Missing Page 41

  Mrs Barrett refilled the kettle and began to rinse out the pot. ‘I’ve kept all the cuttings from back then,’ she said. ‘They’re in a book. I pasted them in myself, after my husband died. He didn’t know I kept them, of course. He’d have made me throw them away.’

  Doubting there would be anything there she hadn’t already seen, Justine said, politely, ‘Would I be able to take a look at them?’

  ‘I’ll get them down, when we’ve had our tea.’

  Justine smiled her thanks and passed over the caddy Mrs Barrett was reaching for. ‘So how, exactly, did you first meet Mr Avery?’ she asked chattily.

  Mrs Barrett blinked once or twice, then prised open the lid of the decorated tin. ‘It was my husband who met him,’ she replied. ‘He was a security guard in the building where Mr Avery worked. They used to say good morning to one another, and pass the time of day now and then, you know how you do. Three spoons, one for each person and one for the pot.’

  Justine watched the tea go in, noticing how steady the woman’s fingers were, in spite of the shakiness in her voice.

  ‘We were living in Mortlake then,’ Mrs Barrett went on, passing the caddy back, ‘only a couple of miles from the Averys in Richmond. Not that we ever saw them, or anything – we didn’t even know it was where they lived until it all came out in the papers about their son going missing.’ She blinked again, quite rapidly, as though uncertain whether she’d said what she’d meant to, then she began staring fixedly at the kettle.

  Justine waited, wondering what was in her mind now, if it was whirling like a kaleidoscope, or remaining still like a painting that faded over years, but never changed shape.

  ‘Of course he wasn’t in the car when Mrs Avery drove into the garage,’ Elizabeth Barrett went on, her gaze still focused on the kettle. ‘He was never there, that’s why no one was seen taking him. He was at home with me. Safe and sound.’ Her eyes flickered and a quick, self-conscious smile twitched her lips. ‘I did my best with him,’ she said. ‘Mr Avery made the right choice when he brought him to me. He wanted me to take care of him, you see, so I said I would. He was afraid, he told me, of what his wife would do to him.’

  While impressed by how convincing Mrs Barrett was sounding, Justine knew that it was all the tormented fabrication of a woman with a tragic past. According to police archives Elizabeth Barrett had lost her own son to a cot death, and had been imprisoned for five years before being released on appeal.

  The report had gone on to detail how the investigating officers in the Avery case had checked into Elizabeth Barrett’s claims when Sam had gone missing, and after establishing her background and the fact that her mental health had been affected as a result of it, they’d hushed the matter up in the hope of sparing Jacqueline Avery any more unpleasant press speculation.

  Though Justine could have concocted a story from the file alone, she’d wanted to meet Mrs Barrett in person, and now she had she was forming a much clearer idea of how she was going to treat this exclusive. However, there was still a way to go, and the Critch was nobody’s fool, so she knew she must tread extremely carefully now, and watch her back at all times.

  The kettle began whistling, startling Mrs Barrett from her reverie, and as she poured hot water onto the tea she started talking again. ‘My husband and me, we came here quite soon after we had the baby,’ she said, possibly meaning her own child, but there again it could have been Sam. ‘It was a bit of a tumbledown place then that Jim had inherited when his mother died. No central heating, the roof leaked, the garden was like a jungle … We really had our work cut out, but Mr Avery gave us a bit of money to get started, which was very nice of him.’

  Justine frowned. There had been no mention of money in the police report. ‘How much did he give you?’ she prompted.

  Mrs Barrett’s head twitched slightly as she thought. ‘I forget now,’ she answered. ‘It was a long time ago.’

  Justine nodded sympathetically. ‘So what actually happened to Sam?’ she asked, taking two teaspoons from the drawer next to her.

  Mrs Barrett gave her a quick glance. ‘Sam,’ she said, as though reminding herself. ‘He wasn’t with us nearly long enough. But they never are, are they? They come, take over your world and then they go again.’ She began setting cups and saucers on a tray, followed by a packet of custard creams, a milk jug and a sugar bowl, then finally the pot. ‘Shall we go and sit down?’ she suggested. ‘It’s a bit more comfortable in the front room, next to the fire.’

