by Anna Jacobs
Trisha laid one hand on her shoulder. ‘I understand. It may comfort you to know that we keep the outer doors and windows locked at all times, and if the kids are playing in the garden, there are high fences, which you must have seen. Besides that, either I or my helper will be with them at all times outside. As a final resort we have a panic button which sets off a siren and some of the people in the village will come running if they hear it. In today’s world, you have to do this sort of thing, even up here at Top o’ the Hill.’
‘Good. I’ll fill in the form and pay you in advance for the first two weeks.’
Ned kept an eye on her but continued to take out toys and examine them one at a time, putting them carefully back.
‘When should I bring him?’
Trisha smiled. ‘Why not tomorrow? Though I think you should stay the first time, maybe nipping out for a few minutes, then coming back, just till he gets used to being away from you.’
She turned to Ned. ‘You can come here tomorrow and play with the toys again. You can play with the other children, too.’
He gave her a long considering look. ‘Mummy too?’
‘Mummy too,’ she confirmed.
You’re not getting your hands on him again, Steven Pulford, Libby vowed as they visited the shop then walked slowly back home, talking about the playgroup. Never, ever.
Ten
Chad arranged an Internet video call to Des Monahan, so that Emily could judge whether she would like to put the search for her daughter into his hands.
She studied the private investigator’s face on the screen. Nondescript with perhaps a hint of Irish ancestry. He was studying her just as carefully.
‘Chad’s told me what happened, Ms Mattison.’
‘Yes. The reunion people found her and were pretty sure it was her, but we got a message back that she had no desire to contact me. Which is strange, when she had instituted a search as well.’
‘They were sure it was she who replied?’
‘They wouldn’t discuss it with me beyond giving me that information. So I don’t really know how sure they are.’
He nodded three times, slowly and thoughtfully, before looking her straight in the eyes. ‘Will you trust me to do this for you? It’s a delicate matter, finding a lost child. On both sides.’
She gave him an equally searching look. ‘Yes. I will trust you.’
‘Good. Actually, I prefer this sort of case to messy divorces, I must admit. It can be very rewarding if it’s successful.’
‘You’ll pull out all the stops?’ Chad said.
‘You’re in a hurry?’
‘I think Emily has waited long enough, and it’s the only cloud on our joint horizon at present, so I’d like it to go away. Do whatever it takes, don’t count the cost. After that, perhaps we can settle down to planning our wedding.’
When the connection was broken, Emily dug Chad in the ribs with her elbow. ‘I did not give you permission to discuss our wedding with all and sundry. I’m still not sure we need to marry.’
He leaned forward to give her a lingering kiss. ‘I’d go and get married next week, if it was up to me, Emily.’
She felt flustered. ‘I’m still getting used to the idea. I was so very sure I’d never marry, and after all, there isn’t the same pressure to do so in today’s world.’
‘I want our commitment to one another to be made in public in the traditional way – and celebrated in style!’
‘Even if we do marry, I am not having an elaborate wedding. I’m too old for all that fuss.’ She sniffed. ‘You’ll be asking me to wear a long white dress next!’
‘You’re never too old to celebrate a pairing like ours. But white wouldn’t suit you. And to hell with tradition; I will help you choose the dress. I know a fashion designer in London and I know that you don’t maximise your attractions.’
She spread her arms out in a gesture of helplessness. Chad had an unexpected romantic streak, which had surprised her. And he kept insisting she was beautiful, which she knew she wasn’t.
But it was rather nice that he wanted so much to marry her, she had to admit, though she wasn’t telling him that … yet.
The following week, Mrs Hockton picked up the phone. ‘Greaves and Hallibourne, Solicitors.’
A rather harsh voice said, ‘I’d like to speak to Mr Greaves, please.’
‘May I have your name, sir?’
‘Bainton.’
‘I don’t think Mr Greaves has a client called Bainton.’ She heard a little growl of anger at the other end.
‘Obviously I’m hoping to become his client.’
