Hope at Holly Cottage (29 page)

‘Oh, come now, surely you can see—’

‘No, I can’t!’ Frankie rounded on him, her teeth bared like a tigress, so that for a moment, Gilbert recoiled at seeing his meek, obedient little Frankie fighting back. ‘You refused to help Anna when she was absolutely desperate and now, just because it suits you, you want to take Charlie away from her. Well, I’ll have nothing to do with it!’

She went to barge past him towards the wardrobe, but he leapt up, grabbing her arm so that she was swung round to face him. She glared down at his hand, eyes like ice, and opened her mouth to deliver a caustic riposte. But before a sound came from her lips, Gilbert yanked her forward so viciously that she felt her shoulder wrench in its socket and she was flung across the floor with the force of it. She lay for
a few seconds, winded with pain and shock. She could hear Gilbert breathing heavily as he stood over her, but she wasn’t frightened anymore. Outrage had driven her fear to the back of her mind.

‘I’m your husband and you’ll do as I say!’ she heard his voice above her. ‘Swear in court that the child’s mine if you have to.’

Frankie lifted her head, her eyes narrowed to dangerous slits. ‘Oh no I won’t,’ she snarled back.

Gilbert scowled down at her, his face purple. First his mother and now his wife. Well, he’d show them who was boss. And his foot shot out in uncontrolled fury.

Frankie didn’t react. He must have missed, so he kicked out again and then again, until he stood back, breathless and his face a contorted mask. Surely the bitch had learnt her lesson? But as she dragged herself upwards, she glanced at him with eyes of steel.

‘Think you can beat me into submission?’ she rasped, her chest burning with each breath.

Gilbert snapped, blinded with rage. Why wouldn’t she listen to him? He didn’t want to hurt her again, so he grasped her by the shoulders, standing her on her feet. But as he shook her, he lost his grip. As she went down, her head cracked on the sharp corner of the marble coffee table, and she lay lifeless on the thick, luxurious carpet.

The room was filled with a sudden, deafening silence.

‘Frankie?’

Gilbert’s voice came out as a whisper as he knelt on the floor beside his wife and turned her over. Her eyes were closed in her alabaster face, and crimson liquid was leaking into her hair and trickling down her temple.

Oh, God. Panic gripped Gilbert by the throat and he jumped backwards. He’d … he’d killed her. But, no. He could see she was still breathing. But …

He charged out of the room along the landing and then hurtled down the staircase at such speed that he nearly tripped over his own feet. ‘Mother!’ he yelled. ‘Frankie’s had an accident! She fell and knocked herself out. Mother! Mummy, where are you?’

Gilbert swaggered along the corridor, trying to react casually to the admiring glances at the massive bouquet in his arms. The hospital had telephoned to say Frankie had regained consciousness in the morning and that she was expected to make a full recovery from the concussion. In some ways it was a relief, but in others …

‘Oh, what lovely flowers,’ a nurse declared as he reached the door to the private room. ‘Shall I put them in water for you? Gorgeous, aren’t they, Lady Ashcroft? Won’t be a jiffy.’ And she relieved Gilbert of his peace offering.

Frankie looked so tiny and frail, her face almost as white as the snowy pillows she was half propped up on. A large bandage swathed her head so that just a curling wisp of hair stuck out from behind each ear.

‘How are you feeling, my love?’ Gilbert asked, his voice smooth and oily.

‘Apart from a thumping headache and feeling as sick as a dog?’ Her words were slow and quiet but Gilbert was nevertheless aware of the spark of anger behind them. He gently shut the door and pulled up a chair.

‘You … you haven’t said anything? About how it happened?’ His heart was hammering now, and he was
relieved when Frankie closed her eyes. But he wasn’t prepared for what came next, determination glowing behind her near whisper.

‘I didn’t have to. When they undressed me, they saw all the bruises. Dr Franfield’s looking after me. He came to talk to me this morning. He said he knows I’ve been assaulted and asked who did it. He said I should report it to the police.’

Gilbert began to quiver and his hands balled into fists. Surely she wouldn’t?

‘But I won’t. Not now, anyway. But it’s all on file. Just waiting. But I swear that if you ever try to take Charlie away from Anna, legally or otherwise, I’ll go to the police. And I’ll use it as grounds for divorce and see that it makes national headlines. Oh, one more thing. I won’t be giving you a son. Or a daughter for that matter. It’ll be separate bedrooms from now on. And if anything suspicious ever happens to me, the doctors here have been instructed to take my file to the police. I’ve dictated a letter to my solicitor to that effect as well. Now I’m tired, so you can go.’

