Drawing the Line Read online

  And I only let him.

  ‘Good job I didn’t try to bonk you, eh? Mind you, got a touch of the old brewer’s droop these days – wouldn’t have managed much anyway. Well, fancy my having a daughter. Quite a taking little thing. Not so keen on your name, mind. Not a singer’s name. She should have done better than that.’

  The old snob. ‘She did. I’m actually Evelina. After the novel.’

  He snorted. ‘And a name running throughout the family, one each generation. Clever girl. Then your mater died?’

  ‘Bus crash.’

  ‘And it’s taken you till now to find me!’

  ‘She didn’t put your name on the birth certificate,’ I said dryly.

  ‘Well, there you are. Decent woman, by the sound of it.’

  ‘Tell me about her,’ I said, finding a chair and sinking on to it.

  He shook his head as if I’d asked him to sing in Chinese. ‘I was hoping you’d do that. Nice to know who you’ve had a child with. These days these women’d send the government after you for maintenance. Helen didn’t.’

  ‘What if she had?’

  That cunning look again. ‘No DNA in those days. But now you’re here, you’d better stay. Have a meal. You could move in. You’d be very useful, sorting out this, selling that. Come on, what do you say?’

  I shook my head. ‘I’ve got a job, thanks.’

  ‘Ah, those film people. What a coincidence, eh? You making a film about a chappie who turns out to be your father.’

  I shook my head. One of us had better stick to reality. ‘That was a ruse. I was trying to track down that memory I told you about. The room with the fireplace and the book.’ And, yes, my father. And just look what I found!

  ‘Book? What book?’

  ‘The book you gave me to look at when you were talking to Mum. Look, I’d better start at the beginning –’

  He glanced at his watch. ‘Another day. Another day. The News is just about to start. Yes, come back another day. And don’t forget, make us some money. And bring plenty of champagne. I need a drink after all this.’

  I don’t remember the walk down to the car, getting into it or driving several hundred yards in it. But I must have done, because next thing I do remember was seeing this guy peering hopelessly under his car’s bonnet. I’d whizzed by when I realised it was the nice young clergyman who’d insisted on giving me a lift all the way to the station. It was miles to a public phone, across a great sweep of road with-out even hedges between it and the huge fields it crossed. Not much fun being there when it was dark, with nothing but some scattered reflector posts for company. Giving him a hand or a lift was the least I could do. Especially as I knew more about starting cars than most. I wasn’t sure he would approve of my methods, though. Pity I couldn’t greet him by his name, but it had drifted away, buried underneath all this afternoon’s crap, no doubt.

  He looked up, startled. Well, reversing smartly had always been one of my party pieces. I’d had to give it up because it scared Griff so much.

  ‘Lina!’ He looked really chuffed to see me. But then he’d have been glad to see anyone halfway human with a set of wheels. ‘It’s wonderful to see you,’ he said. ‘There’s not much traffic along here at this time of night, and what little there is doesn’t stop – see what I mean?’

  We were practically swept off our feet by the disappearing Focus’s turbulence.

  ‘Late home after work,’ he said. ‘Must be new round here. I usually recognise the villagers’ cars.’

  ‘And you don’t know who that belongs to?’

  He shook his head. ‘Not yet. Mind you, come to think of it I have seen it around these last few days. Perhaps people down for their holiday. Though people on holiday usually respect the speed limit.’

  I nodded, thinking more about the car. And glad, to be honest, to have something other than my problems to concentrate on.

  The trouble with modern cars is that so much of the engine is sealed and everything’s computer checked at service. There was nothing obviously wrong.

  I scratched my face. ‘You’ve called the AA or whatever? Ah, it’s a mobile black spot round here, isn’t it?’ I’d try just one more thing. Weren’t clergymen and professors supposed to be absent-minded? What if he’d simply run out of fuel? I sat in the driver’s seat and checked the gauge. No, he’d got half a tank. So why did it sound so empty when I tried the ignition?

  ‘It’s very kind of you,’ he said, stowing his brand new green petrol can between his feet.

