A Place Of Safety

by Helen Black

  She patted Milo’s arm. ‘I owe you one.’

  ‘How about dinner tonight?’ He pushed back one of those gorgeous curls. ‘I’ll cook for you.’

  A man this sexy who could cook, now that was textbook material. Lilly glanced at Anna. Having a murder suspect along on the date was a touch more maverick.

  The cottage was much smaller than some of the grander houses in the vicinity, but it was chocolate-box pretty, with pots of herbs on the step and spectacular views over the fields behind.

  What Alexia wanted more than anything was to get a job with a broadsheet and move back to London. Hoxton, maybe, or Notting Hill. But when she hit the big time she’d buy herself something like this for the weekends and bring down her friends to have barbeques in the garden. She’d string lights in the trees and lay Cath Kidson picnic rugs on the lawn for everyone to crash out on and watch the sunrise. Her father had always split his time between town and country and she would do the same.

  A Mini Cooper was parked at the front. Something else Alexia would buy when she got some cash. Only she’d go for the supercharged model, and get a sunroof. Once again, her heart ached for her little Alfa.

  She ordered herself to forget all about it. Her star was in the ascendancy—soon enough she would get the recognition she deserved and the trappings to go with it.

  She sneaked around the back and found the kitchen window boarded up. Was this the trouble the newsagent had mentioned? And was it a coincidence or had others got wind of Lilly’s involvement in the Stanton murder trial? Maybe those people were none too pleased. And if others knew, the nationals wouldn’t be far behind. She needed to get some evidence and get the story out there before someone snatched it from under her.

  She crept back to the front and noticed the car windscreen was also smashed.

  Now that simply couldn’t be a coincidence.

  The door opened and a man came out brandishing a dustpan and brush. Alexia dived behind a hedge, which provided her with some cover while being sparse enough to still allow her a ringside view. The man began to sweep out the glass from inside the car. Alexia could hear the swish of the brush against the carpet and the tinkle of glass.

  Who was this? Husband? The title on the roll of solicitors was Miss Valentine, but that didn’t mean much. Alexia never used her real name.

  He was a good-looking chap. Scruffy as hell, but with soft eyes and the lean body of a man who liked to keep himself fit. At the sound of each passing car he looked up, obviously eager to see someone. If that someone was Lilly, she was a lucky woman.

  When at last an estate stopped, he bounced on his toes.

  ‘Easy, tiger,’ Alexia whispered.

  The driver got out and waved. ‘Hi, Jack.’

  It must be Valentine.

  The man, Jack, grinned, and his cheeks flushed at the sight of the curly-haired woman getting out of the car. But his shoulders dropped and his smile cooled when the other passengers got out too. Alexia doubted it was the sight of the skinny girl that dampened his spirits, more likely the man with his arm around her shoulders. With jet-black hair that slid down his forehead into the greenest eyes Alexia had ever seen, it was no surprise old Jack was feeling a bit disconcerted. Alexia strained to hear them speak.

  ‘You didn’t have to do that, McNally,’ said Valentine, nodding at the brush, which was still in Jack’s hand.

  ‘No bother,’ he said.

  The green-eyed competitor laughed. ‘You will make a very good wife.’

  Ooh, there was no need for that. They might all be laughing but the gloves were off.

  Jack smiled at the other man but there was open hostility in his eyes. Alexia wondered for a second whether he might punch him. Instead he played his trump card. He turned towards Valentine and slipped a hand around her waist.

  ‘You look tired,’ he said.

  The intimacy was quiet, not showy, but unmistakable nonetheless, and the other man beat his retreat. When he got to the lane he turned and smiled, his emerald eyes glittering. He might be down but he wasn’t out.

  ‘I’ll see you tonight, Lilly.’

  When he was gone, Jack pulled his arm away and headed for the house.

  ‘We’re going to work on the case,’ said Valentine, trotting inside after him.

  When the coast was clear, Alexia crept back to her car and pulled out her phone.

  ‘What?’ Steve growled.

  ‘I’ve found the lawyer.’

  ‘Did you get a quote?’

  ‘I haven’t approached her yet,’ said Alexia.

  ‘What are you waiting for?’ shouted Steve. ‘A gold-embossed invite?’

