Journey's End (30 page)

Growing afraid, the girl continued to argue. ‘I told you there’s no one here of that name. Now please go away!’ Again she tried to close the door and again he stopped her, until she called out for help. ‘Daddy!’ Her voice sailed through the house. ‘Dad, it’s a man and he won’t go
away.’

On hearing heavy footsteps come down the stairs, Trent decided to leg it. The man might report him to the police and have him arrested – and then who knew what might happen.

Snatching the girl by the lapels, he told her gruffly, ‘If I find out you’ve been lying to me, I swear I’ll be back to punish you.’ Although from her demeanour he had a sneaking suspicion she might be telling the
truth and if so, that was a real setback in his search for Lucy.

As he ran away, he could hear the girl sobbing, then the man shouting as he ran in full pursuit, ‘HEY YOU! COME BACK HERE!’

At the bottom of the street, Trent turned to see the man gaining ground, so he darted into the ironmonger’s and when he saw his pursuer run past the shop, he made a cautious exit, afterwards cutting down an
alley and getting away, out of sight.

A short time later, having retreated to a public house in search of ale, he was seated by the window downing pint after pint. ‘I’ll find her, you see if I don’t!’ he told anyone who would listen. ‘She’ll not get away from me this time.’

Bleary-eyed and incoherent, with no one taking any notice of his ramblings, he took to gazing out the window.
And that was when he saw her walk by, a tall woman with a bold step and a pretty face. A woman who stirred a memory deep down inside him.

She was older than he remembered, but there was something about her – the walk, the profile – something that he recognised from years gone by.

Then it came to him: she bore a distinct resemblance to Vicky Davidson, the wife of Barney and a dear friend to Lucy. He had
been told in the village that Vicky and her family had left England and emigrated to America – so what could she be doing here?

Growing excited, he followed the woman, becoming more and more convinced that she was Vicky Davidson.

Unaware that she was being watched, Vicky went into the estate agent’s office down the road and seated herself on a chair set before a desk. ‘Is it all ready?’ she
asked the young man seated opposite.

He greeted her with a smile. ‘It’s all done,’ he informed her. ‘The house is yours, for twelve hundred pounds.’ He handed her the key, together with an envelope. ‘Congratulations, Mrs Maitland.’

With his hands in his pockets, and his cap pulled down well over his eyes, Edward Trent strolled into the shop and meandered about as though he was in no particular
hurry, examining the For Sale details pinned up on the wall. And when the young man promised to be with him shortly, he merely nodded and looked away, and no one was any the wiser about his true intentions, though he had been slightly thrown to hear the woman being addressed as Mrs Maitland.

‘You’re the first person I’ve ever had who’s come in to buy back a house they lived in many years ago,’
the young man was saying to Vicky. ‘You must have loved it very much.’

‘Oh we did.’ Vicky cast her mind back over the years to those happy days in the little farmhouse, when her three bairns were born, and her beloved Barney had been with her. They had not had a care in the world. Paradise lost, indeed.

None of this felt real to her. It was as though she had stepped back into a time that was
so long gone, it might never have existed. And yet it had, for it was stored right there – in her heart, her mind and in her soul. Secure in her deepest memories.

From that first moment when she had returned to this part of her world, she instinctively felt as though she belonged. The poor, war-damaged streets of Liverpool had welcomed her like an old friend. Despite the passage of the years,
its character had not changed all that much, and even the very air smelled the same – thick and salty from the Mersey, alive with the essence of people and life. This was her world, this had been the true magic in her life; Liverpool, Overhill Farm, and her precious family.

‘How long did you live at the farmhouse?’ The young man sensed how she had slipped into her memories and he was intrigued.

Vicky smiled apologetically. ‘Sorry, I was miles away. It seems a lifetime ago that we lived there,’ she answered. ‘My husband Barney and I had our three children in that same house. We lived in it, worked the land around it and were very content.’ She said wistfully, ‘In fact, the years in that lovely place were the happiest of my entire life.’

‘And now you’re moving back in?’

Taking the envelope,
she stood up. ‘That’s the idea, yes.’

‘With your husband, Barney?’

Deeply moved, she merely shook her head, then said quietly, ‘I really must be going now.’

