But Carolyn wasn’t so sure. Tom Mackenzie was a smart guy with a moneymaking agenda, and that spelt trouble. As for Carolyn, was she really up to blatantly lying to her husband? She watched him as he slept, blissfully ignorant of the plan that she and her sister-in-law were hatching.
‘It’s dead simple,’ Molly had said. ‘All you have to say is that you’ve gained my confidence and I’ve confided in you.’
‘And you think he’ll believe that?’
‘He’ll want to believe it, Caro, and that’s the main thing.’
But would he? As he stirred in his sleep, Carolyn became more and more nervous. She hadn’t even told him about her pregnancy yet; there just hadn’t been a good time. The only moment they’d had to themselves all day had been after lunch when Magnus and Old Bailey had gone to the Gents’, but Carolyn hadn’t felt like breaking the most important news of her life in a Little Chef car park.
As Marty slept on, she became more and more paranoid. What if he didn’t want this baby? When they’d got engaged, they’d sat down and written a long list of what they’d both wanted out of life. Well, Marty had written it; Carolyn had just watched in amazement. Did people really make life-changing decisions with lists?
‘I’d like to have pets,’ she’d suggested. ‘Would you?’
Marty had shaken his head. ‘No. Too many allergies are caused by pets.’
‘What about children?’ she’d said hesitantly after a few minutes’ silence.
Marty had blushed. ‘All in good time,’ he’d said in a very subdued voice.
All in good time, but was now a good time? Carolyn wasn’t sure. With all this Molly and Vive! business, she might have to wait before she broke the news to him.
Picking up Marty’s discarded copy of Vive!, Carolyn thumbed through it until she came to Tom Mackenzie’s column. The cheek of the man, coming to her house thinking she’d help him to ensnare her own sister-in-law! And now making a plea to the nation for sightings of Molly. Was there no limit to the depths this man would plunge in order to make a few quid? He’d even published a photograph of Molly winning her much treasured florists’ award a few years ago.
Carolyn started as she thought of something. No, it couldn’t possibly work. Could it? She threw the paper back onto the bed and quickly found a pen and some paper.
Just off for a quick walk. Love, C, she wrote, placing the note on Marty’s bedside table. Then, picking up her handbag, she left the room, sneaking down the stairs and out of the front door before anyone could notice she’d gone. Reaching into her handbag, she found her mobile again and the little fawn card she’d been given. She shook her head. Either she was completely mad or her hormones were getting the better of her already, but her hammering heart told her that she could just be on to something.
‘Hello? Tom Mackenzie?’ she said a few seconds later. ‘It’s Carolyn Bailey here – Molly Bailey’s sister-in-law. Look, I have some information you might be able to use.’
Chapter Twenty-Six
It was late Thursday evening and Molly had quite a few miles under her belt. She didn’t know why she hadn’t thought of it herself, and couldn’t quite believe that it had been Carolyn who’d come up with the idea. It was a stroke of sheer sister-in-law genius from the old sparky Caro – the girl Molly hadn’t seen for such a long a time.
Molly smiled as she remembered Carolyn’s excited phone call.
‘I’ve got his phone number right here, Moll. He asked me to give him a call if I found anything out. So, what do you suggest I find out about you?’ There’d been a definite playfulness in her voice and it had made Molly laugh.
The beauty of this plan had been that, whether or not Marty believed that Carolyn knew where Molly was, he’d believe it once he read it in Vive!. The only thing to worry about was the public sightings. That could seriously confuse things. Still, she wasn’t the only yellow Beetle on the road, was she? Anyway, it would probably get him off the scent for the next couple of days.
From Derbyshire, Molly had dipped in and out of several counties, depositing an awful lot of money and endless yellow flowers. Now, winding her way through the golden villages of the Cotswolds, she was screaming for a good meal.
She’d passed several candidates for pubs: there was The George Inn, which looked extremely upmarket for the middle of nowhere; she’d be way too conspicuous there in her great silver boots. There was the tiny Dog and Gun, but that would probably be full of farmers. No, she wanted something nice and ordinary; somewhere she could relax, have something to eat and leave without anyone noticing her.