Gilbert’s mouth opened like a goldfish, but before he could utter a word, the nurse came back in with the flowers. ‘There we are. Oh dear, your wife’s dropped off to sleep. Perhaps you’d better leave.’

And Gilbert couldn’t quite read what was behind her smile.

‘You were right,’ said the voice at the other end of the line. ‘She can’t afford a place like that. She lodges there, but there’s nothing wrong in that. You wanted to know what sort of home she’s made for the child. Well, pretty good, I’d say.’

Damn! Gilbert gripped the receiver more tightly as he stood in the London phone box. He had hoped to discover the exact opposite. Then he might have been able to persuade Frankie that it
would
be in the boy’s interests for them to adopt him. He would have to tread carefully, mind. Once she had recovered from her accident, Frankie had gone abroad with an old school friend and would be away some time. Hopefully she would have calmed down by the time she returned.

‘She works part-time,’ the private detective was saying. ‘At a solicitors’. The landlady looks after the child. All a perfectly good arrangement.’

Solicitors? No wonder … It seemed the hussy had
thwarted him at every turn. Blinding fury clamped him in its hungry tentacles at the fellow’s next words.

‘It seems she has a boyfriend. Lodges a couple of doors away. Has his own small gardening business. And he’s very good with the boy. I’ve followed them several times in the park.’

Gilbert gulped down his exploding rage. A boyfriend. With his own business! In his head he could see it all unfolding. Marriage – and a legal adoption of
his
son! Well, he’d put a stop to it somehow! He’d go down to Tavistock by train, take a room somewhere under a false name. Buy a car, something unobtrusive, pay cash and use false details for the registration. And then … well, he wasn’t quite sure. But the opportunity would arise, it was bound to.

‘Thanks,’ he mumbled through taut lips. ‘Tell me how much I owe you and I’ll bring it in cash.’

The voice told him and then the pips went. Gilbert didn’t put any more money in the slot.

‘Hello, kids. What are you doing?’

‘Picture,’ Charlie told Jack, scarcely glancing up from his work of art.

‘That’s very good, both of you,’ Jack praised the two children, bending over to inspect the random scrawls of coloured crayons. Charlie beamed up at him and then went back to his masterpiece, tongue stuck out of the side of his mouth in concentration.

‘Anyone fancy going up on the moor after lunch?’ Jack asked enthusiastically.

‘Oh, yes! Blow the cobwebs away!’

‘Ooh, not for me, thanks. You two go on your own.’

‘You sure, sis? Daniel pointed out a walk to me not far from the hotel. Along an old track. He reckons you can take a pushchair. Just the first bit from where you can park to the track could be a bit tricky. Get the map, Anna love, and I’ll show you. The track runs out to the ruins of Eylesbarrow mine. Quite interesting, apparently.’

‘Sounds super!’ Anna cried. An afternoon on her beloved moor, a beautiful early spring day and, most of all, with her son and the quiet, steadfast man she had come to love. What more could she ask?

‘That was lovely,’ Anna declared as they bumped the pushchair along the grass towards where the van was parked. ‘But I’m exhausted!’

‘Great to get out on such an isolated part of the moor, though,’ Jack said with a grunt of exertion, negotiating the pushchair over a thick tussock. ‘Fantastic on a day like this, but imagine living and working there all year.’

‘Yes. It was pretty blowy out there today. I have enjoyed it, mind.’

It had certainly been exhilarating, way out beyond any sign of civilisation, with the bleak moor rolling away in every direction. She was weary after the long walk, but she really didn’t want it to end.

‘We’ve worn Charlie out as well,’ she chuckled, glancing at her son fast asleep despite being jolted along in the pushchair. ‘Shame we’ve got to wake him up to get him back in the van.’

‘We don’t have to. We could sit down here for a bit and enjoy the sunshine until he wakes up. It’s more out of the wind here.’

‘Why didn’t I think of that?’

‘Because you’re not as clever as me?’ Jack teased with a roguish lift of his eyebrows.

Anna laughed as they settled down in the shelter of a large boulder. There was even some warmth in the sunshine. ‘I love the spring,’ she sighed contentedly. ‘Everything’s so fresh and you’ve got the promise of the good weather to come.’

‘Mmm. It’s still pretty cold the minute the sun goes in, mind.’