  ‘You went out of your way to take me to the station,’ I said, ‘so I’m just returning the favour. And don’t thank me till we’re sure it is just a faulty gauge. It might be something more serious. In which case I shall take you somewhere you can phone from. I hope you’re not in a hurry? Because if you are, I could always drop you wherever and you could get a lift back.’

  ‘It was a meeting at the Cathedral. I don’t suppose they’ll miss me. What are you doing round these parts?’ he said, with the ease of someone used to making conversation with strangers: all those weddings and funerals, I suppose.

  ‘Looking up family,’ I said, wishing I hadn’t. Hadn’t said it or hadn’t done it? Either.

  ‘Always difficult, meeting people who might be related to you but are really complete strangers,’ he said.

  ‘You’re telling me.’ Heavy rain clouds had brought dusk down early, and the road was dark enough now for me to have to concentrate on driving. He’d think that was why I wasn’t explaining. Maybe. But my head kept rerunning the day’s events, every word, every action, going past in slow motion. Even Lord Elham stepping through the big window and talking about Alice.

  He’d shut it but not locked it.

  I pulled over. ‘I’m sorry. I have to make a phone call – it won’t take a second.’

  Nor would it have done, if I could have got a signal. Predictably swearing and predictably apologising, I pulled back on to the road again, wondering what to do next. Even as I told myself not to bother, that I didn’t owe the man anything, I remembered all the little incidents that had put my life at risk and that had landed Griff in hospital. They hadn’t wanted to hurt a foolish old man or a silly woman. They wanted to find what I’d wanted to find. The owner of Natura Rerum. And as sure as that Guy in Canterbury Cathedral had made little apples, I’d probably led them to him. And he’d left a window open. I smacked my face hard enough for the clergyman to look hard at me.

  Pushing the reluctant Micra up this track was terrifying. It leapt from rut to rut, threatening to ground its sump on every third tussock. A four-wheel drive with several litres under the bonnet – that was what I needed.

  After all that there was no sign of a Focus. But they could have stowed it in one of the out-buildings. As the rain slashed down, I decided not to bother looking but to check that open window, scrabbling over a wall just too high for me to vault, though.

  It was still open. But that didn’t mean anything.

  Now what? Tiptoe round like a cat burglar and risk giving the old guy heart failure, or call out like you would to your dad? “Hey, I’m home!” – that sort of thing?’

  I might manage a neutral cooee. No reply. Nor, which was worrying, the sound of the TV. Yelling as convincingly as I could, ‘Police! Armed police!’ I ran along the corridor, pushing open the living room door.

  Lord Elham’s vocabulary book, his catalogue of sexual activity, lay on the table, blotched with blood.

  The front door slammed. There was the sound of feet, then a revving car. No, it didn’t sound like the Nissan – they must have hidden theirs somewhere. And what was the betting it was a Focus?

  So did they take Lord Elham or leave him?

  I was already out of the door, checking all the rooms along the corridor. They appeared untouched, though they’d already been in such a mess I might have been mistaken. The locked door remained locked.

  They’d taken him.

  No, not necessarily. He might have made it to the rest
of the house, through the security door. Yes. Blood smeared on the carpet led straight to it. It seemed to have done its job: marks all round it suggested they’d tried to jemmy it and failed.

  I tapped in the code. The door opened a crack, a dead weight pressing against it. I was through the gap before you could say Lord.

  ‘I do not want an ambulance. I do not need an ambulance. You will not summon an ambulance.’ He sat on a bathroom stool, peering at himself in a huge gilt-framed mirror. ‘I do not want the police. I do not need the police. And I forbid you to summon the police.’

  We were in the main house still, using the ladies’ loo I’d sought out earlier in the week. There was far more blood on the paper towels than I liked. ‘You’ve had a nasty bang on the head. You need proper attention.’

  ‘In that case you can drive me to Casualty. I’ve always wondered what it was really like.’

  ‘And the police? Wouldn’t you like to see what the Old Bill’s really like? You’ve been broken into. People have tried to steal from you.’

  ‘They’ve taken nothing, as far as I know.’

  ‘You want to do a spot check now?’ I asked sarcastically. ‘Or shall we get that head looked at?’

