In Search of Hope

by Anna Jacobs

  ‘Well, you’re more generous than Pulford, I’ll say that for you. And I need to do less to earn the money. I’d like to see the cash first, if you don’t mind.’

  ‘I don’t blame you.’

  ‘Who are you? Police?’

  ‘Private investigator.’

  ‘Licensed?’

  ‘Fully licensed. Do you want to see proof?’

  ‘Yes. I don’t want to get into any trouble with the police.’

  Des pulled out his ID card. ‘Here you are. And I like to stay on good terms with the police, so I won’t be leading you into any trouble, I promise.’

  After a careful study of Des’s face and the ID photo, the young guy said, ‘What do you want to know?’

  ‘What you’re doing with Pulford. Every single detail. And … I might be even more generous if the information is useful. But I’m good at telling when someone’s lying.’

  ‘Fair enough. Who needs to lie? I only met the fellow tonight. He’s not a friend or anything.’

  The young guy started talking. Des prompted him a couple of times, asked questions and was satisfied he was being told the truth. He pushed the fifty pounds across the table, followed it with another twenty. ‘Thank you.’

  ‘My pleasure. Been a good day for earning a bit on the side.’

  ‘Don’t go back to Pulford. He’s trouble.’

  ‘Can’t stand the fellow.’

  ‘Oh? Why not?’

  ‘He’s a fruit loop. Something wrong up here.’ He tapped his forehead.

  ‘Why do you say that?’

  ‘I don’t know. He just … makes me feel uncomfortable.’ He looked at the menu. ‘I might grab a meal while I’m here.’

  Des returned to the hotel. Pulford’s car was still there. He wondered whether to disable it, but decided against it. He doubted the fellow would leave and go after her tonight. Bit difficult stumbling over the moors in the dark.

  No, he’d get up early and follow Pulford discreetly.

  He tried Chad’s mobile phone again, but there was still no answer, so he went to bed.

  After his informant had gone, Steven started to go up to his room, then changed his mind and found a quiet corner in the bar. He ordered a single malt. As he sipped it, he checked the area around the antiques centre on his satnav.

  The place seemed to be on the edge of the moors, away from other habitations. If he could park somewhere out of sight, he could perhaps approach it from behind and break in. Then he’d drag Libby and Ned home, where he’d make sure his wife agreed to give a statement to the police saying they were now reconciled.

  But he mustn’t get caught. The trouble was, the antiques centre was bound to have a good security system. How was he to get round that? What the hell did he know about electronics? He could use gadgets like his smart phone but he didn’t know how they worked, let alone how to break into a security system.

  So he’d have to wait until dawn and hope someone got up early and switched the security off so that he could get inside.

  It wasn’t a good plan. He needed a lot of luck if he was to get near her. But time was on his side. He had plenty of that, too bloody much, so he could hang around in the area as long as he had to. Days, if necessary.

  If he didn’t die of boredom first.

  He drained his glass of whisky and left the hotel, going out to an off-licence he had noticed on the way here, which was also a minimart.

  He passed a café on the other side, then stopped and moved back, still keeping to the other side. Yes. That was Ken and he was talking to a man who looked familiar. Steven studied him carefully. He’d been in the hotel. On his own. Strange that he was talking to Ken, who wasn’t staying at the hotel.

  When the man paid money to Ken, Steven’s suspicions were further roused. Something was going on here. It might not be connected to him, but there again, it was best to be sure.

  When the guy came out, Steven nipped into the café and sat down at Ken’s table, smiling at the young fellow’s shock. ‘If you want to earn another fifty pounds, come to the hotel car park in quarter of an hour.’

  He saw Ken hesitate, so added, ‘If you don’t turn up, I’ll call the police and lay a complaint against you for picking my pocket.’

  ‘Hey, man, chill! I’m always happy to earn more money.’

  Steven arrived back at the hotel in time to see the stranger put something into a car and go up in the lift.

  He took £50 out of his wallet, then waited in the car park until Ken turned up. Steven had been sure he would come.

