The Chinese Egg (25 page)

“How do you know it hasn't already happened?”

“Always before we've seen things that were going to happen. Why? Has it?” Stephen asked.

“Not as far as I know. Is that all?”

“I think so. Can't think of anything more. Can you, Vicky?”

“No.”

“Would you recognize that man's voice again?” Price asked her.

“I might. I don't know. There wasn't anything special about it.”

“The man you saw before—Purfitt. Was he one of the men in the car?”

“I don't know. It's difficult to tell through those masks.”

“Not difficult, impossible,” Price said.

“So I don't know.”

“Did you see anything of the road? Notice what sort of trees they were? Bushes? Anything like that?”

“Not really. Big trees. They hadn't got many leaves on them, though.”

“Not pines, then.”

“Their branches were sort of flat. Sort of like layers, not twiggy like some trees are,” said Vicky, the town-bred child.

“Beeches possibly. Anything else? What about sounds? Owls? Traffic? Anything?”

“Terribly quiet. I did notice that. Did you, Stephen?”

“Yes. Now you say so, of course that's partly why I thought it was country. I could hear her walking along the road.”

“I did, too. Wait a minute..

Price waited.

“Her feet. The sound they made. It was different from London roads. You sort of go clop on the roads round here. She didn't. It was. . . gritty.”

“Not Macadamized,” Price said.

“Pardon?”

“An unmade road. Loose stones, uneven. That's a very bright bit of observation,” he said.

Vicky flushed slightly and said, “Is it any help?”

“Could be.” He got up. “Have to get going. If you're right and it hasn't happened yet, there's a lot I've got to do.”

“You mean. . . . You do believe we're not just making it all up?”

“If you are, and I catch you at it, God help you,” Price said, suddenly stern.

“We're not. I know it sounds crazy. We didn't ask to get mixed up in it. . .” Stephen began.

“All right. I didn't say I didn't trust you, did I?”

“What were you going to ask us yesterday when you came round and we weren't there?” Vicky asked.

“Just a few more details. Only I think we'll leave them for the present.”

“Will you tell us about this? I mean, when it's happened?” Stephen asked.

“You'll be hearing from me. And if you get any more flashes you'll let me know. If you're really on to something, it means we've got a chance of being a move ahead of this little lot. Which would give me a great deal of pleasure,” Price said, standing up.

“I'll ring you if there's anything,” Stephen said.

“Do that. And I'll be in touch.”

“He does believe us,” Vicky said as they left.

“I can't think why. I wouldn't if I was him.”

Sally Wilmington looked at her wrist watch for the hundredth time in an hour, and saw that she was still much too early. She mustn't be late, but also she mustn't be hanging around the place, wherever it was, for hours. She'd been warned against that. She moved over from the middle of the motorway to the slow lane and dropped her speed to just over thirty. Agony to have to do this, when what she wanted most was to go quickly, quickly, impossibly fast. But then yesterday and today had been an agony of impatience and frustration, of having to pretend and to keep a watch over herself and to appear to be as hopeless as she'd been all the last week. Of having to lie to everyone and at the same time set up a whole system inside which she could do what she knew she had to do without anyone guessing.

The worst thing had been getting the money. Sally had never realized how difficult it could be if you wanted a great deal of cash in a hurry. She'd been to the bank and asked the manager. Said she wanted to put down a deposit on a place in the country, but he'd told her it was impossible to let her have more than ten thousand. Ten, when she needed two hundred. She'd pleaded, but she hadn't dared to allow him to see how much it meant to her, because no one must know the truth. She couldn't risk his ringing Andrew and asking him to confirm the need for urgency. So she'd pretended to be satisfied. She'd gone home with ten thousand and had gone through her possessions to see what she could turn into cash. In the afternoon she'd taken her pearls, the diamond star, the gold collar and most of her rings to a place she'd heard of in Knightsbridge where they advanced money on the security of
jewellery. Gwen had told her about it when she, Gwen, was being blackmailed by that horrible woman. But altogether she'd only raised just over fifty thousand. She'd almost broken down and cried. The man—he was surprisingly nice, quiet and businesslike and quite incurious—had suggested she might have something else at home which could go towards making up what was required, and she'd remembered the Picasso. Andrew had paid over a hundred thousand for it, it must be worth more now. She'd told this to Mr. Franklin and he'd agreed to look at it, if she could get it to him within the hour. She'd gone straight back, and, in what she thought was an inspiration, she draped her two mink coats over the arm that held the Picasso and directed the waiting taxi to take her back to Knightsbridge. In the end she'd raised just over a hundred thousand. She'd have to persuade them it was as much as she could get. She'd promise them the rest once she had Caroline Ann back. She must get her back, she must. The hundred thousand would show that she was in earnest. They must believe her. She'd make them believe her. She'd. . .

She looked at her watch again. Only nine. She'd speeded up too much again. Ten o'clock the voice had said, and don't hang around before and don't be late. We shan't wait more than a minute for you. Take the Henley exit from the Motorway and go on through Henley on the Oxford road, and just four miles outside the town you come to a stretch of road through woods. Take the turn to the right marked Mocking End. Drive a hundred yards and stop. Keep your headlights on and walk towards the car you'll see parked there. Hold up the money so we can see it.

The money was in an envelope, a big one. It made quite a bulky packet. She put her hand out and touched it in the glove compartment. Nearly all old notes. They must let her have Caroline Ann back, they must. She was doing everything they'd told her, wasn't she?

