Creeping Ivy (5 page)

‘Oh, Antonia,’ said Trish, leaning sideways so that their shoulders could touch.

‘Don’t be kind to me, Trish, please,’ she said. ‘I can’t cope with gentleness just now.’

‘These bruises, Ms Weblock,’ said the chief inspector. ‘Could you tell me a bit more about them?’

‘I was reading to Charlotte one evening a few weeks ago, when she pushed up her pyjama sleeve to scratch her arm,’ Antonia’s voice was firmer but it was obviously costing her a great deal to make it so. ‘I saw that there were some small bluish bruises around her bicep. I had a look at the other arm and there were more there.’

She was staring at the carpet ahead of her trainers and so she could not have seen the alertness in Trish’s eyes, or the unnatural stillness of both police officers.

‘Someone had obviously been holding her tightly by the upper arms. But the marks didn’t look very bad and Charlotte wasn’t distressed. On the other hand they were undoubtedly bruises. And they were on both arms at just the same height. You can see why I was worried.’

‘What did you do?’ asked the chief inspector. ‘When you saw them?’

‘Well, I didn’t want to upset Charlotte by making a great fuss before I knew what had happened. I mean, Nicky was the obvious suspect but, as I said, Charlotte seemed to love her and I couldn’t believe I wouldn’t have known if Nicky was treating her badly, hurting her deliberately.’

‘That seems reasonable enough, Ms Weblock. So what
did
you do?’

Antonia did not answer, just sat with her eyes down, looking guiltier than Trish would have imagined possible.

‘You said you talked to Nicky, Antonia,’ she prompted, remembering a few scenes she had witnessed in the past when people had fallen short of Antonia’s expectations. ‘What did she say when you tackled her?’

‘I left Charlotte with the book and went to Nicky’s room.’ A little of Antonia’s usual crispness of speech had returned. ‘She said at once that she hadn’t noticed any bruises herself, but that she had had to grab Charlotte earlier that evening when she was giving her a bath, and that might have made the marks. Charlotte had apparently slipped on the soap as she stood up to get out of the bath, and would have fallen if Nicky hadn’t caught her. I told Nicky to stay where she was, and went back to Charlotte. I asked her if anything had happened at bathtime and she told me the same story. She also agreed that Nicky had hurt her arms that evening but she said it hadn’t ever happened before. It all sounded all right, you see.’

‘I do indeed,’ said the inspector in what was obviously intended to be a comforting voice. Antonia’s face did not suggest that she had found any comfort in it. ‘Did they look fresh enough to have been made that evening?’

‘Yes, I suppose so. I don’t really know. What do bruises look like when they aren’t fresh?’

‘Yellowish rather than blue.’

‘No. These were blue.’

‘Did you take any further action?’

‘Oh yes, of course. Even though I’d believed Nicky’s story because of what Charlotte said, I didn’t dare trust her completely, and so I started to come back to the house at odd times so that she would never know when I might turn up and be a witness to whatever she was doing.
If
she was doing anything, I mean. I thought if there was the slightest …’ She stopped, apparently unable to put it into words.

Trish waited for the police to ask if Antonia had thought of setting up video surveillance in the nursery if she was worried about what Nicky might be doing to Charlotte. But they didn’t.

There had been a lot of publicity in the past few months about the use of nursery-spy cameras in the States and the way you could have the pictures transmitted via the Internet to any computer terminal. Antonia must have read some of the articles, Trish thought, and seen how tiny the cameras were and how easy to hide. With her income, she wouldn’t have had to worry about what they cost, and she could have had all the reassurance – or the proof – she needed without ever leaving her office.

‘And of course I was with them every minute of every possible weekend. Whenever I could be. Even Sunday bedtimes when Nicky’s back on duty. I thought it was all right, or I’d never have gone to New York, however important the deal. Oh, God! I’ll never go away again.’

‘But you said your husband had undertaken to keep an eye on Charlotte while you were in America,’ said DCI Blake, still not asking any of the questions Trish wanted to hear.

‘He’s not my husband. We’re just together.’ There was something in Antonia’s voice that made both police officers look very wary.