  Ken greeted him with, ‘Show me the money.’

  Steven pulled the money out of his pocket. ‘Tell me about the guy you were talking to.’

  He listened in annoyance, handing over the £50 when he was satisfied all had been explained. ‘Do not – go near – that guy again.’

  ‘Definitely not. I’m outa here.’

  He watched Ken hurry out of sight, then studied the stranger’s car. Not now. Later.

  He carried out his original plan and bought some supplies from the minimart in case he had to hang around near the antiques centre. He left them in the car.

  At the hotel, he rang the bell at Reception, rousing a sleepy clerk from the rear office to pay his bill on the excuse that he’d had an urgent message and needed to leave really early in the morning.

  Then he went to bed, to get what sleep he could.

  He slept like a baby, waking at three a.m. as the radio alarm clock next to the bed went off. He wanted to reconnoitre the area round the antiques centre before anyone was stirring and it got light early in June.

  It took him only a few minutes to shower and dress, after which he stopped in the hotel kitchen to pick up a sharp knife. There were plenty of them, so he doubted anyone would notice.

  He slung his things into his Mercedes, then dealt with the car of the private investigator. He enjoyed disabling it.

  ‘Now try to follow me!’ Steven told it with relish.

  He set off through the dark town, making his way up to the moors. No other vehicles were going in his direction and only two lorries came down the hill.

  He drove slowly past the centre, looking for somewhere to park. He hadn’t passed anywhere suitable on his way – well, not in the last couple of miles – but luck was with him and he found a lay-by about half a mile up from the centre. He parked there, put on his trainers and set off across the moors, cursing the rough ground and the tussocky grass.

  Grey light was filtering into the landscape now, even though it wasn’t yet dawn. His eyes quickly grew accustomed to the pre-dawn dimness and he had no trouble finding his way. It felt as if he was an actor in an old black and white movie.

  He circled the antiques centre from about half a mile away, climbing over a dry-stone wall at one stage. But to the north and east there was only one wall. He couldn’t see any farms in that area and the land rose quite steeply at one point. He went south-westwards as far as the next wall, which was round a large private house in a little hamlet just down the hill. Yuppie tree-huggers, probably.

  After standing for a moment, thinking hard, he moved closer to the centre. It had a lot of outbuildings at the rear, which might or might not be an advantage. Depended on whether they were included in the security system.

  He’d read about Chadderley Antiques on their website. Why the hell had a big London dealer moved up here? It didn’t make sense. The man could have made far more money in London.

  As the light increased, Steven found a few stones, the remains of some small shelter, and sat down on them. He didn’t want anyone to notice him standing up like a sore thumb. He wanted to observe what went on.

  Libby slept badly and woke feeling as if she had a hangover, which she couldn’t have, because she’d not had anything alcoholic to drink last night. Worry. That was what was giving her a dull headache.

  In other words, Steven. She knew he wouldn’t give up, not without a much better reason than an injunction. She was a possession t
o him, not a life partner.

  It wasn’t yet light and Ned was still asleep. He’d sleep for a couple of hours yet, because he rarely stirred until after seven o’clock. She, on the other hand, felt restless and unable to go back to sleep.

  She had a sudden urge to go down and sit in the small courtyard. She could watch dawn creep across the sky and maybe think up an alternative plan for getting away, in case Steven did find out where they were.

  Would Joss be able to keep them safe? He seemed to think so. She wasn’t as sure. He was too kind – not nearly as ruthless as her ex.

  On that thought, she got up, unable to lie in bed for another second. She put on her borrowed undies, jeans and a top, then went to the foot of the stairs. After she’d keyed in the security number, she was able to walk round the side of the display area, which was still electronically armed, and get out into the rear courtyard.

  It was chilly outside and she wished she’d put a cardigan on, but she’d only stay here for a few minutes because she didn’t want to leave Ned on his own for long. She couldn’t see the dawn horizon to the east, because it was on the other side of the main road. She didn’t want to go so far away from the door.

