Blood-Tied (16 page)

29

Esme walked through the hospital reception area and into the lift on her regular visit to Elizabeth. Early afternoons had become the pattern, recently. Gemma generally called in later so the two of them had still not seen one another since their confrontation. Esme thought it was time that they tackled their differences. What was to be gained by prolonging their estrangement at a time when support was most needed? Surely Gemma must feel that she had made her point by now. Esme decided she must leave a message on Gemma’s answering machine suggesting she dropped into the hospital one evening when Gemma was there, and see what response she got.

The lift doors opened. Esme stepped out and walked along the corridor towards Elizabeth’s ward. Helen was on duty at the desk. They exchanged a few words about Elizabeth’s progress.

‘Is Gemma not well?’ asked Helen.

‘No idea,’ confessed Esme. ‘Haven’t spoken to her for a while. Why?’

‘I haven’t seen her today, that’s all. She always says if she can’t make it.’

‘She’ll still be in theatre, won’t she?’

Helen shook her head. ‘Day off.’

‘Perhaps she’s planning to come in later. I was going to give her a call when I get back anyway. I’ll see if she’s OK.’

‘I’ve already tried phoning her home number but there was no reply. Though if she’s ill, she might have been asleep, I suppose.’

Esme wasn’t particularly concerned. Gemma was quite capable of looking after herself, as Gemma had tersely declared to Esme when she’d accused her of fussing.

‘Did you try her mobile?’ asked Esme.

‘Switched off.’

‘Odd. It’s usually only off when she’s working in theatre. How long ago did you try?’

Helen looked up at the clock and pulled a face. ‘About an hour ago, I suppose.’ She leant over the counter of the nurses’ station and reached for the telephone. She turned it around and placed it on the shelf next to Esme. ‘Do you want to try her?’

Helen left the station and disappeared towards the other end of the ward. Esme dropped her coat and bag on the chair and picked up the receiver. She punched in the numbers and listened. The line was connected and the ringing tone echoed in her ear. No immediate response. She hung on, becoming mesmerised by the monotony of the sound. How long should she let it ring? Twenty rings? Thirty? On the one hand she didn’t want to drag Gemma out of bed if she wasn’t well, but on the other there were the beginnings of anxiety stirring in her head and she would rather be assured that Gemma wasn’t suffering from something.

Esme had lost count of the number of rings when the telephone clicked at the other end and a woman’s voice answered.

‘Gemma?’ It didn’t sound like Gemma but then if she wasn’t feeling well…

‘No, she’s not here. Who is that?’

Esme explained.

‘I’m Annie,’ said the woman. ‘I live next door. I called in to feed Gemma’s cat. I sometimes do if Gemma has to work late. I wouldn’t normally answer the phone but it kept ringing and I thought it must be important if they were so persistent.’

‘Gemma’s not there then?’ said Esme.

‘No, of course not.’ She obviously thought Esme was stupid to ask such an obvious question. ‘Otherwise…’

‘Otherwise you wouldn’t be there. Yes, I see that. You don’t know where Gemma is?’

‘I assumed she’d stayed over at the hospital,’ said Annie. ‘She sometimes does.’

‘No one’s seen her today and we were concerned she wasn’t well.’ Esme tried not to sound alarmist. ‘Perhaps she’s gone to the supermarket or something. Sorry to trouble you…’

‘She did that yesterday,’ interrupted Annie. ‘Saw her unloading her car. But I told you, I thought she must have stayed at the hospital. She never came home last night, see.’

‘But she didn’t phone you to tell you she wasn’t coming home?’

‘No but then if she’s in theatre late, she can’t always. I keep an eye out usually.’

Esme glanced up and saw Helen striding down the corridor at speed. She looked agitated. Patient problems, probably.

‘I must go, Annie. Thanks for your help. I expect she’ll turn up in a minute. If you do see, her perhaps you’d let her know I’ve called. Bye now.’ She dropped the receiver on to the cradle with a sigh and looked up at Helen who was looking decidedly anxious.

‘What’s up?’

‘Peter, one of the nurses, saw Gemma’s car when he came on duty yesterday.’

‘Where?’

‘Here, in the hospital car park. He’s just gone down to see if it’s still there.’

