I let my eyes slide over her. The make-up and clothes and posture were so good she could be my grandmother’s best friend.
‘Yes. Isn’t it.’ I switched the phone off and slid the handset beneath me so that I was sitting on it. If he’d installed a bug app, then this would thwart him – a counter-measure I felt amused by.
‘Heidi Keyes,’ Maxine said. ‘Clever. What kind of hidden key?’
‘Something fell out of his pocket while we were in London a few days ago. We were in our hotel room. I think it was one of those micro SD cards. SD is Secure Digital, isn’t it?’
‘Yes.’
‘I only glimpsed it. He was drunk and furious. Not in control. He muttered about a key – I’m not sure what he meant – it was an upsetting time.’
‘Upsetting how?’
My face went hot when I thought of how he behaved in our room after my return from the British Library. ‘He—’ I broke off, and gave her a different truth. ‘He was anxious that the card might have been corrupted, because it got wet.’
‘Very slight possibility, but water damage would be unlikely,’ she said. ‘Those things are pretty protected and robust.’
‘What do you think he’s doing, Maxine?’
‘We need to see. But it’s useful to know about that card. You’ve done well. Any chance he still has it?’
‘I don’t think so. He was supposed to meet someone for dinner that night, to pass on some research. I think it was probably on that card.’ I felt a wave of the pregnancy nausea I’d thought was finally in the past, wondering again if the encrypted material was film footage he’d taken of me, remembering also how sick I’d been in London.
‘Did he say who this person was?’
‘A medical colleague. He said the man cancelled. I’m not sure he did, though. I fell asleep early that night – I wasn’t feeling well – and Zac was out until very late.’
‘You’re better now, I hope?’
‘Yes. Thank you. I checked his pockets when he was in the shower the next morning.’ I didn’t think she needed to know that it was his second shower since I’d been sick. ‘The card wasn’t there, but it’s so small he could easily have hidden it somewhere else.’
‘Any other contacts in London?’
‘Supposedly a lunchtime meeting at UCH, but I can’t be sure that’s where he actually went. I did see him meet an old friend in the hotel bar early that evening. A woman called Eliza who he knew at university. He said she left after an hour. I was – watching them, but I couldn’t for very long. He returned to our room for a few minutes sometime after that and said he was going to dinner alone, but he could have lied – I was too tired to wake up properly.’
‘We’ll check the hotel CCTV, see if there’s any sign of a brush pass.’
‘He could have given the woman that micro card, or planted it on her for someone to retrieve without her knowing. He said she’s pregnant, though – I can’t imagine a pregnant woman wanting anything to do with what he has on that card.’
‘What do you think that is, Holly?’
My face went red again – the pregnancy made my body temperature spike in response to my emotions. I still couldn’t get the words out. About the way he’d behaved in the hotel room. About his video surveillance in our bedroom. I managed to say, ‘I’ll come to that.’ I considered some more. ‘Maybe he crunched up the card and flushed it down the men’s loo. I can’t make sense of it. This is only an instinct, but I think he wanted me in London because he was doing something wrong or dangerous and having me there would make everything appear normal and domestic.’
‘Instinct is important.’
‘Did you know about what he did to Jane in Ireland? I thought you probably did know about the Yorkshire address, but I wrote it down in case.’
‘We knew about both, but thank you for taking the trouble to copy that article.’
‘It might be nice if you told me what you do know, so I can gauge what’s important. Have you considered being specific about what I should look for?’
‘You seem to be figuring that out pretty well on your own, but that’s why I’m here now.’
‘What about the name Jacinda Molinero? Did you know Jane used it?’
‘We didn’t. We’re looking at that – again, well done. It’s a dead end so far but we’ll keep at it.’
‘And that tax attorney?’
‘We’re following it up – it might be useful – thank you.’
‘You could have told me that Zac assaulted Jane.’ I pulled a bottle of water from my bag. Gulped half of it. ‘It happened shortly before she left him, didn’t it?’
