At the mention of the word vasectomy, Nick let out a long drawn-out sigh. We had been spontaneous and very irresponsible.
‘I’m just going to pop to the loo,’ I said, scrambling out of bed very quickly.
When I switched on the bedside lamp, Nick groaned. ‘Do you have to do that?’ He tried to hide under the duvet. Too late. I caught sight of the tattoos he had been hoping to conceal in the darkness. A dragon covered the length and width of his back, while a pair of eagle wings stretched across his chest.
‘God, you really did get drunk, didn’t you?’ I remarked, wrapping my kimono around me.
When I returned from the bathroom, we continued to talk, keeping our voices low even though the walls of the stable block were totally soundproof.
Nick confessed it was the tattoos that had been acquired through the line of duty. ‘Sometimes you have to do these things to fit in,’ he said, while the scar on his leg was the result of a ski-ing accident.
‘When did you take up ski-ing?’ I asked. Nick and I really did have a lot of catching up to do.
‘Only a few years back,’ he replied. ‘My mother passed away and I didn’t have anything to do one Christmas, so I went to Austria. I broke my leg in three places.’
‘I’m sorry to hear about your leg, and your mother, of course,’ I said. ‘How’s Jordan?’
‘Still cracking the enigma code,’ he teased. ‘He’s fine. He works in the tech industry, as we always knew he would.’
He crept away just before first light, promising to be in touch. We made love again before he left a slower, tender, more careful exploration of each other’s bodies and inner desires. We had finally exchanged phone numbers. At least now I could call him, text him, when I needed that reassurance that I could get through the next few days. Somehow, despite the weight on my shoulders, it did feel as if the load had been considerably lightened.
Chapter Thirty-One
Operation Wedding was due to begin in earnest on Thursday. Aunt Phoebe was expected to arrive during the afternoon, along with Uncle Laurie who was travelling down from Suffolk. As principal guests, they had been given accommodation at Rivermede.
On Wednesday, I promised to take charge of Ivy for the day while Pearl over-saw a complete spring clean of the house. Additional help had been hired in the form of Judy Stevenson’s Romanian cleaner, who managed to complete tasks at twice the speed of Heather. The wedding cake had miraculously appeared – three layers: one each of sponge, chocolate, and fruit; fashionably coated with butter cream; and adorned with summer sugar flowers. It was highly unlikely Heather had had anything to do with either its baking or its construction, but neither Pearl or I made any comment in front of the housekeeper. The cake was ready, that was all that mattered.
I took Ivy for a walk in her pushchair into Kerridge, and sat on the Hard throwing breadcrumbs to the family of swans which had taken up residence outside the Jolly Jack Tar. The urge to walk along the path to see Nick was almost overwhelming, but we had promised not to see each other again until after Saturday. Nick had things to sort out, people to see, places to go.
Before he left the stable block in the early hours of Monday morning, he had repeated the promise he had made in the woods. ‘We’ll sort something out, Becs, so that we can be together.’
He owned a flat in north London. It was a heady thought that we could return there together, I could find a permanent job in a publishing house, and we could take up where we left off fifteen years ago. But what would be the aftermath of Saturday? And now there was little Ivy to think about, too. Freddy couldn’t cope with her on his own, not if he wanted to hold down a job. And as for Pearl. If anything happened to Jack…
I couldn’t think about the future. I just had to get through the weekend.
After we fed the swans, I saw Gerry Kimble shuffling about on the deck of the Regatta Queen. One of the lads from the marina was hammering some new boards onto the pontoon, as if it was finally getting the proper repair it deserved. It would appear Gerry and his secrets were safe for now.
There was no sign of Freddy, although later, as I cut back through the village and stopped to take a pause on the bench under one of the huge chestnut trees outside the church, he pulled up on his moped.
‘I didn’t see you at work,’ I remarked.
He tucked his helmet under his arm. ‘I got the afternoon off,’ he replied. ‘Are you heading back to Rivermede?’
It was on the tip of my tongue to demand to know why, if he’d had the afternoon off, he couldn’t have looked after Ivy instead of leaving her with me all day. It was pretty obvious where he’d been and who he’d been with, but I couldn’t face an argument about Kimmi, not with everything else going on. Reminding him of his parental duties was a more subtle hint, although Freddy wasn’t known for picking up on subtlety.
