What he had not anticipated was the burgeoning crop of fears: that her taste of freedom from family ties and domesticity would give her an appetite for more; that she was drifting further and further away from them; that he might even lose her for good.
Above all, he had not anticipated this gut-twisting jealousy, the terror that she might have found a more congenial lover. In his more rational moments he knew that he was a fool even to entertain the idea. Joan, unfaithful? Never. They had always been very close, had valued their relationship, taken care to nurture it. Thanet had believed that they had been moving into that satisfying stage when marriage becomes a liberating force, when each partner, secure in the knowledge that he is fully accepted and understood, becomes free to develop in ways undreamt of earlier on in life. Not that there hadn’t been disagreements, of course, but somehow they’d always managed to take them in their stride, been ready to compromise …
He shook his head cynically. Compromise, indeed! Look where compromise had brought him! But, if he had held out, over this? If he had refused to listen to Joan’s plea to be allowed to train for a satisfying career of her own? He would have lost her anyway, or at best theirs would have been a relationship crippled by bitterness and resentment on her side, possessiveness and stubbornness on his.
No, he really didn’t see how he could have acted otherwise. All the same, it was sometimes very difficult to convince himself that he had done the right thing.
‘I shouldn’t worry.’ Margaret Bolton was watching him sympathetically. ‘You know the sort of crises that are always cropping up in her sort of work … It’s just unfortunate that yours is equally unpredictable.’
‘“Never the twain shall meet,” I know.’ Thanet sipped at his tea, made an effort to pretend nonchalance. He had never discussed his marriage with anyone and had no intention of starting now. Joan would soon be home for good, he told himself once more. Until then, he’d grit his teeth and hang on.
Mrs Bolton sighed, leaned her head against the back of her chair and closed her eyes. She looked very tired, Thanet thought guiltily. Joan’s absence was taking its toll of her mother, too.
‘Children been difficult?’
She opened her eyes, smiled ruefully. ‘A bit. I just don’t seem to have as much energy as I used to. And it’s been so hot …’
It still was. The French windows were wide open and the sweet scents of the garden had drifted into the room. There was another smell, too, Thanet realised: furniture polish. He looked about him and realised that his mother-in-law had been taking this opportunity to give her house a good clean; the furniture was shining, the copper coal scuttle and brass fire-irons in the inglenook fireplace gleaming. After all that gardening over the weekend, too …
He looked at her anxiously. ‘All this is taking too much out of you, isn’t it? Two houses to run, two gardens, the children to look after …’
She shook her head. ‘I don’t mind. It’s only for a little while longer, after all. Another couple of weeks and Joan’ll be back.’
So she was counting the weeks too.
‘We don’t tell you often enough how much we appreciate what you’re doing.’
She smiled. ‘Nonsense. Joan’s my daughter, after all. And at my age it’s good to feel needed from time to time, believe me.’
But his words had pleased her, he could tell. He made a mental note to have a word with the children, try once more to get them to understand that their grandmother didn’t have endless reserves of energy to draw upon. But they were so young, and it was a difficult time for them, too …
‘I think I’ll go to bed now,’ said Mrs Bolton.
‘Me too. You go on. I’ll lock up.’
After making the rounds Thanet made one more attempt to ring Joan. She was still out.
Just over two more weeks, he told himself as he climbed the stairs. Seventeen days.
Next morning he and Lineham arrived in the car park simultaneously.
‘How’s Louise?’
‘The specialist is seeing her this morning. She had a reasonable night, apparently.’
Which was more than could be said of Lineham, by the look of it. The taut, stretched look was back and the skin beneath his eyes was dark with the bruises of insomnia and anxiety.
‘What time are you supposed to ring again?’
‘Not before twelve, they said.’
Inside they were greeted with the news that the post mortem on Charity was scheduled for this morning and that Doctor Mallard had arranged to be present. The unofficial results should be through in an hour or so.
They had just settled down to work their way through the reports on the previous day’s work when the phone rang.
‘Mr Pritchard is here, sir. Wants to see you. It’s urgent, he says.’
