‘Are there any choccy biscuits?’ Naomi asked. ‘I’m starving!’
‘After all you’ve just put away!’ her father grinned, producing the biscuit tin. ‘No wonder you keep growing out of your clothes.’ He glanced at his watch, for the tenth time since they got home. This interview was going on too long for comfort.
‘When’s she coming home?’ Helen said, catching her father’s concern.
‘Now,’ their mother’s voice answered from the hall. And there she was, in her smart blue suit, looking pleased with herself. ‘Oh for heaven’s sake, you girls!’ she rebuked. ‘The state of your jerseys! What have you been eating?’
Fortunately Daddy spoke up before either of them could admit to anything. ‘Did you get it?’ he asked.
‘You’re looking at the new senior executive of Rail North East,’ she told him, striking a pose. ‘Da-daaa!’
‘Pleased?’ he asked. She’d been edgy before she went for this interview so there was some anxiety in the question.
She gave him a sharp look but a measured answer. ‘All things considered, yes, I am. Why shouldn’t I be?’
He decided not to pursue it. If there was something untoward about the job she’d tell him in her own time. ‘Your mother called,’ he said. ‘I told her you’d ring back when you got in.’
‘I’ll do it now,’ she decided and reached for the phone at once, pausing just long enough to ask if there was any more tea in the pot, to check that the groceries had been delivered, that Mrs Jarvis had collected the dry cleaning and paid the window cleaner, and to suggest that her daughters ought to change their jerseys and get on with their homework.
‘Yes,’ she said, when her mother answered. ‘It’s me … Yes. I did … Yes I am rather … Well let’s say I decided discretion was the better part of valour …’
So she’s had to be discreet about something, Rob noted, as he made a fresh pot of tea. I was right. This hasn’t been a straightforward promotion.
‘Have you still got your lodger?’ Susan asked. ‘Right. Right. When’s moving day?’
She’s changing the subject, Rob thought. And that was a bad sign too. She’s proud of her success but she doesn’t want to go into details.
Catherine had picked up the same message. It was easier to talk about Gemma and her new flat than to worry over what had or had not been said at the interview. ‘They’re letting her move in gradually,’ she said. ‘The official moving day isn’t until after Christmas, but they don’t seem to mind. She’s there now as a matter of fact.’
‘Where’s she going for Christmas?’
‘She’s staying with us, according to your father.’
‘Did he ask her or tell her?’ Susan laughed.
‘You know your father.’
‘And how is he?’
‘He’s gone to see Dr Thomas at the moment. Very full of himself. He’s just finished another column.’
‘What about, this time?’
‘Coughs and colds at Christmas, which doesn’t please him. He’d rather be campaigning but they don’t want whistles blown at Christmas, apparently.’
‘Well give him my love. Tell him I’m glad he’s giving the soapbox a miss for once in a while. See you Christmas Day, if we don’t get snowed in.’
‘That’s not likely, is it?’
‘Well let’s put it this way. It’s not snowing yet, but it’s not for want of trying. We’ve had sleet all afternoon. Hideous.’
‘Rather you than us,’ Catherine laughed.
‘Don’t gloat!’ her daughter laughed back. ‘According to the weather forecast, it’s coming your way.’
Chapter 23
Although there was no sleet in Putney, it was a dark, damp afternoon and nose-pinchingly cold. But as Gemma drove her chair along the pavement, with her crutches tucked beside her and her shopping basket on her lap, she was singing to herself with the sheer joy of the season. Her stump had almost recovered, her scars were fading fast, her latest haircut looked stylish, neat and thick and really quite pretty, and now Christmas was erupting all around her, like some vast, effulgent, multicoloured flower bursting into bloom in the midwinter darkness. Lights blazed above her head, the local Lions were parading their decorated float along the High Street with a great deal of noise and excitement, playing carols at full blast on the Tannoy, shop windows rained tinsel, everyone was smiling. It might be her first one-legged Christmas, Nick might have cooled, her theatre application had been turned down, just as she expected, and she still hadn’t met her father, but it was going to be a triumph. She was positive about it.
