by Gill Mather
Roz sighed with relief and went and bolted the doors and checked the windows. She wondered if she’d imagined Boris having apparently tried to scare her. Because that was what it had felt like. His attitude had seemed predatory, threatening. She had sensed that he’d really intended to frighten her. Was he trying to force her to tell him something? Or warn her? If so, about what? And to what end?
BY THE TIME Guy phoned her, Roz had had a few glasses of wine on her own.
“Roz,” said Guy. “I think actually if you’re still free this weekend, I should be able to make it down there.”
“Oh. OK.”
“You don't sound very pleased.”
“Of course I am. It’s just that I’m feeling a bit odd. We….well….we had a session at the station today about, you know, the case, and then Boris came round here and….”
“Boris? What for?”
She told him about the apology and the gifts.
“Oh. Good,” said Guy, surprised.
“I suppose so.”
“Roz. Are you OK? You don't sound your usual self.”
“Yes. I expect it was just the case and having a strange man alone in the house with me. I don't know. It felt….”
“Felt what?”
“Well. Just a bit scary, that’s all.”
“Roz. This is Boris we’re talking about. My son. What did he say to make you scared? He didn't do anything did he?”
“Hmm, well….no nothing specific.”
“Roz. Can I come down tomorrow evening? I need to see you anyway.”
“Why? Is there something you want to tell me?”
“No. Of course not. I just want to see you. You know? Us? You and me? What we said last weekend?”
“Oh. Yes, right.”
“Roz. You do love me don't you? I love you.”
“Yes Guy, you know I do. I wish you were here now.”
“I wish I was there too. Pity you can't come up here and spend the weekend. They’ve given me a college room. It looks out over a quadrangle. The atmosphere’s stunning. It makes you think of toasting crumpets. Although of course there’s no fire in the grate just now. You deserve a break.”
“Gosh that would be nice. I’d jump in the car immediately but I’ve had a few glasses of wine.”
“Could you get the time off?”
“Probably.”
“Come by train then.”
“I’ll find out and text you.”
“Great. That’s great. See you later then hopefully.”
They hung up. So much, thought Guy, for his powers of determination. He obviously had the resolve of a bowl of warm semolina. He started to look forward to the visit very much. That thing about Boris was a bit worrying though.
“HE KNOWS.”
“That doesn't matter. The point is that he knows. I’ve a pretty good idea how anyway.”
“You don't drive us everywhere you know. We’ve both got driving licences.”
The one-sided telephone conversation continued. Tilly, the under-housekeeper, listened from the hall outside. She hadn't meant to eavesdrop. She never did but the goings on of this family she worked for were of extreme interest to her. Stuck away in her studio flat in a remote part of the house with nothing to do but read romantic literature and crime novels in her spare time, she spent many hours speculating what various members of the family were up to, though of course it was less exciting since Boris left.
“No I don't want you to do anything about it for the time being. It went far too far the last time. You were never asked to….you know.”
“No. Of course I’m grateful to you for handling it generally, but we can't have any more….unpleasantness.”
“I’m only telling you to make sure you’re not still up to anything. We must hope it blows over and it won't if things carry on happening.”
“Good. I’ll call you when we want to go out later.”
Tilly’s mind raced. But as she heard the conversation closing, she padded off quickly and silently in her carpet slippers to check the shopping list. Clearly the other party to the conversation was Paul. Tilly was glad her flat wasn't in the old stable block as some other’s were since Paul lived there too. A large part of it had been converted into a nice house which he occupied and where he entertained a succession of women, loose and common women to Tilly’s mind and she was surprised her employers allowed it. She didn't want to live anywhere near Paul, whom she found sinister and intimidating. She’d think about the conversation this evening while watching ‘Midsomer Murders’ and what it could mean.
GUY DROVE ROZ all the way back to her home on the Monday morning and then drove back to Oxford. He felt it would have been ungallant in the extreme to have dropped her off at Oxford railway station to battle the commuter chaos of a rail journey into London and then out again to Hertfordshire.
The weekend had been disappointing. Actually if he was honest with himself, that was an understatement. The surroundings were romance personified and they screamed history and culture, but Roz remained for the most part distracted. By something else. And she’d hardly eaten anything all weekend. It seemed as though a mist had settled over and around her that threatened to become a cloud. He hoped it wouldn’t resolve into a thick fog that forced her apart from him mentally if not physically.
Even in bed when making love which she normally enjoyed so much, she was restrained. He had seen tears in her eyes and he didn't think they were tears of happiness. When he had asked what was wrong, the floodgates had opened. He couldn't cope with female tears. He had to try to do something to stem the flow, like a tourniquet being applied to a wound.
“How about the Eagle and Child today? Hmm? Morse? C. S. Lewis? Tolkien? Would you like that? Perhaps a museum later?”
She had sniffed in a watery fashion. “OK.”
“Oh Roz.” He had wrapped his arms around her and she had clung to him. He was sure it wasn't that she was going off him. She seemed to need him as much as ever. He wanted to ask her about the case but daren’t. Perhaps that’s what Boris had raised with her. He would have to try to have a proper talk with Boris as soon as work allowed and an opportune moment arose.
