There was no food left in the freezer and he had to get out before he starved or went mad. The white-and-chrome furniture and ice-blue walls, which had once seemed so sharply stimulating, now closed in on him, clinical, cruel and hard. What a fool he’d been to allow vanity to stop him dyeing his wonderful golden-blond hair. He stood in front of the bathroom mirror and put on the dark-brown wig that Isobel had bought him, and pressed the hat down over it. His head felt as though it was suffocating. He stuck a thin moustache over his upper lip. It was slightly darker than the wig, but looked quite authentic. A bit of make-up on his eyebrows darkened them nicely to match the moustache. He did look different.
First, he would have to get money out of a cash machine. He mentally ran through the various pin numbers of his many bank accounts. Once he’d got the cash, he would go to the cinema. His heart lifted a little at the thought. A meal in a restaurant was out because he would have to remove his hat and the wig might shift, but he’d find a snack bar. Anything would be better than these four walls. He put on his coat, pressed the hat further down over the wig and quietly closed the door behind him. It was good that London was so impersonal. The neighbours were all foreigners. They didn’t know him and he didn’t know them. He took the lift to the ground floor. There was no sign of the caretaker, and he let himself out without being seen.
*
On the steps in the middle of Piccadilly Circus, Lucy felt safely anonymous as traffic and people swirled around them.
Paul lay with his head on her lap. “I’m hungry,” he said sleepily.
“Just be patient,” she said. “David will get us something to eat.”
She watched Dorothy and David counting out their cash. They still had most of the money that Beverley had brought them. There might even be enough to rent a room for one or two nights, as long as they shared. If it weren’t for the exhilaration of having found Mrs Ferranti, she reckoned she could sleep right now on these steps. It was exhausting trekking back and forth across London on the tube, with the foul air and pushy people. But, holy fire, it had been worth it!
David went off to buy burgers and fizzy drinks. Paul fell asleep, while she and Dorothy chatted happily about their visit to the old people’s home and the newly acquired grandmother.
“When I get my job, she can come and live with us,” said Dorothy. “And I’ll cook all those recipes Miss Clements showed me, and build her up again till she’s fit and strong.”
Their faces were alight with pleasure as they embellished their plan for Mrs Ferranti’s future comfort, and they were unaware that they were being observed.
“Hey, look at those two stunners!” muttered a man in a sharply cut, light-grey suit.
He and his friend studied the scene on the steps. The friend crossed himself over his open-necked white shirt and black jacket.
“They remind me of the Madonna and child, that one with the boy in her lap,” he said. “I don’t know that it would be decent.”
“You and your stupid superstitions,” said the other one, giving him a thump on the arm. “Come on, I’ll take the Madonna if it worries you, and you take the one with the black hair.”
They climbed the steps and approached the two animated girls.
“Excuse me ladies,” said the grey-suited man smoothly. “We’re talent scouts from a modelling agency, and we’re wondering if you happen to be looking for work. We have jobs available in Paris, Rome and other glamorous venues.”
The girls looked at him in astonishment, and were immediately on their guard.
“We would have no trouble in finding work for two such beautiful ladies – and for the little boy too – in photographic modelling.”
As the man spoke, David came up the steps behind them with his arms precariously full of canned drinks and plastic boxes. His face turned scarlet with rage as he caught the last sentence. He jumped two steps and landed alongside them.
“Get your filthy selves away from here before I call the police,” he growled, and with an almighty shove he knocked them sideways. He was thin and wiry and half their weight, but they lost their balance and fell, and all his shopping fell with them. Paul woke up with a look of surprise. The men picked themselves up and, with snarled threats and oaths, they disappeared into the crowd down Haymarket.
“Phew! Let’s get away from here,” said David. “That’s put me off this spot for the rest of my life.”
Within five minutes they found themselves in a nearby square and sat down on a bench to recover.
“As Miss Clements would say,” muttered Dorothy, “that was so disturbing, was it not?”
“And we lost all our food!” wailed Paul.
“Never mind,” said Lucy, “David will get us some more in a minute, but I’ve lost my appetite now. Can we just sit quietly for a little while?” She turned to look at Paul. “Pull your hood up, it’s getting chilly. See? I’m pulling mine up.”
They all pulled up their hoods and sat studying the queue of cinemagoers waiting to buy their tickets.
“Flaming flesh!” exclaimed David, clutching Dorothy’s arm. “Look at that! Don’t turn and stare, but look at the fifth person from the end of the queue.” They turned and stared. “For Bag’s sake, don’t all look at the same time!”
He needn’t have worried, because the man in the queue had his hat pulled well down over the side of his face and could see nothing except the back of the person in front of him.
“It’s not just his height. I’d know that way of standing anywhere,” said David hoarse with suppressed excitement. He turned to Paul. “Who’s that man? The one with the hat.”
Paul stared quite openly at the cinema queue. He stood up and went closer to have a better look. David pulled Lucy back as she tried to stop him. They all held their breath. Paul moved forward slowly, almost unnoticeably, until he was right next to the man. He glanced quickly up into his face and neck, and then studied his hands.