‘Her next-door neighbour says she didn’t go home last night,’ said Esme. They stared at one another, working out what they should make of it, thinking of possible scenarios.

Helen grabbed the phone. ‘I’ll get on to security and see if anyone noticed her leave last night. She arrived just as I was going off duty yesterday. I was on a late so it would have been about 9.45 I suppose. Hello?’

Esme switched off from Helen’s conversation as she tried to fathom out what this meant. Was she being unnecessarily edgy about this? Wasn’t Gemma capable of organising her own life, visiting friends, staying over in whatever way she wanted? She had a good arrangement with Annie which meant that she didn’t have to worry too much about telling her if she wanted to stay out, so didn’t that suggest that it was her usual way of operating? But Annie had said she didn’t bother to phone if she was in theatre and couldn’t make the call. But she hadn’t been in theatre, she had been here with Elizabeth. If she had intended to go elsewhere, surely Gemma would have let Annie know her movements.

Helen put down the phone and looked across at Esme.

‘She definitely left the building. Tom Christie saw her in the lobby and said goodnight.’

‘So she didn’t stay here, then. Perhaps she went to a friend’s.’

‘At midnight?’

‘Is that when she left?’

Helen nodded. ‘Apparently.’

They heard the door to the stairs swing open and a male nurse, whom Esme assumed to be Peter, came hurrying up the corridor out of breath.

‘It’s still there, in the same place.’

‘She could have parked in the same place again when she came back,’ suggested Esme.

‘Are you kidding?’ said Helen. ‘It’s a nightmare finding a parking space at the best of times. What are the odds of getting the same one two days on the trot?’

‘No, she never,’ wheezed Peter. ‘The car’s not been moved.’

‘How do you know?’ demanded Esme.

‘Because the bugger in charge of the parking has given her a ticket.’

*

Esme could just imagine Gemma’s reaction if she reported her to the police as a missing person and then Gemma rolled up having spent the night with a friend. On the other hand she couldn’t ignore it. She thought of her conversation with the inspector. He had thought it completely unlikely that Elizabeth would receive any unwelcome visitors, so what was it that was making her anxious?

She made a nervous telephone call to Inspector Barry. He was sympathetic but he cautioned her against overreacting.

‘She could have been collected by a friend after she left the hospital, gone out for the evening and be sleeping it off at their place,’ he said reasonably.

‘Yes, I’ve thought of that.’

‘And you say that she has this arrangement with her neighbour. So it’s not unusual for her to come home late or even not at all.’

‘Yes, but only when she’s at work and isn’t able to get to a phone and warn her. If she was with a friend she’d have the opportunity to let the neighbour know. She’s not a thoughtless person.’

‘Maybe she didn’t decide until it was too late to phone. You said she left at midnight.’

Esme sighed. ‘That’s true. So what should I do?’

‘Well, it’s not twenty-four hours yet, is it? Give her chance to surface, assuming she’s had a heavy night. I’ll put an unofficial word around. Let me know if you hear anything.’

*

Esme updated Helen on what the inspector had said. Helen accepted the logic. After all she didn’t know the whole story so she was more inclined to be convinced than Esme. Later, on her way out, Esme asked Helen to phone her if Gemma turned up at the hospital. Esme had left a message on Gemma’s mobile to ask her to confirm that everything was all right, and of course Annie would be looking out for her too. She’d tried to keep the messages upbeat. She didn’t want Gemma giving her an earful about her private life being invaded. As things were between them at present, it would be her first reaction.

Esme felt at a loss when she arrived home. The uncertainty of Gemma’s situation highlighted the uncertainty of Elizabeth’s. Watching Elizabeth lying there at the hospital was a strange experience at the best of times. It was like sitting in an auditorium waiting for something to happen on stage when you didn’t know what time the programme started. Was anything going to happen this time? Were there any clues that suggested something was about to change?

It had been more intense in the early days. Now it was waning a little. Esme suspected the task was slowly becoming a routine of sitting and watching, without expecting anything. Was she losing faith that Elizabeth was going to wake up? The thought made her feel uncomfortable. She chastised herself. The hospital staff were highly optimistic. So should she be.