Jack lay down, hands joined behind his head, and closed his eyes. Anna contemplated him, his strong jawline, the way his hair flopped over his forehead, and she felt herself swell with pleasure. She loved Jack so much. There was that delicious feeling in the pit of her belly whenever she was with him. Gilbert was out of her life now. Even Frankie had disappeared abroad. She’d sent a postcard from the French Alps.
Our first port of call on the Grand Tour
, she’d written, so Anna assumed she and Gilbert had taken a long holiday together. Perhaps it would mend their marriage, and Frankie might even find herself pregnant at last.

Anna hoped so, and her vision swept across the moor. It wasn’t the prettiest part, but the sense of timelessness, of being at one with nature, was overwhelming. She snapped off a stem of grass and played with it, all so still, just the whisper of the breeze and Jack breathing beside her. She couldn’t resist tickling his nose with the end of the grass. His face twitched and the corners of his mouth curved upwards. Then his eyes flew open, and with a playful roar, he rolled over towards her. She fell back, laughing as she gazed up into the sapphire clarity of his intense eyes, deep pools she felt she could drown in.

‘I love you, Anna Millington,’ he breathed. ‘The business is doing well, and soon—’

She never heard the rest. A shadow fell over her and her gaze moved over his shoulder. She froze, her thoughts spinning in a tortured dance. Gilbert! But surely he was hundreds of miles away? Yet here he was, or some effigy of him, since his face was hideously contorted in violent rage and she could smell the reek of alcohol on his breath. Anna’s mind whirled in confusion and she couldn’t scream a warning as the menacing figure raised a hand clutching a stone and brought it downwards. A stifled cry caught in Jack’s throat and he slumped down on top of her.

Anna’s brain roared into action. Dear God in heaven, Charlie! She heaved Jack’s dead weight from her just in time to see Gilbert snatch Charlie from the pushchair and start running along the path towards the road. For a split second, Anna glanced back at Jack. He was stumbling to his feet, one hand clamped over his head and blood trickling through his fingers. There was no question. Anna sprang forward with some sudden, superhuman speed and tore after her son.

She was gaining. Gilbert stopped by a small car parked next to the van, fumbling in his pocket, presumably for his keys, but hampered by Charlie who was wailing and kicking at his rude awakening and finding himself in the arms of a stranger. Gilbert’s eyes flew across at Anna, his face crazed. She was almost on him. Her foot caught on a stone and she measured her length on the ground.

A shout from behind. Pounding footsteps. Jack raced past her and Gilbert looked up with an unearthly, deranged expression on his face. In his haste, he dropped the keys. No time to retrieve them. Only one answer and that was to run.

Anna saw Jack stagger sideways, holding his head again. But even as she picked herself up, Jack was already in pursuit of Gilbert’s fleeing figure and Anna chased after them. Gilbert charged down the road, in his maddened state heading further out onto the moor. It was sheer lunacy. But they
had
to catch him. Jack’s long legs were flying over the tarmac, but every so often, Anna saw his knees buckle and he grasped at his head again. Her own lungs burnt in agony as, soon after a bend in the road, she saw Gilbert veer off to the right with Jack hot on his heels. She hurtled after them, tripping on the uneven ground, on and on, splashing through a wide stream and then clambering over a gap in a stone wall.

It was then that Jack came to a standstill. Oh, no. Surely he hadn’t given up? Anna wheezed up to him, her eyes shocked at the savage dread on his face.

‘For God’s sake, stop!’ he yelled, his voice roaring across the moor. ‘It’s Fox Tor Mire!’

Anna turned rigid. Jack bellowed his warning again, but Gilbert paid no heed. Anna could only watch, petrified. And then it all seemed to happen in slow motion. Gilbert floundering in mud up to his knees. He tried to stop, but the momentum of his headlong rush carried him forward, and as he struggled frantically, he disappeared up to his chest.

Anna’s heart ruptured and she stared, wild-eyed, at Jack.

‘Bloody idiot,’ he muttered under his breath, and ran forward.

Anna followed, blundering, her muscles like jelly. The ground became soft and boggy, like standing on a floating cushion. Spray came up at every step, water oozing up and getting deeper, topped by the brackish, oily slick from the peat below. Ahead of her, Jack sank up to his ankles
and stopped. He flung his jacket aside, then dropping down, stretched out across the surface and began to wriggle forward on his stomach.

‘Jack?’ Anna squealed.

‘I did this once in the army,’ he called back. ‘I think I can reach them.’

She followed, terrified and whimpering. She could feel her entire body sinking into the sludge, and Jack, oh God, he was heavier than her. The mire stank and she felt it seeping through her clothes, slimy and freezing cold.

