Guernsey Retreat

by Allen, Anne

  ‘What about Mum? Where was she based when…when you saw each other?’ Louisa found it uncomfortable visualising them as a couple. A lifetime ago. Literally. Hers.

  Malcolm shifted in his seat. ‘Susan shared a flat with another girl in Holborn. A friend from school, if I remember rightly.’

  ‘Mm, I think she did mention something about sharing with a friend.’

  They fell into a companionable silence. Louisa did not want to dwell any more on her mother’s past and she guessed that it was equally awkward for her father. After all, he had not behaved very well at that time, had he? As they drew closer to Islington, she began to regret asking Malcolm to stay with her. It would be as if he was invading her mother’s personal space, even though she was no longer around. Her stomach clenched at the unwanted memory. It was too late to change her mind so she would have to make the best of it. As she was trying to tell herself it would be fine, the car turned off City Road into the small terrace of Georgian houses tucked away behind Angel station.

  The car stopped outside a house with shuttered windows and Louisa found herself saying, with a brightness she did not feel, ‘Here we are. Home.’

  chapter 24

  Malcolm stood by the car, staring at the house, while the chauffeur unloaded their luggage. He liked what he saw – part of a row of classical Georgian houses, three storeys high and with the traditional stuccoed fronts and original sash windows. It was reached by a short path bordered by a small area of shrubs and hedges now displaying their bright spring colours. A pair of twisted bay trees guarded the deep blue painted front door. The closed shutters of the windows of the lower two floors created the impression of a house asleep. Would his presence disturb the house’s equilibrium? Please forgive me, Susan. I should have been there for you. But I’ll do my utmost to bring you justice and to protect our daughter. You did a great job bringing her up alone. She’s a girl to be proud of…

  ‘Malcolm? Shall we go?’ Louisa’s voice cut into his thoughts and he took a deep breath. Time to face his memories of Susan.

  Louisa led the way, unlocking the front door while he carried the cases. Light filtered through from a room at the end of the passage, but the hall was still dim. Louisa went off to open the shutters in the front room, which appeared to be a study. Returning, she led him to the kitchen at the back and suggested he sat while she made them both a cup of coffee.

  ‘Glenn from the office has stocked me up with a few basic essentials. I left him a key so that he could keep an eye on the place.’

  Malcolm admired the light oak free-standing units topped with bronze coloured granite worktops. The wall cupboards, of various shapes and sizes, were painted in the pale shades of green and cream reminiscent of the Georgian era. In the middle of the room stood a battered refectory table and old mismatched chairs. The overall effect was an effortless mix of old and new befitting the age of the house.

  ‘This is lovely, Louisa. Did your mother design this?’

  Louisa looked up from the cafetière. ‘Yes, Mum chose everything in the house. She loved pottering around old second-hand shops and antique markets and would bring back something most weeks. Some of the furniture is from my grandparents’ house as they collected antiques. I guess that’s where Mum got the bug from. I’ll show you around once you’ve had your coffee. The only drawback of these houses is that there’s a lot of stairs.’

  Malcolm nodded, before walking over to the window to gaze outside.

  ‘That’s some garden you have here. Large for this type of house isn’t it? And beautifully cared for, too,’ he said, taking in the manicured lawn, herbaceous borders and the old walls covered in climbers. There was a miniature patio outside the back door with room for a small table and chairs.

  ‘Mum loved her garden. It’s what sold her the house. ‘Course, it didn’t look as good as it does now. It was a real labour of love, a way of de-stressing after a week in the office.’ Louisa fiddled with cups and saucers, looking strained. He guessed she was finding it difficult talking about her mother and he felt the familiar twinge of guilt.

  ‘Sorry, my dear. My being here is dragging it all up for you, isn’t it? Perhaps I should find an hotel–’

  She shook her head. ‘No, you mustn’t do that. I have to learn to live with what happened and you have every right to be here.’ As he raised his eyebrows, she continued, looking flustered, ‘You’re my father. And Mum would want you to be here.’

  He moved towards her and hugged her close. ‘Thank you. You have no idea how much that means to me.’

