As everyone whooped and cheered Miles murmured to Vivienne, ‘I’ll make it up to a hundred.’
Her eyes were shining. ‘Do you realise that means the figure will rise to three hundred thousand, because Sky is doubling the amount too?’
‘Really,’ he said dryly, ‘well, that’s the best return I’ve ever known on five grand. Now all we need is a suitable donor for Sharon.’
As soon as transmission was over the party began in earnest. Champagne corks started popping faster than fireworks, while the choreographer’s music tape was played all over again, and, still in their fancy costumes, the firemen twirled and jived their new fans up and down the catwalk. Theo made a hasty return to a pair of ripped jeans and body-hugging T-shirt, and since there was still no prising Stella from him, or Martha from Percy, Kelsey grabbed her phone and took it outside where the crew was packing up, and half a dozen long-suffering horses were trundling around the manège carrying small children on their backs.
‘Mum! Great, you answered,’ she cried breathlessly when she made the connection. Her elation was so great that it took a moment for her natural caution to kick in. ‘You didn’t watch, did you?’ she accused, only too aware of how her mother rarely failed to disappoint her. ‘Well, it’s OK …’
‘I watched,’ Jacqueline assured her. ‘I didn’t realise you were such a good dancer.’
Kelsey’s eyes lit up. ‘Yeah, but not like Martha,’ she said modestly. ‘She’s amazing. Did you see how much TKS raised? Everyone’s teasing him now, saying it was his mother on the phone.’
There was a note of humour in Jacqueline’s voice as she said, ‘Whoever it was, they’ve got themselves a great deal, even at fifteen thousand.’
‘That’s exactly what Dad said. Actually he really wants to speak to you, shall I go and get him?’
‘No, darling, don’t do that.’
Kelsey’s smile started to fade. ‘Did you get his messages?’ she asked. ‘He left one last night and again this morning.’
‘Yes, I got them.’
‘So you know what he wants to talk to you about?’
‘I do, but there’s nothing to be said.’
Kelsey looked round as someone set off the fire engine’s siren, then stopped it again.
‘I’ve already told him not to worry,’ Jacqueline reminded her. ‘It won’t be a problem.’
Kelsey wasn’t sure what to say.
‘It sounds as though you’re having a wonderful time down there,’ Jacqueline commented.
‘Yeah, we are.’
‘I expect you want to get back to it.’
‘Um, yes, I suppose I should. I’m glad you watched. It was really cool, wasn’t it?’
‘Very.’
After a beat Kelsey said, ‘I’m going now then.’
‘OK.’
‘Bye then.’
‘Goodbye, my darling. God bless.’
Kelsey didn’t ring off, but in the end Jacqueline did, and as the line went dead a horrible feeling started to come over Kelsey. It was all kind of grainy and weird and seemed to be pulling her down and down into a place that was dark and scary.
God bless
. The words were making her head seem clogged, and she felt sort of sick. She wanted to call her mother back to find out if that was why she’d changed, because she’d got God, but then Martha came out looking for
her,
carrying two more glasses of champagne.
‘What’s up?’ Martha hiccuped, her cheeks flushed like a pair of poppies.
‘Nothing,’ Kelsey answered.
‘Come on, you’re missing all the fun.’
Kelsey’s eyes came up to hers. Her face was pale with worry, but then the music inside changed to one of her favourite bands, and the bad feeling evaporated in the urge to dance. ‘So have you managed to pull Percy’s plug yet?’ she teased, grabbing a glass, and laughing uproariously they plunged back into the swirling mass of Devonshire revellers.
Chapter Twenty-four
‘AH, THERE YOU
are, Just
ine
,’ Critchley drawled, as his rotund frame in grubby shirt and low-slung pants drew up alongside her desk. ‘I was wondering when you might grace us with your presence again.’
Justine glanced up. As usual he looked as though he should stink, but amazingly didn’t. Then, returning her eyes to the computer screen, she continued to type.
‘I don’t suppose,’ he said, resting his stumpy, freckled hands on her desk, ‘it was you who gave Avery the tip-off about tomorrow’s front page, was it? No, of course not. Why would you want to risk having an injunction slapped on your very own exclusive?’
In spite of the prickling in her armpits, Justine carried on with what she was doing.
‘On the other hand,’ the Critch continued chattily, ‘it would appear that you’ve had your name removed from
your very own exclusive
. Oh yes, I know about that. You have to be stupider than I already had you down for if you thought it wouldn’t get back to me before tomorrow.’