His patronising tone annoyed the hell out of her. ‘Perhaps you’d like to make an appointment to see him? He’s not free at the moment.’
‘I’d rather speak to him first. What time should I ring back?’
She could hardly refuse to deal with a potential client, but she wanted to. ‘I’ll mention you to him. Perhaps you could ring back about one-thirty this afternoon.’
‘Thank you. I will.’
She checked the client files then went through to Henry. ‘A Mr Bainton just rang up, insisting on speaking to you. He isn’t a client. I’ve checked.’
‘I don’t recognise the name.’
‘No. I’ve told him to ring back at one-thirty.’
He looked at her quizzically. ‘You don’t like him, do you?’
‘No, I don’t. I’ve never even met him, but he spoke to me so patronisingly it set my teeth on edge.’
His smile broadened. ‘He’s risking his life if he speaks to you like that face to face.’ Then he became more serious. ‘As always, I trust your judgement absolutely, Mrs H. When this Bainton fellow rings back, tell him I’m too busy to take on any new clients.’
‘Good. And thank you for your confidence in me.’
‘It’s been proved over the years that you’re worth your weight in gold when it comes to assessing people.’
At 1.30 precisely the phone rang and she picked it up. ‘Greaves and Ha—’
‘Bainton here. You suggested I call back at one-thirty to speak to Mr Greaves.’
‘I mentioned your call to him and he asked me to tell you he’s too busy to take on any new clients at present.’
Silence. Then: ‘If I tell you my name is Steven Pulford, I think he may change his mind.’
She gasped. Libby’s husband! Then she said coldly, ‘I think he’d be even more reluctant to speak to you, Mr Pulford.’
‘Mind your own business, woman. Your job is to pass my message to him, not comment on clients. But don’t forget to tell him I shall keep ringing until he does speak to me.’
‘Please call back in ten minutes.’
‘That’s more like it.’ He put the phone down without a word of thanks or farewell.
She put down her phone and went to find Henry.
‘From your expression that didn’t go well,’ he said before she’d even spoken.
‘No. Bainton was a false name, but now he’s admitted he’s Libby’s husband, Steven Pulford.’
‘Oh, damn! I was hoping he wouldn’t pursue her.’
‘He says he’ll keep calling until you do speak to him. And he was extremely rude to me.’ She repeated the phone conversation almost verbatim.
There was dead silence, then Henry said in his usual quiet way, ‘In that case, I shall have to speak to him. Would you ask Reg if he’ll listen in on the call? I’m doing nothing without witnesses.’
She didn’t offer to listen in. She knew another lawyer would be a more valuable witness than a mere secretary if anything went to court, so she went to see the other partner.
Exactly ten minutes after the call ended, the phone rang again. Henry nodded to Reg and picked up the handset, setting it on loudspeaker.
‘Greaves here.’
‘Pulford here. I need to contact my wife. Can you give me her phone number and address, please?’
‘You can do any business that’s necessary through me. I’m represen
ting your wife from now on.’
‘I don’t wish to discuss business. I wish to speak to her about personal matters.’
‘That won’t be possible.’
After a rumble of anger and a pause, Pulford said, ‘If I send you an email, can you forward it to her?’
‘I’d rather you wrote a letter to me, and I must warn you that I’ll still be the one dealing with it. She has no desire to see you or speak to you, and I have no desire to see her beaten and hurt so badly again.’
‘She was only slightly bruised. It was an accident. And she has no right to keep my son from me.’
‘Her injuries were not caused by any accident. I also saw the bruises on the boy’s leg. She wasn’t the only one who’d been hurt.’
Another silence. ‘Children fall over all the time. I’d never touch Edward.’
‘We both know that wasn’t from a fall. Now, I’m a busy man and I have nothing more to say to you. Please write from now on if you need to get in touch. I shan’t take any more phone calls from you.’
He put the phone down and looked at Reg. ‘I don’t like this. She said he’d come after her, and I’m sure he will.’