  But the air was cool and fresh, making her head feel better, so she sat down on the nearest bench.

  Suddenly she thought she saw a light in one corner of the courtyard, as if someone was out there with a torch, and jumped to her feet, ready to dash inside. But the light slowly faded and there was no sign of a figure in that area. She must have been mistaken. It was probably a reflection of one of the security lights inside the buildings.

  She sat down again, wondering whether she could meditate. No, she was far too agitated to do that. Besides, she had to keep watch at all times.

  She’d just sit here quietly for a few minutes, before going back and waiting for Ned to wake up.

  In the morning Des woke early, as usual, and decided to do a quick check that Pulford’s car was still there. Since his room was at the back, he couldn’t see the car park, so had to go down and look out of the front door of the hotel.

  The car was gone.

  Damnation! He should have kept better watch.

  He would, he decided, go up to the antiques centre himself. And he’d set off as soon as he’d packed and paid his bill. He had a bad feeling about this.

  When he took his case outside to his car, he stopped dead and cursed. Someone had hacked at his front tyres. Made a good job of it, too.

  On a sudden suspicion, he went to peer into his exhaust pipe and could see something blocking it. Someone had been very determined to stop him driving.

  Cursing, he wondered if it was Pulford, or someone else.

  Would the young guy have done it? No. He didn’t look the type. It took a lot of physical strength to hack at modern tyres. It must have been Pulford.

  How had he given himself away?

  It would take a while to get this sorted out. He went into the hotel and reported the vandalism, asking that they call in the police.

  He tried Chad’s mobile phone again, but got the same lack of response. He wondered whether to call the antiques centre, but when he phoned, there was no answer, so he could only leave a message asking Chad to get back to him as soon as possible, since he had something to report.

  After that Des was kept busy for quite some time, first with the police, then with sorting out repairs to his car.

  In the end, since he hadn’t heard from Chad, he decided to hire a car and drive up to the antiques centre.

  He hoped Pulford wasn’t causing trouble there. But he’d not bet on it. That fellow had trouble written all over him. He was, as the young guy had said, a fruit loop.

  Steven moved very carefully along the rear of the antiques centre. This part was really old and should have been knocked down years ago. Those Heritage people had a lot to answer for, preserving unimportant ruins like these at enormous cost.

  There was a shoulder-high dry-stone wall running right round the complex. Fat lot of good that would be for keeping people out. He climbed over it easily, annoyed with himself when he knocked out a loose stone and it fell with a loud clatter.

  He paused, listening carefully, but no one came out to investigate. It probably hadn’t been loud enough to be heard inside, had just seemed loud out here in the morning stillness.

  He carried on round the top end of the outbuildings. When he’d nearly reached the front again, he found a kind of three-sided courtyard, enclosed by the wings of the house.

  And then – he couldn’t believe his luck – he saw Libby sitting on a bench looking weary and worried. So she should be, the trouble she’d caused, the bitch!

  He nearly ran across to grab her, but stayed mainly hidden by the corner of the wall to make sure she was alone. Besides, she was about thirty yards away from him and she might run back into the building and lock the door on him before he got close enough to grab her. He didn’t want her screaming for help and bringing other people running. There was that damned injunction to think about.

  Still, if she came out like this every morning, he might find a way to get close enough to grab her and cover her mouth.

  He let out a sniff of near laughter. Perhaps he could make a noise like a cat and see if she came to investigate. As if! That sort of thing only happened in cartoons.

  A minute later, he congratulated himself on his caution, because someone came out of the rear building, near where he was hiding. He pressed even further back against the wall. It was a young man with a big moon face, who was yawning and stretching.

  Steven could hear their conversation quite clearly.

  ‘Hello, Libby.’

  ‘Oh, Toby. Hi. I hope I didn’t wake you up.’

  ‘I heard a noise. It wasn’t you. It came from behind our units.’

  ‘Perhaps it was an animal.’

