The Grace in Older Women (42 page)

'Was it those letters from . . . that Camelot bloke, became
President of the USA? I remember now. Cityman talked me into it, his faked
letters.' I chuckled. 'I think he's Tinker's pal.' Had there been some supposed
letters from randy old King Teddy too? 'Look, Mr. Geake, if you wanted to sell
them to the Americans at the George, I'll get you something really worthwhile
in that line, okay? Who're you interested in? Can't just be that randy Yank
politician, can it?' I tried to stand, but he kept his grip on my wrist.

'No, Lovejoy. Your interest in the American visitors is too close
for your own good.'

'You mean Mahleen?' I'd done as I was told by everybody on earth.

'The fake letters. I wanted them destroyed, Lovejoy. It's a
service I have done these many years.'

'Buying fake letters from antique shops just to burn?'

'I think you know, Lovejoy.' He was whispering in a monotone. 'The
magic man himself was briefly stationed in East Anglia during the war. Torpedo
craft. It was inevitable, to father a child on some barmaid. Happened a million
times, troops everywhere. But past sins are disasters - for some. And
opportunities for others.' Sins? Opportunities? 'I don't know what you're on
about.' 'Oh, but you do, Lovejoy.' He paused. I could tell that he was
listening. He relaxed, continued. ‘Or why would you knock the lot down to
Father Jay?' He did his weary sigh. 'Poor man. I have felt pity for him all
these years. I learnt of his origin - cousins, you know, he and I. His mother
was the illegitimate wartime child. She unwisely left a diary about it after
the Dallas tragedy. She was frightened, the political dynasty proving so
lethal. Jay was her only offspring. She died in a road accident.' 'Father Jay?'
I couldn't think. 'But his name's Smith.' 'He made sure of that. Built up a
convincing past. Entered the one remaining occupation where celibacy would
protect him.' He sounded so whispering reasonable. 'Stay a priest and, however
exotic his diploma-mill holy orders, he'd never have to reveal his origin.' I
knew he'd turned his head. I couldn't see a damned thing. 'Marriage is the
canker, Lovejoy. It exposes a man to every possible interrogation. Hourly, for
life. I had to assume the responsibility. See the village's demise was
accelerated - schemes failing, restaurants contaminated, Dame Millicent's herd
infected, ancient land rights blocking developments.'

'Listen, Mr. Geake.' Suddenly I wanted Big John's goons to haul
in. 'The Americans are here to help Mrs. Battishall. She's quite scatty, says
she's descended from Bonnie Prince Charlie. Claptrap. But she'll make a killing
- er, fortune - claiming the American throne. Barmy, off her nut. There isn't
one!' I laughed. He made no noise. No wonder Father Jay had looked
thunderstruck when I mentioned having to meet my American tourists. I rushed on
with my promises. 'I won't say anything about Father Jay topping Tryer. Honest.
Soon as I'm out of here I'll -' 'No, Lovejoy. No "out of here" for
you.' 'Not . . . ?' I echoed, daft. I couldn't see what he meant. 'I did Tryer,
poor chap. Ignorant, stupid. Utterly useless. God knows, I’d had enough run-ins
with his like when I was in the force. Tryer's death kept the village out of
the limelight. I couldn't possibly have silly letters claiming that America's
golden politico had left a by-blow here on our fair shores, could I?'

'But it's made up!' I yelled. 'The whole fucking exhibition was
forgery! It was even advertised as fake, start to finish!' I shed tears.
Threatened by honesty. Usually the opposite does me down.

'You know how fakes get represented in the tabloid press, Lovejoy.
They are the true fakers, are they not?'

'Sir. Look, please.' I wished he could see I was really fawning,
grovelling to agree with anything. 'Father Jay - whatever he's really called -
he was bidding too! I knocked 434 down to him! He's safe!' I injected a cheery
laugh.

'Did you really not know, Lovejoy?' he asked mildly.

'Course I didn't!'
Geake was
lame!
I'd seen that dragging foot. I could run, get away. I shifted my
weight experimentally. His grip tightened, iron. Was he armed, a gun? Even
bobbies aren't allowed them.