The man looked down at the hooded child and muttered, “Clear off!”, and brushed him away with an irritated movement.
“It’s the Drax with the yellow hair,” said Paul when he returned. “I recognise the big, brown freckle near the bottom of his thumb. I could see his hair sticking out from under his hat and it’s dark brown, but he has yellow whiskers on the back of his hand, just like Father Drax.”
They watched the man go into the cinema. There was no point in following him because they would never find him in the dark. They would just have to wait.
David fetched more food and they ate it on the bench. Paul wanted to go into the arcade to look at the slot machines, but was strictly forbidden.
“You stay with us,” said Dorothy sternly. “There are rough men in there.”
The film seemed to go on forever. Paul slept, and the others passed the time discussing the best way to follow Drax without being seen, and arranging how and where to meet up if they lost each other. By the time the film ended, it was night, yet the square was still full of flashing lights and noise and people. The four youngsters sat in the midst of an unsleeping world of colour and movement, and watched the cinema crowd emerge.
“It’s lucky you and David are so tall,” remarked Lucy. “People will think you’re adults. Otherwise, they might wonder what we’re doing here this time of night.”
Dorothy gave little laugh. “They probably think we’re a pickpocket gang.”
“Look!” whispered David.
A very tall, elegant man with brown hair and a little moustache stepped out into the square. He pressed his hair down hard and put on his hat. They followed him. He walked with the same firm but easy grace that Lucy recognised in David. Despite the hat, he held his head high as though he had no doubts as to his own worth. They watched through the window of a snack bar as he sat slowly eating a sandwich and drinking coffee. The manager was moving towards the door to turn them away, when the man paid fo
r his food and left. David followed him. The two girls trailed a few yards behind with Paul.
At the tube station, the man bought a ticket. David stood as near as he could behind him and watched, and then bought four.
“Try not to look as though we’re together,” he said quietly, as he handed them out, “but don’t lose sight of me or him.”
In the carriage the crush was oppressive. Lucy couldn’t reach the hanging strap. She clutched onto the back of Paul’s jacket with one hand and Dorothy’s sleeve with the other, and swayed with the movement of bodies. Months and months ago, when she had been so lonely in Father Copse’s house, she used to wonder what it would be like to be one of the crowd on a bus or in the tube. Now she knew – it was smelly, sweaty and suffocating.
At South Kensington, the carriage door opened and spewed out its contents. When they emerged onto the pavement they breathed deeply, and even the traffic fumes felt good. Drax was already turning into the Cromwell Road, and they hurried after him. He walked briskly towards a block of flats. The front entrance was down a side road and faced a garden square. They turned the corner just in time to see him press a coded security button, and a big glass door slid open. He stepped into the foyer and it closed behind him.
David swiftly took command. “We’ll know which flat is his when he puts the lights on. You all stay here and look for lights, and I’ll run round the side and look from there.” He dashed off and turned right into the Cromwell Road. Dorothy and Paul pressed their backs against the garden railings, and stared straight up at the front of the block, while Lucy watched from the right-hand side.
Within seconds, David reappeared. “Second floor on the main-road side!” he said triumphantly. “Quick! We need to find out where we are.”
“That was the Cromwell Road,” said Dorothy. “And look!” She pointed at a sign. “We’re here.”
David took out his mobile phone and rang Mr Lovett. A recorded message referred him to another number, ‘for emergencies only’.
Their hearts sank. None of them had a pen or paper.
“Keep saying it,” said Dorothy.
David put his hand through the railings that surrounded the garden square and scrabbled in the earth of a flower bed. He found a little stone, rubbed it dry on his sleeve and scratched out the emergency number on the pavement. In the light of the street lamp, it showed up white and clear.
By the time the building had been cordoned off and surrounded by police, Beverley had turned up.
“We want to watch,” protested David.
“OK, but you’ll have to stand right back, outside the cordon, or you’ll annoy the police. We’ll go over to the other side of the Cromwell Road, well out of the way.”
“We don’t need our hoods any more,” said Dorothy, pushing hers back as they crossed at the lights. “There’s nothing to stop us having a good look now!”
*
Up in the flat Father Drax switched on the light and then hastily switched it off. Curtains first, he reminded himself. One night out and he was getting careless!
He closed the curtains, switched the light back on, and took off his hat and wig. What a relief! He gave his head a good rub and peeled off the moustache, and then threw himself into an armchair to think about the film. He would have enjoyed his evening more if he hadn’t been so conscious of his height. The wig had been uncomfortable, and he’d had to take the hat off in the cinema because some stupid woman said she couldn’t see. It wasn’t his fault he was so tall.
He daren’t stay in London any longer. Tomorrow, he would take out large quantities of cash from his bank accounts and fly to Europe, and then he would look for a crooked official willing to provide him with a visa for Australia. Head office might have let him down, but money would never fail him. He stood up and pulled the briefcase out from behind the sofa and put it on the table. Which coat should he take? He threw a jacket down next to the briefcase, ready for a quick start in the morning. Perhaps it would be better to take a raincoat. He peeped out between the curtains to see if it had started raining.