  Alexia took a deep breath. ‘I’m going to follow her for a bit first.’

  ‘You’re a reporter, Posh, not fucking MI5.’

  ‘I think there’s even more to it,’ she said. ‘I can feel something big.’

  There was a pause.

  ‘Okay,’ said Steve, and Alexia punched the air. ‘But look sharpish, I want to run with this tomorrow.’

  ‘Fair enough.’

  ‘So what’s this solicitor like? Stuck-up bird, is she?’

  Alexia paused for a moment. What did she think of Lilly Valentine?

  ‘She isn’t Miss Popular, that’s for sure.’

  Steve grunted. He wouldn’t exactly win any awards himself.

  ‘Somebody has smashed her windscreen,’ she said. ‘And her kitchen window.’

  ‘“Local unrest fuelled by greedy lawyer”, I love it,’ he said. ‘What does she look like?’

  ‘Redhead, late thirties.’

  ‘A looker?’ he asked.

  ‘If you like that sort of thing,’ she said. ‘Which, judging by the two men I saw fighting over her, I think you probably would.’

  Steve let out another bark. ‘Get a picture.’

  Alexia had already pulled out her camera. ‘I will. In the meantime, do a bit of digging for me.’

  ‘On the lawyer?’

  ‘Yes, and on one of the guys I saw at her house. Probably the boyfriend. She called him Jack McNally.’

  ‘“Sleazy defence brief in village sex scandal”’, he said.

  ‘You’re an evil so-and-so,’ said Alexia.

  ‘It takes one to know one.’

  ‘I do my best,’ she said.

  ‘Your dad would be proud.’

  Lilly didn’t know why Jack had made a fuss. Not that he’d shouted or made a scene. That wasn’t his style, but his tight lips and curt goodbye had made his point.

  She’d explained that Milo was helping. That he’d agreed to share supervision of Anna. The fact that they were going to talk over dinner was nothing for Jack to get worked up about.

  Most people cooked for their guests. It was a sociable thing to do. Something Jack, who could burn a Pot Noodle, would never understand.

  He was being ridiculous.

  So, why was she pouring almond oil into her bath, an inner voice asked her.

  Now she was being ridiculous. She liked to feel soft. Her mother, Elsa, had always taken the view that there was no point keeping things for best. True, she was talking about crockery, but the same held true for skin, surely?

  She swished the unctuous puddle with her hand and sank into the hot water. Long soaks were one of life’s great joys. Like pasta and epidurals. She closed her eyes and smiled. She would slather herself in the matching lotion until she was as flawless as a butterfly’s wing, then pour herself into the brown wrap dress that clung in all the right places.

  A tiny knock came at the door.

  ‘Yes,’ said Lilly.

  Anna opened it a crack. ‘Phone,’ she said. ‘It is for you.’

  Lilly sighed and heaved herself out of the bath. ‘Yes?’

  ‘It’s me.’

  Lilly wound a towel around her, her skin still steaming. ‘Hello, Jack.’

  ‘I’m being an eejit, aren’t I?’

  ‘Lilly sat on the bed. A little.’

  ‘I mean, it is only work, is
n’t it?’

  She thought of the dress and the lotion. ‘Of course it’s only work.’

  ‘So, I’ll see you soon?’

  Lilly shoved her brown dress back in the wardrobe and pulled out her jeans. ‘Of course you will.’

  Alexia followed Valentine at a discreet distance. In truth, most people didn’t check their mirror often enough to know they were being followed, but it was better to be cautious. She’d once tailed the local MP all the way to a brothel in Watford. The poor idiot didn’t notice her until she had a nice picture of him in the doorway.

  She was glad to be moving, having been stuck outside the cottage for what seemed like hours. First someone came to fix the windscreen, then a Chelsea tractor pulled up and a young boy ran into the house. It must have been Valentine’s kid. Funny, he looked nothing like the teenage girl. Seconds later, another man arrived. He stopped and chatted to the driver of the 4 × 4, who called him David. From his pinkie ring to his hand-stitched shoes, Alexia could see he was public school. Takes one to know one, she supposed. He was handsome enough, with his blond floppy hair. This solicitor really had some appeal.

