Rotten Apples (33 page)

‘But it's extremely difficult to get a Home Office warrant for phone-tapping.'

There was a superior-sounding laugh down the telephone. ‘If you genuinely believe that only legal tapping goes on. I'm afraid that your ideals have got the better of your common sense.'

‘Have they indeed? When shall we meet?'

‘I could drop in on my way to a meeting this afternoon.'

‘I'm not at home, in fact I'm with my husband at Dowting's. I don't terribly want to leave, since he's…'

‘Well, it's hardly urgent. Why not call me when you're free?'

‘Fine. Thank you. Just tell me how old she is, if you know that.'

‘I do indeed. She's forty.'

Well, she's clearly not his daughter, thought Willow as she was left holding the receiver and trying to contain her curiosity. Slowly she walked back into the Intensive Care Unit and down the long vinyl-floored passage to Tom's room. She was not even looking at him when she opened the door and his voice took her by surprise.

‘Will, I thought you'd gone.'

She looked at him then, her face softer than he had ever seen it ‘You must have known I wouldn't do that. Not now.'

He held out his hand, still tied to the bags and bottles. ‘How are you?'

‘Me? I'm fine.' She stood at his side, gazing at him and then suddenly remembering the last time she had looked at herself in a mirror. ‘Although I know I must look like the wrath of God.'

His lips widened into the smile that she had almost forgotten. ‘Not wrath,' he said in his faint voice. ‘Just irritation.'

For a minute or so she could not think what he was talking about and then remembered their last breakfast before the shooting. It felt as though it had happened years before. She sank down on to her knees beside the bed and laid her forehead against the back of his hand. With some difficulty he reached his other hand across his body so that he could stroke her head.

MUCH LATER, when she was back in her chair and had drunk yet another cup of hospital tea, he said, ‘What have you been doing while I've been dead to the world?'

‘Didn't you hear anything? I used to chat to you sometimes when I visited.'

He shook his head. ‘I didn't hear anything. As far as I knew last night was the night I was shot. But from the look of you, Will, I'd have said you'd been up to something.'

‘You could put it like that'She wondered how strong he was feeling and whether he was up to hearing an account of her activities.

‘How are the tax gatherers?' he asked when he realised that she was not going to tell him.

Inexpressibly touched that he should remember what she had been doing when he was shot, she smiled a little. ‘A pretty peculiar bunch, but you were quite right that I'd find them interesting.'

Before she could get any further the door of Tom's room opened and they both looked round. Superintendent Blackled strode forward and put his hand on Tom's left shoulder.

‘They told me you'd come round. How're you feeling?'

‘Not too bad at all, sir. Good of you to come. Do you know my wife. Willow King?'

Black Jack turned and winked at her. ‘Of course I know her. Hasn't she told you how she's our latest heroine?'

‘What?' Tom squinted down at his bandaged chest. ‘Because of all this?'

‘Not exactly, but if she hasn't told you, I won't. It's her story.'

‘Will?'

‘It's all a bit melodramatic, Tom. I'm not sure you want to hear it quite yet.'

He closed his eyes and said: ‘Have you been going after the people who shot me?'

‘No. I haven't done anything about that at all. There wasn't anything I could do.'

‘We'll get them, Tom. Now you can give us a statement and identify the little toerags, I don't suppose we'll have any more trouble with the CPS,' said the superintendent ‘Don't you worry about a thing, my boy.'

Tom opened his eyes and looked up. ‘I wasn't worrying about that, sir, just about what my wife has been up to. If not my attempted assassins, then who? What's under those bandages and behind that scarf, Will?'

It was obvious that he was not amused any more and seemed to be trying to struggle up.

A nurse came running into the room. ‘Now, now, calm down,' she said. ‘What's the matter?'

‘What do you mean?' demanded Willow.

‘I suspect my heart monitor's going bananas,' said Tom grimly. I'm fine, but I want to know what's been happening. Someone's been strangling you, haven't they?'

The nurse looked horrified. Black Jack told her that there was nothing to worry about and after checking Tom's various drips, she stood back away from the bed.

