached and practical eye. She didn’t want to lose any of the gorgeous objects in it but if she was strictly honest she didn’t need them; they were beautiful decorations but not essential. What was essential was that she got her hands on some cash. She knew she couldn’t return to work after her few days off. That would be madness. Alex was on to her. It had to have been he who’d alerted the police so that they were waiting for Gus when he left the lock-up. She didn’t know if he’d spill the beans or not, if she could rely on his silence, but he would probably crack sooner or later. She couldn’t expect him to sacrifice himself for her, so she had to lie low until she could come up with a new plan.
The man at the counter was smiling encouragingly and she painted on her best, most confident smile as she brought the first item out of the bag: an elegant cut-glass vase. She gave him her carefully thought out story, telling him how she’d inherited a stunning collection of objects from a relative but simply didn’t have the room to keep them herself. Even as she was saying the words she was reflecting on how it was almost true. Kate was Alex’s first wife, sure, but if she played her cards right she herself could be his second. That made them all but related. It was fate.
The man nodded, reaching out to take the vase and then examining it with a practised eye. He offered her a price and she pretended to think about it, having researched all the items first on eBay. She knew she dared not use the internet for the selling process itself, but that didn’t mean she had to go into the negotiation totally unprepared. She countered his offer with a figure she knew he wouldn’t accept. He raised his first bid, she lowered hers – and within a few minutes they had agreed on an amount that meant he could add his mark-up and make a profit, and she felt she’d done all right.
Secretly satisfied, she drew out the rest of the contents of the bag, and piece by piece she by turns haggled with and flattered the antiques dealer. He seemed more than happy to play along with the game, and was evidently in no hurry. Amber felt herself relaxing for the first time in days. Maybe this was something she could do in the future: source antiques and then sell them on. She thought she might have the eye for it.
Finally they concluded the deal. ‘A pleasure to do business with you,’ said the dealer, drawing his pad of receipts from behind the till and reaching for a stylish fountain pen. ‘I’ll just fill this in, so my records are straight.’ He smiled broadly to indicate he wasn’t one of these Johnny-come-latelies operating on the black market. ‘Now, what name shall I put, Miss . . .’
Amber almost blurted out her real surname, so lulled was she by the success of her day. Then survival instinct kicked in. ‘Sampson,’ she lied easily. ‘Amanda Sampson.’ It was close enough to the real thing for her to remember if it ever came to that; she remembered reading that the best lies were those that contained more than a grain of truth. The man asked her to countersign the pad and she scrawled her initials. Job done.
Swinging the now unencumbered bag as she strode along the pavement in the direction of the train station, she congratulated herself on playing her hand as well as she had. There was a beautiful symmetry to the whole affair. Kate had pretty well forced her to accept her overwhelming generosity and showered her with all these hand-me-downs, and Amber was putting them to the best possible use: selling them off in the cause of destroying her benefactor. She wasn’t yet sure of the details of Plan B, but she was as certain as she’d ever been of anything in her life that they would come to her. It was just a matter of time.
Amber wondered if it would be worth calling Giles once she was back in the city. She’d taken up residence in an Airbnb not too far from Sefton Park but on a very quiet street, where she could be anonymous. The owners hadn’t asked her anything about herself. They were hardly ever there; they wouldn’t care if she brought the handsome young doctor home for a little diversion. He must have finished his tedious research paper by now. Then again, Giles was getting a little insipid for her taste. When it came down to it, he was a very poor substitute for Alex Price. Perhaps she’d wait until she could savour the genuine article.
*
Even as Tim pulled the car into the wide gravel drive, Brenda caught a fleeting glimpse of pale yellow – a small child-size frock, no doubt attached to a small child who at this moment was running in and out of the trees which stood to one side of the picturesque building. It had those shutters at the windows, the same as the ones she’d noticed when they had first arrived in France – so different from anything she was used to back home. Then again, she thought they must come in handy on bright sunny days, as the light here was stronger than you ever encountered in Liverpool, even at the height of summer. She thought it must fade the upholstery in no time at all. If she lived here, she’d want shutters too.
As the four of them got out of the car, a woman appeared round the side of the house. Brenda nearly gasped. It was like seeing an older version of Kate: a little shorter, admittedly, but with those striking looks and a similar penetrating expression. The woman wore her hair in a sophisticated geometric bob which appeared to be subtly tinted, and her clothes were elegant but simple, in cream linen. If Brenda had stopped to think what Kate’s mother might be like, this would have been the description she would have given.
The woman stepped towards them and held out her hand. Tim went to greet her and shook hands. ‘Mrs Power? Very pleased to meet you.’ He squinted a little in the sunshine.
‘You must be Dr Dyson,’ the woman said, and she even sounded like Kate, in those tones that only money could buy.
‘Please, call me Tim. This is my wife, Julia. And here are Mr and Mrs . . .’
‘Brenda and Brian,’ said Brenda firmly, coming forward as well. ‘Your Kate doesn’t give us any of that Mr and Mrs nonsense and so neither will you. This is no time to stand on cemetery.’
Mrs Power barely batted an eyelid. ‘Absolutely. I couldn’t agree more. Now come around to t
he garden, where we can be more comfortable in the shade. There’s someone who’s very eager to see you.’
She led the way down a side path into a wide expanse of lawn, edged by a patio in pale stone, on which stood a weathered wooden table and a collection of chairs, some wood, some metal, with assorted cushions on their seats. ‘Do settle yourselves. I won’t be a minute.’ She disappeared inside through a half-open door and re-emerged almost immediately bearing a large tray. Ice cubes clinked as she set a tall jug of still lemonade on the table, and half a dozen chunky glass tumblers. ‘Now, you must be hot and thirsty. Do help yourselves while I go to find my granddaughter.’
Julia poured the lemonade as the others did as suggested and sat down round the table. A parasol stood to one side of it and Julia tilted it so they were all sheltered from the blazing sun. She realized how effective the air conditioning in the car had been. Taking her own glass, she pulled up one of the metal chairs next to Tim.
‘All right?’ he asked, angling a concerned glance at her. ‘Heat not too much for you?’
She shook her head, not wanting to come across as a delicate flower. ‘I’m fine. This is a gorgeous spot, isn’t it?’
‘You’re right there.’ Tim gazed around in appreciation. Tall dark green trees surrounded the property, lush with summer, and there was a sound of birdsong coming from some of the topmost branches. Bees buzzed lazily in the long flower beds that stretched away to the furthermost boundary, and he wondered if anyone round here made honey. Alex would already be asking for details, checking which plants were most attractive to the insects, finding out which flavours of honey were most successful. Tim himself was content to listen to the creatures as they flew, while sipping the delicious lemonade.
‘Cheers,’ said Brenda, catching his eye and raising her tumbler. ‘It’s all right, this, isn’t it? This beats the bottled stuff from the Co-op, I don’t mind saying.’
For the Love of Liverpool Page 25