The Corrigan legacy (17 page)

He stood there on the path, breathing heavily, wanting to smash his way in again and stop them hurting his daughter. Then common sense took over and he made himself stand still. It'd do his case no good to cause trouble. He yelled, 'I'll be back, Lily' several times, as loudly as he could, then turned and strode back to his car. It would be better to see his lawyer and get that court order granting him access. Being reasonable had got him nowhere.

It hurt him to remember Kerry handling Lily so roughly, to hear his daughter calling for him, to be so utterly helpless.

In the garden next door Mrs Baxter shook her head, upset by the screaming and shouting. And when the sound of sobbing drifted out of the sunroom a short time later, she felt tears rise in her own eyes. She never could bear to see children upset - or beaten - and Lily was such a nice child. What was going on?

Inside the house Lily was sobbing, curled up in a ball on the old couch. 'You could have let me speak to him, at least!' she threw at her mother. 'How mean can you get?'

'Darling, it's best to cut the tie. He's not your father and you'll not be seeing him again after this week. Why prolong the agony?' Kerry sat on the other end of the couch and tried once again to put her arm round her daughter.

Lily threw her off and looked at her with loathing. 'I don't know you any more. I don't want to know someone who's so unkind.'

Wayne came into the room. 'I've told you before, young lady. Mind how you speak to your mama.'

'Or what? You'll hit me again.' She jutted her chin out at him. 'Go ahead. What does it matter?'

He took a hasty step forward. Kerry jumped between them. 'No, Wayne!'

'You let her run rings round you, honey. And I can't bear to see you so upset.'

'I wonder why no one cares whether I'm upset?' Lily asked the air above her head.

'Give her a few minutes to recover,' Kerry said and threaded her arm in his, pulling him out of the room.

The minute they were outside, Lily tried to control her sobbing to listen where they went. Into the kitchen. Seizing the opportunity, she tiptoed out to the hall and opened the front door as quietly as she could. As she was stepping through it, Wayne grabbed her from behind. She wriggled out of his grasp and began to run down the path, screaming at the top of her voice, but he lunged for her and began to drag her back into the house.

She kicked and screamed all the way and had the satisfaction of seeing Mrs Baxter next door standing by the fence watching them, her mouth open in shock. 

He shoved Lily along the hall towards the kitchen. 'Don't try that again, young lady!' 

She said nothing, but vowed she would try to escape every single time she saw an opportunity. Surely she'd manage it? Surely they wouldn't succeed in taking her out of the country? She began sobbing again, not because of the thump he'd given her but because she kept remembering her father shouting that he'd be back. He didn't know they were leaving and she had no way of telling him.

She didn't go down for the evening meal and when her mother came up and tried to persuade her, she shouted, 'Why don't you drag me downstairs by my hair since you seem to enjoy hurting me.'

'Of course I don't.'

'Then you'd better send Wayne up to do it for you. Is that what he's going to do in America? Beat me into submission?'

She had the satisfaction of seeing her mother wince.

'You can't win, Lily. I don't know why you won't admit that and make the best of things.'

'It's you who can't win, Mother. If you want me to hate you, you're going exactly the right way about it.'

'Don't be stupid! You'll forget all about this once you're settled in your new school?'

'Did he tell you that? Ha! You ought to know me better.'

Her mother spread out her hands in a helpless gesture and left the room. No one came up to see Lily.

She was very hungry, but she wasn't going down willingly, not now and not in the morning either.

What she was going to do was make a plan.

She went to open her bedroom window and looked down, trying to work out how long a rope she'd need to make.

Someone had nailed the window shut.

She lay down again, her stomach growling with hunger, despair filling her. Wayne seemed to think of everything.

When she went to use the bathroom, she checked the window there and to her surprise, found it still opened. It wasn't very big, but she was sure she could get through it. It'd be dangerous. She might fall. But this could be her only chance of escape.