‘Will? Has someone been strangling you?'

‘Not very effectively,' she said, upset that they could not have kept the news from him until he was stronger. ‘It's too early for you to bother about it. When you're stronger, I'll tell you the full story.'

‘No. Tell me now. I'll have a relapse worrying if I don't know.'

‘Don't you fret yourself, Tom. Your little woman here is the toughest thing since Pocahontas.'

‘Pocahontas died of cold, sir. Will, what the hell's been going on?'

‘I think you should tell him whatever it is he wants to know,' said the nurse. ‘He'll rest more easily.'

‘Thank God someone's got some sense.'

‘All right,' said Willow. ‘As your superintendent has so tactfully raised the subject, I'll tell you. Someone set fire to the tax building. I escaped without too much difficulty, guided down the wall by a passing mountaineer.' Seeing her husband's glinting smile, she smiled too. ‘Perfectly true, in fact. You'll probably meet him.'

‘But you didn't get bruises round your throat from that I can see them now that scarf thing's slipped.'

‘No. They were from the arsonist. I'll tell you all…' Willow broke off as she saw tears seeping out from beneath Tom's closed eyelids. She turned to Blackled and jerked her head to send him out of the room. He grasped the nurse by her wrist and took her with him out of the room.

When they were alone again, Willow took a tissue from the box on Tom's bedside table and clumsily wiped his eyes. ‘It's all right, Tom. It just happened. But I'm fine. Don't worry about it. It's all over. A nice chap called Stephen Harness, who seems to know you, has the bloke in custody. He's confessed. The bloke, I mean, not Harness. It's all over.'

Tom lifted his eyelids. ‘I wish you wouldn't do these things,' he said, sounding unutterably weary. ‘I'm sorry if it makes me seem like a caveman, but I wish you could remember… You take such dreadful risks, and you go on doing it and on and on and on.'

Willow, hurting for him and longing to apologise, to swear never to step outside the house without permission, kept a firm grip on reality. By then she had learned the better way, and knew enough of herself to understand how much she would come to resent any of the things she wanted to promise. She stood beside him, smiling down.

‘For a man who's been lying in a coma for a week or more, that's pretty rich, I must say.'

To her immense relief he grinned weakly, sniffed, and then said: ‘Give me one of those tissues, damn you, and tell me the whole story.'

She did, censoring some bits, telling him every minute detail of others. She scored her greatest success with a description of the walk through the royal parks when she had been caught talking to herself. At that Tom laughed until his breath gave out, and told her she was wonderful.

Much Later, when Tom had been out of hospital for about ten days and felt up to receiving visitors again, Stephen Harness was allowed to visit him. Tom was lying along one of the silver-grey sofas in the drawing room, dozing over a new book recommended by Eve Greville. Willow was stretched out on the other sofa, writing letters to the last of the many people who had sent them both flowers, and keeping an eye on Tom to make sure he was not in too much pain.

He was still pale and looked much thinner than he had ever been before. Small frustrations tired him out and he could not gauge when his energy was about to fail him. Food, even Mrs Rusham's food gave him no pleasure, and he had to force himself to eat more than a mouthful at any meal. He slept badly at night, tormented by headaches. During the day he tended to become fretful if Willow was away for too long or if one of the neighbours started making a noise or a car backfired.

Visitors were carefully screened and well briefed either by Mrs Rusham or Willow herself to stay no longer than half an hour. She longed for the time when Tom's old easy, teasing tolerance would return and he would be himself again.

That evening the air felt fresher than it had during the heatwave, and they had been sitting out in the little courtyard garden until Tom began to feel uncomfortable in his deck chair and they moved indoors. The French windows were still open and the late evening sun was flooding into the room, casting a warm light over the silver greys and calm pinks of the room. Tom seemed relatively relaxed.

When Mrs Rusham brought in Chief Inspector Harness, Willow got up to greet him. He handed her a large bunch of red and white roses, wrapped in cellophane and tied with ribbon.

