Someone Out There (9 page)

‘And how exactly do you plan to get the boy back?’ He made no effort to hide the scepticism in his voice.

Laura told him. As she spoke his eyebrows rose and his lips set in a thin line.

‘Snowball’s chance,’ he said dismissively.

‘Well, yes, I know it’s a long shot but there might … ’ Laura stopped. It was stupid to start justifying herself; it would only further undermine her. She changed what she had been going to say. ‘I felt it was really important to demonstrate that we cared and we wanted to help.’

‘We always care about our clients, Laura. You’ll be aware that that is one of the guiding principles at Morrison Kemp.’

‘I was quite honest with her,’ Laura continued, ‘I told her I couldn’t promise anything.’

‘Of course, you were honest with her. I hope you’ve been honest with her at all times, Laura.’ He paused, took off his glasses and put them down on the desk. He sat up straight in his chair and leaned further towards her. ‘I trust she understands that this firm is not to blame in any way for what’s happened?’

He was waiting for her to dig herself into a hole. She guessed Sarah had told him she had given the forged letter to Mary Hakimi because, so far as Sarah knew, that was what she’d done. She also guessed that he would deny ever telling Sarah to write the letter and was busy distancing himself from the whole thing. She wondered if he had come to some arrangement with Sarah and if that arrangement meant dumping the blame for the deception squarely on Laura. If he believed she had handed over the letter, he would realize at once that it made her vulnerable. He would be licking his lips at the sight of a scapegoat.

‘Absolutely. I hope I was able to convince her of that. By the way,’ Laura added, smiling sweetly at him, ‘do you still want Sarah Cole fired? I met her coming out of your office just now and I was hoping you might’ve had second thoughts.’

He retreated across the desk, replacing his glasses on his hawkish nose. He sat back in his big chair, steepled his fingers together and frowned.

‘I’m afraid she told me a very worrying thing which I don’t think can be right.’

Laura waited, not asking. He wanted her to, but she wasn’t going to give him the satisfaction. He’d have to tell her anyway if he was going to put the blame on her. It didn’t take long.

‘She says Mrs Hakimi was never sent a letter telling her to remind us about the passport order. She tells me that a copy of a letter to that effect, which you gave to Mrs Hakimi yesterday, was in fact a fake and you were well aware of that when you gave it to her.’

It was what she had expected but she still felt shocked that he could be so shameless. How did he sit there and brazenly ignore the truth of what had happened? He showed no sign of embarrassment or regret. Instinctively, she knew what his reaction would be if she reminded him of his involvement. He would give her that thin-lipped, patronising smile and she would hear him whisper, ‘I think you must be mistaken, Laura, and I think I’ve been mistaken about you.’ Then he would throw her to the wolves.

A large part of her wanted to do it, wanted to confront him, make him show his true colours and then, when he had behaved in the despicable way she knew he would, bring her rabbit out of the hat and tell him that his informant was wrong, that no letter had been handed over. It would humiliate him and he deserved it. But she knew it was a step too far. He would not forgive it and she would have made a dangerous enemy.

‘Sarah must be confused. I certainly didn’t give Mrs Hakimi any such letter,’ she told him.

There was a flicker of puzzlement on his face but he recovered fast. He was smart as well as devious.

‘Let me get this straight. Sarah brought you a letter but you didn’t hand it over?’

‘That is correct.’ She took off the heavy spectacles and put them in her jacket pocket. Never again would she let herself be intimidated by this man. She stood up. ‘Is that all,’ she said. It wasn’t a question.

He looked up at her from his big chair. There was something like admiration in his eyes. Worse than his contempt, she thought. It gave her the creeps.

CHAPTER TWELVE

Morrison decided to fire Sarah himself late on Friday afternoon. He told her to clear her desk and leave the building at once. She had gone, but not quietly. Most of the office heard her bitter parting words. Laura wasn’t among them because she’d been busy with a development in the Pelham case, and that was just as well because many of them were aimed at her. They included ‘dumped on’, ‘betrayed’ and ‘up herself.’