‘You do know the house needs a deal of work?’ The young agent wanted to sound businesslike.

‘Yes, I’m aware of that,’ she answered confidently. ‘I’ve already arranged for a builder to renovate some of the original features that have fallen
into disrepair, and I’ve spoken with a decorator and such. I’m assured they can complete the work within a month. Meantime, I intend to stay at the hotel, though very soon, I shall be going down south for at least a week, as the daughter of my old friend Lucy is getting married.’

‘Something else to look forward to then?’

‘It certainly is. We go back a lot of years, me and Lucy Baker.’ She held
out her hand to him. ‘Thank you so much for all your hard work.’

Before she left, Edward Trent sneaked out of the shop, moving quickly to where he could easily follow her while she could not see him. So! His eyes darkened. Lucy had a daughter, did she? Didn’t take her long to get over the death of their own bairn, did it, before she was opening her legs to some other man!

A wedding? He spat
on the ground. ‘We shall have to see about that, won’t we?’

He followed Vicky out of the town centre and on towards the boulevard, where she appeared to be heading for a bus. Suddenly, taking him by surprise, she hailed a passing taxi and was quickly driven away.

‘Damn and bugger it!’ Trent cursed. Quickly, he made his way back to the estate agent.

The young man was busy with some paperwork
when Trent entered. He looked up and recognised the unsavoury character who’d been hanging around before. His heart sank; he had a bad feeling about this one. ‘How can I help?’ he asked politely.

Trent lost no time. ‘The woman who was in here just now, the one who bought back her old house. Which hotel is she staying in?’

‘I beg your pardon?’ The young man’s initial suspicion strengthened. ‘I’m
afraid I can’t give out confidential information.’ Snatching up Vicky’s case-file, he slipped it into the filing cabinet and locked it, placing the key into the top drawer of his desk. ‘Now, if you have no other business, I’d very much like to get on with my work.’ He gestured to his overcrowded desk.

For a moment the two men eyed each other, until Trent wisely decided to leave. However, he had
a plan, which he fully intended carrying out soonever the coast was clear.

Later that evening, after forcing an easy entry from the back of the shop, he went straight for the desk drawer, took out the key and opened the cabinet. Skimming through the file, he found everything he needed to know.

Carefully he replaced the file, returned the key to the drawer, and left the shop the same way he had
arrived, leaving everything as he found it. After all, the last thing he wanted was for the police to be alerted; particularly since they were still actively searching for the ‘monster’ who had murdered Patsy Monk. Trent wished now that he’d finished off that stupid bitch Lizzie, too. She’d better keep her trap shut or he’d be along to shut it for her …

A wave of giddiness swept over him and
he clung to the doorframe for a long moment. Then it passed. Making good his escape, he smiled to himself. ‘Handy place, prison,’ he chuckled. ‘Full of men who know every trick of the trade.’

Not too far away, seated in his car outside Vicky’s hotel, the American private detective was still keeping watch over her.

Taking the opportunity to fill out his surveillance notes for Leonard Maitland,
he wrote down his report, at the same time deciding to send a cable to warn him about the other man who watched her.

Your wife paid a further visit to the land agent that I mentioned in my recent despatch. I’m not certain as to what transpired there, but as you know from my previous reports, she had paid numerous visits to a farmhouse at Comberton-by-Weir, both in the presence of the agent and on her own. She also consulted builders and other tradesmen, who consequently joined her on her visits to the house.

Most days she either goes out to the farmhouse or walks the shops in Liverpool; some days she stands by the docks, just watching. She then makes her way back to the hotel, where she remains until emerging the next day, sometimes early, sometimes later, but always on her own.

Before ending this report, I think I should draw your attention to the fact that today, a certain rough-looking man showed a decidedly unhealthy interest in Mrs Maitland. He appeared to follow her to the agent’s office, and afterwards he trailed her to the boulevard where she took a taxi back to the hotel.

Would you like me to find out more about this man, should he show his face again? I am sending you a cable that will arrive before this letter, and will await your instructions.

Meantime, rest assured I will be diligent in my discreet observation of your good wife.

