‘Oh, dear. But she’ll need supper tonight and breakfast tomorrow. I could always pop out for something.’
The doorbell rang. They froze.
‘I’m sure it’s OK,’ Kate said, feigning more courage than she felt. ‘Just put all that stuff away.’
But she noticed her hands were sweating as she went into the hall. Why on earth didn’t Earnshaw have a peephole in the door? Or even an elementary chain?
‘Here I am bringing you a few sarnies,’ Earnshaw grumbled indignantly, ‘and I find my own door locked against me. Well, you were quite right. I’d be bloody furious if it had been open. Cheese salad, egg mayo, tuna—help yourselves.’
Kate coughed delicately. ‘You seem to be out of milk, Ma’am.’
‘Oh, and everything else, I should imagine. Sainsbury’s night tonight. Or whenever. Oh, you’ll be staying over, won’t you, Kate? You could go and shop this afternoon. I’ll give you a list.’
But probably no money. Well, it would have to go on Kate Potter’s overstretched Visa card.
‘Now,’ Earnshaw declared, plumping herself down at the table, ‘we’ve got some hard news at last. The guy who lives at that farm is officially one Kenneth Arthur Hemmings, a farmer. Not organic. In fact, the RSPCA have visited him a couple of times to talk about the state of his pigsties. Apart from that, he seems to have a clean sheet. No record of him having even speeded in sodding Scunthorpe.’
‘Which would explain why he’s not in Mona’s files. Meanwhile, I’ve put the bugs in place and got something else for you.’ Kate smoothed out the papers she’d purloined. ‘And though I’m sure that all these belong to perfectly innocent middle managers, you might want to get these registration numbers checked out. This was the nearest I could get to a delegates’ list.’
Earnshaw peered. ‘Hmph. I hate these double-letter prefixes. I know they’re supposed to make things easier, but I can never remember them. OK, I’ll get on the blower while you finish off—where’s the computer you were supposed to bring?’
Mona fished it out of the bread bin. ‘Just in case it was someone else,’ she said. ‘At the door, I mean.’
Earnshaw nodded. ‘Anything else?’
Kate said, ‘As I feared, I know one of the delegates. He’s a man I crossed swords with in Hythe.’
‘On the run up to this? That’s a bugger. Has he seen you?’
‘I hid in the bog.’
‘So long as you were flushed with success!’
Mona and Kate laughed obediently.
‘When does he go home?’
‘The conference was supposed to finish today. But they’ve got that beanfest tonight, remember—the one I’m baby-sitting the Vernons’ children for?’
‘What if they have drinkies at the Vernons’ house before they feed their faces? That could be awkward, Kate.’
She remembered the inimical eyes. ‘Could blow the whole thing if he recognises me.’ She didn’t need to add that it would put her at risk.
‘Pull out? I’ll phone and say you’re sick.’
‘Kate Potter’s very reliable.’
‘Dress up,’ Mona boomed.
Kate and Earnshaw jumped: they’d almost forgotten her. ‘Dress up?’
‘That’s right. The kids would love it if they had some animal to look after them.’
‘They’re a bit grown up. At least the girl is.’
Earnshaw pulled a face. ‘Dye your hair—well you have anyway!—and get some coloured contact lenses.’
‘The kids’d notice. And say something. No, I daren’t draw attention to my appearance.’
‘Which is why my plan would work,’ Mona declared. ‘You wouldn’t draw attention to changes in yourself; just changes in your clothes. Oh, you could be something Harry Potterish.’
‘Or maybe… Yes! If I could find the gear, I could go as a character from that book I’ve been reading to them. Elly would love that.’ But where on earth could she get the clothes?
Earnshaw grinned. Then her face became very serious. ‘Kate, you really do care for them, don’t you? God, I wish we’d got you flying off overseas to check these people out.’
‘What? You mean I could have chosen Kenya, not Kent? Cayman, not Cockwood? Bugger!’ Nine-tenths of her was joking.
Earnshaw didn’t laugh. ‘Grow up. You’re doing quite a good job here. Except for getting involved with possible cons. OK, finish your sarnie. Finish what you were doing with Mona. And go and get yourself some fancy dress.’
‘Any chance you could get hold of a miniature camera for me, Ma’am? There might be a pocket or something I could conceal it in.’
