The Witness: A Novel (54 page)

“On this journey only one of us needs to know the way. Trust me and accompany me.”

“What if I can’t be what you want me to be?”

“Jenny, I’ve investigated cases which involved bodily harm. I’ve investigated rape cases. As a result I think I have more understanding than most men about what it takes for a woman to regain her confidence. I’m offering you an old-fashioned courtship.”

“While we’re living in the same flat?”

“Why not? Life is full of contradictions.” He smiled. “It’s important to me, a physical relationship. I’ll not deny that. But I want more than that. I want to spend time with you. I want you to meet my family. I want to show you my city, my country. And I promise you patience. Gentleness.”

Her cheeks flushed, but she did not say yes.

Mrs. Jeffries did not cook Friday evening. Instead, Jenny’s father took them all to The Taste of Texas, a restaurant with Texas fare and Texas-sized servings. The décor, including cowboy memorabilia, historic relics, and skins of wild animals, was not sufficient to distract him from Jenny’s appearance—striking in black cotton trousers with a bright pink gauzy shirt—or the culinary delights. He tasted crab cakes and bits of quail meat wrapped in bacon and served on skewers with creamy dressing. There was an extensive salad bar complete with freshly baked bread and sweet summer fruit. He was a bit amused that Jenny’s younger brother ordered the same beef entrée that he did, a fourteen-ounce prime rib, prepared medium, and aped his table manners as well. Mr. Jeffries gave him a summary of Texas history by referring to the six flags of sovereignty that were displayed at the restaurant’s entrance, all to the accompaniment of Matt’s rolling eyes.

“We’ve heard that spiel before,” Jenny said. “We could all give you chapter and verse!”

During the night Friday, Jenny had a nightmare. He turned on his light, pulled on trousers and a shirt, and opened his door, wanting to be available if needed. In a few minutes Bill Jeffries told him that Jenny was asking for him. She was sitting up in bed, her pyjamas edged in lace and as pale as her face.

“The monster and his thugs came home with me,” she said, “like excess baggage.”

He pulled her desk chair next to the bed and took her hand. “Care to tell me about it?”

“I don’t dream about all of them,” she answered. “When I was in the hospital and Mr. Bates attacked me, I wasn’t alone. Danny was there. And when Danny and I were shot, Sergeant Casey was there. In the
dreams it’s the being alone that’s so frightening.”

“Speaking of Sullivan, he received a citation. I meant to tell you. There was a do at the Yard with his family present. Woulson presented the certificate, which was signed by the commissioner.”

“Colin, I’m such a mess. Are you sure you want me?”

“Oh, Jen. There’s something special about you—a spark. When you left, the lights went out in my life. My flat has never seemed so stark and cold. So empty. I couldn’t bring myself to post your winter clothes to you—I kept hoping you’d come home to them.”

“But I can’t make a complete commitment. Will you take me on—on consignment?”

With a soft laugh, he kissed her cheek and assured her that he would.

Bill Jeffries was waiting for him in the kitchen with two liqueur glasses and a bottle of Bailey’s Irish Cream. “You’ve done this before, haven’t you?”

“Comforted her? Yes, sir,” he answered. “I didn’t like to hear her cry.”

“She won’t tell us what the dreams are about.”

“She’s protecting you, sir.”

“You’ve come to take her back, haven’t you?”

“I’ve invited her, yes.” He smiled at the older man. “I love her, sir. My intentions are the very best. I’m perfectly capable of providing for all her needs, whatever they may be.”

“We’ll talk more in the morning,” Mr. Jeffries said.

And they had. Bill and Peggy Jeffries slept rather late, but they had all waited for Jenny. When she came into the kitchen, her mother poured her a glass of juice, and her father suggested that she bring it into his study, where they could have a private conversation.

“What’s wrong?” Jenny asked.

“Your mother and I would like to talk with you and Colin about your plans.”

Jenny drained her glass and took Colin’s hand.

“Are you serious about this man?” Jenny’s mother asked as soon as they sat down. “We like him very much, but do you think a relationship that began the way this one did, can last?”

