‘She was dishonest,’ I whispered.
‘That’s what they say. And whatever it is she’s done, I can believe it. She’s a wrong ’un, that one. Anyway, she’s in police custody now.’
I stared up at him. ‘Emma Harding is in custody?’ I said incredulously.
‘I just said so, didn’t I?’
‘Yes, but …’ I struggled with the concept. ‘She can’t be in custody, not actually being held. She’s a successful businesswoman!’
He shrugged. ‘Thieving’s thieving, whoever you are.’
‘They took her in that night?’
‘No, just questioned her. Came back for her this morning. Seven o’clock they was on her doorstep. If you don’t believe me, love, ask Rob, the kennel boy. We was out back with the bitch pack, at the far end of the meadow. Watched as she answered the door in her dressing gown, then disappeared, white-faced, to get dressed. When she came back down the path to the police car she looked like she’d been shot.’
‘I bet she did.’
‘Her husband looked pretty grim too. He was in the hall, behind her. Rob said if ever a man needed a drink it was him.’
‘Oh, God.’ I inhaled sharply. ‘Simon. He must be devastated!’
‘I’d say so.’
My mind whirred as I tried to assimilate all this. Emma Harding, arrested. ‘He’s a good man, you know.’
‘Aye, but a foolish one. Not the first to fall for a pretty face, though, I’ll grant you.’
‘He fell years ago,’ I muttered.
‘I know he did. Thinks he’s getting the same girl. And in a way he is. She was a bitch then and she’s a bitch now.’
I looked at him, surprised. ‘You knew her then?’
‘I went to school with Emma Harding. The local village one, for all her airs and graces. She’d take the sweets from your desk and the rubbers from your pencil case. She was on the make then and she’s still on it now.’
We were silent a moment. I thought of her down at the police station. In a bare interrogation room, perhaps; a plain-clothes officer questioning her, a solicitor beside her. Or perhaps parochial stations like ours didn’t deal with fraud? Elsewhere, maybe. Somewhere distant. Was she frightened? No, defiant, I imagined. Ice cool. Head high, lips pursed. My heart began to beat. It certainly didn’t bleed for her, though.
‘Will he stand by her, d’you think?’
‘Simon Devereux? No idea. But as you say, he’s all right, so I imagine he might. Perhaps not the publicity he was looking for, though, eh?’ He picked up the empty mugs and made for the kitchen. ‘MP’s wife in police custody?’
‘No. No, I’m sure it wasn’t.’
As I pulled out of the farmyard, my mind was churning. Emma Harding, the career woman, the one who rode to hounds, and who I now knew to have a painted face, a sharp manner, and a way with men, was in police custody. But why? What had she done? Taken a quick backhander? Made a bit on the side? Got greedy? Except … she was well off, doing well, why take the risk? I couldn’t believe it was worth it. But perhaps she got her kicks from not getting caught? Like she did with my husband. He hadn’t been worth it either. I purred down the lane, hands gripping the wheel. And was that why she’d dropped her claim on Phil’s will, I wondered suddenly. Because she knew she was about to be investigated? She wouldn’t want to attract even more attention, would she? Oh no, she’d drop that like a hot potato.
Shaken, I turned onto the road that ran alongside the common. I paused briefly, engine running, outside the brick and flint cottage where Emma and my husband had shacked up for years. Where she’d cavorted with him under the eves in that bedroom, perhaps. I glanced up at the window. Sashayed downstairs in a dressing gown – silk, no doubt. And on occasion – when he’d come home from work and told me he wasn’t hungry – had made him supper, wine glass in hand, humming along to a mellow CD, no fractious children to put to bed. The house, where she’d not only cooked his supper, but his books too. And from whence she’d finally been led away. In handcuffs? No, unlikely. Should have asked Mark. And I’d been married to a man who loved her. How bad a decision maker did that make me? Just as Sam had been married to a woman who went off with his best friend, I thought suddenly, which didn’t make him much of a decision maker either. Safety in numbers, perhaps.