‘I thought you didn’t want to get the family involved? How can you get photos without taking them?’
‘I don’t know that I can. But—’
‘But if you’re not in you can’t win,’ Mona concluded for her. At last Earnshaw nodded. ‘All right, I’ll see what I can do. But don’t take any risks. This stuff you’re gathering is quite useful.’
Kate blinked at the lavish praise. ‘I suppose I don’t get to know what’s useful about it…’
‘When it comes down to it, Kate, the less you know, the less you can reveal.’ Earnshaw looked her straight in the eye.
‘You mean that if my cover were blown, people might try to “persuade” me to tell them what I’d found out.’
‘I mean precisely that. OK, Kate. Lights, camera, action for tonight. But for God’s sake don’t kiss the kids.’
Chapter 22
The first thing Kate did when she arrived at the Vernons’ house was, of course, to disobey Earnshaw’s instructions. It wasn’t possible not to kiss the kids, not when Elly and Peter flung open the front door and hurtled down the steps to greet her.
A rapid tour of Exeter’s charity shops had produced a black wig, a candy striped school uniform dress with convenient pockets and some extra large Startrite sandals. White socks and a heavy canvas bag completed the ensemble. She managed to hack the wig into a fringe that looked rather less seventies, and with a judicious bit of eyeliner was able to ape a round-eyed look. A smear of black on her eyebrows and there she was, to the life, the eponymous heroine of the Milly-Molly-Mandy books. Well, as close to the life as someone her height and build could get.
‘Oh, Kate, you’re just like thingy! Mummy, Mummy, here’s Kate!’ Peter hugged her. He tried to peer into her bag but Kate fended him off.
‘No, you wait till later,’ she laughed. The book, the Sorry set, she could explain. But not the item right at the bottom of the bag, nor the small hole in one of the seams. There was no way Kate could carry it round, of course, but she’d worked out she’d leave it on Peter’s bedroom windowsill, which commanded a good view of the drive. She should get a good haul: many of the cars that had been at the complex this morning were now jammed on to it, and more were littering the wide suburban road.
‘Of course, you’re much too tall. And I’m not sure your eyes are quite right,’ Elly said, standing back and inspecting her.
‘Oh, I thought you’d like it,’ Kate said, feeling a real pang of disappointment. Yes, she’d ended up wanting the kids’ approval as much as the disguise.
‘I do, I do!’ Elly, forgetting to be sophisticated, jumped up and down. ‘Really!’ She grabbed Kate’s hand and dragged her into the house. ‘Mummy! Daddy! Look at Kate! She’s Milly-Molly-Mandy!’ She obviously knew better than to interrupt the party: she headed straight up the stairs. Julie Vernon was waiting for them on the landing.
Her dress had probably cost Kate’s annual dress allowance. Kate Power’s, that is, not Kate Potter’s. She’d have looked wonderful had she not been so obviously ill. It took Kate everything she could do not to gasp in horror, but she must have revealed something of what she felt, because Julie touched a finger to her lips.
‘I shall be all right when I’ve got my war paint on.’
‘You’ll look all right,’ Kate agreed grimly. ‘But how will you feel?’
Julie shrugged. Then sh
e straightened. ‘You look wonderful, of course. But—if it’s not a rude question—why?’ She led the way into her bedroom.
Kate had to follow. ‘Because of the old book I found for Elly. This little old-fashioned girl living in a cottage in the country. She picks mushrooms in the fields for breakfast, that sort of thing.’
Julie turned sharply. ‘She does what? Christ, Kate! We don’t want them eating toadstools, for God’s sake!’
Elly sighed with middle-aged asperity. ‘Oh, Mummy. Of course we wouldn’t. I know better and Peter would ask me first. Now, do you want me to do your eyeliner? Mummy’s eyes are sometimes too blurry,’ she explained to Kate.
‘Which is how you spotted that mine wasn’t quite right,’ Kate laughed, her heart turning over at the matter-of-factness with which the child dealt with her mother’s illness.
‘Hmm. I could always do it for you later. We could use some of your stuff, couldn’t we, Mummy? Like when we’re dressing up?’