After a moment Blake crossed his long legs and said with an unconvincing pretence of casualness, ‘Ah. Yes, of course. Does he get on well with Charlotte?’

‘Reasonably, yes. But she’s not his child, and he doesn’t have much to do with her.’

Well, that’s one mercy, thought Trish. But would Antonia necessarily know? She’s always said she works far harder than him.

About four years older than Antonia, Robert was the creative director of a small independent advertising agency, and his hours were much more flexible than hers. Sometimes, if he were planning a huge presentation, he’d stay in the office half the night; but in less busy periods he was apt to get home by five-thirty, or so Antonia had once told Trish. She herself rarely left the bank until seven at the earliest and had begun to resent his greater freedom.

‘I mean, he’s just not that interested in children,’ she was saying earnestly, ‘and there have been times, I know, when he’s felt tied down by my need to be with Charlotte as much as I can.’ She twitched suddenly as though she had been bitten by a mosquito, quickly adding: ‘Don’t get me wrong, Chief Inspector Blake, Robert would never do anything to hurt or upset Charlotte. He’s a kind man. Very kind.’

Trish caught the constable watching her suspiciously and hoped she had not shown any of her astonishment. She turned away to look out of the window and found herself staring into a camera one of the photographers had lifted to the window in the hope of catching some random but useful shot. Looking away, anywhere but at the journalists outside or the observant constable, Trish fixed on a dramatically lit studio portrait of Robert, which stood with a mass of others in silver frames on a round mahogany wine table.

‘Kind’ seemed one of the least appropriate adjectives for him. With his self-consciously trendy clothes, his sometimes cruel jokes, and his determination to tell everyone how successful he was, he had always seemed an unattractive man to Trish, and quite out of place among Antonia’s other friends. She still could not understand why Antonia had fallen in love with him; or what it was he had seen in her to make him think he could be happy sharing her life. Trish had unkindly assumed it must have been Antonia’s money, but now she was beginning to dread the possibility that Antonia’s child had been her greatest attraction.

When Trish glanced back at the sofa, she was relieved to see that the constable was concentrating on Antonia again.

‘But is he reliable? You did say he was supposed to be looking after Charlotte this weekend. And yet he went out, having promised you he’d be here and stay with her, didn’t he?’ asked Blake.

There was no hint of disapproval in his voice, but Trish knew perfectly well what he was thinking and she assumed that Antonia must have a fair idea. After all, she was never remotely stupid even if there were times when she could be a trifle insensitive. She must know quite as well as Trish and the police that a stepfather would be among the prime suspects for any harm done to a little girl.

‘Yes, but it was work,’ Antonia said, as though explaining a self-evident truth. ‘There’s a crisis on. And he had no reason to think Nicky wasn’t a safe person for Charlotte to be with.’

‘Where is he now?’ asked the inspector.

‘In the office again. He went back as soon as he’d picked me up from the airport.’ Antonia glanced away from his face, which for a second had betrayed real shock. Unfortunately she had then found herself looking directly at Trish, whose expression was even less encouraging.

‘Don’t look like that, Trish. I told him to go. He’s got the crisis to sort out and there wasn’t anything he could have done here. He’d just have hung about, feeling spare and saying all the wrong things. I knew we’d only quarrel if he stayed.’

Trish thought she could hear a note of hysteria in Antonia’s hurried explanations and looked towards the police to say, ‘I think my cousin could do with a short break. Could we stop for a while?’

‘Yes, why not? That’s a good idea. We haven’t a warrant, Ms Weblock, and we’re not equipped for a proper search in any case, but might we have a bit of a look around Charlotte’s room while you have a cup of tea or something?’

‘Look anywhere,’ she said. The first tears Trish had ever seen Antonia shed were sliding down her face. ‘Anywhere. I don’t mind.’

‘Right. Good. Thank you. And do you have Mr Hithe’s office telephone number? I’d like to drop in and have a word with him after we’ve finished here.’

‘Of course.’ She recited the number. ‘But he won’t be able to tell you anything I haven’t. Please don’t disturb him for longer than you have to. Please. He’s really busy.’

