‘What difference does that make? Besides, she’s not just any little girl, is she! She’s his daughter, Lowri.’
‘No, she’s not, Sal—she’s mine!’
‘You know what I mean,’ said Sarah soothingly. ‘He could help, you know, cariad. Financially.’
‘I don’t need help—’ Lowri bit her lip. ‘Oh Sarah,
I’m sorry. I’ll always be grateful for the help you’ve all given me. But Adam’s help I’d rather do without.’
The run-up to Christmas was so busy Lowri was thankful she had little time to think. She was due to drive to Cwmderwen once she’d closed the shop on Christmas Eve, and for weeks she’d been looking forward to a break with her father and Holly, and little Huw. The shop looked festive with cut-out figures from nursery rhymes and flights of gilt cherubs, and a Christmas tree in the window in place of the crib. And in the flat upstairs Lowri decorated a tiny tree for Rhosyn, and hung paperchains and sprigs of holly in the sitting-room. Takings in the shop were good and the crèche was doing a roaring trade while busy mothers did their Christmas shopping. But underneath it all Lowri couldn’t rid herself of the unease which hung over her like a cloud since her encounter with Adam.
Her reaction was fierce when she found his visit to her garage had been motivated by more than mere idle curiosity. Adam Hawkridge had not only settled the bill for the quite extensive repairs, but had paid for a set of new tyres for her car.
Lowri’s thank-you letter was a chore she laboured over for hours before she was satisfied with the polite, impersonal little note she finally addressed to Hawk Electronics, since she had no idea if Adam still lived in the riverside flat. Her first instinct was to send a cheque to him immediately for the amount, but after giving it thought something stayed her hand. The look in Adam’s eyes as he’d left her that night had haunted her ever since. To throw his money back in his face smacked of a cruelty no lesson could ever have taught her.
Three days before Christmas a mammoth present was delivered to the shop for Rhosyn.
‘Good heavens,’ said Fran Hobbs as a glorious rocking horse emerged from the carton. ‘Who in the world sent Rosie that?’
‘No card,’ said Lowri, pink-cheeked. ‘Must be from Rhia. She’s spending Christmas in Gstaad with the girls. She obviously thought it would come in handy in the shop, or down in the play area—no room for it up in the flat, that’s for sure.’
Next day more packages arrived, but Lowri took these upstairs to open later in private, unwilling to risk any more embarrassment in front of Fran and Jenny. Not that either of them was ever tactless enough to ask about Rhosyn’s father—or lack of one.
Later, when Rhosyn was tucked up in her cot, Lowri forced herself to have a bath and eat her supper before she let herself open the parcels. She took the wrappings off slowly at last, then stared as she opened a box full of clothes for her daughter: diminutive dungarees and expensive sweaters, cute little training shoes, a towelling robe and a strawberry-pink ski-jacket. She raised an eyebrow at the designer labels, then took out the card which lay at the bottom of the box.
‘To Rhosyn,’ it said, in familiar bold handwriting, ‘with love’.
Again Lowri wanted to stuff everything back in the box and send it straight to Hawk Electronics. But after a moment she calmed down, trying to be fair. There’d been no veto on presents. And Rhosyn was too young to know where the clothes came from. Lowri shrugged, hardening herself to a practical point of view. After Rosie’d grown out of them they’d fetch a good price down in the shop. The larger of the other two parcels contained a long-haired teddy-bear as big as Rhosyn, but the smaller one was addressed to Lowri. She eyed it malevolently, wondering if Adam had the gall to think he could win her round with presents.
When she removed the paper Lowri found a small jeweller’s box. Her eyes narrowed dangerously, then opened wide when she discovered a small gold cricket bat with a tiny gold cricket ball attached to it. Adam Hawkridge was too clever by half, she thought mutinously, staring at the brooch through a veil of sudden, treacherous tears. Nostalgia was a sneaky, underhand way to undermine her defences.
Next day was sheer chaos in the shop. Jenny needed to get off early in the afternoon and had asked permission to bring in her young sister Kay, who was on Christmas leave from her nanny-training. The extra pair of hands in the crèche came in useful, especially when Lowri needed to take Rhosyn upstairs for her lunch and a short nap. But with Jenny off in the afternoon it was hectic, and Fran volunteered to stay until closing time. At one stage Lowri dashed out to buy more of the balloons they were handing out to all their little clients over the Christmas period, then when the final wave of mothers rushed in to collect their children she went down to the basement to give Kay a hand.