Don't tell your husband. Come alone. Don't tell anyone where you're going. And if you tell the police, you'd better start getting the next kid on the way as quick as you can, because you can count this one out. If you want any help, if your husband isn't too keen, one of us'll be happy to oblige. . . . Dirty sniggers. Hateful. If there's anyone with you or you've been followed, if
you've tried to be clever, you'll see us do the kid in. Better be careful. No tricks. Just do as you're told. Do as you're told. Do as you're told. She was doing as she was told, wasn't she? They would see that she was.

She'd had to lie to Andrew. When he'd come back yesterday evening and asked at once, “Any news?” she'd said No, nothing new. She'd lied to the nice Chief Superintendent when he'd come to see her. She'd told him, no more telephone calls, she'd asked if he had any more clues. He'd told her that he had one or two, that they had an address the Edmonton landlady had given them. The girl had mentioned Brady Drive as a place she'd stayed at in Birmingham. There wasn't such a road in Birmingham, but there was in Walthamstow and he'd got a man going from door to door asking if anyone had seen a girl answering to the description. It didn't mean much to Sally, but he'd seemed to think it might lead to something. When he'd left he'd said, “You won't go doing anything on your own without telling us, will you, Mrs. Wilmington?” And she'd looked straight at him and said, “No, Superintendent, I won't.” She hadn't known she could act so well.

Or had she? He'd been back again today. He'd come just when she was meaning to go off to the Knightsbridge place, and she'd been in a fever to get rid of him. He seemed as if he would stay for ever. It had been almost as if he suspected she wasn't telling the truth. He'd asked her again and again, “Are you sure you haven't had another demand for money?” She'd had to keep on saying No. He'd said, “You know, if they asked you to take any action without telling anyone, say your husband or us, it could be dangerous. We're dealing with a very ugly crowd. I don't think there's anything they'd stick at.” If he meant to frighten her for herself, he'd taken the wrong line by saying that. If there was nothing they'd stick at, what about Caroline Ann? What would they do to Caroline Ann if Andrew went on refusing to pay up? So she'd just said politely that she did understand and that of course she wasn't going to do anything silly, and would he excuse her, she'd got an appointment to keep. The moment she'd got rid of him she'd been on her way to Knightsbridge.

Damn! She was going too fast again. And the minute hand on
her watch still only just after the hour. She was passing the Heston Services, she'd be at the Henley exit in another quarter of an hour. Fifteen minutes to get into Henley and out the other side. There was a fair amount of traffic on the road, you expected that on a Friday night, but it was too late for the rush hour at the end of the office day and too early for the theatre crowd. She might have to find somewhere in Henley where she could have coffee. She wouldn't drink anything stronger, she must have her wits as sharp as they could be. Would that count as hanging about? No, she didn't know a soul in Henley, and if anyone remembered afterwards seeing her there, it wouldn't matter because by that time she'd have Caroline Ann. Andrew was going to be late tonight, he'd got a business dinner out of town that didn't start till nine. That meant he couldn't possibly be back before midnight, probably later. She'd be back long before he was, and when she'd explained why she'd taken the picture and her furs and the rings and things, and shown him Caroline Ann, he'd see that she'd been right, he'd be glad. What did furs and pearls and pictures matter, anyway, compared with Caroline Ann? She'd get the picture back for him anyway if he wanted it.

She wouldn't think about the possibility that she might come back without either the money or the baby. Price had said to her, “You do know, don't you, that with this sort of criminal you can't trust what they promise? They're quite capable of taking the money and not handing over your baby.” But Sally wouldn't listen to this, except to say inside herself that it was a risk she had to take. If there was the smallest chance of getting Caroline Ann back she was going to take it.

She reduced her speed again.

But all those warnings had made her extra cautious. She didn't want to find she'd been followed. Price might have taken it into his head to have all her movements watched. So she'd told the man on duty outside the house that her husband was out that evening and she was going to drive out to her mother's outside London. She'd be back late. And when she'd set off she'd gone round-about, not straight on the M4, looking all the time to make sure no police car was following her. Several times she'd pulled up and watched the traffic go past. When she felt safe, she drove
out west. She'd rung her mother and said she was on her way, but she was having trouble with the car and might not be able to make it. She meant to ring again later and say she'd had to stop in a garage and wouldn't be able to get there. Then if the police checked on the story, there'd be nothing to make them suspicious. The only precaution she hadn't taken was to change cars. She was driving her own little Fiat. But she didn't think Price even knew about it, it had been in the double garage each time he'd been to the house. She hadn't taken it out once in all this dreadful week. She couldn't think of anything she'd done wrong.

After she'd got off the motorway, there was more traffic and she had to slow up a lot. She didn't get into Henley until a quarter to ten. She parked in the space by the side of a hotel on the river and went in and asked for coffee, but when it came, she couldn't drink it, just the smell made her feel sick. She went to the loo and then got back in the car again. She was shaking so much she could hardly start it up and pull on to the road. It was dark, of course. She was terrified of missing the turning, she'd better leave and risk being a minute or too early. She was out of town, was driving on a country road again. No trees near at hand yet. Uphill, then the road straightened out between hedges. She must have gone at least three miles. The trees were closing in over her head before she realized. Her headlights lit up the silvery boles of smooth beech trunks. Above were the flat, layered branches, fat buds just beginning to leaf. She was going very slowly now, looking to her right all the time. A clock very far away tolled the hour, and she panicked. She was late, they'd have gone, she'd never see Caroline Ann again. She increased her speed and at that moment saw the sign. Mocking End
mile. She turned, the trees closed out all light from the sky, the wheels crunched on stones and grit.