There! This report would be on its way to his client in no time at all. And if he wasn’t very much mistaken, Mr Maitland would want him to watch that ruffian. Calling up Edward Trent’s image, the detective shook his head
woefully. ‘The guy was up to no good – that much was obvious.’

When the cable was delivered to Leonard’s office, he tore it open, fearing the worst.

‘Are you ready for coffee now, Mr Maitland?’ Marybelle, his typist, inched open his office door, visibly surprised when Leonard dismissed her instantly. ‘Leave me be, girl!’ he snapped. ‘I’ll let you know when I’m ready to be disturbed!’

Po-faced,
the girl returned to her desk outside his office. ‘Whatever’s wrong with him? He’s real grumpy this morning,’ she told the woman at the other typewriter.

The woman looked up knowingly. ‘Did the mailman bring him a letter from England?’

‘No, but he got a cable. Why?’

‘That’s the reason why he is so touchy, then. I don’t know anything about the cable, but he has the letters regularly, as you’d
know if you’d been here longer. When he reads them he likes to be alone, with no interruption.’

‘Who are they from?’ the junior asked curiously.

‘If I knew that, I might tell you.’

‘Is it to do with his wife, only I heard someone saying how she’d gone off to England and nobody knew if she was ever coming back.’

‘If you want to keep your job, honey, you’d best shut your ears to idle gossip.’

‘Hmh!’ The girl shrugged impatiently. ‘I only asked.’

‘And I’m only saying, the least you know the better.’

A short time later Leonard rushed out of his office. ‘I won’t be back today,’ he told the woman. ‘Call the house tonight if there are any urgent matters to be dealt with. Meantime, inform Taylor Crompton that the price of grain remains the same; and that if he wants a delivery, he pays
top dollar for top-class harvest. If he dithers, call Bambridge and offer it to him. At least he’s a regular customer who knows a good crop when he sees it.’

The woman saw how flushed he was, and her concern was genuine. ‘Are you feeling okay, sir?’

‘No, I’m not.’ He took a deep, invigorating breath. ‘I have just received a cable that might mean me going to England. I have urgent calls to make,
which will be best served in the privacy of my home.’

He issued a few more instructions before enquiring where his son Thomas might be at that moment in time.

‘I believe he went to the Southlands,’ the stenographer said. ‘There seems to be a problem there.’

‘Contact him, will you,’ he said. ‘Get him to come out to the house straight away. Tell him it’s urgent!’ With that he made a hasty departure.

‘The poor guy looks flustered.’ Marybelle was intrigued. ‘Do you think the cable carried bad news?’

The older woman pointed to the girl’s ledger. ‘You just get on with the orders, young lady, and leave Mr Maitland’s business to Mr Maitland.’ She got out of her seat. ‘I’ll be a few minutes,’ she advised. ‘I need to catch Jim. He’s taking out a few samples of that new seed for Thomas to look at.
If I hurry, I might just catch him before he leaves.’

As it happened, she did catch him in time. ‘You’re to ask Thomas to make his way immediately to the house,’ she informed him. ‘His pa needs to see him straight away. It’s very urgent.’

Jim told her he would deliver the message, and he did.

‘What’s it about?’ Deep inside the workings of a massive truck, sleeves rolled up and covered in oil,
Thomas was none too pleased to be summoned away. ‘I’m in the middle of trying to get this darned machine to work. It cost the company an arm and a leg, and now it’s given up the ghost for the third time. I’ve got a man from the manufacturer on the way, so I can’t leave right now.’

‘I’m only passing on a message,’ Jim protested. ‘The boss wants you up at the house and it’s urgent. That’s all I
know.’

Thomas gave a long, weary sigh. ‘Jacob!’ Calling his right-hand man over, he said, ‘It looks like I’ll have to leave this to you. When the engineer comes, don’t let him swan off without taking a proper look, and don’t let him sweet-talk you, either. Like I said, this machine is a rogue. No ifs or buts, Jake. They’re to take it back today if possible or tomorrow at the latest, and supply
us with a full refund. I want it replaced with one that actually works.’

‘They won’t agree to a full refund,’ Jacob argued. ‘You know how tough they are.’

‘Not half as tough as I can be! If they won’t cooperate, you can tell him from me, their name will stink throughout the farming community, and their business will fall through the floor overnight. Okay?’