The Collared Collection (30 page)

‘Mrs Ashton?’ Dutifully, she nodded. ‘Perhaps you’d like to tell me why you were in Susan Williams’ house?’ He glared through her, demanding an answer. ‘Don’t bother denying it; we have you on camera, searching the study.’

‘She’s not Susan … Amelia.’

He wasn’t about to take any prisoners – he barked, making her jump. ‘I know that, woman! She works for me.’

What was he talking about? Susan … Amelia was a partner in Montague’s – she didn’t work for someone who cleaned hospital rooms … Callie wanted to go back to sleep, but he wouldn’t let her.

‘You haven’t answered my question, Mrs Ashton.’

Something told her she’d better oblige. ‘I thought she might be Balaclava Man …’

When he threw back his head and guffawed, causing his lapels to gape, she noticed he was wearing a very posh suit under the blue overalls. Way too sartorially elegant for a hospital cleaner. And his hospital ID badge claimed he was John Bloggs … hmm. One leg was crossed over his other thigh, so that she could see a foot, and though she’d never possessed a pair of handmade shoes, she’d hazard a guess his brogues were the ticket. While her visitor gave the outward impression of a rich, well-groomed uncle, his eyes were cold and ruthless.

She stammered, ‘Who … who are you?’

‘You don’t need to know that. I am here simply to assure both you and your very feisty friend, that Amelia – or Susan, if you will – has nothing whatsoever to do with the dilemma in which you find yourself. It’s a rather bizarre and tiresome coincidence that you should end up working together and that she became – most unprofessionally, I must stress – personally involved. Kindly accept my word that she is not the person whom you seek.’

‘Is Elizabeth alright? You haven’t hurt her? It was all my stupid idea …’

He held up a hand to command silence, ‘Ms Lyon-Smith is perfectly safe; no harm has, or will, come to her. Under duress, she eventually told us the same story as you and she has been released, now that she understands the situation – and she has made certain undertakings.’

‘Will Susan … sorry, Amelia, still be working with us?’

‘I’m afraid not. That would almost certainly put her life in danger, and there is no longer any need. The Department has reassigned her.’

Though she so wanted to ask ‘What department?’ she knew she’d be wasting her time. ‘I see … I’ll miss her.’

‘I’m sure she’ll miss you too, Mrs Ashton.’ He got up. ‘Would you like me to switch on your television? I must be going; I have to return this equipment to its rightful owner.’ He cast a distasteful glance at the mop and bucket.

‘No thanks.’

He did so anyway and walked toward the door.

‘One more question …’

He looked back over his shoulder, ‘Very well, though I can’t promise you an answer.’

‘Does Amelia have a brother?’

‘No, Mrs Ashton. No family at all. Goodbye.’ He closed the door quietly.

The
Ten O’Clock News
was on, so at least she now knew what the time was. She closed her eyes and listened to the reports; some scatty plane spotter arrested in a country she’d never heard of, a large bomb defused in the City, English football fans behaving disgracefully again in Europe …

‘Callie … Callie, wake up.’

‘Go away – trust me, my pulse is still beating …’

‘Callie, it’s Susan.’

Her eyes shot open. ‘Susan … what are you doing here? I … I didn’t think I’d see you again.’ She felt tears well.

‘Don’t cry, Callie, I couldn’t leave without saying goodbye.’

‘I’m sorry I thought you were Balaclava Man, really I am.’

‘No problem, I understand why. And I’m sorry I pushed you down the embankment; I needed you to trust me.’

‘So that
was
you … I spoke to your boss …’

‘Scary guy, isn’t he?’ She brushed a stray tear from Callie’s cheek with cool fingertips.

‘Yes, very. Are you really a barrister?’

‘Oh yes, I was called to the Bar before I was recruited through someone I studied with at Cambridge. The law training comes in handy occasionally.’

This was surreal … was she speaking to a Spook? ‘That’s not your house Elizabeth and I searched, I suppose?’

‘No, all my stuff’s gone now, without a trace. I’ll be deskbound for a while, until the heat is off.’

‘Why were you working at Montague’s?’ Her head was spinning, ‘I don’t understand what’s going on …’

She hesitated, ‘I shouldn’t tell you this – and you mustn’t repeat it to anyone at all, not even David … or Elizabeth.’

‘Scout’s honour.’

‘Ronan. I wasn’t the only one working there who was not all they seemed to be. I can’t say anymore.’

‘Ginny never liked him.’

