Blood-Tied (19 page)

36

Esme watched and smiled, amused by Gemma’s clucking around her mother’s bed, smoothing sheets and pumping pillows. When she reached for the hairbrush Elizabeth flapped her away.

‘For God’s sake stop fussing,’ she said, surprisingly forcefully considering her weak state.

‘Oh, go on, Elizabeth,’ said Esme. ‘Let the girl fuss. It’s a good way to get all those anxious weeks out of her system.’

Elizabeth sighed. ‘Well, for one day only. Then please behave normally or I’ll go completely mad.’

Gemma grinned and set about dealing with her mother’s wayward hair, pulling it back into a ponytail and tying it at the back of her neck. She stood back looking pleased with herself.

‘A great job,’ said Esme, standing up from her slouch against the ward wall. ‘Are you ready now? Shall I go and find her?’

Mother and daughter nodded. Esme left the ward and took the lift down to reception. She glanced at her watch as she stepped out of the lift. It was close to two o’clock. Polly should be here by now.

As yet Elizabeth had only been told of the attack itself, of which she remembered nothing, and that during her unconsciousness Esme and Gemma had learnt of Polly’s existence. She remained in ignorance of anything else concerning her true ancestry and Polly had agreed that she would tell her the full story. As Esme had speculated, their parents had taken the then commonly held view that Elizabeth had no need to know she was adopted, believing she would feel an outsider in the family, even more so when, to their surprise, Esme was conceived. It was many years later, after their father’s death, that their mother began to worry that they had made the wrong decision, not least because Elizabeth had begun to ask awkward questions. When their mother eventually admitted the truth, Elizabeth kept from her that she had requested a copy of her birth certificate and the subject was never discussed further.

‘Mother just needed to know that I understood and that I didn’t blame her,’ Elizabeth had explained. ‘That was enough. It was our secret.’ Searching out her birth mother had come only later after their mother had died. By then Elizabeth confessed she didn’t know how to broach the subject with Esme, though Polly had been correct in what she had said – that Elizabeth had come to a recent decision that the time had come to tell her sister and daughter about her true past. It was ironic that for the moment Esme and Gemma knew more about it than Elizabeth did herself.

There was an argument taking place at the hospital’s front entrance but Esme ignored it and scanned the area for the old lady. She was due to arrive by taxi. Esme wandered over to the foyer to look out for her.

The altercation at the entrance was reaching a crescendo. Esme could now see what the problem was. A taxi was parked at the front of the building, blocking the entrance. The driver was arguing with a hospital employee. As she got closer, she could see a passenger in the rear of the car. She bent down and peered inside. The two men arguing stopped in mid-sentence at the same moment that Esme realised that the passenger was Polly.

She turned to the men. ‘Is something wrong?’

The man in hospital uniform spoke. ‘Yes there is. He can’t park there.’

‘Have you come from Wisteria House?’ asked Esme, addressing the driver.

He looked relieved. ‘That’s right.’ He nodded towards his cab. ‘She won’t get out. I’ve got another pick-up in ten minutes, but she refuses to budge. Do you know her?’

‘Yes I do. I’ll come and have a word with her, shall I?’

He almost bounded towards the door. ‘Please.’

The official called after them. ‘You’ll have to move the car.’

Esme climbed into the back of the taxi, receiving a surprised then glowering look from Polly. She turned away and stared out of the window. Esme suggested that the driver find an empty slot in the car park.

As the car pulled to a halt the driver turned round and tapped his watch.

‘Five minutes,’ Esme said, firmly. He got out of the car and wandered off aimlessly across the car park.

Esme turned to Polly. ‘What’s the matter? The driver said you wouldn’t get out of the car. Are you feeling ill?’

‘I can’t go in,’ said Polly, still staring out of the window. ‘I don’t have the right.’

‘What are you talking about? Of course you have the right?’

The old lady turned quickly, her eyes on Esme. ‘How can you say that? It’s my fault that Daisy died. All these years I pretended to myself that I saved her from a loveless, miserable upbringing but what did I do instead? Deprived her of a loving family life, tearing her away from the man she loved and persuaded her to give up her own child.’ There were tears in her eyes. She turned away again. ‘Why would Elizabeth want to see me, when she knows all that?’

Esme reached out and laid a hand on the old lady’s arm. Polly fumbled in her coat pocket for a handkerchief and dabbed her eyes.