Finally she chose The Swan, parking her car at the side of the road and making sure Fizz had a drink before she took her own fill. The pub looked like a setting from a Grimm’s fairy story, emerging as it did from a small forest of trees. The honey-coloured stone was worn and weather-beaten, and there was moss growing on the roof. It looked more like a private residence than a pub and that made it all the more inviting.
It looked quiet from the outside but as soon as Molly opened the double doors a wall of noise hit her. She looked round in surprise and noticed that the pub was chock-full of tiny men. It was the most bizarre thing she’d ever seen. Molly, who’d always thought her five-foot two was tiny, felt positively Amazonian in comparison, wearing her favourite silver boots with the three-inch heels.
Walking to the bar through an avenue of low wolf whistles, Molly tried hard not to smile. Even though she wanted to let her hair down, she knew she had to be on her guard. After all, she had over two and a half thousand pounds in her handbag, and it wouldn’t be a good idea to start flirting with someone who might take advantage of her: moneywise or otherwise.
Ordering a meal and a drink and snack, she sat on a bar stool. It was high but it was bliss to be able to stretch her legs out after a day behind the wheel. She sipped at her white wine and opened her bag of crisps. It didn’t matter how much money you had in your bank account, it was still hard to beat a glass of white and a bag of salt and vinegar.
‘What’s a nice girl like you doing in a place like this?’ a deep Irish voice asked from behind.
Molly rolled her eyes at the cliché. She usually managed at least half a drink whenever she dared to go out before men tried to pick her up. This guy obviously didn’t trust the competition. Turning round, she saw the tiniest man she’d ever laid eyes on. How come somebody so small had such a deep voice? she wondered. His voice had been that of a six-foot six rugby player yet he barely came up to her shoulders, and that was when she was sitting down.
‘Hi,’ he smiled a cheeky smile. ‘I’m Declan,’ he said, holding a hand out for her to shake. Molly hesitated for a moment, wondering if she should shake it or snub him, but snubbing was little fun so she took the easier option of shaking.
‘Molly,’ she said.
‘Pretty,’ he replied, the low light of the pub making his eyes glint. ‘I’m a jockey,’ he added.
Molly’s eyebrows rose. ‘Oh?’
‘In case you were wondering.’
‘I wasn’t.’
‘I’m here with me mates. We’re all jockeys in case you wondered why we’re so vertically challenged.’
‘I wasn’t,’ Molly said.
‘Ah, come on! I bet you were.’
There was such an irresistible twinkle in his eyes that it was impossible for Molly not to smile. ‘OK then, I was, but only because it’s such an unusual sight.’
‘We’re nothing if not unusual,’ he said, winking. ‘Now, let me get you another drink.’
‘I’ve not finished this one yet,’ Molly said, realising that, now the preliminaries were over, he was trying to move on to the serious business of getting her tipsy.
‘Ah! You’ll be wanting a second in no time, won’t you?’ Again, his eyes twinkled.
Molly thought of the meal she was about to have and the choice to either sit in the corner of the pub on her own, watching everybody around her having fun, or to take a chance and have a bit of fun herself
.
‘I’ll have another white wine, then,’ she said, her eyes twinkling right back at his.
‘Bloody wild goose chase,’ Tom muttered as he flung his body under the shower, which dribbled over his body like a baby. It had been a long and uncomfortable drive south before heading into Wales, and he was almost sure it was all in vain. He’d received two emails of sightings of Molly around the Cotswolds but Carolyn Bailey had informed him that she was now in Wales.
‘She told me she was heading to Rhosllanerchrugog but then she’s planning to go to Betws-y-Coed,’ she’d said, even spelling the places out for him oh-so-carefully, but Tom wasn’t convinced. These places were in the middle of nowhere and he had every suspicion that that was exactly where Molly wanted to place him. But were the email sightings any more reliable? There was surely more than one old-style yellow VW Beetle on the roads. It didn’t automatically follow that the ones seen were Molly’s.
