The Hornbeam Tree

by Susan Lewis

  Her eyes strayed back to the razor and scissors. Maybe she ought to have another go, because her mind kept filling up with thoughts of her mum, and it was all horrible and she just couldn’t stand it. She hadn’t cried all morning, which was good, but she’d got really, really scared when she’d realized that even if she did go back now, the police would probably say her mum wasn’t doing a good enough job looking after her, so they’d have to take her into care. If she hadn’t been so mean and horrible to Michelle, then Michelle might try to stop them, but she wouldn’t do it now. She’d just want to get rid of her, and who could blame her? She was ugly and evil and nasty and didn’t deserve anyone to love her, even God thought that, because he was going to take her mum away.

  Her fingers closed around the scissors. She sat staring at them, but wasn’t really seeing them. She wasn’t seeing anything any more, she was just feeling more and more miserable and wishing she could go home to her mum. She heard a car pulling up in the street, but didn’t even care if it was the police. They could take her and stuff her in a home somewhere for all she cared. Everyone could laugh at her then, and be mean and nasty, the way Cecily and Allison had, and talk about how dumb she was for believing all their lies. They’d all be seriously horrible to her, and she wouldn’t blame them, because why would anyone ever want to be nice to her, when she’d been so cruel to her mum and Michelle and Rusty and all the people who were kind to her?

  She heard the caravan door open, but didn’t look up. Someone came in and said her name really softly. She didn’t mean to, but this really loud sob came out, and then another and another and then Michelle was kneeling in front of her and pulling her into her arms.

  Molly couldn’t catch her breath. Her body was convulsing with sobs, her arms were clinging tight to Michelle, her face buried in her neck. She gasped and shuddered, choked and held on even tighter.

  ‘It’s all right,’ Michelle whispered, tears falling on to her own cheeks, ‘everything’s all right. You’re going to be fine.’

  Molly tried to speak, but her voice came out all weird and in short, stammering sobs. ‘I-I don’t want-want her to die,’ she choked. ‘Please, Michelle, don’t let her die.’

  ‘Oh my love, my love,’ Michelle wept. ‘If there was anything I could do to stop it, I swear I would.’

  Molly’s sobs grew harder, and she moved in even closer, as though to absorb herself inside Michelle.

  ‘We’ll get through it,’ Michelle told her gently. ‘We’ll get through it together. You and me.’

  ‘It’s not-not, going to hap-happen yet, is it?’

  ‘I don’t think so.’

  ‘Please don’t let it happen, Michelle. Please. Tell her I’m sorry …’

  ‘Sssh, ssh,’ Michelle murmured, kissing her hair. ‘You’ve got nothing to be sorry for.’

  ‘I didn’t mean to hit her …’

  ‘I know, and so does she.’

  Molly continued to cry, letting all her grief and sadness pour out on to Michelle’s shoulder. Finally she pulled back to look at Michelle, her face still quivering, her chest heaving as she said, ‘I’m – I’m really sorry for what I said about you.’

  Michelle smiled through her tears. ‘Even if I knew what it was, I’d still forgive you,’ she said, stroking Molly’s face and fearing that she knew what the bruising was about. ‘Look at you,’ she whispered, ‘you’re so beautiful and silly and we love you so much.’ She ran her fingers through Molly’s hair, then pressed a kiss to her forehead. ‘I think we should give Mum a call, don’t you? She’ll want to know that you’re all right.’

  Molly nodded.

  As Michelle put the number into her mobile, she shifted position slightly, to sit more comfortably, while still holding Molly in one arm. When she got through she half-expected Judy to answer, but it was Katie’s voice that came tentatively down the line.

  ‘Hello,’ Michelle responded. ‘I’ve …’

  ‘Oh thank God, Michelle listen, I’m …’

  ‘Katie,’ Michelle said firmly, ‘I’ve got someone here who’d like to talk to you,’ and she passed the phone to Molly.

  ‘Mum?’ Molly said, brokenly.

  ‘Oh my God,’ Katie cried. ‘Molly. Oh thank God, thank God. Where are you? Are you all right?’

  ‘Yes, I’m fine. I’m with Michelle.’