He hadn't gone in when he deposited her near her front door. He had to get back and she had to get ready for work. They parted rather sadly. Though very apprehensive, alarmed even, he had no idea what to do about it.
Part 5 Hell Hath No Fury
DUST MOTES SWAM in the beams of late autumn sunlight pouring through the stained glass windows of the large banqueting hall of Desmond’s sumptuous country hotel.
Guy, having given away his daughter in marriage to Leo and having delivered the bride’s father’s speech with, he hoped, an appropriate mixture of joviality and jubilation, was now feeling a little more relaxed. He tried to ignore the impression that he was in the ‘enemy camp’. That was just daft, although Liz was being unnecessarily frosty towards him. Desmond by contrast was remarkably friendly and very cheerful. He was obviously very attached to Leo who appeared to have no father present. In its way it was rather touching.
To Guy’s left next to the best man sat Boris with his girlfriend Poison whose various piercings threatened to seriously out-sparkle the jewels bedecking both Andrea’s and Liz’s throats and wrists. Boris was ignoring the best man and was getting drunker and drunker. Guy hoped he wouldn't cause a scene at some point. He’d become very unpredictable lately.
Had Guy had a partner, she would have been seated three places to Guy’s left next to the best man. However he had no partner with him. No Roz to accompany him to this or any other event. After their weekend in Oxford, their relationship had faltered and seemingly died. He supposed it was the case and he had implored her not to let a work-related matter come between them. But she hadn't seemed able to make the leap from policewoman during working hours to ordinary person in her spare time. There seemed to be no dividing line. She was both all the time.
That she was almost suicidally depressed by the breakdown
of their relationship made no difference. She simply wouldn't see him any more. He worried still for her state of mind. Her loss weighed heavily on him. He had suffered hurt before. He was equal to it. But this time it was excruciating.
Henchman Paul was nowhere to be seen. He would normally have been prowling around, looking like a bodyguard but there was no sign of him. Guy wasn't sure he was employed by Liz and Desmond at all any longer. It seemed that quite a lot of domestic staff had been dismissed. Guy hadn't wanted to know why.
Swallowing his misery and discomfiture, Guy chatted to Leo’s mother to his left whom he found rather sweet, clearly overwhelmed by the event. He was well into a conversation with her about her home county of Northumberland, when a commotion taking place at the main entrance to the dining hall became so loud as to be impossible to ignore. He looked in that direction. Suited men were trying to get in as frantic staff tried to stop them.
The men obviously persuaded the staff that it was in their interests to desist as they marched on into the room and headed straight for the top table. Sensing a scene, the company went quiet. One of the men stood opposite from Liz and announced loudly:
“Elizabeth Madge Madison. I am arresting you on suspicion of conspiracy to murder Ileana Bratianu and on suspicion of illegally bringing a child into the UK in 1994 contrary to the Immigration Act 1971. You do not….” The caution was completed. You could have heard a pin drop.
Another man was already standing opposite Guy. “Guy Taylor Attwood, I am arresting you on suspicion of illegally bringing a child into the UK in 1994 contrary to the Immigration Act 1971.” The caution followed.
The inevitable pandemonium soon erupted with the guests in general expressing astonishment, and Desmond and Leo in particular telling the police imperiously that this was nonsense, that they were on private property and that they should leave immediately or face legal action. It was pathetic, Guy thought, how people clung to their preconceptions of how the world should run, and specifically that, though unpleasantness may touch others, it should not touch them. He got up immediately, poker-faced though inside stunned that it should have been Liz facing this arrest, not Desmond. Liz just sat there frozen to her seat.
Andrea’s mouth was open in total astonishment. Boris sat with his head down.
“Liz,” Guy said, “we’d better go.”
Suddenly Liz screamed at him: “This is your doing isn't it. You and that whore of a police-woman. You bastard.” She pushed her seat back and lurched towards him behind Leo and Andrea. She started to beat him on the chest with her fists and then slap him round the face.
“Liz stop please. This won't help,” he said backing away, but Leo first and then Desmond came and restrained her. She collapsed against them, making a furious whining noise.
Guy and Liz were led off out of the hall, out of the building to separate waiting anonymous-looking saloon cars.
GUY SAT IN an interview room at the station waiting for the questioning to start. He wondered if Roz was in the building somewhere. Liz of course would be in a different interview room. He assumed that the family would have followed them to the station and that Desmond would have arranged the best legal representation for Liz. It was a sorry abrupt and premature end to Andrea’s wedding day.
Guy refused a solicitor when offered. He had decided to simply tell the truth, without hopefully making things any worse for Liz. Opposite him sat the DCI Len and a man introduced as a Detective Sergeant.
With little prompting Guy told his story in his own words, why he and Liz had IVF treatment and about the birth of the two babies.
