Ursula's Secret (42 page)

“That was you? But how—”

“Yeah, a lot of airmiles that week, quite a schlep, but Ursula’s stash paid for First Class, so not really a problem, was it?”

“But … Hugh? You and Hugh Pendleton … ?”

“God, no. The man’s an arse. He’ll do anything for money. Got him to help me with the Mission job first time round and then had him keep an eye on you. Cut him loose when he got greedy, though. Idiot was freelancing, sending everyone little cryptic anonymous notes to see if anyone got scared enough to stump up some readies. He really had no idea what he was playing with. Loose cannon, that one. Or a loose end at least …” Jenny’s eyes drifted to the fireplace as her words trailed off thoughtfully. Lexy felt a frisson of fear. She had no idea what Jenny had in mind, but she was sure it wouldn’t be good for Hugh Pendleton.

“So.” Jenny snapped her eyes back to Lexy, all business once again. “The certificates. Whose?”

“My … my mother’s. Isobel Buchanan-Munro’s.”

“Interesting … Not that we need it, now that she’s so conveniently stepped out of the way.”

Lexy was horrified. “Oh no. Please. That wasn’t you.”

“No, some kind drunk saved me the trouble. Didn’t even know where she was, my auntie Izzie.” Lexy’s hackles rose at this disconcerting woman claiming kinship with her mother. “No,” Jenny continued, “I had no idea then that you and your mother were inhabiting a parallel universe just over a couple of miles from my own, but then there’s a lot more in real terms than a couple of miles between a Battersea tower block and a Putney terrace, isn’t there? Do you think we ever sat next to each other on the Tube, brushed shoulders on a bus, Lexy?” She laughed harshly. “Nah, doubt it. Taxis for you or one of Boris’s right-on bikes. Leaving
public
transport to the likes of me. Yeah, and don’t imagine we hung out in the same pubs either, and wouldn’t have bumped into you shopping in the Arndale, would I?”

“I still don’t know who you—”

“Getting to that, Lexy, getting to that. Now, where was I? Yeah. Didn’t know where Izzie was so that’s why …” – she wiggled her head from side to side, searching for a word – “why I
persuaded
Ursula to take the initiative, to call her and talk her into a visit. And then you turn up. Couldn’t have worked out better if I’d planned it.” Jenny looked pleased with herself. Lexy felt the temperature in the room drop. “But what about the other one, the other bird? What did you find in that?”

“Another birth certificate, but I don’t know whose it is.”

“Oh my.” Jenny’s face lit up; her smile widened. “Helen knows, though, don’t you, Helen? Why don’t you tell us? Tell us about
my
mother, Gran.”

“Your mother?” Lexy was feeling a bit at sea now.

“Yes. Tell us, Helen. Tell us about Senga Munro.”

Lexy’s last mooring line snapped. How could Jenny possibly know that was the name on the other certificate?

*

Danny was frantic. He’d turned the room upside down. It was now in a mess that would astonish even Lexy, but he still hadn’t found anything that would tell him where this croft house was. He should have asked her before she left, made her call him when he got there … She’d have laughed in his face. Called him an old woman. And besides, it was easy to be wise after the event.

But he had to find her, warn her. She wasn’t answering her phone. His phone. And he knew he hadn’t much charge left on it anyway.
Think, Danny,
think. But he couldn’t. All he could focus on was that someone was trying to harm Lexy.

Grabbing his jacket from the back of the chair, he patted the pockets, pulled out the car keys. He’d just have to go looking. There was only one road in and out of this peninsula, so how many crofts could there be? But even as he was running down the stairs he knew that was ridiculous. Maybe not many, but they’d be scattered, hidden: it would be impossible to cover the ground quickly. He had to stop, think, approach this systematically.

To hell with that.

Lexy.
He was sick at the thought of anything—

Police. He needed to speak to the police.

Was that the right thing to do? Hand over to them? No. They’d be too late and Lexy could be … Someone might—

“Morning, Sir. Going out?”

Of course.
Ask.

“I … Yes. I don’t know how to find the … the croft …” Perhaps this wasn’t gong to work after all. He didn’t even know what it was called, what name Helen went under.

“The one Miss Shaw was asking about?”
Oh, thank you, you angel.