  When Valentine left the cottage she had only the girl with her. Now, why was she taking her to a dinner date with Green Eyes? Alexia’s instincts told her she was on to something interesting.

  The Mini pulled up outside an old station house where Valentine and the girl were greeted by a group of adults and children. Lots of them were dressed in masks or wearing witches’ hats. Valentine grabbed one and wedged it down onto her curls. Alexia humphed. Hallowe’en seemed such an American affair these days. When she was a kid the whole thing went largely unnoticed apart from the odd scraped-out turnip. Now it was just another money-making exercise. She’d seen that one of the teen mags her Dad owned was giving away free plastic fangs and plastic blood. He never missed an opportunity to make a killing.

  She looked back up at the station house. What was this place?

  Alexia got out of the car and crept around the back of the building. There was a tall gate marked ‘Private’. She waited for a gaggle of torch-wielding ghosts to pass, undid the lock and slipped through.

  The building itself was three storeys high, its brickwork clean but old. The window frames and doors were peeling and chipped. As a whole, it appeared tired and put-upon. There was a patch of grass worn thin by footballs and the patio was littered with recycling boxes.

  Suddenly the back door opened and Alexia froze, pushing herself back against the wall. The smell of cooking filled the night air and soft voices broke through.

  ‘So, how are things with you and Anna?’

  It was the green-eyed man. She recognised his honeyed voice from outside the lawyer’s house.

  ‘We’re managing,’ said Lilly.

  The man stepped outside and dropped a bottle into the box. Alexia held her breath, sure he would see her, but he didn’t take his eyes from the woman inside. Thank goodness he found her so attractive.

  ‘It must be hard on your son,’ he said.

  ‘He’s trick-or-treating with his father tonight,’ she said. ‘Sam won’t give up until he has collected every fun-sized Snickers in Little Markham.’

  ‘But it must be hard for him to find a strange girl living in his house.’

  So the girl wasn’t her daughter.

  ‘It’s not ideal,’ Valentine said.

  ‘You have a very big heart,’ he said, ‘to help a client when everyone is against it.’

  ‘Perhaps I’m just bloody-minded.’

  The man moved back inside and closed the door.

  Alexia tiptoed back through the gate and to her car. Her hands shook as she took out her phone. The girl was Valentine’s client. Could it really be the client? Had she found the other shooter? Living with her solicitor?

  ‘Steve,’ she said into her phone.

  ‘Why are you whispering?’

  ‘I’ve just been spying on the solicitor.’

  ‘Never mind that, Posh,’ he said. ‘I did that digging around you wanted, and Jack McNally’s a copper.’

  Alexia whistled. ‘The policeman and the defence solicitor, now that’s a nice angle.’

  ‘Too bleeding right,’ he said. ‘I’m writing the headline now. Get back here with a nice picture for me.’

  ‘Forget the picture, Steve, hold the front page,’ she said.

  ‘Are you fucking mad? This is the best story all year.’

  ‘Trust me, you’ll want to run this one.’

  She heard the death rattle of his throat as Steve thought about it. ‘This had better be good.’

  Chapter Thirteen

  The morning had gone so smoothly it was almost eerie. Anna had grilled them all sausages and tomatoes and they had gone through the contents of Sam’s swag bag from the previous night. Eight bars of chocolate, ten packets of sweets, three satsumas (well, you can’t win ’em all) and over five quid in change. Anna had oohed and ahhed at his loot and Sam had not been aggressive even once. Granted, he had dived into Penny’s car without so much as a thank you for breakfast, but it was progress nonetheless.

  When Lilly went to her wardrobe to pull out a work shirt she found all five washed, ironed and hung up. Anna had clearly been keeping herself busy.

  She checked her watch. Eight-thirty and she was already at her desk—a record.

  She cupped her cold hands around the latte she had collected on the way in and sighed contentedly. She’d been so early, she’d beaten Sheila and had been able to usher Anna down to her office without a barbed comment or glare. Honestly, you’d think a woman with three children of her own would be more sympathetic.

  ‘So,’ said Anna with a bright smile. ‘I should help with the filing?’

  Lilly glanced at the bare shelves that Anna had systematically cleared.