  ‘Oh, I think I do,’ she said softly. ‘I think I do.’

  *

  Once they had finished their coffee, Louisa showed Malcolm around the house as promised. He was right: it was difficult having him there, and talking about her mother. But she had to get over it. Nothing either of them could say or do would change the past and, if it wasn’t for Malcolm, she would not be in a position to bring her mother’s killer to justice. And he was proving to be a caring, loving father even if it was more than thirty years too late.

  She hesitated before entering the sitting room and Malcolm seemed to sense her unease.

  ‘This is where it…happened?’ he asked, squeezing her hand.

  She nodded, hanging onto his hand as they went in. Gazing around at the familiar room, full of the clutter her mother had acquired over the years, she realised that the old feelings of panic were no longer there. Perhaps it was the reassuring grip of her father’s hand, but whatever it was, she felt safe. Or at least, safer.

  ‘What a cosy room. Susan had very good taste. She could have been an interior designer,’ he said, still gripping her hand.

  ‘Funny you should say that, but Mum used to tell me she wished she’d become a professional designer instead of a travel agent. But I think she had the best of both worlds; the business was – still is – a great success, and she got to be creative at home.’

  ‘I always knew Susan would do well at whatever she turned her hand to. She was managing a small travel agency when I met her.’ He appeared to drift away for a moment. Louisa waited. Then he turned to her, adding, ‘It’s where we met. I went in to book a vacation somewhere, can’t recall where, and fell for this beautiful blonde, English lady with smiling grey eyes.’ He smiled at Louisa. ‘I didn’t bother with the trip but stayed in London to see more of her.’

  ‘Oh, Mum never told me! That’s sooo romantic. If only…’ she bit her lip, knowing she couldn’t go there.

  ‘I know. But at least we made a beautiful daughter, of whom we can both be proud. So let’s focus on the positive, shall we? As Paul would say.’

  Her heart quickened at the mention of Paul. But that was another subject out of bounds. Instead she went over to the bookcase and picked up the photo of her mother and Malcolm at the charity ball.

  ‘This is the only photo I had of you and it was years before Mum let me see it. Then I insisted that she leave it out instead of buried in a drawer. I wanted to see that I had a father even if he wasn’t around.’ Louisa felt the long-buried hurt bubble up inside her; tears welled in her eyes and when her father threw his arms around her, she allowed herself to let go. He steered her to the sofa and stroked her hair while the tears fell unchecked, soaking his shirt. Her body shook as the pent-up emotion took control. It was if she had regressed to childhood, being comforted by her grandfather after some upset or accident. It was a while before the tears eased and she regained some control. Wordlessly, Malcolm handed her a large linen handkerchief, and she blew her nose and wiped her face before lifting her head away from his damp chest.

  ‘I’m so sorry, I–’

  ‘Don’t be silly, darling. You have nothing to apologise for. I’m the one who caused you all that pain. I can only hope that one day you will forgive me and be free of the hurt.’

  She gazed with blurred vision at Malcolm’s face; saw the sorrow etched in lines around his eyes and mouth as he continued to stroke the
hair away from her wet face. She registered the endearment, spoken for the first time. It felt good.

  Pulling away, she managed a faint smile.

  ‘I think I’ve already forgiven you. It was a combination of your being here…and talking about Mum that set me off.’ She stood up, her legs wobbly. ‘Sorry about your shirt. I’ll show you to your room so you can change.’

  ‘You’d better have a wee brandy first. You’re looking pale. I’ll get it.’ Malcolm walked over to the drinks cabinet and poured a small brandy into a glass. ‘Here, drink this. Then you can point me in the direction of my bedroom.’

  While Malcolm was changing, Louisa took the opportunity to disappear up to her own rooms. After splashing cold water on her face she re-applied her make-up. Her eyes were still puffy but a touch of eye shadow and mascara hid most of the damage. She dragged a comb through her hair before changing. Streaks of mascara had managed to creep onto her top as well as Malcolm’s shirt. Although the outburst had been exhausting, she now felt cleansed. The life-long hurt of not having a father, followed by the loss of her mother, had lessened. She knew her grief for her mother would continue to ambush her for some time to come, but at least she had turned a corner. Her father’s love was proving to be the best healer.

