Dorothy Eden (33 page)

Though he would pretend to, of course. Millie really thought she had seen him safely down to the basement. She waved to him in the hall, then tucked Arabella more warmly into her pram and went off.

Jamie waited until she was outside, then, sneaking on tiptoe, he followed. He was only going to see whether or not Arabella got an ice cream. If she did he would pounce suddenly on her and Millie, demanding his share.

Outside, the air was sharp and frosty. Millie walked quickly, as if she didn’t like the cold and wanted to be indoors again. She turned the pram into busy High Street, and made her way briskly. Because of the numbers of people in the street, Jamie was able to keep close to her. Her red beret was always in view. She didn’t stop at all until she got to Woolworth’s, and then she pushed the pram close up to the window and said something to Arabella.

Arabella bounced and smiled, holding up her arms.

Jamie heard Millie say quite clearly, “No, you can’t come in. You’ll be all right. Really you will.” And then she turned and went into the shop as if she were suddenly in a great hurry.

Arabella began to whimper. Jamie couldn’t resist suddenly bobbing up in front of her to make her gurgle with delight.

“I came,” he said triumphantly. “I’m going to have half your ice cream.”

And at the same moment a completely strange woman dressed in black leaned calmly into the pram and picked up Arabella.

Arabella was obviously too startled to cry. It was Jamie who did that.

“Hey!” he yelled, grabbing Arabella’s foot. “That’s my sister.” He remembered a television program, and added toughly, “What do you think you’re doing ?”

The woman, who wore dark glasses, as well as a black hat and coat, whispered fiercely, “Let her go, you little fool.”

“She’s my sister! Where are you taking her? If you’re taking her somewhere, I’m coming, too.”

One or two people had turned to look.

“Then come,” Jamie heard the strange woman say urgently, and the next thing he knew, she had his hand firmly in hers and was whisking him past the shop windows and around the corner.

He had to run to keep up with her. Arabella was beginning to whimper. Jamie, too, would like to have opened his mouth and bawled. Because he was frightened now. Something strange was happening. He didn’t want any longer to go with this woman, although she had Arabella, but she held his fingers so tightly that he couldn’t extricate them.

A taxi was going slowly past, and somehow the woman managed to signal it. It stopped and the driver leaned out to open the door.

“Bit of a handful you’ve got, lady.”

“You’re telling me!”

The woman was breathing quickly, as if she had been running. She gave Jamie a sharp push towards the open door. “In with you.”

She half lifted, half pushed him in, then scrambled in with Arabella, and sat back panting. After a moment she leaned forward to give the driver an address, then she pulled the dividing window shut, and looked at Jamie.

“If you make one sound,” she said in a low angry voice, “I’ll throttle you!”

A
S HARRIET WAS HURRYING
out that afternoon to catch a bus to the theater she encountered Zoe just leaving Flynn’s flat.

“Hello,” she said. “How’s Flynn?”

“Wouldn’t you know?” Zoe asked, her narrow green eyes fixed coldly on Harriet.

“Not necessarily.”

“But I hear you have a new job.” Zoe’s smile was pure malice.

“Helping Flynn with his great-grandfather’s letters? I’ve promised to give him what time I can.”

“I would think,” said Zoe, “that if I were a mother I would want to spend more time with my children.”

Harriet thought fleetingly of the children she had just left, Jamie, busy with his own pursuits, lifting an unwilling face to be kissed. Arabella, soft and plump on the hearthrug, bestowing her friendly smiles on anyone who approached. Was she neglecting them, she wondered guiltily? But they were happy and well cared for and loved, and anyway, what right had this slim, smart young woman to criticize?

Suddenly Harriet was angry. “When you are a mother, Zoe, I’ll listen to you. And is it any of your business that Flynn has asked me to do some secretarial work?”

“Yes, it is!” Zoe exclaimed, suddenly losing her sophisticated mask and speaking heatedly. “I knew him long before you did. I’ve stood by him ever since his accident, and it hasn’t been easy at times. But I’ve done it, and now, when I expect my reward, you walk in.”

“I don’t understand, Zoe. Your reward?”

“Why, because we’ve always meant to be married. You know that very well. We were only waiting until Flynn was better adjusted, and he was doing fine until you arrived.”

“I think he’s doing fine now,” said Harriet.