She’d been positive about Nick’s visit too – in a negative sort of way. As soon as Catherine told her he was coming for tea that afternoon, she decided to be out of the house until he’d gone. The excuse was easy – she had to be at the flat – and true because she’d made it her business to be there. She’d spent the first part of the afternoon hanging up her clothes in the built-in wardrobes and measuring the windows for curtains, and now she was filling in the last hour buying Christmas presents – a string of blue beads for her mother, with stud earrings to match, and because she was spending Christmas Day with the Quennells, malt whisky for Dr Andrew and a bottle of champagne for Catherine to thank them for their kindness during the year, a scarf for Susan, gloves for Rob and two Christmas stockings full of chocolates for the girls. It was quite a haul for one expedition.
Nick was the only person she hadn’t thought about that afternoon and that was because his was the first present she’d bought. Not because he meant anything to her – she was far too sensible to think that – but because it took so much consideration.
When Andrew invited her to spend Christmas with his family she’d accepted at once and happily, partly because it seemed the obvious place for her to be – at least for part of the time – and partly because he’d asked her with the cheerful assumption that she would accept. ‘You’ll come in with us, of course.’
Catherine had laughed at that and told him not to be such a bully, but that hadn’t deterred him.
‘I suppose you want the poor girl to sit in her flat for two days on her own,’ he’d teased. ‘No, no. You spend them with us, Gemma. You’ll have a whale of a time.’
At first, the only thing that worried her was the fact that Nick was being distant. But they’d got hordes of people coming so she wouldn’t have to spend any time with him if he didn’t want her to. But then it occurred to her that she would have to buy the family presents and that meant she would have to buy him a present too because it would look a bit pointed if she left him out. The trouble was, what could she get? It had to be just right, not too personal and not too expensive so that he could accept it in any way he pleased – as a token of friendship or a sign that she liked him as much as the rest of his family, or whatever.
She’d deliberated about it for days. And in the end she’d been visited with an idea of such brilliant suitability that she couldn’t imagine why it hadn’t occurred to her before. It came as she was remembering him striding down the ward with his white coat flapping and ink stains all over the pocket. But of course! She would buy him a fountain pen.
It was already wrapped up in its Christmas paper with a splendidly noncommittal card attached which read, ‘Christmas greetings from Gemma. I hope this will save your white coat from further spills.’
Now the rest of her shopping was done and in about half an hour it would be safe to head for home. And because it was Christmas time, there was plenty to entertain her while she was waiting. She wheeled across the street towards the float where the Tannoy was still singing in its raucously tinny way, ‘And with true love and brotherhood each other now embrace. The holy tide of Christmas all other doth deface. Oh-oh tidings of comfort and joy!’
The words made her remember her mother. The one discordant note in the cheerful music of the afternoon had been the intermittent growl of her conscience and now it was too loud for comfort. She still hadn’t sent her an address nor fixe
d a time to meet her father and the nearer she got to Christmas the more it troubled her. Poor Mother, she thought, as she stopped to enjoy the procession. There’s been precious little comfort and joy in her life and she means well, even if she is dominating. She does love me, in her own way. She came to see me when I was in hospital. She didn’t exactly cheer me up but she did come. It isn’t kind to go on sending her scrappy little cards, especially at a time when everybody remembers their parents. I’II phone her and arrange to go and see her over Christmas – and him too, if he’s still there. I ought to be able to manage a bus ride by now. Catherine would know which ones to take. And as she searched in her purse for a coin to put in the collecting box, she wondered fondly where her mother was at that moment and what she was doing.
She was wearing her warmest suit and sitting beside Tim Ledgerwood in his new BMW as they purred into Amersham Road.
‘That’s the place,’ she said, pointing to the house.
‘Very nice!’ Tim approved, admiring the tree-lined pavements and the size of the houses. ‘Now you’re sure you don’t want me to come with you?’