  ‘I’ve been so worried,’ Katie said, starting to break down. ‘Oh Molly … I’m sorry for what I said, the way I said it …’

  ‘No, Mum, I’m sorry. It’s all my fault.’ She gulped and sobbed. ‘Mum – Mum, I want to come home.’

  ‘Oh Molly, please come home. I’ve missed you so much, yes, please come home.’

  Michelle took the phone. ‘We’re not far away,’ she told Katie. ‘And she’s fine. All in one piece. Missing her mum, as you can tell, so we won’t be long.’

  Katie was standing at the gate as Laurie’s car came down the lane, and almost before they came to a stop Molly was leaping out to get to her mother. Katie was already there, waiting to catch her.

  ‘Oh Molly,’ she sobbed, wrapping her in her arms. ‘My baby. Thank God you’re all right. Let me look at you,’ and clasping Molly’s tear-ravaged face between her hands she gazed searchingly down at her, wondering what all the bruising was, but not mentioning it now. ‘I love you so much,’ she said, her lips barely able to form the words, they were trembling so.

  ‘I love you too,’ Molly said, starting to cry again. ‘And I’m really sorry … I just don’t want you to … Please Mum, don’t. Please, please don’t …’

  ‘Ssh,’ Katie soothed, drawing her back into her arms. ‘We’ll talk about that later, let’s just get you inside now, give you some food and a bath and you can tell me where you’ve been, what on earth you’ve been up to. They found your shoe and red top, you know …’

  ‘I threw the top away,’ Molly said, leaning against her as they started inside. ‘I knew you didn’t like it, so I didn’t want it any more.’

  Katie cried and laughed. ‘Well you’ve got it back again now,’ she told her. ‘And don’t worry, I know all about what happened at the party on Saturday, so I understand why you were so upset, I just wish you’d come home to me.’

  ‘I was going to, but then I thought about what you said, and … I don’t know, I just couldn’t come.’

  ‘OK, as long as you’re here now, that’s all that matters. We’ll have a long chat later, just you and me, now what do you want to do first? Bath or food?’

  ‘Is there any of that lasagne left?’ Molly asked, as Trotty leapt up in her arms.

  Katie chuckled. ‘I’d forgotten all about that,’ she said, ‘so it must still be in the oven. Maybe it’ll be all right to heat up. Let’s have a look.’

  Ten minutes later, having run Molly a luxuriously deep bubble bath, Katie left her immersed up to her chin, with Trotty keeping watch, and went back downstairs to find Michelle.

  She was still outside with Laurie, who was speaking to someone on the phone.

  ‘How is she?’ Michelle asked as Katie joined them.

  ‘She seems OK. What happened to her face?’

  Michelle grimaced. ‘I’m guessing, but I think it could have been self-inflicted,’ she said. ‘It’s not that uncommon in kids who are highly distressed.’

  ‘No,’ Katie murmured, having already suspected it herself. She looked at Michelle again, and wanted so much to embrace her and thank her for bringing Molly home and not seeming to bear a grudge for the appalling scene earlier. It was just like Michelle to understand, forgive and let it go, but Katie knew already that wasn’t going to happen when she confessed to what she’d done after Michelle had left. No-one, not even Michelle, was ever going to forgive that.

  As she forced herself to utter the words, she watched the blood drain from Michelle’s face.

  ‘Oh my God,’ Michelle murmured even before she’d finished. ‘How long ago did you make the call?’

  ‘It was right after you left.’

  Mich
elle’s chest was tight, but her adrenalin was starting to surge. ‘Almost three hours,’ she said. ‘We have to get word to Tom. Laurie!’

  Laurie spun round, and seeing Michelle’s face she immediately cut her call short. ‘What is it?’ she demanded, looking from Michelle to Katie and back again.

  ‘They know where Tom is,’ Michelle told her, returning to the car for her mobile. ‘We have to warn him. Do you know the phone number for the house?’

  Laurie was already pulling out her organizer. ‘I don’t think so,’ she said anxiously. ‘It’s a number Elliot’s always had.’ She was scrolling rapidly through. ‘No, it’s not here. I’ll have to try Elliot.’

  Reaching Tom’s voicemail, Michelle left a quick message telling him to leave the house immediately.

