‘Just one more thing. Scroll a bit further down the page you’re on, about halfway.’ I did as he asked, squinting at the screen which was dark, with white writing in a handwritten-style font that was hard to read.
‘What am I looking for?’
‘Look for “Suffolk”.’
I found the word as Harry spoke it:
It’s in Suffolk, I’m telling you. The PAAUL HQ, where they’re coordinating all the assassinations. Place called Aldeburgh.
‘Do you know if your dad has any connection to Aldeburgh?’ Harry asked. ‘There’s another thread on another forum, similar kind of stuff, that mentions a place called Lanagh as the specific HQ, but I don’t know if the two are connected . . .’
‘Oh, Jesus,’ I gasped.
‘What?’ he asked. ‘What is it? Does your father have a connection to Aldeburgh? To this Lanagh place?’
‘Yes,’ I said, my head spinning. ‘It’s where he’s from, where his older brother, my Uncle Perry, still lives. Lanagh is their family home.’
Harry and I drove to Aldeburgh the following morning. It was a dull day, the sky grey and heavy with rain that drummed down on the roof of the car like tiny stones. Harry had insisted on coming with me as soon as I told him I wanted to check out Lanagh.
‘Are you serious?’ I’d asked him, genuinely shocked that he was prepared to give up his time.
‘I kind of feel responsible,’ Harry had admitted. ‘I mean, I turn up and drop a bombshell out of the blue. The least I can do is help you deal with the fallout.’
‘You still don’t have to come all the way to Suffolk with me,’ I said.
Harry shrugged. ‘Would you rather I didn’t? Is there anyone else who could help you?’
The answer to both questions was ‘no’. The last thing I wanted was to drive all the way to Lanagh and explore it on my own and I couldn’t imagine confiding my suspicions to anyone I knew – I could barely admit them to myself. But Harry already knew everything. And, anyway, with his disarming smile and his easy, direct manner, it was impossible not to trust him.
I set off as soon as the kids had left for school, driving to Dad’s where, thankfully, no one was at home. I let myself in and made straight for the spare keys to Lanagh. I removed them from their hook, checked in the drawer beneath for the Lanagh house alarm code and headed outside again. I picked up Harry near highbury and Islington tube station and before too long we were on the A12. This was the third time we’d met in person and as he jumped into the car, his long face lit up with a smile, I wondered how on earth I could have thought for a second that he wasn’t attractive. His features weren’t even and regular like Dex’s, but to me he seemed far sexier. There was something so expressive about his face – his eyes full of fun with just a tantalising hint of danger around the edges. I wanted to ask him questions about his life, especially if there was a girlfriend in the picture, but I felt suddenly and ridiculously self-conscious.
For the first half an hour or so, Harry kept the focus on the connection between Lanagh house and PAAUL. He was intrigued by the idea that the property might be being used as PAAUL’s headquarters and wanted to know about Uncle Perry – Dad’s older brother – who still lived there.
‘He’s a bit of an old fogey,’ I explained. ‘Comes up to London all the time and stays at his club in Mayfair.’
‘And he’s there now?’
‘Yeah, arrived on Friday for Caspian’s memorial service. He usually stays at least five days.’ I fell silent again. The plan was for Harry and I to explore Lanagh while it was empty. I’d fixed last-minute play dates after school for both kids – with Ayesha as back-up in case of emergency. My mind whirred around the prospect of trying to identify the most likely places where information on PAAUL might be stored. I couldn’t really believe that Dad – or indeed Perry – could be involved with PAAUL, but doubt still hung over me, its shadow long and dark.
‘So how come you’re not at work today?’ Harry asked.
‘I’m part time,’ I said absently. ‘What about you?’
‘Oh, I’m supposed to be catching up on paperwork,’ Harry explained. ‘Do you like being part time? I’ve always imagined it’s easy to end up going over your hours.’
‘Yeah, it can be. I went down to three days a week after Caspian . . . it seemed the best thing for the kids. I’ll probably go back to full time when Ruby’s at secondary school.’
‘It must have been unbearably hard for them,’ Harry said gently. ‘Losing their dad so suddenly. Still be unbearable, I mean.’
