A Friend of the Family (29 page)

She added a prayer for Polly's safety and realised that she was cold and that George and Amelia were no longer to be seen. She shivered, wrapping her arms about herself, and looked again to the moor where strong winds were blowing the snow in drifts like smoke across the granite tops. Golden light from the west filled the sky and her heart lifted a little and she turned and hurried downstairs.

 

WHEN JON COULD KEEP
his eyes open no longer and agreed to go upstairs to sleep, Polly felt a great sense of relief. He had sat for some
while, looking more and more exhausted, until his watchful stare had begun to glaze and his head to nod.

‘Why don't you go and have a rest,' asked Polly. ‘I'll read Huge a story and we'll do a picture for Michael. When you wake up we'll have some tea.'

At last, reluctantly, he agreed and went slowly upstairs. Polly drew a deep breath. Her nerves were at full stretch. She realised that, since Friday morning, she had barely been alone for a second and, for someone who spent most of her days alone, she was beginning to feel the strain that the company of others imposes. Hugh, who had been playing under the kitchen table, crawled out and looked at her. She summoned up a smile. After all, he was being very good with both his parents gone, the snow keeping him penned up inside all day and, to top it all, a strange cousin who hardly spoke but stared all the time turning up on the doorstep. Polly knelt down and pulled him to her.

‘What would you like to do, Huge?' she asked him. ‘Like to do a picture for Daddy? Or would you like me to read you a story?'

‘No,' said Hugh who, although a quiet child, always knew his own mind. ‘Want to make a snowman.'

Polly sat back on her heels and looked at him in surprise. Obviously he had stored up her earlier words and remembered them.

‘Oh, but Huge . . . ' she began, glancing out of the window, and then stopped. The grey dullness had cleared and she noticed for the first time that there were bursts of sunshine between the hurrying clouds. Suddenly she felt a great urge to be outside, to feel the wind on her cheeks and to see the sun on the snow. ‘Why not?' she said, giving him a quick hug. ‘Let's get our things on and go out. The dogs can come, too. We'll all go together but we must be very quiet till we're outside. We don't want to wake Jon, do we?'

Hugh shook his head, the brown eyes so like Michael's, fixed on her face.

‘Come on then.'

Max was waiting for them and they went through the kitchen, crossing the hall quietly, with the dogs following behind. In the
porch, with the door to the house firmly closed, Polly perched Hugh on the little bench, took off his slippers and inserted his chubby little feet into his red gumboots. Standing him down again, she helped him into his warm jacket and pulled up the hood. ‘No gloves, Huge,' she said. ‘They'd get soaking wet with snow.'

She opened the outside door and Hugh waded into the garden; Ozzy, his tail waving, padded behind him. Max followed more slowly. Polly pulled on Harriet's gumboots and took down a sheepskin coat. There was a woolly hat in one of the pockets and she dragged it down over her ears and picked up the spade.

‘OK,' she said, joining Hugh. ‘First we must make the snowman's big round body.'

She cleared a space with her spade and began to make a start. Hugh, who really had no idea what she meant, gathered snow between his hands and then threw it up into the wind, chuckling with glee when it landed on Max's surprised head. Polly patted her snow into a big round ball and banged it firm with the spade. Then she started on a smaller ball for the head, stopping every now and then to watch Hugh, who seemed to be enjoying himself immensely. She put the head in place, giving it a few thumps to wedge it firmly, and nodded. Now all it needed was a few features to give it character. In the porch she found one of Michael's caps on a peg, and took it out to perch it on the head. The problem was that the wind kept blowing it off and finally Polly was obliged to take off her own hat—or rather, Harriet's—and pull it over the snowman's cold head. She stuffed Michael's cap in her pocket and stood back to survey the result. ‘Huge!' she called. ‘Come and look.'

Hugh came to look. He stood for a moment. ‘Mummy's hat,' he said at last.

‘That's right,' said Polly and then grinned. ‘It's a snow mummy,' she said.

