I didn’t want to think about it.
*
Steve called me that night, quite late.
‘Where’ve you been?’ he asked. ‘I’ve been trying to get you all evening.’
‘Steve, I’ve got so much news I don’t know where to start,’ I said. ‘You’re not going to believe it!’
‘Try me!’
‘Well - ’ I took a breath, daunted by all I had to tell him. ‘I discovered today that Tim Crofthouse is my father! Yes, honestly — I know, it’s fantastic, I had no idea, but he and my mother had an affaire. They were going to get married but she chickened out.’
I gave him a brief run-down of events and moved swiftly on to my recognition of Rose Quigley and Tim’s determination to secure the Zoffany for himself so that it could be tested under laboratory conditions.
‘Well, I suppose that’s good news,’ he said, ‘but I wish you hadn’t gone to the viewing. These people are dangerous, we know that, and if they get the idea that you’re involved, anything could happen.’
‘Aunt Caroline said much the same, but I’m sure there’s no need to worry. I didn’t see a soul I recognised.’
‘Well, keep away from the sale itself, Holly. Promise me? There’s absolutely no point in running risks, and from what you say, Sir Timothy has it all in hand.’
‘Don’t worry! My part in the whole thing has finished now. I just hope I’m right and this really is a picture of Rose.’
‘I’ve heard of it happening.’
‘Steve — enough of that! What’s your news? You sound remarkably cheerful.’
‘I am! Cautiously cheerful, anyway, thanks to a fellow countryman of yours.’
‘Who’s that?’
‘One Adam Voss. Heard of him?’
‘I don’t think so.’
‘Well, he’s not of your world. He’s an oilman. A very well-heeled oilman who can afford to indulge his fantasies — his latest, apparently, being to buy a castle in Scotland, complete with battlements and moat. Andy’s met him in the way of business and took me along to see him this morning, because — guess what? — he wants to furnish the place with real, genu-wine antiques.’
‘Which is where you come in.’
‘You bet your sweet life I do! I visited the castle with him today and made suggestions about what he should buy to go where. He was employing an interior decorator, but sacked the guy because he found he was taking too many kickbacks from various dealers. Rich Voss may be, but he’s careful, too. His girlfriend can do all the designer decorating stuff, he says. What he needs is someone to steer him round antiques.’
‘Sounds as if it could be tricky.’
‘Actually we hit it off quite well. One or two of the major items I can supply; they’re already in the warehouse. The rest I shall have to scout around for. Fortunately he knows and trusts good old Andy, and therefore he trusts me by association. And to think I only came up here to ask Andy where he thought I could raise a loan! As it is, I think Mr Voss might well have saved my bacon.’
‘Oh, Steve, I’m so glad,’ I said. ‘So very, very glad! And I love Mr Adam Voss.’
I heard Steve give a kind of grunt.
‘Never mind him,’ Steve said. ‘What about me?’
‘That depends,’ I said, greatly daring. ‘What about the partnership?’
‘I’ve been thinking about that.’
‘And — ?’
‘We’ll talk about it.’
‘Come back soon,’ I said softly. ‘I’ll be waiting.’
He’d be back Friday afternoon, he said, and we arranged that I should go to his flat about five. I couldn’t sleep for thinking about him and about my new family and the future and the marvellous fact that Caroline and Jamie were still alive. Life suddenly seemed painted in brighter colours than I had known it for ages, full of promise. If a chorus of angels had suddenly broken into a spirited rendition of ‘Happy Days Are Here Again’ it wouldn’t have surprised me in the least. I was even too happy to stay angry for long with Frank and Lilian Wheeler, who had known that I had a father in England but who had chosen to keep me in the dark. They’d done it, of course, to keep faith with my mother, who had wanted it that way. Even so, you’d think that with her gone, they’d maybe have second thoughts —
But then again, I thought, struggling for understanding, she was a strong woman who dominated them in life. Was it so strange that she had the same ability, even after she had gone? And then I took to wondering what she would have been like if she’d married Tim after all. Would it have lasted? Maybe not. On the other hand, it was possible that if she’d put her mind to it she could have got the better of his disapproving parents in no time flat. And it was on the wings of a fantasy concerning growing up at Fincote that I finally drifted off to sleep, full of eagerness to see what the following day would bring.