  Justine followed her into the sitting room, where she put the tray on top of a fireguard that caged in a small hearth of buttery-coloured tiles and glowing fake coals.

  Choosing a threadbare armchair, Justine watched her hold a strainer over each cup as she poured. ‘So what actually happened when …?’

  ‘Milk and sugar?’

  ‘Just milk, thank you. When you said—’

  ‘Biscuit?’

  To be polite she took one and nibbled a piece off one corner.

  Holding her cup and saucer in both hands, Mrs Barrett sat down in a facing chair and looked at Justine. ‘I don’t know how Mrs Avery found out where we were,’ she said evenly. ‘She just turned up one day when my husband was out, and I was here on my own with the baby.’

  Knowing they were going deep into the realms of fantasy now, Justine said, ‘What did she do when she arrived?’

  At that Mrs Barrett’s head went down, and for a long time she watched the tea swirling around a tiny patch of bubbles in her cup. Then, picking it up, she took a sip. ‘Mr Avery said I was never to tell anyone what happened,’ she answered finally. ‘He came here after, with some other people, and … Actually, I think that was when he gave us the money, not when we moved here. It’s been a long time, so it’s all a bit muddled in my head now.’

  ‘Of course,’ Justine murmured.

  ‘Anyway, as Mr Avery’s lawyer, I expect you know what she did.’

  Justine nodded slowly, aware that Mrs Barrett had never met Jacqueline Avery in her life. Only Miles had ever come here, with the police, after this tragically deluded woman whose dead husband had indeed once been a security guard at The News had begun to confuse the loss of her own child with the abduction of Sam.

  Tears rose in Mrs Barrett’s eyes. ‘Mr Avery told me that if I accused his wife of murder again he would have to take some action against me,’ she said raggedly. ‘He was a powerful man, and I didn’t want to go to prison or anything, so I hid the baby in the garden and never told anyone about him.’

  Knowing that the bones she’d been shown belonged to a dog, Justine looked at the woman and felt vaguely fascinated by how convincing she might sound to anyone who didn’t know her background. Using a gentle tone, she said, ‘Are you hoping Mr Avery will give you some more money? Is that your real reason for being in touch again now?’

  Mrs Barrett’s gaze stayed vacantly on the fire. ‘His wife’s gone missing, hasn’t she?’ she said. ‘Poor thing. I understand how she feels,’ and giving a little sigh she raised her cup to drink some more tea. ‘I’ll go and get my albums now, shall I?’ she suggested, suddenly getting to her feet. ‘I won’t be long. You stay there, and help yourself to another biscuit. I made them myself.’

  Justine looked at the Tesco packet and started to wonder how soon she could leave. Maybe she should take a look at the albums first, she decided, out of politeness if nothing else.

  Jacqueline was wearing an auburn wig now, cut boyishly short with a sixties style full fringe. Her navy gaberdine was belted at the waist, and her glasses had a neutral frame with rose-tinted lenses. She realised it was only a matter of time before someone saw through her disguise, or her landlord was tracked down to his villa in Spain, or someone from the press discovered where she was living, but she wasn’t especially perturbed by this. She barely even thought about it, because her mind was in another place now, somewhere behind the candles, apart from this world.

  As she walked away from St Anne’s church she was listening to
a message from Miles on her mobile. When it was over she turned the phone off and continued to walk, feeling the drizzle on her face, and the chill air moving about her trying to steal its way in. Nothing was getting through, however, because it was no longer possible for her to be touched by the weather, or disturbed by the noise of traffic, or moved by a conscience that might once have reacted to the anger in Miles’s voice. She could feel for him if she allowed it, but she wouldn’t, because all she wanted was to stay with the sense of peace that was growing all the time inside her, soothing and healing, while a golden halo of light seemed to protect her from anything that might prolong the end to her old life and confuse her purpose for the days to come.