'So much untruth, Lovejoy. Where is the real thing? Like my
injury. I had to run down the old clergyman. Maudie said that you'd been
asking.'

'You deliberately . . . ?' I couldn't get it out.

'Wrapped the old man's motor? Of course. Thus providing Father Jay
with a remote country incumbency where he could live in anonymity. He only had
to apply. What other priest would want a dying village?'

True. Vicars go crazy for an active parish.

'I had a hard time proving disability. The medical profession can
be most obliging, when threatened.'

Bloody hell. He was fit, didn't need to limp at all. And a
huntsman. I'd seen him riding at Dame Millicent's. 'Look, Mr. Geake. I'll -'
Promises, coherent and otherwise, babbled out of me.

'Get up, Lovejoy.'

I rose, blubbering and clutching at him. I felt my fingers touch
cold metal. Christ, a gun? I heard myself groan in fear.

'Up you go. Head for the stairs.'

The pig had hold of my wrist. I got up and shuffled. I tried a
despairing lunge to one side, blundering into a huge plant. He laughed a low
laugh at my antics, put the barrel against my cheek.

‘Be good.' Like giving me a parking ticket.

'I don't know which way,' I stuttered, trying.

He propelled me along. He'd do me in here, or maybe up in the

corridor, be in the clear. With angry hoods scouring East Anglia
for me, who'd suspect a retired peeler?

'They'll hear, Geake!' I fell over my feet.

His grip held. 'No they won't, Lovejoy.'

Won't. So he didn't intend to shoot me. Of course, for weapons are
traceable. Unless I made a run for it he'd not fire. I blundered into the
bottom of the spiral staircase, felt for the railing.

'Slowly, Lovejoy. Step at a time.'

One. Two. A third. I was whining in a continuous shrill
supplication. Five, six, a slow seven. I'm pathetic, always terrified, always
losing, hopeless.

What would he do, club me senseless at the top and send me
hurtling down? No, for I might fall safely, except it was a hell of a way down,
for here came steps eleven, twelve, thirteen. But near the staircase there was
only that flat non-slip paving. I'd be sure to slam myself vertically down onto
that, dashing my brains out. . .Sixteen, seventeen. God Almighty, who builds a
conservatory with that height to the entrance? Some lunatic architect trying
for effect, that's who, never mind the safety of people like me . . .

'Please, Mr. Geake,' I tried one last time, 'I'll help you -

He sounded so reassuring, 'I'll make it quick, Lovejoy. I've never
been vindictive.'

Then close to my face a voice screamed, 'Mind, Lovejoy!' I ducked,
terrified, flailing to one side and almost tumbling over the frigging railing
as something swiped past my face, tendrils whipping by my forehead and almost
taking my eyes. There was a horrible bump behind me. The grip went from my
wrist. I scrabbled for hold as I felt myself fall sideways, caught hold and
clung for dear life, while that screaming went on and on and I thought, run for
it you stupid little cow instead of standing there on top of the spiral iron
staircase screaming your silly little head off . . . It was me screaming.

And then tried finding a foothold because I was dangling, managed
to get my right leg hooked round the railing, clawed myself back to the top
step. I made a dive for where I guessed the door might be, knocked myself
practically cold on some iron, fell groping, groaning, found my hand taken in
hers. Cold corridor air wafted over us both and we were running demented along
the corridor towards the light at the end.

'Shut up, Lovejoy!' she said. 'They'll hear us!'

I didn't care. I wanted everybody in the world to hear me, alive,
say I was under arrest, anything away from that madman. But she seemed to have
guessed right, and had got me free, so I stopped yelling blue murder and ran
obediently in silence by Holly's side, through the blinding light of the hall,
out through the open door and into the night.

35

The night, cars swathing the trees, a rising wind, distant shouts,
the hotel behind us glowing like a Christmas tree. And me and Holly. I had to
halt, winded, after a million-league dash, beyond the lawn pond. What was that
about hiding in a thicket? I was done for, gasping in a hollow, a terrible
stitch in my side. No moon, of course, lazy swine too idle to come and help. We
could just about see the pallor of each other's face. My stitch cramped me. The
shouts began.

'This is exciting, Lovejoy!' she said.

