‘Look, it’s not that I don’t want to stay,’ I began, trying to recapture the intimacy of the moment. But it had gone, drifted away on the ebb of the tide.
‘Don’t make it worse, Becs,’ Nick said.
I didn’t know what to do. It was the same old story and I was totally torn in two. How could I convey how much I wanted him? Surely I could stay an extra ten, fifteen minutes?
He didn’t give me a chance. ‘Come on, let’s go now,’ he said, jumping to his feet, ‘before it’s too late.’
It was already too late.
A shiny new moon was high in the sky. I was worried about losing my footing on the rough track through the reeds, but Nick led the way, using his torch every now and then to highlight a particularly narrow section of path. We had just skirted around the marina and entered the wooded copse by Rivermede creek, when Nick came to an abrupt halt, grabbing me and pulling me behind a massive knotted trunk of an oak tree.
‘Shush!’ he said, clamping his hand over my mouth.
I hadn’t heard a thing. I strained my ears, listening. When I’d first arrived at Rivermede, the nocturnal silence had alarmed me. I was used to living in the city, lulled to sleep by the murmur of traffic and late-night revellers. Kerridge had been deathly quiet. Now, I recognised familiar animal noises, a fox, a fluttering bat, a swooping owl, the distant whirr of a ship’s engine way out in the Solent, the soft swish of an oar on the water.
A two-man canoe glided along the creek towards the main body of the river. Through the darkness, I could make out the barest details of bulk and size of the rowers. We stayed completely still, Nick’s arms tightly around me. He smelt of smoke from the BBQ, of beer, of wine, warm and comforting. The urge to kiss him was unbearable, irresistible. I tried a tentative brushing of his lips and sensed a weakening, but he broke away. I’d lost him.
‘Don’t, Rebecca,’ he hissed.
The canoeists had passed. I willed him to stay close to me, wondering how I could keep his attention. ‘Was that Nev?’ I asked, as we set off once again through the trees. ‘Was he with his double? Van der Plaast has a bodyguard who looks just like him.’
‘That’s because they’re brothers,’ Nick replied, keeping his voice low. ‘Brian and Neville Muzzlewhite. Brian has worked for van der Plaast for years.’
‘The Brothers Grimm,’ I remarked.
‘They’re dangerous guys.’
‘So, is Nev working for van der Plaast, too? Is he a mole in the underground workings at Rivermede?’
‘Will you stop being so bloody facetious and just take me seriously for once?’ Nick came to a halt. ‘Max van der Plaast is not a nice man, nor are the Muzzlewhites. They’re mixed up in some highly illegal activities. I’ve tried to warn you, but no, you’re Becca-bloody-Gates and you always know best.’
‘I’m sorry,’ I said, duly chastised. Nick and I had been getting on so well and I’d gone and spoilt it again. ‘What is it? Money laundering? Drugs?’
‘All I can say is that it’s a bit more serious than a couple of marijuana plants,’ Nick replied.
‘Is JJ involved?’ I asked.
‘Yes, although I’d say he is complicit, as opposed to proactively involved. I really can’t divulge any more information, Becca. Look.’ Nick heaved a huge sigh. ‘Yes, it’s drugs, okay? And something big is about to happen. I can’t go into any details, but we’ve been monitoring this stretch of coastline for some time now. We’ve got people on the inside of this operation and we know a major shipment is on its way within the next couple of weeks. I am only a very small part of a very large international team, but worst-case scenario, there could be trouble, things could get violent. Do you get the message? The best thing you can do is to get yourself and your family away from Rivermede. At least then, I know you would all be safe.’
‘A couple of weeks’ time?’ I hesitated. ‘But Pearl and Jack are getting married in a couple of weeks’ time. We can’t leave. I know she is planning some sort of honeymoon afterwards, and I suppose I could possibly take Freddy and Ivy away somewhere at the same time, but we can’t go before then. There’s no way my mother would leave, and I couldn’t possibly ask her to postpone her wedding. She’s got half of Kerridge coming to this do, plus a flock of doves, a parliament of owls, and don’t get me started on the torchlit sailing flotilla and firework display.’
‘What?’ Nick looked genuinely horrified.
