‘Right. Get on the blower and find out where Progardens hangs out. No use asking Eames’s father, he won’t know.’
In three minutes Leo had an address in West London.
‘I got them to check Eames too. Same number. Same address. Why the hell didn’t that stupid bitch mention that Eames was also Progardens?’ Leo was still irritated with himself.
Macrae said, ‘Maybe she didn’t know herself. I mean why should she? They’re just entries on paper to her. Half the trouble with our job is finding the right questions, laddie. Everybody’s got a bit of the jigsaw only they don’t know it most of the time. If we don’t ask the right questions we don’t get the right answers.’
Leo walked briskly to the car and got in; Macrae followed more slowly.
‘Take it gently. Remember the young bull and the old bull. No good rushing. Let’s think a moment. What we need is a search warrant. So you drop me at my place. Go on to the station, pick one up. I’ll take my car and go directly to Eames’s place just in case he comes home.’
‘D’you think — ?’
‘God knows. But as you said, gardeners can get in anywhere. They’re like workmen. People just don’t see them. Trouble is the information’s from a kid. You never know with kids; some of them really believe they see Santa Claus coming down the chimney.’
*
Alice was dreaming.
She was dreaming that she was running away from Manila. She was a stowaway on the ferry to one of the islands. She was hidden in a lifeboat under its canvas cover and the heat was severe.
She was running away from something bad but did not know what it was.
Nor had she any idea of her destination.
She woke.
The dream remained vivid. The heat in the shed was as bad as the heat in the lifeboat.
Abruptly, though the thought must have been maturing, she knew it was time to start her life once more.
When she had been found in the park by Dory she was like warm plasticine, willing to be moulded into any shape.
Now she was rested. She had eaten. She had her strength.
She was still afraid, of course, especially when she thought of Colonel Peters and the Arab. And she was afraid of the police. And afraid for her brother and her family. And afraid because she had no money either for herself or for them.
But she did have one person she had not had before: Dory. She was a child but did not think like a child.
She loved Dory.
Dory would help her to find work. That was all she wanted.
Work.
Chapter Twenty-One
Macrae stood outside his house and watched Silver’s VW disappear down the street. His own elderly Rover was parked a few yards away and he began to walk towards it.
He reached it.
He had his keys out.
The question that had been in his mind all day — apart from who had killed the Arab — was what had been happening to his own house.
When he left that morning things were unresolved. Frenchy had been cool. And she had made it difficult for him to see Mandy alone. She always seemed to be near by, as though shadowing him. Finally, when she was in the bath, he managed to talk to Mandy in the sitting-room.
‘This is no good,’ he said. ‘You know it, I know it.’
‘What are you trying to say, George?’
She was dressing and took the opportunity of displaying as much of herself as she could.
‘Frenchy doesn’t like the set-up and I can’t say I do either. And I’m bloody sure the kids don’t.’
‘What d’you want me to do about it?’
‘Go back to Joe.’
She shrugged. ‘You think he’ll have me back?’
‘Course he will. Only don’t go screwing around. That’s what’s given him the hump.’
‘I’ve been unfaithful to Joe with you before now. So don’t you go lecturing me.’
‘I’m an ex-husband. That’s different. Ring him, will you?’
Frenchy had caught up with him at the door as he was leaving.
‘Well?’ she said.
‘I told her to go back to Joe. She’s agreed.’
‘And you think that’s it?’
‘She’ll do it for the kids if for no other reason.’
‘You may know what makes a villain, George, but you haven’t a clue about ordinary people.’
That was how he had had to leave it.
He stared at the house. It seemed innocent enough on this warm July afternoon. He put his head against the door. Couldn’t hear a thing. No TV. Just blessed silence.
He could hardly believe his luck.
He opened the door. More silence.
Frenchy would be out at work. And Mandy and the kids?
Safe with Joe. Thank God for Joe. Good old Joe. He hadn’t said good old Joe when Mandy had first gone to live with him. But now he did.
He looked into the sitting-room. Everything was tidy and the carpets had been vacuumed; he could see the marks of the cleaner on the pile.
He bet he knew what had happened. Once Mandy and the kids had gone, Frenchy would have cleaned the house to within an inch of its life to erase all traces of her.
The house was his again. Not even Frenchy was there. And he hoped she wasn’t coming back for a day or so. He’d have the place to himself. He’d be able to do just what he liked. Open a bottle of Glenmorangie. Get drunk if he wanted to.
He went upstairs and poked his head into the spare room and the dream was blown away. The kids’ beds were made and their suitcases, which had stood on the floor as talismen of impermanence, were now on top of the wardrobe. Their clothes were neatly folded in the chest of drawers.
He hurried into his bedroom. The big double bed was made. He opened the wardrobe. Next to his own suits and jackets hung a rack of dresses and skirts.
They weren’t Frenchy’s.
Anger rose in him.
He began to pull Mandy’s dresses out of the wardrobe and stuff them into her cases. He knelt on them to close them, then hurled them from the bedroom. One hit the banisters and fell on its side. The other flew on to the staircase and went bumping and crashing all the way down. As it did so, the front door opened and the case came to rest in front of the second Mrs Macrae and her two children.