‘You must have already talked to Elizabeth about why Daisy gave her up for adoption. She must have accepted that, or she wouldn’t have carried on visiting.’

‘But I have another secret to reveal, don’t I?’

‘That you aren’t really her grandmother? It will be a shock, but why should it alter anything?’ Esme was jolted by the words. The situation was comparable to discovering that Elizabeth wasn’t her sister. She’d experienced a gamut of emotions from shock to anger to loss, but she was still here. She doubted Elizabeth would behave any differently.

‘I had a visitor yesterday,’ Polly was saying. ‘Will Watts came to apologise for breaking his promise and telling Mary about Elizabeth.’

‘He didn’t have any option. It was the only way he could get her to help.’

Polly shook her head. ‘I know that. I don’t blame him. Anyway, it’s the truth, isn’t it? He and his mother are really Elizabeth’s family. Not me.’ She looked at Esme. ‘So you see, even if Elizabeth does understand, she doesn’t owe me anything.’

‘This isn’t about owing anyone. In virtually every sense of the word you are Elizabeth’s grandmother, you brought up Daisy. If you don’t keep in touch with Elizabeth, she’ll lose the only link she has left to her mother’s memory.’

Polly resumed her pensive stare out of the taxi window. Did her silence mean she accepted Esme’s argument?

‘You can’t abandon Elizabeth now,’ said Esme, which earned a sharp look from Polly.

Esme spread her hands. ‘I’m only making the case that she needs you.’ No answer. Polly looked away.

The driver returned. He began pacing up and down outside the car.

‘Come on,’ said Esme, brightly. ‘This poor guy’s going to be late for his next job, and you’ve got someone waiting.’

Esme looked at the old lady for a sign. Polly turned her head and gave a weak smile.

‘Good,’ sighed Esme. ‘Let’s go.’

She knocked on the window and alerted the agitated chauffer, who leapt back into his seat and drove them back to the front entrance.

Esme found Polly a wheelchair and wheeled her over towards the lift.

‘I never claimed to be Daisy’s mother, you know,’ said Polly. ‘She always knew she was adopted. I was – what is it they say? – economical with the truth. Until that day, of course, when I had to make her see the danger and what would happen if the truth came out.’ She shook her head. ‘It was too much to ask.’

They arrived at the lift doors. Esme leant over and pushed the call button. ‘But she made her choice and did what you asked. She didn’t want to lose you.’

The lift hummed and the doors slid open. Esme wheeled Polly inside and selected the correct floor.

‘She was furious,’ continued Polly, as the doors closed. ‘That’s how the glass on her mother’s photograph got cracked. She threw it across the room. I showed it her to make her see why Mary might guess who she really was.’ Polly fell silent for a moment. The drone of the winding mechanism filled the empty space. The lift slowed, then halted and the doors opened.

As they approached the ward, Esme stopped the chair and came around in front of the old lady. She crouched down. ‘Ready?’ she whispered.

Polly attempted a brave smile, her rheumy eyes only giving the slightest hint of the foreboding she felt about the task ahead of her. Esme squeezed her hand. ‘If she kicks you out,’ she said with a wink. ‘I’ll still come and visit you.’

Esme’s flippant remark seemed to bolster the old lady and her smile widened.

‘We’re a bit in the same boat, you and I, aren’t we, Esme?’ she said, as Esme wheeled her along the last leg of the corridor.

After delivering Polly, Esme made her excuses and wandered off to the day room. As she passed the lift the doors opened and a familiar figure stepped out.

‘Inspector Barry,’ called Esme. ‘What are you doing here? She can’t remember anything, you know?’

‘So I understand. It’s not uncommon with head injuries. No, it wasn’t about her attack, exactly. Her daughter said she’d mentioned a man trying to speak to her earlier that day, but she didn’t understand what he was talking about. She might remember that.’

Esme hadn’t realised that Gemma had passed that on. Gemma had changed her attitude towards the police since Elizabeth had regained consciousness. No doubt partly because of her gratitude for her rescue from Leonard Nicholson’s clutches. She had also been magnanimous about Esme’s investigations, which had led to her unfortunate experience. Esme was grateful for that but saddened, and not a little frustrated, that the situation might not have arisen at all if Gemma hadn’t at first been so hostile towards Esme’s enquiries into Elizabeth’s past. It was pointless to fret about it now. Both of them had survived their ordeals. What it had taught either of them it was, perhaps, too soon to tell.

