The Angel Tree (39 page)

When she arrived home she checked on Ava, who was sleeping peacefully in the nursery, then walked into the library and dialled David’s number.

‘Hello, Ma. Cheska home safely?’ he asked.

‘No. She wasn’t on the train.’

‘How odd. Maybe she decided to stay another night in London. I’ll give her a bell at the apartment.’

‘Do that, then call me back and let me know she’s there.’

‘Will do.’

He rang back five minutes later.

‘Well?’ she asked.

‘No reply. Maybe she’s gone out.’

‘Oh dear, David, she really shouldn’t be wandering the streets of London alone at night. You . . . you don’t think something’s happened to her, do you?’

‘Of course not, Ma. I’ll drive round to the apartment now. I have a key so I can let myself in.’

‘Get back to me with any news, won’t you?’

‘Of course I will.’

David awoke with a start when the telephone in Greta’s sitting room rang.

‘Any news, dear boy?’

‘Hello, Ma.’ David shook himself awake. ‘What time is it? I must have fallen asleep on the sofa. I was waiting here to see if Cheska came back.’

‘Half past eight in the morning.’

‘Well, that means Cheska’s been out all night.’

‘Do you think you should call the police?’

‘And say what? She’s old enough to go where she pleases.’

‘Yes, but she was only released from hospital a few days ago, David. Even though she seemed calm, I’m sure her psychiatrist wouldn’t be happy if he knew nobody had seen her in
the past twenty-four hours. Have you tried Leon? I know you’ve fallen out with him, but he is still Cheska’s agent. Maybe he knows something.’

‘I’ve already called him a couple of times at his office, and at home last night, but there was no answer. I’ll try him again now. Let’s not panic just yet,
Ma.’

‘I’ll try not to. Let me know if you hear anything.’

David replaced the receiver, then dialled Leon’s number again. This time, he answered.

‘Leon, David here. I tried to call you last night.’

‘I wasn’t at home. I was at the hospital. Did you hear about what happened to Bobby Cross? He—’

‘Never mind Bobby,’ David said angrily. ‘Have you heard from Cheska?’

‘She came to see me a couple of days ago.’

‘Did she indeed,’ said David grimly. ‘What about yesterday?’

‘Hardly, David. Her plane will only just have touched down in Los Angeles.’

‘I’m sorry? Los Angeles?’

‘Yes.’

There was silence at the other end of the line.

‘Oh God, David, don’t tell me you didn’t know? Cheska told me you were staying with her in Mayfair. She said you’d agreed it was a good idea. Even told me that your
mother had volunteered to look after the baby until she came home.’

‘I’d agreed
what
was a good idea?’

‘The screen test at Carousel Studios in Los Angeles.’ ‘Leon, can you honestly imagine I would agree to Cheska flying off to America and leaving her baby behind just a few days
after she’s come out of a psychiatric hospital?!’

‘David, I swear, Cheska told me you knew and—’ David crashed the receiver into its cradle then picked it up again to dial his mother. ‘Ma, it’s David.’

LJ greeted him at the front door of Marchmont four hours later.

‘You poor darling, you look exhausted. Come in and I’ll have Mary make us some tea.’

‘A strong drink will suit me better, thanks, Ma.’

The two of them went into the drawing room and David sat down. LJ fetched a whisky for him.

‘So, tell me everything, dear boy.’

After David had repeated what Leon had told him, LJ shook her head in disbelief. ‘Why? I mean, why would Cheska lie to us?’

‘Maybe she thought we wouldn’t let her go to America.’

‘Well, would we have done?’

‘Probably not.’ David swept an agitated hand through his hair.

‘And Leon says she should be flying back in a matter of days?’

‘Yes, that’s what he said.’

‘Well, David, I hope I’m wrong, but my gut instinct – which I’ve always found reliable – tells me Cheska has little intention of coming back.’

‘Couldn’t we just wait and see?’ David said with a deep sigh. ‘There’s no point in speculating, and I’m just too tired to think straight tonight.’

‘Of course. At least we know where she is.’

‘I’m going to have a bath and an early night. Could Mary make me something to eat, do you think?’

‘I’m sure she can. But just before you go . . .’ LJ handed him a newspaper. ‘Did you see this morning’s
Mail
? There’s a big piece about Bobby Cross.
Seems he met with an . . . accident yesterday.’

David glanced at the front-page photograph of Bobby and read the story underneath.

POP STAR MAIMED IN CRAZED ATTACK

David looked at his mother. He knew exactly what she was thinking.

‘No, Ma. Cheska may have had a few problems, but this? Never. It’s just a nasty coincidence.’

‘You think so?’

‘I know so. How’s Ava?’

‘Sleeping beautifully. She’s such a dear little thing.’

‘Well, let’s just hope we hear from her mother soon. And that she comes back for her baby. Goodnight, Ma.’

LJ was silent as he left the room. For Ava’s sake, she prayed Cheska would stay far away from her child for as long as possible.

The following day David left Marchmont at sunrise. He had meetings in London, but he planned to pop in and see Greta at Addenbrooke’s Hospital first. One way and another,
he hadn’t visited her for over a month, even though he called the ward every day to check if there had been any change. There never was.

On the drive up to Cambridge he thought endlessly about Cheska. Bobby Cross’s horrific maiming had been on the radio constantly and was splashed across every newspaper. He was not in any
immediate danger, apparently, but from what was being reported, his eyes and face would not fully recover from the damage inflicted.

Bobby’s talent as a musician had been limited but his sexual charisma had been undeniable. Now this had happened, cruel as it was, there was no doubt that his days as a teen idol and film
star were over. David hoped that Bobby’s wife would stand by him, because the man had never needed her more than he did now.

