by Roberta Kray
Harry could see how that would have worked. The best place to hide was in a city, in a crowd. And no one would be looking for a child who quite clearly wasn’t being held against her will. The police wouldn’t check the ferries for who had travelled the Tuesday night either – according to Sharon, Grace hadn’t disappeared until the Wednesday afternoon.
‘And from then on,’ Ellen said, ‘we just got on with it. I was never aware of the publicity, of all the madness that was going on. I didn’t read the papers or see the news on TV; I guess they were careful to shield me from all that. The weeks went by. I settled in, went to school and made new friends. I didn’t hear from my mother but wasn’t too worried – she had made me a promise and I firmly believed it. One day, I was sure, she would come to take me home. In the meantime … well, things weren’t so bad. I was actually quite happy.’
Ellen twisted the glass between her slender fingers, half-closed her eyes and then opened them again. ‘That must sound awful,’ she said, glancing up at him. ‘You know, even after all these years, it still makes me feel guilty to think it, never mind say it out loud.’
‘It’s not terrible,’ he said. ‘Perhaps, for once, you just felt safe.’
She stared at him for a long moment but then eventually nodded.
Harry looked down into his empty glass. More booze probably wouldn’t help but then he didn’t know what would. What was done was done and nothing could change it. Standing up, he retrieved the bottle of Scotch and the soda siphon and brought them both back to the desk.
Ellen watched as he topped up her drink and then poured himself a fresh one. ‘The only thing that hurt was that she never got in touch, not even a phone call or a Christmas card. Rose would get upset if I asked about her. I could see the pain it caused and so after a while I just stopped asking.’ Ellen twisted the glass in her hands again. ‘I never stopped hoping though. I never forgot who my real mother was.’
Harry wondered how she’d done it, how it was possible to live such a lie for so long. ‘Didn’t you ever worry about being found out, when you were at school or—’
‘No,’ she said softly. ‘I’d learned to keep my mouth shut. I was good at it, good at keeping secrets. And the longer it went on the easier it became. It was over a year, about eighteen months, when Rose … when she told me that …’
Harry heard her sharp intake of breath. He knew what was coming – or thought he did.
‘She met me after school, walked me home and then … She told me that I had to be brave, to be strong. She told me that my parents … that they were dead.’
Harry started. They? It was true that Michael Harper had died then but Sharon had still been very much alive. ‘What? Both of them?’
‘Yes,’ she said. Her dark eyes partly closed again. ‘It was a long time before I found out the truth.’
Chapter Fifty
The room, although neither of them had spoken for a while, was not entirely silent. Harry could hear the muffled sound of the traffic and the faint ticking of the radiators. He was experiencing the same ambiguous feeling he had often known as a cop, a confusing seesaw between the desire to find out the truth and the worrying responsibility of actually hearing it.
Seeing Ellen stand up, he panicked for a second, thinking she was leaving. Instead she simply took off her raincoat and placed it neatly over the back of the chair. Underneath she was wearing a pair of black trousers and a black cardigan with small pearl buttons. He wondered what had made her choose to dress all in black today. Mourning clothes, he thought and then rapidly dismissed the notion as fanciful.
She sat back down and picked up her glass. ‘I’d better tell you the rest,’ she said, ‘before I drink too much of this.’
Harry waited but she didn’t continue. He let a few more seconds pass by and then gently prompted, ‘So later, after they … after the accident … What made you decide to come back to London?’
‘Where else would I go? I still saw it as home and there wasn’t anything left for me there. It felt like the only thing to do. What you have to realize is that I didn’t have a clue as to how “missing” I actually was. I wasn’t aware that I’d been at the centre of a major crime investigation. If I’d known, it would have been different – I would never have dared to come back – but I thought all the secrets were over and done with, that there was nothing to hide from any more.’ She gave a slow, despairing shake of her head. ‘Just how wrong could I be?’
Harry didn’t even attempt a reply.