“Yes. Please. It’s urgent. I have to get there before …”

The receptionist was looking at him oddly but seemed to move just a little faster than she had been. She pulled out a map and showed him.

“There’s only the one road, so you won’t get lost. The trick is to find the turning, of course,” she laughed. Danny didn’t share the moment. “Right, yes.” She was flustered now. Not helping. “Well, left, actually. It’s a small turning on the left just after the second bend. There’s a sheep grid about a hundred yards before it and if you get to the crossroads you’ve missed it.”

Danny snatched the map. “Get on to the police. They need to get there too, fast. And an ambulance,” he added, finding himself praying to a God he hadn’t thought he believed in that it wouldn’t be needed.

The receptionist’s eyes widened.

“
Now
, dammit!”

Danny raced for his car, scarcely registering the fact that he’d just sworn at a stranger. But Lexy was in danger. Normal rules didn’t apply.

* * *

The car groaned as he scrunched gears, sending small stones flying as it lurched forward, stalled.

“Buggeration!” Danny yelled as he hit the steering wheel, turned the key in the ignition again, thrust it into gear and kicked the accelerator pedal. Lexy. He had to find her. Save her.

Robert’s words were running amok in his mind. Senga Munro had a daughter, a daughter who had been on Lexy’s tail from the start of her mad quest. A daughter who wanted it all, all Helen’s money, Buchanan’s, everything. A daughter who had no intention of sharing with anyone. A psychopath who they thought had a gun.

Danny slammed on the brakes. Crossroads.
Concentrate.
This wasn’t the time to get lost. He ground the gearstick into reverse and twisted his head back, spun the wheel too fast, too far, hit the grass verge and stalled again. God, he hated driving. Breathe. Slowly. No good to anyone in a ditch. Turn round. Not exactly a three-point turn, but eventually he was heading back the way he’d come. The track on the left— No! On the right, now, not the left. Take it slow. Steady. But get there, get there before … before … There it was! The car bucked like a newborn lamb as he forced it to start up the potholed track, bounced down hard on the ridge in the middle, stalled.
Dammit.
The ignition rasped, juddered as he turned the key once, twice. Then he was out the door and running uphill, stumbling but determined. Lexy. He had to get to Lexy.

*

“You’re Senga’s daughter?” Lexy’s voice was thin, quavering as she turned from Jenny to Helen. “And you’re Senga’s mother?” Helen was still silhouetted in the window, still staring at Ross, no movement giving any indication of acknowledgement.

She’d been right. There was a fourth child. Helen had had a fourth child. Lexy’s head swivelled back to Jenny again, as her mind tried to keep track of this dreadful game playing out in front of her, shot by shot. “And Cameron … was your
grand
father?”

“Finally, she gets it. Yes, Lex, which makes me your long-lost cousin. How about that?”

“But, Helen” – Lexy appealed to the woman who was standing, arms crossed across her chest, expressionless, eyes never leaving her son’s face – “you
hated
him, you ran away—”

“None of this proves you are who you say you are. Either of you.”

“For God’s sake, Helen.” Lexy’s nerves made her snappy, impatient, more than a little frightened of what was happening here. “You can’t still deny that my mother, Izzie, was your daughter?” Just the faintest flicker of something stirred in Helen’s face. “And not your only daughter either.” Lexy ploughed on, determined to get a response, a reaction. “What kind of a woman are you?”

“I wanted her to be safe.”

“Safe?” Despite the flicker of victory Helen’s admission gave her, Lexy was incredulous. “First you abandoned my mother and then—”

“You abandoned mine.” Jenny took control of the conversation again. “If I’m not who I say I am, Helen, how could I possibly know as much as I do? Why,
how
, would I know any of it?”

There were small pink patches now on Helen’s pale cheeks; her hands were clenched tight, white-knuckled, at her sides.

“When my mother died – which she did, Helen. That’s right, your youngest child is dead. I got up one bright morning to find her slumped on the sofa, needle still in her arm. Pretty picture, huh? But I’m sure you’ll contain your grief. When she died, I decided to … keep her alive for a while longer. The opposite of your scam, really. There was money, you see. Every month, an envelope on the doormat. I didn’t know who was sending it, so I didn’t feel any obligation to try to inform them. And no one was going to miss her. She was a junkie and a whore, Helen, your youngest, and I think we can fairly put that down to you. Abandoning her to the ‘mercy’ of the nuns without a second thought.”

