“So why did you go?”
And why are you fishing so damn hard, Niall asked silently inside his head.
“I was curious. I wanted to see him in a different environment.”
“OK,” Faith said, and then surprised Niall by dropping the subject. Do you want to go in and see Miranda later?”
“Not tonight,” Niall said.
“If it is on the news she’ll see it and she’ll be worried.”
“She’s got my number.”
“Oh Niall. Come on. Think of her for two minutes. She went to Hell and back last night.”
“Yeah. You’re right. Sorry. I’ll ring her. In a bit.”
As the bus made its way sedately through the London traffic Niall drifted into a daze. He tried to re-evaluate everything that had happened from the beginning, in the light of his new, almost-outrageous suspicion. He had met Juliette Warwick on his way to meet Lindsey. Juliette hadn’t liked him. But at that point she couldn’t have suspected anything, so that was just an example of the natural antipathy he inspired in some women. Then he had spoken to Lindsey. He had asked her about money, and until now he had thought that that was what this was all about. But now he thought differently. In which case, Lindsey was removed from the firing line not because she could give him inadvertent access to the finance department, but because she knew something else. Quite possibly something she didn’t even know she knew, because there was no way Lindsey Spencer would cover up anything dodgy if she found out about it. And that meant... he had to re-evaluate Lindsey. He had to go and see Lindsey. But how could he? He was to all intents and purposes house-bound. He could call her. He would wait until tonight. By then all local news programmes would have aired, and there was a possibility that she might have heard what happened to him. Which would make her sympathetic, and he would get her to agree to come to him.
But what else could she possibly know? Without knowing she knew it? He had never asked her any questions about the shadowy boyfriend. Hadn’t she told him he worked at BAB? In which case maybe it wasn’t Lindsey herself, maybe it was the boyfriend that they had been anxious to keep him away from. That was question one, then. Who was he? He could ask that in a very non-threatening, conversational kind of way, just pretend he was genuinely interested in her life.
Next there was Vivien Loosemore. President or whatever of the charity that had given Lindsey a job. She was involved in this somehow. He had caught her out and she had revealed her discomfort in her time-honoured way, but as Simon had said, he had lacked the facts to press his advantage home. But now her new project – only it wasn’t her project – had taken Lindsey out of the gutter. As if, while whoever it was wanted Lindsey away from BAB, they still wanted her somewhere that they could keep an eye on her. And they had given Simon a job too. Was there anything in that? It did sound as though it was a perfect job for Simon, but Simon hadn’t been successful in an interview since he lost out to Martin Cattermole in the battle to be Head Boy. Simon had hacked into BAB. Did they know that? Were they keeping an eye on him as well? Simon was brilliant on computers, but there was every possibility that there was someone equally blind and equally brilliant doing a job at BAB, watching out for intrusions of any kind. Had Simon got in and out without being noticed?
So they had made their arrangements to keep tabs on those two. But what had he himself done or said that had worried them enough to cripple him? In a busy London street surely it was a high-risk strategy? What if there’d been a traffic jam? The car wouldn’t have been able to get away. If they were prepared to take that kind of risk, they MUST be worried. Maddeningly, he didn’t know how he had worried them.
At work, Katrina Masters heard the local news on the radio. A guide dog that had been on the television the night before had been knocked down in the city of London. Eye-witnesses described a silver BMW as being the vehicle involved. The police were asking for anyone with information to come forward. Listening, Katrina over-rolled her pastry and had to throw it away.
Karin Leman saw it on the South East News as she was ironing her husband’s shirts for Doha. She couldn’t help but notice the Manston Redfearn building in the background of every shot.
Miranda Leman called Niall – he had not phoned her as he had promised – as soon as she saw the item on television in her room at Moorfields.
“Are you all right?” she asked frantically.
“I’m fine,” Niall said.
“Is Hugo all right?”
“Looks like he’s going to pull through.”