‘We won’t. But it may give us some clues if he can describe exactly what happened here yesterday morning before he left for work and what Nicky said when he asked her to work overtime – all that sort of thing. We’ll give him a ring,’ said the inspector, pulling a mobile out of his pocket as he led the way to the door.

Antonia went on sitting on the fender stool, her arms around her knees, as the two officers left. Trish didn’t move.

‘Antonia, where’s Nicky now?’ she asked after a while.

‘At the police station.’

‘You mean they’ve arrested her?’

‘No, she went of her own accord. She hadn’t left any kind of note for me and I had no idea where she was when I got here. Typical! But that man Blake said she appeared at the station first thing this morning, begging for news. Apparently some other officers there are going over the statement she gave them yesterday. If there are any discrepancies – or if there’s anything she forgot to tell them that might give them a new lead – they’ll deal with it.’

Antonia suddenly grimaced and drew in her shoulders, as though to make it clear that Trish was sitting too close to her. Trish obediently shuffled her bottom further along the stool so that there was more space between them. Neither said anything more and there was nothing to hear except after a while the clump of feet going upstairs and then moving from room to room. At intervals there was also the sound of voices, but it was hard to make out any of the words being used.

‘Tea sounds like a good idea,’ said Trish eventually. ‘Shall I make you some or would you rather have a drink?’

‘Shut up, will you? I want to hear what they’re saying.’

Trish felt her eyebrows rising, but she did not protest. The two detectives seemed to be going up to the second floor, still talking. A door opened. There was more talk, so muffled by distance that it was the merest buzz. Then it stopped. Then there was nothing, not even footsteps.

The silence stretched out for a long time. Trish did not make the same mistake again and simply waited until Antonia might ask her for something. A little later they both heard footsteps coming downstairs again.

By the time the police returned to the drawing room, Antonia was on her feet and already moving towards the door.

‘What is it?’ she asked sharply. ‘What have you found?’

‘What makes you think we’ve found anything?’ asked the inspector, holding out a hand as though to silence his colleague.

With an obvious effort, Antonia almost succeeded in controlling her wobbly voice. Her hands were twisting round and round each other. The diamonds crunched as they met when the rings slid round her fingers.

‘It was the silence. It’s like builders when they’ve broken something or drilled into a pipe. You always know that kind of silence matters. What have you seen? Is it something that makes you think Nicky might have hurt her? You must tell me.’

‘Please try not to worry too much. Can you give me some idea of what Nicky and Charlotte might have taken to the park?’

‘Why? Sorry. I mean, of course I can. Nicky always took the first-aid kit: it’s a kind of rucksack thing, made of red and yellow nylon with straps – black, I think – that go round the waist. I always made sure she had that in case Charlotte hurt herself while they were out. She probably put her keys and money in the bag with the first-aid stuff: I don’t think I’ve ever seen her with a handbag. Why?’

‘What about toys? Something to keep Charlotte amused on the way to the park, maybe?’ asked the constable, earning herself a cold look from her superior.

‘No, I don’t think so,’ said Antonia, looking puzzled. ‘They were going to the playground. She wouldn’t have needed any toys. But why? What is it you’ve found?’

‘There’s a little blood …’

‘Blood? What d’you mean? Where?’ gasped Antonia as Trish’s mind shrieked,
No! No! No!

‘On some of the clothes in Nicky’s room. It probably comes from the boy she helped in the playground. In her statement yesterday she said that he was bleeding from the knees and she cleaned the grazes and put plaster over them. She must have got blood on her hands then and probably wiped them on her clothes. We’d like to take them with us so the lab. can test them.’

‘I see.’ Antonia’s eyes were blank, as though she had been suddenly blinded. Then they lit again and focused on DCI Blake. ‘Why did you ask about toys? Is there some blood on those as well?’

‘Just a little on the handle and under the hood of a doll’s pram, which we’d also like to take with us.’

‘But how could it have got there? I don’t understand.’

‘If they took the pram with them to the playground, then it’s almost certainly the boy’s blood there, too. If Nicky threw all her first-aid equipment into the pram when she realised Charlotte was missing, that would account for it.’

‘And if they didn’t take the pram to the park?’

Trish was impressed to see that Antonia was not letting terror overcome her ability to think logically, but she looked like death.