When Esme got in through the front door she dumped her bag and coat on the floor and went through to the kitchen to put the kettle on. She needed a cup of tea before addressing anything else. As the kettle boiled she went over the reassuring words of the inspector in her head. Ninety-nine per cent of the time there’s a perfectly rational explanation, he’d reminded her. But she couldn’t help being concerned about that one per cent.

She took her tea into the sitting room. The answer-phone was blinking so she pressed the ‘play’ button. Maybe there was a message from Gemma. That would be a weight off her mind. She slumped down on the armchair and sipped her tea. There was an enquiry for a research assignment which sounded quite interesting. She got up to find a pen and paper to take down the details. She put her pad on the desk and stood poised to press the replay button once the messages had played through. The next message, though, fixed her to the spot.

It was a man’s voice, well-spoken, but there was something about its manner which set her teeth on edge before she even registered what he was saying.

‘Your interference has been a grave mistake, Mrs Quentin. I can assure you that Gemma is not very happy about it.’ Then there was a click. That was the end of the message.

She replayed it. Twice.

It was the last message. As far as she could tell, no one else had called since. There was a chance. She dialled 1471. The automatic voice began, ‘You were called…’ She knew what that meant but she listened through to the end any way. ‘The caller withheld their number.’ Of course they had. It wouldn’t be that simple.

Shaking, she managed to dial Inspector Barry’s number.

30

The techno-wizards had been let loose on Esme’s phone, the police told her, as Leonard Nicholson would need to call her again to make his demands. They hoped to establish his location. Inspector Barry also arranged for a uniformed constable to be on hand at Esme’s cottage. Esme called Lucy for moral support. She came over immediately.

Esme found herself explaining to Inspector Barry what she knew about the cottage and its connections with the Monkleigh family. Not surprisingly the inspector was annoyed that she hadn’t passed on the entire information before. Given the circumstances, Esme almost agreed with him. Maybe Gemma wouldn’t have been a target if she had done so. Esme gave a reasoned defence that the police would have only seen it as a petty family disagreement over an inheritance, but she had to admit that once she had discovered the unsavoury truth about Leonard Nicholson she ought to have realised that there might be more to the situation than a family squabble. She openly acknowledged her misjudgement, and she and Lucy proceeded to tell the inspector almost everything they had uncovered.

However Esme chose not to mention the added complication of Polly and the unauthorised ‘adoption’. She couldn’t see how it could be seen as relevant. She sensed that Inspector Barry suspected her of not being completely candid but he didn’t press the point. She envisaged a conversation sometime in the future, she justifying her decision and being told ‘I’ll be the judge of what’s relevant, Mrs Quentin.’ Esme would have to disagree. Leonard Nicholson wanted that land; he had failed with his first plan and now he had an insane idea that he was going to get it through Gemma. There was nothing more to know that was going to alter that state of affairs.

*

Three hours passed and there was nothing. They had one false alarm when the telephone had shrilled and panicked them all. Esme had snatched up the receiver without allowing herself to think about who might be on the other end. In the event it was the bookshop in town to tell Esme that the book she’d ordered had arrived. Esme thanked the shop assistant and replaced the phone. They all breathed again.

The clock ticked soothingly in the silence. Esme concentrated on it, trying to use its rhythm to calm her nerves. It was only part successful. She got up and began pacing. If the others were irritated by it, they kept their thoughts to themselves. Waiting for anything disagreeable was worse than the actual event but the strain of this was agonising. Esme remembered a similar feeling when watching Elizabeth and dealing with the uncertainty of when or whether she would wake up.

The constable, a young man by the name of Harris, offered to make yet another cup of tea. Esme declined but Lucy accepted. He went off to the kitchen for the umpteenth time. Lucy watched him go and then took Esme on one side.

‘Surely he isn’t holding Gemma so that Polly will sign that document,’ she said in a low voice. ‘It wouldn’t be legally valid, under those circumstances. He must have something else up his sleeve.’

They heard the constable’s radio crackle in the kitchen and his voice answering. Esme and Lucy exchanged glances and anxiously turned towards the kitchen. Constable Harris emerged but without the smiling face that the women had hoped for. At least he didn’t look distraught.

‘Any news?’ asked Esme.