I drove on, my gaze fixed steadily on the road ahead; behind me, it seemed, a shattered landscape. My past. Which I was finally taking leave of. No Radio Two broadcasting cheerily as usual; instead I hunched over my wheel, pensive. But I was moving on. Getting my life back. I was pretty sure, for instance, that the pill I’d taken yesterday had been the last one. I’d felt it with a quiet certainty as I’d swallowed; had known there was nothing premature about it this time. And somehow, everything Mark Harrison had just told me confirmed it. There was a lot to digest, though; he’d divulged a great deal in the space of half an hour, and not just about Emma, about Sam too. My brain was still filtering it, wondering where it left me, when my phone rang.
‘Hello?’ I whispered into my hands-free on the dashboard, not too loudly so as not to disturb Archie, who was still sleeping soundly in the back.
‘Hi, Poppy, it’s Luke.’
‘Oh – hi, Luke.’ For some reason I started guiltily.
‘Why are you whispering?’
‘Because Archie’s asleep in the back. I’m in the car.’
‘Oh, OK, I’ll whisper too,’ he lowered his voice. I smiled, liking that. ‘Have you heard the news about Emma Harding?’
‘I have, actually. Mark the huntsman told me. Apparently it’s all over the village.’
‘Forget the village, it’s all over the City!’
‘Really?’
‘The Internet is positively buzzing!’ He sounded thrilled, but then weren’t we all? ‘False accounting, they say. Plus a bit of fictitious trading thrown in for good measure, oh – and theft from a client’s account too. Well, why wouldn’t you? Word is she was even brazen enough to take a few secret commissions on share deals while she was at it – un-bloody-believable! Massively risky too. There’s talk of her doing unauthorized trading in her own name. I mean, bugger me!’
‘But how do they know all this?’ I whispered, glancing at Archie in the mirror.
‘They don’t; it’s pure speculation, pure swinging-dick talk. But there’s never smoke without fire in the square mile, Poppy; some of it will be true, I promise you. And the thing is, once you’ve got away with something, you get bolder and go for the next trick, so it’s all very plausible. I’ll say this for her, she’s got nerve. Particularly when you think she was sleeping with one of the partners.’
‘Quite,’ I said grimly. My partner. Did I detect a touch of awe in his voice?
‘Anyway, she’s been comprehensively caught with her fingers in the till now.’
‘She’d have had them snapped off if Phil had had anything to do with it. Knuckle by knuckle, probably.’ Or would she? I wondered how blind love would have been. Not as blind as that, I felt. Phil had been scrupulously honest where money was concerned.
‘She’s been taken to London for questioning by the Serious Fraud Squad; they’ve seized her files, her computer – the lot. They were in your old man’s office at seven o’clock this morning, going through her old desk – a mate of mine works next door. These guys are so thorough they’d X-ray your grandmother. Trust me, Poppy, her life will be trawled through like you wouldn’t believe. It’ll keep her thieving hands away from your inheritance at any rate.’
‘Well, quite, although actually she’d already dropped her claim.’
‘Oh, had she? I didn’t know that.’
Archie stirred behind me, eyelids flickering ominously.
‘Listen, I’d better go, Luke,’ I whispered. ‘I need to get another half-hour out of Archie or he’ll go grumpy on me.’
‘OK, my love,’ he said chirpily. ‘See you this evening. Can’t wait.’
‘Me neither,’ I agreed as I clicked the phone off.
&nb
sp; But I was pensive again as I replaced my hand on the wheel and narrowed my eyes to the hills that rose up beyond, framing my village. If it were possible, even more pensive than the last half-hour in Mark’s cottage had rendered me. Because … had I told Luke about Phil’s will? Or about Emma Harding’s claim on it? Indeed had I so much as mentioned my inheritance? I was almost certain I hadn’t. In which case … what on earth did he know about all that?
26
When I got home, having collected Clemmie from nursery, Jennie was at her sitting-room window, arms folded, scanning the road, waiting for me.
‘So that’s wot I’ve decided,’ Clemmie was telling me firmly as I helped her out of the car.
‘But Miss Hawkins isn’t very happy about it, darling.’
‘I don’t care. It’s my life.’
Blimey. ‘Where did you hear that?’
‘Wot?’
‘ “It’s my life”?’