‘He sounds … obsessed. Be very careful, Henry. Better let her know what’s happened. She needs to be on her guard.’
‘She’s on her guard already. What I’m afraid of is that she’ll run away and he’ll catch her in a place where she has no protectors. I’d better ring both her and Joss to warn them.’
But though the phones rang again and again at both their houses, no one answered.
On Thursday morning, Joss came out of the village shop just as Libby was leaving the playgroup. He waved to her, so she waited for him to cross the road and catch up.
‘Fancy going to the antiques centre tomorrow?’
‘It’d have to be in the afternoon.’ She slowed down for a moment, looking back towards the playgroup. It made her feel insecure every time she left Ned, but from now on he must learn to interact with other people and not be totally dependent on her.
‘Hard to leave him?’ Joss’s smile was sympathetic. ‘My sister cried all the way home when she left her eldest at school the first time.’
‘This is the first time Ned will be staying all morning without me popping in. He said he’d be all right. He insists he’s a big boy now.’ Her lips quivered. No one had asked whether she’d be all right, and she wasn’t. She was worrying about her son already.
Joss smiled. ‘He will be all right, though. Trish loves children and she’ll look after him carefully. You were lucky to get him a place there.’
‘I know.’ But her voice wobbled.
He put an arm round her shoulders. ‘From what you’ve said, your husband didn’t do any of the daily caring for a child. I bet you haven’t been without Ned since he was born.’
She nodded. ‘Not for a single day. Stupid, isn’t it? As if I wasn’t aware that all children go to school. It’s a natural progression. Anyway, we were discussing tomorrow’s outing, weren’t we? Thank you for the invitation. Ned and I would love to go to the antiques centre with you.’
‘Need any help packing up the ornaments?’
She almost said no, but gave in to the desire to have company. Joss was always so pleasant and interesting. ‘I’d love your help. Sometimes two pairs of hands are better than one.’
‘Give me ten minutes to put my food away and get myself a coffee, then I’ll be round to help.’
‘I’ll make you a cup of coffee, and you can tell me what you think of my orange squash cake.’ She put on an affected voice. ‘It’s just a simple little thing I whipped up.’
He laughed and veered towards his front door. ‘See you shortly.’
She put the kettle on and couldn’t resist checking her appearance in the mirror. It’d do. Her hair was slightly windswept but it was flattering, she thought. Steven would have hated the tousled look. She didn’t use make-up, except for special occasions, and anyway, her cheeks were rosy from fresh air and brisk walking.
Oh, it was so good being with Joss, not needing to think out each remark in advance and worry that she’d upset him. He didn’t talk a lot, but she felt comfortable with him, even during the silences.
Some cake having been duly consumed and approved, they moved to the front room, where the cardboard boxes Allie had given her from the shop were waiting, together with all sorts of wrapping that goods had been delivered in.
They sorted out the ornaments into three lots: one group which didn’t seem very good, one which might possibly be worth something, and one which seemed older and most likely to be valuable. After wrapping them carefully, they cushioned them in the boxes. Thirty-two ornaments in all, nearly all from the front room.
‘I’ll come round tomorrow to put the boxes in my car, shall I?’
‘They’re not that heavy. I can manage. We’ll have to put Ned’s booster seat in, too. He’ll probably fall asleep in the car after a hard morning’s playing.’
They were able to set off by one o’clock the following day, and as Libby had predicted, Ned did fall asleep almost immediately. Trish had told her he was starting to interact with the other children, which was excellent news.
‘A penny for them?’ Joss said quietly.
‘No prizes for guessing: I keep worrying about Steven.’
‘We’ll cross that bridge when we come to it.’
‘We?’
‘I’m a trustee … and your closest neighbour … and, I hope, a friend now.’
