by Penny Kline
Balanced on the gate, she stared into the distance, grateful at least that the rain had stopped. She thought she could see a house but it was only the sun catching the metal roof of a barn. Then she spotted it. A grey cottage at the far end of a field, surrounded on two sides by tall, leafless trees.
Leaving the car, aware she could incur the wrath of a farmer if she had blocked his way, she set off, keeping close to the edge of the field. The grass was soaking wet and the air felt humid. If she found Dawn … But there was no point working out what she would say or do. Just now, all she could hope was that she was right about The Railway Inn.
At first sight it had looked impossible to drive up to the cottage but there could be another way to reach it. There was no one in about and no distant hum of traffic that might have indicated she was closer to civilization than she realised, just a faint tapping noise that could be a green woodpecker but could be man-made.
Supposing whoever lived in the cottage was watching her making her way up the side of the field. When she saw a gap in the hedge, where the dead undergrowth had been stamped down, she made a quick decision to circle round and approach the cottage from behind. It was madness. How could Dawn be living there? But Dominic’s description was all she had.
For a brief moment, she thought she saw a light on in one of the downstairs rooms but it was only the reflection of the setting sun. The windows had curtains, upstairs and down, but the general look was of somewhere deserted, perhaps unfit for human habitation. She was within fifty yards of the place, but no dog had run out to meet her. Everything was silent.
When she reached a side door, it looked like it was the entrance, or at least the way the owner got into the house. Pausing for a moment, she scanned the building for any sign of life, afraid someone might have seen her but almost more afraid no one had been near the place for months, even years. In spite of the sun, she felt chilled to the bone, and turned up her collar, pushing her damp hair out of her eyes.
What next? She could go up the door and bang on it, or she could look around for anything that suggested someone was living there: a dustbin brimming with rubbish, a clean milk bottle, a newspaper with a recent date. The curtains were drawn back, but that was hardly surprising since it was still light. Izzy’s mother had always closed the curtains at the first opportunity. Let’s make ourselves cosy. Did her mother know something about Dawn that she had kept secret? Surely, when Izzy phoned her in New Zealand, her mother would have told her – although she had deliberately sounded unconcerned, as though visiting Rosalie had only just occurred to her.
And what about Rosalie herself? Did she know only too well what Dawn was up to but had been unwilling to tell her? Or for Francis to find out?
In the woods that came up almost to the back door, something, possibly a fox, let out a harsh yelp. Izzy had been edging towards a downstairs window but the sound made her jump back, losing her footing so she crashed against a pile of old roof tiles. Steadying herself on a rickety piece of trellis, she listened – for a door opening, a footstep. Nothing. Staring up at the roof, she could see it was in a reasonably good state of repair, but appearances were often deceptive; the inside might be a tip.
The rain had made the ground slippery, turning an empty flowerbed into mud. If there was anyone living there, by now they were almost bound to have heard her. Surely they would have come out, but perhaps it was a recluse. Someone could be standing, shotgun in hand, waiting for her to make what could be interpreted as a threatening move. Summoning all her courage, she tapped on one of the windows and waited, holding her breath. Tapping again, a fraction louder, she stepped back, ready to run if someone rushed out to angrily warn her off. Not a sound.
As well as the cottage, there were several outhouses, one of which could be a garage although it looked as though no one had used it for months, if not years. The shed next to it could have used for farming equipment. If the place had once been a farm. A smallholding perhaps, with chickens and goats and pick-your-own fruit and vegetables. The door to the shed was slightly ajar. Izzy touched it and the collection of old horseshoes and a pair of antlers, that someone had attached to it, rattled, making her jump back, scanning all around in case the owner had heard.
With a mixture of relief and disappointment, she turned and began making her way back to where she had left the car. It had been a chance in a million. Well, perhaps not quite such bad odds, but surely if Dawn had been there she would have come out, if only to ask about Cressy.