Thirteen
Next morning it took very little time for my euphoric glow to be replaced by a feeling of nervousness and foreboding. This was such an important day; the day of the sale, the day when events would unfold at my instigation, events that were supposed to prove the guilt of Higginson and his gang. I felt an enormous responsibility for the outcome. Suppose I was wrong and the likeness to Rose was no more than a coincidence, or no more than a result of my overheated imagination? And suppose that Higginson and his cronies had already decided I was a danger to them? I couldn’t imagine now why I had so casually dismissed Aunt Caroline’s warning and Steve’s fears for me, for today I didn’t feel at all brave and confident. These were ruthless men, already guilty of murder. How could I have been so arrogant as to think I was any kind of a match for them, even with powerful friends?
The stakes in this game were considerable, and after all, what hard evidence did we have? Even if I were proved right about the picture, even if we went on to prove that there was a conspiracy to defraud the public not only with this particular painting but with many others, how could we possibly prove that Piers Craven had admitted to Jim’s murder and threatened Caroline’s baby? Even if Caroline could be persuaded to testify, there were no other witnesses, not one thing that would stand up in court. Her word against his. Nothing more. All the happiness of the previous day seemed a distant memory as I faced the fact that after all my promises not to put Caroline and Jamie in danger, this was precisely what I might have done, putting myself in danger at the same time. And for what? Merely to prove that not all paintings sold by Lovells were what they were claimed to be.
Well, Serena and Tim were fully in the picture, I reminded myself. I simply had to trust them to do what was best. After all, Serena had the power of the Sunday Chronicle behind her, and journalists and reporters knew how to dig for facts where others did not. All we could do now was go ahead with the plan as it stood. Tim would buy the picture and we’d take it from there.
Keep away from the sale room, Steve had told me; so while I was agog to know what was going on there, I looked around for some other activity that would occupy my attention.
And that was easier said than done, for really I could think of nothing else. A woman I had spoken to on the river trip the previous day asked me to join her on another excursion to the Tower of London, but though I thanked her for the offer I told her I’d been there and didn’t really want to go again. But when I saw her taxi leaving the hotel I regretted the decision. I should have gone, I thought. It would at least have occupied the time. Now I had several hours to kill on my own. It occurred to me to phone Davina to see if we could spend some time together, but then I remembered the poor girl’s exhaustion of the night before. It was my guess she would still be sleeping.
Where could I go? Well, why not an art gallery? It somehow seemed the logical thing to do, and if I failed to give Turner the attention he deserved, I saw enough at the Tate that morning to be dazzled by his brilliance. I would go back there, I decided, when I was in a calmer, more receptive mood.
I was back in the hotel by midday, but it was well after one o’clock
before Tim’s phone call came to put me out of my misery. All was well, he reported. Bidding had stopped short of a million and a quarter and the picture was his.
‘I’m taking it down to Fincote with me tonight for safe keeping,’ he said. ‘Then first thing on Monday I’ll go and deliver it myself to the Institute in Cambridge — I’ve already made arrangements. Then there’s nothing we can do but wait for the verdict. Once we know for sure that it’s a fake, then we can swing into action. Serena has it all in hand — she’s well in with the Fine Arts lot at Scotland Yard. Now Davina and I are hightailing it for Fincote and Marian’s birthday party. Davina, by the way, is absolutely delighted with her new sister! I’d have asked you to come too, but I suspect you want to stay in London to welcome your Steve home.’
‘You guessed right,’ I told him. ‘And maybe your wife wouldn’t welcome the shock of my appearance. Not on her birthday.’
‘I shall tell her, though. So maybe next weekend — ?’