Birdsong ebbs and flows around the house, while a bright summer dawn gilds the edges of the hilltops. It is the very best of mornings.

Judith woke early, went to stand by the window on her way back from the bathroom and enjoy the day's promise. She stretched, feeling lazy and happy, then decided tojhave the luxury of another few minutes in bed.

She awoke two hours later to another sort of nojse, one she couldn't quite place though surely there were men's voices somewhere close to the house? She went to look out of the landing window at the front of the house and discovered a van and trailer parked on the road outside while two men were hard at work, digging up her drive. She gaped at the scene for a moment, unable to believe it was real, then slung on her dressing gown and marched outside.

'What the hell is going on here?'

'You reported a blocked water main. Just investigating. We tried to contact you yesterday, but no one answered the phone, so we shoved a card under the door to say the water would be switched off. Didn't you find it?'

'No.' She'd been enjoying her painting so much she hadn't even looked at yesterday's post, let alone opened or read anything. 'But I didn't report anything.'

'Someone must have. They don't send us out for nothing.'

And then she realized. 'It's my ex. He's played a few nasty tricks like that on me since we split up.' She looked across the road. Sure enough, the car was there. She pointed. 'That's one of his employees, who comes to take photos of me every time a trick is played so that my ex can enjoy the sight of me getting upset.'

Even as they watched the man waved a mocking hand at her and raised his camera to take another shot.

The men looked at one another. 'So you're not having any problems with water?'  the one who seemed to be in charge said.

'I wasn't till you switched it off.'

'I'd better ring my foreman.'

There followed at least ten minutes of waiting while the man listened and pressed numbers on his phone. She watched him impatiently. These automated systems were inefficient and like everyone else, she hated being kept waiting.

He gave her an apologetic look. 'The receptionist says the foreman's dealing with someone else then he has another call to answer. It'll be my turn after that.'

While he was waiting, she went inside and flung on some clothes then picked up her camera and marched down the drive, holding it out of sight behind her. She pulled the camera out and took a quick photo of the man sitting in the car, catching him before he could wind up his window. Then she took a photo of his number plate.

'Evidence for my lawyer!' she called cheerfully as she walked back up her drive.

'I'm here on general surveillance, that's all,' he called back.

'Tell that to the judge.'

Once she'd put the camera away she decided to use the age-old method of getting the two workmen on side. 'I think I've enough water left in the kettle for three cups of tea. Would you like some?'

They both brightened up and nodded. 'Very grateful,' one said.

'How do you take it?'

Two hours later the hole had been filled in and Judith watched them leave. Her drive now looked a mess, the pattern of the trench they'd dug showing clearly. She was furious with Des.

When was he going to stop doing these childish things?

Switching on her new computer, she sent him an email warning that if he played any more nasty tricks on her, she'd take out an injunction against him, then she printed it out for evidence. She should probably have taken legal action when he first started messing her around, but she hadn't because of Mitch.

At the thought of her son, she smiled involuntarily. He was coming up to see her at the weekend and she couldn't wait! She'd made all sorts of plans for showing him round the places she used to live as a child, which included taking him into what she called the 'border country', meaning the Pennines between Lancashire and Yorkshire.

Des looked at the report and photos that had been emailed to him that afternoon by the man on surveillance. He'd forgotten that he'd arranged this. For a moment he took pleasure in seeing how angry he'd made Judith. Serve her right! Then the pleasure faded to be replaced by an image of Tiff, looking soft and beautiful. He'd expected her to jump at his proposal of marriage. Was it because he was having difficulty making love to her that she'd not accepted him? . 

Shame flooded through him at that thought. He couldn't imagine what had gone wrong with his body. He'd always been able to 'show an interest' as he called it to himself, given even a small encouragement. Until this past year.

He swivelled his chair round to stare at the magnificent view of the Thames beyond his office window. Usually that gave him pleasure too. But today he couldn't summon up more than a mild interest in it.