Hugh continued to stare. ‘I haven't finished it yet,' Polly told him. ‘She's got to have a nose and some eyes. Come and help me find some eyes.'

Hugh, however, still not understanding, went back to his own
games and Polly wondered whether some chippings of wood might be the answer. It was while she was collecting up some pieces of the right shape that she heard Hugh's wails. He had jumped into a drift of snow and tumbled over. He was frightened rather than hurt but his roars gave the impression that he was half killed. Still clutching her pieces of wood, Polly ran out of the shed but, even as she did so, the front door opened and Jon appeared. He had put on his wet shoes but had no coat. He raced across the snowy garden to pick Hugh up. Hugh screamed even louder at this and Polly hurried up the little path that she had dug earlier.

‘Huge!' she cried. ‘Are you OK? What have you done?'

‘You stupid bloody woman!' said Jon quietly. ‘Don't you know how to look after a small child?'

The controlled iciness of his anger was in direct contrast to Hugh's penetrating screams and empurpled face and Polly felt fear and her heart beat fast. Hugh, kicking furiously, stretched his arms towards her and Jon was forced to put him down lest he should twist from his grasp and fall. Hugh ran to her and she fell to her knees and gathered him to her.

‘I don't think that he's really hurt,' she said, staring up at Jon. Her voice was high and thin. ‘He's just frightened. We were making a snowman.'

‘You shouldn't have left him.' Jon's voice was flat and Polly had the oddest sensation that he wasn't speaking to her at all. ‘You shouldn't have gone off and left him.'

He looked about him and saw the spade. For a moment his eyes widened and then creased into that peculiar spasm of feature that seemed to pass for a smile. A great wave of terror engulfed Polly. She clutched Hugh, whose sobbing had subsided, and felt herself to be trembling uncontrollably.

‘He's all right,' she cried in the same high voice and then she swallowed convulsively. ‘He's perfectly all right now. He was frightened, that's all.'

Jon bent down and picked up the spade. ‘You'll have to be taught a lesson,' he said. He looked at her. ‘You know that.'

Polly stared back. Jon lifted the spade above his head and took a step towards her.

‘Let the child go,' he said softly and, as he spoke, two things happened at once. Max, who had been pottering round at the back of the cottage, reappeared. Seeing Jon, he started to bark as he floundered through the snow towards him. But Ozzy was quicker. As he bounded towards them a vehicle's horn sounded a fanfare from the bottom of the track. Jon whirled round to face Ozzy and Polly screamed. Two figures had now appeared on the track and again Polly screamed. Jon glanced round, dropped the spade and bolted into the porch with Ozzy on his heels. He slammed the porch door in Ozzy's face and Hugh began to cry again.

Freddie and Jon vaulted the wall and waded through the snow to Polly, who stared up at them in terror.

‘Polly!' cried Freddie, hauling her to her feet and holding her tightly for a moment. ‘What is it? What's the matter? What on earth are you doing here? Are you all right? Why were you screaming? Where did Michael go?'

Polly, shivering from head to foot, stared from him to Jon and tried to control her shaking lips. Freddie released her and bent down to pick up Hugh.

‘Hello, old chap,' he said. ‘You remember Freddie, don't you? Where are Harriet and Michael?' he asked Polly.

Polly shook her head and bit her lips. ‘They're not here. Harriet's having the baby but Michael's cousin came, only he's very . . . he's very odd.' Her voice cracked and she put out her hand and clutched Freddie's sleeve. He seized her other hand. ‘I thought he was going to hit me with that spade.' She swallowed.

‘Michael's cousin?' It was the other man who spoke and Polly looked at him, her eyes enormous. She nodded.

‘They were expecting him. He turned up this morning. He'd been
lost in the snow. He's . . . odd. And when Hugh fell over and started crying he . . . ' She shook her head again.

‘Where is he now?' asked Freddie. ‘Was it him we saw go into the house? I thought it was Michael.'