‘What goes around, comes around,’ he muttered to himself as he parked the car in front of the hospital. Still thinking about Bobby, he mused that his mother had always brought him up
to live life honourably and truthfully. He’d watched as friends and colleagues had taken short-cuts to achieve what they wanted, but now, at the age of forty-three, he knew this was the best
advice he’d ever been given. He had realised recently that everything came home to roost one day.

And yet Greta, who had done little in her life to hurt anyone, had suffered so terribly.

He got out of his car, locked it and walked towards the entrance to the hospital, wondering whether Cheska could have had anything to do with what had happened to Bobby Cross. His mother, he
knew, thought she had. But surely, David rationalised, her imagination was working overtime and it was merely coincidence?

As he took the lift to Ward Seven, he remembered the sweet little girl Cheska had been. And still – as far as he was concerned –
was
. He had never witnessed anything in her
behaviour to indicate she had the kind of violent, psychotic mind that could dream up such a thing. Yes, she’d been mad with grief in the moments after her mother’s accident, but that
had been natural, surely?

David pressed the bell and saw his favourite nurse, Jane, smile at him and walk towards the door.

‘Hello, Mr Marchmont. I haven’t seen you for a while,’ she said as she led him into the ward, her blonde ponytail swinging under her nurse’s cap. He knew she had a soft
spot for him. She often brought him a cup of tea and biscuits when he was sitting with Greta, and her friendly banter provided relief from the thankless one-way conversation.

‘I’ve been away.’ It seemed the easiest explanation. ‘Any change?’

‘I’m afraid not, though the nurse on duty this morning did notice a slight movement of her left hand. But, as you know, that’s likely to be an automatic nerve
reflex.’

‘Thanks, Jane,’ he said, as he sat down and stared at Greta – unchanged since he’d last seen her.

Jane nodded and walked away.

‘Hello, my darling, how are you?’ David took hold of Greta’s hand. ‘Sorry I’ve been away. I’ve been busy. I’ve got lots of news for you, mind
you.’ He looked down at her serene features, searching for any movement, perhaps a tiny flicker of an eyelid. But there was nothing.

‘Greta, I told you last time – and it’s ridiculous that this could be true, as you don’t look old enough to have a daughter, let alone a granddaughter – Cheska has
given birth to the most adorable baby girl. She’s called her Ava. I really think that, when she’s feeling stronger, she’ll come and visit you. The baby is so beautiful. She looks
a lot like her mummy and, considering she’s only a few weeks old, is sleeping very well. Cheska’s taken to motherhood like a duck to water. Even my old ma was impressed.’

David rambled on, as he always did, occasionally moving his gaze to a half-dead spider plant that sat on the windowsill above Greta’s head and talking to that, just to have a break from
her white, immobile features. While he talked, his brain flitted to other things he had to do.

‘You said the baby has been named Ava. Is that after Ava Gardner, the film star?’

‘No, I think it was after someone else,’ David said automatically, still staring at the plant and thinking about possible sketches for his TV show. He’d been mulling over which
famous faces he’d ask to come and join him on his Christmas special and wondering if he could persuade Julie Andrews. ‘I—’

It took a few seconds for his brain to compute what had just happened. He dragged his eyes away from the plant, dreading the thought that he’d just imagined her voice, and forced himself
to look down at her.

‘Oh my God!’ he whispered as he gazed for the first time in nine months into her beautiful blue eyes. ‘Greta . . . you’re—’

He uttered no further words as he promptly burst into tears.

December, 1985

Marchmont Hall, Monmouthshire

The sun had long since set by the time David finished talking. He pulled out his handkerchief and dried his eyes. He’d halted many times to look at Greta, who sat
listening intently to every word he spoke, and asked her if she was sure she wanted him to continue. The answer had always been ‘yes’.

He’d done his best to accurately recount the events that had taken place, as far as he knew or remembered them. But, in spite of her urging him to spare her nothing, he’d drawn the
line at revealing his suspicions about Cheska’s involvement in Greta’s accident. The other detail he’d deliberately omitted was his marriage proposal. He’d felt that that,
also, would be too much to burden Greta with at present, bearing in mind all the other revelations.

He looked at her now, staring off into space, and wondered what she was thinking. The story would be enough to shock a stranger to whom it was told, but this was Greta’s
life
.

‘Are you okay, Greta?’

‘Yes. Or, at least, as okay, as I can be after what you’ve just told me. To tell you the truth, I’d remembered a lot of it, anyway. You’ve just clarified and made sense
of it. What she did to Bobby—’ Greta shuddered. ‘She could have killed him.’

‘You think it was her?’

‘Almost certainly. The madness I saw in her eyes in the bar at the Savoy just before my accident when I told her Bobby was married . . . she was so disturbed, and I didn’t see
it,’ she whispered. ‘I refused to see it, David. I made so many mistakes. God forgive me. I should never have pushed her like I did.’

‘Greta, you shouldn’t be so hard on yourself. But right now, I’m in need of a very stiff drink. How about you?’

‘Perhaps,’ she agreed. ‘Just a small one.’

‘I’ll make you a weak gin. Back in a moment.’

David left the room and walked to the kitchen. Tor was sitting at the table, reading the
Telegraph
. After hours of recounting the grim story, he felt now as if he’d entered into a
world of calm and normality.

‘How is she?’ Tor asked.

‘I really don’t know, but after what I’ve just told her, pretty shell-shocked, I should think. Sorry I’m having to spend so much time with her,’ he said, kissing
her on the top of her head. ‘I promise I’ll make it up to you in Italy. It’s only a few days away.’