Creeping Ivy (9 page)

‘Don’t even try to apologise,’ she said in a voice that made Nicky wince. ‘Just tell me what happened.’

Nicky did not answer. She just stared at Antonia, looking stupid and obstinate. Trish was surprised. Charlotte’s description had suggested someone both intelligent and sensitive.

‘Come on, come on,’ said Antonia impatiently. ‘It’s ludicrous to pretend. The police may have swallowed this story of yours about Charlotte disappearing into thin air, but I won’t. I want to know exactly what happened yesterday.’

‘But, Antonia, I’m not pretending about anything,’ said Nicky, finding her voice and looking less obtuse as soon as she spoke. ‘I told Robert exactly what happened yesterday and I’ve been telling the police again all morning: I was bandaging up another child and when I’d finished I saw that Charlotte had gone.’

‘A complete stranger? You turned your back on Charlotte, who was in your sole charge, and put her at terrible risk in order to look after a child you’d never seen before? I can’t believe that even of you.’

Trish glanced sideways at Antonia. Such open hostility did not seem to be the best way of getting information out of Nicky. ‘Antonia,’ Trish began tentatively and got no answer.

‘I had to, Antonia. No one else was there for him. He was only little and he was bleeding. Scared, too. Charlotte was safe …’

‘Not according to this story of yours. Quite the opposite.’

‘She should’ve been,’ said Nicky passionately, her voice beginning to shake. ‘There wasn’t any reason to think anything would happen to her. There were other children there. No one was watching
them
.’ She had taken a well-used paper handkerchief from the pocket of her jeans and was twisting it between her hands, ripping it and dropping little sodden balls of greyish tissue on the unspotted cream carpet like beads from a broken necklace. ‘You must believe me, Antonia. I didn’t see anything.’

‘Because you took care not to, is that it? Were the other child’s screams some kind of signal? Or a decoy to distract everyone’s attention while Charlotte was snatched? Is that what it was? Come on, Nicky, answer me. You’ll have to tell me in the end. You might as well do it now.’

‘But I haven’t got anything to tell. I’ve told the police everything that happened. Why won’t you believe me?’

Nicky’s face was even paler than it had been when she had arrived, which made the redness around her eyes and the bottom of her nose stand out like flags marking her guilt; her constantly twisting hands were trembling.

‘Antonia,’ Trish began, ‘I think—’

‘Be quiet, Trish. Nicky, I don’t believe you because I don’t believe even you would be as ludicrously irresponsible as that. I want the truth and I’ll do whatever’s necessary to get it out of you.’

‘Antonia, you can’t do it like this. Whatever’s happened, you must—’

‘This is none of your business, Trish. Keep quiet.’

‘I can’t let you—’

Antonia’s voice exploded into fury. ‘It’s not for you to
let
me do anything. You have no right to interfere. If you can’t hold your tongue, you’d better leave.’

Aware that more protest would merely drive Antonia to greater fury, Trish got to her feet. As she moved, Nicky produced a strangled word that sounded like ‘Please.’

‘Shut up until I tell you to talk,’ Antonia’s voice cracked like a bullwhip. Nicky flinched and put up her hands as though to ward off a blow. When Trish passed her on the way to the door, Nicky looked at her, obviously begging not to be deserted.

After an infinitesimal pause, Trish turned her head to say as calmly as possible, ‘I’ll wait in the hall until you’ve finished, Antonia.’

‘As you like. Now, Nicky. I want—’

Trish left the room before the demand had been made, wondering whether she ought to go down to the basement to warn Constable Derring that Nicky was back. If she had been certain that would help she’d have been quite prepared to brave Antonia’s fury, but she was not sure.

Wondering how DCI Blake was getting on with Robert, Trish sat down to wait on an uncomfortable if beautiful old fruitwood chair, which stood to one side of the cold radiator in the hall. The edge of the seat cut into her thighs however she arranged herself. After a while it got so bad that she stood up and started to walk the length of the hall and back again.

As she walked she tried to think through everything she had heard, wishing she had access to whatever the police had discovered. It seemed to her then that of all the things that could have happened to Charlotte, there were only three that were even remotely likely. She might have been picked up in the playground and taken away by a complete stranger for some so-far unidentified reason; she might have been murdered by someone close to her; or she might have been taken by Ben Weblock in a bizarre custody snatch.

