Tall Poppies (41 page)

He didn’t want to discharge her - the rehab period had been chopped in two by her exhausting schedule, but her ladyship resisted any attempts to slow down. Now she wanted out, and Jopling knew he was going to concur. Elizabeth Savage had arrived here a broken young girl and she was leaving a hardened woman. She had clearly done some fast growing up.

‘Lady Elizabeth, you should really stay.’

‘No, Er Jopling, I should really leave. There are things I have to do.’

‘Very well,’ Jopling said thinly, scribbling her discharge papers. ‘We’ll send the account to Lord Caer haven, if you could just sign here.’

Elizabeth initialled the bill and shook his hand. ‘You do that, Doctor. Thank you. Goodbye.’

Well, she doesn’t waste any time, Jopling thought as he watched the valet load her cases into the car. There was something about Elizabeth’s attitude that made him very nervous. Oh well; like father, like daughter.

Elizabeth had Mrs Perkins book her” on a flight under a false name. Enduring the gushing sympathy of Tony’s lapdog was worth it, if it meant she could get away in peace. The last thing she needed was paparazzi at Heathrow.

First-class was comfortably empty. Elizabeth took a glass of champagne, her first drink since that schnapps on

the Gotschnawang. She took notice of the pleasant food served on real china, the luxurious seats and individual videos. It might be the last time she travelled this way. Since she was being compliant, Tony would send a limo to drive her up to the castle.

‘I’ve thought about what you said, and I’ve decided to quit the company.’

‘I’m glad, darling, I think that’s probably best,’ the clipped voice replied without warmth.

‘Since the accident, I don’t feel the same about things any more. If you’ll give me an allowance, I can talk to Monica about finding something to do.’

‘Fine. We can discuss it further when you get back.’ , Tony rang off. Elizabeth felt her dull anger sharpen into a kind of strength. It was a vicious motivation, revenge. But very effective.

She made it through Heathrow in shades and a Burberry rincoat, so nobody recognised her except a respectful customs officer. He said he was sorry, and welcome to England. Elizabeth smiled bleakly. She got more goodwill from a total stranger than her own family.

It was raining lightly as the limo purred up the M4, water spattering over the glass so the traffic slipped by in a soundless blur. Elizabeth switched on the radio for privacy so she wouldn’t have to chat to the driver. She had a stiff pad and a pen and immediately started making notes, letting the formless suspicions in her mind swirl into some kind of definite shape.

The Radio One news was all fresh to her. British troops had landed at San Carlos in the Falklands, preparations were stepping up for the Pope’s visit, and the pound note was going to be replaced by a coin. It was another world, she had to adjust to it. Her reflection

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stared back at her from the glass, thin, blonde, fashionably lanky. She looked like a different person, and she felt like one too.

By the time they pulled in to the narrow country road twisting through gnarled hillside woods that led to Caerhaven, Elizabeth had an idea.

‘Darling!’ Monica kissed her. ‘You look wonderful, so glad you’re better after such a shock. And the hair, well, it’s very dramatic …’

You hate it, you think it looks too good, you cow, Elizabeth thought. She smiled back. ‘It’s nice to be home.’

‘Jenkins will unpack your bags, and there’s a wonderful salmon mousse crying out to be polished off.’

‘I don’t feel that hungry, really,’ Elizabeth murmured, petting Dolphin who was bounding all over her. ‘I think I’ll just have a bath, change, make a few phone calls.’

‘Of course,’ Monica said with perfect disinterest. ‘Do whatever you want.’

In her room Elizabeth stripped and grabbed a warm sweater, her cowboy boots and some Levi 501s. They were hanging off her, but she fixed thatwith a thick buckled belt. Then she brushed her hair loose and picked up the phone. Joe Sharp, her old village boyfriend, had a brother who worked on the Bangor Courier. She hoped

he hadn’t moved.

‘Hello?’

She felt a silly relief. ‘Joe, it’s Liz Savage.’

There was a stunned pause, then he laughed. His voice was a lot deeper, but it was definitely the same old Joe, redder than Stalin and a staunch Plaid Cymru man. She’d swear blind that Joe would still help her out.

‘Christ! I haven’t heard from you in years. Shwd mae pethau?’

‘It’s going OK, iechyd da, but could we stick to English? My Welsh is sort of rusty.’

