A Friend of the Family (26 page)

Saul went, reluctantly, and Cass, waiting until she heard him reach the top of the stairs, pushed the kitchen door to and turned to Oliver.

‘OK,' she said. ‘What haven't you told us?'

Oliver grimaced. ‘In the first place,' he said, ‘the man's a murderer. And in the second they had the snowploughs out this morning and found what they believe to be his escape car. It seems he ran off the road near Merrivale quarry.'

There was a complete silence.

‘That's only a few miles from Lower Barton,' said Cass at last.

‘Quite,' said Oliver.

‘It still means nothing,' said Tom. ‘The last thing that escaped prisoners want is to go straight back inside. They stay away from human
habitation for as long as possible. It would be different if he'd been on the loose for days in these conditions and was starving and frozen.'

‘That's all very well,' said Oliver, ‘but which way would he go? He'd probably want to get away from the road and he'd want to get as far from the prison as he could. What happens if you go up behind the quarry?'

‘Well. There's a bridlepath from the quarry that leads straight past Michael's place as it happens,' said Tom, rather reluctantly, ‘but it would be covered by snow and not that obvious.'

‘Oh, Tom. A murderer!' Cass looked frightened. ‘I wish one of you had stayed with her.'

With great restraint, Tom refrained from pointing out that he'd offered to do just that. The situation was too serious for cheap victory. He put an arm round Cass's shoulder and looked at Oliver. ‘Did they say what sort . . .' he began but stopped as they heard Saul on the stairs. ‘When he's phoned Polly,' he said, quietly but urgently, ‘get him out digging and I'll phone the police to tell them that Polly's on her own. I don't want any silly mercy dashes so that we have to rescue him as well.'

The door opened. ΌΚ,' said Saul. ‘What's the number, Ma?' Cass and he went out into the hall.

‘What sort of murderer?' asked Tom.

‘Killed his wife,' said Oliver succinctly. ‘She neglected their kid or something and it died so he did her in. I didn't get it all. Apparently, ever since, he's had a grudge against women.'

‘That's all we need,' said Tom, and turned as Cass and Saul reappeared.

‘Oh, Tom,' said Cass. ‘There's no reply.'

‘Did you give her time to answer?' asked Oliver.

‘She doesn't mean that,' said Saul. He rubbed his face with his hands and gazed round rather desperately. ‘There's just silence. No ringing tone. Nothing. I think their phone has been cut off.'

There was a long silence and then Cass looked at Tom.

‘Do you think we ought to telephone the police, just to warn them that Polly's all on her own?' she asked.

Tom nodded. He went into the hall but returned almost immediately.

‘Bloody marvellous!' he said. ‘The phone's dead! We're cut off, too!'

 

‘GEORGE.' THEA PUT HER
head round the sitting-room door where George was watching television, hoping to catch a forecast. ‘I can't make the telephone work and I'm still trying . . . '

She broke off as the announcer's words caught her attention and moved to stand behind the sofa, staring at the photograph on the screen of the prisoner who had broken out of Dartmoor the night before. His name, it seemed, was John Middleton, he was an astrophysicist and a murderer and now he was at large on the moor.

‘Now don't get worked up,' said George, wishing that he'd heard her coming so that he could have switched the television off. ‘They'll have him back inside in no time. He hasn't got a hope.'

‘Oh, George. Polly will be mad with terror. She'll die of fright. Oh, can't we possibly get to her?'

‘Now darling, you simply must be sensible.' George hauled himself out of the armchair, went to her and took her hands in his. ‘It's not going to do Polly any good if we all set off and get stuck in a snowdrift. For all we know Michael's back by now. She'll be OK.'

Thea sighed, her heart heavv. ‘I suppose you're right,' she said. ‘We couldn't both go, anyway. I couldn't take Amelia.'

‘Of course not.' He drew her close and kissed her. ‘Now stop worrying. At least Mother's all right. She's got plenty of food in and Mr Ellis was going round clearing paths and things.' George had telephoned Esme as soon as he had got up and seen the snow. ‘To be honest I think she was enjoying it.'

Thea smiled a little. ‘She probably is. I wish I could think Polly is, too.'

