Guilty Pleasures (28 page)

‘I can't just march in and commandeer a room, you know. Hell's bells! This would tax a four-by-four.'

‘Griff always gets out and walks. I think Bridger would respond to estr . . . espr . . . Something to do with a corpse.'

‘
Esprit de corps?
'

‘Right. A colonel, after all, of what Griff calls the old school. He knows my father, remember, though I'm not sure that's a good thing.'

The weather was so perfect that I wanted to grab Morris and run away with him, not sit in a stuffy car while he smooth-talked the colonel. At least I could do something about the sitting. A little stroll was surely OK? In the bright sun, under those little white puffy clouds, a lark singing in the distance? If it took me in the direction of the farmyard Morris wanted to watch, all the better.

This time the dogs were chained. But they could still see and hear me, so I gave the gates a very wide berth, using my eyes, all the same. There'd been a good deal of activity since my last visit, with a couple of large horseboxes in one corner, and a trailer or two. The track through the gates was much more worn: if the weather had been bad, it would have been rutted.

Maybe it was time to drift back to the car. Morris was waiting, arms akimbo.

I waved and speeded up a little. As I did so, an Audi came along the lane. The driver slowed right down as he approached me, a frown visible from where I was. Turning my face, I zapped the car and got straight in, taking the driver's side.

‘Just get in,' I yelled, starting and reversing as fast as I could. ‘We have to get out of here. Now.'

‘What the hell? I thought you'd been kidnapped. And here you are, driving like a wild thing.'

I found a wider bit of verge and did a quick three pointer. The sooner I was on a main road the better.

‘Actually, are you insured to drive this?' Morris asked gently as I forced the car round bends.

‘Shit, so I'm not.' Pulling over, I leapt out and ran round to his side. ‘Take over and just drive. Fast.'

He drove. Fast. ‘Would you like to tell me why?'

‘Because the guy in the Audi thought he recognized me. And he was surprised to see me with you. Well, with anyone, I'd say.'

‘
Thought
he recognized you?'

‘I didn't recognize him. Not from real life. But his face is in one of those photos. Robin's fête photos. Right?'

‘Right. I think. Let me get this straight. You go for a walk. Fine. Don't blame you, even though you lock me out of the car. You come back towards me, leaving Flimstead Farm – yes, according to Colonel Bridger, that's what it's called – and this Audi driver thinks you're someone else leaving the farm. And you don't think he's very pleased?'

‘Surprised rather than displeased. Like I said. I think by now he's gone back into the farm and found whoever I look like is still safe and sound there. But,' I added, with a grin, ‘I've no idea what his emotions are now. Or hers. Because although I know I've got half-sisters, she may not.'

‘And you think Florence Allonby is the woman he thought was going walkabout?'

‘Lot of speculation,' I admitted.

‘Surely she'd have a different surname,' he mused. ‘Allonby's the title, not the name, isn't it? What about your father's family name – what's that?'

‘No idea. Never even thought to ask,' I said truthfully. ‘Hell, I'm starving.

TWENTY-EIGHT

‘
I
don't suppose,' Morris said, turning south, ‘that Ashford is the gastronomic capital of Kent, but at least there's a motorway heading that way, with the car hire place just by a junction. So we'll change this car and grab a snack and then report to Freya.'

There was a tiny edge to his voice; he really hadn't enjoyed her pulling rank, had he? And what was that about his promotion? Why hadn't he shouted it from the housetops? Now didn't seem to be the time to ask, however. His face was very grim, and not just because of the chaos as we approached Junction 11, where he'd hoped to get access. For some reason we were being diverted via all sorts of highways and byways.

‘Last time they had Operation Stack the police allowed heavy lorries to park right across the roundabout, so you couldn't get on or off Stone Street,' I said. ‘Sorry, I should have thought of that. Back up the hill again and I'll navigate you across country, via Wye. A couple of nice pubs there, too,' I said.

‘Ashford first,' he said. ‘Just to please me. Ah, you were right. Look who's coming towards us. Your friend in the Audi, I fancy. Head down now, Lina. And brace. I may have to risk the insurance excess.'