‘CCTV footage at the hospital shows Miss Holland getting in to a car after she left the building.’

An idea flashed into Esme’s head. ‘What sort of car was it?’

P.C. Harris consulted his notebook. ‘Black Audi A6.’

‘With tinted windows?’

The constable nodded. ‘That’s right.’

‘What is it?’ asked Lucy urgently.

‘I’ve seen it around here a few times recently. That’s if it’s the same one.’

‘You didn’t report it?’ said the constable.

‘What was there to report? I thought it was the new people down the lane.’ Esme thought about the black car which had tried to ram her as she was coming out of Wisteria House but there didn’t seem much point in mentioning it now. She had nothing to add, no registration number, no driver description. She shuddered at the thought that she might have been so close to Leonard Nicholson.

‘Did Gemma get in to this car of her own accord?’ she asked the policeman.

‘Nothing to suggest otherwise.’

Esme frowned. ‘Why would she get into his car?’

‘Perhaps he spun her a line?’ suggested Lucy.

‘But it was midnight. Who in their right mind would fall for a con under those circumstances?’

‘Maybe she knew him,’ said the constable. He shuffled and turned pink. ‘I don’t mean he was a friend. I mean he could have chatted her up in a bar, or something. Opened a door for her and got talking, so she recognised him when he drove by.’

‘It was all part of a plan, you mean?’ said Esme.

‘It could be. The other thing is they found her car’d been tampered with.’

Lucy continued the scenario. ‘So he comes along, knight in shining armour, to give a lift to a damsel in distress with a broken-down chariot.’

‘And because she’s met him before she doesn’t smell a rat,’ finished Esme. ‘Malicious bastard.’ She stormed over to the window and stared out into the gloomy lane. Earlier, a heavy mist had all but eliminated the view of the Georgian house over the road. Now with darkness falling, the mist had become an impenetrable black thickness.

Esme thought back to Lucy’s comments a moment ago. What were his demands going to be? And what would he threaten to get them? He must know that his identity wasn’t in question. How did he think he’d get away with it? Perhaps he didn’t expect to. Maybe it was a matter of revenge.

At 1.15 a.m. they thought it wise to get some sleep. They had sat zombie-like through several mind-numbing television programmes until Esme had been on the point of screaming. She had even debated doing some gardening in the dark, but then decided she’d feel vulnerable and unnerved in such a surreal situation, so she dismissed the idea.

She showed Lucy to the spare bedroom and then lay on her own bed without undressing. If there was a call in the middle of the night, she’d feel more able to deal with it fully clothed. She fell into a fretful sleep and woke before light, wishing she’d gone to bed in the usual manner. Her clothes were twisted around her, she was shivering and when she threw her legs over the bed to stand up, they felt twice the weight they usually did. She didn’t even want to look at her face in a mirror. Her scar itched and she knew she would be more affected than usual by the sight of it, should she catch her own reflection in the glass. Instead she crawled off to the bathroom for the solace of a hot shower.

It was close to six o’clock by the time she’d showered and changed. She came down stairs to find Constable Harris pacing about waiting for his relief to arrive. Esme supposed that he had been up all night but it seemed likely he would have snatched what sleep he could in the armchair.

Lucy emerged from downstairs and they commented on how awful they both looked. It prompted some much-needed relief in the form of laughter as they exchanged insults. Constable Harris’s replacement arrived and he went outside to brief her.

The temporary humorous outburst fizzled out as Esme and Lucy faced the fact that there had been no progress in the situation. They were exactly in the same position as yesterday.

‘How long is he going to play about with us?’ snapped Esme.

She frowned with annoyance at the collection of used mugs which adorned her desk. Didn’t the police force train their minders to wash up after they’d helped themselves to tea? And drinking chocolate she noted. And goodness knows what had been in the last one. She peered in to the grunge at the bottom and sniffed it. It smelled of tomatoes. Some sort of instant soup. He must have brought that with him, she didn’t keep in such disgusting substances. Perhaps he’d needed the E numbers to keep him awake. She snatched up the mugs more in frustration with the situation than any genuine annoyance with the officer, but her action was careless and her elbow caught the heap of papers stacked on her desk. Before she could stop it the pile slipped over the edge and cascaded to the floor.

