Molly's Millions (14 page)

Molly hesitated at the junction, her indicator knocking quietly. Which way? Left or right? For a moment, she gazed at the road in between the two signs but she knew she couldn’t very well drive down it because it was a private driveway. Cedar Lodge, it said. Children’s Home. Private drive.

Private
. Molly hated that word. She always wanted to rebel whenever she saw it. What right did people have to hide behind that word? And what exactly were they hiding?

Molly switched her indicator off, driving straight across the junction and along the private driveway through an avenue of fine chestnut trees and before she knew it found herself at the end of the driveway and was staring at a very ugly building. Cedar Lodge was a cold, drab-looking Victorian house with tall dark windows and a door like a cavernous mouth. Molly shivered. It looked damp as well as drab, she thought. It also looked rather empty.

Parking her car on a gravel driveway overrun with weeds,
she decided to go in. The door was open and led into a long black and white tiled hallway with coat hooks stacked with mountains of clothes and shoes and boots all over the place. It was cold, despite the warmth of the day, and there wasn’t a single child around.

‘Hello?’ Molly tried, her voice echoing up the stairwell. There didn’t seem to be anyone there. Funny that the front door should be open, Molly thought. People were just so trusting.

There was a large room to the left of the hallway, and Molly stuck her head round the door. It was empty apart from a huge box of toys in the centre of the room and a couple of scruffy sofas. Kneeling down on the floor, Molly rifled through the box. There were three limbless dolls, a couple of stained teddies and a few board games which looked tatty and tired. Not an inspiring lot if you were trapped indoors for the day.

‘Can I help you?’ a woman called from the doorway.

Molly turned around, startled, and was faced with what looked like an army sergeant in an apron. ‘I’m sorry,’ she said quickly. ‘I didn’t mean to pry. I called, but there was no answer.’

‘I was upstairs,’ the woman said, her brows hovering low and suspicious over her steel-rimmed glasses. ‘What is it you wanted?’

Molly stood up to full height. ‘I wanted to enquire how to make a donation.’

‘I see,’ the woman said, her voice softening a fraction. ‘What was it? Old toys…?’

‘Er, no. I can see you’ve got quite a few of those.’

‘Yes,’ the woman said, her lips thin and firm. ‘People don’t
tend to give things away until they’re good and used up.’

Molly smiled. ‘I was thinking of some new toys, actually – brand new.’

The woman looked puzzled.

‘Would you like to go shopping with me?’ Molly asked.

Once again, the woman frowned, and then a slow smile began to spread across her face as she nodded. ‘I’ll just get my handbag,’ she said.

Susanna Lewis’s cleavage was showed off to great advantage by the low-cut black jacket she was wearing. Surely, Tom thought, it should come with a fifteen certificate? It certainly shouldn’t have been on daytime television.

After a brief session in make-up, which wasn’t half as bad as that of his dream sequence, he was led out into the studio. The audience wasn’t quite as large as Levinson’s, and was stuffed with old people, but it would have to do. The polite applause came to an abrupt end as he sat down on the famous flower-festooned sofa in Susanna’s cottage-style set where everything was a riot of chintz. There were flowers in every conceivable size and colour, candles and glasses in rich reds and gaudy greens and, at the back of the set, a hideously large stained-glass window featuring Susanna herself. Tom was beginning to think that the make-up girl should have provided him with very dark sunglasses.

Susanna began the interview by holding up a couple of copies of
Vive!
, which Tom thought wouldn’t do him any harm at all, and filled the audience in on the story so far, saying how there weren’t enough ‘heroes and heroines’ in the country.

‘But it seems to me that you might actually have
found one,’ she said, leaning forward slightly in a cutely conspiratorial way.

‘Well,’ Tom began, feeling the first beads of perspiration breaking through his make-up, ‘I’m not so sure. They say there’s no such thing as a selfless act – that we only ever give in the hope of receiving something ourselves, and I have a feeling that this Molly Bailey might be some sort of attention seeker.’

‘Really?’ Susanna’s pale eyebrows rose into beautiful arches.

‘Yes. I mean, don’t you think it’s a strange thing to do: give money away? I feel that it’s not so much a selfless act as a way of getting attention.’

‘So all Molly Bailey is wanting is media publicity?’