Head down, I braced. Apart from as hard an acceleration as the Fiesta permitted, nothing happened.

‘Stay down. I think he's trying to turn. Is there a left turn I can risk?'

‘Stowting. Brabourne. Then look out for Hastingleigh and Wye. Tell me when I can come up.'

The car lurched – by the feel of it he'd almost lost it on a hard left turn, but he righted it and pressed on. He slowed.

‘Tractor ahead. I wonder . . .'

Only one side of the car could have been on the road. We bucked all over the place. Finally, we lurched back left, to the sound of someone's horn.

‘Poor bugger. Bad enough having a tractor that size coming towards you, let alone a car overtaking it, not just on your bit of road but on your bit of greensward too. OK, Lina, you can come up now. I don't think the Audi will manage that. What worries me, though,' he mused, ‘is how he managed to discover our route.'

‘From there you've pretty well got to head north or south. Maybe he tried north and gave up, knowing you'd be delayed if you headed south. Satnav or local knowledge,' I added with a shrug. ‘Unless you think—?'

He didn't seem to think anything, at least not aloud, but that might have been because he needed a lot of concentration to pick his way through the lanes.

‘How did you get on with the colonel?' I asked at last.

He threw his head back and laughed. ‘Not as well as someone else was getting on. The poor man appeared at his front door in the shortest silk bathrobe I've ever seen. Pink, embroidered with roses. You could actually see –' He choked. ‘The thing is,' he managed round his giggles, ‘he was carrying the biggest vibrator I've ever seen. And a woman, no doubt the owner of the robe, was calling from upstairs. So I muttered something about it obviously not being convenient and backed away. And do you know what he did? He asked for my card and tried to tuck it . . . And then he went off and got his own card and handed it to me just as if . . . Anyway, I'm supposed to call him this evening. Oh, Lina!'

Thank goodness the road was clear. At last he had to pull over to mop his eyes. ‘The trouble is, we're no further forward with the surveillance issue. But I tell you, organizing it is definitely one job I shall delegate.'

The car hire people were inclined to be sniffy about the dust all over the car, and they didn't appreciate my quip that it could have been mud. Anyway, we were soon equipped with yet another set of wheels, and we found a pub on the edge of what seemed to be car-showroom city.

‘Council of war,' Morris said as we ate chicken salad. ‘I could do with making a lot of phone calls and sending a lot of emails. There are other investigations in progress I need to keep an eye on. It won't be very exciting.'

‘I'm not a kid, Morris. In fact, I'm so behind with my work, if you could use our cottage as your temporary office, it'd help me. Unless you want to beg a room from Freya?'

‘I'll call her – see if there've been any developments. Hmm. Her mobile's off, and just in case there
is
a mole problem, I won't risk the main phone line.' He left a message to call him. ‘Your cottage as office sounds very good. Will Griff be there?' he asked, not quite casually. ‘By the way, I'm afraid I've got to dash back this evening. The nanny's still got problems. Sorry, Lina.' He kissed my hands. ‘We'll get this sorted, won't we?'

‘We will.' I kissed his in return.

I'd much rather not have spent the afternoon toiling in the stillness of my workroom, but there was something very nice about knowing that Morris was working in our office, just below my feet. Griff had been all too glad of an excuse to get out into the garden, bringing death to weeds and the wrong sort of insect. Eventually, knowing that Morris had resolved to be home by seven, Griff summoned us for late afternoon tea, complete with his home-made lemonade – well, home-made everything.

Goodness knows what we all talked about. I think Griff reported on a test match, but none of us wanted to go inside and watch it, or the tennis that would no doubt have fascinated Steve White. Griff mentioned the Proms, too, but then realized he hadn't been entirely tactful.

‘So long as it's a different orchestra,' Morris said with a grin, ‘that'd be a great idea. You could stay over and meet Leda again. But check with me before you book anything; I may have to go abroad again, but not for too long, with luck.'