I glanced out of the window, a lump in my throat. We were drawing nearer to the coast and the rain was growing heavier. I felt terribly aware of how close Harry was, how comfortable I was in his presence.
How was it possible for me to still feel such grief about losing Caspian, yet also this fluttering in my stomach at having Harry here, in the passenger seat, right next to me?
‘Do you have kids?’ I asked, slowing as we reached a roundabout.
Harry shook his head.
‘You said before you’d never been married,’ I went on, feeling suddenly nervous. ‘What about a girlfriend?’
‘Not for the past six months,’ Harry said with a grin. I turned the steering wheel to the left. ‘Basically what I’ve got is a long trail of relationship debris.’
I laughed out loud, keeping my gaze on the drizzle that gleamed on the road ahead. I was struck by the warm glow of pleasure I felt at the news he was single. Today was, I realised, the first time I’d been anywhere with a man I didn’t know since Caspian had died. Not that this was remotely like a date. Having made the turn onto the road to Aldeburgh, I snatched a glance at Harry. He was studying his phone, his dark hair falling over his eyes. Even his nose – which by any objective measure was too long – suited his face. Not that it mattered. He wasn’t interested. And neither was I. Not really. It was just nice to feel faint stirrings that one day, perhaps, I might be.
We drove on.
I was stiff from sitting still when we finally pulled up outside Lanagh house, the wheels of the car scrunching over the damp gravel.
‘Wow,’ Harry said. ‘This is a mansion.’
I followed his gaze, across the ivy-covered brick and Georgian pillars of the large detached house in front of us.
‘Imagine growing up here.’ Harry glanced across at me. ‘Still I guess you don’t have to, you grew up in a huge house in Kensington, didn’t you? What’s that worth? Ten million? Eleven?’
I shrugged, embarrassed. I was used to people being shocked – even envious – of my privileged background, but Harry didn’t sound resentful. I hadn’t met anyone so open, so frank since I was at uni. Caspian in particular had always been careful never to mention money. I’d appreciated that when I met him, though later I sometimes got frustrated with his habit of shying away from any conversational topic that was remotely awkward.
‘So where did you grow up?’ I asked.
Harry raised his eyebrows. I blushed. Had I sounded sharper than I intended?
‘Tiny two-bed flat on a council estate in Manchester,’ he said. ‘We lived on benefits and my mum’s cleaning work. There was damp in the flat and piss in the lift and the police were always there on a Saturday night busting someone or other for drugs. I worked on building sites for cash from when I was sixteen all through uni until my first proper job in sales.’ He paused. ‘I have no idea what it’s like to feel I’m owed a living.’
‘I don’t feel like that,’ I protested.
‘I bet you have a trust fund as well, don’t you?’ Harry asked with a chuckle. Again he didn’t sound resentful, merely like he was stating facts. ‘Lots of people would say that a private income is the definition of entitlement.’
‘Have you got a problem with that?’ I asked, digging in my handbag for the keys to Lanagh to cover how flustered I felt. I did, indeed, have a small trust fund from Mum’s estate. Lucy had one too, in addition to her money from Dad. Of course, unlike my sister I a
lso worked for a living. ‘Because I have a job which I need and two kids I support, so—’
‘I’m not bitter about it,’ Harry said quickly. ‘I just think it’s important to remind the rich that life’s tough without money.’
‘Okay . . .’ I opened the front door. ‘. . . but life can be tough whatever,’ I said, hurrying into Uncle Perry’s gloomy hall. The alarm beeped its warning. I scuttled to the alarm panel and punched in the code as Harry found a light switch.
We stood, side by side, in the eerie silence of the shadowy hallway. It struck me again that Caspian would never have helped me like this. Steady and reliable, he would have refused to explore Lanagh house without Uncle Perry’s knowledge or permission.
‘Are your dad and your uncle close?’ Harry asked, as I led him across the hall towards Uncle Perry’s study. I’d already decided that this was where we were most likely to find evidence of PAAUL. The rest of the house was Spartan and minimalist – not in the chichi designer sense in which Jacqueline kept Dad’s house but as if a monk lived here.