“That’s what you think! You don’t know him as I do. He’s gone right back to being difficult and bad-tempered and unpredictable. It’s only because of you and your children. Jamie always in and out, and then you coming for him and there always being interruptions. It’s utterly changed everything.”

“Well, I’m sorry about that, Zoe,” Harriet said more kindly. “But Flynn got me that flat and would have been very hurt if I hadn’t accepted it. Besides, I was very grateful for it. But I assure you there was nothing personal.”

“Then why can’t you stop living on his doorstep?” Zoe flashed. Her face seemed to have narrowed. It was sharp and vixenish. Harriet thought abruptly that it was lucky Flynn could not see Zoe’s face. If he was fond of her, or even in love with her, it would be a pity for him to see her looking like this.

“I’m not living on his doorstep. That’s utterly untrue.”

“You encourage Jamie to come down, for an excuse to come yourself. I’ve watched. You can’t fool me.”

“I’ve no desire to fool you.” Harriet’s voice was ice. “I’m sorry we can’t continue with this illuminating conversation, but I have a bus to catch.”

“You have plenty,” Zoe’s shrill voice followed her as she walked away. “Children, a nice flat, servants, money from America. So look after them. Or something might happen to them.”

Ridiculously, Harriet found herself trembling as she got onto the bus. That had been very unpleasant and also unfair. She had always known Zoe did not like her, but she had not realized her jealousy was as bitter as that. She would be sorry for her if the girl were not so obviously mercenary. She may indeed have been in love with Flynn, but it would be interesting to see what happened were he stripped of his possessions. Take away his luxury flat, his man-servant, his car, his ability to ring any shop or hotel in London, and have what he fancied at the moment delivered, whether it be orchids or caviar. Even though he was blind he could open to her a world she would not otherwise have known. Being blind made him, to her mind, much easier prey.

That was crude and horrible of her, Harriet thought, but with her memory of Zoe’s sharpened face she was afraid it was true.

How was she now to face Zoe in front of Flynn? His acute perception would soon, detect the enmity. It might amuse him. One never knew what would amuse him. But it would be deeply distasteful to Harriet, and that, she realized, was what Zoe was probably counting on. Anything, to prevent Harriet doing the proposed secretarial work and keep her out of the flat

And was her accusation about Harriet’s neglecting her children untrue? Should she give up her theatrical career and meekly allow herself to be kept by Joe’s mother, who disliked her? No, her way was right She knew that Joe would whole-heartedly approve. He had wanted her to keep her career, no matter what happened. “You can’t cut off a woman’s right arm,” he had said, with his rare understanding. “Your left one is big enough to go around Jamie and me.” He had known that an intellectual interest was necessary to a woman of her type, and he had also understood, when there had been the unfair hostility from his family over his marriage, that Harriet’s pride was a matter of great importance to her. Those things still existed, although Joe was no longer there. But it was the way on which he had started her, and she knew he would not wish her to turn back. Particularly not because of a venomous attack by a silly, shallow, jealous woman.

In the face of what happened, however, Harriet found it almost impossible to give her mind to rehearsals that afternoon, and had the most impelling urgency to rush home and see that all was well with the little world that was left to her, the “plenty” that Zoe had talked about. Len Brinker, the producer, finally lost his temper with her, and asked her to stay to run through her part again after the rest of the cast had been dismissed.

“Look, Harriet,” he said wearily, “you were good yesterday. What’s gone wrong today?”

“I’m sorry, Len. I was worried about my children.”

“Are they sick?”

“No, they’re perfectly well, but it just happens it’s a day I have them on my mind.”

“Well, my dear, I’ll tell you frankly, either you get them or the theater off your mind. You can’t cope with both.”

“Can’t I?” She looked so tense and worried that he ran his hand through his untidy hair and sighed.

“Not with that intensity. When you’re with them, you’re a mother and all the silly things you should be. When you’re here you’re Mrs. Whosit in a silly hat, and not a care in the world.”

“Yesterday I was,” Harriet said defensively.

“And tomorrow you will be. And the next day. And also on opening night. Or else—”

“That’s fair enough, Len. I’m sorry. I have a thing today.”

“Who hasn’t, sometimes? Go home and wallow in your nursery world. Tomorrow you’ll hanker for this grind.”