  ‘I don’t recognise the place as it is,’ she said. ‘Let’s get down to some work.’

  ‘I should make coffee then,’ said Anna.

  Lilly pointed to her steaming cup. ‘I mean, work on your case.’

  Anna’s smile slipped.

  ‘I know it’s hard, but we can’t keep putting it off. Dr Kadir said we need to talk.’

  ‘I don’t like this doctor,’ said Anna.

  ‘She’s on your side,’ said Lilly. ‘And she may be the only person who can prevent you from going to jail.’

  Anna flopped into the chair opposite Lilly and rested her chin on her hands. She could have been any teenager being forced to do what she didn’t want to do. Only this one had suffered more than most adults could even dream of.

  ‘So, what do you like to know?’ she said.

  Lilly shuffled the papers on her desk. She had reread Anna’s statement to immigration at least ten times and it never got easier—but she needed more detail.

  ‘When your mother and sisters were killed, how did you feel?’

  Anna shrugged. ‘Sad.’

  ‘And what about when your father said you were to escape with your brother?’

  ‘Scared.’

  Her answers seemed flat, inadequate, but maybe that was the point. Maybe there were no words to describe the horror of what had taken place.

  Lilly tried a different tack. ‘Tell me about your journey to the UK.’

  Anna visibly squirmed.

  ‘How long did it take?’ asked Lilly.

  ‘Many days.’

  ‘Four, five, six?’

  ‘Yes.’

  Lilly groaned. ‘Which was it?’

  ‘Six, I think,’ said Anna. ‘I don’t know exactly, it was very confusing.’

  Lilly tried to imagine a child being smuggled across a continent in the midst of a war. Of course the days would blur into one another.

  ‘And when you got here,’ Lilly softened her tone, ‘how did you feel?’

  Anna furrowed her brow as if struggling to find the words. ‘I feel as though it is living a dream.’

  ‘Because you were so happy to get away from Kosovo?’ asked Lilly. ‘A dream
come true?’

  ‘No. Because it does not feel real. It feels like I am here but yet not here,’ said Anna.

  Detachment. Now they were getting somewhere.

  Lilly opened her mouth to ask Anna if she had felt the same way at Manor Park, when the office door burst open. Sheila stood with her legs akimbo. Her perm had expanded to twice its girth. For a woman of five foot two she cut an impressive figure.

  ‘I thought you two would be hiding in here.’

  Lilly sighed. ‘We’re not hiding, Sheila, we’re working.’

  ‘Very cosy.’ Sheila’s eyes flashed. ‘All tucked up in here away from prying eyes while I’m in reception dealing with the abuse.’

  ‘What abuse?’ asked Lilly.

  Sheila snorted in disgust. ‘It’s just about to kick off, I can tell you.’

  In a flash of turquoise silk, Rupinder appeared. ‘Can someone tell me what’s going on?’

  ‘God knows,’ said Lilly. ‘Anna and I were down here going through her statement when Genghis Khan here started one of her rants about people abusing her.’

  Rupinder frowned. ‘I didn’t know there had been any more problems.’

  ‘There haven’t been,’ said Lilly. ‘Sheila’s being hysterical.’

  ‘I’m hysterical?’ Sheila prodded her chest with a square, white-tipped acrylic nail. ‘Let’s see how the clients react.’

  Lilly was exasperated. ‘React to what?’

  ‘To that,’ Sheila shouted back, and threw a copy of the Three Counties Observer onto the desk.

  The picture was a nice one. Not the school picture that had been on every TV channel, but a holiday snap with Charles Stanton in board shorts, sticking out his tongue cheekily at the camera.

  Rupinder read aloud. ‘At least Charlie’s family had the comfort of spending the summer with him in Cornwall where they have a second home. He spent his days surfing and his evenings with his many friends.’

  Lilly tried not to look at Anna.

  ‘He was a popular boy and a big hit with the girls,’ Rupinder continued. ‘His death is a tragedy which has sent shockwaves through the small Hertfordshire village where he lived and the £25,000-a-year Manor Park school where he was gunned down in cold blood.’

  Sheila was incredulous. ‘You spend twenty-five grand a year on that school?’