by Anna Jacobs
‘How about a glass of wine? I’m more in the mood for that.’
‘Perfect. And let’s sit in the front room. It’s comfier there.’
She led the way but stopped in the doorway. ‘How will you manage, sleeping in here? It’s only a two-seater couch.’
‘I’ve brought an air mattress. I’ll be fine.’ He sat on the couch and when she would have taken a chair, he pulled her down beside him instead. ‘There are some advantages to a two-seater couch.’
‘I can’t think of my own wishes at the moment.’
‘I’m not intending to ravish you, Libby. I just want to sit and talk, maybe hold hands, maybe even kiss you goodnight. Is that too much?’
There was a long silence during which she stared at him, solemn as an owl, then she gave him a tremulous smile. ‘No. That definitely isn’t too much.’
He hadn’t realised he’d feel so relieved by her answer. This had happened so quickly and it felt so right. ‘Good. I’m glad. I really like you, Libby. And I find you very attractive.’ He realised he was twisting his fingers in his hair again, a stupid habit he had when he was tense. He tried to smooth out the tangles, was vain enough to hope she hadn’t noticed the occasional grey threads.
She smiled and removed his hand, tidying his hair for him with her fingertips, her soft, gentle fingertips.
He breathed slowly and carefully, but even that slight touch had roused him further. ‘Right. We’ll take it slowly and see where we go.’ He laughed suddenly. ‘I feel as shy as a lad courting his first young lass. Stupid, isn’t it?’
‘No, not stupid. I feel … surprised more than anything. But attracted too. Only, I need to get rid of Steven officially before I can move on. It would seem dishonest to do anything else.’
‘He doesn’t deserve treating fairly.’
‘It’s not for him; it’s for me, so that I feel right about … us. Now, what did you want to tell me?’
It took him a few moments to gather his scattered wits. He set his wine glass down on a small table and took hold of her hand again as he spoke.
‘I’ve been offered some occasional work. I don’t know how to describe it. Escort work for people needing to disappear quietly would be the closest, perhaps. I can’t tell you about the department that organises it. Very hush-hush. But they sometimes welcome the presence of a woman, to make another woman feel safe. Or even a child, to make a group look like a family. They wondered if you might be interested in working with me every now and then.’
‘Is it dangerous?’
‘At the stage where I’d take over, not very. But there’s no part of life where anyone can feel perfectly safe these days, is there? For you, I think it’d be safer to be involved in one of the transfers, than to be left here on your own. Safer for Ned, too.’
‘It all sounds very James Bond.’
‘Not nearly that exciting. Probably quite boring in fact; just passing a person on to the next stage in a sort of underground railway till they reach somewhere safe further down the line. What do you think?’
‘I think you’re right. I’d feel safer being involved in that than sitting here alone waiting for Steven to erupt on to the scene.’
‘Is he likely to do that? Erupt?’
‘Yes. Now that I’ve defied him, he’ll be furious.’
‘Mmm. Well, I can be very decisive about dealing with him, believe me. Oh, I forgot one thing. These people are prepared to pay you for your involvement.’
When he told her how much, she gaped at him in shock. ‘That much! Wow, I’d welcome the chance to earn some money. They do pay well.’
‘They pay for your silence as well as for the inconvenience, because our services can be required any time, day or night.’
‘I’m happy to be involved, especially if it’s a woman who needs help.’
‘Good. And Libby … do not run anywhere except to me.’
‘I’ll try not to. But if Steven turned up while you were out, I’d have to do what was best for Ned.’
‘Fair enough.’
The phone rang at Emily and Chad’s flat early the next morning. Chad was in the shower, so Emily grabbed it.
‘Leon here.’
She sat upright in bed, feeling at a disadvantage lying down, even though he couldn’t see her. ‘You’re an early bird today.’
‘Needs must. I have someone in transit who needs shelter for a night, maybe two nights max. She’s had a rough time, been held captive and drugged.’