When she reached Manchester Court she wanted to slip in quickly without anyone seeing her. She would find Millie upstairs, with the children bathed and waiting for her, Arabella to be kissed goodnight, Jamie to have his bedtime story. The flat would be cosy and inviting, with its shaded lights, its deep chairs, and pleasant pictures. She did not think she could go down to Flynn that evening. This thing about Zoe’s jealousy would have to be thought over.

It was not possible to go in unobserved, however, for Fred was suddenly at the lift, holding the doors open as if he had been waiting for her. She remembered his bold smile of admiration the previous evening, and thought that it must be something he turned on and off at will, for tonight, he was frowning and serious.

“Good evening, Mrs. Lacey.”

“Good evening, Fred. Are you taking me up?”

Fred got in the lift beside her, but made, no move to press the button.

“Mrs. Lacey—there’s been a bit of trouble.”

“Trouble.” It was as if she had known all afternoon that something disastrous had been about to happen. It had begun with Zoe—but that had only been a beginning. Somehow she had known that.

“Someone seems to have been having a sort of joke on Millie,” Fred said. “With the children.”

“Fred! What is it?”

“Millie had to tell Ma and me because you see she thought she’d left Jamie with Ma. But she hadn’t, really. At least, Ma swears he never arrived.”

“Fred!” Harriet was gripping his arm. “Are you telling me Jamie has disappeared?”

Fred pressed the lift button at last and they began to ascend. He nodded. Beneath his important seriousness was excitement.

“You’d better talk to Millie. She’s pretty upset. She thought it was just the baby and Jamie would be all right. But then she got home and found he’d gone, too!”

It was a nightmare. Harriet stared blankly, unable to take in Fred’s roundabout story.

“We didn’t call the police, ma’am, because of the note. It said so strong not to. Anyway, we thought we’d better wait till you got home. I rang the theater, but you’d left, they said. So we just had to wait. Ma’s in a state, too. But no one knows except us. Not a soul.”

It couldn’t be true, of course. It was another of Millie’s fantasies, such as the blonde, staring woman had been. When she got into the flat she would find Fred had been having a grim, humorless joke with her.

But it was no joke. Millie’s swollen, tear-stained face told her that. She opened the door for Harriet, and immediately began to sob. By the sound of her hiccupping, exhausted sobs she had been doing that most of the afternoon.

“Oh, Mrs. Lacey—” she got out, then wordlessly thrust a crumpled and rather dirty piece of paper at Harriet.

Fred called it the “note.” The sort of thing that one nation politely sent to another when it was deeply aggrieved about some lawlessness, spying or encroaching on someone else’s territory. Absurdly, Harriet now imagined herself the recipient of one of these impersonal, coldly warning epistles.

She had to take it to the light because, absolutely in the style of fiction thrillers, it was composed of words cut painstakingly out of a newspaper and stuck onto a plain piece of paper. These words, stuck at slightly higgledy piggledy angles, seemed to dance in front of her eyes. But they made sense. Awful cold threatening sense.

I HAVE GOT YOUR BABY. SHE WILL BE RETURNED SAFE AND WELL IF YOU DO THE FOLLOWING—TOMORROW GET FIVE HUNDRED POUNDS IN SINGLE NOTES. AT 8 P.M. LEAVE THEM IN A PARCEL ON THE SEAT UNDER THE BIG ELM ABOUT A HUNDRED YARDS FROM THE ROUND POND KENSINGTON GARDENS. YOU CANT MISS IT. IT IS THE ONLY SEAT IN THAT AREA. DON’T BE LATE. DON’T INFORM POLICE. GO ALONE. IF YOU OBEY THESE INSTRUCTIONS YOU WILL BE ADVISED BY TELEPHONE WHERE TO FIND YOUR BABY. IF YOU INFORM THE POLICE IT WILL BE TOO BAD FOR YOUR BABY. I WELL PLAY FAIR IF YOU PLAY FAIR. THIS IS HONEST.

Harriet looked up bleakly. This couldn’t be true. These things happened in the United States, but not in London. This was London.

But her children were half American. Had that anything to do with it? Did the kidnapper know this? Did he know she received a more than generous allowance for them from their Boston grandmother? Or had he just guessed that, living in a block of luxury flats and having a servant to take care of the children, she would find no difficulty in laying her hands on five hundred pounds in cash?

“I’ll have to do this,” she heard herself saying in a tense whisper. “I’ll have to do it exactly as he says.”

Millie gave a convulsive sob, and Fred, who had been standing uninvited just inside the door, nodded approvingly.