For a moment, he could not move. Staring up at him from the other side of the Cromwell Road were four young faces that he recognised. Their hoods were thrown back, and each face shone with excitement and expectation and – how dare they! – with triumph. The familiar red-hot rage exploded.
He could see the cordon and the halted traffic. Then, someone started hammering on the door and voices were bellowing. He switched off the light and dashed from room to room. Police swarmed below every window. The hammering changed to crashing, and he knew that there was no escape. On the coffee table the syringe still lay, awaiting Isobel. So humane! And the Magnifico would welcome his loyal servant with open arms.
*
Four youngsters watched the arrival and departure of an ambulance and a stretcher, and then a policeman came out with a briefcase.
Dorothy clutched Lucy’s arm. “My existence may be in that bag!” she whispered.
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Beverley was taking instructions from someone over the phone. She switched it off. “Time to move on,” she said, shooing the children along the Cromwell Road. She waved her hand at a passing taxi, and it stopped a few yards up Queensgate, just beyond the lights.
“OK, kiddos,” she said, as she held the door open. “That’s it! Show’s over. Get in.”
“Can’t take more than four,” snapped the driver nastily. “Insurance.”
“Rubbish!” snapped Beverley back. “This is a police emergency, so you watch out or you’ll lose your licence for interfering with the course of justice.”
She gave them all a good push from behind, and they clambered in. They squeezed into the back, while she perched on a little fold-up seat facing them.
“I’m to put you all in a hotel for two nights,” she said, holding tight to the sides of the seat to stop herself from falling off. “Or it might be three, depending on whether they’ve had the chance to check the flat and go through the briefcase. And don’t worry because you’ll all be together in the same place. Once they’ve had a good poke around, Mr Lovett will want to see you – and don’t you dare run away from me this time, or I’ll get the sack.”
*
Two days later, the four of them were sitting in brown leather armchairs and two upright chairs, facing Mr Lovett. Beverley sat in her usual corner, wondering whether to look for another job. She’d had enough of pesky kids who ran away and hid under bridges.
Mr Lovett was shuffling through his papers. At last, he looked over his enormous desk and smiled kindly at his young audience.
“We found confirmation of your birth in the briefcase, Dorothy, and registration will not be a problem. Both you and Lucy will be now be able to have birth certificates, which will mean that you exist in the eyes of the law. Apparently, the reason girls weren’t registered was because they were usually expected to be aunts or wives and never leave the communes. Also, it made it easier to dispose of them once they were no longer useful.”
Dorothy and Lucy looked at each other in indignation. What a cheek!
Mr Lovett seemed unperturbed. He continued, “The Magnifico’s boys were always registered legally at birth because they had to have careers and infiltrate companies and so on. So David and Paul exist officially already. Even so, we’re going to get new identities for all four of you. There’s a risk that these people – the holy leaders and so on – might try to track you down if they ever come out of prison, so we can’t be too careful.”
He noted the look of dismay on their faces.
“Don’t worry,” he said hastily. “It won’t happen. The ones they’ve caught will probably get life and it looks as though the rest have disbanded, in this country at least. We just want to be extra cautious. You can keep your first names if you like, because they’re ordinary enough. We’ll give you two weeks to choose your new surna
mes, and if you can’t decide, we’ll choose some for you. Then we can get you all the documentation you need, new birth certificates, national insurance numbers, passports, and so forth.”
They looked at each other in pleased surprise. The possibility of a passport and being able to travel abroad was exciting, but even more so was the prospect of choosing their own surnames.
“Can we go back to Wales?” asked Lucy.
“Yes, I don’t think there’s anyone left for you to hide from now,” said Mr Lovett. “Miss Clements told us she’d given up fostering because it’s all been too upsetting, but now that Drax and Isobel are out of the way she’s willing to have you just until Copse’s trial – if it goes ahead – and then Isobel’s. After that, there will have to be other arrangements because she’s getting married.”
They looked at each other and giggled. Miss Clements getting married! So old!
“I bet it’s that nice Mr Nicholas,” said Lucy. “I wonder if we’ll be invited to the wedding”
“By the time the trials are over, we’ll be registered with birth certificates and I’ll be old enough to work,” said Dorothy. “So then I’ll be able to look after everyone.”
“Ah, Dorothy! That’s something I was going to mention,” said Mr Lovett, shuffling again through his papers. “It seems you were misled about your date of birth.”
Dorothy stared at him, “What do you mean? Don’t say I’m only fifteen!”
“No,” he said. “According to Drax’s records in the briefcase, you are seventeen, and your birthday was in December, not September. You’ll be eighteen on December the ninth.”
“Ancient!” said Paul.
“We’re taking Father Drax’s records as correct,” continued Mr Lovett. “One of the aunts in the Drax commune told us they changed the dates in the commune records so that no one from outside could trace your mother.”
Dorothy caught her breath. Something seemed to swell inside her and burst. “The pigs!” she exclaimed, tears streaming down her cheeks. “My poor mamma! They took me away from her, and they didn’t even leave her my birth date!”
The Big House Page 24