‘When I left,’ she said, ‘all I took with me were a bag of clothes and Rose’s address book. That’s how I knew where to find Jimmy. He’d moved out to Chingford and that’s where I went a few days after I arrived. I hoped he might help with finding somewhere to stay.’
‘That must have been quite a surprise for him.’
Ellen raised her eyes to the ceiling and gave a dry brittle laugh. ‘He’d have probably had a heart attack if he had opened the door to me.’
A smile hovered briefly on Harry’s lips. Any life-threatening shock to Jimmy Keppell could hardly be viewed as a bad thing. ‘But it can’t have been completely unexpected. He must have heard. He must have wondered if you’d—’
‘No. That’s the point: he didn’t know. There was no one left to tell him. He and Rose weren’t in regular contact – I suppose it would have been too risky – and I hadn’t seen him since the night I’d left London. I didn’t even think of him again until after the funeral, until I saw his name in her address book.’
Harry nodded. ‘So you went round and …’
Her brow furrowed as she thought back to that afternoon. ‘Tony was the only one at the house. I knew him straight away. He didn’t recognize me though, not at first. I presumed it was just because I looked different to the girl he’d gone to school with all those years ago. I didn’t know I was supposed to be …’ She paused, concentrating on the desk again. When she looked up, her eyes were bright with tears. ‘God, the poor guy thought I was dead!’
It was another hour before Harry had heard the end of the story. By then the light was starting to fade, the blue sky dimming to a pale silvery grey. The level in the Scotch bottle had dipped considerably too. Having eaten no lunch, he could feel the effect of the alcohol but instead of dulling his senses it appeared to be heightening them. He was overly aware of every movement she made, every nuance in her speech, every tiny detail of her face and clothes.
There was plenty to think about, too much perhaps, but what remained foremost in his mind was what she’d told him about her reunion with her mother. It was that particular encounter that struck the deepest chord. The meeting had not gone well. Sharon, exhibiting more fear than joy, had not welcomed her daughter with open arms.
For reasons of his own, Harry couldn’t resist returning to the subject. ‘You must have felt betrayed,’ he said, ‘that first time you saw her after all those years.’
Ellen scowled at the words. ‘Why should I?’ she said defensively. ‘She was just confused, afraid. She’d lied to her husband, lied to the police, lied to almost everyone. It was a shock to see me again. After she’d let me go, after she’d made that ultimate sacrifice, I was suddenly there and …’ Getting quickly to her feet, she went over to the window and stared determinedly down at the street. With her back still turned she hugged her arms around her. ‘It didn’t … doesn’t mean she doesn’t love me. It’s more complicated than that. I don’t expect you to understand.’
‘More than you think,’ Harry said. As he went to stand beside her, he could see her body trembling, her slim shoulders shaking with emotion. He laid his hand lightly on her arm and the shameful pain of his own past spilled out before he could prevent it. ‘My mother left when I was five. She walked out and I haven’t seen her since.’
Roughly, Ellen twisted away from his touch. ‘It’s not the same,’ she snapped angrily. ‘My mother didn’t desert me. It was the very opposite. She did everything in her power to try and save me.’
Harry flinched at the retort, his face starting to burn red. Why had he told her? It had been a mistake and he instantly regretted it.
But then, unexpectedly, she reached out for his hand and grasped it tightly. Her voice was filled with remorse. ‘I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. I should never have said that.’
‘Why not?’ he said bitterly. ‘It’s the truth, isn’t it?’
‘The truth,’ she echoed. She gazed at him and slowly lowered her face. Leaning in, she laid her forehead against his chest. ‘Who knows what the goddamn truth is.’
They stayed that way, as finely posed as two characters in a tableau, until Harry gently disengaged his hand and put his arms around her. Immediately she seemed to melt against him, to fold into his embrace. It felt as natural as if they had always been together. And when she lifted her face again he instinctively knew what he would do next. He understood that he shouldn’t, that it was stupid, reckless, wrong … but already his mouth was closing over hers.
