Authors: Mairi Wilson
“What have you done with her?”
“I … She … Izzie died. In the mudslide. I tried to save her but—”
“Don’t make the mistake of taking me for a fool, Helen. I know she was here. Was she hiding when I visited last time? Did she hear us? Hear her mother screaming in passion and lust?”
“No! No, she was …”
“Was where? Same place you’ve hidden her now?”
“She was killed in the—”
“Mudslide. Yes, you said. Only problem is, Helen dearest, I don’t believe you. You always were a hopeless liar.”
“I saved the doll. I … sometimes … help with the Mission children. They, one of them … I gave her the doll, you see, just that day you came. Sister Agnes had been here with some of them. And the shoe, it must have fallen off and … and I found it. I know it’s stupid, but I wanted to keep it. It reminded me—”
“Is that where she is, then? The Mission?”
“No! Aren’t you listening? Izzie’s gone,
dead
.” Even saying it made Helen feel sick. But she had to convince him. Had to. Or he’d never give up. He’d find a way of—
“Wait! Cameron, where are you going?”
“I will find her, you know. Wherever you’ve hidden her. Right now, though, Ross and I are going to the Mission. Seems as good a place as any to start looking.”
“Ross? He’s here?”
“In the car. A child for a child.” The pause hung between them, like an empty noose dangling as it waited for a neck. “A child for a child, Helen. The child you tried to kill, your firstborn, in exchange for your daughter.”
Helen’s mind raced. Why would Cameron want to give her Ross but take Izzie away? It made no sense. Izzie was as entitled to inherit as Ross, both of them her flesh and blood so both of them legitimate heirs to the estate David was set to inherit, unless the truth came out. She forced herself to think, to muffle the static of panic that was interfering with her ability to process information, to work out Cameron’s game.
“A wasted journey then. Such a shame. Especially when the boy gets so hopelessly travel-sick, just like his mother. Well, we must away again.”
“Is he really here?” She hated the needy desperation in her voice.
“Of course. Would you like to see him?”
Helen couldn’t speak, bit her bottom lip to stop it from trembling.
“Come on then.” He led her out to the verandah. Pushed her down into a rattan chair. “Stay there. Move and you won’t see him.” Helen realised he was being literal. She was to see but not touch or kiss or hold her son.
“Richard,” Cameron shouted into the growing darkness. A passenger door opened at the back of the car and a slim, tall man emerged. Helen recognised him instantly. She should have guessed. Wherever Cameron went, his trusty fixer Richard Chakanaya was never far behind. Had he been there last time Cameron had come calling? Had he heard, watched, laughed at her humiliation, her pain? Had they joked about it on the journey back to Blantyre, chinked glasses and smirked at the Club as Cameron told and retold the thrills of his conquest? She was sickened. These men had Ross, her innocent, darling boy.
“Show her the boy.”
With a mocking half bow in her direction, Chakanaya slammed his door shut, sauntered slowly round to the other side and reached in. He dragged out a boy, but whether it was Ross or not was impossible to tell. The car was almost the same height as the boy. All Helen could see was the crown of a dark-haired head, dropped forward onto the boy’s chest so she couldn’t make out the features. Was it Ross? It could be anybody.
“Bring him round. Let her see.”
Chakanaya pulled the boy round to the front of the car.
“Show his face.”
Chakanaya stood behind the boy, one hand on his shoulder; the other grasped the boy’s chin and raised the face. Helen felt the colour drain from hers.
Ross.
But the face was distorted, the eyes even from this distance unfocused black wells. What was wrong with him? She stood and took a step forward.
“Ross! It’s Mama!”
“Sit.” Cameron snapped the command as if to a dog. In her shock she obeyed, hearing the rattan protest as she dropped back down into her seat.
“You want him, Helen?”
“What have you done to him? Why is he so … so … ?”
“Vacant?” Cameron laughed. “Well he never was the brightest in the pack now, was he? He’s still a bit under the weather from the accident, you know, and the sedatives help keep everything under control.”
“You’re drugging him?”
“Richard and I do our best of course, but we haven’t the time or the skills – or the inclination, to be honest – to mollycoddle better. And we can’t have anyone else come in and find out our secret now, can we?”