  Laurie was trying all the numbers she had for Elliot, but only getting voicemails.

  Katie said to Michelle, ‘I don’t know how to begin saying I’m sorry. I just … I don’t know what came over me … If anything happens to him …’

  ‘It won’t,’ Michelle said fiercely, wishing she felt as confident as she sounded. ‘He’s got himself out of tighter spots before, he’ll do it again.’

  ‘Oh Elliot!’ Laurie raged, clicking off the last of the numbers. ‘Not one of his phones is turned on. But I can call Jean-Jacques in Paris. He’ll probably be at his office now – except it’s France and the middle of the day.’ She was already dialling the number.

  ‘Jean-Jacques?’ she demanded as someone answered.

  ‘Non. Il n’est pas là. Puis-je vous aider?’

  Laurie struggled for the French, then said, ‘Est-ce que vous parlez anglais?’

  ‘Oui. Bien sûr. Who is calling please?’

  She explained who she was, and that she needed to contact Jean-Jacques urgently.

  ‘But I’m afraid ’e ’as departed pour un rendezvous,’ the person at the other end told her. ‘I can give you his mobile number, if you don’t already ’ave it.’

  ‘Yes, please,’ she said, readying her organizer to scrawl it on. ‘Thank you,’ she said, when she’d finished. ‘Merci beaucoup. Je vous dois, big time,’ and clicking off she quickly dialled the number.

  ‘Oh no!’ she protested, when she got the voicemail. ‘I don’t believe this. Jean-Jacques,’ she cried after the tone, ‘it’s Laurie. This is life and death. You have to call your house in Bourgogne and warn the person there to get out fast. Please do it the instant you get this message, and call me back.’ She reminded him of her mobile number, and rang off.

  Michelle’s and Katie’s faces were bloodless. Katie put a hand on Michelle’s arm, but Michelle started to walk away. ‘I’m sorry,’ she said. ‘I can’t talk to you about this now, I have to know he’s all right.’

  The road into the hamlet was blocked by French police cars. Each of the residences leading up to the farmhouse had been checked and declared empty, while the hillsides around swarmed with invisible agents, edging their way closer to the house, keeping all windows and doors in their sights, and all radio contact to a crucial minimum.

  The wind was bitter, the sky an endless stretch of gloom. The only sounds were the whistling currents of air whipping around thickets and the occasional crackle of static on a hidden radio. Stuart Fellowes was watching the farmhouse from the passenger seat of an unmarked car. At the wheel was the senior French officer who’d driven him from the airfield, who seemed to speak no more English than Fellowes did French. Fortunately, there didn’t appear to be any problem about who was in charge here, the Frenchie knew his place and apparently understood that they were here to apprehend a suspected terrorist who could be armed.

  The special agent who’d flown in with Fellowes was already at the house. Fellowes tracked his progress, never taking his eyes off him as he rolled and crept around the exterior walls, gun clutched in both hands as he checked windows and doors, while keeping out of sight of anyone inside. A grey Renault was parked in the drive and a thin trail of smoke curled from the chimney, so someone was home, and enquiries had already confirmed that the vehicle was rented to one Thomas Chambers. Seemed the guy was intent on hanging himself, Fellowes was thinking maliciously, going about the place using his own name, like no-one was tracking him.

  The agent at the house vanished around the back.

  Everyone waited.

  The valley was quieter than a grave, just wind, and the occasional bird. Beside him the French officer checked his watch. Fellowes ignored the man and stayed focused on the spot where he expected his agent to re-emerge. It wasn’t happening though. The guy was taking too long. Chambers had lain in wait? Taken him hostage? Too many eyes on the hillside for that to have happened and not been reported. He was still taking too long. The tension crackled like static. The French officer heaved a little sigh. Fellowes bit down on his irritation. Across the street someone ran from behind a bush to the cover of a shed. Fellowes’s radio came to a split second of life and cut.

  ‘What the fuck’s going on?’ he murmured.

  The Frenchman didn’t reply.

  ‘Come on. Come on. We know he’s in there.’

  A minute later his officer stepped out of the front door and waved his arms.

  Fellowes grabbed his radio and started towards him. ‘Give me some good news,’ he growled into the device.