He was aware, as their lips came together, of a mutual intake of breath. He felt her tongue search out his and for a while all he could take in was the softness of her mouth, its searching urgency and need. Moving a hand to the small of her back, he pulled her even closer. She made a soft moaning sound. He was shocked by the intensity of his desire. At that moment, with every nerve end ablaze, he believed that he had never wanted any woman more.
It was only as their lips briefly separated, as he bent to kiss her throat, that he felt a moment’s hesitation. He wasn’t sure what caused it, just the tiniest of voices perhaps, a warning whisper in his ear: What are you doing? And suddenly he found himself thinking about what she’d been through, about the amount of Scotch they’d drunk, about Valerie, about Adam …
As if his doubts had simultaneously leaked through to her, she abruptly pulled away. Without looking at him, she turned, walked over to the chair and picked up her raincoat. ‘I’m sorry. I have to go.’
He wasn’t sure if she was sorry about the kiss or about the fact she had to leave. ‘What will you do now?’ he said.
She buttoned up her coat, smoothed down her hair and gave a weary sigh. Eventually she raised her large dark eyes to him. ‘It’s over, isn’t it? It’s all going to come out. I’ll have to talk to Adam and …’
As her voice choked up, Harry took a step toward her. She quickly lifted a hand, her palm out, her fingers splayed. ‘Don’t,’ she said. ‘Please don’t.’
‘I’ll speak to Jess,’ Harry said. He knew he wouldn’t be able to persuade her to keep the lid on a story as big as this one but perhaps there was something else he could do. ‘I’m sure she’ll give you time, you know, some breathing space while you talk to Adam.’
Ellen nodded as she headed for the door. ‘Thank you.’
‘I’ll come down with you.’
‘No,’ she said softly. ‘I need … I think I need to be on my own.’
She walked out, leaving the door ajar behind her. She passed through the reception area and into the corridor beyond. Harry heard the old lift rattle up, heard the doors slide open and then close again.
As soon as she was gone, he felt the urge to run after her, to prevent her from leaving, but he didn’t. Instead he turned back towards the window. He still couldn’t accept what he felt for her; it was all too intense, too complicated. He wasn’t good at love. He was even worse at showing it.
It was a while before she appeared again. Harry followed her progress as she walked along the street. As he stood there, he felt odd, dislocated, as if he was just waking from a dream. He placed his palms flat against the cool glass. He watched as she paused at the kerb, waiting for a gap in the long stream of traffic. She glanced left and right. What was she thinking? Was she thinking of him? Regretting his lack of action, he willed her to turn and look up.
She didn’t.
‘I’m here,’ he whispered.
But it was all too late. Sensing her intention, a cry rose in his throat. Before he could do anything more than slam his hands impotently against the window, she had stepped straight into the road – and then there was only the screech of brakes, the awful stomach-churning thud and the slow-motion acrobatic twist of her body.
Chapter Fifty-One
Harry anxiously paced the hospital corridor. It was over fifteen minutes since the ambulance had brought her in and there still wasn’t any news. Horrific images were revolving in his head: the dreadful arc of her back as the car had hit her, the slow fall towards the ground, the terrible picture of her lying like a rag doll in the gutter.
It was his fault.
If only he’d stopped her from leaving. Why hadn’t he? He wanted to slam his fist against the wall. He was a fool, a bloody stupid fool! He should have realized just how impossible it was for her.
As Harry turned to retrace his steps, he saw Jess appear at the other end of the corridor. He didn’t know why he’d called her and could not recall exactly what he’d said; all he did remember was that his call had been disjointed and rambling, an urgent plea for help.
She rushed forward, placing a hand sympathetically on his arm. ‘Hey, how is she?’
‘I don’t know. No one’s told me anything. She was barely conscious when they brought her in. She’s been taken for scans, X-rays, all that stuff.’
‘Has anyone contacted Adam?’
‘I think so. I gave them the number.’
