Questions Of Trust: A Medical Romance (18 page)

‘Yes, Ms Edwards. What can I do for you?’

‘First, I’m not phoning on behalf of the Gazette in any capacity. I’m doing this off my own bat. So please invoice
me
for your time, not the paper.’

‘Very well.’ He sounded curious.

‘How might a private individual gain access to somebody else’s bank records?’

‘It can’t be done,’ he said immediately. ‘Only the police can do that. And even then, they have to have good cause. For example, if they were investigating fraud and believed that the bank records might provide legitimate evidence of the crime.’

‘What if the police suspected funds may have been transferred into an account to pay for the commission of a crime.’

‘Those would be grounds too, yes.’

‘And in the case of a civil action? If somebody was suspected to have paid somebody else to perform an act which, while not criminal, harmed a third party? Slander or libel, for instance?’

The lawyer was silent for a moment, considering. Then he said, ‘The plaintiff, the one bringing the libel or slander action, could legitimately ask that the defendant reveal their bank records to the court, if there was a strong suspicion that such a transaction had occurred. It would then be up to the court to decide whether or not the defendant should be compelled to do so.’

Chloe thanked him. ‘You’ve been really helpful. How much do I owe you?’

‘For a brief chat like this… nothing, my dear lady.’

The next call Chloe made was to an old friend and fellow journalist in London. He was delighted to hear from her and wanted to catch up, but Chloe had to cut him short.

‘Dave, I need a big favour. I’m looking for evidence of a criminal record. Are you still cosy with that police detective contact of yours in the Met?’

He was indeed, he said. Chloe sent him a text with the photo she’d taken of Sabrina Jones attached, and included the name and current address.

‘Though she might be using an alias,’ Chloe added.

‘I’ll see what I can do,’ Dave promised. ‘It’ll cost you, though.’

‘Cost me what?’

‘Dinner some time soon. On you.’

‘Deal.’

Chloe sat back in her chair, feeling the first tugs of the thrill of the chase. She was by now convinced that Sabrina Jones had been paid to invent the story about Tom. Further, she’d been instructed to approach the press but not the police. This suggested that whoever was paying Jones knew the case against Tom was too weak to stand up to a police investigation, and so the purpose of it was primarily to generate adverse publicity, even if the allegations were never proven. The whole affair reeked of a combination of spitefulness and calculation.

Chloe had never met Rebecca, Tom’s ex-wife, but spitefulness and calculation seemed to be two of the characteristics she possessed.

Was that why Tom was planning to move away? Had Rebecca moved permanently to Pemberham to be nearer Kelly, and now Tom felt he had to escape and whisk his daughter away? But that would hardly be a long-term solution. Rebecca could easily up sticks and follow Tom and Kelly wherever they went.

Still… if Chloe could prove Rebecca had paid Sabrina Jones to bring a false accusation against Tom, perhaps that would be enough to drive his ex-wife away, or at least scare her into backing off from this crusade of hers. That would mean Tom and Kelly could stay put.

Beyond that, Chloe didn’t dare to hope.

But proving Rebecca’s involvement was going to be difficult, as opposed to making mere allegations of her own, thought Chloe. And she didn’t have much time left. Tom had sounded as if he was preparing to leave as soon as he possibly could.

She felt the urge, and it was almost overwhelming, to phone Tom again, or even simply to turn up at the surgery and find him; to ask him how he was, and comfort him, and tell him that things were going to work out for him if only he trusted her. And, more than that, Chloe felt a powerful need to tell him she loved him, that she’d been wrong to react the way she had when they’d kissed, and that love could see them through this together. But that was the last thing he would want, or need, at the moment – yet another woman complicating his life.

Never mind, she told herself. Love was giving, not receiving. She loved Tom Carlyle, and she was going to give him all she could in the way of help. She had no right to expect anything in return.

Chloe attacked the emails and paperwork which had built up that afternoon in her absence, and it was only when she felt droplets on her hands on the keyboard that she noticed her cheeks were wet.