When he turned back to his computer he noticed an email from Judith. He read it and realized suddenly that he didn't want to play any more tricks on her. Didn't want her back, either. What he did want was the sheer comfort of Tiff, who was the most restful and undemanding person he'd ever known - and who was carrying his child.

He was too old to raise another child, really, but if Tiff was set on having one, he could always arrange for a nanny. Should he move Tiff into his present house or buy somewhere else for them to live? He'd make a more romantic proposal this time and—

The phone rang. He shook himself out of his daydreams and picked it up to hear Raymond Tate's voice.

'Reporting in from Cheshire, Des, but you're not going to like it.'

'What do you mean? What's gone wrong with the takeover?'

'Nothing. It's going very smoothly, but we've now found out that several key operatives had taken early retirement and there are serious gaps in the skills portfolio.'

'Find someone who can do those jobs and hire them. You shouldn't need me to tell you that.'

'That's just it. It's a dying set of skills and they're not easy to find. People have been replaced by automated systems, only this factory isn't tooled up for computer controlled production.'

'Then tool it up.'

'It'd cost more than it's worth.'

He could hear that there was something else Tate wasn't saying. 'And?' he prompted.

'I'm not sure the orders would justify it.'

'We checked the order books. They were full.'

'That was last year when we were starting our buyout operation. This year - well, the order books aren't full any more. And . . .'He paused again.

'Stop hedging about. I pay you to tell me how it is.'

'I think we've been sold a pup, Des.'

Suddenly he knew Tate was right, knew it instinctively, in a way that had guided him to riches and success. But he hadn't listened to that inner voice when he was trying to take over the family firm, only to the sweet siren song of vengeance. 'Don't do anything yet. I'll have a think about it.'

He put the phone down with great care then slumped back in his chair, eyes closed. If what Tate was saying was correct, Maeve had won again. And Tate was a shrewd analyst. He cursed long and fluently under his breath. She always won, that bitch did!

Mentally, he began calculating and knew he'd knocked a big fat hole in his finances to buy back the family firm. He'd have to retrench, be careful about his spending - and try to do it in a way that wouldn't betray the fact that he'd be scrabbling for money for some time to come.

If he had Maeve here, he'd strangle her. Only he didn't have her. And if what they told him was right, Maeve was seriously ill. Maybe this was her swan song?

He picked up the phone and contacted the fellow who was watching Judith. 'Stop working on that job. This is what I want you to find out . . .'

Then he rang Tiff. 'Something urgent's cropped up and I'll be busy. Probably won't be round for a day or two. Are you going to be all right?'

'Yes, of course. What's wrong, Des? You sound stressed.'

 'Got a few business problems. I'll tell you about it next time I see you. Got to go.'

Tiffany put down the phone, wondering if this was the beginning of the end. Had she mortally offended Des by not accepting his proposal of marriage? She put her chin up defiantly at the mere thought. She'd like nothing better than to marry him - but not when the offer was tossed at her as an afterthought. And anyway, he hadn't started divorce proceedings against Judith yet, so talk of marriage was premature.

She picked up the publishing contract she'd just received through the post and forgot about Des. The contract was eighteen pages long and complicated. She wasn't stupid, but she simply didn't understand the legal jargon. For all she knew, the publisher could be taking advantage of her ignorance. Perhaps there were clauses that could be improved, should be improved. How could she know? 

She went to get the book she'd been studying carefully then opened her email program to send a message to her favourite writers' list. She'd belonged to the Romantic Novelists' Association for years and had learned so much from the published authors on the email list, and from submitting her early efforts to their New Writers' Scheme.

Her message read: 'Just received my first contract and am wondering about getting an agent to translate it for me. Does anyone have any information about the following literary agents: Jane Ferringer Associates, Peter Castorill or Felix Nemerson?' It felt wonderful to be able to talk about publishing contracts. She was still mentally dancing on the ceiling every time she thought about her book being published.

She had her first reply within minutes. 'Felix is my agent. He's a sweetie. Shall I introduce you?'