I offered up the pram. ‘Why don’t you take Ivy for a stroll?’ I suggested.
‘I’m not taking her down on the marina,’ he said at once.
‘We’ve already been down there,’ I told him. ‘Come on, don’t be shy, walk to towards Helme. I’ll come with you.’ The chance of a glimpse of The Solstice was compelling.
‘Okay. I s’pose I could.’
‘Yes, Freddy,’ I insisted, offering up the pram handles. ‘You can.’
It was the first time Freddy had taken control of the stroller. I could understand, although not totally sympathize with, his reluctance to be seen pushing his daughter along the waterfront. However, if he was going to make this work with Ivy, he couldn’t keep her hidden forever.
As we approached the track to Chapman’s Wharf, my pulse quickened. I spotted a familiar figure in a baseball cap, with his jacket collar turned high to hide his face, shoulders hunched, walking purposefully towards a waiting parked car. He kept his head low, deliberately avoiding eye-contact. We passed without a word, although to my surprise Freddy acknowledged Nick with a grunt of ‘hello mate’.
‘How do you know him?’ I asked as we continued onto Chapman’s Wharf.
‘Seen him around,’ Freddy replied. ‘Can we go into the workshop? There’s a few bits and bobs in there I like the look of.’
‘You’ve been here before?’ I asked
Freddy was full of surprises today. ‘Yeah, Aidan says I can help myself to anything I want.’
‘What do you want with his old junk?’ I asked.
‘I thought I might be able to make something out of it. You know, art.’
We weren’t Aidan’s only customers. Eager to sneak a look back into the lane, I left Freddy examining boxes of nautical instruments, while outside, Pete Wendle was picking through the larger bins of spare parts.
‘Oh, it’s you, Becca,’ he said with a smile. ‘All set for Saturday?’
‘Yes, thank you, Pete,’ I replied. ‘I hear you’re in charge of this flotilla thing. It will be safe, won’t it? The scouts will have lifejackets?’
Pete laughed. ‘Of course they will, dear. First rule of the water.’
By the time Pete had finished discussing the dynamics of the torchlight parade, Nick and the waiting car had long disappeared.
On our return to Rivermede, I promised to hold onto Ivy for another fifteen minutes while Freddy took a quick shower. I placed Ivy under her baby-gym and opened up my laptop. Anita, who would be staying at a hotel in Portdeane on Friday night in advance of the wedding, had suggested we meet up for a drink. I’d promised to confirm a time.
Amongst some new enquiries for my professional services, I noticed an email in my inbox from somebody called Tilly Markham.
Dear Rebecca, I am replying on behalf of my husband, Tristram, in response to your recent letter. I have been unable to persuade him to contact you, but I feel we cannot let this opportunity slip. Since the birth of our first child, Ella, six months ago, I know Tris has agonised about the rift between him and his own mother. When you have a child, your perceptions change and you begin to see things differently. When I first met Tris ten years ago,
Stella’s name was not mentioned in the family. It was as if she was dead. Over time I’ve learned more about her, and, knowing Owen as I do, I share your opinion that maybe it is time for us to heal that rift. I believe our daughter has a right to know her grandmother, and Tris, too, needs to make amends. I don’t think Tris would agree to a meeting, at least not yet, but I will be coming over to the mainland next week to catch up with a couple of girlfriends. I was just wondering if there was any chance we could meet up to discuss how to move things forward? He does not know I have written to you, but you can reply to this email in confidence. I look forward to hearing from you, Tilly.
With everything else that had happened over the last week or so, work on Stella’s book had taken a distinct backseat. I hastily replied to Tilly that I would love to meet her next week, she just had to name a time and place. It was something positive to cling onto.
Just as I was about to set off to pick up Uncle Laurie from Southampton central station on Thursday afternoon, I received a text from Freddy.
‘Going out on Max’s boat straight after work. Can you hold onto Ivy a bit longer?’
I furiously typed back that no I could not, and nor could he go out on Max’s boat.