Polly shook her head. Ozzy went for him,' she said, indicating the still barking Ozzy who had now been joined by Max.

‘Come on, let's go in and meet this cousin,' said Jon.

He looked at Freddie over Polly's head and they glanced towards the cottage. Polly gave a little cry. ‘Look, what's he doing?'

Jon had emerged from the utility-room door and, as they watched, he reached the garden wall in great bounds, leaped over it and ran off down the track.

‘Freddie!' cried Jon. ‘Your car! Did you leave the keys in?'

‘Christ!' Freddie thrust Hugh into Polly's arms. With Jon in close pursuit, he fled across the garden.

‘Oh, no!' cried Polly desperately. ‘Don't go! Please don't leave me!'

Even as her cry died away she heard an engine kick into life. She stood straining to hear but the wind carried the noise in eddies around her and she couldn't begin to imagine what might be happening.

‘Go in,' said Hugh tearfully. He pushed his knees into her waist as though to urge her towards the house. ‘Go in.'

Ozzy, who had followed Freddie and Jon as far as the wall, came up to her, wagging his tail, and Hugh leaned down to him. ‘Max and Ozzy come too,' he said.

‘Yes.' Polly tried to pull herself together. What could possibly be going on? What were Freddie and that strange man doing at Lower Barton in this weather? Why had Jon run away? Did he fear that the other two had seen him threatening her? Even though she had seen him leave, Polly felt a terrible reluctance to go inside. She shuddered. Supposing he came back! The mere thought was enough to send her hurrying inside. Setting Hugh down, she locked the porch door, and when they'd struggled out of their outdoor clothes and boots, they went into the hall and she locked the inner door behind her. She ran through the kitchen to the utility room. The outer door stood open
and she slammed it shut and locked that, too. She was trembling from head to foot. The dogs had followed her into the kitchen and were sitting by the Aga; Hugh stood in the middle of the floor gazing at her. He looked very small and vulnerable and Polly felt her own fear recede a little in the face of his.

‘Want Mummy,' he said.

Oh, Huge,' she said and, going to him swiftly, she gathered him up, shut the kitchen door and sat down with him in the armchair by the Aga. ‘It's all over now, let's have a cuddle and then we'll have some tea.'

He must not see how frightened she was. Somebody would come soon. They must! Polly rocked Hugh in her arms and felt him begin to relax. She droned a little tune to him whilst her mind ran and reran the events of the last few hours. She wondered what she would do if Jon ran over the other two with the car that Freddie had left at the bottom of the track and then came back to kill her. Why should he want to kill her? She remembered his face when he'd told her that his wife and child had died in an accident. What sort of accident? The doors were locked, but what if he broke a window? She glanced at the window in terror, half imagining his face peering in with that spine-chilling smile. Suppose it got dark before anyone came? At the thought of a night alone in the cottage, her heart seemed as if it must fail and she could barely breathe. Her thoughts fled and whirled, hither and thither, like a mouse trapped behind a wainscot with its exits blocked. Her lips kept silently forming the words ‘Help me. Help me,' but no one came and presently Hugh slept.

 

Thirty

 

SAUL WAS DELIGHTED TO
see the change in the weather. It had been heavy going along the lane past the two farms and up to Tortown. His legs ached with the effort of wading through the snow and he was tired and hot. When he reached the edge of the open moor he breathed a great sigh of relief and stretched his aching back, throwing his arms wide. Pulling off his woolly hat, he let the wind tug at his hair. He stuffed the hat into his pocket and debated as to whether he should remove his jacket. The trouble with wet-weather gear was that it made you feel so hot and sticky but he knew the danger of getting overheated and then cooling down too quickly. He decided that he would rest for a moment to get his breath before the steep pull up to the lane and, taking off his rucksack, he finished the last of the coffee and the sandwiches.