Kate thought Julie probably felt too ill to argue. She did it for her. ‘Maybe. We’ll see if you still want to when we’ve played Sorry and I’ve read to you. And it’s school tomorrow so we must make sure we get you both into bed on time. No running rings round me like you did before. Now, shall I go and help Peter find his carpet while you help your mum?’ She picked up her bag. The book and the Sorry set could go on his desk, while the bag lurked by chance by the window. She might even draw the curtains on it. All she’d have, to do as the visitors left, was press the little device in her right pocket. As for the device in the left pocket, she’d try to stick it somewhere in the living room to see if her colleagues could pick up anything apart from general party yacking.
‘“Find his carpet”! Oh, Kate, you are funny!’
And far too like Kate Power.
‘Oh, Kate: he must help—don’t spoil him,’ Julie begged.
Kate had never intended to. But Kate Potter would never indulge in a conspiratorial wink, so she gave what she hoped looked like an embarrassed nod, and headed off. Good: Peter’s room was occupied by a predictable mound of plastic and no Peter. She set things up: the book and game on a space she contrived on his desk, the bag neatly on the sill. She drew the curtains.
She shouted for him from the top of the stairs: that was what Kate Potter would do.
Julie called wearily, ‘He’ll be down with the Sophisticasun people. Go on down for him.’
‘Oh, I’d be embarrassed,’ Kate demurred, gently. But her heart was pounding with excitement. Any moment now she could go and mingle with likely targets. Yes!
Julie appeared at her bedroom door. It was true that the makeup transformed her. ‘My clever girl,’ she said, bending to give Elly a squeeze. ‘You’ll be all right, Kate. He’s probably handing out crisps. Extra pocket money,’ she added darkly. ‘Trouble is,’ she continued, leaning hard on the banister rail, ‘half the buggers down there will think you’re in the Devon equivalent of a French maid’s outfit. God, I hate these dos.’
Gusts of male laughter proved her point.
‘So why do you have to go if it’s all lads? Must be like being a bride at a stag night,’ Kate said. Potter or Power? Hard to tell.
‘Not quite all lads. I’m supposed to be there as company for the women. Hmph. God, they terrify me, some of them. Worse than the men. Hard as nails.’
‘I’ll go and find Peter,’ Kate said decisively. Yes, there was the adrenaline rush—it was always the same when she was going into an action that might have results. Pity the camera was stuck in her bag. But MMM didn’t wear dresses that would have concealed it. Still, the little transmitter might come up with something.
Gary Vernon was looking thoroughly miserable: worrying about Julie, no doubt. But he was being addressed—was weighed into too strong a term?—by a man in his fifties, with the sort of gloss that comes inexplicably with a lot of money. Not just the sort of good salary Rod was earning. Serious money. Some men achieved it with a suntan, but this man looked as if he could do with a bit more fresh air. It was the grooming, the haircut—how fortunate he had thick hair that went silver before it fell out—and of course the clothes. Kate hadn’t met all that many rich businessmen, but she’d met more than her fair share of criminals who looked as sleek. Her nose twitched—but only metaphorically. She ducked between the guests—ah, there were two or three women there—looking ostentatiously for Peter. En route she picked up a couple of crumpled serviettes—as she bent to retrieve them and drop them on a used plate on a coffee table, she jammed the little bug underneath it. There!
When she spotted Peter, indeed politely passing nibbles, she gave no sign. Peering into the kitchen, she found Sebastian disdaining a cleavage shoved beneath his nose. He flicked not so much as a glance at her. There was no sign of the women from Oxford or Hythe, however: she felt quite pleased, as if they might be bona-fide employees simply earning a decent crust. Then she remembered Veronica’s off-putting responses to her questions about a job with the firm, and Julie’s description, of course. Gregorie, spruce as ever, wandered in. Now, he was a person to avoid, given the long conversation she and Colin had had with him. She grabbed a spare tray of canapés and returned to the living room. Although she seethed at the thought of Sophisticasun putting Julie through all this effort, she smiled with humble downcast eyes, and intercepted as many guests as she could. Voices: she must remember the voices. And the faces of course. But she mustn’t stare, mustn’t look back. Euridyce or Lot’s wife? Oh simply Kate Potter, concentrating on doing an unfamiliar job. At last, remembering all she’d said about bedtimes, she made a show of spotting Peter. Parking the by now almost empty tray on the coffee table, she swooped, catching Gary’s eye as she did so.