‘Now, now. No good dwelling on it. Let's think about lunch. I
think I can hear Amelia. Go and bring her down and we'll have a drink.'

Thea nodded and he hugged her tightly before she went away to fetch Amelia.

‘George.' Her voice floated back to him. ‘Try the telephone, will you? It's making a funny noise. I'd like to be able to speak to Polly and find out if Michael's back.'

George rubbed his hand thoughtfully over his jaw. He had already guessed from Thea's earlier remark that the lines were down and the telephone cut off but he had hoped to divert her by talking of lunch and Amelia. It would take Thea two seconds to realise that if they were cut off then so was Polly, and probably more than just by the telephone. George swore softly to himself and went into the kitchen. He could probably bluff a little longer; say that he'd spoken to the engineers about a fault and so on. He poured himself a drink and, hearing Thea approaching, arranged his face in an appropriate expression for lying.

 

Twenty-seven

 

FREDDIE POTTERED HAPPILY IN
his kitchen, talking quietly to the dogs. Up early, as was his habit, he had already dug a way through to the kennels, dealt with the dogs and made his breakfast porridge. He sat down, wondering what conditions up on the main road were like. He had no doubt that the snowploughs would be out so it should be quite possible to get into Tavistock. The snow had taken him by surprise and his provisions were low. He was looking forward to trying out his new Fourtrak, justifying the expenditure with the excuse that he might be called out to the outlying farms in any weather, night or day, and it was the sensible vehicle to have.

As he ate, he thought—as he generally did in his idle moments—of Polly. He longed for the courage to throw caution to the winds and tell her of his love. He was still uncertain as to the exact state of her marriage. She always made light of Paul's obsession with his work and had never shown Freddie the least encouragement. She seemed pleased to see him, was easy and relaxed with him, always parted from him with an affectionate hug, but at no time in the past two years had she ever stepped over the line of friendship.

He got up and went to switch the kettle on. The sensible thing would be to make a comprehensive shopping list just in case the conditions got worse. He pushed the thoughts of Polly away and had been scribbling away for some time on the back of an old envelope before it was borne in on his consciousness that the kettle wasn't boiling. He touched the kettle, which was still cold, and fiddled with the
plug. Everything seemed in order. An idea occurred to him and he pressed the light switch up and down a few times.

‘Power cut,' said Freddie to himself. ‘Damn and blast.'

He rooted round for the telephone which lived on the kitchen table under a pile of miscellaneous odds and ends. ‘And the telephone lines are down,' he muttered to himself, having pressed the rest up and down a few times. ‘I must try to get into Tavistock if I can.'

Charlie Custard watched him, alert, sensing that something was wrong, but Freddie shook his head at him. ‘Not this time, old chap. If I get stuck I don't want you with me.'

He gathered up his belongings, shut the dog in the kitchen and went out. He felt confident that he could get up to the main road in the tracks of the tractor that had passed along earlier and, having cleared a path to the garage, he backed cautiously into the lane and set off. White walls of snow showed the passing of a snowplough on the Okehampton road but the surface was icy and, as he approached Kelly College, he saw that a car had skidded nose first into a bank of snow and the driver was standing helplessly beside it. Freddie slowed and the man waved gratefully. The Fourtrak stopped and Freddie leaned over and opened the passenger door.

‘Good of you to stop.' The tall dark man smiled in at him. ‘I just lost control and in she went. I was about to start walking. I don't think we can do much about it, do you?'

Leaving the engine running, Freddie climbed down and, walking carefully, went round to look at the situation.

‘Not a chance, I'm afraid. But I can give you a lift into Tavistock. Any good?'

‘To tell you the truth, I'm not too sure where I am,' said the man. ‘It was a hell of a trip down. I'm not supposed to be on this road but it was the only possibility.'

Freddie smiled and held out his hand. ‘I'm Freddie Spenlow,' he said. ‘You're just outside Peter Tavy on the Okehampton road not far from Tavistock. Does that mean anything to you?'

‘Not a thing!' said the man cheerfully. ‘My name's Jonathan Thompson. I'm on my way to visit my cousin near Merrivale. His name's Michael Barrett-Thompson.' He raised his eyebrows. ‘Does that mean anything to you?'