‘Her instincts were spot on. Listen, I shouldn’t even be here and I can’t stay. But I’m going to give you two names – you should remember them, they will help you.’

‘O-K …’

‘Joanne Clack and Ben Ellison. Have you got that? You mustn’t write them down.’

‘That explains what Sally was trying to tell me; Ben-eh would be Ben Ellison.’

She smiled. ‘It’s unlikely the police will ever be allowed access to all the data they need – we have rather more clout, though through a loose-lipped contact now prematurely retired, Constable Stephens was getting impressively close under her own steam. But you didn’t get the hint from me, do you understand?’ She squeezed Callie’s hand.

‘Yes … thank you, Susan. Sorry, Amelia.’

Her eyes studied the floor. ‘Actually, I rather enjoyed my life as Susan. Goodbye now – and take care.’

‘Goodbye, Amelia Foxton.’

She turned at the door, smiled. ‘That’s not my real name either.’

And she was gone.

Chapter Forty-seven

She heard clattering trolleys being pushed along the corridor – food! Her stomach got all excited and she salivated at the thought of something (anything) to eat.

A nurse in a bright blue uniform appeared. ‘And how are we this morning?’ She shoved a thermometer in Callie’s mouth and felt her pulse.

We? ‘I feel much better, thank you. Is it breakfast time?’ At least that’s what she tried to say; it was a little difficult to form proper words with a foreign object stuck under her tongue.

Apparently, the nurse had managed to decipher ‘breakfast’. ‘Not for you, I’m afraid, Mrs Ashton – no solids for at least twenty-four hours, Doctor’s orders. I’ll feed your young man sitting in the corridor, though – he’s been there since dawn, poor lamb.’

‘David?’

The nurse didn’t answer, bustling around straightening the bedclothes. ‘I’ll bring you fresh water in a minute.’ Callie was fascinated by the cellulite on her bum, dimples clearly visible under material that strained to go round her. However, she conceded she probably didn’t look too classy either in the reveal-all hospital nightgown she’d been loaned.

The nurse left and Callie had a proper look around her room – the walls were an insipid lilac, with yellowing paintwork that had originally been white – and it was sparsely furnished. No home comforts; not even a stray
Hello!
magazine. She managed to manoeuvre the earphones hanging behind her head onto her ears; the only station she could pick up was hospital radio – not exactly Radio Four, but better than nothing. An over-enthusiastic DJ was playing patients’ requests and someone called Myrtle on Pasteur Ward had asked for anything by Frank Sinatra. Oh brother. One chorus of ‘My Way’ was enough for her to feel herself hovering on the verge of a relapse; she lay back in silence to think of England.

She must have dozed off yet again, because the sound of a scraping chair woke her. Disorientated, she opened her eyes to see Mike. ‘Hi,’ she beamed. ‘Have you been here for ages?’ She felt churlish for feeling disappointed he wasn’t David.

‘I have – my back will never be the same, trying to get comfortable on those pre-formed plastic chairs. How are you today?’

‘A lot better than yesterday, thanks, but very hungry.’

‘Nurse Ratched gave me strict instructions not to succumb to any pathetic pleadings for food.’

‘Dang! She’s no fun. She did promise me fresh water, though – mine’s a bit tepid. Would you mind taking my jug to fill it up? I think she’s forgotten about me.’

‘No problem …’ He came and stood very close. ‘But before I go …’

She saw something in his eyes she couldn’t recognise. ‘What?’

The door flew open and a different nurse backed in, bearing a new water jug. ‘There you are,’ she said, in a voice as crisp as her uniform. She exchanged jugs. ‘You have another visitor outside.’

On cue, Elizabeth entered carrying magazines and a large box of chocolates. ‘Callie! You’re looking so much healthier than when I left you last night.’

‘I feel much better, thanks. Sorry to cause such a scare.’

Mike coughed politely, ‘If you two ladies will excuse me, I have to make some phone calls; I won’t be long.’ He followed the nurse to the door.

‘Please don’t leave on my account,’ said Elizabeth.

He turned and grinned, ‘I’m not.’ To Callie, he said, ‘See you later – no chocolates.’

‘Mike …’

‘Yes?’

‘How’s your mum?’

A huge smile lit up his face. ‘She’s really good, thanks for asking.’

Elizabeth put down her bags. ‘Everyone at the office sends their love … and … well, I have two pieces of news.’ She looked uncomfortable, her lips quivered.

Callie was really worried, ‘What is it, Elizabeth?’

‘I’m afraid something rather sad has happened.’