Chapter Eleven
An evening with Harry and Janet was just what Izzy needed to take her mind off what had been going on. Kath had picked her up at seven thirty and during the drive, to what they both laughingly referred to as “Harry’s country estate”, the two of them had talked, mainly about the business and whether Harry was going to let them have a say in who he took on to help with the extra work.
Izzy had considered telling Kath about her trip to the country the previous day, but when she arrived at work Kath had insisted on discussing the possible reasons why Izzy had contracted a cold, even if it was only a mild one. Had she got a new boyfriend? No, of course not. Had she made it up with Josh? Definitely not.
All day, Kath had seemed on edge. But when questioned she had denied it. Now she had a new string of questions for Izzy.
‘Have you been to see the baby again?’
‘No.’
‘Will you be going again, do you think?’
‘I might. I like the family, especially Bev. We seem to be on the same wavelength.’
Kath gave a snort. ‘Unlike us, you mean.’
‘No of course I didn’t mean that. What’s the matter with you, Kath?’
‘Nothing’s the matter with me. If you want my honest opinion, Izzy, you’re worried about your friend Dawn – I can understand that – and you’re worried you haven’t been in touch with the police. I can understand that too. And you’re projecting all your worries onto me. You are worried, aren’t you?’
‘Not really,’ Izzy lied, ‘I gave myself a specific time in which to make a few inquiries and it’s not up yet. After all, what’s the rush? Cressy’s in safe hands.’
‘But is Dawn?’
‘How do you mean?’ But Izzy knew exactly what Kath meant. Someone who decided to leave their baby outside another person’s house was, by definition, badly in need of help.
They were driving up a winding hill with trees that met overhead.
‘If you’re not sure what to do,’ Kath said, ‘think about what worked with Dawn before and I guess you could say the same method’s likely to work again.’
‘It’s not like that, Kath. I don’t know where she is. I don’t even know for certain that Cressy is her baby.’
Kath puffed out her cheeks, slowly releasing the air. ‘When Miles returned to his wife, Dawn must have been devastated. She begged him to come and see her – right – and wherever she was staying at the time she must have hoped she could persuade him to change his mind, especially now the baby had been born.’
‘We don’t know that’s what happened.’
‘But it sounds about right, wouldn’t you say?’
‘Yes, I suppose so.’ Izzy had a sudden thought. What if Miles had known nothing about the baby, had not even known Dawn was pregnant? He already had a child, and he’d been through the tragedy of a baby that died soon after birth. If Dawn thought a baby would mean he ran a mile, she might have decided to get rid of it. Not kill it, even Dawn wasn’t capable of something that terrible. But leaving it outside Izzy’s house could have felt like the rational thing to do. Dawn had always been very persuasive, and her speciality was persuading herself she was in the right.
But Miles would have known she was pregnant.
‘Listen, Kath, we have to make a go of this evening.’
‘Yes, of course. What do you mean, make a go of it?’
‘Oh, I don’t know.’ Izzy was not sure herself why she had made the remark. ‘To tell you the truth I’m no
t sure why we’ve been invited. Anyway, Janet’s a great cook and for once I’m starving.’
Janet welcomed them warmly. She was wearing jeans and a loose-fitting sweater that had seen better days, but there was nothing unusual about that. With a different hairstyle, she would have looked younger. On the other hand, why did women have to struggle to look younger than they actually were, dyeing their hair and taking steps to eliminate small wrinkles and lines? When Izzy grew old she was going to let nature take its course. That’s what Dawn would do. Dawn had never worn make-up or changed the colour of her hair.
Since the children had grown up, the most important thing in Janet’s life, after Harry of course, was her house and garden. During the winter months, she concentrated on the house, redecorating, putting up more shelves, renovating the kitchen. Harry often complained about the upheaval but in a good-natured kind of way, and Izzy suspected he was glad of his wife’s practical skills. In the summer, she concentrated on her plants and now, even though it was the last day in October, the garden still looked good.