Next weekend! I felt I had lived several lifetimes since last weekend and couldn’t begin to contemplate what yet another week would bring.
‘See how she feels,’ I said cautiously. ‘You know I’d love to come.’
‘Well, I’ll be in touch when I get back from Cambridge on Monday. I hope you and Steve have a great time.’
Not long now, I thought, looking at my watch. Maybe even as I sat there in my room, he was on his way to the airport to catch the plane to London. I leaned back and closed my eyes, picturing him, imagining being in his arms again, recapturing the feel and the thrill of it, astonished all over again that here, when I least expected it, I should have met someone like Steve. I knew exactly what others would think; that I hadn’t known him nearly long enough to feel this way about him. Well, phooey to them! I knew how I felt — how I had felt from the moment I saw him, though I still found the overwhelming attraction hard to define or explain. Maybe it never could be. Maybe it was enough to put it down to chemistry, though I felt sure that this was only part of the story.
It is said that girls tend to fall in love with men who resemble their fathers. Well, the opposite was true in my case. My father — my alleged father, I remembered, with some satisfaction — had been selfish, brutal, untrustworthy and unreliable. Steve was the direct opposite of all these things.
Was I searching for some kind of security, then? Could be, I acknowledged. But if that were all, wouldn’t I have looked around for someone with a little more cash at his disposal? Some friendly neighbourhood millionaire to take me under his wing?
I didn’t want a millionaire. I wanted sweet, sexy, penniless Steve. Maybe love at first sight sounds not only unlikely but positively corny, Hollywood at its worst, but take it from me, it exists all right.
The shrill bleep of the telephone interrupted my reveries and I snatched at it, sure it would be Steve, hoping that he would be telling me he was about to leave Scotland. The alternative — that his departure had been delayed — was not to be contemplated!
But it wasn’t Steve.
‘Holly Crozier? Is that Holly?’ The voice was tremulous and hurried, hardly more than a whisper, the words tripping over each other. ‘Holly, this is Rose. You’ve got to help me. Please, please will you help me? There’s no one else I can turn to.’
‘Rose! What’s happened? You sound terrible.’
‘I’m desperate, Holly. Desperate! You must help me.’
‘What’s wrong? What can I do?’
‘Listen’ Rose lowered her voice a little. ‘I haven’t got long. I was so sorry yesterday not to talk. I wasn’t myself. They give me things, you see. Medication, injections oh, I need help, I know that, but all they do is stuff me full of tranquillisers so that I don’t know what I’m doing or saying. I’m not as bad as that, honestly! Some days I feel almost normal. I’m normal now. I may not sound it, but truly I am.’
‘But why - ’
‘Because I know too much.’ She gave a laugh that ended on a sob. ‘I know how your brother died, how that young man in Wales died. I have to talk to someone! Please come and take me away.’
‘Yes — yes, of course I’ll come. Tell me where to meet you.’
‘There’s no one else but you, no one I can turn to. No friends any more. And I’m so afraid! I think Piers killed Caroline. Piers or one of the others. Maybe it was George, and one day he’ll kill me, too. You must come.’
‘Rose,’ I said, trying to put more authority in my voice in order to stem this tide. ‘I’ll come. Tell me when and where.’
‘I don’t know - ’ She broke off suddenly and was silent a moment.
‘Rose?’
‘Dora’s coming,’ she whispered, even more urgently. ‘I’ll be in the garden - ’
And that was it. The phone went dead and I was left holding my end of it, anxious but impotent, full of questions that could not now be answered. Questions such as when would she be in the garden? And if she were in the garden, where would Dora be? Still more important, where would George be? I felt distinctly unenthusiastic about the whole enterprise.
But no one, hearing Rose’s voice, could fail to be moved by her desperation. I couldn’t see how I could possibly ignore her; besides, wouldn’t she provide the conclusive testimony we so badly needed? She knew how Jim had died, she’d said. If that truly were so, then for our sake as well as hers we had to rescue her.