“But Evie’s letter said there was a woman …”
“That addled alcoholic? She rather overdid it one night so we had to … let her go. No. Poor lad. He could do with a bit of motherly love. So what do you say, Helen? Your choice.”
“I don’t have a choice. I’ve told you. I don’t have Izzie.”
Cameron’s eyebrow raised as he looked at her. “Interesting. You don’t
have
Izzie. A few moments ago, Izzie was dead; now, you simply don’t have her.”
“
Because
she’s dead, Cameron. Dead. How many times do I have to tell you?”
“Don’t distress yourself, dear Helen. Take some time. Calm yourself. I’ll be back.” Cameron waved a hand in Chakanaya’s direction and the tall man bundled the boy back into the car. Ross showed no emotion, barely moved of his own volition, allowed himself to be pushed and prodded like a piece of meat. Senseless. Unfeeling.
“Why are you doing this, Cameron? Why are you bartering like this with our children’s lives?”
“But they’re not
our
children, are they, Helen? They’re yours. Yours and dear old Greg’s. Which means I might not get a look in. David, on the other hand, now there’s a son a man can be proud of, a chip off the old block. We had an interesting conversation the other day. You know he’s just at that age where he really begins to grasp things, to understand the wider implications, the nuances of what’s being said. No child any longer, that one. No. Not at all.”
“You’ve … Oh God, no Cameron. You’ve told him.”
“Well, I rather think he had a right to know, don’t you? There he was, the poor lad, mourning his mother, or so he thought. He needed to know. Soften the blow of your loss if he realised you weren’t his mother at all. So of course I told him. And do you know what he said? The first thing he asked when I’d finished our sorry little tale? ‘Who else knows?’ he asked. ‘Who else knows?’ ”
Cameron’s laugh was chilling to Helen, who was still watching the sleek black car, all its doors now firmly closed, the tinted windows as black and concealing as the night-time sky that was even now beginning to darken around them.
Ross
.
“We’ll work well together, me and my boy. He’s a bright kid. More like me than I’d thought. But more … obedient. And young enough still to mould. I like that.”
“So why would you want Izzie?”
“If she were alive, you mean?” he mocked. “Backup. Insurance. Never does any harm to have a Plan B. I’d love that child as if she were my own, of course, and I’m sure she’d do everything she could to keep her dear father happy. Including letting me control the small matter of the family fortune. And a daughter can be useful in cementing an alliance. A Chakanaya alliance, perhaps.”
“No, Cameron. I won’t let you do this.”
“Really? And just how are you going to stop me?”
“I’ll come forward. I won’t stay dead. Then the company’s mine, the money’s mine, the children too.”
“And much good it will all do you from a prison cell.” Cameron smiled at her. “Attempted murder of your own child. That I’m sure will carry a very, very long sentence. And make for a particularly unpleasant time of it inside. I understand the criminal sorority are not too keen on baby killers.”
“That’s not what happened, Cameron, and you know it. I’ll tell the truth. That you fired the gun—”
“That the gun discharged after you recklessly pushed your child at me, using him as a weapon at worst, a shield at best. That I did everything I could to help the boy after you’d dropped the gun and run off, intent on saving your own skin as the mudslide began, without a second thought for any of your children—”
“But that’s nonsense! You threw Ross at
me
—”
“I did? So you fired the weapon directly at your own child?”
“No. No, that’s not it at all. I was trying to save him!”
“Not sure a jury would see it like that.”
“It’ll be my word against yours, and with your reputation—”
“Don’t forget the eyewitness account, my dear.”
Helen felt icicles stabbing at the back of her eyes. What was he talking about?
“Ah. I see Evie didn’t tell you about that. Yes, Helen. That’s right. A witness. Someone who saw the whole thing through the door little Ross left wide open when he came running in, too frightened to knock or to push it to behind him.”
“But the door … it wasn’t … Who could have …”
“Darling, surely you remember? Richard had brought me home, hadn’t he? He was coming up to warn us of the danger, urge us to make good our escape when he happened upon our little domestic drama. Saw everything, didn’t he, heard every word. And you know what that man’s memory is like – astonishing. Verbatim, photographic, whatever.”