She heard her voice soften. ‘Yes. Definitely a friend.’ She hadn’t hesitated to say that, still hadn’t worked out what it was about him that made her feel so sure of it. If she weren’t in this situation, she’d hope he could become more than just a friend, because she found him very attractive, but she knew – she just knew – that one day she’d have to run or move to a women’s refuge. Whatever he said or did, her ex hadn’t experienced Steven’s bloody-minded stubbornness when her ex wanted something.
As they began to drive uphill from Littleborough towards the gallery, Joss grimaced. ‘This seems a strange place to have an exclusive antiques gallery, don’t you think?’
‘People may enjoy visiting it as part of an outing, and I suppose he’ll be selling stuff online as well. I’m looking forward to seeing it, I must admit, though we’ll have to keep an eye on Ned. I’d hate him to break something valuable. Didn’t you say it’s more than a gallery, though?’
‘Yes. It’s advertised as an antiques centre, with a main gallery of upmarket pieces belonging to this Edward Chadderley, and another area shared by various vendors.’
‘Does the main gallery specialise in anything in particular?’
‘I only have a brochure, and that’s very general. I don’t know enough about the antiques world to say what Chadderley specialises in.’
‘What made you want to come here?’
‘A friend mentioned it, said it was worth a visit.’ Joss wished he could tell her more, hated to fudge the truth with her.
When they arrived, Joss said, ‘Let me check the exterior first.’ He took a minute to study the sign from the car park. A board ran along the side of the building with Chadderley Antiques on it. It looked very simple, very classy.
It was obvious that the place had once been a pub, but he walked to the upper edge of the car park, from which he could see some connected buildings behind it. He smiled at himself. He still automatically checked places out, as if he were on a case. He rather thought one part of the complex might be eighteenth century, or even earlier. It had an ancient look to it, something about the brickwork maybe; he wasn’t an expert on historical architecture.
Libby and Ned came across to join him. ‘It’s big,’ she said. ‘Bigger than I’d expected.’
When they went inside, she clutched Ned’s hand firmly. The antiques were shown in small groups, with appropriate lighting, and it was obvious that they were expensive pieces. You could just tell.
She was entranced by
one group of cranberry glass pieces with silver fittings. She’d seen cranberry glass before, and loved it, but this had that indefinable air of quality. No wonder Joss fancied a piece like that. If she had a stable life, she’d lust after a decanter, too.
She turned away. Beautiful objects like these were not for her at the moment. Perhaps one day.
A woman smiled at them from behind a discreet reception desk to the left-hand side, such a nice smile that Libby smiled back without thinking.
‘Do feel free to walk round,’ the woman called.
Libby looked down at Ned who was jigging about in a way that sent a message. ‘I think we’d better visit the loo first, if that’s all right.’
‘Of course. Go to the rear of the second display area and turn right. The loos are just along from the café before you get to the Old Barn.’
When Libby returned, Joss was in a discussion with the woman. He beckoned her over. ‘This is Emily. Emily, this is Libby. I’ve been telling her about your grandmother’s ornaments and Mr Chadderley will be happy to value them for you. He’ll be back in half an hour.’
‘It doesn’t … cost anything?’
‘No. Valuations are free.’
‘In the meantime, we can go on looking round. Anything you’d like to see more clearly?’
‘That.’ Libby indicated a group of 1930s Art Deco figurines, slender women holding graceful poses. Again, she was struck by the high quality of the pieces and the attractive way the figurines were displayed, two of them on little turntables that made them seem ready to leap gracefully into the air. She studied them enviously. ‘If I ever get rich, I’m going to buy myself a figurine like these.’
‘They are beautiful, aren’t they?’
They were intending to go to the Old Barn, where there were stalls with less expensive goods, but when Joss saw the café, where four people were sitting round a table with drinks and snacks, he stopped. ‘Aha! Ned and I need something to eat and drink.’
Ned beamed at him and Joss helped him to choose a fruit and nut bar as well as a drink of apple juice.
‘You’re a good trencherman,’ Libby told Joss.
He grinned and picked up a second piece of cake. ‘Have to keep up my strength.’