We? It was down to me, I realised all too soon. Tim and Davina were on their way down to Fincote. Steve was miles away. I tried phoning Serena at the Sunday Chronicle but she wasn’t at her desk, and though I tried her mobile it was impossible to raise her. Even though Rose hadn’t given me any specific time to pick her up, I felt I had to go as soon as possible.
Which meant there wasn’t any time to waste. I’d have to hire a car once more. Well, I’d driven to Henley before and I could do it again, even if I didn’t particularly relish the idea. The garage was only just around the corner and they seemed to have several models on offer when I phoned to ask them. Still I stood irresolute, wishing there was some other solution.
I felt bad about it, but I just plain didn’t want to leave London right then, partly because the thought of Dora and George put the fear of God into me and partly because I wasn’t sure I’d be able to make Steve’s flat by five o’clock as we had arranged. And I’d been counting the minutes! I wondered whether to call Steve on his mobile, but I could guess all too readily what he would have to say. I could hear his voice now urging me not to go to the saleroom. How much more insistently would he tell me to keep away from the Quigley menage! I decided to leave a message on his answer-phone at the flat. Rose had called, I told him, and had been frightened, desperate to leave Willow Cottage. She had made it clear she had information that would give us all the evidence wc needed, so I was going to get her. I’d see him just as soon as I possibly could.
‘Love you,’ I said, as a kind of postscript.
Well, now there was nothing for it but to go. Maybe I was being rash and foolish — in fact, I knew quite well that this was the case — but I couldn’t think of any alternative. And I was, now I thought about it, looking forward to telling Rose that Caroline was alive and happy.
The traffic was as awful as ever — worse, if anything. But at least I knew the way now and was able to drive to Willow Cottage with confidence, out of London, along the freeway, through Henley and out the other side.
The clocks of Henley were pointing to three thirty as I drove through the town. Rose could hardly accuse me of wasting any time, I thought, and I hoped that she had been able to station herself somewhere easily accessible. I planned to reverse into the drive and keep the engine running while she leapt in and we made a swift getaway. ‘In the garden’ seemed an awfully vague description of her location, given the size of it, but hopefully she would be up near the road, keeping a lookout for me. What would she be doing — picking flowers? Walking the dog? Hiding herself behind a convenient bush? Heaven alone knew! I wondered how much freedom she
was allowed, how she passed her time on the good days, why she couldn’t contrive to give her wardress the slip without involving me. I knew the answer as soon as I asked it. In her present state, organising anything so complex was quite beyond her. Poor Rose, as Rupert had said.
Willow Cottage was set in a leafy lane parallel to the river, a lane that was bordered on both sides by woodland which thinned as I approached the opulent, widely separated houses. I drove past the gate a yard or two, then reversed into the drive as planned, holding the door as I half stepped out of the car to look around for Rose, the engine ticking over.
I could see no sign of her. No sign of anyone. The door of the house was closed, the windows looking blindly into the garden under the wavy line of thatch. For a moment I hesitated, feeling exposed and vulnerable as frantically I looked this way and that, wondering what I should do, how long I should wait here. My heart was pounding with nervousness and I was about to leave, thinking I would drive away from the house and conceal the car somewhere before coming back to scout round on foot, when suddenly the heavy front door opened and Rose slipped out of it, anxiously glancing around her. She was dressed in the same boiler suit she had worn before; no coat, no bag. Her hair flapped round her face, blown by the wind, and she looked as insubstantial as a child as she began to run towards me.
‘Get in, get in,’ I urged her and, her breath sobbing in her throat, she did so. I slammed the car into gear and gunned the engine, already moving by the time she was beside me, but even so, I was not quick enough. A muscular, greasy-looking man built like a barn door was already bolting the gates to prevent our exit, and as he turned round to face us, he was smiling as he raised a gun and pointed it directly at me.
I stalled the engine, paralysed with shock. He seemed to have come out of nowhere. He swaggered over to my side of the car and opened the door, leering at me.
The Caroline Quest Page 18