‘Goodness, Kate—what’s up?’
‘It’s for the kids, Mr Vernon. Bit of a treat, like. You and Mrs Vernon and your friends all dressed up—I thought the kids might feel a bit left out, if you see what I mean. Anyway, young Peter, are you ready to beat me hollow at “Sorry”?’ She bent down to disengage him from his crisps bowl. ‘Will you be coming up to say goodnight to them, Mr Vernon?’
Vernon checked his watch. ‘I’ll come up now. It’s time Julie and I led the charge. Come on, Sunshine!’ he added, swinging Peter on to his shoulders.
Kate put the crisp bowl on the tray, which she returned to the kitchen. Another scan of the faces.
Gregorie intercepted her, smiling. ‘Rather an unusual outfit for a waitress, isn’t it?’
No, though her hands broke into a sweat, she didn’t think he’d recognised her. All the same, she didn’t like his smile, not at all.
‘Would be if I was a waitress, like,’ she said, mumbling with embarrassment. ‘But I’m just the baby-sitter—’
‘Even stranger for a baby-sitter.’
‘Just a bit of dressing-up. Kids love it.’ She smiled, turned and prepared to leave him to it.
‘Wouldn’t mind having you tuck me up in bed myself.’ His hand found her bottom.
Julie’s voice cut crisply across the room. ‘Kate’s a family friend, Gregorie. Up you go, dear—the kids are raring to go! We’ll be back late, remember.’ Catching sight of Kate’s raised eyebrow, she added, ‘Oh, you look just like my mother! OK, not too late.’
‘Not so late, as my gran used to say, that you stop enjoying yourself,’ Kate said, and ran upstairs. Aunt Cassie, the nearest she had to a grandmother, would never have deigned to spout such homely claptrap. But she couldn’t say all the things she’d wanted to say.
Kate insisted on ‘Sorry’ before anything else. That way she could listen for voices outside—she didn’t have long to wait for the advance guard but the stragglers seemed to take forever to be herded into their cars. Presumably the restaurant or club would be tolerant.
As for herself, she still needed to get out of Start. The children were crowing loudly at her ill luck. Hand in pocket, she was crowing silently as she clicked. The last thing she was worrying about was how many squares she had to progress.
‘Snack time,’ she declared. ‘Then teeth. Then story. Go and decide what you want to eat, while I tidy the board away.’
‘What about this floor?’ Elly demanded. ‘It’s terrible. If we leave it like this, Mummy and Daddy could fall over when they come and kiss us goodnight.’
‘And what about your floor?’ Peter demanded. ‘Bet it’s just as bad.’
‘It isn’t. So there. You come and see, Kate.’
Kate’s stomach clenched. If she left Peter in here there was just the remotest chance he’d pull the bag down from his windowsill. Only remote. But if she feared detection, she feared it most of all from these two. Their innocent questions would hurt as much as physical violence. ‘I’ll do my bit putting the board away,’ she announced. ‘Then we’ll all help each other. Right? Now, what can we use to gather up all these bricks?’
While the children were cleaning their teeth and getting undressed, she made some silly excuse and took the bag out to the cycle, locking it in a pannier. She checked the anti-theft chain. Pulled at the padlock. God, she was getting jumpy. And all for some photos, which might not come out, of men and women who might be entirely innocent.
Popping them both into Peter’s bed, she read them two chapters—they’d both been very good, as she told them, and their floors were immaculate. Peter was soon ready to sleep, and Elly not far off. But as Kate shepherded her into her own room, Elly said, ‘We never did your eyes, did we? And I don’t have to lie down till nine.’
‘You wouldn’t prefer a bit more Milly-Molly-Mandy?’
‘No. I like making people look different. Maybe I should be a make-up artist.’
‘That’s not all that much better than a cleaner.’
‘I don’t mean selling make-up at Boots or Dingles. I meant a top-class one, working in TV or films. You even get your name on the credits.’
‘So does nearly everyone these days,’ Kate pointed out mildly. ‘Anyway, if you want to change my eyes, go ahead. As long as you’re sure your mother won’t mind. But you’ve only got five minutes—right? And we leave the place exactly as we found it!’ She followed Elly.
Hidden Power Page 21