‘You won't mind if Tom doesn't move, will you?' said Willow, ushering the visitor towards Tom's sofa. She gave his flowers to Mrs Rusham to put in water. It's bad for him to keep popping up and down.'

‘She's turning into a terrible tyrant, Steve. How are you?' said Tom, holding out his right hand.

‘Pretty good,' said Harness. ‘What about you? You look a lot better than reports that have filtered through to me suggested you would.'

‘I'll leave you to it,' said Willow, heading towards the door.

‘Why?' demanded Tom. He sounded petulant, which was so unlike him that Willow stopped at once and smiled at him. ‘We're not going to bore you with shop talk, you know.'

‘I'd be riveted with shop talk. You know that. I just don't want to get in the way.'

‘Don't be a clot. Drink, Steve? And do sit down.'

‘A drink would be very nice if you're having something. But don't trouble just for me.'

‘We will be. What have you got in the fridge, Evelyn?'

Mrs Rusham smiled cosily at him. ‘There's some champagne, of course, and a couple of bottles of that rather nice Alsace wine that Mrs Worth ordered last month. Or there are all the ordinary things.'

‘The wine'll do fine.' Tom stopped as though he had thought of something and deliberately smiled at Willow. ‘Unless you'd rather have champagne, Will? I'm sorry. I was being selfish and remembering the awful wind that last bottle we had gave me.'

Mrs Rusham blushed and backed out of the room.

‘Now you've shocked her,' said Willow, glad to see his smile.

‘Nothing I could do or say would shock her while I'm an invalid,' he announced with all the satisfaction of a child who has got away with a piece of deliberate naughtiness. He added in more adult tones: ‘I'll know I'm better when she starts to freeze me out again and demands that I call her Mrs Rusham.'

‘How did you know that she's called Evelyn?'

‘Rob told me.'

Willow smiled. She had packed off both Fydgetts to live in Fiona's house as soon as the hospital told her that Tom was fit enough to go home, but Rob had been back several times and it bad begun to look as though he might become a fixture in their lives.

Tom was nodding as Stephen Harness decided it was time he joined in the conversation.

‘How is young Fydgett?'

‘Getting on all right, I think, though no thanks to your lot. He and Tom are quite matey these days. They play chess together after school, but I don't think they talk to each other at all.'

‘Talk?' repeated Tom, laughing and looking much more familiar. ‘Certainly not You don't think me and Rob have gone all girly, do you, Will? He does me good, you know, Steve. All these affectionate women keep wanting to know how I feel. Rob wouldn ‘t ask me anything so personal in a hundred years.'

Willow made an undignified face at her husband and stuck out her tongue for a moment, glorying in his mockery. Harness looked surprised and turned to Mrs Rusham in relief. She had come back without the roses and was offering him a glass of Hugel's Gewurtztraminer and a plate of miniature pancakes rolled around a mixture of smoked salmon mousse and chips of cucumber.

‘Thank you very much. They look delicious.'

Mrs Rusham let him have a pancake and then took her tray of goodies to Tom's sofa.

‘Can't I tempt you to a little food? It's all fish—good for your brain cells.'

Tom laughed and accepted one tiny stuffed pancake. When she had gone, leaving the plate of pancakes and the bottle on a table near Willow's sofa. Harness turned to Willow.

‘You'll be glad to hear that Hallten is standing by his confession and the CPS is going to run with it. The trial will go ahead as soon as possible. Probably next winter some time.'

‘Did he get bail?' asked Tom.

‘Yes. The view was taken that he's been so chastened by what happened that he's hardly likely to be a danger to the public. And that sensible wife of his has got him in the hands of an excellent shrink, who seems to be sorting him out'

‘What about the money?' asked Willow.

Harness turned to smile at her. ‘It's all on the National Health.'

‘I didn't mean the shrink. I meant the tax he owes and the other debts. From what his wife told me, he hasn't a hope of paying them.'

‘I understand that he's filed for bankruptcy, which will clear all the debts, including the tax, and she's working as a secretary again to bring in enough to feed them and pay the rent. He takes care of the child while she's out. It all looks as though it'll work out reasonably well.'