‘That’s what I believe,’ Tom said.

‘You were the first reporter on this story, and I think it’s going to be just huge,’ Susanna began, uncrossing and crossing her legs, ‘but how do you feel now that the other tabloids are chasing the same story?’

Tom grimaced. He’d been warned that this would happen: that all his hard work would be stolen and reinterpreted by others. ‘That’s the way of the world, I’m afraid. I’m obviously thrilled that I was the one that discovered Molly’s story, and I’m sure that my readers will be loyal and follow its progress through my column in
Vive!
,’ he said.

Susanna asked a few more questions and they discussed the possible reasons for Molly’s sudden wealth and her desire to give it all away. And then it was all over. Tom just managed to make a final plea.

‘Don’t forget, any sightings of Molly can be reported to me via my email address, which is printed in the paper, and
I’ve just been told by
Vive!
that they’re giving away book vouchers for legitimate leads.’

The audience applauded and Susanna shook his hand before turning round to introduce the next guest.

‘Her name is Dr Ingrid Hoffman and it’s her belief that, in today’s current climate,
sex
should be a separate GCSE subject in our schools. So please give her a warm welcome as we go over to Susanna’s Study for the educational section of the programme.’

Tom was off the hook and was led out of the studio. It had all passed so quickly. Perhaps he should have mentioned his talent as a musician. Maybe he’d lost his big chance. He was just about to mention it to someone backstage when he caught sight of Flora.

‘How was it?’ he asked, knowing she’d been watching it in the green room.

She winced. ‘Daddy, you were so mean about Molly.’

‘What do you mean,
mean?
’

‘You don’t even know her but you said all those mean things about her.’

‘What are you getting so worked up about? This woman’s story is paying our bills at the moment.’

Flora frowned deeply and looked down at the floor.

‘I’m sorry if you don’t agree with what I’m doing but I can’t really stop now, can I? You heard Susanna – this story’s going to be huge.’ He took Flora’s hand and they left the studio. ‘We’ve both got a big stake in this, whether we like it or not.’

‘I’m not sure I like it,’ she said.

Tom sighed. He didn’t liked being reprimanded by his own daughter; it cut him to the quick, but what was he to do?
Listen to the moral rantings of a ten-year-old or follow his journalistic instincts and milk his story for all it was worth? Anyway, it was too late to do anything about it now: not only had he spoken his mind on national television but, seconds before he’d gone on air, he’d emailed his latest piece for
Vive!
saying as much as he had on
Susanna
.

They left the studios and Tom opened the car door for Flora who got in without saying a single word to him.

It wasn’t until they were on the motorway that he realised his face was still covered in thick orange make-up.

The toy department was irresistible. Molly dived in, her eyes bright as she examined the wealth on display. Mrs Steele, the housekeeper, had told her that the ages of the children at Cedar Lodge ranged from eight to fourteen so, whilst they could have a ball choosing soft and cuddly companions, they should also think about something a little more grown-up for the teenagers – perhaps computer games.

‘How many children are there at the home?’ Molly asked.

‘Twenty-three,’ Mrs Steele said.

‘Most of our girls prefer them to clothes,’ Mrs Steele went on, rolling her eyes. ‘Only problem is, the computer is so old and slow—’

‘That’s not a problem,’ Molly said. ‘We’ll replace that whilst we’re at it. We’ll get two. Three!’

Mrs Steele’s eyes were out on stalks. ‘Really?’

‘Yes. Come on,’ Molly said, ‘let’s get to work.’

Molly hadn’t had so much fun for a long time and, judging by Mrs Steele’s flushed cheeks and broad smile, neither had she. Bag after bag was filled with toys before they headed to the computer department and chose a selection of games.
Molly ordered the three computers to be delivered to Cedar Lodge and then, arms weighed down, they headed back to Molly’s car.

‘Careful not to squash Fizz!’ Molly warned as they crammed the bags, which wouldn’t fit into the boot, onto the back seat. ‘Will you be OK to sit here for a moment?’

‘I think so. Why?’

‘I’m just going to nip back and get something. I won’t be long.’

And she wasn’t. When she got back to the car, she presented a handful of wallets stuffed with gift vouchers: one for each child in Cedar Lodge.

‘I used to hate it when adults bought me clothes,’ she explained.