He stood for a moment, watching the sky, enjoying the clear golden light and then, turning his back on the glory in the west, he started to climb to the lane. The wind was cold and he was glad that he hadn't removed his jacket. He should, with luck, come out almost opposite the small track leading to the cottage. Not long now! His heart bounded up with excitement and then he paused, staring up at the lane. He could hear the sound of an engine revving. He strained his eyes. Yes, there it was! A Fourtrak at the bottom of Lower Barton track. The driver was attempting to turn it and it slid and kicked as though he were unused to handling it. Saul started forward. The Fourtrak had achieved its turn and started back along the lane. As it did so, two figures appeared, running down the track waving and shouting, but the Fourtrak didn't stop.

Saul raced up the last few feet. He gained the lane just ahead of the Fourtrak and flung himself at the driver's door. The man was a complete stranger to him and as Saul wrenched the door open he struck out, cursing as the vehicle skidded. Saul stumbled and swung outwards with the door but managed to retain his grip. The engine roared as the driver pressed his foot full down on the accelerator and the wheels screamed as they skidded on the snow. Cursing, the driver took his foot off the accelerator, and the tyres suddenly gripped the snow so that the door swung in again. Saul managed to gain a foothold and seize the man, who struck him full across the face. Saul lost his footing and the door swung out again. Saul hung on for dear life as his feet began dragging through the snow and he was towed along, the door half open. The stranger shouted as he saw the Range Rover coming towards him and he turned the wheel. The Fourtrak left the road to bump and jolt over the rock-strewn moor until coming to an abrupt stop as it rammed a larger boulder. Saul was thrown forward, his shoulder crashing into the half-open door. Pain lanced down his arm and he let go of the door to fall, semiconscious, into the snow.

 

MICHAEL AND CHRIS WERE
out of their vehicle in moments, Chris's feet sliding from under him so that he ended up on his hands and knees. Freddie and Jon panted towards them, shouting.

‘. . . prisoner . . . stop him!' gasped Freddie. ‘Christ!' He paused for a second to drag in some breath. ‘He's getting away . . . '

Michael, trying to take in the fact that Freddie was here and that Jon was with him, turned to join in the race across to the Fourtrak where John, staggering from the driver's seat, stood for a moment as though stunned before setting off over the moor. It was Jon who brought him down. Redoubling his efforts he sprinted ahead and caught him round the legs in a traditional rugby tackle. The others were close behind and Freddie flung himself down, seizing John's arms and doubling them up behind his back. He lay perfectly still and his arms were limp.

‘I think he's knocked himself out,' said Freddie.

‘Serve him right! ‘ Jon stood up and eased his back. T m getting too old for this sort of thing. Roll him over. Let's have a look at him.'

Cautiously, Freddie rolled the man over. His eyes were closed and a trickle of blood ran down from his forehead.

‘That's him!' said Chris.

‘Who, the prisoner?' Michael stared down at him. ‘How can you be so sure?'

‘They showed his picture on television. It's definitely him. Is he all right?'

‘Hit his head as he went down. I think he'll be OK,' said Jon, who was still rather breathless. ‘Anyone got anything we can tie him up with?'

‘There's some binder twine in the back of my wagon,' said Freddie. ‘That'll do for now.'

‘Hello, Michael.' Jon grinned at his cousin. ‘Fancy meeting you here!'

Michael smiled a little but his face was white. ‘I might have guessed you'd be here. You always did enjoy a scrap,' he said as Freddie went for the binder twine. ‘What the devil's going on? Are Hugh and Polly OK?'

Jon nodded. ‘Quite safe and unhurt.' He pointed to the man on the ground. ‘He was at the cottage but we turned up before he could do anything. He pinched Freddie's Fourtrak and tried to make a getaway. And then that chap appeared from nowhere and saved the day.' He nodded towards Saul, who had rolled on to his knees and was trying to rise.

Michael gave an exclamation and hurried over to him. ‘Saul! Where the devil have you sprung from? What's wrong with your arm?'

Saul was holding his left shoulder with his right hand. He tried to smile. ‘I think I've bust my collarbone. Is it the prisoner? Is Polly OK?'

