Touching the Wire (19 page)

Frank Mason’s hands made a
tent shape and his fingertips tapped together. ‘It depends if we’re holding
this on trust, in which case we would be bound by that. This merely states
instructions, presumably what’s to be done when the ninety-nine years have
passed, not the terms on which we hold it.’

Lucy frowned. ‘So what
happens now?’

‘Unless I find paperwork to
the contrary, if his wife inherited
everything
that will include the
parcel.’

She pushed her hair away
from her eyes. ‘And we can take it away?’

‘She can dispose of it as
she wishes.’

‘We can open it?’ She was
itching to know what was inside. Her hand almost touched it.

He moved the carton. ‘I’ll
need to make a thorough search to satisfy myself we’ve discharged our
responsibility before I release the package. I’ll also require proof of
ownership, ideally your late grandfather’s will. Is your grandmother able to
come to the office?’

‘She’s almost ninety. I
doubt she’d want to make the journey.’

‘Then I’ll need a witnessed
letter allowing one of you to act on her behalf. If you’d like to make another
appointment?’ He pushed back his chair, and stood. ‘Now, if you’ll excuse me, I
have to prepare for my next client.’

The package taunted her. ‘Of
course.’ She got to her feet. ‘We’ve come a long way. Is there any chance you
could fit us in later if we can get hold of the will?’ She glanced at Lucy. ‘If
Grant will be okay with the children?’

‘I’ll text him and tell him
we may be late.’

Mr Mason smiled. ‘Ask Stacey
to pencil you in at five-thirty. I’m here until six anyway.’

‘What if the other packages
arrive?’

‘The same terms will apply.’
He smiled. ‘I’ve no doubt my father charged Mr Blundell for such an eventuality.
We’ll forget inflation, this time.’

***

Two o’clock. Charlotte turned the key in the
lock and picked up her suitcase. Home? The coffee table in the lounge was
overturned, and a whisky glass lay smashed by the lounge wall.

Lucy’s hand on her shoulder
made her jump. ‘Looks like Robin threw his teddy out after the rattle.’

‘He was upset.’

‘And you weren’t?’ Lucy
sniffed. ‘Duncan needs changing.’

‘Use the bathroom.’

‘I’ll be as quick as I can.’

She followed Lucy up the
stairs and yanked open a drawer. She folded clothes into the case. Passport,
driving licence, birth and marriage certificates were in the study, neatly
filed. She stowed them in her handbag, finger’s trembling. Her stomach churned:
she was glad she hadn’t come alone. If Robin turned up in an aggressive mood
she’d leave immediately, and she wasn’t sure she’d ever come back.

It was down to Robin now:
until he could convince her he loved her, and could control his temper, what
they had to say could be said over the phone. Aggressive, destructive… Dobbin…

He lay on his side in the
room Robin had had painted blue for a boy, one leg broken and an ear knocked
off. Dobbin had only been here a week and already she’d let him be damaged. She
knelt by the rockers and stroked the wooden nose.

Lucy walked into the room:
‘Oh, sis. I know Robin must have felt his world had fallen apart, but why did
he have to do this?’

A Transit van clattered to a
halt outside. It reversed into the drive as she opened the front door. Harry
Bamford climbed out. ‘Sorry, love, I got held up. The rocking horse I brought
last week, is it?’

‘Can we get him downstairs
between us?’

‘We got him up there and
we’ve got gravity on our side coming down.’

She led the way up the
stairs. ‘He’s already broken.’

They pulled Dobbin to the
top of the stairs. Harry called down to Lucy. ‘You stand clear with that baby,
love.’

At last Dobbin was safely
secured in the van. She would miss him. ‘Can I pay you now? I may be away for a
while.’

He eyed the mess visible
through the lounge doorway, and nodded his understanding. ‘I’ll do you a bill.
Be right with you, love.’

Guilt, anger, regret… The
walls that had held her dreams now imprisoned her in a magnolia hell: she
couldn’t undo the hurt Robin had inflicted. As Roy knew too well, words spoken
in anger couldn’t be unsaid and actions couldn’t be undone. She wrote a cheque,
scribbling Lucy’s address on the back. ‘You will look after Dobbin for me,
won’t you?’

‘Course I will, love.’

Three o’clock came and went.
No Robin.

Lucy carried Duncan to the
door. ‘Come on, sis. We have to be at Mason and Hargreaves by half-past five.
Let’s go.’

A mile down the road her
shoulders relaxed.

Mum greeted her with a hug.
‘Robin rang. He says you’ve had a silly row. He thought you might be here.’

‘When?’

‘This morning… about ten. He
sounded really worried.’

‘Damn, I forgot to pack my
charger
again
. I could have checked my messages.’