‘Do you know what it’s about?’
‘No, sir. He won’t say. But he’s in a bit of a state.’
‘Send him up. Pritchard,’ Thanet explained to Lineham. ‘In a state, apparently.’
‘I wonder what he wants.’
They would soon find out, thought Thanet as Pritchard was shown in. The man was bursting with barely-suppressed emotion. The immaculate black hair was ruffled and his eyes blazed with a feverish light.
‘I’ve just seen Mrs Hodges.’
‘Do sit …’
‘It’s not true, is it?’
‘Please, Mr Pritchard, do sit down.’
Pritchard came across the room in a rush and, leaning on Thanet’s desk, bent forward and shouted into Thanet’s face, ‘I have a right to know!’
‘Mr Pritchard, no one is …’
‘How dare you withold information from me, her father!’
‘Mr Pritchard! If you would just calm …’
‘It’s outrageous! It’s …’
Thanet stood up so abruptly that his chair crashed over on to the floor. ‘Mr Pritchard!’
Pritchard recoiled, his mouth hanging slightly open.
Thanet was sorry for the man, could understand his distress, but this sort of performance was intolerable. ‘I refuse, categorically, to be bullied and harangued in my own office. If you’re prepared to sit down and discuss this matter in a civilised fashion, then do so. Otherwise, I’m afraid I shall have to ask you to leave.’
For a moment Pritchard stood motionless. Then, without another word, he subsided on to the chair Lineham brought forward.
Thanet calmly righted his own, followed suit. ‘Now then, perhaps we could start again.’
Pritchard ran his hand through his hair and, controlling himself with difficulty said, ‘I’ve just seen Mrs Hodges.’
‘And?’
‘She told me some tale about a telegram, about Charity and Veronica leaving Dorset a day early at Easter …’ Pritchard faltered, stopped.
‘Yes?’
‘Is it … is it true?’
‘I’m afraid so.’
‘But it can’t be! It’s impossible. Charity would never have … That girl has made it all up.’
‘Veronica, you mean?’
‘Yes. She’s evil, through and through. I told them. I knew it from the start. She’s been a bad influence on Charity right from the beginning. But they wouldn’t listen, they …’
‘Veronica didn’t make it up,’ said Lineham.
The new voice penetrated Pritchard’s diatribe. His head swivelled in Lineham’s direction. ‘How do you know?’
‘It was Sergeant Lineham who talked to the Principal of the Holiday Home,’ said Thanet gently.
‘Mr Harrison, you mean?’
Lineham nodded. ‘That’s right.’
‘You know him?’ Thanet asked Pritchard.
‘I have met him, yes.’
‘And would you say that he is the kind of man to fabricate a story like this?’
Pritchard avoided a reply by turning to Lineham. ‘You spoke to Mr Harrison himself?’
‘Yes.’
‘What … what did he say?’
‘That on th
e Tuesday morning, a day before they had been due to leave, Charity received a telegram saying …’
‘It was addressed to Charity, not Veronica?’
‘Yes.’
‘What did it say?’
‘That someone in the family was ill,’ said Lineham patiently. ‘Charity’s grandmother, Mr Harrison thought. And that Charity should return home immediately.’
Pritchard ran his hand over his face, rubbed his eyes as if to erase his confusion. ‘Who was it supposed to be from?’
‘Mr Harrison wasn’t sure. But he rather thought … from you, sir.’
‘Me!’
‘You didn’t send it?’ interrupted Thanet.
‘I did not.’ Pritchard’s eyes glittered like faceted jet. ‘Really, Inspector, it’s obvious, isn’t it? Veronica sent it. And she addressed it to Charity so that if the truth ever came out, it would be Charity who got the blame. Which is precisely what has happened …’ His eyes narrowed, glazed.
‘Something has occurred to you, Mr Pritchard?’
‘What?’
‘I wondered if you’d thought of something just then.’
Pritchard’s stare was as blank as if Thanet were speaking a foreign language. Then he shook his head, made a visible effort to refocus his attention. ‘I was simply explaining what must have happened.’ His voice was flat.