'Shhh, you silly, er, child.' I hadn't to forget she was only
sixteen. 'They'll hear!'

We'd been lucky. They'd already searched this field, moved on.

She sounded thrilled at all this excitement. 'They're looking for
you! Will they kill me as well?'

I grabbed her throat. 'I'm going to get clear.'

'Fucking marvellous, Lovejoy.' She went dreamy. 'It feels -'

'You're off your head, silly mare.'

'All that attention!' She sounded envious. Water was seeping into
my shoes. 'Is it for killing Chemise's meat?'

Hateful hearing a lass, practically an infant, talking crude
slang. 'I didn't. Geake did.'

'Serves the bastard right,' she said piously. 'Why didn't you go
back down and shoot him with his gun? I'd have done it. You bottled out.' A
child telling me I did wrong not to murder? It must be TV.

A motor started up, lumbered round the fields, quartering the area
where the cars had been standing. I raised my head from the grass, saw another
motor start, beam headlights moving. Somebody climbed into a third. Two came
from the lane leading to the Battishalls' drive. The sods were hunting in.
Several blokes started to trot from the hotel. Every light in the place was on.
Were they in league with Geake? Had he told them to go out and get me?

Some night creature rustled past, unconcerned.

'Look, Holly.’ I licked my lips. I could escape without her.

‘Yes, Lovejoy?'

'Help me, love. They'll find me if I stay here. My only hope is to
nick a motor.' Two more cars arrived, presumably Big John's entourage joining
the fun.

She giggled. 'Did you see Mr. Geake tumble? I hit him with a pot I
could hardly lift! I had to guess where his head was. It must've been lovely to
see him go.' She made a whining sound, falling, went, 'Thump! I wished I'd a
camera. It was Mr. Geake caught old Ashley with me. The laugh's on him now.'

'Aye, hilarious.' Piety and murder are pals.

They would give chase if they saw somebody running through this
country gloom. But she might get shot or something, if they were as serious as
I thought. But only a swine would think of sacrificing this life-saving bird to
save his own cowardly skin.

'What do you want me to do, darling?'

'Decoy.' Darling? Too many darlings spoil the broth.

'How?'

'Like this,' I said. 'When I say, run hard to our left. They'll
follow you. Hide, duck and dive as long as you can. Meanwhile, I'll escape,
see? I'll get to, er, Norwich.'

'Where will we meet up, sweetheart?'

Bad news this. 'Er, Havelock's Auctioneers, Norwich.’

i own you now, Lovejoy. Save a life, own the life.'

Who'd said that? ‘Yes.' I chuckled, unconvincing.

'I insist on a trial cohabilitation, Lovejoy.'

'Eh? Oh, aye, sure.' I swallowed. What do they teach them at
school these days? To my surprise she pressed her mouth on mine. I pulled away,
pushed her off. ‘Get going. Good luck.'

She'd need it. There'd be a good two dozen hoods after her. I saw
her wriggle along the hollow until it gave out and then she ran fast. I waited
until the shouts rose, then eeled through the darkness in the opposite
direction. I'd thoughtfully shoved her towards tangled thickets, leaving me the
open lane. Maybe, deep down, I was anxious for her to escape, at least give
them a run for their money. Or maybe I meant me, more like.

Five minutes, I made the hedgerows beside the winding lane leading
back to the hotel. The lights behind me were a godsent beacon. I plodded
skittering along the undergrowth towards the trunk road's orange skyglow. I was
shaking and damp. I heard the cries begin behind me, tried to run but only fell
over more roots so slowed to a cautious trudge. No good breaking a limb. I'd
never get away if I did that.

Then I heard her screams and thought, poor Holly. In fact I almost
halted, maybe to turn back and try to help her. But what good would that do?
Reason came to my aid in the nick of time. Holly'd saved me, true? And
willingly gone haring off to decoy them away so I could make it to safety. What
would be the point of throwing away Holly's sacrifice? She wanted - wanted-me
to escape, game girl. It was her plan, for heaven's sake. Relieved my guilt was
conquered, I moved on, edging round the thicker obstacles, silently holding the
boles of smaller trees to avoid splashing in puddles. It was that caution that
saved me from walking into Sheehan's roadblock.