“Well, it must have taken a couple of hours. I’m not absolutely sure.”
“That’s perfectly all right. Not important. And then you drove straight on towards London?”
“Yes.”
“Did you stop at all?”
“Yes, for some petrol. At Leigh Delamere.”
“Fine. So that would have been about what time?”
“Well, I suppose about two thirty.”
“And you were alone, were you? In the car?”
He felt Laura stiffen, from right across the room. “I had a young lady with me. Abi Scott. She was at the conference in a business capacity, but she’d been having trouble with her car; she’d come up by train, and I offered her a lift to Reading. She was spending the weekend there.”
“I see. Ah, yes, Abi Scott. We’ll be interviewing her as well.”
“Anyway it was a purely professional relationship. I’d never met her before.”
He was aware of Freeman glancing up for a moment, seeming about to ask something, then returning to his task.
“Right, sir. So… were you in a hurry to get to London?”
“A little. Yes. I had a clinic at four thirty at St. Anne’s.”
“Which is where, sir?”
“Just off Harley Street.”
“I see,” said Freeman. “Well, sounds quite a tight time frame to me. I imagine you were driving fairly fast? In the outside lane, perhaps?”
“Well, not at all, no. The traffic was very heavy; there were a couple of minor holdups…”
“So your hunch was a wrong one?”
“I’m sorry?”
“About it being quicker on the M4.”
“Yes, it was a mistake. A bigger one than I knew.” He smiled at them and then at Laura. Her face was expressionless; she didn’t smile back.
“So… just before the crash, you were driving along… in which lane, sir?”
“Oh-the inside lane.”
“Why would that have been, sir? If you were short of time?”
“Well, I had a bad headache. The traffic was very heavy in all three lanes; then there’d been a thunderstorm, of course, which was very disconcerting. It was hard to see for a bit, and then a lot of water on the road. Very dangerous.”
“And what time was that, would you have said?”
“About three forty-five, I suppose.”
“Yes. Well, we can check that. So would you say that it was the storm that decided you to move over?”
“No, it was a number of factors. Maybe it was the deciding one. Anyway, then the storm was over as fast as it had begun.”
“Right. So, at what point were you first aware of the lorry?”
“Oh… I don’t know. Around the same time.”
“And were you driving along level with it? Behind it?”
“More or less level. Yes.”
“Any other traffic that you can recall, sir? In your immediate vicinity, that is, just prior to the accident? No bad driving that comes to mind, nothing that could have cut across the lorry’s path, perhaps?”
What did that mean? Was he suggesting it might have been him? His own fears came back, reinforced by the questioning. Had it been him, confused by the row with Abi, the phone ringing; had he lost concentration, veered in front of the lorry in some way? No! Surely, surely he’d remember if he had. God, it was frightening.
“No,” he said firmly, “nothing like that. Everyone was driving rather well, as a matter of fact. I do remember a rather fine old E-Type in front of the lorry, but he was driving perfectly safely. Pulling ahead steadily, but certainly not speeding.”
“And the vehicle ahead of you?”
“Oh… it was a large station wagon of some kind. Again, driving very steadily.”
It went on and on: could he pinpoint where he had first noticed the lorry, had he been driving erratically, cutting in and out of lanes? Then, suddenly:
“Did you have the radio on, sir?”
“Yes. Briefly, although not just prior to the crash. Miss Scott had switched it on, but I found it distracting, asked her to turn it off again.”
“I see. So you were just… talking?”
“Yes. Chatting, you know.”
Just chatting. While he tried to end the relationship, while she threatened to go and see Laura…
“And I presume you weren’t using a phone?”
Shit. Here it came. He managed to prevaricate.
“The in-car system in my car wasn’t working properly, and I had my ordinary mobile with me. I called my secretary at the clinic from the service station. To say I might be late.”
“And did anyone call you?”
“I did,” said Laura suddenly.
“At what time would that have been, Mrs. Gilliatt?”
They weren’t going to like this.
“Oh, I don’t know. Two or three times. He just didn’t answer. I was frantic with worry. Then finally I got through.”
“And what time was that?”
A long silence. Very long. Her eyes met his very steadily. He remembered an expression about your entrails withering or something. His were doing exactly that.
“It was around four, I think,” she said finally. Reluctantly.
“And what happened?”
“Well, it was answered. He said… well, he said, ‘Hello.’”
“And? Was that all?”
“Absolutely Then there was an awful noise and then it was switched off. Well, it went silent, at least.”
“Did you switch it off, Mr. Gilliatt?”
“Well, no. Not consciously. I just flung it down; the lorry was already skidding-”
“Skidding?”
“Well, swerving. Whatever. I was scared by then by what was happening. Switching the bloody phone off was the last thing on my mind. Maybe Miss Scott did it. I honestly don’t know. I keep telling you, it’s all a bit confused.”
“Of course.” Sergeant Freeman’s voice was soothing. “It’s entirely to be expected. Right, sir. Could we perhaps now concentrate on the actual crash? What was the first thing you were aware of, the first sign that something untoward was clearly happening?”