“I know Colin and I met because of a crisis, but that’s an advantage, I think. All the artifice was stripped away. I feel very close to him. I know I can trust him. I feel safe with him.”

“Safety isn’t love, Jennifer,” her mother said.

“No, but I’ll never love someone without it. Colin’s a gentleman, Mother—more than anybody, he understands.”

“What does he understand, dear?”

“That I need to prove some things to myself. That I need time. And that is the one thing I’m sure we can give each other.”

“But do you love him, Jennifer? How can you consider this without love?”

Colin answered for her. “The legal process was very difficult for Jenny, Mrs. Jeffries—the preparation as well as the trials themselves. She hasn’t had the time to examine her feelings fully.” Jenny’s grateful smile encouraged him. “I’ve seen what her commitment can accomplish,” he said. “And her commitment is worth waiting for.”

“Mother, if he leaves without me, I don’t think I’ll be able to stand it.”

Peggy Jeffries looked at her husband.

“Punkin, we want to help you however we can, wherever you are. You will need some financial support. I know Colin is willing to provide for you, but that’s still part of my job as a father. Another is to assure you that you can come home if this relationship doesn’t work out. And I hope you’ll seek psychological help in London. I know you didn’t like Dr. Abramson, but I’d feel better if I knew you were taking some steps to accept responsibility for your recovery.”

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C
olin leant back in his seat. The flight to London had been smooth so far. The rest of the weekend couldn’t have been easy for the Jeffries, but they had responded with courtesy and humour, two qualities he often recognised in Jenny. Saturday evening over a meal of grilled chicken and cole slaw, he had responded as generously as he could to Bill Jeffries’ questions. It was an interrogation of sorts, albeit more restrained than many he had conducted, and he understood that Jenny’s father needed to know more about him.

Sunday morning they had all attended church together. He saw Peggy Jeffries take her husband’s hand during the minister’s homily, and he thought about love and sacrifice. He was taking their daughter away on Father’s Day, but he hoped that they knew he was taking her to something. Jenny had come so far since he’d first met her, but he wanted much more for her, for both of them. She had been so excited over their seats on the plane—she had never flown first class before—and he promised himself that this trip would be only the beginning of her first class treatment.

I
t seemed a long drive home from the airport. Several times Bill Jeffries checked the speedometer as he drove, certain that the car was not maintaining acceleration. It was the departure of his daughter, however, not the rate of rotation of his tires, that caused his sluggishness of spirit, and it continued throughout the evening.

“I wish this hadn’t happened, Bill,” Peggy said, “but I like Colin. Jenny seems happy with him. And she’s an adult. We had no way of preventing her from going.”

“She’ll be dependent,” he argued. “Her tourist visa won’t allow her to work. She has no friends there. What kind of a life will that be? I don’t think she has any idea what she is doing.”

“Oh, Bill, I know what living with a man means, and I don’t approve, but if we had opposed her, what would the impact have been?”

He sighed. “He says he loves her, Peg, but that doesn’t mean that he’ll stay with her—his marriage ended in divorce. Or that what he wants is best for her.”

“No, but I don’t want to do anything that will drive a wedge between us. Remember what the Harveys said last month? When their son told them he wanted to drop out of school to play in a band? ‘To keep your children, keep your mouth shut.’”

“She’ll be hurt, and we’re too far away to help.”

“Nothing can separate her from our love, can it? Now more than ever, we should make sure she knows that.” She gave him a quick kiss. “Get some rest. I know it was a blow for her to leave on Father’s Day, but she’ll be all right, and you will, too.”

Now as he watched his wife sleep, Bill Jeffries thought, not for the first time, what a fortunate man he was. He wasn’t worthy of his wife’s love, but he was thankful for it, and for her strength, too. When he had come back from London without Jenny, it had been Peggy who had sustained him, not the other way around. He had been proud of Jenny’s determination to see justice done, but afraid for her and bereft from leaving her behind. Now he thought about what her scant three weeks at home had revealed. She’d seemed fine when she arrived on Memorial Day. They were confident that she’d received good medical
care in England, but they wanted the reassurance of a good report from their family doctor. They were also cognizant of the fact that she needed counseling, and after all the months of not being able to help, they made the appointments for her, feeling profoundly relieved that they could take positive action on her behalf at last.