‘It’s a massive do, Nick. The whole thing is horrendous. She’s got an owl delivering the ring; there’s going to be an impromptu concert by a cappella choir; there’s a jazz band for the evening reception; and now she’s organising this sailing flotilla and firework display. There’s going to be a whole fleet of boats out on the river come nightfall. She wants to emulate the days of the old regattas.’
‘You’re joking, right?’
‘Sadly not. I’m being totally serious. She’s going for the full works.’
‘What date is the wedding?’ Nick asked.
‘Midsummer’s night, 21st June. You’re invited by the way, for the evening do. Come along any time after seven. It’s going to be one big party.’
‘Oh God, that’s brilliant,’ Nick said. ‘It’s the perfect cover. Are you serious about this sailing flotilla?’
‘Unfortunately, yes. I wish I wasn’t.’
‘It’s bloody marvellous.’ Nick looked positively animated. ‘Who came up with that plan?’
‘I’ve no idea. Nick, what do I do?’
‘Nothing.’ Nick said. He placed both hands on my arms. ‘You can’t do anything. You mustn’t do anything. It’s got to go ahead. This is it.’
‘But you’ve just said we are all in danger. Five minutes ago, you were telling me to get away from Rivermede, now you want me to stay.’
‘Rebecca, I’m sorry. I will protect you as much as I can. You know I will. I would protect you and your family with my life, if I had to. You’re just going to have to trust me on this.’
Again, that dirty word. Trust Nick.
And then, still gripping my arms, he planted a huge kiss on my lips, taking me totally by surprise. ‘I love you, Rebecca,’ he said. ‘I really, really love you. When this is all over, we’ll work something out. I promise you.’
Nick couldn’t get me back to Rivermede quickly enough. There were no further kisses, just a pledge to stay in touch, leaving me reeling in confusion. What did he mean he loved me? Did he mean he really loved me? Or did he mean he loved me because I’d given him a lead in the case he was working on? My head was swimming.
Pearl was pacing the hallway, anxiously waiting for my return. My excuse of slow service at the Jolly Jack Tar didn’t fool her one bit.
‘You smell like a bonfire,’ she remarked.
Baby Ivy wasn’t the only one who was restless. I always slept badly in the uncomfortable single bed in the tiny bedroom Pearl and I used when we were on night duty, one ear alert. I spent most of the night awake, mulling over everything Nick had said.
I couldn’t quite believe Pearl could have mixed herself up in such a mess. I’d sensed an air of menace about van der Plaast from the start. It wasn’t hard to imagine him as some sort of international criminal. His company had offices across Europe, he had numerous homes, ex-wives, and a fancy yacht. A legitimate business was the perfect cover for his illegal operations, whatever they were. I knew Nev and Heather were not all they seemed. They were all in cahoots. I’d learned from my friend Maurice that the river had always been used for smuggling, and Rivermede was ideally placed not too far from the estuary and with its own creek and private mooring at JJ’s boathouse.
Why couldn’t Nick give me more clues? ‘Something big’ he had intimated, but that could mean anything. Violence. By whom? Max? JJ? Were any other of Freddy’s marina colleagues aware of what was going on? What if Freddy was involved in some, purely innocent capacity? Of all the men Pearl could have met on her cruise, why had she fallen for Jack Robshaw? But of course, if she hadn’t, I’d never have run i
nto Nick again. He had stressed the need to do nothing, to carry on as normal. But nothing was normal at Rivermede.
Chapter Twenty-Eight
The next morning, I ascertained from Pearl that Pete from the yacht club was responsible for organising the torchlight flotilla. The local sea scouts were being roped in to help out.
‘You mean there will be children, in the dark, on the water?’
‘They’re not children, they’re teenagers – thirteen, fourteen-year-olds,’ Pearl assured me. ‘Pete’s got it all in hand. They’re all experienced sailors. It’ll be a wonderful spectacle. I can’t wait to see your Aunt Phoebe’s face.’
I wondered what Aunt Phoebe’s face would look like when she realised she was in the middle of a police raid on an international drug smuggling gang? As for Pearl, I didn’t even want to think about how she was going to react.
‘Why are you looking at me like that?’ she snapped. ‘I know you don’t approve of any of this, but you could at least pretend to be happy for me.’
‘Oh Mum,’ I gave her tight warm hug. ‘I am happy for you. I so want you to enjoy your day.’