‘She disappeared a week after their return from Ireland.’
‘What aren’t you telling me, Maxine? What’s the real reason you’re so interested in her? And Zac.’
She didn’t reply.
Finally, I had to say it. The words fell out of my mouth as if I were being sick. I couldn’t keep them in. ‘He’s getting dangerous. He was violent towards me in London, in our hotel room. As he was to Jane.’
‘Did he hit you?’
‘He held me down. He – I don’t know how to say it. He forced me to sit, took me by the arm, loomed over me. He was so angry. I can’t get a minute alone. There’s barely a second when he isn’t watching me or tracking me. Have you thought how much harder it makes it for me to search the house? For me to find things?’
‘I have. I’m impressed – we all are.’ It was rare to catch her looking, but her eyes skimmed over my bump. At nearly six months, it finally looked like a distinct ball instead of a misshapen lump.
‘I was so tired, that night in London. The most tired I can ever remember being. I was sick, when he came back to our room. I wondered if he’d given me something to make me sleep, to try to keep me out of it, and I had some kind of reaction. Then again, I can’t bring myself to believe that of him. He’s a doctor. He cares so much about the baby. It’s more likely I had food poisoning, or that the trip and the pressure of it all proved too much.’
‘I agree he wouldn’t be likely to drug you, but I’m uneasy about the rest of it.’
‘You have a duty of care towards me.’
‘Yes. And we’ll make sure you’re somewhere safe. But we can’t move you straightaway so please keep your eyes open for a while longer, for your sake and Jane’s. I can see you care about whatever has happened to her.’
‘I do, yes. But I don’t want it to happen to me too.’ The baby punched my bladder with an elbow or foot, and I had to stop myself from crying out. What was she trying to tell me? ‘If you won’t help me now, then probably the best thing is for me to go to a refuge. Maybe he can be prosecuted for coercive control.’ My voice caught. ‘He won’t let me get away easily.’
‘There are some encouraging signs. Arrests for coercive control are up, with roughly one in six resulting in charges. It’s going in the right direction, but for now it’s quicker and cleaner for us to get you out. Less to go wrong.’
‘Fine. Do it then. But don’t make me wait.’
‘Listen to me, Holly, because you need to keep your head clear. You need to think and act calmly. And we need to get everything right for you. There are documents to arrange, housing, a job, doctors for you and the baby. We want you in a sustainable life, a life that’s close enough to your own for you not to break down and give yourself away. You enjoy hospital work, yes?’
‘Yes.’
‘Anything else?’
Writing, I thought. Or I did until Zac stole my journal. But I didn’t want to share that with her. So I shared a different but also very true thing. ‘Children.’
‘Good. That shouldn’t be hard to arrange. Have you given any other thought to your escape plans? We try to let people choose the location themselves, as long as they choose wisely, but we can choose for you if you prefer.’
‘I found a good care home in Bath for my grandmother. I’ll be telling Zac that she died.’
‘We can move her for
you.’
I let a crumpled supermarket receipt fall onto the bench between us, as if accidentally. On it, I’d scribbled some essential details.
‘We can help to pay for it,’ she said. ‘We’d be happy to do that for you.’
This offer made me even more frightened. Because it showed how bad she thought things had got, and that whatever she’d involved me in was more serious than I’d ever imagined. But I didn’t want her to have the kind of claim on me that money would buy. ‘No. Thank you. I’ve been preparing for this, for her care, since before I ever met you.’ Then I said the thing I most needed to say, the hardest thing. ‘He’s installed a camera in our bedroom. Do you know about that?’
She didn’t answer.
‘I’m taking your silence as a yes.’ My voice faltered. ‘Are you monitoring what he stores on the cloud?’ Her continued silence made me say, ‘I’m taking that as a yes too. It’s bad enough that that footage exists, that he has done this to me. I’d lose my mind if it ended up going viral – there’s probably some fetish group who are into pregnant women, with Zac as their president.’