“Richard wasn’t anywhere near the house that night.”
“Well, his written affidavit says otherwise.”
“His
what
?”
“And we can’t really expect you to remember very clearly. You were very distraught, darling, and we had been having cocktails, maybe one or two more than we should have done. And then there was all that laudanum you’d been taking for your nerves as well, as Dr Tembe will testify. Made you forgetful, and temperamental, as your poor maid Felicia knew only too well. Who would have thought someone as gentle and caring as you would strike a servant? Amazing what drugs and alcohol can do to a person. And amazing too how much people can remember when you ask them nicely, motivate them well, to think very, very carefully.”
“What are you saying? You’ve
bribed
these people?”
“Heavens, no. What an ugly word. No, no. They only needed a little encouragement, support, in advance of their testimony. After all, it’s only right that the truth be properly recognised. It takes courage to come forward and speak out against someone of Helen Buchanan’s standing.” He smiled, leant back against the verandah railing, feigning an interest in his perfectly clean nails. “Incidentally, darling, you were right. Felicia’s son is a bright boy and he’ll make a marvellous doctor, I’m sure, with that scholarship to medical school in the States. Dr Tembe was only too happy to provide a reference, and as the newly appointed chief medical advisor to the government, his word was probably what swung it for the boy. Did you know old Tembe was Richard’s uncle on his mother’s side? Amazing, that family, they’re simply everywhere.”
“Anyone who knows me would know I’d never harm a child, hit a serv—”
“Really? Would you risk your future, your children’s future, and very possibly your life itself, on that? And if so blameless, why have you been hiding out here the last few months? How do you explain that then, Helen, hmm?” He sucked air in between his teeth. “No, doesn’t look good. Ask Richard, if you don’t want to take my word for it. He knows everyone in the legal system, from high court judges to clerks to prison officers; he knows how these things can go. And believe me, he’d advise you to keep a very low profile. These things can be so very … uncertain.”
“You can’t frighten me. I know I’m innocent—”
“Yes, innocence. The last bastion of the naive. Or the downright stupid. Wake up, Helen. You’re dead and staying that way for as long as it suits me. And that, from where I’m sitting, is highly likely to be the rest of your life. Rise up from the dead and you’ll simply exchange one life sentence for another, or maybe even a noose. Either way, you won’t get your old life back, or your children, unless I say so.”
Helen pushed herself up from the bench reluctantly. Time to start the day. A day exactly like the one before, and the one before that. The relentless monotony of their life here would continue unabated until Izzie arrived. There was no knowing how, but that all their lives would change was certain. Hand on the doorknob, Helen stopped and turned her face to the sky before closing her eyes and hanging her head, not quite able to go in, to wake Ross, to get them through another long, empty day. Ross needed her, needed her more than the others did, always had, even before. And she loved him, deeply, but not a day went by when she didn’t remember …
And Izzie. How much did Izzie remember? Of her life in Africa, her escape from it? How much had she suffered? Had she cried? Had she called for her mother? For Rusty? Oh God. Helen felt the familiar guilt wash over her, burning like acid, searing its way through to her very core. Thank God for Fredi. Dear, frivolous, dependable Fredi. Helen breathed deeply, let the cool morning air fill her lungs, soothe her. He would have charmed her, distracted the little girl with some ridiculous magic trick or by inventing some outrageous drama: dressing up essential, dramatic talent optional. Yes, Izzie would have loved Fredi. But still, such a journey for such a small child. Her daughter, she knew, was a fighter, a survivor, possessed of an inner strength that had passed both her brothers by, but even so, Helen hadn’t slept properly for days, not until the Mission car had wheezed over the hill again and Sister Agnes had got out, her face beaming. She’d heard from Denmark. Fredi had done it. He and his “niece” had arrived safely and had already booked passage on to Scotland to visit relatives there. Oh, what it was to have friends in the right places. Diplomatic immunity made light work of officialdom and border controls. And then he’d done it all over again, coming back for them when Ross was well enough to travel. He would have already been ill, although he’d hid it well, and she’d had no idea. The “African disease” as they’d euphemistically called it then. She’d wept when Ursula told her he was dead.