A feat which now seemed an impossibility.
I was due to babysit Norah Morland that afternoon. In the morning, I composed a letter to the Deputy Governor of Parkhurst Prison, introducing myself and giving brief details of my book proposal. I gave him my contact details without putting any pressure on him to respond. I decided to send the letter by post, as opposed to email, hoping this would convey my respect for the delicacy of the situation and confidentiality of his position. What I didn’t have was a stamp. Neither did Pearl.
‘But you always have stamps,’ I complained.
She tapped her laptop. ‘Who uses stamps these days?’ she replied. ‘I used up my last supply on the wedding invitations. Jack might have some.’
Ivy was snoozing in her baby bouncer while Pippadee slept on Pearl’s knee. Jack, still more crotchety than usual, was doing his crossword puzzle.
‘I might have some in my desk drawer,’ he said, without looking up. ‘You’re more than welcome to have a look.’
I didn’t want to snoop, but it was obvious Jack had been sorting through his paperwork again because there were yet more piles of old files on his desk. If a copy of Gerry’s legal document had been retained anywhere at Rivermede, surely it would be amongst Mary’s personal effects, as opposed to her father’s old office papers? I wondered what had happened to Mary’s possessions when she died. Were they still in one of the upstairs bedrooms, or boxed-up in an outhouse? Or had everything been thrown away? In which case, there was no hope for Gerry.
I found some loose stamps in the drawer alongside a set of keys. Jack was an organised man. The keys were each attached to clearly-marked plastic fobs – stable block, JJ’s front door, garage, main gate, river gate, boathouse. The opportunity was too good to miss. I disengaged the key to the boathouse and slipped it into my pocket.
I wasn’t expected at Norah’s until two, so there was plenty of time to carry out a recce. After a quick sandwich, I headed straight down to the river, taking a ridiculous amount of time to continually check I wasn’t being followed. Although I knew Pearl and Jack were tucked away indoors, I’d no idea what Hev and Nev were up to, and there was always a risk Max van der Plaast could be on the prowl.
Despite skirting through the trees and tiptoeing into the clearing by the boathouse, I needn’t have worried. Rivermede’s grounds were deserted and there was no whiff of Max’s pungent cigarettes in the air. The key fitted the padlock, and I opened one side of the double doors a crack to peer inside. I wasn’t sure what I was expecting to see, but it certainly wasn’t canoes.
The boats were stacked on racks while lifejackets and oars hung from brackets on the wall. Although six canoes were an awful lot for a man who said he’d given up rowing, I had to assume JJ had lied not because he was hiding a secret stash of contraband, but simply because he was being obnoxious and didn’t want me anywhere near his property. As for Nick’s advice to stay away, he was probably just being overly cautious, and once again I found myself thrown into doubt about the validity of his warnings.
Perhaps I could take up rowing, after all, although it was far too late now to have any hope of shifting those extra few pounds before the wedding.
I posted my letter to Tristram Markham in the post-box at the top of Clay Kiln Lane. As Judy Stevenson had predicted, Norah Morland, now in her nineties, had no idea who I was but she seemed fairly pleased to see me. She was propped in an armchair in her living room, enjoying an episode of a day-time relocation show on her TV, one arm in a sling and evidence of bruising healing on her face.
I was informed by my departing Good Neighbour counterpart that I would be relieved at four-thirty by the carers, who would come in to give Mrs Morland her tea and then get her ready for bed.
As Mrs Morland was trapped in a world of her own, I decided I could be as bold and as devious as I liked.
‘Who is this, Norah?’ I asked in a loud voice, pointing to one of the many pictures of Mary Dimmock that adorned the walls. ‘She’s a pretty girl.’
Norah nodded, her attention immediately diverted from the couple scouring the Somerset countryside for their ideal retirement home. ‘That’s my Mary,’ she smiled.
‘Is she your daughter?’
‘Oh yes,’ Norah nodded. ‘That’s my Mary.’
‘She was married to Jack Robshaw, wasn’t she?’ I said. ‘Were they happy?’
Norah frowned, then with her good arm, struggled to reach for the TV remote on the side table next to her. ‘Turn that thing down,’ she ordered. ‘I can’t hear you.’