I had been waiting for the right moment to broach this, but she was at her most blank. My face was going red. All I could be was blunt. ‘You need to promise me you’ll destroy those materials if you get your hands on them. If he did pass on that micro card in London, it was probably filled with his home-made porn.’
At last, she reacted. ‘I know this must be difficult for you. I promise that any footage of you will be safe with us – it ends with us.’
I interrupted. ‘There may be other women. Maybe Jane is one. If there are, you need to protect them, too.’
‘We will.’ She adjusted her position and the receipt disappeared.
‘Use Helen Graham – I already set up bank accounts and a credit card in that name.’
‘We can get you some clerical work in a hospital, arrange the paperwork showing you have no criminal record. Practise thinking of yourself as Helen Graham.’
‘I already am.’
‘Whatever happens, we’ll get you out in plenty of time before your baby is born.’
Maxine stood and hobbled slowly past me, using the cane heavily and looking at the ground. She whispered as she moved, her lips as still as a ventriloquist’s. ‘A final word. As comfortable as we will try to make you – you will never be properly you again. All of this. Everyone here you love. It never works if you try to keep those connections. You can’t be half-in, half-out.’ She made me think of a spurned godmother or wicked stepmother reciting an impossible task, or cursing a fairy-tale princess.
But I was no princess. And Zac was no prince. When she reached the nearest gap in the plants that enclosed the park, a man appeared, aiming his laser beam eyes at me, as if expecting to discover me with someone else. There was a flicker of surprise when he did not. Did he imagine I’d heaved my six-months-pregnant self to the park to meet a lover?
He made a show of his courtesy in stepping to the side for an old woman, leaning towards the trunk of a sweet chestnut tree but keeping his eyes on me. She passed him with a stiff nod of gratitude, as if it hurt her neck to do it.
As soon as she was gone, he stormed along the path until he was glowering over me.
‘Get up, Holly.’
‘No.’
‘What?’ He was amazed I’d used the word.
‘I said no.’
He changed tack. He shook his head wearily. ‘You forget things. You make yourself ill. But you walk two miles when you don’t have to. Are you trying to kill our baby?’
The last sentence made me catch my breath. ‘How can you say that?’
‘Isn’t it obvious?’
‘No. Why are you here? You’re supposed to be at work.’
‘I was. And I should have gone straight to London from the hospital, but you made me come here first to look after you.’
‘I didn’t make you do anything, and I don’t need looking after.’
Another sad, disappointed shake of the head. ‘If you won’t trust me as your partner, trust me as a doctor. You aren’t looking well.’
This got to me. ‘Why? What’s wrong?’
‘Your face is pinched. You’re pale. If your body has to fight to keep you going, it’s going to be depleting resources for the baby. You need to be home. Not here.’ He put out a hand. ‘Please.’
I waited for several seconds. Still he held it out. It was too uncomfortable to leave it hanging there. I was too frightened that he was right. Was I hurting the baby? I needed to be careful to remember that not everything he said was without truth or reason. Slowly, I put my hand in his and allowed him to pull me up.
He led me to his car, to the front door, to the sitting room, to a chair, where he lifted my feet onto a low stool. All the time he looked as hurt as a man who’d found his lover in bed with someone else rather than simply sitting on a park bench, alone.
He put a cushion behind my back, then knelt at my feet and rested his ear on my bump. ‘I don’t think I’ll go to London after all.’
‘Good. I like it best when you’re here.’ I was wearing my radiating love and delight face, though every step I took with him at my side made me feel as though I were wearing invisible handcuffs.