‘Where’s Rhosyn?’ she said to the girl in an undertone as Kay zipped up a little boy’s windcheater.
Kay looked blank. ‘What do you mean, Miss Morgan? Haven’t you got her?’
Lowri felt the blood drain away from her face. ‘No!’ she said, and raced up the stairs while Kay handed the child over to his mother.
‘Have you seen Rhosyn?’ panted Lowri, grabbing Fran.
‘Dear heaven, no. Isn’t she down—?’ Fran shook her head. ‘Obviously not or you wouldn’t be asking me.’ She turned on Kay, who’d come running upstairs, whitefaced as Lowri. ‘Now then, young lady. What’s all this?’
Kay began to sob. ‘A lady—came down—and said she was Rhosyn’s grandmother, that Rosie’s mummy wanted her upstairs. I didn’t know—I thought—’
Lowri pulled herself together, forcing herself to be gentle. ‘All right, Kay—calm down. Can you describe the woman?’
For a while Kay was too hysterical to say a word, but eventually a sharp admonition from Fran dried her up sufficiently to try to remember. ‘Grey hair—elderlynice clothes.’
‘How did she talk—any accent?’ said Lowri, trying not to panic.
‘Sort of posh—you know.’ Kay stared at her in misery. ‘Oh, Miss Morgan, I could kill myself. But she was so nice!’
‘Nice women don’t steal babies,’ said Fran forcefully, and went to the telephone. ‘I’m calling the police.’
‘Hang on a minute,’ said Lowri in a strange voice. ‘You two get off home. I’d better do some checking before I involve the police.’
‘You mean you know who might have taken her?’
‘No. But I’ve suddenly got a very strong suspicion.’
Fran’s eyebrows rose. ‘Do I take it the description actually fits Rhosyn’s grandmother?’
‘I don’t know. I’ve never met her.’ Lowri breathed in deeply. ‘Look, I can’t explain now—your family will be waiting for you, Fran. If I need you I’ll ring you.’
‘You’re taking this much too calmly, love—’
‘Then I must be a bloody good actress!’ said Lowri with sudden savagery, and Fran nodded briskly in comprehension, hugged her hard and shooed the distraught teenager out of the shop. ‘Right. I’ll see Kay home, feed my lot and come back later. Sooner if you need me,’ she added as she closed the door.
Lowri flew upstairs, in case by some strange quirk of fate her adventurous baby had somehow made it up to the flat on her own. But the rooms were empty. As she’d known they’d be. She picked up the phone, her breath rasping in her chest as she punched the buttons for the number of Hawk Electronics. She was put through to Adam’s assistant. He informed her that Mr Hawkridge had just left and he himself was not at liberty to divulge his employer’s home telephone number. In an agony of frustration Lowri tried the number of the Wapping flat and got Adam’s terse voice on his answering machine. At screaming point, she left a brief, urgent message for him to ring her immediately he got in, then rang Directory Enquiries and asked for the number of the family home in Sussex.
In her anguish Lowri punched out the third number twice before she got it right, then sagged against the wall as a friendly voice gave the number and then said,
‘Alice Hawkridge spea
king.’
For a moment Lowri couldn’t say a word and the woman said ‘Hello? Is someone there? Hello?’
‘Mrs Hawkridge,’ said Lowri hoarsely. ‘You won’t know me—’
‘Who is this?’
‘My name’s Lowri Morgan—’
‘Lowri? Oh my dear, how wonderful to hear from you. Adam wouldn’t let me contact you but I did so hope— what is it? What’s the matter?’ asked Mrs Hawkridge sharply, as Lowri gave a groan like someone in mortal agony.
‘My baby,’ she got out. ‘Someone’s stolen Rhosyn.’ She sobbed her story out, even admitting she’d suspected Mrs Hawkridge of taking Rhosyn away.
There was a gasp of horror down the line, then a resolute, ‘And why shouldn’t you? You don’t know me, after all. But I didn’t,’ added Mrs Hawkridge unsteadily.
‘I know, I know, I only wish you had!’ cried Lowri. ‘At least I’d know where she was.’
‘My dear, ring the police. Adam’s on his way to supper with me at this very moment. I’ll contact him on his car phone. You ring the police now!’