‘Only going for a couple of hours,’ he replied. ‘Already at the estuary, can’t turn back now.’
The drugs run, if that’s what this was all about, was not supposed to happen until Saturday, when the river was full of sea scouts in their dinghies. That’s what Nick had said. What if van der Plaast was pre-empting the situation? What if this was it? What if Max was already on his drug run and Freddy was crewing for him? The consequences were too horrendous to contemplate.
I sent Nick a message. ‘Van der Plaast is out on his boat with Freddy.’
‘Yes, I know,’ Nick text back. ‘Situation under control.’
That was no help to me and hardly reassuring. Without Nick to hold my hand, calm, sensible Uncle Laurie was the next best thing. Walking with a stick now, he ambled towards me out of the station building and I flew into his arms.
‘My dear girl,’ he laughed, ‘you nearly knocked me flying! Stand back, let me look at you.’
I stood back. He wore a pale linen suit and a Panama hat, and carried the smallest of suitcases. A familiar, trusted figure who represented the security of my childhood. I was so pleased to see him I almost burst into tears on the spot.
‘What’s this chap like then, this Jack Robshaw?’ he asked as he settled into the car. ‘Is he a good thing for our Pearl?’
What could I say? ‘They seem very happy together,’ I confessed. ‘But she has given up her career. I never imagined Pearl not wanting to write.’
‘She wrote because she had to, because she had to support you and young Fred,’ Laurie replied. ‘I don’t think it brought her that much pleasure in the end. She saw it as a necessity. She’s probably ready to retire.’
I’d never thought of it like that. As I drove, I told him about Rivermede, describing the house and the village and how well Pearl had settled in.
‘What about you?’ he asked. ‘Are you happy there?’
‘I’m not sure it’s where I really want to be,’ I admitted. ‘But I’ve got a couple of projects I’m working on right now and I can do it here as well as anywhere.’
‘You’re writing, too? That’s good news.’
Uncle Laurie was pleased to hear Freddy had a proper job, but I realised as I talked that news of Ruby and baby Ivy came as a total shock. Nobody had thought to tell Laurie that Freddy was a father and no longer pursuing a career in art.
‘You’ve all moved on,’ he remarked a little sadly. ‘Why should you always keep me in the loop? It sounds as if Pearl is finally settled.’
I didn’t want to tell him it could all be about to change.
Chapter Thirty-Two
Although Uncle Laurie gave Ivy his nod of approval, Aunt Phoebe was far less complimentary. Over dinner, another aromatic roast chicken, she criticised Pearl for not only allowing such a thing to happen – as if Pearl had any control over Freddy’s sexual activities – but then suggested she was aiding and abetting his irresponsibility by allowing Ivy to remain with him at Rivermede.
‘What would you have me do?’ Pearl asked. ‘Give the baby up to the workhouse?’
‘You’ve made it too easy for him,’ Phoebe said, ‘you both have. Before you know it, he’ll be bringing home another one for you to adopt.’
It didn’t help that by ten o’clock there was still no sign of Freddy. Phoebe looked smug while I was almost sick with anxiety. I made my excuses and headed out to the stable block. Nick didn’t answer my text.
I was on night duty and hardly slept a wink, listening out for Ivy with one ear and Freddy with the other. He rolled in just after midnight.
‘Where the hell have you been?’ I demanded, bursting into his bedroom the minute I heard his door close.
‘Jesus! Don’t creep up on me like that,’ he replied. ‘We went out to sea somewhere, and when we got back to shore Max wanted to hook up with a mate, so we all went down to Helme for a drink.’
‘You’ve been down at Helme drinking? It’s midnight, for Christ’s sake.’
‘It was just a few drinks on this guy’s boat. He’s one of Max’s mates.’
‘I don’t want you mixing with any of Max van der Plaast’s old cronies.’
‘God, what is up with you?’ Freddy exclaimed. ‘Max doesn’t have old cronies. We just had a few drinks, that’s all. Max’s mate is cool. He has a boat on the marsh.’
I stared at Freddy. ‘Max has a mate with a boat moored on Helme marsh? What’s his name?’