Mrs Steele’s mouth dropped open. ‘But this is too much!’

‘I don’t think so. What are a few gifts? They haven’t got parents to give them any.’

Mrs Steele nodded. ‘You know, it’s always puzzled me, but it’s not very often that we get a child who wants to find their birth parent. They seem to realise that they’re at Cedar Lodge because things were difficult, and they don’t ask questions.’

They don’t ask questions, Molly thought. But
she
had, all the time. Why had their mother left them? Had she simply woken up one day and stopped loving them? Had she and Marty done something to upset her? No. Molly may have thought those things to begin with but the slow realisation of what a nightmare it must have been to live with their father had dawned upon her.

Mrs Steele chuckled suddenly, pulling Molly out of her dark thoughts. ‘We once had an incident when one of our girls, Alexis, tried to find her birth mother. She even went as
far as contacting a private detective. I think she’d just got a bit carried away after watching the repeats of
Moonlighting
on Sky.’

‘But private detectives cost a fortune!’ Molly said.

‘Yes,’ Mrs Steele agreed. ‘I don’t think Alexis had thought that far ahead.’ She laughed. ‘I’ll never forget picking up that envelope from the Marie Celeste Detective Agency.’

‘
Marie Celeste?
’

‘Yes! It’s quite reputable. One of the best, I hear. The man who runs it is rather eccentric, though. He turned up one afternoon not realising that Cedar Lodge was a children’s home and that the letter had been written by a
fourteen-year-old
. Anyway, she forgot about it all when Johnny arrived.’

‘Johnny?’

‘The Cedar Lodge stud.’

‘Ah!’

‘Turn left here,’ Mrs Steele said as they left the suburbs behind them and ploughed on into the countryside, ‘and then straight along until you see the line of trees.’

It was a bit of a rugby scrum getting through the doors with eighteen bags of shopping but they just about managed it. Mrs Steele collapsed into an armchair whilst Molly arranged the bags so that the contents wouldn’t spill out all over the front room carpet.

‘I can’t tell you how much I’ve enjoyed today,’ she sighed. ‘I don’t often get away from Cedar Lodge.’

Molly smiled up from her home on the floor. ‘I’m so glad you came. I don’t think I could’ve managed without you.’

Mrs Steele’s eyes narrowed a fraction behind her glasses. ‘Oh, I’m sure you would’ve managed. You look like the kind of girl who manages everything
perfectly
.’

Molly held her gaze for a moment, knowing that something was coming next but not quite sure what it was.

‘Can I ask you what made you do this today?’ Mrs Steele asked.

Molly smiled. She knew the question had been on the tip of her tongue all day. ‘Let’s just say that there’s a part of me that understands how these children must feel.’

Mrs Steele nodded. ‘Have you time for a cup of tea? The children won’t be back for another hour or so. It’s not often they get a day out, bless them, but it would be a shame if you missed them.’

‘No, thanks. I’m afraid I’ve got to hit the road.’ Mrs Steele frowned. ‘But they’d love to meet you.’

‘Be sure and say hello for me, won’t you?’ Molly said, fishing her car keys out of her jacket pocket. ‘I’m really sorry I can’t stay.’

‘You’re going right now?’

Molly nodded. ‘I’m afraid so.’

‘I don’t know how to thank you.’

‘You don’t have to. I didn’t do it so that I could be thanked.’

Mrs Steele crossed the room and surprised Molly by wrapping her arms around her. ‘You’re an angel,’ she whispered, and then pulled away quickly and hurried through to the kitchen.

Leaving the house and cranking up Old Faithful, Molly took a last look at the old Victorian building. She’d have to ring a builder and decorator before she left the area if she was really to be of help to Cedar Lodge but that was easy enough to arrange with a couple of phone calls. She’d also make sure that Mrs Steele received the biggest bunch of flowers the
very next day for being such a dear and it would, of course, include half a dozen yellow gerbera.

But there was another phone call she had to make: to the Marie Celeste Detective Agency. At school, she’d been known as ‘no-mummy Molly’ but it had never occurred to her to try and find her mother. Until now.

Carolyn watched as Marty crossed the road back towards the car, shaking his head. It didn’t look good. She sighed. They’d already tried at least half a dozen bed and breakfasts in the area, and all with the same message: no vacancies. But what could they expect during high season? It wasn’t as if they’d done anything rational like booking ahead or anything.