  The only connection she felt to this world now was through Kelsey. Though she didn’t want to see her, she welcomed the contact between them, because they both still needed it. It was all a part of the process, a journey through forgiveness and understanding that might help Kelsey during the darkest hours ahead. Yea, though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death – Kelsey would only be walking through, she must not stop. Jacqueline wanted her to understand that. It was why, since Kelsey had returned to school two days ago, she’d texted her each morning and spoken with her both evenings. For now it was enough; they didn’t need to go into any more detail yet.

  Last night Kelsey had been chatty, as though talking to one of her friends – or even a mother with whom she’d always had a close and easy relationship. It was a fantasy in which Jacqueline had been willing to play her part, and she would continue to do so, until Kelsey understood that she could no longer be there for her. Being a good mother wasn’t something to be switched on and off, dabbled around with and summoned at will. It took a lifetime’s practice, and Jacqueline had made too many mistakes to be able to erase them at this late stage. Instead she was letting them go, shedding them like a skin, to emerge cleansed and whole for a new beginning.

  So the separation between her and Kelsey would soon become permanent – and silent – with only the natural bond they shared holding them together. No matter how distanced they became by time or space, or how angry and alone Kelsey might sometimes feel, they would always be a part of one another. Jacqueline knew that, because of Sam. Wherever he was now, whatever had happened to him, she would always be his mother, and he would never stop being her son.

  It didn’t hurt to think that now, because nothing hurt any more – except how she felt about Kelsey, and Jacqueline was only waiting for that to stop hurting too.

  Chapter Twenty-two

  MILES WAS WAITING at the front door as Vivienne eased her car gently over the humpback bridge that joined Moorlands’ drive to the courtyard. Even before she’d turned off the Polo’s engine Rufus was yelling with excitement, and Miles was laughing as he yanked open the door to scoop his son out of the baby seat into an enveloping hug.

  ‘Welcome back,’ he murmured to Vivienne, as she joined in the embrace.

  ‘It’s good to be here,’ she told him, looking up into his eyes. And it truly was, to the point that emotion was tightening her throat. It was like a dream coming true, but even better than she’d imagined. She looked around at the trees and shrubs that climbed the slopes towards a pergola; the jumble of wellington boots that cluttered the back porch; the arched and leaded windows that must belong to the new kitchen extension they’d designed together. Already she was feeling the same tender attachment to the place that she’d known throughout their year together. ‘Everything’s looking wonderful,’ she said, noticing how the pineapple sage she’d planted herself had grown to more than twice the size and was now ablaze with red flowers, while the tobacco plant next to it with its long white trumpets and huge floppy green leaves must, she knew, fill the evening air with an exquisite perfume.

  Meeting his eyes, she put a hand to his face, and would have kissed him had Rufus not decided to get there first. Laughing, she said, ‘Sorry we’re so late. I called in to see Sharon on the way.’

  ‘I thought you might have,’ he replied, trying to avoid Rufus grabbing his mouth. ‘Come inside and tell me about it. I’ll unload the car after you’ve had something to eat.’

  Vivienne grimaced. ‘I’m afraid I don’t have time for lunch,’ she confessed. ‘I have to be at the barn – or auction room as I should call it – in half an hour for a meeting with Sky. Incidentally, did Theo drop in this morning on his way to the refuge?’

  ‘He did, and the brochures he brought with him are on my desk. What am I supposed to do with them?’

  ‘Nothing. They’re for me to add to a press release, which I’ll probably have to leave until tomorrow, which is fine, because they don’t need to be given out until Saturday.’

  ‘OK. Then let Mrs Davies prepare a sandwich for you to take with you now. Are you leaving Rufus here?’

  ‘If you don’t mind.’

  Miles eyed Rufus warningly. ‘You’d just better behave yourself, young man,’ he said gravely, ‘and let’s get it straight now, I’m the boss around here.’

  ‘Mum, mum, mum,’ Rufus cried delightedly.

  ‘That’s right, Rufus,’ Vivienne told him. ‘At least you understand.’

  ‘Me, me,’ Rufus answered, and flashed a grin that almost suggested he knew what he was saying.