‘Oh, that’s all I need,’ she cried. She banged the mugs back down on the desk and knelt down by the chaos. Lucy appeared from the kitchen and helped her collect them up.

‘The Shropton Canal?’ commented Lucy as she glanced at one of the pages.

‘A research job. Some guy wanted to know about it. They’re hoping to restore it.’

‘Yes, I know. I’ve a friend who’s on the committee. They’ve just got funds for a feasibility study on it.’

‘My brief was to find out about the canal and where they’d got to on the project, amongst other things. I assumed my client was planning to make a donation.’ She continued gathering up the papers and passed a batch up to Lucy.

‘Did you know that the Shropton Canal went across the Monkleigh’s land?’ said Lucy absent-mindedly.

‘Did it? I don’t remember seeing it,’ said Esme, thinking back to the maps she’d studied.

‘No, I mean way back. During the canal era, in the late eighteenth century. The estate lands were more extensive in those days.’

‘Oh, I see.’ She picked up the last of the sheets of notes and stood up. ‘It was a bit odd, this job. He instructed me to do the work, to e-mail him regularly with progress reports, then a couple of weeks after I’d started he suddenly told me to stop.’

‘Did you ask him why?’

‘Well I e-mailed him, but he didn’t reply. I wondered if he’d decided he couldn’t afford my fees, but then he knew the score before I started. He paid a retainer quite happily.’

‘Did he pay you for what you’d done?’

‘Oh yes. There was no problem there. In fact,’ Esme began ferreting through the letter rack on the desk, ‘his last cheque’s here somewhere. I haven’t paid it into the bank yet.’ She produced it and studied the handwriting as though it would reveal something.

‘A bit of a coincidence, though, don’t you think?’ said Lucy.

‘What is? That the canal is on what was once Monkleigh land? You said yourself that it was a couple of centuries ago. It’s a bit tentative.’

‘What was he like, this client?’

Esme shrugged. ‘No idea. Never met him. Never spoke on the phone even as I would normally with a new client. E-mail only. He was most insistent on it.’

The two women looked at one another.

Esme pulled a face. ‘I see what you mean. Given the circumstances, it does sound suspicious.’

‘Should we mention it to the inspector?’ said Lucy.

‘Mention what? That one of my clients seemed a bit odd? He’ll think I’m just being neurotic.’ She looked over at the untidy heap of notes now back on the desk. ‘Perhaps I’ll trawl through that lot, though, and see if it triggers something.’

Suddenly the telephone rang out. They both looked at one another. The front door opened and Constable Harris returned with a woman constable in tow.

‘I heard the phone,’ he said. ‘It’s a bit early for a social call.’

Galvanised by his words Esme pounced on the phone and picked it up.

‘Yes?’ She could feel her heart hammering in her chest. Any harder and it would give out.

His voice was sneering. ‘Your meddling, Mrs Quentin, has denied me my right to land which should have come my way.’

Anger exploded out of her. ‘What have you done with Gemma, you creep?’

‘Come now, Mrs Quentin, we won’t get anywhere trading insults. As I said, you have been the cause of my loss. I am now unable to acquire the land so you are going to buy it from me.’

‘What?’ He had clearly dropped into some sort of fantasy world. ‘Don’t be ridiculous. I can’t buy it from you. It’s not yours to sell, as you have just pointed out. I want to talk to Gemma. I want to know she’s all right. Put her on the phone.’ There were echoing sounds as the phone was moved around. Esme cast an anxious glance at Lucy who was leaning against the receiver so she could overhear.

‘Esme?’ Gemma’s voice was shaky.

‘Gemma, are you all right?’

‘He tricked me,’ sniffed Gemma. She was almost in tears. ‘What’s going on, Esme? I’ve told him, I don’t know what he’s on about but he won’t believe me.’

‘Where are you?’ Esme desperately tried to think what she should be doing to try and help locate where he was holding her.

There were more noises and Esme heard Gemma’s distant voice complaining that she hadn’t finished talking.

‘Two million sterling should do it,’ said Nicholson.

‘What? Are you mad? Where am I going to get that sort of money? You haven’t kidnapped a millionaire’s daughter, you know?’ But the line had gone dead.