Now An Assault
Two years and one month later
* * *
Bath, Saturday, 6 April 2019
The day after my visit to Eliza and near-collision with Zac, I begin my morning by climbing back into bed with coffee and my laptop, still wearing the oversized T-shirt I slept in. It is easy to find Eliza’s house on the Land Registry website, where I buy copies of the Title Register and Title Plan. The first tells me the property was registered in Eliza’s sole name in late February, which isn’t surprising given that Zac always avoided doing anything financial in joint names. The second tells me more about the property’s boundaries and surroundings. It might, I think, be possible to get in – or out – through the parkland that touches one side of their garden – I remember Eliza drawing my attention to it.
I take a long shower, then head to the hospital for a supposed catch-up on admin on my own time. Paediatric Outpatients is a ghost clinic, eerily quiet, with no one else there. Genuine admin is mostly what I do, in order to disguise the small part that is not genuine. My search history will show that I’ve been rooting around in places I don’t belong on a day I shouldn’t be in, though it’s unlikely anyone will have the time or inclination to look.
I dig deeper into Alice’s records. She was referred to our clinic by a paediatrician in London, but I can only trace her medical files back a year. Why is there nothing earlier? Is this evidence that there is something odd about the circumstances of her birth?
I close my eyes and shake my head until my neck hurts. Even so, I continue shaking my head like a madwoman, as if doing this will force enlightenment into my brain. It doesn’t work. For now, I must move on. In any case, I am in a position to know how dramatically hospitals in the UK vary in their progress with migrating to electronic records. Some are fully there, some are still using paper, and some are in the messy hinterlands in between.
I don’t leave the empty clinic immediately. Instead, I turn off the hospital computer and switch on my laptop, which I’ve brought with me. I find out that Eliza studied Art History at University College, London, which is where Zac went to medical school. The circumstances fit, as well as the minimal truth Zac told about it the night I glimpsed her with him in that London hotel. They graduated from UCL the same year. Her degree would have taken three years, whilst his was six preceded by a gap year for European travel, like an eighteenth-century gentleman’s grand tour.
Zac is forty-three now, and Eliza half a decade younger than he is. If she spent all that time with a crush on him, and then they finally got together, she may be all the more in his thrall – and under his control.
I learn also that she comes from an extremely rich family, with a financier father, and is an only child. Her fa
mily money explains how she bought the surviving wing of that once-magnificent but still-stupendous house. She worked at a New York art gallery for five years – Zac had told me in London that she’d returned to the UK after a spell in the US.
Finally, I find the barest snippet of a report about Jane, referring to the as-yet-unidentified body of a woman thought to be in her mid to late thirties discovered on Tuesday morning. The cause of death is suspicious, and police are urging members of the public to come forward with information.
Early that evening, it seems a good idea to go to the pub. After starting my second glass of wine, it seems a good idea to phone George. Twenty minutes after the phone call, a pack of salt and vinegar crisps appears on the table in front of me, along with a pint and a third glass of red wine, so it seems a good idea to look up and see who the bearer of these wonderful things is. George is standing there, smiling and hooking out the chair beside me. Our knees almost touch, because the pub is crowded. And because it is too noisy in the pub to talk, and that third glass of wine is too much for me, and George only just saves it from spilling when I knock it over but he catches it and a little sloshes onto his hand, it seems a good idea to leave, and take a walk by the river.
The clouds are giant sculptured angels, white and floating, processing slowly over the weir, and there is a slivered crescent of moon in the night sky. The clouds are calm, but the weir is angry, hissing like a blow torch, the water thundering down the sides to the boiling centre. The weir is hungry like the sea.
When I first moved to Bath, I was so close to letting myself fall in. I thought all the time of feeding myself to the weir, letting it grab me and suck me under and tumble me round and round as if I were trapped in a washing machine’s drum.
‘It soothes me.’ I begin to sway forwards, towards the water, rising on my toes. George reaches out, as if to make sure I don’t step off.
He laughs. ‘Well that’s scary. I think it’s time to get you away from here.’ His fingers close around mine. It is the first time he has touched me in a way that couldn’t possibly be construed as accidental, the first time any man other than a doctor has done this since Zac, and I stiffen.
I Spy Page 18