Barnes had called to say the police guard on Harry was being withdrawn – he’d been given bail which included a condition that he stayed away from his wife and daughter. It might be some small comfort for Anna, Laura thought.

It was Morrison who let her know what he’d done or at least his version of it. He had told Sarah that forging the letter was inexcusable. He had explained that it was dishonest and therefore he could not give her a second chance though he would, as he termed it, ‘in the interests of all concerned’ give her a generous pay-off and a glowing reference. Presumably he hoped this would be enough to buy her silence on the matter. He had also told her that, but for Laura’s good sense, the firm would be in deeper trouble than it already was because of her original mistake. Laura winced. She could imagine what else Morrison had said. In his poisonous way he would have left Sarah in no doubt that Laura was to blame for what had happened to her.

‘Good riddance,’ he said in a cheerful tone, rubbing his hands together. The hiss and whisper of the morning were gone.

‘Now,’ he continued, ‘I’ve been meaning to talk to you about the Law Society dinner next week. I’d like you to come. Good chance for you to get to know the people who matter in this part of the world.’

Jesus, she thought, what it was to be back in favour. She forced a smile, told him she’d be delighted to go.

But that was next week and this was Saturday morning and Saturday mornings belonged to Valentine. There he was at the stable door, looking out for her, excited and eager to be off on a ride. He was a little bit wild and mad and she loved him for that. The stables’ owner, Michael Donoghue, had nicknamed him ‘Crazy Horse’. Sometimes, when they were galloping over the Downs, she wasn’t sure who was in charge, but he never frightened her and never let her fall.

She had agreed with Michael that others could ride him during the week but she knew he wasn’t popular – a lot had tried him and never asked for him again. He took lorries, tractors, busy roads in his stride but, if he didn’t like the rider, he could be difficult. He would get a wicked look in his eye and do his best to scare them half to death.

Laura had been riding since she was eight, but never before had she known a horse quite like Valentine. It was as if they were made for each other and he seemed as happy with her as she was with him. He could read her mind, she thought, could understand her. They flew across the hills together as one being.

Joe had given her Valentine as a birthday present just after they’d moved to Sussex. She had protested; said it was too much, but Joe insisted, telling her that now he was a partner in Greene’s he could afford it. It was the first time in his life he’d had any money and he wanted to spoil her. Together they set off to find the perfect horse. As it happened, it hadn’t taken long for Valentine was only the second horse they looked at. Laura knew the moment she met him that he was the one.

‘What shall we call him?’ she’d asked.

Joe had rolled his eyes at her.

‘Come on, honey, you must know the answer to that one. Or am I just a hopeless romantic?’

And then she’d got it, of course. Her birthday was on Valentine’s Day. His name, no doubt about it, was Valentine.

As she reached the stable, the horse moved his head towards her. The white star on his forehead – the only part of him that wasn’t a deep glossy black – nuzzled against her arm, then her pockets for the peppermints he knew would be there. She gave him one and stroked his neck.

‘It’s been a shit week, Valentine, and I’ve been so looking forward to seeing you,’ she told him.

It was a cold, windy morning in late October and maybe the wind was upsetting him because he seemed more restless than usual or maybe he’d had a shit week too, bored because no one wanted to ride him. The sooner she was on his back and racing across the downland, the happier they both would be and the sooner her mind could blow away the troubles of the last few days.

Laura leapt up into the saddle. She expected Valentine to be away at once but he stayed put. She had to squeeze with her legs and gently kick her heels to get him to move. It was odd; usually she never had to urge him on.

‘What’s wrong?’ she said in his ear, bending forward and letting the reins go slack. But whatever the trouble was, he seemed to get over it and trotted through the field towards the start of the trail through the woods. She relaxed and sat back as he began to canter. He knew the way. First the woodland track leading out on to the Downs, then a fast and furious gallop across open country towards the sea.

They were reaching the end of the bridle path through the woods. The chill wind was bringing leaves tumbling from the trees. The early frost had gone and the ground had softened. Ahead the view opened up and Valentine sniffed at the sea air and quickened his pace.

