Creeping Ivy (31 page)

The bloke had been quite clear in his assessment of Bagshot once he’d calmed down; said she was on brilliant terms with the child, who adored her and had never shown any signs of injury. Blake had pressed him on that, even mentioning bruises on Charlotte’s arms, but he stuck to his story, said he’d never seen any bruises on her arms or anywhere else. Antonia had first spotted them on a Sunday evening, so it was possible that they’d faded by the next swimming lesson nearly a week later. But it was a right pain all the same.

‘Well, Nicky?’ Blake said as she came to stand in front of him. ‘How’re you feeling?’

‘Tired,’ she said without obvious resentment. ‘Like I said earlier, there was a drunk in the cell next to mine and he was singing half the night and throwing up the other half. What do you want to ask me
now?
’

‘Nothing, love. We’re letting you go,’ he said, and watched hope breaking over her face like sunlight.

‘You’ve found her then?’

‘No. Not yet.’

The brightness died out of her face, leaving it stony.

‘Why not?’ She stared up into his face as though the answer might be written there. ‘There can’t be that many places she could be. You should be looking. She could be—’

‘You’re managing to sound as though you care,’ he said, trying to be offensive and succeeding. He could see the custody sergeant out of the corner of his eye looking restive, but he was not going to pass up the chance of one more crack at Bagshot.

‘Of course I do. Can’t you get that into your thick skulls, any of you?’ she said, her voice rising.

So, he thought, we’re maybe getting somewhere at last. He was about to ask how far the so-called care had taken her when she lost it completely and broke into hysterical tears, beating both fists on the custody sergeant’s table again and again until Blake was afraid she might draw blood and then try to get them for brutality. He nodded to the custody sergeant to restrain her and went away as quietly as he could. It had been a long day and there was still a hell of a lot to do. Lucky, really, that he didn’t want to go home.

First thing in the morning he’d have to get someone – Kath probably – to sort out the best way to use a limited surveillance budget, and he needed to get hold of Antonia Weblock again. It was a definite plus that he’d established such good communication with her and she was talking so freely. Even the superintendent had been impressed by that. But there were still one or two things that needed clarifying, and he had to check on this business of her burning the mail. She’d promised to hang on to that day’s post to show him what she’d meant, why she’d had to destroy the rest. It hadn’t been hard to imagine the sort of things people had been writing to her, but she shouldn’t have done it without his say-so.

She’d laughed bleakly when he’d told her that and explained that when you did her sort of work at her sort of level, you’d forgotten how to ask permission of anyone. He might’ve been angry, but she’d got serious again at once and recited one of the worst of the letters. As she’d spoken, her face had grown visibly paler and her voice had shaken so much she’d had to stop talking. She’d looked at him then, her eyes swelling up with tears she was too proud to shed, and begged him to understand.

She was being bloody brave, and in a way it was that courage of hers that was making him so angry with Maguire. What a bitch she must be, to be so cool and manipulative when her cousin was in such hell. How could Maguire have dug out one of the most expensive lawyers for the chief suspect in the abduction of her own cousin’s four-year-old daughter? What a bitch!

Chapter Twenty Three

Trish heard of Nicky’s release from George’s secretary, who had been working late. He had had to go to a conference with counsel, which he hadn’t been able to reschedule, the secretary told Trish, and he’d asked her to hang on in the office until she had confirmation that Nicky was out. He’d also asked her to pass on the news to Trish as soon as possible.

Trish thanked her warmly and then tried to ring Antonia. Yet again she got the answering machine with its regal message.

It seemed impossible to Trish that Antonia could believe her guilty of any of the things the police had alleged, but there was no other explanation for her determined silence. She was probably furious that Trish had sent George to help Nicky, but she had stopped returning the calls long before that. Trish decided that she would have to go to Kensington, force Antonia to admit her suspicions and somehow persuade her that they were nonsense. Otherwise, even when the truth of what had happened to Charlotte had been discovered, the two of them would never be able to salvage what was left of their friendship. They had lost too much of it already to risk the rest.

She had forgotten the press pack until she got to the calm-looking, white-stucco house, over which the wisteria was hanging like streams of lilac-blue water. There were fewer journalists there than had been on Sunday, but still quite enough. And some of them recognised her.

