First Friends (55 page)

‘That'll be fine. Look, I'll give you my home number so that you can phone me there. OK?'

She gave him the Rectory number then, having given the place an airing, shut all the windows, locked up and walked home to lunch.

During the night the wind had risen and though for most of the next morning the sun shone fitfully, great pillows of purple cloud banked steadily up in the west.

Holding open the drawing-room door just a crack, Charlotte watched Cass take the telephone call. She strained to hear the conversation.

‘Oh, hello . . . So you can come? That's marvellous . . . About half-past three? Commander Mallinson, that's right . . . Oh, don't worry! I'll wait . . . Fine, ‘bye.'

To Charlotte's feverish imagination it sounded like an assignation at the Mallinsons' cottage. She was convinced now that she had been right all along in imagining that her mother was involved with somebody. It was just as well that she had refused to go back to school. If there was to be no Hugh for her then she simply couldn't face the mock sympathy, the whisperings that would result when her peers found out. She might just as well stay at home and make sure that at least the family remained safe and all together. It was time for action. Her brain seethed with ideas.

Cass left the Rectory just after a quarter past three. This time, in view of the weather, she took the car, parking it on the hard standing in front of the Mallinsons' garage. She hurried through the garden and into the cottage, glad to be out of the wind. There seemed to be a storm brewing.

The plumber arrived some ten minutes later and parked a rather
battered van beside Cass's car. She let him in and he nodded to her, going through to the kitchen where the boiler was housed with the air of one who knew his way about.

‘Won't take long, Missis.' He put his tool-bag down on the kitchen floor and glanced meaningly at her mug of coffee. ‘Cold, innit? That's our summer over, I reckon.'

‘I'm afraid you're right.' Cass smiled at him, rather liking his looks. He reminded her of someone but she couldn't think who it was. ‘You're very welcome to a cup of coffee but you'll have to drink it black. I didn't bring any milk, I'm afraid.'

‘ 'Tis better than nothing, as long as there's sugar.'

‘Plenty of sugar.' Cass produced another mug, spooned in coffee and sugar, poured on boiling water. ‘I wasn't sure how long you might be so I thought I'd keep myself warm while I waited.'

‘Ta!' He took the mug and gulped down a mouthful. ‘That's better. Now, let's have a look at this.'

He set down the mug and opened the boiler door. Cass perched idly on the edge of the kitchen table, sipping her coffee and observing his crisp black hair and the warm tan of his skin with approval. She was just opening her lips to remark on his likeness to Alan Maxwell when the kitchen door swung back and Charlotte almost fell into the room.

‘Caught you!' she cried, with a sound between a laugh and a sob. ‘I've caught you . . . ' Her voice died away as she took in the scene, seeing the young man in overalls at the boiler.

‘What are you doing?' said Cass, annoyed and half-suspecting what was in Charlotte's mind.

‘I've caught you,' began the girl, feebly now, aware that the plumber was staring at her in surprise. ‘Caught you before you left, I mean.' She tried to pull herself together, seeing that she had misjudged the situation completely. ‘I ran across the fields.'

‘Yes, but why?' Cass's temper was rising now and she had quite forgotten the plumber. This thing between them was coming to a head and she, for one, was ready for it. Charlotte had been treating her as though she were an enemy, as
though she were to blame for the debacle in Bristol, and Cass had been hurt by it. All the misery and humiliation of the last few days rose to the surface of her mind and real anger, something she rarely experienced, was erupting out of them. ‘What's all this about?'

Charlotte gazed into her mother's face with dismay. In all her life she had seen Cass lose her temper probably no more than half a dozen times and she always found it very frightening. Everything was going terribly wrong. Her overwrought brain had conjured up images as she had run across the fields, having been presented with the perfect excuse to come to the cottage. She had imagined Cass in her lover's arms and she, Charlotte, denouncing her and extracting promises of fidelity for the future whilst Cass grovelled at her feet in humiliation. What had gone wrong? She closed her eyes tight to shut out Cass's expression of anger and contempt and searched desperately for a way out. Of course! She gulped with relief. She already had her excuse.