The police were wonderfully prompt. While Lowri was answering Fran’s phone call the outer doorbell rang, and within seconds the small sitting-room seemed crowded as a detective inspector, accompanied by his sergeant and a woman police constable arrived to hear the details. Lowri, tear-stained but more composed by this time, answered their questions as fully as she could and supplied them with a description of Rhosyn’s clothes, and gave them photographs and every scrap of information she could piece together as relevant.
‘Don’t worry about relevance, Mrs Morgan,’ said Inspector Cox, ‘tell us anything at all. We’ll decide whether it’s important.’ He nodded to the woman constable. ‘Maggie will make you some coffee.’
‘Thank you.’ Lowri took a deep, unsteady breath. ‘But first of all I’m not Mrs Morgan, I’m Miss.’
‘I see. Does that mean you live here alone with your daughter?’
‘Yes.’
The inspector’s eyes narrowed. ‘So the father could have taken your child.’
‘Oh, no. A woman took her, remember. Someone posing as Rhosyn’s grandmother.’ Lowri rubbed her eyes in sudden pain. ‘I was only out of the shop for ten minutes! All for the sake of a few balloons—’
‘Now, now, Miss Morgan,’ he said kindly, and told his sergeant to telephone what details they had to the station and to send someone round to question Kay Hooper. ‘However,’ he said, when they were alone. ‘This doesn’t rule out the father. The woman could have been working for him.’
Lowri shook her head firmly. ‘No. That’s out of the question.’
The inspector looked unconvinced. ‘Give me his name and address, please.’
Before Lowri could supply it, the phone rang. She jumped to her feet but the sergeant forestalled her.
‘We’ll see to this,’ said the inspector firmly.
‘It’s a Mr Hawkridge for Miss Morgan,’ said the sergeant, Lowri ran to take the receiver from him.
‘Lowri?’ said Adam, his voice almost unrecognisable. ‘For God’s sake, what’s happening? Any news? Who was that on the phone?’
‘The police. Oh, Adam, someone’s stolen Rhosyn,’ said Lowri shakily.
‘Mother told me. I’m in the car right now, on my way. I’ve tried to get you a couple of times but the line was engaged. Hold on, Lowri—I’ll be there as soon as I can.’
Lowri put the receiver down, scrubbed at her face, then sat down again, accepting a cup of coffee gratefully. ‘That was Rhosyn’s father. I think you can cross him off the list, Inspector, but if you need to question him he’ll be here soon.’
‘I’d like a few details about him just the same, if you would.’
When Inspector Cox discovered Adam Hawkridge was the head of a successful electronics firm he exchanged a look with the policeman, who sat down by Lowri on the sofa.
‘Miss Morgan,’ he said gently, ‘would Mr Hawkridge be very wealthy by any chance?’
Lowri frowned. ‘I don’t know.’
The two policemen exchanged looks. ‘What do you mean, you don’t know?’ asked the inspector.
Lowri shrugged. ‘He’s comfortably off, I suppose. But you’d have to ask him that. Why?’ she added suspiciously, then lost every last vestige of colour. ‘Oh, I see. Ransom.’
‘It’s a possibility. Anyone knowing the child’s father…’
Lowri shook her head, regaining some of her colour in a rush. ‘Hardly anyone does. In fact, until a few days ago only my family knew who Rhosyn’s father was.’
‘And what happened a few days ago?’ probed the inspector.
Lowri explained the accidental meeting, and subsequent discovery by Adam that he possessed a daughter. ‘I kept the baby a secret from him for—for reasons of my own.’
‘If those reasons throw any light on her disappearance, we need to know them, Miss Morgan.’
‘I had no wish to marry Mr Hawkridge,’ said Lowri woodenly, ‘and saw no reason to inform him of Rhosyn’s birth.’
‘By which I take it you are not on good terms with Mr Hawkridge,’ commented the inspector.
‘I wouldn’t say that. I had dinner with him at the Chesterton only recently,’ she said with perfect truth, then suddenly lost her temper. ‘But why are we just sitting here chatting? Why aren’t you out there doing something about getting my baby back? She’ll be in a terrible state, crying for me—’ She broke down, crying wildly, and the policewoman put an arm round Lowri, trying to comfort her while the inspector explained as succinctly as possible that a missing child was treated with top priority. The photographs were being copied and would be circulated, and an appeal broadcast on both radio and television later that night. Everything humanly possible would be done to reunite Rhosyn with her mother at top speed.
