Creeping Ivy (12 page)

‘Pity,’ she said, trying to work out why she felt so convinced that he must be able to tell her something that would help. ‘Ben, are you and Bella …? No, sorry. I know that’s a question one should never ask.’

‘I meant what I said when I told Bel I’d always answer anything you chose to ask me, Trish. Didn’t you trust that?’

‘I don’t want to trespass, that’s all.’

‘I know. You never did; you couldn’t. Out with it, Trish, whatever it is.’

‘I just wondered why you and Bella haven’t started a family of your own, that’s all.’

‘We’re still trying. But there are problems.’ His voice told her that he had been wrong and she
had
succeeded in trespassing where she was not wanted. ‘It was nice to see you, Trish. Don’t stay away so long next time. Good night.’

She took her dismissal quietly – there wasn’t much option – and went back to her car, her mind racing. The trouble was that her brain was fuddled with a whole lot of odd feelings from the past that she thought had been rationalised long ago.

The telephone was ringing when Trish got back to her flat. Tempted to let the machine answer, she changed her mind when she saw the time.

‘Mum?’

‘No, it’s me again, Emma.’

‘Oh, Emma. Look, I am sorry I didn’t call you back this morning. It’s just that I didn’t want to risk missing her if she tried to ring.’

‘Who, your mother? Has something happened to her, Trish? What is it? You sound very peculiar.’

‘My mother’s fine. But haven’t you seen the news?’

‘No.’ Emma’s voice sounded unlike her, edgy and somehow artificial. ‘Hal’s away – some local-government-corruption frolic – and I’ve had a completely news-free day: no papers, no radio, no telly. World War Three could have broken out for all I know, or care. Why?’

‘Antonia Weblock’s child has disappeared. I’ve been with her most of the day. The police haven’t found anything yet, and it’s looking … well, pretty bad.’

‘Oh, damn! Trish, I’m sorry to have been so frivolous. I didn’t know. You must be feeling like hell. I am so sorry.’

‘It’s fairly grim. And hard not to let one’s imagination make it grimmer. But, look, Emma, I wanted to ask your advice.’

‘Go ahead. Anything I can do.’

‘Antonia’s trying to convince herself that her nanny’s involved, but I don’t think she can be. The account she’s given of what happened just before the child disappeared seems quite believable to me. I’ve nothing more than intuition to go on, but …’

‘I’d have said yours was better than most. Could I help? I mean, d’you think it’s a suitable case for a polygraph test?’

‘Well, I do in fact. I’ve been thinking about that all the way back. The nanny’s account is crucial. If it’s true, then it means she’s not guilty of anything but carelessness, in which case the police should be concentrating on finding someone else with a motive to harm Charlotte, or a complete stranger who picked her at random. If it’s a lie, then she is involved, either on her own or with someone else. Listen.’

Trish repeated everything she had heard from Antonia, DCI Blake, and Nicky herself about what had happened in the playground, adding at the end: ‘If you could prove it one way or the other, then at least we’d be further on, and if she’s definitely innocent it’ll be much easier for Antonia. Imagine having to live in the same house as someone who might have—’

‘I don’t think I could bear it, Trish. Why hasn’t she sent the nanny somewhere else?’

‘Knowing Antonia, I should think she wants to keep tabs on Nicky until she’s sure.’

‘Yes, I see. Are there any other suspects, apart from the random stranger?’

‘If it’s not Antonia’s new man,’ said Trish reluctantly, ‘then as far as I can see, the only other possibility is Ben Weblock.’

‘It can’t be him.’

‘Why not?’

‘Oh Trish, come on. Everything you’ve ever told me about him – and you’ve told me a fair amount – makes that impossible.’

‘But he did throw Antonia out when he fell for bloody Bella, and he’s never even tried to see Charlotte. I know it’s technically possible that he’s
not
her biological father, but legally she’s his child. He has responsibilities for her, and yet he’s always ignored them. Doesn’t that make him seem a bit weird?’

‘Are you sure he hasn’t had a DNA test done? In his place most men would. Honestly, Trish, I bet he has and knows that she’s not his. That would explain it all. Men get very twitchy about taking on someone else’s child.’

‘Yes, I know,’ said Trish, smiling a little at Emma’s characteristic understatement. ‘I hadn’t thought of that. You’re being much brighter than me.’