Reaching out for a fluffy white towel, Tom stepped out of the shower. He’d have to sit down and reassess things tomorrow. He couldn’t afford to lose readers at this stage of the game. Although he had quite a fan club owing to his TV appearance, that wasn’t going to help him secure a good post in the long run.
Combing through his wet hair and running a hand over his two-day stubble, he determined one thing: if Molly and Carolyn Bailey were going to play dirty then he was jolly well going to play dirty too.
Food eaten and her second glass of wine long emptied, Molly gazed across the tiny table at her new friend.
‘How’s about another?’ Declan asked, nodding at her empty glass.
Molly chewed her lip thoughtfully. ‘I don’t know.’
‘How’s about a bottle of white this time – cheaper than endless glasses?’
‘Oh, don’t worry about the cost. I’m getting them in.’
Declan’s eyes widened happily. ‘Hey! I’ve always wanted to find a rich woman to look after me.’
‘Well, you’ve found one,’ Molly said and then hiccuped. Perhaps she shouldn’t have said that.
‘Well, in that case, I’ll just sit here and watch you get them in.’
Molly smiled. What harm could another glass do?
An hour later, she had her answer. She hadn’t had so much to drink in one go for ages and the pub food didn’t seem to be doing its job of soaking it all up.
‘I don’t think I should drive anywhere,’ Molly slurred, suddenly realising that she should try and find somewhere to stay for the night.
‘You don’t have to,’ Declan said. ‘There’s a hotel just round the corner.’
Molly nodded, trying to compute this new piece of information. ‘I’ve got a dog.’
He gave her a quizzical look. ‘Where?’
‘In my car,’ she explained.
‘Well, I’m sure he can come too. As long as he’s not a Rottweiler.’
Molly dissolved into laughter, as if his line was the funniest thing she’d ever heard. ‘He’s a terrier!’ she said, wiping the tears away from her eyes.
Declan grinned. ‘A real guard dog, then?’
‘Oh, yes! So don’t try any funny business or he’ll have your arm off.’
‘So you want to give this hotel a try?’
Molly nodded. ‘Do you think they’ll still have vacancies?’
‘There’s only one way to find out.’
‘Oh!’ Molly said, seeing he was following her as she made to leave. ‘I don’t want you going to any trouble. I’m sure I’ll be able to find my way.’
‘You obviously don’t know the sorts of dangers there are lurking in the Cotswolds at this time of night,’ Declan said in a dramatic whisper.
‘You mean, other than you?’ Molly giggled.
‘Ah! Really!’ he said, pushing the door open and letting Molly through first. They left the pub accompanied by a few low wolf whistles from Declan’s jokey jockey chums, who were still knocking back the spirits. Molly tutted. What did they think they were up to? He was only making sure she found the hotel safely.
‘Those are the most amazing boots I’ve ever seen,’ Declan said, eyeing Molly’s silver legs. ‘And I bet there’s a great pair of pins inside them too. Hey! Steady on there,’ he added as Molly swayed towards him. He held out his hand for her to take.
Molly placed her hand in his. ‘You’re tiny!’ she said, a little giggle bubbling from her mouth. ‘Sorry! That was very rude of me.’
Declan looked at her and then leant into her face to whisper something. ‘I’m not that tiny, you know.’
After grabbing a small overnight bag and putting Fizz on his lead, they found the hotel and were given a room on the first floor.
Molly flopped down onto the bed in relief. It was soft and saggy: perfect for a quick doze. But she couldn’t fall asleep yet, could she? That would be very rude after he’d walked her from the pub.
Through a wine-warmed fog, she watched as Declan unbuttoned his shirt. He was small, but perfectly formed. There wasn’t an ounce of fat on him and his chest was smooth and tanned. He was lovely and, all of a sudden, he was very close.
‘Has anyone ever told you you’ve got the most beautiful eyes?’ he whispered, his breath spirit-scented.
‘Has anyone ever told you that you come out with the most awful clichés?’ Molly whispered back, swallowing a giggle.
‘As a matter of fact, no, they haven’t.’ With that, he kissed her. Molly closed her eyes. Well, there was no harm in a kiss, was there?
