Theft on Thursday (22 page)

Lois got out of the van and looked around. The stable yard was muddy with the rain, and a whinny from one of the loose boxes reminded her that Mrs. T-J kept a couple of hunters for her own use. Lois walked over to check on them, and stepped straight into thick mud. She looked down, furious with herself. New shoes, too! Then she saw the tracks. The security lights were bright, and she identified quite clearly the tracks of a car. And over in the shadows more showed up. Soon she realized they criss-crossed the entire yard. A number of cars had been here then, and quite recently. Damn! Must have been a short party … unless it continued somewhere else.

A stab of panic hit Lois. Where had they gone now—and why?

T
HE
W
YCOMBE
S
OCIETY WAS ON THE MOVE
. S
HARON
, back in Max’s car, was feeling decidedly peculiar. “Am I a bit out of it?” she asked Max, and giggled. Had she had too many glasses of that stuff, whatever it was? She couldn’t remember. She felt a bit sleepy, and not able to focus properly. But at the same time, she felt marvellous. She’d been the star of the party! They’d all crowded round her, asking Max to introduce them. After a while, she’d begun to see herself as the heroine of one of her novels. Little village mouse makes it into the big time! Now she knew the sky was the limit. She felt invincible. Max had shushed them all, and had made a speech, while they all hung on his every word. Something about perverts? She didn’t really approve of that kind of language, but Max had sounded so grand. She was going out with somebody really important! If only he’d do something about his teeth. Sharon giggled again, and Max found her hand, squeezing it and sending lovely shivers through her. If only Sandy had been there, like Max had said.

“Where’re we going?” she asked again.

“You’ll see,” he said. “We’ll have that barbecue I promised you.”

“Isn’t it a bit cold?” Sharon was sober enough to know her leather jacket was smart, but too short to keep her warm. “No, I’d rather go home,” she said. “If it’s all right with you. Or … we could go to the pub?” Her voice was bright. She felt intelligent and sharp. Equal to any of them, she reckoned. What was it that Annabelle had said just now? Something about Sharon only being there for the power. Only she’d said it in capital letters: The Power.

“Hey,” she said suddenly. “I thought that Annabelle had gone back to London? Mrs. M said her Jamie was a bit upset.” Lois had said nothing of the sort to Sharon, of course, but she had eavesdropped. Useful stuff you could pick up that way. She giggled again. “Bit out of his league there, anyway,” she added.

“Annabelle came back to look after the horses,” Max said shortly. He negotiated a sharp corner, and then Sharon realized where they were. Back in Long Farnden, outside the village hall, and all driving very slowly with no lights, into the car park. Engines were switched off, and there was complete silence. Sharon heard an owl hoot to its mate at the bottom of the playing field. “What’re we doing?” she said, a quaver in her voice.

“Sshh …” Max put his finger to his lips. Silence again.

Sharon shivered. “But …”

“You’ll see,” he whispered. “Not long to wait, but we have to be quiet … Your moment will come very soon.” He grinned at her, but she could not see in the darkness. There was usually a security light at the back of the village hall. Why hadn’t it come on?

Suddenly Sharon felt afraid, and reached for the door handle. “Locked,” whispered Max. “Sit quiet, there’s a good girl. Not long to wait now,” he repeated, and silence fell once more.

T
HE PUB WAS WARM AND WELCOMING
,
AND
B
RIAN OBE
diently ordered himself a half of Best.

“Evenin’, vicar,” said a friendly voice. It was Bill Stockbridge, and by himself, Brian noted. They fell easily into conversation. Bill talked about his church back in Yorkshire, and asked Brian questions which he evaded without trouble. It was so nice to talk to a young man without having to watch every word, reflected Brian. He relaxed, and ordered another half.

“And what are you having?” he asked Bill.

“Same again, thanks,” said Bill. “Aren’t you having another?”

“No, I have to get back,” Brian said, but Bill wasn’t having that.

“Give the vicar another half,” he called to the landlord, as they made their way to the chairs by the roaring log fire.

“Good for business for you, a night in the pub,” said Bill, with a grin. “Mix with the locals, and all that.”

“I suppose that’s true,” said Brian. “But I do have to get back.” His full glass arrived, and looked inviting. Sandy hadn’t said what time his programme was, but the ones he wanted to watch were usually pretty late on. A little longer wouldn’t matter. Bill was a very good-looking lad. Better watch it, though. They talked on, and refilled their glasses. Brian forgot about the programme, but realized Bill was getting fuddled, and worried about him driving back to Waltonby. He supposed he should offer him a lift, but thought he should soon be getting back. There was a reason, wasn’t there? He shook his head to clear it, but he couldn’t remember. For the first time, he felt relaxed and accepted in the pub. And it was quite pleasant to be away from Sandy’s constant sniping. He’d been getting worse lately, no matter how Brian tried to please him. Brian laughed louder than necessary when Bill said he did not
know how the vicar put up with that little squirt who lived with him.