‘It certainly does!' cried Freddie. ‘How amazing. I know Michael and Harriet very well. They've got two of my dogs.'

Jon shook his head disbelievingly. ‘Definitely my lucky day. Am I anywhere near them?'

‘Not too far. Get your stuff in here and I'll take you into Tavistock. We'll see how things are looking.'

The roads were clearer in the town, although here and there cars had been abandoned. People with shovels were clearing the pavements and council workers were heaving the snow into lorries to be taken and tipped out of the way. There was a general air of camaraderie and bustle.

Freddie pulled up outside the Bedford Hotel. ‘Now,' he said, ‘I've got to do some shopping. You could book in here or, when I've finished, we could take a little trip.'

Jon looked surprised. ‘Trip?'

‘Mmm.' Freddie nodded. ‘If the snowploughs have been out on the Okehampton road they'll almost certainly have been over to Princetown. Michael's cottage isn't too far up that road. Getting along the lane to it might be a bit tricky but we won't know till we try. Shall we have a go?'

‘I'm game if you are,' said Jon. ‘Great!'

 

 

POLLY BUSTLED TO AND
fro collecting towels from the airing cupboard and spare clothes from Michael's dressing room while Jon looked on. She felt that Michael would have no objection but was careful to select a rather ancient-looking pair of cords and a sweater that had seen better days. She didn't feel up to going into the intricacies of underwear but she did find a pair of very thick socks. He'd have to make do with his own underwear and shirt, which might not be too clean but certainly wouldn't be soaked through with the snow.

‘There we are,' she said, dumping them on a chair in the bathroom.

His face, she thought, was curiously impassive. It had a still, watchful expression that gave nothing away. After a moment he smiled at her. The smile narrowed his eyes but barely touched the corners of his mouth. ‘This is all very unexpected,' he said.

His voice, too, was characterless if well educated and Polly was aware that the relief she had felt at the sight of another human being was beginning to fade. It seemed that Michael's cousin might be a bit of a stick and the thought of being mewed up for days with him suddenly depressed her.

‘Well,' she said, brightly, rather too brightly, ‘you've got everything you need.'

There was no doubt that he looked very tired and a fit of compunction overtook her. One could hardly expect him, in the present circumstances, to be the life and soul of the party.

Perhaps, thought Polly, as she went downstairs having provided him with a couple of Harriet's Bic razors, it was being in the Foreign Office that did it. She envisaged him, stuck in strange countries where people jabbered in unknown tongues, dealing with all sorts of crises—monsoons, malaria, outbreaks of typhoid, civil war. You needed the strong, silent type for that sort of thing, no doubt. Jolly, lighthearted, anything-for-a-laugh types probably wouldn't go down very well in those outposts of civilisation. But Polly sighed a little as she opened the kitchen door. Just at the moment she would have sold her soul for a jolly, lighthearted, anything-for-a-laugh type.

Hugh and Max both stirred as she came in and she went to pick Hugh up, holding his warm, relaxed body close to hers. She pressed her cheek against his silky hair and kissed the soft cheek, rosy with sleep. He remained for some moments lying sleepily against her and sucking his thumb. She rocked him a little, staring out of the window and wondering what on earth she was doing in Harriet's kitchen, cuddling her child, completely cut off from the outside world and with a strange man having a bath upstairs. Ozzy stretched languidly and got
to his feet. He came to stand beside her, pushing his heavy head against her thigh. He imparted a sense of strength and comfort to her and, shifting Hugh a little, she freed a hand to stroke his ears.

‘Good boy,' she murmured, though she was not sure to which of them she spoke. ‘Good boy, then.'

The movement seemed to disturb Hugh and he struggled a little. ‘Down,' he commanded, and when Polly set him on the floor he crawled under the kitchen table where he kept his box of toys and started to rummage.

Polly sighed, the spell broken, and gave Ozzy a last pat. ‘Shall we have some lunch?'

Ozzy looked keen and alert and even Max stirred and opened his eyes as Polly went to look at Harriet's list. Hugh started to converse with his toys in a low monotone and Ozzy watched with interest as Polly set the table, put the saucepan of soup on to heat and prepared Hugh's lunch.