The next morning, Molly woke, her eyes seeming to spiral like Ka’s in The Jungle Book. Sitting up slowly and pushing her dark curls out of her face, Molly took the measure of the night before. She hadn’t intended to sleep with him. Not after the Lord Henry fiasco, but it had just sort of happened. Not that it had been an unpleasant experience – far from it. Declan had shown his riding technique off to fantastic effect and they’d completed at least a couple of Grand Nationals together. But she knew that it hadn’t been the wisest of things to do in the circumstances. She didn’t know anything about this man. She could have had her throat slit. She could have been robbed.
‘Oh my God!’ Molly suddenly shouted, looking round her room for her handbag and finding it on the floor by Fizz. She opened it up, her heart beating madly.
It was gone.
Of course it was gone. What had she expected? Two and a half thousand pounds. That was the most expensive night she’d ever had, and she had nothing to show for it but a nasty love bite at the base of her throat.
‘Fizz! You really aren’t a guard dog, are you?’ she said, her eyes crinkling in consternation. He looked up at her with blissful ignorance. ‘You know that was for the animal home we passed, don’t you? To help homeless dogs, like you once were.’ Molly groaned. ‘Two and a half grand,’ she said, shaking her head in disbelief. ‘And I bet he doesn’t even need it.’
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Molly left the hotel, her forehead furrowed like a newly ploughed field. She just couldn’t believe that Declan could do something like that to her. How could he? And just after they’d…
She shook her head. She didn’t want to think about it. He wasn’t worth the head room.
‘Bastard,’ she cursed, kicking a stone into the hedgerow and causing a pensioner to turn round and glare at her.
‘Sorry,’ Molly mumbled in embarrassment, ‘but you know what men are like?’
The woman’s gaze lingered a moment and then she nodded. ‘Bastards!’ she said with such vehemence that Molly almost tripped over her own feet. No, she wasn’t the only woman to have been screwed and screwed over by a man, was she? They got everywhere, did men. They sought you out and used and abused you. No wonder Molly had stayed so resolutely single. Dogs were far more trustworthy companions.
‘Come on, darling,’ she said, giving Fizz’s head a ruffle, ‘let’s get you some breakfast.’
Walking back towards The Swan where she’d left the car overnight, Molly wondered if she should hang around for a while
on the off chance that Dodgy Declan might make an appearance, and demand that he returned her money. But at what cost? There’d only be an ugly scene and she didn’t want to make herself conspicuous, particularly where money was concerned. It was best to try and forget about it, no matter how mad it made her. Anyway, as she turned the last corner towards the pub, she realised that the stolen money was the least of her problems.
Her car had disappeared.
‘Wales?’ Old Bailey barked over his cooked breakfast, puncturing his egg yolk with an angry fork.
‘That’s what this reporter is saying, although why Molly would go to Wales is beyond me,’ Marty said, shaking his head as he took a bite out of his fried bread.
‘Why would she go to any of these places?’ Magnus asked. ‘I don’t understand it. What does she think she’s doing?’
‘Enjoying herself?’ Carolyn piped from the end of the table.
Three pairs of stern eyes turned and glared at her. Carolyn tried not to swallow her mouthful of tea down the wrong way.
‘Enjoying herself with our money!’ Old Bailey said, teeth smeared with egg yolk.
‘How’s it your money?’ Carolyn dared to ask.
Old Bailey blinked a rheumy eye at her. ‘Who do you think raised the girl? Who fed and clothed her and saw her through college?’ He gave a dramatic pause before answering his own question. ‘We did!’
Carolyn stared at him as if to say so what? But she knew what he was getting at. In some families, gratitude had no expiry date, and this was such a family. Remembering what Molly had told her over the years, it had always been the same with the Baileys. Now, according to Old Bailey, Molly owed them, and they were out to get every penny they could before it was distributed elsewhere.
‘Some people just don’t know how to be grateful,’ Old Bailey grumbled into his bacon rashers.
Carolyn tried to tranquillise herself with more tea. She’d have been dosing herself up with wine if it wasn’t just gone nine in the morning and she wasn’t pregnant.
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