Chapter Eleven

The approach came out of nowhere that afternoon, and was all the more frightening for it.

Chloe had done all she could for the day, as regards both her work and her investigation into Tom’s predicament, and she decided to spend some time with Jake. He was clamouring to go outside, so she strapped him into his pushchair and set off on a variation of her usual walk around the lanes near the cottage.

The brilliant late-afternoon light bathed the fields, picking out and enhancing the bright colours of wild flowers. A soft summer breeze ruffled the grass and brought with it the distant lowing of cows.
Such peace around us
, Chloe thought,
and yet such turmoil within our hearts and our lives
. It was the story of the human race, she supposed.

There was very little traffic on this particular road, so every vehicle was noteworthy. The one approaching in the distance was travelling slowly enough that Chloe had plenty of time to move over to the side with the pushchair. As the car drew nearer, Chloe saw there was something vaguely familiar about it. It was a red Mercedes, not a common sight around Pemberham.

The car slowed ten yards ahead of her, then stopped. Chloe assumed it was somebody from out of town, wanting to ask directions, until the driver’s door opened and a woman stepped out.

She was tall, with expensively teased and highlighted blonde hair, a poised, slender figure, and dark sunglasses perched on regal cheekbones. Chloe recognised her immediately.

Rebecca.

The woman stood by her car, her head tilted back a fraction, her feet slightly apart and clad in chic if precarious-looking high heels. One hand rested on her hip, the other on the roof of the car. It was an assured pose, arrogant and aggressive in equal measure.

‘Chloe Edwards.’

It was a statement, not a question. Chloe said, ‘Yes, that’s me.’

‘You need to back off.’

Chloe glanced around her. ‘You’re standing in front of me, and you’re saying
I
need to back off?’

‘You know what I mean.’ The woman’s voice had an edge to it. It was an educated voice, one that was used to being paid attention to and obeyed.

Chloe said, her own voice as steady as she could manage, ‘No, I’m afraid I don’t know what you mean.’

Rebecca crossed one elegant ankle in front of the other. ‘But you know who I am.’

‘Yes, of course.’

‘”Of course”.’ Chloe didn’t think she had a particularly distinctive accent but Rebecca succeeded in mimicking it uncannily. ‘I suppose you
would
know who I was. Conspiring with your boyfriend to keep my daughter away from me.’

‘Tom’s not my “boyfriend”’, Chloe said, unease starting to creep up her back. She glanced down at Jake in the pushchair but he was asleep. ‘He’s a friend, that’s all.’

‘A
friend
who gropes his female patients, it seems,’ Rebecca said, her voice like a whiplash.

‘Yes, well, you’d know all about that, wouldn’t you?’ Chloe retorted. She immediately regretted saying it. She didn’t want to inflame the situation, just wanted to get away from this woman as quickly as she could.

Rebecca took a step towards her, then another, her heels clicking on the tarmac in the quiet haze of the afternoon. Chloe stood her ground, though her instinct was to turn the pushchair aside and interpose herself between her son and Rebecca. She scanned the surroundings again. There wasn’t another living soul in sight. How unbalanced was the woman, she wondered? Was she likely to attack Chloe, even with her son present? Chloe felt her pulse quicken, her throat constrict, every nerve in her body strain to protect her child.

Very quietly, Rebecca said, ‘This isn’t your concern. It isn’t your battle. So back off.’

‘What makes you think I’m involved?’

Rebecca said nothing, her eyes invisible under the dark glasses.

In spite of herself, Chloe pressed on: ‘Isn’t it a coincidence, that you appear here to confront me, just hours after I’ve been to see Sabrina Jones, or whatever her name is?’ There – Rebecca had recoiled a fraction at the mention of the other woman’s name. ‘Because she told you about my visit, didn’t she? And you knew I wasn’t there on behalf of the newspaper. You knew I was on to you, and that I’m going to find out the truth about what you’re doing to Tom.’