She gripped the bedclothes, ‘What?’

‘It’s Ronan.’

A cold shiver ran through her, ‘Tell me …’

She stroked her hand, ‘The paper boy found him dead this morning, apparently from a heart attack.’ She brushed a tear from her eye. ‘I had no idea he had cardiac problems – it’s absolutely tragic, he was no age at all.’

Elizabeth, of course, had not been privy to the information from Susan/Amelia/whoever. She tried to sound convincing, ‘God, that’s awful …’ What more could she say? ‘Can you contact his mother, please; see if there is any way in which Montague’s can help … funeral arrangements, anything at all.’

She nodded, ‘Will do, I’ll get onto it as soon as I’m back in the office.’

‘What else?’ Callie asked.

‘Ah, well … in light of last evening’s developments, which we probably shouldn’t discuss?’ She shot a questioning glance, ‘Susan’s resignation is on your desk – she’s cited a family crisis as her reason for quitting and apologises profusely for leaving us in the lurch.’

‘Well, it was to be expected.’

‘Yes … but I can’t believe Ronan is dead …’

‘Don’t upset yourself, Elizabeth. We none of us know what’s around the corner. Just goes to show we must all make the most of every moment. Have a chocolate.’

She took an orange cream, Callie’s favourite – and savoured every chew, causing her to dribble.

‘Elizabeth, before Mike comes back, I have a couple more names for you to pass on to Keith, if you don’t mind.’

She looked all businesslike again. ‘Yes?’

‘Joanne Clack and Ben Ellison.’

She grabbed her bag, started looking for her notebook.

‘No, please don’t write them down – I was given them in strictest confidence. I can’t say anymore.’

She smiled knowingly and didn’t press for details, merely repeated the names a couple of times to ensure she had them correct. ‘I’ll tell him.’ Elizabeth stood, ‘Now, if you’ll forgive me, I must get back – we are a little understaffed at the moment.’

‘Of course, thank you for coming.’

She bent to kiss her cheek. ‘Goodbye, Callie, I’ll come and see you again soon. I expect some of the others will drop by later. Is there anything you need?’

‘Nothing … except I could do with a bedpan.’

Doris and May were her next visitors, post-bedpan – they brought flowers and some seedless grapes, which Doris proceeded to eat while she gossiped about Ronan and Susan, her words spoken in a low, confidential tone punctuated by much tutting, shaking of the perm and wringing of hands. It was May who noticed Callie could no longer keep her eyes from glazing over, nor her head from nodding – and suggested they leave to let the patient get some rest. They were a darling pair, but Doris’s capacity for chatter was exhausting, even when one was feeling in tip-top condition.

Sticking his large head around the door just as afternoon tea was being served to everyone else, Simon asked, ‘How are you, dear heart? I suppose someone’s already dished the scandal?’

‘Yes, they have. Come on in, as long as you aren’t going to talk my ears off about Ronan and Susan.’

Disappointment clouded his features. ‘Doris and May beat me to it?’

‘I’m afraid so. But it was actually Elizabeth who told me first.’

He handed her another box of chocolates and a copy of
The Guardian
, which, judging by its crumpled condition, he had already read from cover to cover. ‘I never liked Susan very much, to be honest.’

She smiled as he sat down. ‘That’s because she kept you in your place, didn’t take any of your nonsense. Is there any other news?’

‘Not really, the office has buzzed with nothing else. Terrible shock, old Ronan dying like that; reminded me I should go on a diet, join the gym, and try to get into better shape. Then nobody will be able to call me Bunter anymore.’ He pretended to look hurt, but overdid the sulky pout somewhat.

‘You should get yourself booked in here, they starve you.’

‘Hah! Already disposed of my appendix, dear heart – want to see my very impressive scar?’

‘Tempting though that is, no thanks.’

‘Your loss … is your doctor pleased with your progress?’

‘She seemed to be. I shouldn’t have to stay in too long, thank goodness. Hopefully I can leave before barnacles form on my bum.’

‘Well, you’re not to come back to work too soon. You’ve had a lot to deal with recently and a break will do you good. I recommend a long holiday, somewhere hot.’

‘I’ll see how it goes.’

They chatted some more, largely about the dinner he’d had the previous evening at a very exclusive club, with a client. He had a faint alcoholic whiff about him (though he may have imbibed a liquid lunch) and his blow-by-blow account of the menu made her stomach growl in protest at being completely empty. When David arrived, Simon tactfully took his leave.