Valentine was flying now. Galloping at top speed across the side of the hill, the springy turf flashing beneath his hooves. She felt a buzz go through her, a thrill of excitement, she was carefree and untamed and on top of the world. She let out a yell of exhilaration, and the horse, who’d heard it before, went faster still.

They reached a fence that was the barrier between the downland and some rough woodland that led to the sea and Valentine gathered himself and soared across it. This was their secret. It was where they broke the rules. They were not supposed to cross the fence, the land on the other side was private and out of bounds to horse riders. But they always went this way, because once across the fence, they could take a shortcut through the gorse and trees which led out to a glorious stretch of clifftop riding.

The wind blew strong off the sea, howling in their ears. Together they slowed the pace and Valentine turned sharp left along a narrow path through the woods. It was a stony, uneven track and he had to pick his way carefully along until gradually it became a wider trail between tall trees, the grass underfoot nibbled short by rabbits.

He picked up speed again. This was the run up to the start of the clifftop gallop. She sat forward and called to him over the sound of the wind, ‘Go, Valentine, Go.’

The slope was levelling out and he ate up the ground. She saw the end of the trail, no more than fifty yards away now, leading out to the grassland on the top of the hill. She felt a blast of pleasure, anticipating the best bit of the ride just ahead.

Laura had no idea what hit them. One moment they were galloping out of the woodland towards the open ground, the next she was thrown from Valentine’s back with the force of a giant catapult. She hurtled through the air, instinctively curling her body into a ball, knowing that if she put out an arm to break the fall, she would break the arm.

She landed hard against the hillside with all the breath knocked out of her. She lay still, gasping for air then doubling up with the sudden pain of it. She felt a stab of fear. A fall like that could kill her, she thought stupidly, could break her neck.

She tried moving her head. She remembered a blow on her riding hat when she’d hit the earth, but luckily it hadn’t been a big one, hopefully not enough for a head injury or concussion. But what about her spine? Her backside and left side of her body had jarred heavily against the ground.

She twisted her neck slowly from side to side. She couldn’t feel any pain. Gently she shrugged her shoulders up and down and then, very tentatively, raised the top half of her body from the earth. She sat up, heart racing, breathing heavily. Her ribs screamed and a jolt of pain shot through her left thigh and up her back.

She stretched out her legs. They seemed to be working properly but the movement sent another wave of pain up her back. And then she saw something, something which made her forget all about herself. Her stomach churned.

He was lying on his side about fifteen feet away, his head towards her. He wasn’t making a sound but she knew he was scared, very scared. She could see the whites of his eyes. As she watched, he struggled to get to his feet. He didn’t make it. He crashed back down to the ground.

She stood up and went over to him, not noticing her own pain. She looked in horror at his left foreleg. A length of barbed wire was wrapped around the top of it, the spikes embedded in the leg; the skin was torn and bleeding.

‘Oh Valentine,’ she whispered, panic rising. With an effort, she stifled the sobs that were building in her chest. They would only make him more frightened.

She sat down beside him, tears filling her eyes, and without thinking, put out her hand to stroke the white star on his forehead. In his terror, the movement startled him. He recoiled from her, his body thrashing, and he tried desperately to stand up.

Again he fell back, the vicious wire gouging deeper into his leg. A pool of blood gathered on the ground. He lay still and the panic spiked in her again.

‘Don’t give in,’ she told him, ‘just don’t give in.’

She took off her riding jacket, wincing at the pain in her shoulders and back. She found a sharp stone and tore out the lining. Slowly, so as not to scare him again, she knelt beside his injured foreleg and tied the lining firmly round it to try to stop the bleeding.

She had to get him on his feet and she had to do it fast. She knew about horses, how easily they could give up the fight if they couldn’t stand. A phrase came back to her from a long ago riding lesson, ‘if they’re down, they’re out’.

She crept round to the top of his head, put her hands underneath it and lifted gently. Then she took the reins, brought them over his head, and pulled his head towards her making him push himself up with his hind legs.