  Once they were both downstairs, Malcolm suggested they went out for lunch. Louisa, suddenly ravenous, was happy to agree and led him to a nearby pub offering all-day food. Not as healthy as that served at La Folie, nevertheless, they both tucked into a steak sandwich partnered with salad.

  ‘I needed that,’ Malcolm said, finishing his meal. ‘Right, now I must phone John and arrange for him to show us where this Edward fella lives. We’ll keep out of sight, naturally. Do you think you can handle that or–’

  ‘I’m fine. This is what we came back for, so let’s do it.’ Louisa sipped her juice while Malcolm went outside to make the call. Not as confident as she sounded, she wanted it over and done with.

  Malcolm appeared back at the table. ‘John suggests we meet tomorrow morning just after ten. The guy leaves the house at half-past to get to work; he’s on an afternoon shift. John’s been watching him for a couple of days now and his routine doesn’t vary.’ He looked around at the tables filling up around them before adding, ‘Let’s go home. We can’t talk here.’

  As they made their way back, Malcolm told Louisa what John had learned.

  ‘Edward lives with his father, Archie, who’s frail and never leaves home.’ Louisa noted the gleam in his eye when Malcolm mentioned that Archie was alive. ‘They rent a run-down flat in a less than salubrious part of the East End. So I guess that’s why they wanted the jewels.’ He stopped talking while they crossed a road with a young woman pushing a buggy. Once at the other side, he continued, ‘Archie lost his wife ten years ago and Edward’s been divorced for the past fifteen. He moved in with his dad when his mother died. His wife re-married and their two kids, now grown-up, never speak to their father. Some big row between them all, John said. Edward is the carer for Archie, although a nurse comes in a couple of times a day to check on him.’

  ‘Not what you’d call a happy family, then,’ Louisa remarked, glad that she wouldn’t have to feel sorry for them.

  ‘No. Edward’s divorce was bitter and his wife took him for every penny. Not that he had a lot, by all accounts. He lost his home and family and took to drink, costing him his job. He only got back to work a few years ago, as a ticket collector on the Underground. His health isn’t great and he’s permanently broke, according to John’s sources. Both Archie and Edward are considered to be bitter old men, with chips on their shoulders,’ Malcolm said, grim-faced.

  ‘So you think Archie put Edward up to stealing the jewels?’

  ‘For sure. My guess is he held a grudge for years about my father not making him his heir. And then, adding insult to injury, my mother spirited away the money and jewels he had stolen from my father’s safe.’

  They arrived at the house and Louisa let them in before heading to the kitchen to put the kettle on.

  Looking at Malcolm’s sombre face, she said softly, ‘Do you have any way of proving that Archie killed your father? That would stand up in court?’

  ‘I’ve thought about that a lot. It’s possible. There were traces of DNA found on my father’s ring that were not an exact match with his. We figured that Archie had tried to pull it off, so it could be his.’ He let out a long breath and Louisa handed him a mug of coffee. ‘Thanks. But even if we could prove it was Archie, I doubt it would go to court. He’s got to be ninety-two and in poor health. What would be the point in locking him up now? After seventy years?’ He shook his head. ‘What I really want is to meet him face to face and hear him admit to what he did. From what John’s learnt his life hasn’t been a happy one, so he’s had the karma he so richly deserved.’

  ‘I think you’re right. He’s been punished. But Edward hasn’t…’ She took a sip of coffee, forcing herself not to re-live what occurred that awful day in January.

  Malcolm patted her arm in silent agreement.

  The next morning Louisa offered to drive them to meet John, pointing out that they would need to take cover in a car while they watched. Malcolm agreed and they set off after advising John to watch out for a dark blue VW Golf. It took a while to negotiate the busy streets snarled up with traffic and, as Louisa did not know the area, she had to pay attention to the instructions passed on by John. The street they were headed for was a mix of social housing flats, maisonettes and shops that had seen better days. As Louisa turned into the end of the road her heart sank. Most of the shop fronts were either boarded up or protected with thick metal grills: lounging against them were groups of surly looking young men who cast suspicious looks towards the car.