“Thank God.”
“I’m sorry,” Niall said in the silence that followed.
“What do you mean?” Miranda asked.
“I’ve been foul to you since Christmas. I’m really sorry.”
“That’s OK. Are you going to come and visit me soon? It’s pretty lonely in here.”
“Of course. I’ll come tomorrow.” Niall cursed. “Well, I will if I can get someone to bring me or put me in a cab. I’ve kind of lost my mobility.”
“I know. I keep crying when I think of poor Hugo,” Miranda said. “He was there for me when I needed him at the television studio and now I’m not there for him.”
“He’s in good hands,” Niall said.
“I’m sure,” Miranda said.
“How are you doing?”
“Well I’m no more mobile than you are. But I can see. I just wish I knew why I don’t seem to be able to survive outside the hospital. They all think it’s the medication and I know it isn’t.”
“Stress,” Niall suggested.
“But it’s the blackouts and the fear of losing my sight that makes me stressed. I’m not stressed until it starts to go wrong,” Miranda said.
“I really need to talk to you,” Niall said quietly. He was in his room, which was a long way from Faith’s and the communal areas, but he didn’t want to take any chances on her listening in.
“What about?” Miranda asked.
“Loads of stuff. This accident. Your transplant.”
“So go on then.”
“Not on the phone.”
“You can’t just say you need to talk to me and then not talk to me,” Miranda said.
“Susannah would’ve let me,” Niall responded.
“Susannah’s dead.”
“Yeah.”
“So talk to me,” Miranda said. “I’m not going anywhere.”
Niall told her about the man who had told him it was safe to cross.
“I bet he feels like a prat,” Miranda said. “Why didn’t you tell the police about him?”
“He won’t feel a prat,” Niall said. “He did it on purpose. He wanted me to get knocked down.”
“Why on earth?” Miranda asked. “Not because he was jealous of your one night of fame?”
“No. Because someone wants me out of the way.”
“Niall,” Miranda cautioned. “Have you been reading too many crime thrillers?”
“I’ve never read a crime thriller,” Niall said. “Too long, most of them. I prefer Braille to talking books so short stories have always had an appeal.”
“I love talking books,” Miranda said.
Niall realised he had come too far to back out now. In little more than a whisper, from the corner of his room that was furthest from the door, all senses on the alert for the slightest sound that suggested Faith was outside listening in, he told Miranda his reasoning for thinking first that money had changed hands behind the scenes and then, in the light of Hugo’s accident, something much more sinister.
When he finished Miranda was initially silent.
“So when you first came to see me,” she said at last, “it was because you were hoping to expose something dodgy.”
“I didn’t know you then, did I?”
“No. You didn’t. I hardly knew myself.”
Silence settled between them again.
“I don’t really know what to say, Niall,” Miranda went on. “You think my father bought my eye transplant. Or you t
hink my father was involved in something much more sinister like the death of the donor. This is my father we’re talking about.”
“I’m not saying he’s involved,” Niall insisted. “Yes, I did think so, but I could be completely wrong. He may just be an innocent bystander. What I know is that someone knew where I was this morning and arranged for me or Hugo or both to have an accident. You don’t do that unless you have something to hide.”
“Or,” Miranda said, “some busy-bodying do-gooder saw a blind person waiting patiently at a crossing, thought, ‘Oh here’s my chance to do my good deed for the day,’ went up to you, looked the wrong way up the road and told you it was safe to cross, while, as fate would have it, a car was coming much too fast in the other direction.”
“No,” Niall said. “I’m right about this. I was there.”
“OK,” Miranda conceded.
“Just be on your guard,” Niall said. “Keep your eyes and ears open for anything fishy.”
“I suppose you think Daniel Sullivan’s behind it,” Miranda said mischievously.
“I think everyone’s involved until I get some proof to the contrary,” Niall answered.
“But HOW are you going to find any of this out?” Miranda asked.