The thought that Charlotte might be in Ben’s hands was reassuring, but Trish could not make herself believe it. She had not seen him since the divorce, but everything she had ever known about him before that told her that he could not be so devious or so cruel as to kidnap Charlotte. However angry he might still be with Antonia, he would never try to take revenge on her like this. And if he had wanted custody of a child he had never known, he would have gone through the courts to get it. Of that Trish was sure. Almost.

No, she told herself. It’s got to be worse than that. Could it be Nicky?

If I could see her eyes I might be able to tell. There might be that blankness in them, the blankness that comes from cutting the link between what’s done to you and what you feel about it.

I wish I could see her eyes. Hers and Robert’s. I’ve never looked at his. I wish I had.

The drawing-room door opened and Nicky emerged. By then it was not only her hands that were trembling but her whole body.

‘I’m sorry,’ said Trish quietly from the far end of the Hall, moving towards her.

Nicky started as though a thousand volts had been passed through her body.

‘I’m sorry I left you to face that on your own, but I thought it would only make Antonia fiercer if I stayed.’

Nicky shook her head, clinging on to the bannisters with one hand and knuckling her eyes with the other.

‘Nothing could make her worse. I know it’s my fault, but she didn’t need to say those things. She must know I’d never hurt Lottie. I feel …’ She stopped as though there were no words to describe it.

‘Yes, tell me, Nicky: how
are
you feeling?’

‘I can’t bear it.’ Nicky looked straight at Trish. ‘I can’t bear thinking about what they could be doing to Lottie, what …’

The red, thickened lids closed over Nicky’s eyes then, but Trish had seen enough to feel some reassurance.

‘And I can’t stop it. I’d give anything to go back to before. Antonia doesn’t understand. She thinks I hurt Lottie, you know, like …’

‘Yes, I do know. But you must see that she’s so frightened just now that she’d say anything. Try not to feel too hurt – or too angry. Can’t you put up with it, knowing what she must be going through?’

‘It’s not that different than usual. She’s always accusing people of things. And she doesn’t even know Lottie or understand her. She never hugs her or anything. Children need to be hugged and stroked. If they’re not they grow up thinking they’re bad, dirty. But she’d never bother to hug Lottie because she doesn’t love her. Not like I do.’

‘Nicky! You mustn’t say that. She’s Charlotte’s mother. She’s terrified for her.’

Nicky snorted. ‘Haven’t you seen them together ever? Never watched how Lottie tries to play? She brings Antonia toys and offers them to her. But all she gets back is lectures about being noisy or clumsy or not paying proper attention. She’s a little child.’ The anger had gone from Nicky’s voice and she was crying again.

‘What’s worse is that she loves her mother so. She didn’t want to go to the park yesterday because she was hoping to make sweets for when Antonia got home from the States. “Merica”, she always calls it. “When’s my Mummy coming back from Merica?” She kept asking it all morning, in the swimming pool and everything. “Why’s my Mummy gone to Merica?” On and on.’

‘That must have been difficult for you,’ said Trish, alert to a danger she had not suspected.

‘I didn’t mind,’ said Nicky. ‘That wasn’t why I wouldn’t let her make sweets. It was because Antonia makes us go out every day, whatever the weather. Often when I think Lottie’d be better off warm in bed, she insists we go out. Well wrapped up, but out. I didn’t dare not go on Saturday, even for something like making a welcome-home present. She’d have been so cross if she found out, and she would; she always finds out everything. I said we’d make the sweets this morning. But if I’d let her do what she’d wanted Lottie would’ve been safe.’

‘Was she still upset when you set off for the park?’

‘Only for a minute or two. I let her wear her tights, you see, and take her pram with her favourite doll, and that cheered her up. It was a treat because she’s usually only allowed the pram in the house. She soon forgot to be cross. But we could’ve been safe at home if I’d listened better. That’s what’s so awful: seeing all the times when I could’ve stopped it if I’d done something different. It didn’t need to happen, you see.’

Trish heard footsteps coming up from the basement.

‘Did Antonia tell you that Constable Derring is waiting to ask you some more questions?’ she said more loudly. The door at the top of the stairs swung open. ‘Hello, Constable Derring. This is Nicky Bagshot.’

‘So I hear,’ said the young officer. ‘Will you come downstairs with me please, Nicky?’

Nicky sighed, but she did not protest. She looked as though she would do whatever she was told by anyone because she was too tired and miserable to resist. Derring waited for her to go ahead and then turned to look at Trish with an expression of contemptuous reproach.