‘I expect he thought you’d
be here.’ Mum’s look was searching.

Lucy stepped to her defence.
‘She’s been with me, Mum.’ 

‘So I see.’ Mum held out her
arms for Duncan. ‘You could have come here, love, instead of driving all the
way to Hampshire.’

‘You’ve enough on your
plate. How are you settling in?’

‘It’s beginning to feel like
home, and it’s better not having stairs. Gran’s resting.’

Home: the brick terrace had
been her only real home. She blinked back tears, and explained about the broken
carving and the parcel at Mason and Hargreaves.

‘Dad wasn’t one for doing
things without a reason, though what the reason is for this bag of tricks…’

‘I have to prove Gran’s
entitled to this thing, whatever it is. We need to borrow Grandpa’s will.’

‘It’ll be among the
paperwork, somewhere.  I’ll ask Gran.’

‘Thanks, Mum. I’ll only need
to borrow it.’

‘I’ll see if she’s awake.’

Voices came from the
bedroom. ‘Don’t fuss, I can manage.’ Gran walked with a stick. She raised it in
admonishment when she saw her. ‘Now what’s this nonsense with Robin, young
lady? You know he’s been phoning? The poor boy’s in bits.’

She couldn’t face opening
raw wounds yet, well-meaning though her family was. ‘Just a row, Gran. I’m
waiting for Robin to apologise.’ She changed the subject resolutely. ‘I need
you to sign a letter, and borrow Grandpa’s will, so I can collect a parcel he
left with the solicitor.’

‘What parcel?’

‘I don’t know, but the
packaging is the same as the one I found by the electricity meter.’

Mum homed in on her distress
but her voice was tinged with bitterness. ‘Charlotte, it’s a lonely life
without a husband.’

‘It’s not that simple.’

Gran sighed. ‘We want you to
be happy, Charlotte. Marriage isn’t all calm water and sunshine, but storms do
blow over.’

 ‘Sis, even Grant and I
argue. Doesn’t Robin deserve time to get over
…’
Lucy
left the sentence unfinished.

Time to get over never being
a father while he was married to her? Time to convince her he’d never hit her
again? Time to word an apology? A sorry, a kiss and a bunch of flowers wouldn’t
cut it this time. But he’d had cause to be angry, upset: a reason to have one drink
too many. Was she being too hard on him? Or was this was how abused wives
began: forgiving, making excuses, condoning emotional blackmail?  For all
she knew he could be finding solace with Nadia right now. She couldn’t hide her
heartbreak.

Mum held her as she did the
last time her world fell apart, when Grandpa’s body had been found. She
released her at last. ‘Promise me you’ll talk to him.’

‘I promise but I need time
to think, by myself. If he rings…’

‘I won’t tell him where you
are. You know what Gran would say?’

Lucy spoke for her. ‘It’ll
all come out in the wash, probably.’

Gran smiled. ‘Well, I’d be
right. These things sort themselves out. Now, what’s this you want me to sign,
Charlotte.’

Charlotte fiddled with the strap of her
handbag. The office door clicked open and Mr Mason shook the hand of his
previous client. He turned to them. ‘Ladies, I’m sorry to have kept you
waiting.’

She sat in the chair he
indicated. ‘Please, call me Charlotte.’

‘And this is Lucy, if I
remember correctly.’ He smiled over his spectacles. ‘Frank… You’ve brought the
documents?’

‘Yes.’ They’d peeked at the
will. Written in 1950, when Mum was a tiny baby, it had left what money and
possessions Grandpa owned to Gran. She handed the papers across the desk. ‘And
my passport and driving licence.’

‘Either will do.’ He checked
the documents. Stacey entered, carrying a mug of tea. He returned her passport
and driving licence, and handed the girl the papers. ‘Thanks, Stacey. Do you
mind making copies of these before you go?’

‘Will do.’

‘Everything seems to be in
order and we’ve found no evidence that the item is being held in trust.’

Lucy’s expression was
hopeful. ‘We can have the package?’

‘I’ll fetch it now.’

Footsteps hurried along the
corridor and back again; Frank Mason placed the parcel in front of them. ‘I’ve
no right to ask this, and it’s none of my business, but…’ He took scissors from
a drawer and laid them on the desk. ‘My father and I have looked after this for
thirty-odd years. I’m curious to know what’s inside.’

She was reluctant, now, to
cut the string and break the wax seal. She was being silly. This was Grandpa’s:
he’d always kept her safe.  She pulled open the cardboard flaps. ‘This
newspaper wrapping’s dated July, 1978.’

Lucy leaned forward. ‘We’d
have been almost five.’

The layers of time peeled
back to reveal another carving. It had the same writhing flames, though lower,
and the geometric base was a precise but different shape, a bit like a claw or
part of a crescent moon. ‘I can’t see any joints.’