‘It seems so. I don't really know what's going on. I gather he pinched Freddie's Fourtrak.' He assisted Saul to his feet as best he could. ‘We must get you up to the cottage. Jon says that Polly and
Hugh are OK but they must be absolutely terrified. Let's get you into the car and home.'

Jon and Freddie could be seen, on their knees, tying the prisoner securely. Chris came over to Saul and Michael. ‘OK? What's he done?'

‘Broken his collarbone, he thinks,' said Michael briefly. ‘Can you get us up to the cottage? I must see Polly and Hugh and see what we can do for Saul. We may need to get him to a doctor.'

‘I'll go and get her started.' Chris ran back to the lane.

‘I want to see him first.'

Michael hesitated. ‘OK,' he said. ‘If you must. He's knocked himself out.'

As they approached, Freddie got to his feet and came to meet them. ‘I couldn't believe my eyes when I saw you, young man,' he said to Saul. ‘Where on earth did you spring from? If you hadn't clung on like that he'd have got away.' He looked more closely at Saul. ‘My goodness, your face looks sore. Did he do that?'

Saul nodded and grimaced. ‘Tried to dislodge me. Can I have a look at him?'

They reached Jon and the man on the ground and Saul stared curiously down at him. A large discoloured lump was rising on his forehead, his face was very pale and his breathing laboured.

‘I think he must have hit a rock when he went down,' said Jon, who continued to kneel beside him. ‘Doesn't look too healthy to me.'

‘Come on, we ought to hand him over.' Freddie turned to Michael. ‘There was a police Land Rover patrolling earlier. We'll try to catch it. Otherwise it means going into Tavistock.'

‘Are we still mobile, Freddie?' asked Jon.

‘I should think so. He hit a rock so all he'll have done is bend the bumper a bit. I'll go and start her up but you'll have to carry him over. I'm not risking coming down here. You can't see what's under the snow.'

Presently both vehicles were under way. Freddie's, carrying the prisoner with Jon in attendance, bumping slowly down to the road and Chris, Michael and Saul in the other, heading for the cottage.

 

THE KITCHEN WINDOWS LOOKED
away to the moor at the back of the cottage and so Polly didn't see Michael arrive. Because she had thrust the bolts across, Michael was unable to open the front door with his key. He hesitated. He guessed what she had done and also guessed that she had done it because she was frightened. What would she do if he rang the bell? Or should he go round to the back of the cottage and see if she was in the kitchen? Michael was both sensitive and imaginative and he could foresee the effect on a nervous person if she were to see someone looming up at the window without warning. Better to hammer on the door and ring the bell. At least she could peer out from either the sitting room or the study and see who it was. He rang the bell in several short bursts—having some idea that this might sound less threatening than one long peal—beat a tattoo on the glass window of the porch door and shouted at the same time.

‘Polly! It's OK, Polly! It's Michael. Everything's all right now!'

At the first sharp trill of the bell Polly gave a strangled shriek, jerking upright in her chair and waking Hugh, who stared up at her. Max struggled up from his deathlike sleep and Ozzy started to bark. Before Hugh could remember the traumas of the day, he heard the knocking and ringing. Scrambling down, he ran towards the door.

‘Mummy!' he cried. ‘Mummy's home!'

‘Wait, Huge!' shrieked Polly and the tone of her voice made him hesitate and stare at her. ‘Wait,' she said more calmly as she tried to smile normally.

The door to the porch was made of solid oak, so she couldn't see who was outside although she could hear a man's voice shouting. Catching Hugh's hand, her heart thudding, Polly went through the hall—followed by the dogs who remained there to bark—and into the sitting room. She edged up to the window, watched by a puzzled Hugh, and peered cautiously out. Her heart bounded gloriously upwards. ‘Michael,' she cried and he heard her and turned to wave reassuringly to her, indicating that he couldn't get in, but Polly had gone.