Trish looked back at her, smiling politely, until the door had swung shut. In the drawing room, Antonia was leaning on the mantelpiece and apparently staring down into the empty grate.

‘Derring’s got her now,’ said Trish. ‘Was it really necessary to attack her like that?’

Antonia straightened her spine and shoulders as she turned to answer. Her face was quite composed and she looked very hard.

‘I think so. She must know more than she’s telling. And there must be a way to get it out of her. I know Blake didn’t want me questioning her, but I had to see what I could do. And I didn’t say a word about the pram, did you?’

‘No. But she volunteered that they did take it to the park. Did you get anything useful?’

‘Not a thing. I could—’ Antonia broke off, looking at her hands as though they belonged to someone else. They were clenched into fists.

‘Honestly, Antonia, I think she’s genuinely miserable.’

‘So she sodding well should be.’

‘Look, why don’t you try to rest for a bit? I can stay here if you like while you go to bed, and then wake you when Blake’s back. You must be jet-lagged as well as all the rest.’ Trish paused. It had always been important to avoid seeming to give Antonia orders. ‘Would you like me to do that?’

‘I couldn’t possibly sleep. If I only shut my eyes, I see …’

‘OK, then d’you want to talk?’

‘I haven’t got anything to talk about. If you’re trying to ask me something, then for God’s sake come out and ask it. I can’t bear being manipulated into saying things.’

‘OK. I wasn’t trying to manipulate you, but it’s true, I did want to ask if you might be able to tell me a little more about the bruises on Charlotte’s arms.’

‘Oh, for God’s sake! I’ve told the police. You were here – you heard. Let it go.’

‘I just wondered what sort of size and shape they were,’ said Trish, who had never been afraid of Antonia’s anger. Unlike poor Ben.

‘Shape? What is this, Trish? What are you on about now?’

‘The bruises: were they small and round? Or big? Or like a band – or a kind of strip – around her arm? Or blotchy with little dark-red speckles?’ Trish found a way to laugh. ‘But I shouldn’t be asking leading questions.’

‘Oh, for Christ’s sake! Why not ask it straight out? You want to know whether Nicky could have been digging her fingers into Charlotte or tying her up, don’t you? Or, what’s the other – blotchy with speckles? Giving her love bites? Is that right?’

‘Yes, Antonia, it is. Although from the little I’ve seen of Nicky, I do find it hard to imagine her deliberately hurting Charlotte. But since I didn’t see the bruises myself, I—’

‘Perhaps if you had, you’d feel less sympathy for Nicky and be on my side in all this.’

Antonia,
of course
I’m on your side. I know exactly what you’re going through.’

‘You couldn’t possibly,’ said Antonia, looking at Trish with almost as much hostility as she had shown Nicky. ‘You’ve got no children.’

‘True. But I’m not devoid of imagination, and I’ve had a certain amount of experience with this sort of case.’

‘ “This sort of case”. If you mean child abuse, why the fucking hell won’t you say so? I’ve told you, I hate this pussy-footing around. We all know what this is about, and you’re pretending—’

‘Antonia, I’m not pretending anything. I just want to help,’ said Trish steadily. ‘Try to tell me, if you can. What were the bruises like?’

‘They were clearly fingermarks. That’s why I believed Nicky when she told her story of Charlotte slipping in the bath. I’m not stupid. If they’d been made by some kind of ligature, I’d hardly have accepted Nicky’s version. But I didn’t measure the marks against her hands, if that’s what you’re going to ask next.’

Trish nodded. ‘I did wonder. I noticed that Nicky has peculiarly small hands.’

Antonia shook her head. Her lips were clamped together. Her eyes were like stones.

‘Oh, Christ! I wish I’d never believed her. I should have sacked the little bitch on the spot. I must have been mad.’

‘No, you weren’t. Don’t punish yourself, Antonia. You had plenty of reasons to trust her, and none – or very few – to doubt her.’ She must see that Robert’s a serious suspect, thought Trish.
She must.
How could she not?

‘It didn’t seem such a terrible risk at the time,’ Antonia was saying, as though Trish had never opened her mouth. ‘She was so bloody plausible, and Charlotte seemed so happy with her, but then perhaps that was her way of defending herself against the horror. Could that be it? Oh Trish, what am I going to do? I thought I could force Nicky to tell me the truth, but she didn’t give in at all. If the police can’t get it out of her and I can’t either, what am I going to do?’