“Sandy, you mean?” What had the boy done to make Bill so virulent? Ah, now he was saying something about Rebecca. All was becoming clear. Sandy had made several passes at Bill’s girl, and she was reciprocating.

“Not the same at home at all,” said Bill thickly. “She’s not my loving Rebecca any more. I could kill him, nasty little—”

“Hey, hold up!” said Brian. “He’s my godson, you know. I have to defend him, I suppose. Though I agree he has a few faults. But he’s done wonders with the choir. You must give him that, Bill. Got a roving eye, yes. But he’s young, still looking around.”

“He’d better look somewhere else then,” said Bill belligerently. “Took up with Sharon Miller and then dropped her again, poor kid.”

“That’s being young, isn’t it?” said Brian wistfully. “Got to play the field until you find the right one.”

Bill stood up. “Well,” he said, clenching his fists, “Rebecca’s the right one for me, and until your Sandy came along, we were very happy. So you can tell him …”

At that moment, Rebecca walked into the pub. “Thought I’d find you here,” she said shortly. She took one look at Bill and ushered him out like a naughty schoolboy. Brian, now mellow and full of goodwill to all men, began another conversation with young farmers up at the bar.

Much later, to his surprise, Rebecca was back. “He’s escaped,” she said, “silly fool. I’ve searched everywhere. Could you possibly help me find him? He’s in no fit state to be out on his own.” She looked at Brian, swaying slightly on his feet. “My God,” she said, “what on earth have you two been up to?”

The end of a perfect day, she thought bitterly, as she took the vicar’s arm to steady him. The governors’ meeting
had ended in acrimony, and then Sandy hadn’t turned up to their rendezvous. And now this. Perhaps it’s time I moved on, she thought to herself. Ah well, first things first. Got to find that big idiot, before he does something stupid.

T
HE RAIN HAD STOPPED
,
AND THOUGH IT WAS LATE
and there was no moon, it was not completely dark. As the unlikely pair trudged slowly arm-in-arm back to the vicarage, Rebecca suddenly stopped. “Hey!” she said. Brian had his head down in a vain attempt to see where he was going. “Hey, Brian! Look at that!” She started off again, at a quick trot, dragging him behind her. He looked fuzzily to where she had pointed and was sober in an instant.

Fire! And coming from the direction of the vicarage. Even as they began to run in earnest, Brian could hear crackles and shouting, and saw showers of sparks shooting up into the air like unseasonal fireworks. Oh, my God! Sandy!

A crowd had gathered, and Mr. Miller from the garage came running up to the vicar. “Thank God you’re safe!” he said. “Fire engine’s been sent for. We don’t know how long it’s been alight, but a while, from the look of it.”

Rebecca pulled away from Brian, but was immediately
grabbed. She screamed. “He might be in there! Sandy might be in there!”

“You’re going nowhere,” Brian said. “Leave it to me.” He got as far as the path to the front door, and was held back at once by several bystanders. He struggled, suddenly enormously strong, but could not break free. He began to sob. “I left him in there,” he said. “He could still be there … gone to sleep … Oh God, please keep him safe,” he moaned.

Then the fire engine could be heard in the distance. But before it reached them, Brian saw a shadow moving across an upstairs window. There, against a fiery backdrop, was the unmistakable silhouette of his godson. Sandy was trying desperately to open a window. It was locked, Brian thought dully. And the window keys were in the kitchen, in an old Ovaltine tin, on the shelf. He fell to his knees, and his captors released him, standing back and staring at the window. Then there was an explosion and a burst of flames and they watched helplessly as the black figure fell back, disappearing into the inferno.

L
OIS WAS IRONING
. S
HE HAD RETURNED HOME UN-
easy and not sure what to do next. Gran was in the middle of a television programme Lois did not want to watch, and Derek was, as usual, snoozing with the newspaper over his face. Ironing was always useful. It was a chance to think uninterrupted. She had the radio turned down low, with soothing music helping her to concentrate.

Nothing more I can do tonight, she decided. Just cross fingers and hope Sharon comes to no harm. Maybe it was just a party, and she would be returned home unscathed. But tomorrow there would be work to do. She intended to find out much more about Max Wedderburn for a start. Gran was bound to know somebody who knew somebody who knew his mother. After all, Gran had lived in Tresham for years, and Lois had been born there. Gran remembered it when it had been a pleasant agricultural market town, with little crime and a strong community spirit. It was already changing in Lois’s childhood, but now she hated to think of those neat rows of houses in the old back streets,
where
her
grandmother had lived, being terrorized by fascist thugs.