  Before the officer could reply Fellowes was striding into the drive.

  ‘There’s no-one inside, sir,’ the agent told him. ‘The place is empty.’

  Fellowes glared at him, then thrust him aside and stormed into the house.

  ‘It seems they were through there, sir,’ the agent said, coming into the gloomy hall behind him. ‘The door at the end.’

  Fellowes banged it open and found himself in a large, workmanlike kitchen, where a clutter of dishes lay abandoned on the table, and a small fire burned its last in the hearth.

  ‘Have you checked all over?’ Fellowes barked.

  ‘Yes, sir. No-one upstairs either.’

  ‘Do it again,’ Fellowes ordered, and snatched up a mobile phone that had been left on the table. As he switched it on it immediately bleeped, signalling a message. After checking it he slammed the phone down in barely suppressed fury. The message was from Michelle Rowe warning Chambers to get out, but it had been sent a mere ten minutes ago, while Fellowes was sitting right outside in the car. ‘So who the fuck tipped him off?’ he muttered through his teeth. ‘And who got him out of here?’

  Hearing a small cough behind him, he swung round to find the Frenchman with a supercilious little smirk under his Hitler moustache as he studied the label on a wine bottle. Resisting the urge to deck the smarmy bastard, Fellowes began shouting to the other officers who were now pouring into the house, not knowing if they understood, but they soon would.

  ‘I want the phone records for this place,’ he roared. ‘Every taxi and car-rental firm in the area. Contact all airfields and airports, set up roadblocks. Do whatever it takes. I want Tom Chambers in my custody by the end of the day.’

  At that very moment Tom was walking with a small crowd into the arrivals hall at Nice airport, carrying a laptop and holdall. Having taken a domestic flight from Lyons no identity documents were required, so he merely breezed on through, heading for the taxi rank. He passed a couple of gendarmes hanging about the exit, who paid him no more attention than he did them.

  Chris’s call had come two hours ago, giving him plenty of time to organize a cab to pick him up at the house, and get him to Lyons for the twelve ten flight to Nice. The address Chris had given him was of an apartment in a block right on the Promenade des Anglais, though Chris had no idea who it belonged to, for it wasn’t a safe house he knew of.

  ‘It was the same woman who called me,’ he’d told Tom on the phone. ‘American accent, no name, no questions, just instructions. You’re to get out of the house now, leaving your rental car and cellphone, but take everything else. Once you’re at the apartment you just sit tight until she contacts me again to deliver furthe
r instructions.’

  ‘So who the hell is she?’ Tom murmured. ‘And why’s she doing this?’

  ‘She’s obviously right on top of what’s going on,’ Chris responded, ‘so I’m going to guess she’s inside the embassy.’

  ‘Or even deeper than that,’ Tom added, certain it was coming from the same source that had initially contacted Josh Shine. It had to be, who else was there?

  Now, as he slid into the back of a Mercedes to travel the short distance into town, he was wondering if Chris had contacted Elliot yet, or if Elliot was even back in London. It was a long drive up to Amsterdam, plus a five-hour crossing on the ferry, so Tom didn’t imagine he’d hit British soil yet, and even when he did there was no reason for him to contact Chris right off. His priority was going to be tracking down Nick and Max, while checking what deals might already be in place. And as far as Tom was concerned, provided Molly was safe, and everything was OK with Michelle, there was no other priority, for, frankly, he couldn’t wait to get this damned story off his hands now so he could starting living something that at least resembled a normal life.

  Deborah Gough’s expression was far from pleasant as she regarded the other faces in the room, none of which was any less grim. ‘Do we know who tipped him off?’ she asked.

  ‘Not yet,’ Allbringer answered, having been the first recipient of the bad news. ‘They’re still working on it.’

  Deborah Gough regarded him coldly. ‘Where did our information come from?’ she enquired.

  ‘Apparently it was Michelle Rowe’s sister, Katie Kiernan, who called the embassy.’

  Gough was incredulous. ‘And this was deemed a reliable source?’ she said sarcastically.

  Allbringer was bristling. ‘She wanted to do a deal, her daughter for Chambers’s location. We took the location, and told her we’d get back to her about the child. And might I remind you, her information bore out – Chambers had been there …’