An outside lamp lit up the late-flowering cyclamen, surrounding a tree that had shed most of its leaves. Janet would have collected up the leaves for her compost heap. Next to the place where the compost was kept, a vine with crimson leaves wound its way up the wall. During the summer, Janet had shown Izzy and Kath round and, as far as she could remember, that was the last time they visited. Izzy thought the white flowers were a winter honeysuckle and made a mental note to tell Janet how beautiful they were. She liked Janet. When she’d started working for Harry, Janet had been very welcoming and friendly.
‘Lovely to see you.’ Janet showed them into the room that looked out on the lawn with its bird table and sundial. ‘Harry’s phoning someone but he’ll join us in a minute. How are you both? Harry says he’s taking on a new member of staff to ease the pressure a bit. High time, I’d have thought by the look of you two.’
She broke off, addressing her next words to Izzy. ‘I’m so sorry about your alarming experience. How is the poor little thing, or don’t they tell you once it’s been whisked away into care?’
‘She’s fine,’ Izzy said, ‘I’ve seen her a couple of times and I’ll be seeing her again tomorrow. She’s in a very good foster home. Nice family with two teenage children, both being fostered long term.’
‘Izzy’s made a friend there,’ Kath said. ‘With the foster mother, I mean.’
Janet handed each of them a glass of red wine without asking if it was what they wanted. ‘But what’s going to happen to the baby? How long is it since it was found? Must be a couple of weeks. You’d think the birth mother would have been traced by now. I suppose she could turn out be psychiatric, not able to look after a young baby.’
‘Yeah, but they’d give her some help,’ Kath said, and Izzy thought about Bev’s foster children, and their mentally ill birth mother, and the devoted way they were looking after Cressy.
Harry had entered the room. He was making an effort to appear cheerful, pleased to be entertaining them, but he had been in one of his moods all day and it was clear he was unable to shrug it off. Janet too seemed tense, ill at ease. Now that the conversation about the baby had come to an end, she was struggling to come up with a new topic, then Harry and Kath both spoke at once.
‘Sorry.’ Kath said.
‘No, you carry on.’ Harry poured himself a whisky. After a few drinks perhaps he would start to relax.
‘I was only going to say how lovely the room looks.’ Kath waved her had round. ‘That’s a new painting isn’t it, Janet?’
Janet smiled. ‘Yes it is. I remember how you liked the one in the dining room. This is by the same artist. He lives and exhibits in West Wales so it’s quite a trek to see his work – but always worth the effort.’
The food was well up to Janet’s usual standard. The starter was individual salads with a saffron dressing. Not too filling, Izzy thought. In spite of her comment that she was starving, most starters spoiled the main course.
Harry talked about the new car he was thinking of buying. ‘Not that I’m one for flashy cars, but they impress the clients.’
‘I’ll bet,’ Izzy laughed, ‘what’s wrong with the one you’ve got?’
Janet said nothing. Perhaps she thought the car an extravagance. When she began collecting up their plates, Izzy moved to help her but she waved her aside. ‘Shan’t be long. I’m bringing the next course in on the trolley, a chicken dish with thyme, garlic, and bay leaves.’
‘Sounds amazing.’ Kath beamed. ‘Anything with chicken’s great by me.’
The food was excellent – Janet must have been preparing it all day – and Izzy would have enjoyed it a lot if she hadn’t felt so tense. Nothing to do with Dawn and the baby. It was the atmosphere in the room.
Normally, Janet had plenty to say, starting with what her two boys were doing, and leading on to her main hobby, apart from gardening: the amateur dramatic club she belonged to, and the play they were planning to put on.
‘Delicious.’ Harry wiped his mouth and placed his knife and fork together on his plate without making his usual clatter. ‘What’s next?’
Dessert was zabaglione with crushed amaretti biscuits. Izzy only knew because Janet announced it. The chicken dish had been a little too strongly flavoured for her taste but she loved desserts and this one was particularly mouth-watering.
‘Well done, my darling.’ Harry had relaxed a little, probably the result of the large meal. ‘You’re the best cook ever.’