‘Trish, this way,’ shouted one of the remaining photographers, as a woman pressed close to her and said, ‘What’s your theory of what has happened to Charlotte, Trish? You know all about cases of this sort, don’t you? D’you think she’s still alive?’

‘Unfortunately,’ said Trish, picking her words with care because she knew she would have no control over what appeared in the headlines, ‘I have no idea. The police are doing all they can. We can only hope.’

‘When did you last see her?’ asked another journalist. Trish ignored the question, arranging her expression with care. She did not want witch-like photographs of herself all over the next day’s tabloids.

She pushed her way through the crowd and rang the bell, hoping that if Antonia was in she would have enough self-preservation to avoid a quarrel on the doorstep. But it was Robert who flung open the door with a blinding smile, which dimmed as soon as he saw Trish.

‘Oh, it’s you,’ he said. ‘You’d better come in. Don’t say anything you don’t want that lot to overhear.’

When he had shut the door behind her, he leaned against the wall as though he was too tired to stand upright without support.

‘I thought you might be Nicky. She’s bringing back a takeaway.’

‘Oh. I’d heard that the police have released her. Is Antonia here?’

He shook his head. ‘Poor Nicky. They really put her through it, you know. She said if it hadn’t been for you and that lawyer you got her, she’d never have survived. That was good of you, Trish. I’m not sure I thanked you properly yesterday.’

‘That’s all right, Robert. I couldn’t have left her on her own, with no help,’ she said, searching his face for signs of sincerity. Seeing plenty, she thought she had most of the confirmation she needed that he had been having an affair with Nicky. But she still wanted to know why. ‘When will Antonia be back?’

He shook his head. ‘Not till after dinner. She hardly ever eats here now. Can’t stand the sight of me at the moment or Nicky. And she’s not overly pleased with you either, Trish.’ He smiled a little slyly. ‘You’d better come and have a drink.’

Trish followed him into the frowsty drawing room. Cushions were heaped at one end of the sofa and there was a long dark-grey mark on the cream damask, where Robert must have put his shoes. A glass of whisky rested on the floor by the sofa, next to a heap of jumbled newspapers. The state of the room, more than anything, showed that Antonia was avoiding the house. Perhaps she had not heard all ten of the messages Trish had left for her.

‘Whisky, Trish, or something else? I can’t remember what you drink.’

‘Nothing for me, thank you, Robert,’ she said, deciding that if she couldn’t confront Antonia, at least she could try to find out more about what motivated Robert and what he was capable of doing.

‘I oughtn’t to stay long,’ she went on. ‘D’you know why Antonia’s so angry with me? I haven’t been able to get her on the phone for days now.’

‘She wasn’t best pleased that you’d been fraternising with her dreary ex, old Ben the blackboard-monger. And she didn’t like your little polygrapher-friend proving that Nicky’s story about the playground was true, or some of the questions you’ve been asking. But worse than everything was your getting the lawyer for Nicky. She’s never going to forgive you for that, Trish. She’s been muttering about betrayal ever since she heard. And you know what she’s like when she thinks someone’s done the dirty on her.’

‘Yes. I don’t suppose she will forgive, me for George Henton. But how did she know I’d been seeing Ben?’

‘He told her the last time they met.’

Trish gaped at him.

‘I know. Weird, isn’t it? She doesn’t tell me much these days, but she was so angry with me this morning that she threw that one out to try to make me hit back. Needless to say it didn’t work. I learned a long time ago that there’s no point joining in when Antonia’s in a rage. She always wins.’

‘Why is she seeing him?’ Of all the things Trish had expected to discover, that was the least likely.

‘I haven’t the foggiest. Unless she’s trying to do some amateur sleuthing just like you, Trish. Got any further, have you?’

‘Not a lot,’ she said, deciding that the time for caution was past. She and Robert were never going to be friends, whatever happened. She might as well take advantage of his gratitude for what she had done for Nicky to try to bounce him into an admission. If she was wrong, it would hardly matter. ‘Except about your affair with Nicky. I have found out about that.’

His face did not move and his smile suddenly looked like the rictus on a corpse. Then he relaxed and laughed.

‘You think you’re so clever, don’t you? What makes you believe that then?’

‘It’s the only credible explanation for your attendance on Charlotte.’