The three of them recoiled in fright. When Mandy realized what had happened she pushed Bobby and Margaret into the sitting-room and closed the door.
‘You wait in there till I tell you to come out!’
She advanced up the passage. ‘You’ve frightened them. You’re always frightening them. And you’re supposed to be their father!’ She ascended the stairs. He glowered at her and went into the bedroom. He saw the edge of her nightie under a pillow and yanked it out.
‘You’re not bloody moving into my bed.’
‘OK. Throw me out. But you throw the kids out as well. We’ll sit on the pavement outside your front door. The three of us.’
‘I didn’t say I was throwing you out. I said you weren’t moving into my bed. You can sleep in the kids’ room — if you stay.’ ‘George — ’
‘I’m not having you in the sitting-room either. Frenchy wouldn’t like it.’
‘Oh, fuck Frenchy!’
‘That’s precisely what I propose to do.’
He threw her nightie at her. She made no move to catch it and it draped itself on her shoulder before sliding to the floor.
‘You’re mad, George. Insane. You’ve no sense of responsibility.’ That touched a nerve.
‘Responsibility? That’s a good one. Who dumped her kids here and went off with her new boyfriend?’
‘I didn’t dump them. You’re their father. It’s about time you took an interest in their lives.’
‘Of course I take an interest. I take them out and — ’
‘Once a fortnight. That’s all you ever manage to see them. Not even once a week like most divorced fathers. And then a quick visit to the pictures or a theme park and goodbye
till next time. No wonder the kids come back depressed.’
‘I’m not going to listen to you. You always do this. You’re in the bloody wrong but you think attack’s the best form of defence. Well, it doesn’t work with me now. You wanted the kids. You said I wouldn’t be able to look after them the way a mother could. And I agreed. And I still think so. Not you particularly, but a real mother. So don’t give me any bullshit about me not doing my share. It was the way you wanted it.’
‘No it wasn’t. I thought at least you’d do your bit. But you left it all to Joe.’
‘That’s what happens when you remarry. The new husband is the stepfather. He knows what he’s taking on. That’s the name of the game and that’s how it works. Or it should if the woman doesn’t hop into bed with anyone she fancies.’
‘You leave my private life out of this!’
‘Don’t be bloody silly. You don’t have any other sort.’
‘You’re a monster, George. That’s what you are. Joe’s worth ten of you. He loves those kids as if they were his own. He’s never forgotten their birthdays. Not like you.’
‘Only once.’
‘And he takes them out to dinner. And he’s marvellous at Christmas.’
She began to change tactics even as he looked at her.
‘He’s kind and he’s decent. And he’s always treated me well.’ ‘That’s more than you’ve done him.’
‘That’s a pompous and shitty thing to say. God I hate you sometimes. No wonder we split up.’
‘I’ve got work to do. If you stay it’s on my terms not yours. So think about it.’
He pushed past her and went down to his car. He sat in the driving seat for some moments. He knew how her mind was working. She was a survivor. She was already rationalizing her position; talking herself into a realignment.
He used his car phone to call Joe. A sleepy voice answered. ‘It’s George.’
‘Oh.’
‘Sorry if I woke you.’
‘I was on night shift.’
‘I wanted to tell you that Mandy will probably be phoning you in a little while.’
‘Oh?’
‘Listen, Joe, she’s been at my place. Nothing bad. Frenchy was there all the time. It’s just that she left that other punter, Roger Gammon.’
‘Oh?’
Macrae wished he’d stop saying, ‘Oh.’
‘She’s feeling bloody bad, Joe. She realized she’d made a mistake the moment she left you.’
‘Too late then, wasn’t it?’
‘You know Mandy.’
‘You know her better than I do.’
‘No, that’s not true, Joe. We’ve just been talking. You’re the one she wants. The one she loves.’
‘She said that?’
‘Aye. And more. Joe… this is a wee bit hard for me to say but she thinks you’re a better father to the kids than I am.’
‘Well, I tried. I mean I look upon them as mine. Or at least I treat them as I would if they were mine.’
‘Course you do.’
‘To tell you the truth I’ve missed them. And Mandy. Don’t like living on me own. Never have.’
‘Then it’s a good thing I phoned. I think she’s going to ask you to forgive her and take her back.’
‘Well, I don’t know about that.’
But Macrae knew.
‘I thought I’d just give you a call and tell you to expect her. She may even just pitch up. Anyway you know how things stand now. I’ve got to go.’
‘George, don’t —’
But Macrae had hung up. He found himself drenched with sweat.
He sat for a few more moments. Then he dialled Rambo’s number and asked if Frenchy was there.
‘I don’t know where she is, Mr Macrae. Came in a little while ago. Very quiet. Not like her. Then she left. Probably went to her mum’s.’
‘All right. Just tell her I phoned.’
*
‘Hi!’ Dory said.
‘Hi yourself,’ Max lifted her in his arms and gave her a hug. Then he closed the apartment door behind him. ‘Where’s Trevor? I thought he was supposed to be guarding the fort.’
‘I don’t know,’ Dory said. ‘He wasn’t there when I went down for the post either.’