  ‘My head, if you insist,’ he groaned. Never a good colour, he was greyish-yellow now. ‘The hospital, if you’d be so kind. But first you must secure the window. You’ll find that the shutters lock.’

  ‘OK. I’ll do that as soon as I’ve phoned home. They’ll be worried sick about me. Where’s the nearest extension? Back in your wing? Come on: I’ll give you a hand.’

  ‘What is this family of which you were talking?’ he demanded as the car hiccupped and slipped down the track. ‘I thought your mother was dead. Is it her relatives?’

  ‘She didn’t have any. I was farmed out to kind strangers.’

  He appeared to ponder on that. I’d meant him to. ‘What sort of people took you in?’

  ‘A succession of people. I was sent to foster parents. Some good, some bad.’

  ‘Foster parents? So where would they live?’

  ‘Some in nice middle-class roads, some in terraced houses. Some even on council estates.’ Let him chew on that.

  ‘And who paid them?’

  Not you! ‘The local authority. I don’t remember my mother – anything about her. I’d really like to know – anything.’ We were almost by the Hop Pocket. The map showed a lane that would get us straight on to the B2068, but it didn’t say how steep and winding it was, trees appearing from nowhere in the headlights. Perhaps he was concentrating on it, too, or perhaps his head was hurting more than he admitted.

  At long last we emerged. Although it was further, I thought it might be quicker to take the motorway back to Ashford. I’d learned from the same programme as he had that the sooner head injuries were treated the better. And I also had an idea that you weren’t supposed to let the patient lose consciousness, that you had to talk to them and make them talk. So I tried again. ‘Do you remember how old my mother was? Or how she earned a living? Anything? Please try.’

  ‘She was just a girl, Lina. You know, a girl.’

  ‘Something must have made you want to sleep with her.’

  ‘What all the women had, or I wouldn’t touch them. Nice tits, nice legs and a nice fanny.’

  And a nice thing to say to her daughter. Swallowing, I tried again. ‘What about her personality? Her character?’

  ‘Damn it, I wasn’t thinking of marrying her! She must have been a nice girl, Lina – I only bedded nice girls. I mean, one has to draw the line somewhere. I have an idea she’d had a fiancé – a student, or something. He’d given her this tiny little ring –’

  Yes, the ring with the pitiful little stone. ‘So what happened? Did he find out about me and drop her?’

  ‘I don’t think he was on the scene any more. She might have had me on the rebound, you might say. I don’t know. Lina, what’s it matter, old thing?’

  It was far too hard to explain, especially to a concussed old idiot and on a road which from being as straight as a die now twisted into an awkward series of bends, just the place to meet the removal van lumbering towards us. ‘What if those burglars cased the joint and are going back with that van to empty your place?’

  ‘They’ll find a burglar alarm connected to the police station. The Vultures fixed that. They only got in because of that window being open. Won’t get into the main house – that security lock.’

  ‘Does the alarm apply to your wing, or just the main house?’

  ‘Might be mine – no, I think it’s just the main house. In any case, what’s a load of old furniture and stuff? Junk.’

  Apart from being my livelihood. ‘Family treasures? Heirlooms?’

  ‘All in the public part. You’ve seen.’

  I gambled. ‘Apart from the Hepplewhite bureau and all that Adam stuff? Not to mention Natura Rerum!’

  ‘No one’ll find that,’ he said confidently. ‘Lina, would you stop this infernal machine a moment? I believe I’m going to cast up my accounts.’

  Which meant he was going to be sick. I knew about that from Casualty, too. As soon as he was ready, I bundled him back in the car and drove faster than I ought. If I was stopped by the speed cops, so much the better. They could provide another thing I was sure he’d always wanted – a police escort.

  ‘Lady Elham? Lady Elham?’ The receptionist was peering round the waiting area, shielding her eyes with her hand, as if she were about to discover America. At last her gaze settled on me. ‘Your father’s asking for you, your ladyship.’