Emily sighed. She’d been in that position herself, and couldn’t turn down the chance to help someone escape. ‘OK.’
‘That easy?’ he teased.
‘You know damned well you pushed the right button with me.’
‘Yes, I did.’
‘Who is she?’
‘She’ll be using the name Jane Dawson while she’s with you. I haven’t decided what to call her next.’
‘Who’ll be bringing her, Leon? Anyone I know?’
‘No. He’s a newcomer to our chain of contacts. You met him yesterday when his partner was selling Chad some china.’
Emily was startled. ‘Joss is one of your men!’
‘Intermittently. Retired police. Injured in the line of duty, hates the thought of a desk job.’
‘And his partner? She seemed familiar, I don’t know why.’
‘I haven’t met her, only seen photos of her and her son. They’ll come to you as a family group. Our lady, whom we’re calling Jane, won’t leave the centre with them. She’ll stay for maybe a couple of days, before moving on again.’
‘You don’t often use children.’
‘No, I don’t. But Libby won’t go anywhere without her son. And he’ll make excellent cover.’
‘When exactly are we to expect our visitors?’
‘When did you arrange to show Joss round?’
‘Next week.’
‘Could you make it a little earlier? On Sunday, perhaps. Better to have this happen on one of your busier days, with quite a few people around at the centre. Oh, and Joss is staying with Libby. You’d better phone him there to change the appointment. This is the number.’
‘OK.’ She put the phone down and looked up as Chad returned from his shower. ‘That was Leon. He needs us to shelter someone for a day or two. Is that still OK with you?’
‘Yes, of course.’
‘You take everything in your stride, don’t you?’
‘I try to. I’m grateful to be alive, grateful to have you in my life.’ He gave her a mock punch. ‘But I’ll be even more grateful when you agree to marry me.’
Des studied all the houses carefully as he strolled along the street, making imaginary notes on his clipboard. But there was only one house in which he was really interested.
No one was making any attempt to keep its garden tidy. It being June, weeds were springing up everywhere with happy abandon. Des had already found out that Pulford didn’t do the gardening or housework. So was his wife no longer with him? He sauntered along and got talking to an older lady a couple of houses along, who was dead-heading her roses.
After a few minutes, she gestured to the clipboard. ‘There’s nothing written on that, just squiggles.’
He was annoyed at himself for letting that show. He wasn’t usually so careless.
‘You stayed in front of the Pulfords’ house for longer than the others. Can I ask why or should I call in the police to ask you?’
‘You’re a sharp one.’ He studied her. ‘Are you a friend of the Pulfords?’
‘He doesn’t have any friends, for obvious reasons.’
‘Then you’re a friend of Mrs Pulford.’ At her nod, he said, ‘Oh, good! I’ve been hired to find her.’ He pulled out a business card and handed it to her, also pulling out an article from a newspaper in which a Police Chief Inspector was commending him for his assistance in solving a tricky case.
‘This doesn’t look much like you,’ she said, looking from the newspaper photo to him and back again.
‘I’m glad to hear that. In my line of business, anonymous is good. I was smiling like this and had my hair differently, if it’s any help.’ He smoothed his hair straight back and put on his official smile. The combination was deliberately calculated to change his face.
‘Ah. Clever, that.’ She handed the article back to him. ‘Who would want to find Mrs Pulford?’
‘Her birth mother.’
After a moment’s silence, Mary said, ‘Why employ you? Can’t they contact Libby directly?’
‘They tried. Someone responded to a letter which would have arrived a few days ago. The reply was posted last Monday with her signature. We’re not sure she was the one who replied, though. If it was, and she really doesn’t want to contact her birth mother, this will go no further. If it wasn’t …’
‘If this letter was posted last Monday, she couldn’t have been involved. She left the previous Tuesday and hasn’t been back since.’
‘Very useful information, that. Thank you. So someone else must have signed the form and ticked the box for refusing all contact.’