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‘Peidiwch troi i’r Saesneg … OK, OK, if you must.

Not that your sort were ever really Welsh anyway.’ The teasing changed to concern. She could just see his beat-up face on the other end as he gingerly approached the subject. ‘Liz, I’m really sorry, I heard—’

‘Thanks, but I’ll be fine. Things happen for a reason.’

That sounded unconvincing even to her. ‘The stuff in the papers was all bollocks, but never mind about that now, I

need a favour from Aled, as soon as possible.’

‘Anything for you, cariad.’

‘I want to check some old press cuttings. They’ve got

that database up in the Courier, I need it to check

something out. Family history.’

‘That’ll be no problem,’ Joe said. ‘I was going into

town to meet a few mates. I could give you a lift if you

like.’

‘Now?’ Elizabeth said, a bit startled. She checked her

watch; it was still only three p.m. ‘Sure, why not?

Thanks, Joe, I really appreciate it.’

‘Then I’ll pick you up outside the front porch in ten

mihutes. Tell her noble ladyship not to set the dogs on

the peasant boy.’

Elizabeth slipped out to find a black Mini Metro and a grown-up Joe Sharp. He was twenty-nine now, bigger and thicker, and the caterpillar fluff on his chin had turned into thick stubble. He was ugly as hell but very coarse and masculine. She could see why she’d been attracted to him as a teenage convent girl.

Joe whistled as she climbed in the front seat. ‘You’ve dyed your hair, you look great.’

‘How do you know that?’ Elizabeth belted herself and turned round anxiously to see if Monica was watching them, but there was no sign of her.

‘Come on, girl, you’re all over the papers. I won fifty quid when you took the World Cup,’ Joe said amiably,

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shifting fluidly into gear and speeding off down the gravel drive. ‘First use a Caerhaven’s ever been to anyone. God, will you look at this place.’ They were passing the croquet lawn now and turning right past the orchards. A few horses were grazing in rolling meadows punctuated with landscaped oaks. ‘Come the revolution—’

‘I’ll be first against the wall, yes, I know.’ Elizabeth found she was grinning openly for the first time since the accident. ‘Bloody Sharp the Mouth, I see nothing’s changed.’

Bangor was relentlessly gloomy as ever, though by some oversight it wasn’t raining. Elizabeth twisted around in the car. She always felt excited when they drove here. It was a relic from the time when Bangor was ‘town’, with real pubs and the Cannon cinema and Boots and W. H. Smith’s. o

‘The Courier’s just down there. Aled knows you’re coming in. I’m having a few jars with the lads, so come to the Royal Oak when you’re ready.’

Elizabeth thanked him and climbed carefully out. A few people stared at her, then looked away again. The hair’s confusing them, Elizabeth thought, and anyway, I won’t be famous for long. She made it into the functional slab of grey concrete that was the local rag’s office, home of the front-page lead on planning permission scandals, NUM fundraisers and village ftes, and Aled Sharp came and met her at the front desk.

‘My station’s over here if you want to have a go,’ he said, leading her to a beat-up IBM” behind a plywood screen. He was blond and thinner than Joe, and he also seemed nervous. ‘Just tap in the reference you want, press

this, and then this to print it, er, Lady Elizabeth—’ ‘Elizabeth. Please. You’re a lifesaver, Aled.’

‘Well.’ He smiled shyly. ‘It’s not strictly allowed, but seeing as how it’s you …’

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‘I just need half an hour,’ Elizabeth said, then she had an idea. ‘Look, tell your boss you did me a trade. Time on the clippings service, in exchange for an exclusive. I’ll give you a great interview, really gory, I haven’t talked to any national press. He can license it to the Sun.’

‘Would you do that?’ Aled’s face pinkened with excitement. ‘Oh, brilliant, terrific. I’ll go and tell the editor.’

Elizabeth watched him go. Poor-kid, it was probably the closest to a scoop he’d ever come. Quickly she entered into the database.

SEARCH PARAMETERS:

She tapped in EARL OF CAERHAVEN, and LOUISE’

COUNTESS OF CAERHAVEN, i956-6o

CROSS REFERENCE:

LADY ELIZABETH SAVAGE

She thought a moment, then added one more name. JAY DEFRIES

It took a little while for the computer to scroll and select. EliZabeth read it over. Double-checked to be sure. Then with a calm she didn’t feel, she sent it all to the printer.