‘No, I knew it would,’ she told him.
‘OK. So let’s look at this again, shall we? We know there’s nothing anyone can do to stop that front page, because everything checks out. We’re not breaking any
laws,
and it’s not accusing anyone of anything. It’s simply telling a sad story of what it can be like to lose a child, and regurgitating a few questions that were asked fifteen years ago – and guess what, Justie, they still need answers.’
Without looking up, she said, ‘And you think you’re going to get them?’
Critchley chuckled. ‘Who cares? You did a good job. In spite of your duplicity Avery’s going to squirm on the end of my line tomorrow, and then he’s going to remember what it’s like when the sharks come along to feed. He’s been there before, let’s see if he can survive it again.’
Justine clicked on to print, then rose to her feet. ‘It’s not a question of whether he can,’ she said, pushing past him, ‘it’s whether his wife can – oh, and by the way, that’s my resignation.’
The Critch laughed loudly. ‘If you think that’s going to save you from Avery’s wrath, Justie,’ he said, evidently enjoying himself, ‘then you’re more deluded than sad old Jacqueline.’
Spinning round, she said, ‘No, it probably won’t save me, but it’s going to bury you, you asshole,’ and flinging her bag onto her shoulder she stalked across the office, triumphant in having the last word – until she reached the lift, which started to descend before she could stop it.
‘Next time you speak to Avery,’ the Critch called after her, ‘make sure he knows, just in case he’s under any illusion, that this is payback time for
The Grunt
.’ Still chuckling at her desperate jabbing on the button, he wandered back into his office and was just sitting down when his secretary rang through to announce another call from Avery’s lawyer.
‘Put him on,’ Critchley responded, rubbing his hands.
A moment later Stefan Harding’s voice came down the line. ‘Mr Critchley, I’m calling to inform you that my client will be pressing charges against Justine James for the theft of an email from his computer, and for false representation when approaching Mrs Barrett.’
The Critch gave a snort of pleasure. ‘Please tell your client that if he thinks that’s going to stop tomorrow’s front page then he’s even dumber than the Justine.’
‘You should also be made aware,’ Harding went on smoothly, ‘that the charges against Ms James will extend to you as an accomplice.’
Critchley barked a laugh. ‘You can try, Mr Lawyer, but it won’t stick, and you know it.’
Harding’s tone remained affable as he said, ‘Good day, Mr Critchley.’
As the line went dead Critchley leaned forward to replace the receiver, the smirk on his lips taking longer to fade than the gleam in his eyes. There was more to that call than was immediately evident, he was certain of it, he just wasn’t managing to figure out what – yet. However, the very fact that Avery was riled enough to start suing meant he was under the man’s skin, which was exactly where the Critch wanted to be. In fact, he could hardly wait for tomorrow, when Avery’s discomfort was going to be every bit as public as the cartoon he’d commissioned, and that his old paper still ran, ridiculing the Critch every damned, fucking day of the week.
Vivienne was kneeling on the floor with Rufus when Miles brought the papers in the next morning and tossed them on the bed.
‘It’s there,’ he told her shortly. ‘Not that I thought he’d back off.’
Reaching over, Vivienne picked up
The News on Sunday
and turned it over to see the glaring headline in giant black letters.
AVERY CHILD WAS NEVER IN CAR
followed in much smaller print by
claims woman who has dogged family for years
.
After glancing at Miles with an expression that showed her dismay, she began reading.
‘After fifteen years the unanswered question of whether or not Samuel Avery was in his mother’s car the day she claims he was abducted, arises again following Mrs Avery’s own recent disappearance. We are told by a family member that Mrs Avery has been in touch with them, but at the time of going to press the police still had no knowledge of her whereabouts. It is believed that since the alleged abduction …’
Alleged
, she repeated harshly in her mind.
‘… of her son, Mrs Avery, wife of prominent Fleet Street editor Miles Avery, has suffered several breakdowns. Suspicion of her own, and her husband’s involvement in their son’s disappearance arose at the time, and has never completely gone away. Avery was taken in for questioning six weeks after Sam was supposedly taken, but was eventually released without charge. Mrs Avery is said to have suffered a severe nervous collapse following an accusation of murder by Mrs Elizabeth Barrett, whose husband worked with Avery at the time the mystery occurred.’
Rigid with contempt, Vivienne turned to an inside page.