‘But I told you: I liked the little brat.’

‘Yes, but you’d never have got to know her if you hadn’t been hanging around Nicky. Come on, Robert. There’s no point pretending. It’s hardly the crime of the century, after all.’

‘Maybe not. But it’s not the sort of thing you want said about you – that you’re bonking the nanny.’

No, thought Trish, but you did it, didn’t you? Were you turned on by Nicky’s vulnerability? Or was it a way of getting back at Antonia that didn’t involve confrontation? You’ve just admitted you’re too much of a coward to stand up to her; were you sliming away behind her back, getting your satisfaction out of doing her down by bedding Nicky? You’re such a revolting little rat, I could believe that. But is that all it was? Or did you seduce Nicky to blind her to what you were really after?

‘Even so,’ she said aloud, trying to talk as unemotionally as George had done when all her instincts were yelling at her to peg Robert out in the blazing sun and force him to tell her the truth. ‘And what about Charlotte? Where did she fit in?’

Before she could get any further, they both heard the journalists coming to life outside.

‘Good,’ said Robert, apparently not having heard what Trish had said. ‘That must be Nicky with our supper. There’s bound to be enough for three. I told her to get a lot. D’you want to stay, Trish?’

The thought of eating with him disgusted her. She shook her head, saying, ‘But I would like to talk to Nicky.’

‘And I know she wants to thank you,’ he said, sounding almost friendly again. ‘I’ll go and lay the table while you have a word with her up here. I’ll send her in.’

It was a couple of minutes before Nicky came in, looking tousled and well-kissed.

‘Oh, I’m so glad you’re here,’ she said, smiling like a child faced with a pile of Christmas presents. ‘I’ve been wanting to thank you. Mr Henton was brilliant. And I know I’d never have got anyone as good as him if it hadn’t been for you. I’d … I’d do anything for you, Ms Maguire.’

‘Oh, call me Trish, do,’ she said, thinking, could this happy, grateful, apparently ingenuous woman have done any of the things George suggested? Could she have seen Charlotte abused and murdered, and plotted with the killer to dispose of her body?

It seemed impossible.

‘Would you really do something for me, Nicky?’

‘Of course,’ she said passionately. ‘Anything.’

‘Then tell me, is it true that you and Robert have been having an affair?’

Nicky’s face turned poppy-coloured, but she didn’t look away. ‘I know I shouldn’t ever have done it,’ she said with difficulty, ‘but I was so unhappy and he was so kind to me – and to Lottie. You won’t tell Antonia, will you? Please, please don’t tell.’

‘Are you sure she doesn’t already know?’

‘Oh yes,’ said Nicky, sounding much more adult than usual. ‘She uses everything she can to criticise me, bullying me about what I look like and how I sound and what I do with Lottie and everything. If she knew about me and Robert, she’d have sacked me straight off.’

‘I see,’ said Trish, adding more brutally, ‘What are you planning to do now, the pair of you?’

Nicky’s eyes filled with tears and Trish felt almost ashamed of herself.

‘We can’t decide anything till we know about Lottie,’ the girl said with surprising dignity. ‘If she’s … you know, if she gets back safe then I’ll stay with her. If Antonia lets me.’

‘Even though she’s so critical of you?’

Nicky nodded. ‘If Lottie comes back she’ll need me, me and Robert. We’re the only ones who care about her and play with her and all that sort of thing. She’ll need us. We couldn’t leave her.’

‘And if she’s not found?’ said Trish harshly.

Nicky just shook her head as the tears flooded her cheeks. She sniffed.

‘She must be,’ she said after a while. ‘She
must
be.’

‘Nicky,’ said Trish suddenly, ‘will you tell me about the magazines that were found under your floor?’

‘What about them? They were disgusting.’

‘Why were they there?’

‘I don’t know. Honestly, Trish, I don’t know. The police wouldn’t believe me, but you must. If you’d seen them, you’d know I couldn’t have ever had anything to do with them. They were … it was awful just looking at them.’

Trish did not comment.

‘You must believe me. Someone put them there. I knew people had been going into my room whenever I left the house. And I knew they’d had some of the floorboards up because one of the edges was all splintery where it had been smooth before, but I thought they were just searching. I never thought they were putting things there.’