‘It could only have been her husband. There’s no one else living there now. It’d be just like him to do that. He’s a cruel devil!’
Des waited.
‘I don’t know what Libby would want to do, but I’m pretty sure she’d have told me if she’d heard from her birth mother. We chat sometimes and I knew she’d written to an organisation which arranges reunions. But her husband always picks up the mail from a PO box near his office.’
‘He’s not at work at the moment. Do you know why?’
‘He told another neighbour he has to catch up on his annual leave. He’s hardly taken any for a good few years.’
‘Workaholic, eh?’
She nodded.
‘Could you get a message to his wife from my client? You don’t need to tell us how you do it.’
Mary shook her head. ‘I don’t know where she is exactly, but I can tell you the name of her lawyer, if that’s any help. Since her husband already knows that, I’m not giving anything away that he can use to catch her.’
‘Catch her?’
‘Come in and have a cup of tea. It’ll be less obvious.’
Des opened the gate and followed her inside the house. His luck was holding, he thought, feeling pleased with himself. He was often lucky like this on investigations – didn’t know why.
But when he wasn’t lucky, he didn’t mind bending a few rules. He did whatever it took to help people in need. He had enough money not to have to take on cases where he didn’t like the protagonists or what they were trying to do. He was sorry his parents had died young – very sorry, missed them still – but inheriting their house meant he didn’t have a mortgage. That had made all the difference to his working life.
‘Do you have a photo of Mrs Pulford?’ he asked as he took a seat at a small table in the kitchen and watched Mary put the kettle on.
‘Yes. I’ll get one out.’ She rummaged through a folder and came up with a photo of a tense-looking young woman and a small boy. ‘That’s her son, Ned.’
‘Nice looking kid.’ Des frowned. ‘But they both look … repressed.’
‘Yes. Years of domination by Pulford. I don’t know where she found the courage to leave him, but I’m glad of it. If you go looking for her, keep an eye out for him. He’ll be going after her. Nothing is surer. I pray he doesn’t catch her and hurt her again.’
As Mary started to put the other photos back, the folder slipped and he caught it for her, gasping as he saw another image: that of a woman who’d been beaten.
‘He did that to her?’
Mary gave him another of her assessing looks. ‘I don’t know how you’ve wriggled your way under my defences, but yes. He did that.’
‘Maybe you trust me because I’m telling the simple truth. I usually find it works best.’
‘Are you going to carry on looking for Libby?’
‘Yes. But I won’t be approaching her. I’ll leave that to her birth mother.’
‘I think she could do with a mother now. Her adoptive mother was a weak straw and married a bully. She’s dead now. The stepfather is still alive, but he’s a drunken lout these days. He gets on well with Pulford, which says a lot about him.’
When she’d given him the lawyer’s details, Mary showed him to the front door, but stopped dead after opening it and made a gesture to go back. He moved down the hall obediently, taking a couple of steps sideways to look out at the street through the front-room windows.
Pulford had come out of his house and was standing on his drive scowling at the garden.
‘He’s missing his domestic slave,’ Mary said. ‘He never lifts a finger about the place normally, indoors or out.’
They waited, but Pulford opened the garage door and hauled out a wheelbarrow, before starting to pull out the worst of the weeds.
Mary said thoughtfully, ‘He looks as if he’s settling in to work. He’s a bit obsessive about tidiness so I suppose that’s making him do menial work. I think it’d be better if I drove you away from the street. You can get into my car in the garage and crouch down in the back as we go out. If you want to remain a complete stranger to him, that is?’
‘Good idea. Thanks.’
She dropped Des two streets away, where he’d parked his car. ‘Might as well do my shopping. It’d look strange if I returned straight away. Good luck with your search.’ She drove off in another direction.
He looked at the lawyer’s details on the scrap of paper. The man’s offices weren’t very far from where the birth mother was living. He wondered what Libby would do about contacting the woman. And vice versa. He’d met Chad before, had worked for him a few times, but he hadn’t yet met his partner face to face. He’d phone Emily on Sunday evening. Before he did anything else, he wanted to make sure she still preferred him to see the lawyer on her behalf.