“I’m a journalist,” Niall said. It was better than saying that he currently had absolutely no idea.
“Of course you are,” Miranda said.
The next morning Faith drove Niall to the Clerkenwell Animal Hospital. She didn’t like driving into London, but felt it was only right that Hugo should be brought back to his London home in a car that was familiar.
When they arrived, Niall noticed immediately that there was something different about the place. Instead of smelling like a vets’ it smelt like a florist’s, and he could hear smiles in everyone’s voice as they greeted him.
“Have we come to the wrong place?” he asked Faith.
“No,” she said. “It’s just full, and I mean full, of flowers.”
“Is it National Flowers for Animals Day?” Niall asked.
“I think,” Faith said, looking to the receptionist, “that they’re all for Hugo.”
“What?”
The receptionist took up the story, as another florist’s delivery van pulled up outside.
“They started to arrive last night,” she said. “Apparently someone set up a Twitter campaign, #flowersforhugo or something. They just haven’t stopped since.”
“Incredible,” Faith said.
Niall said nothing. He couldn’t trust himself.
“So how is the celebrity?” Faith asked.
“I’m sure he’ll be very pleased to see you.”
A veterinary nurse took them through to where the ‘in-patients’ were housed.
“There he is,” Faith said.
“Hugo?” Niall called, and immediately an enthusiastic bark led him to where Hugo was lying, struggling to get up.
“Keep still, mate. Keep still,” Niall said, holding him tight. “I thought I’d lost you. I’ll never listen to a jerk on the pavement again.”
“He’ll need plenty of rest, but he’ll need exercise too,” the nurse explained to Faith. “And we’ll want him to come back for physio.”
“There’s physio for dogs now?” Faith asked.
“It’s an underwater treadmill. Very effective for building up muscle tone after surgery. I think given that he’s a working guide dog it’s absolutely essential.”
“I wonder if Guide Dogs will pay for it,” Niall mused.
“If it’s what Hugo needs, he’ll get it,” Faith said.
“I guess if we set up a stall and sold all his flowers that would pay for a few sessions,” Niall said.
“We are NOT selling Hugo’s flowers,” Faith said. “Goodness knows what we’re going to do with them all, but we’re not going to sell them.”
“We’ll take a few bunches to Miranda in Moorfields,” Niall said.
“Now that’s a good idea,” Faith said.
“Leave a load here,” Niall went on. “I don’t know. They should go somewhere. An old people’s home or somewhere.”
The hospital staff prepared Hugo for departure, checking the cast on his leg. He tried to stand and whimpered.
“We’ll loan you a carrier to get him home,” the nurse said. “He will need to walk in time, but it’s a little soon.”
“Thanks,” Niall said.
“We’ll come back to do something about the flowers,” Faith said.
“Yes, that’ll be good,” the nurse replied.
Walking out of Clerkenwell Animal Hospital with Hugo a dead weight in an industrial strength animal carrier, Niall was surprised to hear the buzz of a crowd and the clicking of dozens of cameras.
“We’re well and truly in the news now, Hugo mate,” Niall said to the carrier. “Try not to let it go to your head.”
“How is he?”
“What can you tell us about what happened?”
“What about all these flowers?”
The questions broke over Niall, Faith and Hugo like a storm.
“He needs lots of rest, but he’s going to be OK. So long as you guys don’t illegally tap his mobile he’ll be fine.”
There was a ripple of laughter.
“Niall,” said a voice close by. “Matt here. Matt Long.”
“Hi Matt.”
“Care to give me an exclusive?”
“Bit difficult with all these people here,” Niall said. “Besides, there’s no story. A blind idiot walked in front of a car and instead of the blind idiot getting knocked down his dog took the hit. It’s a bit like being a professional bodyguard being a guide dog. You’ve got to be prepared to take that bullet.”
“Who started the Twitter campaign?” a voice in the crowd called.
“No idea,” Niall said. “Wasn’t me.”