“Boris wasn't well from the outset. He was premature. He suffered seizures. He was slow to grow. We were told he had epilepsy and were given medication but apparently the drugs weren't really suitable for infants and this of course was 1992. We were just told he might grow out of the epilepsy. We decided in the summer of 1993 to take an extended holiday. We couldn't afford it but Liz especially was very badly affected by everything that had happened. So I got the time off work and applied for any visas we might need. We bought an old caravan, hitched it to the car and decided to just spend the summer travelling round Europe. I hoped it would help Liz to get better.
“We didn't plan a route. We simply wanted to be free for a few weeks. It was great. We went through France, Germany, Hungary, Romania, Bulgaria and into Greece, then we decided to go back by more or less the same route stopping off at places we’d liked. Liz was much better by then. Cheerful, laughing. We were really happy.
“But one night miles from anywhere in Bulgaria we woke up as Boris was having a massive epileptic fit. We didn't know what to do apart from keeping his airways open. You can't stop a fit. It just has to pass. But he went still. We checked as far as we knew how and it appeared he was dead. We tried mouth to mouth, lightly pressing on his chest. Nothing worked.
“Andrea was screaming her head off. It was like a nightmare. We considered jumping in the car and driving somewhere. But he was clearly dead. We didn't know what to do. In the end we just lay awake cuddling him and Andrea and by the time it got light Boris was cold and starting to go stiff. We were in a terrible state. I suddenly had this idea. I wasn't really thinking straight but I remembered passing a tumble down remote farmstead in Romania. The house was literally falling down and the place was swarming with children ranging from teenagers down to a small boy and girl about a year old.”
Guy could picture even now the child on his sturdy little legs dressed in rags standing in the mud and filth next to a tethered pig with scrawny dogs running around. The boy had watched him as Guy got out of the car on the road near the house where he stopped by chance to check the tyres.
The whole family came out and watched and he had taken over a five pound note and pushed it into the mother's hand. She'd signalled huge gratitude and had actually started crying. They had all waved goodbye to Guy and his family.
"The thing is, I didn’t know this, but when you've lost a child, you seem to be pre-programmed to foster. Animals apparently do it. I thought about that little boy, the same age as Boris, not much chance in life. At that time we were hearing accounts in the media about children in orphanages over there in appalling conditions. Who was to know he wouldn't end up in such a place. Somehow at the time it seemed the obvious solution.
“I wondered if they would let me take the boy. To replace Boris. I told Liz but she couldn't think clearly at all. I decided on my own that I’d do it if it was possible. It wasn't Liz’s decision at all.
“So I drove to a camp site and left Liz and Andrea there with the caravan and then….”
“Excuse me,” said Len. “What did you do with baby Boris’s body?”
Guy swallowed. This was the part he most hated to think about, the burying of his child’s body which he’d tried to obliterate from his memory. The small feeble ragged body laid to rest in a grave that he’d dug as deep as possible at a point several miles from the road to which he’d borne the body and a small spade.
"I'm not really sure where it was now. I doubt if I could ever find my way back there."
“So if you hadn't been able to take the Romanian boy, what would you have done to explain the loss of your baby?”
“I don't know. I really don't know. I’ve no idea.”
“Mr. Attwood. I’m sorry but I have to ask this for the record. Did you or the then Mrs. Attwood or both of you kill your baby or do anything to harm him?”
Guy started to cry.
“No,” he sobbed.
Len waited a few minutes. “Do you feel able to continue?”
Guy nodded. “Yes. I drove to the farm. I covered up the car’s number plates to disguise my identity. An older child acted as an interpreter and I agreed with them to pay them three thousand pounds for Boris. I said I’d return with the cash in pounds sterling. I drove to England. I persuaded my father who’s since died to lend me the money, handed in my notice at work and arranged to let the house for a year.
“
I drove back. I covered up the number plates again, handed over the cash and took Boris away. I’ve no idea how the girl Ileana tracked us down in England nor indeed how you found out about me. I must have left something about the Romanian farmhouse so that they knew who I was.
“And I went back to Liz and Andrea.”
Guy looked down at the table. The new Boris had cried non-stop for a week having been torn from his family. It broke their hearts, but the fostering instinct was strong. They had held and cuddled him the whole time and during that time had bonded and fallen in love with him.
“Did you know the family’s name?” asked Len.
“Yes. It’s seared on my memory.”
“Why did you stay away a whole year?”
“So that no-one in England would realise that we had a different child with us. Children change so much in the first few years. Andrea would have forgotten. We never told Boris about his origins. That’s it really. I think Ileana must have got in touch with him and that he was seeing her. But I haven't even discussed it with him since I realised he knew. I’ve kept it secret for so long, I just couldn't bring myself to.”
“Do you know anything at all about the death of Ileana Bratianu?”
“No nothing. I can't help you with that.”
The interview was terminated.
The formalities over and the DS having left the room, Len asked:
“I was just wondering about your relationship with Roz.”
“We don't have one any longer.”
“She was on the case though. Did she tell you anything about it?”
“She didn't want to talk about it,” Guy replied indirectly.
“Do you think she suspected you were directly involved?”
“I don't think so.”
“But you knew you were. What about Boris? We understand she met him. Did she suspect he was Ileana’s brother?”
“I wouldn't know. You’d have to ask her.”