‘You youngsters and your peripatetic amours,' Griff sighed, smiling benignly, leaning back, eyes closed.

It was all too tempting to do the same, my hand safe in Morris's.

A mobile burst into Beethoven. Morris's. He hauled himself to his feet and, with a quizzical smile, headed in the direction of the rotary washing-line that Griff pointed to without bothering to open his eyes. Morris muttered a bit and cut the call, coming back to me and dabbing a kiss on my forehead before settling beside me again.

I didn't move. Not until my phone sounded too. Just an ordinary ringtone.

‘Go on, take the call. I've got to be on the move any moment now anyway,' Morris sighed, getting to his feet.

Pulling a face, I drifted to the spot by the washing-line whirligig that Morris had vacated. ‘Pa?'

‘You got that police chappie of yours there, Lina?'

‘Yes.'

‘Put me on to him, would you?'

‘He's just on his way back to London.'

‘Won't take a second. Put him on anyway. I want to talk to him about the snuffbox.'

Summoning Morris, I passed him over to my father.

At first he looked amused, even resigned. But then he looked increasingly serious and fished out his own mobile to make one-thumbed notes. When he cut the call, frowning, he used his own phone to make another call. That done, he came back to the table and sat heavily. ‘Just how compos mentis is he, Lina?'

Griff surfaced. ‘Since my darling girl took him in hand he's improved a great deal. He'll never be anything but an old soak, but he's coherent enough. Does Sudoku like shelling peas. Always beats the contestants on quiz shows.'

‘So we can trust his memory?'

‘Yes,' I said.

‘Good. He's just remembered who he saw use the original snuffbox. A neighbour, whose son became an actor. There is just one other thing, though. He says he phoned Freya Webb and was told she wasn't there. I guess he misdialled and got put through to the main switchboard. Apparently, he told the person at the other end what the problem was – and was told they'd send a couple of officers over as and when.'

Griff and I exchanged a glance. ‘Pa doesn't really do as and when, does he?'

‘So I gather. Hence he's summoned me. We have a problem, Griff,' he added, glancing at me. ‘There might just be a mole in the control room. I think Lina's father has just invited the wrong people to visit him.'

I started to run, God knows where.

‘Hang on! Where are you going?' Morris grabbed my arm. ‘Riding to the rescue's one thing. Making a phone call is easier.' He passed me my mobile. ‘Tell him to let no one in. No one at all.'

‘And then what? Just sit it out?' Griff, rarely on my father's side, demanded.

‘Yes – but not in his wing,' I said, thinking again. ‘He can let himself through the security door into the main building. All those lockable rooms . . .' I yelled instructions down the phone to my father, who was now thoroughly confused, and who could blame him? ‘Pa, just do as you're told – OK? I'm on my way.' I looked at Morris, trying not to let my lip tremble. ‘And you must be on your way too. Leda can't babysit herself.'

He shook his head. ‘Plan C. I'll phone my mother. I know it means I'm a bad father, but she gets to be a good granny. Griff, will you call Freya's private number from your landline? She needs to know what's going on, quite clearly, and I don't want to risk poor mobile coverage. Here, take Lina's phone.'

Griff grabbed it, trotting into the house after us. ‘Hang on – I'll just jot it down.'

‘Lina, you drive till I've spoken to Mum – OK?'

I did as I was told. Thrusting my phone back to me, Griff did the business with the gates, I shot out, and we were on our way. No, I didn't try to listen in on Morris's call. I was too busy wondering about reinforcements and making a decision.

‘Now call Robin,' I said, as soon as he'd finished his call. ‘Pa trusts him. He'll do what he says. And maybe Robin needs to be needed,' I added, nipping round a heavy lorry, but only just making it. Dared I stop to let Morris take over? The road ahead was empty. My foot went down and stayed down.

‘Why this way?' Morris asked as we sped up the main drive to the front of Bossingham Hall.

‘Better than the track. Safer than all those pot holes. We park and shin over the wall. Trellis – lovely foot holds. And a mounting block to land on. What are you waiting for? Hell, we're not the first here.'