“I’d say the first thing I was aware of was the lorry swerving violently away from us, and I couldn’t see why. It seemed to be out of control. I… well, I just put my brakes on and made for the hard shoulder. Managed to stop there. Incredibly lucky. I was the very last car to get through, so to speak, before the road was blocked off.”
“So you stopped?”
“Yes. I… well, I just sat there for a moment or two, wondering what the hell had happened. And then I got out, and all the fridges and freezers and so on were spilling all over the place; it was almost surreal. And I looked back and saw this dreadful sight: the lorry, ploughed across the other side of the road, all this, this stuff everywhere, and cars just skidding, swerving, driving endlessly into one another…” He paused, smiled feebly across at Laura, then said, “It was all extremely… traumatic.”
“Of course, sir. It must have been dreadful.”
He waited respectfully for a moment. Then: “Now… if we can carry on from there, sir. What did you do next?”
Jonathan suddenly felt an odd release of tension; now that the memories were clear, unconfused, he found he could give a straightforward account; it was acutely painful reliving his genuine emotion at the death of the girl in the Golf, the young mother, the carnage of the minibus, the horror in the lorry driver’s cab… but it was easier.
Freeman paused in his note taking, looked at him, and smiled.
“You acted very courageously, sir, by all accounts. Climbing up into the cab to switch the engine off. Most commendable.”
“Well, I’m sure anyone would have done the same.”
“I’m afraid you’re wrong there, sir. Now, could we ask you about a girl by the lorry?”
“A girl-what girl?” He stared at him stupidly. Then, “Good God. I really had forgotten about her. Yes, of course. You know,
because she just disappeared… I assumed… well, I imagined someone was looking after her, or… How stupid…”
He was genuinely embarrassed, discomfited; he could see Laura was staring at him. Another mysterious girl. Did this put him in an even worse light?
“That’s perfectly all right, sir. You had a great deal on your mind.”
“You could say that. Yes, I was standing with another chap; he wasn’t badly hurt, just a broken arm, I think.”
“Mr. Blake. It was him who told us how you climbed up into the lorry. And he said this young lady just appeared out of the van.”
“Yes. Yes, she did. Well, she was actually standing on the step; I can’t think she’d have climbed in to have a look. She was obviously very shocked; she vomited, didn’t say anything, and then just went over to the hard shoulder and sat down on the ground, but she clearly wasn’t hurt. I was too concerned about the lorry bursting into flames to pay her much attention, but when I got down on the ground again, she seemed to have disappeared. I intended to have a look for her later, but there really were more serious things to worry about. She might have turned up at the hospital; I really have no idea.”
“Could you describe her?”
“Yes. She was very young, pretty, black, or certainly dark skinned; I think she was wearing a dress of some sort, and then a pair of boots. Suede boots with a sort of fur or sheepskin lining. I did notice the boots because it seemed so extraordinary on such a hot day…”
“UGG boots,” said Laura. “They all wear them, the girls. However hot it is. Our daughters are pestering me for some.”
“Right, well, thank you, Mr. Gilliatt.” And then: “Now, the young lady, sir. Miss Scott. What happened to her? She wasn’t hurt, I take it?”
“Well, she did cut her head. On the dashboard, as we stopped. It wasn’t serious, bit of a gash. She was fine.”
“And you drove on to London, I believe? After the injured had all been taken to the hospital?”
“Yes, I did.”
“And Miss Scott?”
“Well, she was looking after some small boys. And she went back to the hospital in the ambulance with one of them, apparently. He had an asthma attack.”
“And have you heard from her since?”
“Just that she’s OK. She called to let me know-as I said, our relationship was entirely professional.”
“Indeed. Fine. Well, I think that’s all for now, sir. We may have to ask some more questions later.”
“I really don’t think I can possibly tell you anything else. I’m sorry.”
“No, no, sir. It’s just that if any other evidence came up, we might want to check it with you. Given that you were at the very front of the crash, one of our prime witnesses, so to speak. But you’ve been most helpful. Thank you very much.”
***
When they’d gone, he looked at Laura.
“God. Bit of an ordeal. Think I might like a drink. How about you?”
“No. No, thank you. Sorry if I dropped you in it with the phone business, but I just think it’s best to be completely honest.”
“Of course it is. Sure you don’t want a drink?”
“Quite sure.” A pause; then: “I hope you’re being completely honest with me, Jonathan.”
“What do you mean?” It was all he could think of to say.
“You know what I mean. About Abi Scott.”
“What about her?”
“Oh, Jonathan, please! I’m not a complete cretin. You’re somehow on the wrong motorway, with a strange woman whom you didn’t even mention when we spoke earlier, for whom you were going to make a large detour when you were already late for your clinic. It doesn’t quite add up. To me.”
“Well, it should,” he said. Lightly. Determined not to sound self-righteous. Or even ruffled.
“Really?”
“Really.”
“What does she do, this girl? Tell me again.”
“She works for a commercial photographer. Who was at the dinner, taking photographs. She helps him, gets people’s names and so on. To send the photos to. She’s very nice,” he added. “She’d be very amused if she could hear this conversation.”
“I don’t see why. Is she married? Living with anyone?”