Getting into the car, Marty started the ignition. ‘They’ve only got two doubles left,’ he said.

‘How much?’ Old Bailey barked from the back seat.

‘Thirty-five per person per night.’

Old Bailey shook his head. ‘It’s a bloody rip-off but it’s the cheapest so far.’

‘But they’ve only got doubles left, Granddad. I’ve just said.’

‘So? I can share with Magnus,’ Old Bailey harrumphed.

Marty turned the ignition off and screwed up his face in alarm. ‘Share? With Father?’

‘Come on, let’s get in there before someone else books it,’ Old Bailey said, winding his scarf around his neck before opening the car door and making for the boot.

‘Marty?’ Carolyn said as Magnus got out of the car in resignation of the night ahead.

‘What?’

‘Isn’t it just a little bit early to be checking in for the night?’

‘Five o’clock? You know what Granddad’s like – he’s a creature of habit. Five o’clock is time for a drink and a snooze before teatime.’

Carolyn grimaced. Although she felt she could sleep too after being squashed in a car all day with the Bailey men, she didn’t fancy being trapped in a bed and breakfast with them.

‘Can we go out later? See a bit of the Peak District before it gets dark?’

‘I’m shattered, Caro. I feel as if I’ve been driving all day.’

‘OK,’ she said, resigning herself to an evening with her book.

‘We’ll see,’ he said, obviously feeling bad, which, in turn, made her feel bad. He looked absolutely drained; his face that peculiar white that comes from hours of concentrating on traffic.

‘No,’ she said, ‘don’t worry.’ And then she thought of something. She had something to do; something she hadn’t been able to do all day with so many pairs of beady eyes on her: ring Molly.

The Marie Celeste Detective Agency might have had the best reputation in the Greater Manchester area but it was nothing more than a single office behind a tatty launderette which
looked as if it could do with a good wash itself. It had also been incredibly difficult to find. Molly felt sure she was going to be late for her five o’clock appointment but perhaps that had been half of the test. If clients could find the agency, it would prove that they had some wits about them and might have actually tried to find their particular missing person.

Taking a deep breath, Molly pressed an intercom to the side of an enormous shiny black door and was buzzed through to be greeted by a dark entrance hall. It took a couple of seconds for her eyes to adjust, but when they did she saw a plaque on the wall that pointed the way to an office door. Molly walked forward, Fizz trotting alongside her, and knocked.

‘Come in!’ a husky voice sounded from the other side.

Molly opened the door and stepped inside. The room, like the hallway, was dark despite the large window at the back of the room but, as it overlooked other buildings over a narrow alleyway, it wasn’t that surprising that there wasn’t much room for light.

‘Mrs Bailey?’ the owner of the husky voice enquired.

‘Miss. Molly.’

‘Miss Molly?’ he said, making her sound like a character from
Gone with the Wind.

‘Just Molly.’

‘Molly.’

‘Yes. And Fizz the dog.’

‘I’m Malcolm McCleod,’ he said, acknowledging Fizz with a nod.

Molly extended her hand and, resting his cigarette on the side of an overflowing ashtray, he shook it. She’d half expected him to get up from his chair but he remained seated.

‘Please, sit down,’ he said, motioning to a cracked leather chair.

‘Thank you,’ Molly said as she sat down, Fizz flopping down beside her.

‘Now, let me find your notes,’ he said, sifting through some papers on his desk. ‘They’re here somewhere. I thought they were…’ He tutted, losing himself in an avalanche of paper.

Molly glanced around the room but it wasn’t very easy to see anything with the lack of light and the smoke which filled it with an ugly fog, so she turned her attention to Malcolm McCleod instead. He had tight red curly hair and was wearing a hideous tartan shirt, making him look as if he was about to play a round of golf and do the Highland fling at the same time.

‘Ah! Here we are,’ McCleod declared at last. ‘Cynthia Bailey, née Percy.’

‘That’s right.’

‘Your mother.’

‘Yes.’

‘Why do you want to find her?’

Molly’s eyes widened in surprise. ‘Why? She’s my mother.’

‘I know, but I must know if this is to be an amicable reunion.’

‘You mean you won’t help me if I’m out to kill her or something?’