‘Very close,’ I said. ‘Uncle Perry has dinner with Dad at home or his club on most of the nights he’s in town.’
‘Was it always like that?’
‘I don’t know,’ I admitted, pausing at the door of the study. ‘Uncle Perry is much older – like eight years or so. He looked out for Dad when they were kids, protected him from bullies, that kind of thing.’
‘And now?’
‘Kind of the other way round. Dad’s been really successful in everything. Work, women, health. Perry’s had a harder life. He never married and he’s had problems with his back . . .’
‘Do you think Perry might be part of PAAUL too?’
‘I don’t think either of them are part of it, not really.’ My words sounded hollow even to my own ears. After all, if that were true what was I doing here? ‘I just want to be sure,’ I went on lamely.
‘Of course.’
We walked into Perry’s study. It was dominated by the large picture of St Francis of Assisi which hung on the wall opposite the door. A huge leather-topped desk stood in front of the window, laden with papers. To the side of the desk a row of hefty oak bookcases groaned with files and folders.
‘Bloody hell,’ Harry said.
‘I know,’ I replied. ‘It’s a lot to look through, but I don’t have to be home until seven or so, we’ve got a good four hours.’
‘Leaving everything as we find it,’ Harry muttered, rolling up his sleeves. ‘Let’s get on with it, then. Er, what exactly are we looking for?’
‘Anything connected with PAAUL.’
‘I don’t see a computer, do you know where it is?’
‘Perry doesn’t have one,’ I said.
‘How can anyone exist without a laptop?’ Harry asked, looking genuinely shocked.
‘Perry’s not at all tech-savvy, not compared to Dad and definitely not compared to most people nowadays. He only has a mobile for emergencies.’
‘Right, so if there are any notes or records about PAAUL meetings you think they’ll be on these shelves?’
‘Yes, assuming the PAAUL meetings are really held in this house,’ I said.
We each took a shelf and worked our way along it, pulling out every file in turn. Most of the information here was to do with Perry’s long-standing interest in the lives of the Catholic saints, which I knew he’d inherited from his mother, though we also found some bank and investment portfolio information too.
‘He might not be worth as much as your dad,’ Harry said at one point, ‘but he’s not doing badly.’
I shrugged. Maybe Harry didn’t believe it but I knew how lucky I was to have not only emotional but also financial support from my family. Dad had helped me buy my first flat – a big part of the deposit for the house Caspian and I later purchased – though, more recently, I had rejected his offer to pay for childcare for Ruby on the two days when I worked past the end of the school day.
I flicked through a folder containing reviews of books on sainthood – there had to be more than fifty of them, some curled and yellowing with age.
‘So Perry’s an odd name,’ Harry said, breaking the silence as he replaced the last file on his shelf. ‘At least it is compared to Jayson and . . . there’s another brother too, isn’t there?’
‘Yes, Graham. My cousin Dex’s dad. Actually it’s Graham who’s the odd one out, name-wise,’ I explained. ‘Perry is short for Perseus, from Greek myth. And Jayson is from Jason and the Argonauts.’
‘Blimey.’ Harry raised an eyebrow.
‘Their dad was a classics scholar,’ I said. ‘Graham’s first name is Hercules, but he never uses it.’
‘I can see why.’ Harry grinned and pulled a large green file off the next shelf. ‘Do your dad and Perry get on with Graham?’
‘They don’t see each other very often,’ I said. In fact there was little love lost between Uncle Graham and the others. They’d barely spoken in years. Still, it felt disloyal to say so.
We worked on in silence.
‘Why are you so interested in all this?’ I asked. ‘I mean, I get what you said before, about trying to help me deal with the “bombshell” you dropped, but you seem to really care and you didn’t even properly know Caspian.’
‘Oh well . . . people are fascinating and I’m basically very nosy.’ Harry hesitated. ‘Actually, if I’m honest I feel bad I didn’t pass on sooner what your husband told me at the conference.’
‘Why did you come to me instead of the police?’
‘I told you.’ He met my gaze. ‘I thought it was only fair that you had a chance to process what might be happening first . . . with your dad . . .’