‘What’re you doing?’
‘Writing a story.’
‘Can I read it sometime?’
‘When it’s finished will you be my agent?’
‘You’re damn right I’ll be your agent.’
They walked through to the balcony.
‘Where’s Mummy? Working? That’s what I like to see. Work. Work. Work.’
‘Is that you, Max?’ Adrienne called from her study.
‘It better be, honey chile, otherwise you’re in deep trouble.’ ‘Don’t make sick jokes.’ She joined them on the balcony and gave her ex-husband a peck on the cheek.
‘You look cool,’ he said. ‘Ice-maidenish.’
‘You’re early.’
‘Things to talk about.’
‘What sort of things?’
They sat on the loungers.
‘You’re not going to like this. Rex Sales is leaving.’
‘What!’
Sales was her New York editor.
‘It’s a bastard.’
She didn’t notice the pale obscenity in her sudden preoccupation.
‘They told me he would be there for ever,’ she said. ‘He said so too.’
‘Sweetness, there is no such time as for ever. Specially not in publishing these days. It’s musical chairs.’
‘What am I going to do? I’m not going to be edited by some twenty-two-year-old fresh out of college.’
‘That’s what we’ve got to talk about. But first: ta-ra!’ He pulled out a package and passed it to Dory.
‘Happy birthday, darling.’
‘But it’s not my birthday.’
‘I know, sweetie, but it will be one day.’
‘Max, I don’t want you to — Dory, give it to me please.’
‘Hey!’ Max said. ‘What’s this?’
‘Give it to me/’
Dory gave her mother the package.
‘It’s only a bracelet,’ Max said.
‘She’s not going to have anything today. She’s been foul.’ ‘That’s a pretty strong word.’ He turned to Dory. ‘Were you foul? Or fowl? Geddit?’ He smiled. Dory scowled. Adrienne looked through him as though he wasn’t there.
‘And she’s not going out with you this afternoon.’
‘Hold hard there!’ Max said. ‘This is serious. I’ve been contemplating a banana split with raspberry sauce and whipped cream all day.’
‘She’s not going out, Max.’
‘May her father ask why?’
‘Dory, do you want to tell your father or shall I?’
‘You tell him. But there’s nothing to tell really.’
‘Well, first of all she’s been taking food and giving it away.’
‘To charity,’ Dory said.
‘Charity!’ Adrienne’s voice was filled with scorn.
‘It’s true.’
‘Half a cake. Cheese. Milk — ’
‘I told you, I drank that.’
‘A whole litre? And anyway you said you’d had it with the bran cereal.’
‘You hate bran cereal,’ Max said.
‘I like it now.’
‘Liar!’ Adrienne said.
‘Hey,’ Max said. ‘Maybe it’s true.’
‘Don’t be silly. I knew you’d take that attitude.’
‘I’m not taking any —’
‘Yes, you are. You always take Dory’s side. I’m so sick of it! I’m sick of all the lies and all the excuses and all the exaggerations. Pavement People, for God’s sake!’
‘Pavement People?’ Max was interested.
‘You’d better ask her. No, better not. She’ll only confuse you.’ ‘What was the charity? Oxfam needs food aid.’
‘Very funny. Some nuns came to the door. That’s what she say
s anyway. And she gave the nuns the food.’
‘Is it true, darling?’
‘Yes.’ There was a tremor in Dory’s voice. But for once neither her mother nor her father seemed impressed.
‘And then there was the police about the murder of the Arab.’ ‘They were here? Why didn’t you call?’
‘What was the point? You’re not a lawyer. Anyway Dory’s solved the murder for them. She saw it all.’
‘You what?’
Dory remained silent.
‘I hope you’re ashamed, miss.’
‘Of what?’ Max said.
‘She said she saw it with those new binoculars you gave her. I knew they were bad news.’
‘Binoculars don’t make things up.’
‘No, but they make it easier for little girls who use them to make things up, don’t they, Dory?’
Dory said nothing. She held back her tears. They didn’t seem as though they were going to work.
‘Go on about the murder,’ Max said.
‘She said she saw a man kill the Arab.’
‘I didn’t! I said I saw them fighting.’
Adrienne turned to Max. ‘Guess who the other fighter was.’ ‘This isn’t one of your books, dear heart, who?’
‘Ralph, the gardener.’
‘The hairy guy who comes in and does your plants?’
‘The same. She says she saw him beating up the Arab. She says she was on the roof looking down through their window. But she never told me — or you for that matter. But when the police came, oh yes, that was different. The complete story off pat.’
‘Why didn’t you tell us?’ Max said. There was a note in his voice Dory had not heard before.
Dory lowered her eyes.
‘Because it was a lie,’ Adrienne said. ‘Just like one of your stories.’
‘You write stories,’ Dory pointed out.
‘At least I know the difference between stories in books, and lies in everyday life. So no present for you today and no outing.’
Dory waited for Max to come to her aid as he usually did. But he said nothing.
Slowly she got up and left the room.
At the door she heard her mother say, ‘Tell me about that swine Sales.’
Chapter Twenty-Two
Threats and Menaces Page 16