‘But I bet it’s hollow,
too.’

She fetched the Flames of
Hell and its contents from her bag, placed the carving next to its sister and
arranged the two wooden candles in front of them.

Lucy exaggerated a shudder.
‘This one gives me the creeps too.’

‘It’s beautiful.’ She
glanced up at Frank Mason. ‘I wonder if there’s something inside this, as
well.’

‘Your guess is as good as
mine.’

She slipped the carving back
in the box.

He picked up the slip of paper
that had been hidden in the carving she’d found on the meter shelf. ‘What does
auribus teneo lupum mean?’

A memory stirred but
dissipated before she could catch it. ‘
I am holding the wolf by the ears
,
whatever that’s supposed to imply.’

He raised both eyebrows.
‘Well, what do think would happen if you held a wolf by the ears? You couldn’t
hold it forever… What would happen when you let it go?’

***

Charlotte turned the map upside-down as Lucy
drove back to Hampshire: it was easier that way, travelling south. ‘Second
right.’

‘You do mean right?’

‘No, left. I knew it would
be better if I drove.’

Lucy laughed but her voice
was serious. ‘Sis, if you don’t go home to Robin… back to Cumming and Cummings…
what are you going to live on?’

‘I have paid holiday owing.
Roy will take my leave from that.’

‘And if you and Robin can’t
get back on track? What then? What if this ends in divorce?’

‘I can’t bear to think that
far ahead.’ But she had to. Lucy was right to ask. She sighed. ‘Working with
Robin would be a nightmare. Nadia will snare him in an instant. They’ll enjoy
rubbing my nose in their perfect marriage and perfect children.’ She blew her
nose and stuffed the tissue in her pocket.

‘You’ll find work somewhere
else, sis.’

‘Why should I have to? I’m
just making a name for myself at Cummings. I’ll have to find another job and
start again at the bottom.’ Robbed of a family, and now Robin had stolen her
career… her chance of being someone.

Lucy squeezed her hand. ‘I
can’t wait to see if the Flames of Hell Mark Two have anything inside.’

She dragged her mind from
the brink of the abyss. ‘If this is one of Grandpa’s treasure hunts we’ll find
a bar of chocolate at the end.’

Lucy smiled. ‘If it’s a
thirty year-old bar of chocolate we’re chasing, I should think it’ll be mouldy
by now.’

She laughed. ‘Yuck.’

‘It’s good to hear you
laugh, sis.’

Long rides stretched through
the quiet of the New Forest: past cottages half-hidden by trees, past camp
sites not yet full of summer visitors, through patchwork-quilted farmland and
open moorland. The sun had set by the time they reached the outskirts of
Lyndhurst and the crescent of thirties, brick semis that backed onto the
forest. The car bumped onto the drive in front of Lucy’s house and drew to a
halt behind the family’s minibus, narrowly avoiding two bicycles.

Grant opened the door and
took the sleeping baby. ‘I’ll put him down, Lucy. You must be knackered.’

She dumped her case in the
hall and the carrier bags on the kitchen table. Lucy filled the kettle and took
mugs from the cupboard.

Grant thudded down the
stairs. ‘You and Robin didn’t make up, then, Charlotte?’

‘He wasn’t there.’

‘Ah. You got the package?’

She rifled through the bags
and put the carving on the table.

‘Looks very like the other
one.’

‘They’re actually quite
different.’ She placed the Flames of Hell next to its sister.

Grant paused on his way to
the fridge and picked up the second carving. ‘Looks like someone’s eaten a
chunk out of a crescent. I’ll saw off the bottom, if you like… see if it’s
hollow.’ He disappeared with the carving.

Lucy shoved the bags and
packaging in the cupboard under the stairs, and sank onto a chair. ‘A
child-free hour or two… bliss. Oh, sis, I’m sorry. That was thoughtless.’

‘I have to get used to it,
Luce.’

‘It’s not fair.’

She shrugged. ‘Life isn’t.
Robin didn’t ask to lose his mother and brother like that.’

‘No, I suppose not… like us
losing Dad and Grandpa.’

Grant placed the carving on
the table. ‘It doesn’t look very exciting.’

She pushed her mug aside,
glad to have something to occupy her mind, and unfolded yet another slip of
paper. ‘Is this all?’ Grandpa whispered to her:
of civilization and
humanity, fear bought my silence and love: qui tacet consentit
. She read it
again, aloud: it made no more sense the second time. ‘More Latin.’ She passed
the paper to Lucy.

Lucy read it silently.
‘What’s this scribbled on the other side?’

‘Where?’

‘Here, O1, IWM, COU, ST, HH
& M.’