At the sound of the doorbell Lowri leapt to her feet expectantly, her eyes dulling as the sergeant came into the room to say a Mrs Frances Hobbs and Miss Jenny Hooper were asking to come up.
‘Mrs Hobbs is my partner, Miss Hooper runs the crèche.’ Lowri subsided, mopping her face. ‘Please let them in.’
Jenny rushed in ahead of Fran, ignoring the police as she threw herself into Lowri’s arms, begging her forgiveness. ‘I should never have gone off and left Kay on her own today; I wouldn’t have let Rhosyn out of my sight. Oh, Lowri, I’m so sorry!’
Given the task of calming Jenny down, Lowri pulled herself together, assuring Jenny she wasn’t to blame. ‘How’s Kay?’
‘I’ve left her with my mother. She hasn’t stopped crying—she’s in a terrible state.’
‘Did you contact Rhosyn’s grandmother?’ asked Fran.
‘Yes.’
‘What was that?’ asked Inspector Cox.
‘Since the woman who took Rhosyn pretended to be her grandmother I naturally contacted Mrs Alice Hawkridge first before ringing you,’ explained Lowri. ‘She lives in Sussex,’ she added. ‘It was she who contacted Adam to give him the news.’
‘I see. And there’s no possibility that it could have been your mother, Miss Morgan?’
‘My mother died ten years ago.’
‘I’m sorry.’ The inspector moved to the door. ‘I’ll get back to the station with Sergeant Boyce. WPC Porter will stay here with you for the time being. Overnight if you’d prefer. Try not to worry too much. We’ll do everything in our power to get your child back, Miss Morgan.’
When the men had gone, Maggie, as she asked to be called, volunteered to make coffee for everyone, including sandwiches if Lowri would give her run of the kitchen.
‘Good idea,’ said Fran firmly. ‘You must eat something, Lowri.’
Finding it easier to give in than to argue, Lowri nodded listlessly, deeply grateful for her friends’ company. Then she jumped up in alarm. ‘What am I thinking of? I’ve got to ring my father and Sarah before they see the news on television.’ She shuddered. ‘It all seems so much worse when it’s put into words. How could anybody do this?’
&nb
sp; By the time both phone calls were made Lowri was white and shaking and causing her friends considerable concern.
‘Come and eat a sandwich,’ said Fran sternly. ‘It won’t do Rosie any good to come home to a mother in a state of collapse.’
Oddly comforted by Fran’s no-nonsense manner, Lowri nibbled at a sandwich, and even managed a smile for Maggie, who had cut crusts off and found a pretty plate for the sandwiches.
‘Do you do a lot of this sort of thing?’ Lowri asked, as she sipped her coffee.
‘Only once before on this type of case, and that’s twice too many. But don’t worry,’ she added staunchly. ‘We’ll get her back. Inspector Cox is a family man himself. He understands what you’re going through. He won’t rest until your baby’s safe.’
Jenny and Fran assured Lowri that the following day, Christmas Eve or not, they could manage without her at the shop. ‘You won’t want to be down there tomorrow,’ said Jenny.
‘I’d rather keep busy,’ said Lowri quickly.
‘But you may get a lot of nosy parkers coming in just to look at you if you’re on the news tonight,’ Jenny pointed out unhappily.
When the doorbell rang all three of them waited, tense, as Maggie went out to see who it was. ‘It’s Mr Hawkridge,’ she announced, coming back into the room. ‘He’s on his way up.’
But Lowri was already on her feet and running out into the hall to open the door at the head of the stairs as Adam came leaping up to meet her. She took one look at his drawn, ashen face, and all her hostility and resentment towards him vanished as though they’d never been. She threw herself into his arms and he crushed her close, rubbing his cheek against hers.
He put Lowri away from him at last, staring down into her tear-stained face. ‘No news?’
She shook her head forlornly, and filled him in on what the police were doing so far. ‘They thought you might have had something to do with it,’ she told him bluntly.
Adam shrugged out of his overcoat. ‘Did you?’
‘No.’
He breathed in deeply. ‘Thank God for that, at least.’ He put his arm round her and opened the sitting-room door, then stopped dead at the sight of so many women.
Reform of the Rake Page 13