I switched the sound off completely and added sub-titles before repeating my question. ‘She was married to Jack Robshaw, wasn’t she? Were they happy?’
Norah scowled at the very mention of Jack’s name. ‘No,’ she said. ‘She shouldn’t have married him. I told her not to. I said, Mary, just because your father wants you to marry that man, you don’t have to. Jack Robshaw was a bully, just like Ray, although of course Ray was still grieving. He’d lost Kenny and he blamed himself.’
‘Oh yes, the accident in the boatyard. Dreadful. Do you have pictures of Kenny, too?’
‘Oh yes,’ Norah said. ‘He was my little boy.’ She raised her good arm again, this time pointing towards the sideboard. ‘Take a look in there. I kept all my photo albums.’
It was impossible to know where to start.
‘I don’t suppose you remember Gerald Kimble, Mrs Morland?’ I asked, lifting a stack of albums onto the floor. Norah had collected enough photographs of Kerridge to mount her own local history exhibition.
‘Oh yes, he was cheeky little boy,’ Norah said with another vague smile. ‘Could always make you laugh.’
‘He was apprenticed at Dimmocks, wasn’t he?’ I prompted. ‘Back in the day.’
Norah gestured for me to pass her one of the photo albums from the top of the pile. ‘That blue one,’ she said. ‘This is my favourite. Isn’t she a proper darling?’
The album was well-thumbed. I pulled up a chair and sat beside Norah as she studied each of the pages.
‘She’d have been about sixteen here,’ Norah said, ‘just left school and working in the offices at the yard. They didn’t need a nanny any more, but I stayed on to help around the house.’
‘What happened to Ray Dimmock’s wife?’ I asked.
‘She died of TB,’ Norah said. ‘Mary was no more than five or six and Kenny a few years older. I’d been with the family since Kenny was a baby. Here, see this one, dressed up for the yacht club summer ball, she was.’
‘She looks stunning,’ I agreed. ‘Who’s that young man with her? That’s not Kenny, is it?’ Neither did it look like Jack Robshaw.
‘That’s him,’ Norah Morland said. ‘That’s Gerald Kimble. She would have probably married him, if it hadn’t been for that accident that took Kenny. If that hadn’t happened, there’d have been no need for Jack Robsha
w to step in and make himself indispensable.’
Dear Norah. I could have hugged her. After the disappointment of the boathouse, I was so glad my instincts had been proved right. ‘So, Mary and Gerry were seeing each other, courting?’
‘Oh yes,’ Norah said, flicking through some more pages in the photo album. Her eyes had filled with tears. ‘She always loved Gerry.’
‘And is that why Mary’s father gave Gerry Kimble the rights to the mooring?’ I asked. ‘To make up for Mary marrying Jack Robshaw?’
Norah shook her head. ‘Kimbles had always kept on a boat on that mooring,’ she said. ‘But it was Mary who made it legal, so that he would always be close to his son.’
‘His son?’ I stared at her. ‘Gerry Kimble has a son?’
‘Oh yes,’ Norah said, swinging the photo album around to show me a picture of Mary Dimmock holding a bouncing baby. ‘It was Gerry Kimble’s, not Jack’s. Mary told me that long ago. Of course, I kept her secret for her. I never told anyone. Jack would have killed her if he knew; her father probably, too. What else could I do? She was my little girl.’
Jack Junior was Gerry Kimble’s son. Not only did Norah Morland have several photographs to prove it, and the resemblance between JJ to the young Gerry was unmistakeable, but she also had the deeds Mary had entrusted to her that gave Gerry rights to his mooring for life.
‘Mary told me to keep it somewhere safe,’ Norah said. ‘So, I kept it with the family bible. Nobody’s ever asked to see it before.’
I decided, in the light of her revelation, that the family bible was probably the best hiding place for the document to remain. I took a photograph on my phone.
I suspected Jack knew he was not JJ’s father, and I doubted Kimble’s threats of an exposé that afternoon in the study were his first. He had been clinging onto his mooring against a tide of opposition for some time, but he’d always have Jack over a barrel. I was convinced if Jack knew the paperwork existed, he would happily share it with JJ, although of course, without explaining the reasoning. The last thing he would want was for JJ to know the truth. But without seeing the evidence, JJ would continue to persecute Gerry.
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