  As I hurried to the desk, she added plaintively, ‘I’ve been calling and calling, but you didn’t respond.’ I’ll swear she almost curtseyed. But it went against the grain, I could see that. And I couldn’t blame her. I was dirty, bloodstained and probably spotted with vomit from when I’d held the old bugger’s head while he was throwing up – there was certainly a whiff of it about me. The sooner I could stow all my clothes in the washing machine and me in the shower, the better.

  My smile was meant to be apologetic, not condescending. ‘I don’t use the family name,’ I said. ‘If you check on the next of kin form you’ll see. I’m Lina Townend. There. Now, how is…my father?’

  ‘He’s insisting on discharging himself. We’re very reluctant. He should be kept under observation. But he said you’d do it.’

  I asked, very carefully, ‘You’re sure it would be in his best interests to stay overnight?’

  ‘Absolutely.’

  ‘Well, tell him I’ve already gone home, but I’ll be back first thing tomorrow to pick him up if he’s well enough.’ Even as I turned on my heel, she was telling her colleague how heartless I was – wouldn’t even see the poor old dear. The comment I cherished was the one that came back, ‘That’s the aristocracy for you: selfish to the bone.’

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  ‘Marcus? Marcus?’ No, there was no sign of him when at last I let myself into the cottage, not so much as a cooking smell. Perhaps he’d gone back to Copeland; maybe he was just out with Tony. So long as there was some food in the fridge and plenty of hot water in the tank, he could have gone to Timbuktu as far as I was concerned. There was one phone call to make before I did anything, however: I had to tell Griff that I was home safe and sound. First time round Aidan’s number was engaged, so I had my shower and started on something like supper, dialling as I munched. Yes!

  I gave him a very short account of my doings. I thought he’d notice it wasn’t very full, but he was more concerned with a single fact.

  ‘You left an old man in hospital when he wanted to go home?’ Griff was outraged, squeaking down the phone. ‘Lord Elham? Your father?’ His voice went up a few notes with each question.

  I reached across to pop more bread in the toaster. ‘Why not? He’d have done the same for me. And after his goings on, the hire-car’s such a mess they’re going to sting me for the valeting deposit if I don’t spend an hour trying to spruce it up.’
/>   ‘But your own father! We all have duties, my dear –’

  ‘I’ll tell you my father’s ideas of duty when I see you, Griff. Tomorrow I’ve got to get some clean clothes to the hospital for him – got to buy them first. D’you suppose he’s a Marks and Sparks man? Then I’ll take him back to Bossingham Hall, but he’ll have to whistle for me this weekend, because it’s the Ramada Fair, unless I can find Marcus and get him –’

  ‘Marcus? But he’s gone back to Copeland, dear heart.’

  Despite the fleecy dressing gown, I shivered. ‘How do you know?’

  ‘He phoned to tell me. About half an hour ago. I thought you weren’t going to tell anyone where I was,’ he added reproachfully.

  Nor was I. Nor did I. Hell and damnation!

  ‘He must have pressed the redial button,’ I said as lightly as possible. Since all Griff’s personal files were still in his office, it’d be the work of moments for Marcus to have checked the phone number amongst those in his address book and come up with Aidan’s place. I stopped pretending. ‘Griff: are you and Aidan still up and dressed?’

  ‘Of course we are – we’re not love’s young dream, darling!’

  ‘Well, go and check into a hotel. Set every burglar alarm he’s got and scarper. Now. Don’t argue, Griff, just do it! And take the page with you.’

  Cramming dry toast in my mouth, I took the stairs two at a time. If I couldn’t trust Marcus, did that mean I couldn’t trust Tony Baker? What about Dave? He and I might not exactly have clicked, but there had to be someone out there half way honest. Dave’s number. Where the hell was Dave’s number? Biting my lips to stop the panic, I tipped everything out of my bag.

  ‘Why didn’t this lord fellow call us? Burglary and assault at a stately home – he’d have had a team round before you could say House of Lords.’ Dave was driving along the slow winding road to Tenterden as if he’d got radar fitted to those neat spectacles of his. It was his own car, so we didn’t have the benefit of sirens or flashing lights – just his skill. Which I had to admit was considerable. ‘What is he, anyway? An earl? A duke?’