Within half an hour she had an appointment to see him.

Someone posted a warning about one of the other agents and sharp practices, so she crossed that one off her list.

Not bad for a day's work, she thought, and opened the file containing her new story. She was dying to get an uninterrupted run at it.

It wasn't until evening, as she was sitting alone in front of her television, that she wished Des were there. She ought to be used to being alone by now, but ever since becoming pregnant she seemed to need company, particularly his. Did he really want to marry her or was it just for the sake of the baby? Perhaps he'd changed his mind about it by now. Business problems didn't usually take up the evenings as well as the days. Did they?

She shook her head. How could you ever tell for certain what people were thinking? Des had had two marriages break up so he had to be a bad risk. She smiled. She knew all that, but when did reason ever stop you loving someone? He was fun, cared for her in his own way - to her he was just Des, the man she loved.

She'd miss him dreadfully if he didn't stay with her, but she wasn't going to marry him unless she was convinced it was what he really wanted and that he'd give it his best effort this time. She knew she was easy-going to a fault, but she had her sticking points, as he'd found out once or twice in their five years together.

Maeve spent three days in bed, reading, relaxing as she hadn't done in years, but most of all sleeping.

On the fourth day she got up, surprising Lena in the kitchen.

'I thought you were staying in bed.'

'I feel a bit better today, so I thought I'd have breakfast in the garden room. Has Andy eaten yet?'

'No, but I heard him stirring a few minutes ago.'

'Ask him to join me when he comes down, would you?'

When Andy came in, she smiled to see how anxiously he looked at her.

'Should you be up, Maeve?'

'Yes. Eat your breakfast then we'll talk.' Until he'd finished his meal she kept the conversation light, chatting about how much good it had done her to rest, and how much she'd enjoyed reading Lena's books.

She watched him clear his plate and pour a second cup of coffee then said quietly, 'Let's go and sit in the conservatory.'

He followed her out and fussed about whether she was comfortable. She patted the seat next to her. 'Stop fussing and sit down.' She hesitated then allowed herself to take his hand.

She seemed to need a human touch lately, need it so badly. 'The other day I got to thinking what if I never got up out of that bed again? So I made a few plans.'

He nodded and clasped her hand in both his, waiting for her to go on.

'We've already agreed that Kate and Mitch are the two most promising from the next generation of Corrigans, and I'll soon be able to meet them. But there's one that I know hardly anything about - Des's illegitimate daughter. I want a report on her, and as quickly as possible. Can you get things moving?'

'Yes, of course.'

'And arrange for me to meet Mitch?'

Another nod. 'What about Kate? She sounds to be in a bad way, Maeve.'

'We've got her the best available help. She's ypung, has only had ME for a few months, so we have to hope she can be cured. And even in her weakened state, she defied her father to come here, while that brother of hers rejected even the idea of meeting me - and not politely, either. From the reports, he sounds to be very like Leo.' She pulled a face. 'Too much of a plodder for my purpose, and he's a bit old to allow his father to make his decisions for him.'

He looked down at the hand he was still holding and surprised her by raising it to his lips. 'If I do all this, Maeve, will you continue to take it easy?'

'Yes. Resting has done me a lot of good. Oh, Andy, I'm not stupid.' She sighed and for once let down her guard. 'I want to live as long as I can. I'm too young in the head to die without kicking and fighting all the way.' She tried to laugh, but it was unconvincing and her voice broke on the final word.

He pulled her into his arms and gave her a hug. 'I'll fight and kick alongside you every last inch of the way.'

That brought tears to her eyes. She didn't push him away, but laid her head on his shoulder and they just sat there for a while until the distant tinkle of a phone made her raise her head and say gently, 'Go and find out about Lily for me now. And Andy . . .'

He turned to look at her.

'Thank you.'

Cal rang his lawyer. 'I need to get a court order to allow me to see my daughter. I called at the house today and they wouldn't even let me speak to her.'