‘No. Just less involved and perhaps able to see a bit more clearly. Has Ben got an alibi for whatever the relevant time is?’

‘No. But he did tell me that quite freely.’

‘Well, that’s encouraging. We can put him on the back burner and start with the nanny. And then go on to Robert Hithe if you can think of any way of persuading him to take a test.’

‘You mean you really will test the nanny?’

‘Trish, how can you ask?’ Emma’s gentle voice had become quite crisp. ‘You know I will. When would you want me to do it? ASAP, I presume.’

‘Yes. But obviously I’ll have to clear it with Antonia first – and the nanny. Have you got a lot on at the moment? Sorry, silly question. Of course you have.’

Emma’s growing reputation among defence lawyers meant that she was usually booked up for weeks in advance. Polygraph tests were not admissible in court and many lawyers and police officers distrusted them, but Emma’s expertise was wider than simply lie-detection. She had appeared in court quite often as an expert witness, testifying on the vagaries of memory and the mechanics of deception to prove that someone could have been manipulated into making a false confession, or that identification evidence was flawed, or prosecution witnesses had to be disbelieved for one reason or another.

‘A fair amount. Hang on.’ There was the sound of rustling paper down the telephone. ‘No, tomorrow’s completely clogged, but actually there is a gap on Tuesday morning. I’ve got a meeting with some solicitors first thing, but then I should be out by eleven-thirty. If Antonia would agree, I could go round to her place after that and see the nanny. Since it won’t be competing with any other work, my accountant can hardly complain if it’s
pro bono.
Anyway, it’s none of her business.’

‘Oh Emma, you are wonderful.’ Trish had never seriously doubted that Emma would be prepared to use her expertise in such a cause, but her readiness to offer her skills – and without charging for them – was the one bright spot in an otherwise dreadful day. Antonia could easily afford to pay top rates, but it might be easier to persuade her to agree to the test if it could be presented as a freebie. She’d always liked a bargain!

‘And, you know, Trish, it’s not just a question of whether or not the nanny’s been telling the truth about what happened in the playground. It’s quite possible that the right questions will elicit memories she’s not aware she has.’

‘I hadn’t thought of that. I’ll tell Antonia.’

‘How is she?’

As you’d expect: desperate with terror for Charlotte, and expressing most of it as aggression. I found that tougher to take than I should have done. She must be in torment.’

‘Do you think there’s any hope for Charlotte? I mean that she could be still alive.’

‘I keep trying to believe it, but I don’t actually see how, unless it’s like that awful Belgian case. You know the one, where that man’s thought to have kidnapped young girls and kept them in terrible conditions in secret cellars until he had a buyer for them.’

‘Oh, Trish. Please God, it’s not like that. D’you want to talk about it? Would it help? I could come to you or you could come here. Whatever.’

‘I don’t think so, Emma. But thanks. The only thing that’s going to help is getting some good news. Or maybe any news at all. At least if we knew for certain what had happened, we could all start trying to cope, but as it is … No, I think I’ll stay here on my own. Sorry to be churlish.’

‘You’re not. And ring me if you change your mind. Would you like me to cancel Willow?’

‘What?’

‘I’m not surprised you’ve forgotten, but you and I were due to go to the Worths’ tomorrow night. Would you like me to cancel it? Willow would understand. God! Anyone would, and she’s always been better than most at knowing how one feels.’

Trish had completely forgotten the long-standing arrangement for dinner with a novelist friend of Emma’s, who was married to a senior police officer.

‘No, I don’t think so,’ she said. If the invitation’s still open, I’ll go. I like them both so much and Tom might be able to help.’

‘Good. Eight o’clock then. And don’t worry about dressing up.’

‘Fine. I’ll see you there.’

‘OK. But if you change your mind – or if something happens – ring me and I’ll sort it. Bye.’

Trish dialled her mother’s number. ‘Hi, it’s me.’

‘Trish, darling. How are you? I haven’t rung because I’ve assumed that you’d be with Antonia. How is she? Has there been any news of Charlotte?’

‘Not yet. I’m glad you know about it. I don’t think I could have gone through the whole story again.’

‘No, I should think you need to forget it – if one ever could.
You
were lost once, for about twenty minutes, and I nearly exploded with terror. What Antonia must be going through! I wish her mother wasn’t dead. She must need her so much at the moment. I’ve written and offered to help, but I didn’t want to ring. I thought she’d have enough to deal with, and I knew you’d be there.’