‘Mrs Barrett is now claiming that Avery paid her to leave his family alone, a claim Avery denies. However, highly significant questions still remain
unanswered
:
Was Sam in the car when Jacqueline Avery drove into the garage? Why were there no witnesses when she was on a busy roundabout? Why has there been no sign of Sam since? Where is Mrs Avery now?’
Having read enough, Vivienne looked up at Miles.
His face was pale, but his voice was steady as he said, ‘At least it seems to be more damaging to me than to Jacqueline. Whether she’ll see it like that …’ His eyes closed in despair. ‘That damned Barrett woman came out of the woodwork six years ago, just when Jacqueline was finally getting it together and the next thing I knew she was right back where we started. Worse, in fact, so I don’t even want to think about how she might handle it now.’
‘Has Kelsey spoken to her since yesterday?’ Vivienne said, wincing as Rufus grabbed her hair to pull himself up.
‘Not that she’s mentioned. It was bedlam for most of the day, though, and she’d had more than enough to drink. I think I’ll—’ He stopped as a loud crash came from downstairs, followed by gales of girlish giggling. ‘Well, I guess that means they’re up,’ he said dryly. ‘Now I’d better go and find out what damage they’ve done.’
He arrived in the kitchen to find Kelsey on her knees making a bad job of shoving pots and pans back into a cupboard, while Martha attempted to crack eggs into the skillet they’d presumably been looking for.
‘Oh, sorry, did we wake you?’ Martha gasped when she saw him. ‘We couldn’t find …’
‘Dad, you’re here – o
uch
!’ Kelsey grunted, banging her head as she backed out of the cupboard, and she and Martha promptly dissolved into laughter again.
‘Sorry,’
she said, trying to make herself stop, ‘we felt like a cooked breakfast. Is that OK?’
‘Of course,’ he answered, going to fill the kettle. After placing it on the Aga he said, ‘Have you spoken to your mother again since yesterday morning?’
Kelsey suddenly clapped her hands to her face. ‘Oh my God, the paper!’ she cried. ‘Has it arrived? Is it bad?’
‘It’s not good.’
‘Can I see it?’
‘I’d rather you didn’t.’
‘But I can’t go back to school with everyone having seen it except me,’ she protested.
Conceding the point, he said, ‘First I’d like an answer to my question, have you spoken to your mother since yesterday morning?’
Kelsey started to flush with guilt. ‘No, but I told her you wanted to speak to her,’ she said defensively. ‘I even tried to get her to hold on while I came to find you, but she didn’t want to.’
‘Did you ask if she’d received my messages?’
‘Yes, and she has, but she said there was nothing to talk about, and we’re not to worry.’
He looked at her gravely. ‘See if you can get her on the phone now,’ he said.
‘But we’re about to—’
‘Just do it,’ he barked.
Kelsey’s heart suddenly tightened as the weird feeling that had come over her yesterday welled up again. ‘What is it?’ she said shakily. ‘Dad, you’re scaring me. You don’t think …?’
‘It’ll be all right,’ he told her firmly, ‘but we have to find out where she is, and right now you’re the only one who can do it.’
*
‘Bingo, sir,’ Joy said, coming into Sadler’s office. ‘You know, you really ought to be a detective.’
Sadler’s expression was droll as he looked up from the paper to find a casually dressed DC Joy leaning against his door frame.
‘Don’t your family mind you coming in on a Sunday?’ she asked, stifling a yawn. ‘This is the second one in a row. Sorry, sir, late night. Still, at least we got a bit of a lie-in, so mustn’t grumble.’
‘We’re here,’ he reminded her, pointing at the paper, ‘because of this. Now you were about to tell me why I should be a detective.’
‘Jacqueline Hatfield,’ she explained. ‘Mrs Avery’s maiden name, and the one she used to rent a house in Richmond, which belongs to a Mr Peter Gascoigne, currently a resident of Malaga, Spain.’
Sadler’s antennae were up. ‘Go on,’ he prompted.
‘I just found an email from DC Ball,’ she said, yawning again. ‘He’s spoken to Mr Gascoigne and apparently the dates fit, so does the description – dark hair, posh, quiet – plus it’s a few doors away from where she used to live. Same street, opposite side.’
‘Didn’t anyone do a house-to-house in that area?’
‘They did, but if she was there she obviously didn’t answer, and they’ve only just tracked down Mr Gascoigne.’