‘He wants me to come over and interview you tomorrow,’ Aled Sharp told her eagerly when he came back. He pointed to the wad of paper she was holding. ‘Find anything interesting?’

‘Yes, I did.’ Elizabeth stood up to leave. ‘I found the answer.’

‘Oh yeah?’ Aled ushered her out, smiling like he’d just won the pools. ‘The answer to what?’

‘The answer to everything,’ Elizabeth said.

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Nina sat alone in her office.

London in April was a beautiful place to be. The scabby cherry trees that lined the street had burst into glorious froths of white and pink. It was sunny enough to set the cabbies whistling and bring out the ice-cream vans. Advances in the Falklands had united everyone here in a sort of friendly patriotism; dirty windows in the houses round about were covered with bright Union

Jacks. Nothing like war to help you forget the recession. It was not something Nina could forget.

She was only just realising how cocooned she’d been at Dragon. In a huge drugs company, the recession was just an idea. Boom or bust, people always got sick. Hospitals bought their drugs, institutions bought their shares, and the Robber Baron was cash rich. No wonder he’d been on such a shopping spree. Retail chemists and others were closing down everywhere. For bottom-fishers like Tony Savage, trawling for cheap market share, x98z was paradise. For everybody else, it was a nightmare.

Nina’s premises were located on Wardour Street. Rent was high in Soho, but that was how it had to be. She had a tiny space in a good location. The office was two rooms, and it had come with peeling walls and filthy windows. Nina had rolled up her sleeves and repainted herself in a soothing apple green, then scrubbed the windows until everything gleamed. The front door was

stencilled: ‘ROTH CONSULTING’,

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Roth Consulting. It sounded so grand. Six weeks ago when Nina registered at Companies House her head had been full of dreams of glory. She was going to start a biotech consultancy. Management consulting was the hot new business sector, and who knew more about European markets than her? Just a few contracts would let her hire staff …

Nina realised certain doors were shut to her. The big companies wouldn’t need her help, and word had gone round from Tony. It was the little fish she’d set her sights on: outfits with one product, or a single office in another country. Firms that Tony would never consider. Minnows.

Great theory. But lousy reality. The little firms she ‘approached were too strapped for cash even to think about consultants. To them, it was a luxury. Meanwhile, the rent on the office, its equipment and her flat were eating up Nina’s savings at a rate of knots. As she sat here looking out at the cherry blossom, tapping a pencil on her empty in-tray, Nina knew she was in big trouble. Sh needed a contract. And fast.

‘Son ?’

Jack tugged on the reins and turned round, his Arab

stallion half-rearing in annoyance.

‘You ain’t been listening to a single word,’ John Taylor

said wearily. He pricked his mount forwards, breathing hard. Jack had ridden him right off the course today, flying over the ranch fields like he was riding for his life. Whatever Europe had done, it hadn’t softened him.

Back to the States with a gold medal. Him and

LouAnne had been right out there to see it. Watching their little boy stand up on. that podium, taller and stronger than a Greek god, with the Stars and Stripes behind him, his hand on his heart as they played ‘The Star-spangled Banner’ - it was the proudest moment of

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their lives. The TV people and the papers made such a fuss, you’d fairly think the whole country loved Jack as much as they did. Even the movie people had come buzzing round like flies on horseshit, wanting to turn Jack into a picture. Like Robert Redford in Downhill Racer, but this time for real.

Jack should have been prouder than a white peacock. He wasn’t. The one time he looked happy was when they looped that burnished disc around his neck. Saving that, he was moody and restless. Had the family lawyers serve injunctions on the Hollywood boys. Gave no interviews. Nothing like their Jack, the arrogant glory junkie. And he was moody back home; no interest in anything, even the ladies. The Dallas babes were queuing up for it. John had grinned a quiet male smile when he saw the bunch of females pressin’ round his boy everywhere h went like they were in heat. When he was here a couple years back, Jack woulda bought a few rubbers and taken ‘em on one at a time in a line-up, but he was real strange about it now. LouAnne had insisted he date Clarisse again - now that little lady was a perfect ten, a walking Barbie doll with sweet Southern ways. Jack had taken her out a couple of times. Probably got laid, too. But he did it by rote, and for Jack, that was acting like a goddamned monk.