‘Yes, I was,’ said Trish as she fell into the familiar comfort her mother had always managed to give her. She felt even sorrier for Antonia than she had done all day. ‘I don’t remember ever being lost. How odd! You’d have thought something so frightening would stick in the mind.’

‘Or be buried as too painful. You were four or five, I think. One of your schoolfriends’ mothers had taken you to a fair and turned her back. She wasn’t a bad woman and she rang me the instant she realised you’d gone, but I could have killed her. And I never did manage to forgive her. We might have been friends, I think looking back – but not after that.’

A fair? Noisy – bangy – very colourful and what felt like millions of people washing around her like a sea? Yes, Trish thought, I do remember something. And Charlotte’s even younger than I was then. And I was only lost for a few minutes. It’s been more than twenty-four hours now. What have they done to her? Is it over yet? Oh, God! Would it be easier if we knew for sure that she was dead? Then at least they couldn’t be hurting her any more. Oh, Charlotte.

Chapter Nine

‘You look as though you haven’t slept, Mike,’ said Stephen as he leaned across the polished slate worktop to help himself to coffee from the Alessi espresso pot on Monday morning. ‘What’s the worry this time?’ Mike looked up from his huge breakfast cup, brushing his moustache first one way then the other, as he always did when he was in a state. His perfect skin was paler than it should have been, and he was biting the inside of his cheeks. His round khaki eyes were full of blank, mindless terror.

‘I’m all right.’

Stephen suppressed a sigh as he recognised all the signs. He mentally ran through his diary for the morning, relieved to remember that he had no meetings scheduled until well after eleven. If Mike really lost it, and it looked as though he might, there should be time to get him reasonably stable again and still not miss anything too important in the office. There was not much point in asking questions while he was still hanging on; the outburst would come soon enough as it was.

Stephen reached for the newspapers. The
Daily Mercury
was on top of the pile and he looked at it with disdain. Mike insisted they took it, but really it was the most dreadful rag.

‘Isn’t that one of your pupils?’ he said, catching sight of the headline. ‘Charlotte Welbock? Daughter of the rich banker?’

There was a gasp from Mike and Stephen looked up at him again.

‘Yes,’ he said. ‘And see what it says: someone’s killed her. Look, Steve.’

Accustomed to Mike’s dramatics, Stephen carefully read the article under the screaming headline, picking out the truth without difficulty.

‘Not necessarily,’ he said, when he reached the end of the account. ‘She’s disappeared and there are fears for her safety, that’s all. What are you in such a state about? All right, she’s one of your pupils, but you can’t know her that well.’

Mike shook his head, but his eyes were still full of horror. ‘She’s such a sweet little thing, Steve. If you’d seen her, you’d understand. She started her first lesson all white and quivering on the edge of the pool but too brave to cry. And now she just leaps off the edge into my arms, miles out of her depth, squealing with pleasure. She’s so trusting, you can’t imagine. And so sweet, Steve. I wish you’d seen her.’

Stephen softened his voice and his expression until no one, not even Mike-in-a-panic, could possibly read criticism in it.

‘It’s horrible for her and her parents, and I can see you don’t like thinking about what might have happened to her, but there’s nothing here to make you all of a doo-dah like this. What’s the problem? Come on, Mike, out with it.’

Tears welled in Mike’s eyes, making them even more lustrous and appealing than usual; the long lashes looked like black silk. ‘She’s only four, Steve.’

‘So?’ he said. His voice was still not unkind or even cool, but Mike started biting the inside of his cheeks again. ‘I know it’s sad, but it isn’t really anything to do with you, now is it?’

‘No. No. Of course it isn’t. How could it be? But will they believe me? The police. You know what the police are like. They’ll come to the pool. I had her for a lesson only a couple of hours before it happened. They’re bound to think I … You know.’

Stephen walked round to the other side of the worktop and put both hands on Mike’s head, smoothing the thick hair away from his face, and then dried his eyes with a perfectly ironed fine linen handkerchief. Mike looked up at him with a nauseatingly familiar mixture of fear, gratitude and begging.

‘Don’t get yourself in such a state. Listen, Mike, you might conceivably have a reason to panic if the child had been a boy, but even the stupidest, most ignorant police officer isn’t going to think a man like you could do anything to a four-year-old girl.’