‘Peggy says it when she lights a cigarette.’
‘Oh. Right.’
Jennie, meanwhile, had exited her house and bustled down the path in her long white apron to hover by my side. Horrors on her plate, her stepdaughter pregnant, news flashes coming in by the moment, she needed to share, but even in her highly fraught state she knew too that I had two tired and fractious children who needed to be bundled out of the car, got inside and fed. She lifted Archie out of his car seat for me and we headed on in.
‘So that is wot I’M DOING!’ Clemmie shouted, stamping her feet for emphasis in her pink wellies as she ran to the front door and turned, glaring at me.
Jennie raised enquiring eyebrows.
‘Clemmie’s teacher’s just told me Clemmie only works a three-day week,’ I muttered as we went up the path.
‘Oh, how killing. Which ones?’
‘Tuesday, Wednesday, Thursday. She has Monday and Friday off. Lays down her crayons and sometimes even takes a nap in the Wendy House. Likes a long weekend, apparently.’
‘Good for her.’
‘Well, I’m not sure Miss Hawkins sees it like that. She’s keen to instil something of a work ethic.’
Jennie made a face. ‘She’s only four, Poppy. The work ethic can wait.’ She ruffled Clemmie’s curls, and as I opened the door Clemmie ran off down to the kitchen, Archie toddling in her wake. I turned to my friend. Her eyes were shining, I noticed.
‘Well? Any news?’ I asked, aware I had quite a bit myself.
‘Well, I texted her like you said,’ she told me breathlessly, following me down the hall, ‘and she said she’d meet me at break time so long as I didn’t bring Dan.’
‘Oh! So you’ve seen her?’
‘Yes, we went to Starbucks opposite the school.’
‘And?’
I was hastening round the kitchen now, taking sausages from the fridge, putting them under the grill, grabbing a tin of sweet corn. Jennie positioned herself against the sink.
‘And … I’m convinced she’s not pregnant.’
I turned, tin opener poised. ‘Oh, thank God! She told you that?’
‘No, she barely told me anything. Just sat there stirring her hot chocolate, glaring at me. But she was so angry, Poppy. And something told me her anger stemmed from being wrongly accused; it was a sort of self-righteous rage which could only come from a position of power. She said things like –’ Jennie adopted a sneering expression – ‘So, you find a positive pregnancy test and instantly assume it’s mine, eh Jennie? Is that how your mind works? Wouldn’t that be neat? Confirm all your worst fears about me? Something to tell your friends?’
‘Oh! How hurtful.’
‘I know, horrid. But oh, Poppy, I was so pleased. I love her so much and I just don’t want her to be pregnant. I don’t care how much she lashes out at me. I went to tell her that it was absolutely her decision if she wanted to keep it and all that bollocks, like we said – but ended up not saying any of it, didn’t even embark on the little speech I’d rehearsed. I just kept staring at her furious little white face and thinking: wasn’t it yours, Frankie? The test? Was it really not yours?’
‘Did you say that to her?’
‘Of course I did, but she didn’t answer. There’s a certain satisfaction, I’d imagine, in my not knowing, from her point of view. She just gave me that withering look of hers and said surely it was time I marched down to the biology lab, grabbed Mr Hennessy by the lapels and slugged it out over the Bunsen burners?’
‘Oh God, that’s all my fault.’ I put a hand to my mouth. ‘I told you that.’
‘Of course you did; you had to tell me what you knew. And I told Dan, who blabbed last night. But you know, she was so scathing that I thought – no. Not Hennessy. And then she suggested I lined up all the boys in her class and questioned them one by one, and I thought – no again. She’s only sixteen, she thinks she’s being so clever, but I’m pretty sure I saw through her. I got the impression she was paying me back big time for thinking the worst of her – please God, that’s the case.’ She pressed her hands together and shut her eyes fervently, face lifted to the heavens.
‘But then … who could it be? Who on earth could have used that test? Not Mrs Briggs, that’s for sure.’
‘Not unless she’s been at the radiance pills.’ Mrs Briggs helped Jennie with the ironing and was a good sixty-five. Jennie plucked a bit of sweet corn between forefinger and thumb from the pan and popped it in her mouth, much brighter now.