‘Yes,’ she said. ‘Quite sure. I told you. Let me break the ice first. You wait here. I won’t be long.’
He wasn’t entirely convinced of the wisdom of letting her go alone but he gave her his charming smile and parked the car where he could watch the house. Then he watched her as she walked towards the front door, blonde hair pale in the fading light, shoulders hunched, high heels squeaking on the damp pavement.
As she reached the porch, Billie knew that there were people in the house this time. There was a lived-in air about the place and she fancied she could hear them talking. But it took ages for them to answer and that made her uncomfortable. The lady who opened the door looked at her in a guarded way as though she had no right to be there. And that made her belligerent.
‘I’ve come to see Gemma Goodeve,’ she announced.
‘I’m sorry,’ the lady said. She had a nice smile. Quite changed her face. ‘She’s not here.’
Billie could feel her own face falling. ‘Oh,’ she said, struggling to take it in. She couldn’t be out again, not with one leg. You don’t go out a lot if you’re a cripple, do you? Perhaps she’s gone to the doctor’s. ‘When will she be back?’
There was somebody walking towards them in the hall. A dark-haired young man with long legs, wearing jeans and a Marks and Spencer jumper. ‘Who is it, Mother?’ he asked.
‘Somebody for Gemma,’ the lady said, as the young man stepped up to the door.
They recognised one another instantly but before Billie could say a word, he’d taken over.
‘I’m afraid Gemma’s not here,’ he said. ‘She doesn’t live here any more.’ She’d be gone after Christmas so it was more or less the truth. And she was in her wretched flat at the moment, according to his mother, so the next thing he was going to say was certainly true. ‘She’s got a place of her own.’
‘You’re that doctor, aren’t you?’ she accused him. ‘I remember you from the hospital.’ And she remembered his name-tag too. She could see it clearly in her mind’s eye. ‘Dr Quennell.’
He was much too cool, looking at her boldly, the way he’d done on the ward. ‘That’s right.’
‘Then you can just tell me where she is, Dr Quennell. I’ve got a right to know.’
‘No,’ he said, happy to fight her. ‘I can’t. She’s particularly asked me not to. She wants time to settle in.’
‘Time!’ Billie exploded. ‘What’s she talking about? She’s had ages’
He didn’t bother to answer. Arrogant young puppy.
‘Now look here,’ she said. ‘I don’t know what she’s playing at but it can’t go on. I mean it’s gone on long enough already. I mean, it’s weeks and weeks and weeks. Months. I’m her mother and I need to know where she is. So you just stop all this nonsense and tell me.’
He drew himself up to his full six foot, face stern and eyes dark with determination. It was always pleasant to use his authority but this was doubly satisfying because this woman deserved it and because it gave him an outlet for his annoyance with her daughter. ‘You’re not listening to what I’m telling you,’ he said. ‘She doesn’t want anyone to know where she is. You’ll just have to take “no” for an answer, I’m afraid. She’ll tell you in her own time.’
To have come so far, to be so near to finding her darling and then to be balked by this horrid young man was more than Billie could bear. ‘I see how it is,’ she spat at him. ‘This is to do with her money, isn’t it? You’re after the money.’
He smiled at her pityingly. ‘No, Mrs Goodeve. It’s nothing to do with money.’
His condescension tipped her into fury. ‘Oh yes it is,’ she said. ‘You don’t fool me.’ He turned to make a grimace at his mother and at that she began to rant. She knew she shouldn’t do it, but she was too far gone to control herself. ‘Call yourself a doctor! You’re a fine one. Just because you wear a white coat that doesn’t make you a god. You ought to be ashamed of yourself! After a poor girl for her money. And don’t think I don’t know what you’ve been up to. It’s as plain as the nose on your face. She’d have written long since if it hadn’t been for you. You’ve enticed her away from us. I know. He always said you would. Well you needn’t think you can get away with it. I’ll get the law on to you. You haven’t heard the last of this, and don’t you think so.’