‘If something did occur to you, then it really is your duty to tell us,’ persisted Thanet.
‘I don’t know what you’re talking about, Inspector. And I think I’m entitled to an apology, don’t you?’
Thanet gave up. He couldn’t force the man … ‘Apology?’
‘And an explanation. Why I haven’t been told any of this before. Me, the girl’s father! Why I had to find out myself, by accident, come around here and have to drag the information out of you …’
Once more Pritchard seemed to be working himself into a rage. But this time, thought Thanet, it was different. For some reason the fire had suddenly gone out of him. Disillusionment, perhaps?
‘I agree, it was unfortunate that you should hear of it second-hand …’
‘Unfortunate!’
‘… as we had every intention of telling you ourselves, later on today. No, Mr Pritchard, please let me finish. When we first heard about this telegram, yesterday afternoon, we didn’t go around to your house to question you about it for one reason and one reason only. We thought that you and Mrs Pritchard had had just about as much as you could take, for one day. We judged it kinder to wait. Furthermore,’ Thanet went on, raising his voice as Pritchard opened his mouth to interrupt again, ‘furthermore, I must make it clear here and now that although we shall obviously keep you informed of the progress of our investigation, we have no obligation whatsoever to report to you every new development that comes along.’
‘Indeed!’ Now the indignation was genuine once more. ‘You don’t consider that we, as Charity’s parents, have a right to know what is happening?’
‘Not if imparting that information could prejudice the progress of the case, no, I’m sorry.’
‘Don’t lie!’ roared Pritchard. ‘Sorry, indeed! And case … Yes, that’s all it is to you, isn’t it? A case.’ His voice suddenly dropped and, piercing Thanet with a look of entreaty, he said, ‘But she was my daughter, my only child … Can’t you see, I need to know.’ His eyes filled with tears. ‘Can’t you understand that?’
Thanet could, only too well. The man’s despair hammered at the wall of professionalism which was his only defence at such times. He shook his head, said gently, ‘I’m sorry, Mr Pritchard. I truly am. All I can promise is that we’ll keep you as fully informed as possible.’
Pritchard stared at him for a moment longer and then rose, blundering out of the room so clumsily that he almost knocked Doc Mallard over.
‘I did knock,’ said the little doctor plaintively, clutching at the doorpost to regain his balance, ‘but there was so much noise …’
‘Come in, Doc. Yes, sorry about that, the poor man was in rather a state … PM finished yet?’
Mallard ignored the question. He scowled and advanced into the room, straightening his half-moon spectacles. ‘Who was that, anyway?’
‘Charity’s father. Nathaniel Pritchard, to be precise. Doc, have you got the …’
‘Nathaniel? I thought that went out with the Victorians.’
‘With the Old Testament, more like,’ said Lineham with a grin. ‘The Pritchard clan all sound as though they came out of the Ark.’ He shuffled through the papers on his desk, picked one up. ‘Hannah Pritchard—that’s Charity’s mother; Jethro Pritchard, Pritchard’s brother; sister-in-law, Mercy Pritchard …’
‘And that’s a misnomer if ever there was one,’ said Thanet, recalling Jethro’s formidable wife. ‘Look, could we discuss the …’
‘Jethro,’ said Mallard thoughtfully. ‘Now that is an unusual name. Rings a bell …’
Pointless to ask any more questions about the post mortem, Thanet realised. Mallard would impart the information in his own good time, was probably enjoying keeping them in suspense. ‘You said that before, about “Pritchard”, when you were examining the body.’
‘Yes, I did, didn’t I?’
‘You haven’t remembered why?’
‘I’d have told you, if I had,’ said Mallard irritably. ‘What was Pritchard shouting about, anyway?’
‘He thinks we ought to keep him fully informed about the progress of the case. And he was upset because he’d just discovered his daughter had been deceiving him.’ Thanet told Mallard Veronica’s story of the telegram and Charity’s subsequent behaviour. ‘You don’t seem surprised,’ he commented, when he had finished.