For a long second Chloe was sure Rebecca was going to take a swing at her. The rage was coursing through the woman visibly, making her quiver like a bowstring. Then she raised a finger and waved it, slowly, the action somehow even more menacing than if she’d clenched her fist.

‘Do
not
push your luck with me, you interfering bitch.’

‘Or else what?’ Chloe said coolly. ‘We’ll all see what you’re capable of? Well, I think you’ve shown us that already, and frankly it’s not all that impressive. It’s quite laughably amateurish, if you want to know. But by all means, have a go.’

Rebecca pursed her lips and breathed out, slowly, as if she couldn’t believe anyone dared to speak to her like that. She stepped back until she was alongside the Mercedes, opened the door and climbed back in, all the while watching Chloe. As she disappeared behind the wheel and pulled the door shut, Chloe thought she saw the faintest of smiles playing about Rebecca’s lips.

The Mercedes took off in a squeal of tyres and dust. Chloe watched it disappear into the distance.

She peered at Jake, and saw thankfully that he was still asleep. Heaving the pushchair to the side of the road, Chloe dropped to sit beside it, her legs suddenly too fragile to support her. The aftershock of the adrenaline surge hit her and she gripped her elbows to try to stop the shaking in her hands.

Chloe had always hated encounters of this kind, confrontations with a simmering undercurrent of violence. They left her shaken and depressed. As she breathed deeply, steadying her nerves, Chloe realised the most disturbing part hadn’t been the isolation of the surroundings, or Rebecca’s blunt warnings. Rather, it had been the small smile on the woman’s face as she’d left.

What was she planning next?

Nonetheless, as Chloe began to recover her composure, she reflected that she’d held her own rather well, if she said so herself. She’d shown herself neither flustered nor intimidated by the other woman, and had made it quite clear to her that she understood the game she was playing and wasn’t going to allow it to succeed. If nothing else, Rebecca would have left the encounter realising that Chloe was no pushover. And if that was unlikely to make her desist entirely from her persecution of Tom, it might at least give her pause, sow the seeds of doubt in her mind as to whether or not it really was worth following the course of action she’d chosen.

But, as she rose and brushed the pollen off her trousers, Chloe still felt unsettled. The fact that Rebecca had driven out here to find Chloe suggested she knew where Chloe lived. Might she be capable of doing something drastic, confronting Chloe in her own home? Harming Jake, even? Chloe couldn’t bear even to consider it. She debated whether or not to contact Tom and tell him about the episode. In the end she decided not to, not just yet. Once she had a bit more on Sabrina Jones, she’d speak to Tom, and she’d mention Rebecca’s visit then, too.

When Chloe arrived back at the cottage with Jake, Margaret McFarland was in her own front garden tending her roses. She gave the pair a cheery smile and wave, but as Chloe approached the older woman’s brow knitted in concern.

‘My dear, what’s happened?’

Chloe stared at her, confused. ‘What do you mean?’

‘You’re as white as a sheet. Are you feeling ill?’

Clearly the encounter had shaken Chloe even more than she’d realised. She attempted a smile. ‘A little too much sun, I think. I’ll be fine.’

‘Cup of tea will put you right.’ And before Chloe knew it, she and Jake were being bundled inside.

***

As it happened, Tom was spared the difficulty of choosing a time to speak to Rebecca about the allegations against him, because she came to him first.

It was Wednesday evening at nine, and the interviewer from the
Pemberham Gazette
had been and gone an hour earlier. A polite young man named Simon, he’d listened to Tom’s categorical denial of the allegations against him and given Tom ample opportunity to add comments of his own. Tom had added that he’d never met or even heard of Sabrina Jones before now, and certainly had never been to her house. The journalist asked a few more pertinent questions, explained that there’d be an article in Monday’s edition of the
Gazette
which would try its best to incorporate any newer information that might come to light before then, and took his leave.