She peered at the enigmatic list.
‘HH & M must be Harris, Harris and Mason.’

Grant looked over her
shoulder. ‘O1… Sound like a forerunner of the O2 arena in London, except I
don’t think there was one.’ Grant scratched his head. ‘I worked in the city for
a while, before I met Lucy… shared a flat near Elephant and Castle… IWM could
stand for Imperial War
Museum.’                                                    

***

Charlotte spent two weeks walking broad heaths
and following secret streams through forest glades, letting the peace and
freedom heal her inner hurt. Self-confidence returned. Two weeks: time enough
for Robin to know how he felt about their future. She sat on a tree root that
overhung a stream and thumbed his number into the mobile Lucy had lent her.

‘Robin.’

‘Charlotte?’ He sounded
different.

‘How are you?’

‘Missing you.’

She ran her hand across a
thick mat of moss, verdant in the early morning sun, her blood pulsing. ‘Robin,
I can’t come home.’

‘I’m sorry, Charlotte… truly
sorry. None of this is your fault. I need to see you. Why didn’t you answer my
calls? Where are you?’

‘I’m at Lucy’s. My mobile’s
battery’s flat… I’m using Lucy’s phone.’

‘I rang your mum… she
wouldn’t tell me where you were… said you needed time… We should talk things
through, properly. Please, come home.’

If he was serious about
talking, about being sorry, he’d agree to meet on neutral ground. ‘Robin, I
can’t. When you’re like… you know… you frighten me.’

‘I hate myself, Charlotte. I
don’t know what I can do to put things right. Look, why don’t I drive down?’
His voice held a tremor of emotion.

If he started crying she’d
be back in his arms before nightfall. She sat straighter, determined to be
strong. This conversation had to be on her terms, not his. He had to learn he couldn’t
always have his own way. ‘I won’t be about for a couple of days. I’m going to
London… shopping… and looking into that carving of Grandpa’s, at the Imperial
War Museum.’

‘What about Wednesday or
Thursday, then? I’ll have to square it with Dad.’

‘Okay, give me a ring.’

‘I love you, Charlotte.’ He
sounded close to tears.

She swallowed. ‘Love you,
too, Robin.’

She ended the call and
turned for home, and breakfast. Hearing Robin’s voice had stirred feelings she
thought had died. She wasn’t sure she could go there again, not without that
essential bond of trust, but Robin was her husband. If she could persuade him
to get help with his anger and his guilt, maybe he could once again be the man
she’d fallen in love with.

And if he refused? She
wouldn’t wait around for him to use her as a punch-bag. The next man would have
to earn her trust. The next one? Robin was her last, whatever happened, and
anyway, what had she to offer? No, if her marriage was over then she was on her
own for good: free, independent, decisive.

She buttered toast. ‘I’m
going to the Imperial War Museum. Today.’

Lucy frowned. ‘IWM is a
tenuous link.’

‘It’s the only lead we have.
I want to check it out. And I need a bit of retail therapy. A new handbag to
match these shoes… and this pink top has seen better days. You can use my car
while I’m away.’

Lucy sipped tea. ‘And what
about sorting things with Robin?’

‘He’s coming down when I get
back from London. I promised I’d talk to him, okay? I didn’t promise to run
home and…’ Be fist fodder.

‘And if things don’t work
out?’

‘I’ll find somewhere to
rent… a new job.’

‘Round here?’

‘Why not? It’s not too far
to London if I have to commute. I can’t live on my savings and credit cards
forever.’

‘My new handbag would match
those shoes if you want to borrow it, sis.’

‘If you’re sure you don’t
mind?’

‘As long as you don’t lose
it. It was a Christmas present from Grant. What do you expect to find at the
IWM?’

‘I don’t know. I feel like
I’m trying to herd cats at the moment, but it’ll give me something to focus on.
Grandpa wouldn’t go to all this trouble for no reason, and I like a challenge.’

‘The list of initials could
mean anything.’ Lucy held out her hands in a gesture of defeat. ‘What about the
Latin? Did you find a translation?’

‘
Qui tacet consentit
?’
She’d memorised the words, and tumbled them over and over in her mind like
pebbles in a polishing drum. ‘Who keeps silence
consents.
’
Robin crept uninvited into her mind. Fear might buy silence but it certainly
didn’t buy love, yet she’d found love couldn’t be deleted like the work she’d
lost from her computer. ‘I’m going to London. It’s our only clue.’ 

Lucy drove her to the
station. ‘Ring me. You have my mobile.’

She sank into her seat.
Auribus
teneo lupum... Qui tacet consentit.
What good would come of chasing the
past? She couldn’t change it. The shadow of a wolf with pale eyes stalked the
dark places of her mind.