If she did, he’d drive up north on Monday morning and see Mr Greaves as soon as he could.
He didn’t want to upset Emily or her daughter. These adoption reunions could be very sensitive.
He sighed. He had no other cases pending. Looked like being a quiet weekend. Too quiet. He really must make time to get out and meet people, perhaps try a dating site on the Internet.
Perhaps.
Twelve
On the Saturday, Leon rang his newest recruit again. When he couldn’t get an answer on Joss’s mobile, he rang Libby’s phone number. No answer to that, either, so he left a message asking Joss to contact him immediately. He didn’t say who he was or give a number, naturally. He flattered himself they would recognise his voice.
When they came home from their walk, with a tired Ned riding on Joss’s shoulders, Libby saw the message light winking on the phone. She tensed immediately. ‘Someone phoned, only no one is supposed to know I’m here except Mr Greaves, you and Allie.’
Joss slid Ned down from his shoulders. ‘I’ll attend to it. You give the lad that biscuit he’s been demanding.’
But she waited to hear who it was.
When he lifted the phone, Leon’s cultured tones rang out.
Libby looked at him. ‘Do I know this guy?’
‘I do. It’s your new employer.’ He pulled out his mobile. ‘Ah, someone’s left me a message too. Yes, it’s him.’ He dialled the number he’d memorised, and which he would never put on quick dial or write down anywhere. ‘Joss calling Leon back.’
She looked at him in surprise when he ended the call immediately.
‘He always rings you back. You can never get straight through to him. I must give you that number, in case … Well, just in case you need help, of any sort. Better to be prepared.’ He recited the number and she repeated it several times, memorising it carefully.
Joss’s mobile phone rang. ‘Hi, Leon. Yes, she’s here. We went for a little walk.’
‘Something’s come up and I need to deliver your package tomorrow morning, Joss. Can you pass it straight on to our friends? Before
three o’clock tomorrow, maybe?’
‘Yes, of course. Any details I should know?’
‘The package has been around the tracks and could fall to pieces at any moment. Handle it carefully. You’ll recognise the people delivering it. This should be a quick transit.’
‘OK.’ The call had already ended.
He looked up and smiled at Libby. ‘So, we have to deliver a woman to the antiques centre before three o’clock tomorrow, and we already know that Leon thinks she’ll feel happier to have another woman in the party. All right with you?’
‘Ned won’t be in any danger?’
‘I doubt it. He’d be in more danger if you stayed behind on your own.’
‘OK. It isn’t even a long drive, after all.’
‘I know. But they do like to change the routes and the people handling the packages. It seems to work well. Leon has a reputation for getting the job done, or even, once or twice, rescuing someone from a failed transit. Not many people even know he exists.’
The following morning at dawn, a car drove up the hill and parked at the little church at the top, a couple of hundred yards up from the cottages.
Joss came fully awake when he heard a vehicle chug up the hill so early.
He got up from his air mattress, stretching and yawning, and slipped into his jeans and a tee shirt. He turned as he heard footsteps coming down the stairs. ‘Did you hear it too?’
‘Yes. It’s a bit early in the morning for visitors to the church, don’t you think? It won’t even be open yet.’
Ten minutes later three people strolled along the little lane, not hurrying. An older woman was walking rather stiffly. Her two companions were kitted out for hiking.
‘How about putting the kettle on,’ Joss suggested. ‘A cup of tea or coffee says welcome in just about any language.’ He went to open the front door, then moved back.
The three visitors walked straight in, shutting the door immediately behind them. The two younger ones were people Joss had met during his visit to London. They exuded health and energy. The older woman looked exhausted and unhappy.
‘I’m Nina,’ the younger woman said, giving a different name from last time Joss had met her. ‘This is Paul and our friend is Jane. Do either of you speak French?’