‘It's the Maxwells!' she cried, opening her eyes. ‘Jane phoned just after you'd gone. She wanted to say goodbye to you. They're leaving for Chatham and she wanted to say thanks for everything and she'll phone when she gets to their new place. They were leaving that minute, she said, but I thought if I ran you could phone from here . . . '

‘What rubbish!' shouted Cass, getting off the table. ‘Why not tell her to phone me here? Or why didn't you phone? It was just an excuse . . . '

She broke off as the plumber elbowed her unceremoniously aside.

‘Wait a minute,' he said. He seized Charlotte by the upper arms, his face screwed up with a mixture of puzzlement and rising anger. He looked as if he was attempting a violent mental exercise. ‘What do you mean, “just leaving for Chatham”?'

Charlotte stared at him in surprise.

‘Tell me!' He gave her a little shake as though to jolt the words from her. ‘Did you say Jane Maxwell is just leaving for Chatham?'

‘Yes, I did.' Charlotte gazed at him in alarm. His entire concentration
was focused upon her. ‘She's going to live there with her husband. Why? What's the matter?'

‘The bitch!' he whispered, loosing his grip on the frightened girl. ‘The bloody bitch! She's been lying to me. Fobbing me off! I should've guessed. She's going off with that bastard. With my kid!'

He stood quite still for a moment and then with a supreme effort he seemed to pull himself together. The doors banged open as he flew out and Cass gave a cry as realisation struck her like a physical blow. Her hands flew to her face as she saw, as if etched on the air before her, the name that was printed on the notes she had found on the telephone table. Philip Raikes. P.R. Plumbing.

‘Philip Raikes,' she whispered. ‘Oh, my God, it's him . . . You idiot!' She turned on Charlotte. ‘You bloody idiot. D'you see what you've done? Come on, we'll have to try to stop him!'

She seized Charlotte by the arm, dragging her with her. They raced through the garden, the wind tearing at their hair, out of the gate, in time to see Philip Raikes turning his van. He could have been drunk the way he was driving. As Cass reached him, he straightened the van up and tore off down the lane, mud and gravel spurting from beneath the wheels.

Cass leapt for her car.

‘Get in!' she shouted to Charlotte, who was near to tears. ‘Get in!'

Charlotte scrabbled into the passenger seat as Cass dragged the keys from her pocket and started the engine. As the car leapt into the lane Charlotte turned to Cass.

‘What is it?' she pleaded, her voice trembling with fear. ‘What have I done? Please, tell me!'

‘That man,' Cass jerked her head towards the vanishing vehicle, ‘has been having an affair with Jane Maxwell. She's having his baby and he wants her to leave Alan and live with him.' She changed down with a shrieking of gears and took a bend on the wrong side. ‘He's threatened to kill her if she stays with Alan and, it seems, he's quite capable of carrying out the threat. We'd managed to arrange to get them both away without his knowing. They're going to Chatham. And
you, you stupid little fool, have blurted it all out in front of him.' She clashed the gears again, putting on another spurt as she saw the van reach the junction and pause. ‘God knows what he means to do but . . . '

She too, had reached the junction and slammed into first gear but, even as she let out the clutch, she gave a little cry for the Maxwells' distinctive yellow car had appeared over the brow of the hill. Charlotte, who at such a bald stating of the facts had covered her face with her hands, dragged them down at Cass's cry just in time to see the van career across the road and smash at full speed into the yellow car. There was a noise of tearing metal and splintering glass as Philip was flung, first through his own windscreen and then the Maxwell's, to die in Jane's lap as she sat, covered with fragments of glass and rigid with shock and horror, watching his blood soak into her skirt. After a moment, or a lifetime, Jane was aware that the low moaning noise that had been issuing from Alan's lips had stopped and he lay slumped sideways, his face grey, blood pumping from his leg. She lost consciousness.