We searched on. After an hour it was obvious there was nothing about PAAUL here.
‘Okay,’ I said. ‘If this really is the PAAUL headquarters then they only use it to meet up, not to store anything or keep records.’
Harry stared at me. ‘Or the records are somewhere else in the house.’
‘I can’t think where,’ I said. ‘There’re not many places you can store stuff. Perhaps they just make plans and don’t write anything down.’
‘Mmn.’ Harry sighed.
‘I guess we could take a quick look round the rest of the house, just in case?’ I set off upstairs, leaving Harry to explore the living room, the dining room – with its polished oak table – and kitchen, which hadn’t been properly updated since my grandfather died and left Perry the house. I wandered through the four bedrooms upstairs. Perry still slept in his childhood room, leaving the larger master bedroom for guests. If I hadn’t known which was which I wouldn’t have been able to guess. All four bedrooms were decorated with floral wallpaper, polished wood wardrobes and pale-blue curtains at the windows. I stopped for a second in the smallest room, which I knew from previous visits had been my father’s when he was a child. I tried to imagine him as a small boy, eager to keep up with his two older brothers. There was no sign of that boy in this room.
‘Fran!’ The urgency in Harry’s voice roused me from my reverie.
I bounded down the stairs. ‘Did you find something?’
Harry was in the hallway, eyes wide as he peered into the under-stairs cupboard. I frowned, following his gaze to the row of coats that hung on pegs on the far wall and the boots and shoes lined neatly underneath them.
‘There’s nothing here,’ I said. ‘And there wasn’t upstairs either.’
‘Look,’ Harry urged. ‘Behind the raincoat.’
Shaking my head I pulled back the mackintosh at the end of the row. To my surprise instead of the wall I expected to find, there was a door, the brass handle clearly exposed. I rattled it. The door stayed shut.
‘Locked,’ I said, meeting Harry’s gaze.
He held up a bunch of keys. ‘I found these in the kitchen,’ he said, offering them to me.
I chewed my lip. It was one thing ransacking Perry’s files, but blundering into a room he clearly wanted kept secret somehow felt like c
rossing a bigger line.
‘You need to see,’ Harry said. His dark eyes were calm, but intent. ‘Don’t you?’
I nodded, turning my attention to the keys. I found the one that fitted on the second try.
With a click, the door creaked open. I fumbled along the wall of the dim space inside and found a switch. The light illuminated a set of narrow stairs leading down, presumably to some sort of cellar.
‘I didn’t know this existed,’ I breathed.
‘Come on,’ Harry said.
I took a deep breath and led the way down.
5
The stairs were steep as well as narrow and the dim light above them cast shadows across the stone floor to which we were descending. I realised I was holding my breath as my feet echoed across the large flags of what appeared to be some sort of cellar. It was cold and shadowy down here: an empty room with a single door at the end.
‘What’s through there?’ Harry asked. I could hear the tension in his voice.
My heartbeat quickened as I opened the door and flicked on the light.
Inside was a storage room, full of boxes and old furniture. Some of it looked like it had once been ornate and expensive – a pair of now-threadbare brocade armchairs with matching footstools, a set of tarnished brass doorstops, a chipped oak sideboard stood on its end. Unlike the austere house upstairs, this place was a mess.
‘Jesus, look at all this,’ Harry breathed, opening the box at the top of the pile stacked against the wall opposite. ‘Do we have time to go through it all?’
‘Probably not.’ I turned to the cardboard box nearest me. As I lifted the lid I glanced around the room. There must be thirty or forty containers here. It would surely take us another two or three hours to check them all – and I had to make a start back to London by four thirty at the latest.
I rummaged through the box. Tax returns, insurance forms and sheaves of notes and correspondence on the headed notepaper of Perry’s old surgery. Which made sense: Uncle Perry was a recently retired doctor. I sighed. Across the room Harry had yanked open the top of another box and sifted through its contents. We worked in silence, careful to replace everything exactly as we found it. Hardly any of the boxes were labelled. Disheartened, I tugged at a small box buried at the back. It had the words P. CARR PRIVATE scrawled across it in capitals.
The Black Sheep Page 5