  ‘Keep driving. John said to go right to the end and he’ll be outside the pub.’

  Relieved, she continued as fast as allowed before spotting a pub that looked as run down as the rest of the street. A figure detached itself from the doorway and pointed to the opposite side of the road. Louisa pulled over to park and switched off the engine.

  John came over and slid into the back of the car.

  ‘Good to see you both again.’

  Louisa and Malcolm turned round to exchange greetings. She was grateful for the comforting presence of two strong men in the car. This would not be an area she would want to venture in alone.

  ‘Grim, isn’t it?’ John said, as if reading her thoughts. ‘Don’t worry, we won’t have to hang around long.’ He glanced at his watch. ‘Ten minutes, I’d say. It’s that building over there,’ he said, pointing to a two-storey block of flats. ‘It’s the one with the red door and when he comes out he’ll be walking right past us so you can get a good look at him. I’ll get out and ask him for directions, saying we’re lost. It’ll give you plenty of time to study him without him noticing you. Okay?’ he asked, pulling out a map.

  They nodded and Louisa counted down the minutes. She wanted to get it over and go.

  Right on time, the red door opened and a man appeared, pulling it shut behind him. Louisa couldn’t see his face clearly but the figure looked familiar; lank grey hair and walking with a slight limp. As he drew closer she saw his face: it was him. Her breath caught in her chest and Malcolm gripped her hand as John got out, waving the map. The man – Edward Blake – stopped and scowled at John but appeared to listen and, turning, pointed left at the end of the road and then right. A moment later John thanked him and returned to the car. Blake limped past, showing no interest in the car or the occupants.

  ‘It was the man I saw. For sure. Can we go now, please?’ She felt sick, seeing him like that again…

  John offered to drive and Louisa, after making sure Blake was out of sight, swapped seats.

  Safely back at home, Louisa made a pot of coffee. John mentioned that he always used the Underground while in London, and was bunking down with an old mate from the Met.

  ‘Lovely house, you have. And
in such a great area! Very nice,’ said John, gazing around the kitchen.

  Louisa placed the coffee pot and mugs on the table and fetched the milk from the fridge.

  ‘It is. But Mum wasn’t able to buy anything decent for years. When her business took off she bought a small flat not far from here; it was only after she inherited money from my grandparents that she was able to buy this place,’ she said, pouring the coffee. ‘But now…I don’t feel at ease here since Mum died. I may sell it and buy something smaller.’ She bit her lip, not happy about the inevitable upheaval if she did.

  ‘I’m sure you don’t need to make that decision yet, darling. You know you’ll always be welcome at La Folie or at my apartment, if you need to get away.’

  ‘Mm, thanks.’ She smiled at Malcolm before taking a sip of coffee. If only she could go back to La Folie! And be near Paul…

  John cleared his throat. ‘Shall we look at our next move with regard to the Blakes? I’ve been chatting to the guys on the case and made a suggestion, which they’re considering. But it does involve you two so you have to be happy with the idea,’ he said, shifting on his chair.

  Louisa looked from one to the other. ‘Sounds ominous. Does that mean that it’s dangerous?’ Her pulse raced at the thought.

  ‘Not really, it’s a bit…unorthodox. The idea is that Edward’s brought in for questioning about the burglary on the basis that there’s a witness. He’ll assume it’s you. His DNA will be taken to make him think they’re trying to match it with something from the scene. My mates aren’t expecting a confession, but want to put the wind up him. Get him rattled.’

  ‘Okay so far: what happens next?’ Malcolm asked, leaning forward.

  ‘You'd be wired and follow Edward home, arriving at the same time. He’ll be in a state and need to share it with his father. You say you’re an old friend of Archie’s and insist on coming in. He can’t really refuse and you confront Archie about what happened to Roland. Edward will be angry that his father lied to him and we’re hoping there will be a big bust-up and that Edward talks about what he did. The police will be in an unmarked car outside, listening in to the recording. If Edward does confess, they can come in and arrest him,’ John said, leaning back in his chair.