‘It's Daddy!' she cried to Hugh. ‘Daddy's here!' And panting with relief she flung herself at the bolts and the locks, dragging back the doors until she could see him—and how tall and strong and safe he looked—and then he was inside, picking up Hugh in one arm and holding Polly with the other.

He managed to get into the kitchen despite the fact that Hugh had both arms round his neck in a stranglehold and Polly was clinging to him, crying and laughing at the same time as the dogs led the way, tails wagging.

‘Everything's quite all right,' he said, sitting down at the table with Hugh on his lap. He smiled at Hugh, who was chattering about brothers and presents and pictures and snowmen and something called Don. ‘Sounds wonderful, old chap,' he said. ‘Mummy sends her love and so does your new brother.'

Hugh got down to find the picture he had coloured and Michael looked at Polly.

‘Oh, Michael,' she said shakily. ‘What happened? Freddie was here. And then they all ran off and left me on my own. I was so frightened. Where is he now?'

‘Don't worry a bit. We caught him further down the road. He tried to get away in Freddie's Fourtrak. Freddie's taking him down to the police station. He got knocked out when we tackled him but I think he'll live.'

Polly stared at him with round horrified eyes. ‘The police?' she whispered. ‘Oh, Michael. I suppose so but how awful for you. Why didn't you warn me about him?'

Michael was studying the picture of the multicoloured Holy Family. ‘It's lovely, Hugh. I shall take it to show Mummy.' He glanced up at Polly. ‘But I didn't know, either. And by the time I found out, the telephone lines were all down.'

Polly looked surprised. ‘Didn't know . . . ?' she began, but before she could get any further there was a commotion in the hall and Chris appeared supporting a pale but smiling Saul. Polly's mouth dropped open.

‘Saul!' she said in disbelief.

‘Hello, Polly,' he said. ‘Are you OK?'

She nodded, quite unable to utter a sound.

‘He's been very brave,' said Michael, getting up. ‘He walked nearly all the way here to make sure that you were safe and then found himself in the middle of a fight, saved the day and got wounded for his pains.'

‘Oh, no!' Polly looked horrified. ‘Oh, Saul. Your face! Did he attack you, too?'

‘He did. I think my collarbone's bust.' He looked exhausted.

‘Come on,' said Chris. ‘Got a first-aid kit, Michael? I want to have a look at him and get him bandaged up. Don't worry,' he smiled at Saul, ‘I've done the course. At least I should be able to make you comfortable if Michael's got some bandages.'

Michael took a box down from a cupboard. ‘Should find all you need in here. Want any help?'

‘I'll give a shout if we do. We'll use the bathroom, if that's all right with you. A cup of coffee or hot tea would probably be a good idea.'

‘Of course.' Michael went to fill the kettle. ‘Give him a couple of painkillers while you're up there.'

They went out and Polly shook her head as if to clear her mind.

‘Drink!' said Hugh. ‘Want drink.'

Mechanically, Polly stood up, swung him into his high chair and put his colouring book and his crayons on the tray.

‘Why not do a picture for Daddy,' she suggested, ‘while I make us a cup of tea? Michael . . . ' She turned to him. ‘What did you mean when you said you didn't know? And what difference did it make the phones being off? Didn't you know that your cousin's wife and child had died in an accident?'

‘What?' It was Michael's turn to look amazed. ‘Wife and child? Do you mean Jon? He's not married, never has been!'

‘But he told me himself!' cried Polly. ‘He said that they'd died in an accident. I thought that's why he was so peculiar and why he was going to hit me with the spade when Huge fell over.'

‘Going to hit you with a spade? Jon?'

‘Yes—but Freddie arrived. He would have done except he saw Freddie and ran indoors.'

‘Wait a minute, Polly.' Michael held up his hands. ‘Let me get this quite straight. Jon told you that he had a wife and child who'd died in an accident and then threatened you with a spade?'

‘Well, not quite like that,' admitted Polly. ‘He told me earlier about his wife and child. And then, when Huge fell over and started to cry, he said I wasn't fit to look after him. He picked up the spade . . . '