‘Don’t come any further. Grab hold of my ankles.’

Her hands shook but she did as he ordered. Everything was so slippery and mud was curdling around Jack’s body. But he was only feet from Gilbert who was flailing in the slough with one hand while still clinging onto Charlie with the other.

‘Stop struggling or you’ll sink further!’ Jack shouted. ‘Give me the boy!’

Gilbert seemed to stop. What in God’s name was going on in his deranged mind?

‘Gilbert, please!’ Anna screamed. ‘He’s your son, for God’s sake!’

‘So, he is, then?’ she heard Gilbert crow.

What did it matter? All she cared about was Charlie’s safety. ‘Yes!’

‘Come on, man, quick!’

Jack reached out as far as he could, almost there. Dear God. And then, miraculously, Jack had him, and Charlie’s chubby arms appeared out of the mud around Jack’s neck. Slowly, inch by inch, they both wriggled backwards, Anna still holding Jack’s ankles just in case. The instant it was safe
to do so, Jack got up onto his knees and passed Charlie into Anna’s trembling arms. Filthy, stinking, shaking with cold and shock, they clung to each other, tears of relief streaming down Anna’s cheeks as she clutched Charlie to her.

‘Wrap Charlie in my jacket and then get to the hotel and get help.’

Anna stared at Jack. Of course. Fencott Place was back down the road nearly a mile from where the van was parked. Yes, get help, but … Panic seized her again. ‘Jack, you won’t …?’

‘Risk myself to save him? No. He’s probably standing on the bedrock anyway.’

‘Promise?’

‘Promise. Now, go!’

She was bone-weary, ready to drop. She dragged herself back across the moor to the road. Her arms felt like lead from carrying Charlie. He was crying, his little face a picture of misery. Oh, it was so far! But she was nearly back to where the pushchair had been abandoned. She dumped Charlie in the pushchair and, dragging it across the grass until they were back on the road, she hurried along the tarmac, pushing it in front of her, as fast as her wobbling legs would carry her.

When she reached Fencott Place, she grabbed Charlie and flung open the door to the hotel. ‘Lily! Daniel!’ she screamed at the top of her voice.

A second later, they both came running from the kitchen, Trojan barking at their heels. Anna saw the horrified astonishment on their faces at the desperate, filthy state they were in.

‘Gilbert tried to take Charlie!’ she gasped. ‘He’s stuck out on the mire. Jack’s with him.’

‘I’m on my way. Lily, call 999.’

Daniel was already out of the door and Lily was running to the phone. ‘And then I’ll get you and Charlie in a nice hot bath,’ she called over her shoulder.

Anna stood there, quivering, and then burst into tears.

‘It was only mild concussion but William insisted I stay in overnight. Do you know how Gilbert is? He must have been in the mire nearly five hours before they finally got him out. He’d lost consciousness long before. Daniel and I just couldn’t shift him, there was so much suction. And the fire engine was out on another call and we had to wait.’

Anna sighed, drained after the day’s events and yet with every nerve on edge and ready to leap into action.

‘Yes, I know. They’re still working on him. They say he should recover from the exposure, though he’d been drinking heavily which didn’t help. Alcohol draws the heat from the body core, William said. But they’re more worried that he seems to have inhaled some of the putrid water. What’ll poor Frankie think when she finds out?’

‘That’s what I’ve been thinking. Interpol are trying to find her.’

Anna nodded, and for a minute or two, they sat in silence, each lost in thought.

‘But Charlie’s safe. That’s the main thing.’ And Jack squeezed her hand.

‘What’ll you do now?’ Anna asked gently. A light mist hovered over the gardens of Ashcroft Hall, enshrouding the tulips and swathes of delicate forget-me-nots.

‘Now Gilbert’s dead, you mean?’ Frankie’s voice was flat,
expressionless. ‘I still can’t believe it. Pneumonia. Probably from the water that got in his lungs. Or the exposure, or both. Well,’ she sighed resignedly, ‘probably sell this place. I’ve got power of attorney over everything. Lady Prue had another stroke, you know. A severe one this time. It’s left her like a cabbage. Outwardly, anyway. Who knows what’s going on inside her head? I reckon it was the shock of finally accepting what Gilbert was really like.’

‘And you?’

Frankie turned to Anna with a wistful sigh. ‘My feelings for Gilbert died long ago, I realise that now. I’ll survive. I’m a very rich widow. I’ll take care of Lady Prue, of course. Employ a couple of nurses. She could go on for years. And perhaps, one day, I’ll start to live again.’