‘Not really, no. Not in the least, in fact.’
‘The post mortem!’ said Thanet.
Mallard nodded sagely. ‘If Pritchard was as upset as that about the business at Easter, I can’t imagine how he’ll react when he hears this.’
‘Hears what?’ cried Thanet, patience giving out at last.
But there had been no need to ask, really. Suddenly the knowledge was clear and cold within him and Mallard’s reply, when it came, merely echoed the words in his mind.
‘She’d just had an abortion.’
13
So that was that, Thanet thought. He had wanted proof to support his theory about Charity and now he had it. Her innocent image had finally shattered into a thousand pieces. It was true that, so far at any rate, he had not found her at all likeable, but now he was suddenly filled with pity for her. To have been in that particular situation with Pritchard as a father … She would never have dared tell him. How desperately alone she must have felt.
‘So that’s where she was over the weekend,’ said Lineham. His voice was tight with barely suppressed emotion and Thanet realised why: with Louise in danger of losing their baby, the thought of an abortion must at this particular moment be especially abhorrent to him.
Mallard nodded. ‘Must have been.’
‘But surely she couldn’t have had an abortion without her parents knowing?’ objected the sergeant. ‘She was only fifteen, after all.’
Mallard sighed. ‘I’m afraid it’s only too possible. The medical profession is still divided on this issue of confidentiality. If a young girl comes to you and you confirm that she is pregnant, what do you do? Many of my colleagues feel bound to respect her confidence. They’ll …’
‘I think that’s positively irresponsible!’ said Lineham.
Thanet glanced uneasily at Mallard. How would he react to such an attack on his profession? Would he realise the reason for Lineham’s unwonted rudeness? Apparently he had. The little doctor gave the sergeant a sharp, assessing glance over his half-moons before saying testily, ‘As I was about to say, they would naturally try to persuade her to confide in her parents, but if she refuses point-blank … What can they do? And,’ Mallard raised his voice as Lineham opened his mouth to answer what had been merely a rhetorical question, ‘if she does refuse to tel
l her parents and is determined about wanting an abortion, what then? Again, many of my colleagues would feel that she has the right to make up her own mind.’
‘But how can a kid of that age possibly make up her own mind about something like that?’ Lineham burst out.
‘She isn’t allowed to make the final decision in a hurry, believe me. First, she’d have to have counselling …’
‘Counselling!’ said Lineham scornfully.
Mallard looked as though he would explode any minute now. He took a deep breath and in a voice taut with anger said, ‘Look, sergeant, I’ve neither the time nor the inclination just now to go into the ethics of abortion. I’m simply trying to give you the facts. And the facts are that with sufficient determination, yes, Charity could have got an abortion without her parents’ knowledge or consent. Either on the National Health, if she were lucky …’
‘Lucky!’ muttered Lineham.
‘Or,’ Mallard went on, turning his back on Lineham and addressing his explanation to Thanet, ‘at a clinic, if she could have afforded it. There are plenty of clinics which are prepared not to ask too many questions, provided the patient can pay.’
‘Well I think …’
‘That’s enough, Mike,’ Thanet snapped. There was a limit to what he could allow Lineham to get away with, even in these circumstances.
Lineham frowned rebelliously, but clamped his mouth shut.
‘Anyway,’ Thanet went on, ‘I should think it highly unlikely that Charity would have been able to pay, even if her parents had known about it, and I’m pretty certain they didn’t … If she’d had it done on the National Health, Doc, would it have been done locally?’
‘Not necessarily. It would depend on who she saw initially, what he was able to arrange in the way of a second opinion and so on. Anyway, couldn’t the baby’s father have provided the money?’
The man she met at Easter? The timing would be right. ‘It’s possible, I suppose,’ said Thanet doubtfully.
Mallard stood up. ‘Well, I’ll leave you to it. It’s your problem now. Just thought you ought to hear right away. You’ll get the full report later, of course, but I don’t think there was anything else of much significance.’
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