McCleod cleared his throat. ‘That’s right.’

‘Do you get many clients who want to commit murder, then?’

It was McCleod’s turn to give a wide-eyed stare. ‘We’ve had one or two incidents in the past, yes, which is why I’m
asking you this now.’

Molly felt the beginnings of a small smile. ‘No, I don’t want to kill my mother.’

McCleod squinted at her across the table. ‘Good. Then I should be able to help you.’

‘Thank you.’

‘So when was the last time you saw your mother?’

Molly’s mouth dropped open a fraction. When was the last time she’d seen her? It was so long ago.

‘When I was eleven. Sixteen years ago.’

‘And you’ve not kept in touch?’

Molly shook her head, her dark curls knocking against the side of her face.

‘Did she leave a note? Did she phone?’

‘No. She only left a cardigan.’

‘A cardigan?’

‘Yes. I don’t think that’s very important though. To you, I mean.’ But it was important to Molly. Her mother’s baggy woollen cardigan known as the cardigan of many colours. It was a collection of squares she used to knit whilst watching television, which she’d then joined together into a ginormous patchwork cardigan. When she and her brother were small, they could get lost in it for days.

‘You don’t think the cardigan is relevant?’

‘No,’ Molly said. ‘I think it was just meant as a token of comfort or something.’

‘So why did she leave?’

Molly sighed. ‘I think she just got tired of my father.’

‘Were there marital problems?’

‘More monetary problems, I think. She liked to spend money and he didn’t. It sounds silly but he was a constant
nightmare.’ Molly watched as McCleod made some spidery notes with a black fountain pen.

‘And do you think she wants to be found? Have you planned what it is you’ll say when you find her?’

‘Gracious!’ Molly exclaimed. ‘I haven’t, no.’

‘Well, you should. Start thinking about that now. We’ve been known to find people very quickly and it’s advisable that you’re prepared.’

‘We? You mean, you don’t do all the work yourself?’

McCleod smiled a strange smile and then pushed himself away from the desk. It was then that Molly saw he was in the biggest, brightest wheelchair she’d ever seen.

‘Legs,’ he said.

Molly frowned. ‘What?’

‘Legs – he’s my sidekick – ha!’ He laughed at his own joke. ‘He does all the hoofing. I’m mostly office-based now, thank God. The brains behind the desk.’

‘I see.’

‘You’re surprised.’

‘No!’

‘Trust me. Legs is the best guy for the job. You can trust him with your life. Or your mother, at the very least.’

‘So what’s the next step?’

‘Give me your mobile phone number.’

Molly did as she was told. ‘And what do I do?’

‘Keep in an area where your mobile phone works. We’ll get in touch if we have any news.’

Molly nodded. So that put paid to her trip into the Welsh mountains, then.

‘And you don’t need anything else from me?’

‘Did you bring the photo?’

‘Oh, yes,’ Molly said, digging in her pocket and bringing out a tiny photo she’d carried around with her for sixteen years. She handed it over.

‘Thank you,’ he said, examining the photo closely. ‘You look just like her.’

Molly gave a little smile. ‘I guess that’s normal.’

‘But she won’t look like this now, will she?’

‘I guess not.’

‘And that’s something else you should prepare yourself for.’

When Molly left the Marie Celeste office, her eyes blinked at the harsh light outside.

What had McCleod said?
Keep in an area where your mobile works
. Molly patted her pocket, not even sure if the phone was switched on. She took it out and looked at it. No, it was definitely on.

Suddenly, it began to ring.

‘Hello?’

‘Molly!
Thank goodness
.’

‘Caro? What’s the matter?’

‘It’s the Bailey boys, Moll. They’re on to you.’

‘What do you mean?’

‘We’re in Derbyshire. They’re trying to catch up with you. They know about the money, Moll.’

‘What?
How?
’

‘They got hold of a copy of
Vive!
.’

‘You’re joking!’

‘I’m afraid not. They’ve been following that reporter, Tom Mackenzie.’

Molly bit her lip to prevent herself from swearing. So, she’d been found out, had she? The Baileys were on to her,
were they?

‘Caro?’ she said. ‘Are you with me on this?’

‘Of
course
I am. That’s why I’m ringing.’

‘OK,’ Molly said, ‘here’s what I want you to do.’