‘This man,’ said Esme, guessing the inspector’s line of thinking. ‘Are you suggesting that Leonard Nicholson approached her before?’

‘It’s possible.’

Esme bit her lip, as something occurred to her. ‘Inspector, I’m not sure if Gemma’s explained everything to you, but Elizabeth didn’t know the whole story about her true parentage. As none of us did until this all blew up.’

‘Go on,’ said the inspector, eying her carefully.

‘If it
was
Leonard Nicholson who approached her and was asking about Catherine Monkleigh, the name would mean nothing to her and she would have told him so.’

‘Which he might have taken for deliberate non-co-operation.’

‘Perhaps he attacked her out of frustration, thinking she was stonewalling him?’

‘It’s possible. Patience isn’t one of his strong points. It would certainly give him a motive.’

‘One other thing,’ continued Esme. ‘I said that Elizabeth didn’t know everything. She still doesn’t. She’s still getting to grips with the attack. We’ve only told her so much for now.’

The inspector picked up on her message. ‘And you don’t want me marching in with my size tens asking about things which will confuse her?’

Esme tipped her head to one side, appealing to him. ‘If you could give it a day or two. While she takes it all in.’

Inspector Barry looked at her as if mulling over her request. ‘I’ll look in tomorrow,’ he decided.

It was the best she could hope for in the circumstances. He was obviously keen to tie up the loose ends.

‘I saw the papers,’ said Esme. ‘You’ve charged him with murder.’ She shuddered at the thought of the body at the bottom of the ventilation shaft. ‘Who was she?’

‘Ex-girlfriend. Parents are devastated. He’d seemed such a gentleman, they said.’ Esme thought of Mary’s comments along the same lines.

She shook her head. ‘Poor girl. What happened?’ The inspector didn’t reply. ‘Sorry, you’re probably not meant to be talking to me about it.
Sub judice
and all that.’

He smiled. ‘To be honest, we’re not sure what happened. Her best friend seemed to think the girl was planning to finish with him. Whether it’s true and whether it’s relevant we don’t know at this stage.’

Esme thought back to Leonard’s rage in the tunnel. ‘He didn’t have a good word to say about the women in his life, from the way he was ranting on at me.’ She looked up at the policeman with concern. ‘His whole theme was “the bitches”. My guess is he meant his mother, his nannies, Catherine, me…he saw us as the cause of his ruined life.’

The inspector folded his arms. ‘So if his girlfriend had told him she was leaving, he wouldn’t take it calmly.’

Esme gave a small laugh at the understatement. ‘Not from what I saw.’ Esme felt a cold chill as she recalled his frenzied behaviour. She turned away. ‘I think I need a cup of tea.’

Inspector Barry strode ahead of her to the drinks machine in the day room.

‘You may have a point about Nicholson,’ he said as he pressed the relevant buttons. ‘He seemed to get his kicks from terrorising women when he was involved in those bogus burglaries.’

‘Lucy told me. She read the newspaper reports.’

‘They always chose their targets when the woman would be alone.’ He handed Esme a polystyrene cup full of strong tea. She took it from him and sat down on the edge of a chair.

‘They were the mothers of his friends, weren’t they?’ The policeman nodded. He sat down opposite her. ‘Perhaps he was taking it out on his own mother, because she had left him,’ Esme added.

‘I thought she died?’ said the inspector.

‘She did. I was talking figuratively. From a bereaved child’s perspective. Then after that he was such a nightmare child that no nanny would stay more than a few months so the pattern of mother figures abandoning him kept repeating itself. His girlfriend telling him she was leaving followed the same pattern. He couldn’t cope.’

‘You could feel sorry for him if he wasn’t such a ruthless bastard, couldn’t you?’ said the inspector sardonically. He stood up. ‘No doubt, it’ll all come out in the psychiatric report. Are you OK, Mrs Quentin?’

Esme looked up and smiled. ‘Yes. Thank you, Inspector. I’ll be fine. Thanks for the tea.’

The inspector nodded, saying he would call back the following day to speak to Elizabeth, and made for the lift.

Esme wandered over to the window and looked down into the grounds of the hospital. The inspector must encounter the consequences of damage done to people, or dysfunctional relationships every day, manifested in the crimes that he had to handle. She wondered why it didn’t get to him. Perhaps it did. Another occupational hazard for a police officer, along with assuming everyone had something to hide.