‘I don’t know his real name,’ Freddy said with a shrug, peeling off his trainers. ‘I’ve only been on his boat a couple of times. Max calls him the Tsar, but presumably that’s just a nickname.’
‘The Tsar? Is he Russian?’
‘No, he’s British. Or if he is Russian, he’s a got a bloody good English accent. Manchester, I’d say.’
‘Manchester? And he has a boat, on the marsh?’
‘You’re starting to sound like a parrot. Yes. Why are you looking at me like that?’
I refused to think about the implications. Facts first, supposition later. It could be anybody. There was more than one boat moored on the marsh. The estuary was a myriad of creeks and secret hiding places.
‘What did he look like?’ I demanded.
‘God, Becs, what is this? The bloody Spanish Inquisition? I dunno, forty, fiftyish maybe, beard.’
A man with a beard. Fifty? Freddy had never been very good at judging people’s ages. Anyone over the age of twenty-five was positively ancient.
‘We saw him the other day at Aidan’s,’ Freddy continued. ‘You were with me.’
We’d seen Nick. We’d nearly walked into him and Freddy had said ‘hello, mate’. He’d said he’d seen him around. He’d seen him around because Nick was bloody van der Plaast’s ‘old mate’.
How could I have got this so wrong? Nick wasn’t on the side of the law at all. No wonder he acted so out of character. Wasn’t The Tsar common terminology for police chiefs responsible for special measures? The perfect nickname! I felt physically sick. No wonder Nick had been so reluctant to talk about what he was really up to in Kerridge. He was a fully-fledged, paid-up member of van der Plaast’s gang, complete with the tattoos to prove it.
‘Hey, are you okay, Becs? You’ve gone a funny colour.’
I’d been so stupid. I’d allowed him to crawl back into my life. No wonder he’d tried to warn me away from Rivermede when we first met, and then when I’d refused to go, he’d used his charm to seduce me so I’d keep quiet. When I’d spilled the beans about the sailing flotilla, he’d spun me along, feigning surprise. He’d deliberately played with my emotions. Those lies he’d spun about not wanting to take on the responsibility for Freddy, trying to win me over, keep me on his side. I’d always known he’d slept with Saskia. My first instincts had been correct. Why had
I ever thought I could trust Nick again when he had already proved himself to be the most untrustworthy, most deceitful person I knew?
I had to pull myself together. ‘I’m fine thank you, Freddy,’ I said, standing up straight. I was not my mother’s daughter for nothing. We’d survived worse.
In the next room, Ivy began her hungry midnight grizzle.
‘Look, if you’re not well and you want me to do tonight’s feed, I can you know,’ Fred said.
‘Thanks, Fred. You have work tomorrow. I’ll be fine.’
A cuddle with innocent and unblemished Ivy was the only shining light on a very dark horizon.
On Friday, the house was a flurry of activity. There was too much going on to stop and think, to dwell, to think of Nick and all the things I wanted do to him next time I saw him. Things which now involved inflicting injury, great pain, and bordered on grievous bodily harm, as opposed to the more pleasant physical activities I had previously envisaged. Of course, it was now highly unlikely I would see Nick again. He would be gone as soon as the weekend was over, off without a goodbye, crawling back under his stone.
Why hadn’t I twigged it before? I knew from his brother’s Twitter account that Nick had spent a large part of the previous year abroad. The south of France, the Netherlands, Sweden, all those places van der Plaast had his business interests. Nick hadn’t been on surveillance, he was van der Plaast’s accomplice. No wonder he had uncovered Tristram Markham so quickly – he probably had friends already incarcerated in Parkhurst Prison.
It crossed my mind that I should perhaps now go to the police, but what would I tell them? I had no evidence to back up my theory. I could perhaps shop JJ or Neville for cultivating a handful of cannabis plants, but if the pot plants were linked to the bigger picture, I would be putting us all in danger. More danger.
I had visions of witness protection programmes, of years of hiding, of constantly running and looking over my shoulder. Men like Max van der Plaast would always seek their revenge. No wonder JJ was prepared to take his money to look the other way while van der Plaast’s gang used Rivermede creek to transport his illegal cargo. We were all complicit. That’s how these people worked.
Your Secret's Safe With Me Page 23