‘So who’s been in your house recently, then? Apart from family?’
‘No one very much. Don’t you think I’ve already wracked my brains? That bin only gets emptied once a week, slut that I am, and I’ve been through everyone I can possibly think of who might have been upstairs. You’re obviously in and out –’
I snorted. ‘Chance would be a fine thing.’
‘Well, quite, and Angie and Peggy –’
I turned. Raised quizzical eyebrows.
‘Oh, don’t be silly, Poppy. Peggy’s far too old.’
‘No, but you’ve got to ask them, consider them,’ I told her. ‘I know it’s far-fetched but if they’ve been in the house they’re in the frame, so to speak, and you’ve got to eliminate them from your enquiries. Even if it wasn’t them they might know something about it. Oh, and speaking of eliminating from enquiries, I must just quickly tell you –’ And so I did. About Emma Harding. Sketchily, because I knew she had other things on her mind, but Jennie’s load had been considerably lightened in the last half-hour. Her internal swing-o-meter had lurched in a positive direction and, rightly or wrongly, the conviction that her stepdaughter was not indeed pregnant had firmly taken root; she was much more receptive to the outside world and, as such, suitably enthralled. When I got to the end, she whistled.
‘Well. She certainly got her comeuppance, didn’t she? Got her thieving little fingers rapped. Shall we do a spot of prison visiting? Take her a photo of Phil?’
‘I’d rather not,’ I said hastily.
‘She could, though, couldn’t she?’
‘Go to prison? I’ve no idea.’
‘She bloody should,’ Jennie said with feeling. ‘Or at least community service. God, I’d love to see her sweeping the streets in a fluorescent yellow jacket. She probably thought she was invincible. People do, you know, when they’ve got away with something for ages, whether it’s nicking people’s husbands or nicking money – probably thought she’d never get caught.’ Her face fell suddenly. ‘Oh. Poor Simon.’
‘I know.’
She picked up a wooden spoon and stirred the yellow corn, reflective. ‘Funny. A couple of months ago he was all I could think about. Every waking moment. I used to drive past his house at night, take Leila to his bit of the common for a walk, Google him constantly – I could practically recite his website. I had the most almighty crush, Poppy. But now, especially with all this Frankie business, I look back in wonder. Think: who was that woman checking her phone for texts every five minutes, going dog-walking in full slap in case she should bump into him,
who was she? I don’t recognize her at all. And after what you’ve told me I certainly don’t think: oh, good, he might be free again.’
‘Don’t you?’ I was intrigued. ‘Not even a bit?’
She regarded me, astonished. ‘Not even a tiny bit. Not for one fraction of a second. Honest to God, Poppy, I’m embarrassed by her. Constantly licking lipstick off her teeth, buying new bras and pretending it was time to ditch the old M&S ones – I was in danger of making a fool of myself. And I’m genuinely sad for Simon. Wish his life wasn’t like it is right now. But in the long run, he’s better off without her. Perhaps it’s as well it happened now?’
‘You mean, rather than further down the line with children.’ Like me, I thought.
‘Exactly.’ She sighed and we were silent a moment, Jennie watching opaquely as I shared out the sausages between two plates, spooned the veg. Suddenly she came to. ‘Anyway, I’ve got other things to worry about without wondering if Simon will be waiting at the prison gates for her. Here, darling.’ She seized the ketchup bottle and shook some out for Clemmie, who, hungry and fit to combust, was climbing into her chair. ‘Yes, I’ve got other fish to fry,’ Jennie said with a sudden grin. ‘I’m off to enquire of my hardly-spring-chicken friends, whether, when they popped in for coffee the other day, either of them also popped upstairs to use a pregnancy test that was sitting in the bathroom cabinet.’ She snorted with derision. ‘As if.’
I shrugged. ‘I agree, it’s a long shot.’ I frowned as I helped Archie into his highchair and sat beside him. ‘Sitting in your cabinet?’
‘What?’
‘The test?’
‘Oh. Yes, it was mine. You get two in a pack these days and I’d used the other one ages ago when I’d had a nasty shock and was late. Why?’
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