But he’d closed the door. He’d actually closed the door in her face. How could he be so foul! She was so upset she burst into tears.
In the sudden peace of the hall, mother and son looked at one another for a long second, she horrified to think that Gemma could have such a dreadful mother, he bristling with well-used aggression.
‘What an exhibition!’ Catherine said, speaking so low that her voice was little more than a whisper. ‘I thought you were being unkind to her at first – but really! I can see why Gemma doesn’t want any contact with her.’
Nick was remembering his first meeting with Mrs Goodeve. ‘She’s a tricky woman,’ he said. ‘She used to make scenes like that on the ward. I had to head her off then.’
The shrill voice seemed to have stopped. ‘Has she gone, do you think?’ Catherine said. She peered through the stained glass of the front door. The garden was blessedly empty.
Nick had no more time for the woman and didn’t even bother to look. ‘Let’s hope so.’
‘What if she comes back?’
‘Oh, I don’t think she will,’ he said airily. ‘She knows when she’s beaten. But if she does, don’t answer the door.’ It was the sort of treatment she deserved after shrieking abuse like that. It had shaken him despite his apparent cool. His blood pressure was well up. And now it was time for him to go back to St Thomas’s and Gemma still hadn’t come home so she was obviously keeping out of his way.
‘It’s a good job your father wasn’t here,’ Catherine said, ‘or he’d have had her sectioned. Shall we tell Gemma?’
‘I wouldn’t,’ he said, opening the door. ‘But it’s up to you. I must go or I’ll be late. Give Dad my love.’
She kissed him goodbye. ‘Mind she isn’t waiting round the corner,’ she warned and it was only half a joke.
When Billie ran away from the house, she was crying so much she could barely see where she was going. She crossed the road without checking for traffic and fell towards the BMW, her cheeks flushed and streaked with tears. The sight of her was so alarming that Tim got out of the car and rushed towards her.
‘Poppet! What is it?’ he said, putting his arms round her.
‘She’s not there,’ Billie wept into his chest. ‘She’s gone and they wouldn’t tell me where. They shut the door in my face.’
‘Right!’ he said, on tiptoe to rush for the house. ‘That’s it. They need sorting out.’
But she hung on to his arm to restrain him. ‘No, don’t! Please, Tim. I couldn’t bear another scene.’
‘They needn’t think they can get away with
this,’ he bristled. ‘Upsetting you like this.’
‘Please, Tim. Please. Just take me home. Please.’
She was too distraught to face another row. He could see that. ‘Well …’ he said.
She opened the car door and slid inside. ‘Just take me home,’ she begged.
‘I shall deal with them,’ he told her as he followed her into the car.
‘Yes, but later.’
‘Enticement,’ he said, sniffing so that his moustache shifted sideways. ‘That’s what this is, isn’t it?’ And when she nodded: ‘I told you so, didn’t I. Right at the outset. I knew someone was enticing her. Don’t you worry, Poppet. You leave it to me. I’ll fix them. They can’t refuse to tell us where she is.’
Now that she was safely inside the car she began to recover. ‘Fancy shutting the door in my face.’
‘They’ll live to regret it,’ he promised, patting her hand. But then his tone changed. ‘Hello!’ he said. ‘Who’s this?’ A Rover had just passed them and was turning in at the Quennells’ drive. He peered through the windscreen at it, his eyes narrowed. ‘I know that feller. Well bugger me! That’s Quack-quack Quennell, the one in the papers.’
‘Yes,’ she said. ‘That’s right. That is their name. Quennell. He must be the son. My one, I mean.’
‘Perfect!’ Tim said, still watching as Andrew got out of the car. ‘A man with a public face. Couldn’t be better. Now we’ve got a stick to beat them with. I’ll make them wish they’d never been born. Taking our girl away from us. You leave it all to me.’
Curiosity dried the last of her tears. ‘What will you do?’
‘I shall find out where she is, for a start.’
Gemma's Journey Page 26