‘Yes, you are,’ Kath chorused. ‘I do my best but so many of my dishes go wrong.’
It was not particularly funny but everyone laughed. Then silence descended again.
They stayed on in the dining room for coffee, and the subject of the abandoned baby was raised again, this time by Harry, who wanted to know how the police were handling the case.
‘They did the usual checks.’ Izzy made an effort to sound less exasperated than she felt. ‘I had a couple of visits from a police officer called Linda Fairbrother, but I got the impression they were only making sure no one accused them of not doing their job properly.’
It was just about the last impression Fairbrother had given her but Harry seemed to accept this. ‘I admire you, Izzy. I’m not sure how I’d have reacted. I think I might have taken it personally.’
‘How do you mean?’ She knew exactly what he meant but was playing for time.
‘Oh, forget it,’ he yawned. ‘The poor woman, whoever she is, had to leave it somewhere. Pure chance she chose your place.’
Kath started to cough. Like Wendy Bruton, it was something that happened when her nerves got the better of her. ‘Hope I haven’t caught your cold,’ she told Izzy, ‘I mean the one you thought you were developing.’
‘I’ll fetch some water.’ Janet had jumped up and already reached the door. ‘Don’t try to talk, it always makes it worse. Shan’t be half a tick.’
Kath soon controlled her coughing fit, but Janet’s ‘half a tick’ turned into several minutes. Harry fidgeted impatiently, moving back his chair in preparation to rise then changing his mind.
‘I’ll go and help,’ Izzy said, ‘Janet mentioned she was going to make some coffee.’
Out in the kitchen, Janet was leaning over the sink with her forehead resting on the taps. She seemed not to have heard anyone come into the room, but when Izzy spoke she gave no indication it had given her a fright. And made no attempt to invent an excuse.
‘I’m sorry,’ she said at last, ‘what was it I came out for?’
‘Are you feeling unwell? If you are, do say so, we can easily leave. There’s nothing worse than having to pretend you feel fine when really –’
‘I’m not ill.’ Janet fetched a towel that was hanging over a radiator and dabbed at her eyes.
‘Your winter honeysuckle is lovely.’ Izzy was not sure she wanted to know what was wrong. It was probably some marital thing, the reason Harry had been in a mood. ‘I used to think there was nothing
to do in the garden in the winter months, but that’s not right, is it?’
Janet sat down at the kitchen table. ‘You know about it, you must do.’
‘Sorry?’
‘Don’t pretend. Please don’t pretend.’ But when she looked at Izzy she must have realised she had no idea what she was talking about. ‘Kath and Harry, it’s been going on for weeks but I’ve kept quiet in the hope it would blow over.’
‘Kath and Harry? Are you sure? What makes you think …’ But the first doubts had entered Izzy’s head. Kath had been busier than usual, less inclined to want to go out for a drink. And quick to change the subject if Izzy said anything about Harry. Once they had gossiped about him behind his back in a good-natured kind of way. Recently any remarks Izzy had made, about the volume of work or Harry’s bad-temper if a contract was creating problems, had been cut short. Not so much with a defence of Harry, just talk about graphic businesses in general and changing technology.
Janet was spooning coffee grounds into a jug. ‘He’s done it before,’ she said flatly, ‘I can’t count the times.’ But I’m afraid this may be more serious. Now Will’s at college, Harry doesn’t have to worry about the children. ‘
‘How did you find out?’ Izzy wanted the facts. Anger rose in her but she was ashamed to admit to herself that it was anger because Kath had kept something so important to herself, and allowed Izzy to tell her things in confidence which she now suspected she would have passed on to Harry. Or would she? Kath was no fool and clearly her main aim was to keep the affair a secret.
‘A friend saw them together,’ Janet explained resignedly, ‘sitting in a pub holding hands. And in case you think there could have been a simple explanation, she saw them again, in the street, standing under a lamp post kissing like star-crossed lovers.’
The kettle boiled and Izzy started making the coffee. She found a tray on the side, and some cups, and a small white jug, and milk in the fridge.