“Laura, I haven’t the faintest idea!”
“Oh, really? All those hours in the car together. She must have told you something about herself.”
“Well, she did say she had a boyfriend. Darling, this isn’t like you. Please! Let’s go and see the kids; I need a bit of distraction after all that. It wasn’t the best hour of my life.”
There was a long silence; then: “Yes, all right,” she said. “They’re watching TV.”
He followed her through to the den; he felt sick and shaky. Not just because of the police interrogation, or even hers. But because there was a new darkness between them, created not just by Laura’s discovery of Abi’s existence, but by her clear unwillingness to accept his explanation. Lovely, lovely, trusting Laura. That was the really disturbing thing.
CHAPTER 21
It was much scarier, the second recall. All actors knew that. Far more hung on it. You had more to lose; you were higher up; you had farther to fall. The pressure was really on…
“I don’t know if I can face it,” Georgia said. “I’ve been feeling so terrible all the way up on the train. I thought I was going to be sick twice. I spent most of the journey in the loo.”
Linda struggled to keep her voice level.
“Well, I’m sorry,” she said. Georgia couldn’t be pregnant, could she? That would explain a great deal. “I know how tough it is at this stage. Just the same, you’re clearly in with a very fighting chance. Try to be positive, Georgia.”
“I am trying,” said Georgia. “It’s just that I’m so tired. I can’t sleep for stressing about it, and what if I don’t get it, then what? I’m terrified, Linda, absolutely terrified…”
Linda felt a strong desire to slap her.
“Well, you don’t have to go,” she said. “There are three other girls, all still in the race. Just give up now, why don’t you?”
Georgia stared at her. “Of course I’m not going to give up,” she said, her voice throbbing with outrage. “That’s a ridiculous thing to say.” And then she suddenly sat down in the chair opposite Linda’s desk and started to cry.
Linda pushed a contract to the back of her desk. There had to be more than this part. There had to be.
“You can’t go on like this, Georgia; you’ll have a nervous breakdown. What is wrong?”
Georgia looked at her, and there was something like terror in her great brown eyes. She took a deep breath and then said, “Well, it’s… That is…”
“Yes?”
“Well, you see, I…”
And then she drew back, as if from some deep physical danger-literally shifted her body in the chair. “No, I’m sorry, Linda, really sorry. I’m being silly. I’ve just got my period; I feel like shit.”
She wasn’t pregnant then. That was something.
“OK. You going to be all right on your own?”
“Of course I am. Promise. I’ll see you later.”
She seemed OK. Just going a bit over-the-top emotionally. Nothing new there, then.
***
“That looks like a lot of paperwork.” Constable Rowe smiled at Sergeant Freeman; he didn’t smile back.
“It is. It’s Forensics’ report on the crash.”
“Oh, yes. I thought you’d read it.”
“I have read it,” said Freeman coldly. “I like to keep referring back to it. As our investigations go on. Certain things fall into place. Or don’t. And the loose wheel nut they found on the road. Where the hell does that fit in?”
“Surely it came off one of the other cars in the collision?”
“No, Rowe, it didn’t. We would know that from the examination of those cars.”
“Obviously, yes. And… not off the lorry?”
“Not off the lorry.
”
“Well… perhaps it isn’t very important. Maybe it had been in the road a long time.”
“I doubt that very much,” said Freeman, “and so does Forensics. The devil’s in the details in this game, Rowe; I’ve told you before. This is a detail. We just have to find out how important it is.”
“Or how much of the devil is in it, I suppose,” said Rowe.
“Yes, Rowe. Precisely.”
***
At last, Mary was allowed to go home. The next day, anyway. A whole week after the accident. And even now, not exactly home-they said it was too soon for her to be on her own, but to stay with Christine. Which wasn’t ideal, of course, but it was a lot better than still being in the hospital. And she got on pretty well with Christine, always had… although she sometimes felt, absurdly, rather nervous of her. She had inherited her father’s build, rather than her mother’s, and his rather heavy features, rather than her mother’s sparkly prettiness.
She was wonderfully capable, ran her home along almost military lines, but she was also judgmental, very strict with her family, easily made impatient. And she was deeply conventional. So how would she react to her mother’s news?
It seemed to Mary quite likely that she would be shocked, and if not shocked, disapproving. It was quite a difficult situation for any daughter: to discover that her mother had been corresponding with a man-of whose existence neither she nor her father had any knowledge-for sixty years. And that they had been-finally-reunited.
Russell came in to see her every single day, and every day, each meeting had been happier and more wonderful than the last. Any doubts that she might have had had fled, leaving her at once excited and at peace about him and his part in the rest of her life. The only thing that was unthinkable now was not being together. After sixty years of separation she and Russell were going to be married. They had been given this priceless treasure, this second life; they must nurture it and honour it and savour the happiness it so clearly contained.
Russell had continued to stay at the Dorchester; Mary had suggested he move to a hotel nearer Swindon, but he was absurdly nervous, it seemed, of anywhere other than the West End of London, had had this deep conviction that the only proper place to be was an expensive, upper-class one. She had teased him about it a lot; she could see she probably would again.
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