‘Why don’t we sit down,’ Jess suggested. She peered into the busy waiting room. There were a few free seats but they were crammed so close to the rest that it would be impossible to have a private conversation. ‘Over here,’ she said, leading him instead to a row of ten blue plastic chairs lined up in the corridor. They had probably been put there to deal with the usual evening overflow; Saturday night was always frantic in A&E.
Harry slumped down and put his head in his hands. He took a few deep breaths before he lifted his face to look at her again. ‘She did it deliberately.’
‘You can’t be sure of that,’ Jess said.
Harry groaned out his reply. ‘I was watching from the window. She saw that car; she knew it was coming.’ He squeezed his eyes shut and then opened them again. ‘Oh God,’ he murmured despairingly. ‘What if she’s dead?’
‘This isn’t your fault,’ Jess insisted. ‘It was all going to come out eventually. You can’t blame yourself.’
‘Of course I can,’ he snapped back. ‘I let her go. I let her leave on her own after—’
A white-coated man holding a clip file was approaching. Harry gazed up expectantly but he strolled on past.
‘I should have realized what state she was in,’ he continued. ‘I should never have met her alone; I should never have talked to her in the first place.’
Jess raised her brows but had the sensitivity to keep her mouth shut. Now wasn’t the time to get on to that particular subject. She sent up a silent prayer that Ellen Shaw – or should that be Grace Harper? – would survive; if she didn’t Harry would have it on his conscience for the rest of his days.
Glancing down the corridor to reception, Jess recognized a tall man standing at the desk and gave Harry a nudge. ‘That’s him,’ she whispered. ‘That’s Adam Shaw.’
Harry looked over, frowning. Personally, he wouldn’t have recognized him from Len’s grainy photos; he seemed older, greyer, but that was maybe down to the shock. ‘Are you sure?’
‘Absolutely,’ she said.
They both continued to stare as a doctor, a brisklooking woman in her early forties, arrived to speak to him. They weren’t close enough to eavesdrop on the conversation. Instead Harry tried to gauge the prognosis from Adam’s reaction but his face, blank and unresponsive, gave nothing away. Harry felt his heart begin to pump. It was bad news. It had to be. The two of them were talking for over five minutes before the doctor eventually pointed down the corridor towards them.
‘Oh God,’ Harry murmured, lowering his face into his hands again.
As Adam Shaw approached, Jess was th
e one to stand up and greet him. ‘Hello,’ she said, stepping forward. ‘How is she?’
Behind her, Harry slowly got to his feet. Assailed by hopelessness, he could hardly bear to look at the man. Please don’t say it; please don’t say she’s dead.
But Adam, after a short hesitation, suddenly smiled. His voice was breaking as he gave them the news. ‘She … she’s going to be okay. A broken wrist, three fractured ribs and a lot of bruising but no internal injuries. They say she’s been lucky. They’re going to keep her in overnight but she should be able to come home tomorrow.’
‘That’s wonderful,’ Jess said.
The relief that ran through Harry’s body was sublime. For a second he could hardly breathe.
‘I just wanted to thank you,’ Adam said, turning towards him. ‘I understand you came here in the ambulance with her.’
Harry nodded, smiling blankly back. He still wasn’t thinking straight. As he stared into the soft grateful eyes of the man in front of him, his mouth slowly opened and closed. What could he say? How was he going to explain what he’d been doing there?
Jess came to the rescue again. ‘We were standing right beside her when it happened,’ she said. ‘It was such a shock, terrible. And it didn’t seem right for her to be alone. That’s why my husband went in the ambulance. I followed behind in the car.’
‘Thank you,’ he said. ‘Thank you both so much.’
‘We’re just glad she’s all right,’ Jess said. ‘Please don’t let us keep you. I’m sure you must want to go and see her.’
‘Yes, of course.’ He put out his hand and took first Jess’s and then Harry’s. ‘Thank you so much,’ he repeated before walking away down the corridor.
Harry, still feeling the pressure of the man’s hand-shake, gradually released a long low sigh of guilty relief.