  He frowned. ‘No. Sheep can’t climb walls. And we don’t have a cat.’

  ‘Do you want me to come with you to look? Could it have been a bird?’

  Damn you, no! Steven thought. Stay where you are.

  ‘There are birds on the moors. I like to watch them.’

  ‘So do I.’

  ‘I think I’ll go back to bed.’ Toby yawned again. ‘I’m still tired.’

  ‘Yes, so am I. Bye.’ She went back into the centre.

  She was inside so quickly, Steven could only watch her and listen to what sounded like a lock clicking into place. He glared at the building. So near – and if it hadn’t been for that idiot, he might have had her.

  Now he’d have to hang around and wait for another opportunity. Perhaps she’d come outside the following morning. But that would be a long time to hang around in this god-forsaken place.

  He heard the sound of a car engine and watched as a white BMW came down the hill and turned into the centre. Who the hell would be turning up at this hour of the morning?

  Chad stopped the car and rolled his shoulders. ‘Well, that was an annoying thing to happen.’

  ‘It only delayed us for a short time.’

  ‘Nearly two hours by the time we’d stopped at a services to clean ourselves up. And fancy me treading on my mobile! I’m not usually so clumsy. It’s ruined. I’ll have to buy a new one.’

  ‘Never mind. We’re home now.’

  He looked at the car park. ‘Looks like someone else is here, too. Who can that be? I don’t recognise the car.’

  She shook her head. ‘Perhaps we weren’t the only ones to break down yesterday. There was that car in the layby just up the road as well.’

  ‘I’d have stopped to offer help if there had been anyone in it, but there was no sign of the driver. If it’s still there later today, I’ll call the police. No one would just dump a luxury car like that.’

  ‘Unless they’d stolen it.’

  ‘Yeah.’ They got out of the car and went into the antiques centre, disarming the security system.

  ‘It was already partly disarmed,’ Chad said, frowning at the
control panel near the door.

  Even as he spoke a woman peered at them from part way up the stairs. She looked as if she’d recently got out of bed, her hair still tousled.

  He recognised her at once; it was the woman who’d sold him some pieces of china and helped bring Jane to them. ‘Libby King, isn’t it?’

  ‘Yes.’

  As they moved slowly forward towards the stairs, a man appeared above her. ‘Rachel let us sleep here last night. I hope that’s all right.’

  ‘Joss Atherton,’ Emily said.

  ‘Yes. I thought you might give us shelter till I can ask Leon for help.’

  ‘It’s all my fault. I was running away from my husband,’ Libby said. ‘He found out where I was.’

  Emily stared at her. Toby had been right. She wanted to blurt out that she was Libby’s mother, but the young woman was looking so strained that the words died in Emily’s throat. Instead she said cheerfully, ‘Why don’t you put the kettle on and you can tell us about it over a cup of tea? And maybe make some toast? We’re both dying for something hot to drink and we’re ravenously hungry. We had a flat tyre on the way back or we’d have been here a few hours ago.’

  ‘Not much fun, changing tyres in the dark.’

  ‘Tell me about it. My phone slipped out of my pocket and I trod on it.’

  ‘Tough.’

  Libby let the owners pass and go into the master bedroom. She went into the kitchen of their flat, put the kettle on and got out some mugs and the makings for toast.

  By the time Chad and Emily had dumped their luggage, used the bathroom and joined them, she had a pot of tea brewing.

  ‘I feel terrible being in your home like this,’ she said. ‘Only I had to get away from my ex.’

  There was a sound at the door and they turned to see a small boy standing there, looking anxious. When he saw Libby, he ran across the room, avoiding the strangers, and clinging to the side of her clothes.

  She put an arm protectively round him. ‘This is my son, Ned.’

  ‘Pleased to meet you, Mr Ned,’ Emily said, the first words she’d ever spoken to her grandson. She was aching to cuddle him.

  He looked at her solemnly, relaxing a little. ‘I’m not Mr Ned, silly. I’m just Ned.’