“That’s not true, I—”

“Spare us, Helen. A little late for all that, don’t you think?”

“He
raped
me.”

“Don’t be such a drama queen, Gran. He was your husband. It’s what they do.”

Helen’s face registered something Lexy couldn’t quite make out before the mask fell again.

“I didn’t have a choice. It was hard enough to get Ross out, I couldn’t risk exposing a newborn—”

“Oh, whatever.” Jenny cut her off with a hand gesture. Helen looked about to protest but then dropped her head, her face hidden as Jenny continued.

“So I decided to” – that wiggle of the head again – “keep things quiet. No announcements anywhere. No one came looking. Well, her dealer turned up once, wondering what had happened to one of his best customers, turned tail when I spun a yarn about police and rehab. No one else came. None of her many boyfriends, none of the ‘friends’ she’d bring home with her from the pub, none of the neighbours who never did anything anyway but bang on the walls and shout at her. No. I just kept it to myself, disposed of her, got on with my life.”

“Jenny, I’m so sor—”

“Sure you are, Lexy.” Jenny didn’t even look at her, kept her eyes on Helen. “You with your perfect little life and all that shit. Your loving mummy and daddy, although, sob, sob, he kicked the bucket when you were just a tiny little tot, didn’t he? Ah, poor little Lexy. I don’t even know my father’s name; my mother
definitely
didn’t. And look at us now, both here, both messed up by Grannie and her games. Still think you’re better than me? How does it feel to know they lied to you all the time? Never told you who you really were? At least my mother, drunken slag though she was, didn’t lie. She had no idea. Stupid cow was too addled half the time to wonder why the money was coming in every month regular as clockwork. The only time I asked, she said it was the nuns. Like that’d be right. Stupid mare.”

“Where
was
it coming from?” Helen was watching Jenny again now, a strange expression on her face.

“Same place as yours, Gran. Same place as yours.”

“David.”

“Cameron. David never knew, doesn’t even now. Oh, he’ll know there’s a slush fund somewhere to smooth wheels and buy silences, but that’s what he pays Chakanaya for and he won’t want to know the details. Small change to a man like him. Wonder what he’d say if he knew he’d been funding his usurper under miscellaneous expenditure? I’m looking forward to telling him that.”

“But why would Cameron—”

“Patience, Lexy. Didn’t Mummy teach you it was rude to interrupt? I’ll come to that. So. After a while, I get curious. This money. Been the same amount for years, and we all know what the cost of living’s like these days. Maybe, I think, maybe it’s time for a little review. A pay rise if you like. But before I can get to tracing the source, I have a visitor. And my, what a story he had to tell me. And what a proposition. Think you’d better sit down again, Gran. This is where it gets really interesting.”

Jenny had been the only mourner at her mother’s funeral, which hadn’t surprised her. She’d told no one. She almost hadn’t come herself. She sat alone in the crematorium chapel and felt nothing. It wasn’t numbness, shock. It was just that there was nothing left to feel. As a child, she’d poured so much love and hope and care into her mother before she realised it was like a black hole. Everything disappeared and nothing came back. Her mother had no time or interest or energy for anything except her addiction. Even her daughter had never been anything more than a means to that particular end. Senga’s “gentlemen callers” had rarely been gentle and Jenny had learned early on not to expect her mother to protect her. So she’d found her own ways of taking care of herself, of ignoring her mother’s slow suicide.

So no: no tears.

Jenny had waited until the curtains swished together again behind the cheap box, until the hum of the electric tracking ended with a click and she could imagine the heat, the fire, the flames licking their way through to the sallow-skinned corpse that lay within. She wanted to be sure her mother would be consumed entirely, before allowing the slow smile that was spreading across her face to take hold completely.

As she turned to leave, she saw movement in the shadows at the back of the near-empty room. The flash of a white cuff, the click of a cigarette lighter, then the brief flare of a flame. The man stepped out ahead of her into the outer vestibule, his well-tailored back presenting itself to Jenny, the smoke of his cigarette hovering in his wake. Intrigued, she followed.

“Jenny, isn’t it?” The man spoke without turning as Jenny caught up with him. “I’m here on behalf of your grandfather.”