Her fear of going out alone had been the first indication that her condition was more serious than they had supposed. Then they began to notice other signs of distress. She was tense and easily upset. She had a short attention span. Her appetite was poor. And she had bad dreams—shattering their illusions as well as their sleep. They certainly didn’t want to upset her further by referring to her experiences, so they encouraged her to look ahead, but she was confused about her future.

Peggy had taken her shopping, and the sight of their daughter’s scars had shocked her. He looked over at his wife, her face relaxed in sleep, her skin still smooth, and wished that he could erase the last year of Jenny’s life, the marks and the memory. They had spoken to her often during her time with the police, and the forced optimism they heard in her voice had concerned them. Chief Inspector Sinclair was more direct, never minimizing the seriousness of her case, but he had not disclosed the degree of violence she had suffered. Could they believe him now, when he said he would take care of her?

When she told them that he wanted to visit, he suspected the reason immediately. She had been on a first-name basis with him for some time, and he had kept in touch with her following her return to Houston. Then he had arrived, gracious, charming, attentive. Her emotions were less guarded in his company, her smiles were genuine, and her laughter spontaneous. There was something Old World about the two of them drinking together and bonding over the spirits in their glasses, but it had given him a chance to thank Sinclair for his commitment to her safety. Sinclair had responded by declaring his love for her.

In other ways Sinclair had acquitted himself well, too. He had stood whenever Peggy or Jenny entered the room. He had been willing to discuss his background and his work. He’d mentioned his father’s example of service, his own schooling in England, and some of the more interesting places he’d lived, the exotic creatures, beautiful beaches, and lush landscapes. As a child he hadn’t fully grasped the larger picture—the poverty, disease, and unrest. His mother had made each posting a new holiday.

As he grew, however, he’d realized that some families were frightened. The fathers of some of his playmates didn’t come home. Some days they weren’t allowed to play outside because there were soldiers on the streets. Later his father had described despotic regimes, egotistical rulers, and the effects evil men had on society, but for him it had always been personal. Lawlessness led to human misery. A society, to be productive, had to assure its citizens that order was possible, that justice was real, and that there were consequences for bad acts. He’d wanted to participate in that process, to redress the imbalance caused
by violence and fear, and that was why he’d chosen a career in policing.

Yes, Sinclair had been eloquent, and Jenny had hung on every word. Even his sons had not excused themselves from the dinner table. Sinclair had come from a loving family, he’d been able to adapt to a wide variety of circumstances, and he had made good progress in his profession. None of that, however, could predict what his relationship with Jenny would be like. He was significantly older than she was, and he was used to directing others. Would he respect her wishes?

In the course of his investigation, Sinclair had uncovered everything that had happened to their daughter, and he had not judged. He must have seen her injuries—long before she had healed from them—and he had not judged. He had witnessed her tears, and he had not judged. They hadn’t become accustomed to the scar on her face, but Sinclair had. His eyes never rested on it. Sometime in the last months love had become a factor for him.

Will they marry? he wondered. Would that give Jenny the security that she needed? He stretched his legs carefully, not wanting to disturb his wife. Love was the most powerful force there was, and Sinclair was offering it freely to their daughter. Love and more—hope, the element that Bill Jeffries now thought had been missing from their daughter’s disposition since she had returned home. We are all drawn to the light of hope. If the light in her eyes that was now fleeting could become permanent—if Sinclair’s love could push the darkness in her spirit away—it would be worth letting their daughter go.

T
he flight from Houston had been long, and Colin had made only a quick stop at his flat before reporting to the Yard. He must have been tired; she was, and she had slept on the plane. She smiled as she remembered how close she’d felt to him when the British Airways attendants had turned the lights down. Most of the people around them had fallen asleep, and Colin’s gentle whispers had lulled her, too. She’d been reassured by his presence. Now he was gone, and the flat was quiet. She hadn’t paid much attention to it before; her focus had been on going home.