‘No,' Cass was crying, as if pleading with somebody. ‘No.'

She fumbled with her door handle, almost falling into the road, before she started to run towards the tangled vehicles. Charlotte followed her, begging her to stop.

‘Go and get help!' Cass turned on her, her face crumpled with horror and fury. ‘You see what you've done! Now go on into the village and get help. Go into Mrs Drew's. Tell her to phone for an ambulance!'

They reached the cars together and Cass gasped at the dreadful sight. Charlotte, choking with sobs, and with one appalled glance at the carnage in the car, stumbled on in the direction of the village. As she did so the storm broke above her head and the rain poured down.

C
ASS REPLACED THE TELEPHONE
receiver and stood for a moment, leaning heavily against the hall table.

‘How are they?'

She turned to look at Kate whom she had telephoned earlier, telling her the dreadful news and asking if she would come and keep her company. Cass gestured futilely.

‘I suppose it could be worse.' She made it sound as if she couldn't imagine how. ‘Philip was killed more or less outright.' A spasm of horror crossed her face. It would be a long time before she could forget that scene: Philip dying, with his maimed and bloody head pressed against his unborn child—if it were his child . . . Not that it mattered any more. ‘Jane's suffering from shock. She's lost the baby but they think she'll recover. Alan's side of the car took the impact. He tried to swerve away when he saw the van heading for them. They think he'll lose a leg. Oh, Kate.' Her eyes swam with tears.

Kate took her arm and led her into the drawing room, pushing her down gently into an armchair. Presently she returned with a glass containing gin and tonic.

‘Here,' she said. ‘This might help.'

‘Thanks.' Cass looked wan. ‘I could do with a drink. Heavens!' she grimaced as she sipped it. ‘That's a strong one.'

‘Cass.' Kate perched on the edge of another chair. ‘D'you know where Charlotte is?'

‘No.' Cass shook her head. ‘I assumed she was upstairs. I haven't seen her since I sent her off to raise the alarm but I must talk to her. Nobody need know why Philip Raikes rammed the Maxwells' car. There's no reason why it shouldn't have been a perfectly ordinary accident. I told the police that he'd been to turn on the central heating and we happened to be following him back. His van seemed to go out of control as he turned on to the road. It was a very old van so I'm hoping that they'll assume something broke or snapped or something. Only Jane and I and Mrs Hampton know anything about the other thing. And Charlotte, of course. That's why I must speak to her. I don't want her blabbing it all out and the police are bound to want a statement from her.'

‘Well, she's not upstairs. Gemma's in bed asleep but Charlotte's nowhere around. D'you think she's OK?'

‘I haven't the least idea!' Cass took another sip, looking more like her old self. ‘She's probably with Hammy. I'd better phone and check. I wish Tom was here.' She was suddenly aware of how deeply she needed him. Tom was good in a crisis. All his service training came to the fore. He was calm, efficient, completely in charge. ‘Why can't they ever be around when you need them? What's the time?'

‘It's after ten. That's why I'm so worried about Charlotte. D'you think . . . ?'

The phone began to ring.

‘Oh, hell,' said Cass wearily. ‘What now?'

‘I'll get it.' Kate went out and Cass heard her answering. She was too exhausted to try to hear the words. She rested her head on the back of the chair and shut her eyes.

‘Cass. It's Mrs Ankerton.' Cass opened her eyes and stared up at Kate. ‘She says that Charlotte took her horse out earlier and it's just come back without her. She said that she had no idea that Charlotte had been there or she wouldn't have let her go in this weather. She's terribly upset about it. She can't think what can have happened to her.'

‘I
AM THE RESURRECTION
and the life, saith the Lord: he that believeth in me, though he were dead, yet shall he live: and whosoever liveth and believeth in me shall never die.'