“What would you like to say to them?”
“Thanks. Obviously. And thanks to everyone who’s responded. I mean it is truly fantastic.”
“Who are you?” a journalist addressed Faith.
“Oh I’m nobody at all,” Faith said. “Don’t make me part of your story.”
“She’s not my mother or my lover,” Niall said. “Before the speculation starts.”
“But I have to say,” Faith went on, “Hugo needs to get home. You wouldn’t want to sit in a box like this any longer than you absolutely had to. So if you could see your way to letting us go now. We’ve really nothing more to say.”
A reasonably respectful line to the pavement was cleared and Faith and Niall were able to start walking towards the car, although journalists kept popping up alongside them asking questions.
“Niall?”
“Yes?” His phone had woken him out of a daydream.
“It’s Lindsey.” This was a turn up for the book. He hadn’t even had to call her.
“Hello, Lindz. How are you?”
“I’m fine. But I just heard about you on the radio.”
“Bizarre, isn’t it? I get fired from a radio job and the next thing you know I’m back on the radio.”
“Are you OK? Is Hugo OK?”
“Hugo’s crap but it looks like he’s going to pull through. I’m absolutely fine.”
“How did it happen?”
“I thought you just heard it on the radio.”
“Niall!”
“OK. Sorry. I was at some traffic lights. I thought it was my turn to go. Clearly it wasn’t.”
“I don’t believe you.”
“What?” Niall shook himself into a sharper state of wakefulness.
“I know you. That isn’t a mistake you would make.”
The kaleidoscope inside Niall’s head shifted again. Was there anything – anything at all – in his previous knowledge of Lindsey to suggest that she had the perspicacity to figure out that he wouldn’t step off a kerb before he was sure the coast was clear? It seemed utterly out of character. In which case this concerned phone call out of the blue was probably anything b
ut. Either the shadowy boyfriend had put her up to it, or – but surely not – Lindsey herself was actually a part of this now. It was, he supposed, conceivable that they had bribed her with the job at Victory, and at that point explained what was going on and bought her loyalty, especially if the boyfriend was a key player.
“Everyone can make a mistake,” he said, trying to think of ways to keep Lindsey talking whilst at the same time giving nothing away.
“You didn’t hear the car?”
“No.”
“Hugo didn’t see the car?”
“Maybe. I told him to go so he went.”
“Why did you tell him to go?”
“Lindsey I don’t need an interrogation right now.”
“OK. I’m sorry. I’m just – well it’s all a bit upsetting when it’s someone you know.”
“Yeah. How’s things with you?”
“Great.”
“How’s Victory?”
“There’s not always much to do there, but it’s good to be working again.”
“Yeah. I bet.”
“Sorry Niall. I forget you don’t have a job.”
“It’s OK. Hugo’s a celebrity now. We’ll be getting our invite to go into the jungle with Ant and Dec in a day or two. Do you ever see Simon at work?”
“He’s out and about a lot. But occasionally.”
“What about Loosemore?”
“Vivien Loosemore?”
“Yeah. Somebody told me she was the patron or something.”
“I’ve never seen her there at all.”
“Right. How’s your boyfriend?”
“Now who’s doing the interrogating?”
“Sorry. It was just a polite inquiry. You never even told me his name.”
“John. His name’s John.”
“OK. How’s John?”
“Fine thanks.”
“That’s good.”
“And you’re really OK? And Hugo’s really OK?”
“We’re OK.”
After a few more pleasantries the call ended. Niall stared sightlessly at his phone as if he couldn’t quite believe what it had told him.
Katrina Masters came in from work at 2 am. She crept silently around the bedroom taking off her clothes, slipping into the bathroom to clean her teeth. Juliette was breathing steadily, but Katrina was never certain that she was actually asleep. She believed rather that Juliette pretended to be asleep because she didn’t want to talk.
Eyes of the Blind Page 19