Presently she heard the sound of water gushing away. ‘Come on, Huge,' she said. ‘Time to eat. We've got a visitor. It's your Uncle Jon, or is he your uncle?' she went on, speaking more to herself as she helped Hugh out from under the table and swung him into his high chair. ‘If he's Michael's cousin he's probably more your second cousin once removed or something. Anyway. His name's Jon. Can you say Jon, Huge?'

‘Don,' said Hugh obligingly, picking up his spoon. ‘Don.' He squashed some potato into the gravy and Polly turned as she heard footsteps on the stairs.

‘We're in here,' she called and went to open the door. Several things happened at once as Jon appeared in the doorway. His gaze fell on Hugh and he stopped short. Hugh gazed back, his spoon suspended in mid-air, and Max got to his feet and gave a long, low, menacing growl. Ozzy stood up, ears pricked.

‘Max!' cried Polly reproachfully, aware of some tension in the atmosphere but unable to see what it was. ‘Really, Max!'

Max flattened his ears and waved his tail a little but as John took a step forward he growled again.

‘Honestly, I'm really sorry.' Polly hurried over to stroke Max and remonstrate with him. ‘He's usually the gentlest of animals but he's always very protective of Hugh and, of course, with Michael and Harriet away he probably feels especially in charge.'

‘Quite right, too.' Jon had remained where he was at the second growl but his pale grey eyes were still fixed on Hugh. ‘Is he likely to do more than growl?' He stayed quite still.

‘I shouldn't think so,' said Polly, but rather doubtfully. ‘I've never seen him quite like this before. I should think that if you don't come near Hugh it'll be OK. I'm awfully sorry.'

‘Perhaps you could put him outside?'

For some reason, the quiet suggestion put Polly's hackles up almost as far as Max's. The thought of poor old Max, who, after all, was only doing his job, shut out in the cold utility room was rather too much.

‘Easier said than done.' Polly gave a light laugh. ‘You've obviously never tried to make a Newfie do something it doesn't want to do.' She pretended to tug at Max, who stood firm and uttered another rumble although turning his head to give Polly a quick lick as if to imply that it wasn't directed at her.

Polly shrugged. ‘Nothing doing,' she said. ‘You'd better sit down at the end of the table and we'll eat. I'm sure he'll be fine. He just needs to get used to you. Ozzy seems to be OK.'

Jon edged his way to the chair indicated and sat down. Polly continued to stroke Max for a moment and then went to fetch the soup. Jon's curiously light eyes were still fixed on Hugh. Hugh stared back. Polly felt that she wanted to do something violent to break the tension and distract Jon's attention.

‘Food,' she said loudly. ‘You must be starving. Bread?' She banged things on to the table and smiled at Jon determinedly. ‘Eat up and after lunch we'll persuade Hugh to do you one of his pictures.'

 

‘THE LEAST WE CAN
do is try to get to a telephone,' said Tom. ‘The whole village is off so the best thing is to strike across to Yelverton. We could try going via Meavy in case they're on. This sort of thing can be very local and they may be luckier there. We can at least warn the police that Polly is alone with a small child. They can probably get someone out to her.'

‘It could take you hours to get to Meavy, let alone Yelverton, in these conditions,' said Cass, who was filling two flasks with hot coffee. ‘Oh, how dreadful it all is. You don't think it would be better to let the two boys go and you stay here?'

‘No, I don't!' Tom pulled a heavy sweater over his ordinary clothes. ‘I've agreed that Saul can come because I think he might try something silly if I leave him behind. But I'm damned if I trust him not to try something off his own bat if he's only got Oliver with him.' ‘You're probably right.' Cass began packing the flasks with some sandwiches into a knapsack. ‘Oh, do be careful, darling. I shall be out of my mind. It's so awful to be totally cut off. I shan't know where you are.'

‘Well, at least you'll have Oliver if there's some sort of drama. Let's hope he can cope if there is!'

‘Have no fear, dear Father.' Oliver had come into the kitchen unheard. ‘I'm quite up to a psychopathic killer, should one turn up on the doorstep, and, although I haven't done the Ten Tors and won the Duke of Edinburgh's Award like dear old Saul, I shall probably cope with carrying some logs in and keeping the home fires burning.'