  Laughing, Miles said, ‘I’ll need instructions on what I have to do to keep him fed, watered, entertained and out of mischief while you’re gone.’

  Going round to open the boot, Vivienne said, ‘His favourite toys are here, in this box. We’ve also brought a good supply of nappies – he probably needs changing right away, so I hope you’re up to it – and there’s plenty of food in the Tupperwares, as well as juice, milk, in fact everything any self-respecting one-year-old could wish for.’

  ‘Oh my, what a handsome lad you are,’ Mrs Davies declared, coming out of the front door. ‘You must be Rufus. I’ve been looking forward to meeting you.’

  Intrigued, Rufus’s eyes widened, then in an exuberant surge he tried to throw himself at her.

  Chuckling with pleasure, Mrs Davies turned to Vivienne. ‘Hello, I’m Emily,’ she said, holding out a hand to shake.

  ‘Really?’ Miles chipped in. ‘I never knew that.’

  Mrs Davies raised her eyebrows. ‘I expect there’s a lot about me you don’t know. Probably don’t want to, either,’ she added to Vivienne.

  Warming to the twinkly-eyed housekeeper, Vivienne clasped her hand in both of hers. ‘It’s lovely to meet you,’ she said. ‘I hope Rufus and I aren’t going to add too much to your workload—’

  ‘Pfft,’ Mrs Davies interrupted. ‘I’ve brought up four of me own, so this little fellow won’t be no bother for me. Let’s get you all inside now, shall we? It’s turning a bit chilly out here.’

  The instant Vivienne stepped across the threshold she was assailed by the familiar smell of the place, and closed her eyes to inhale deeply. It was part Miles, part woodsmoke and part something that was uniquely its own, a mix of candlewax, old wood and a vague hint of mould, and as the memories came flooding back she felt Miles’s arm go around her. How could she even begin to express how happy she was to be here? She only wished it could all be as perfect as it felt.

  ‘Any word from Jacqueline?’ she asked, as Mrs Davies bustled off back to the kitchen.

  ‘No, but she’s still in regular contact with Kelsey, so I’m not feeling quite as worried any more. On the other hand, I won’t relax completely until I know where she is, and what the heck her future plans might be.’

  Fully understanding that, she said, ‘Have you spoken to Kelsey again about me being here?’

  ‘Not since Sunday, but I’ll remind her when I call later.’

  Vivienne nodded and tried to swallow her nerves as she turned to gaze around the entrance hall again, taking in its impressive collection of postmodernist paintings and the high arched window at the far end which allowed an uninterrupted view of the terraces and lawns beyond, right down to the lake. She started to smile. ‘So you had i
t put in,’ she said.

  ‘As you can see,’ he responded. ‘And the window’s not the only one of your ideas that I followed through. You’ll find them all over the place, but if you’re about to take off again the tour will have to wait. Do you have any idea what time you’ll be back?’

  ‘My guess is, it’ll be late. If Rufus starts playing up, though, just call and I’ll try to get back sooner.’

  ‘I’m sure we can manage. Before you go, tell me about Sharon.’

  Sighing despondently, she shook her head. ‘To be truthful, I was a bit taken aback by the change in her after just a few days,’ she answered. ‘She’s determined to try and keep her spirits up, but the effort’s taking its toll, you can see that in how tired and grey she’s looking. And it’s not going to get any easier, because she’s just told me that she has to start another course of chemo next week.’

  ‘Oh no, I’m sorry to hear that. Still nothing positive about a donor?’

  ‘No, but at least the auction’s coming in time to provide some financial help with transport to and from the hospital, and taking care of the children. I just hope we can get it to her by next Wednesday, when her treatment’s due to begin.’

  ‘I can always bridge the gap, if necessary,’ he offered. ‘In fact, I’d intended to make a straight donation, so why don’t I give it to you, instead of going through the official channels?’

  ‘That would be great if Sky hadn’t offered to double what we make, so we need your funds in the pot. Bridging the gap would be wonderful, though, if we need it, and we can pay you back as soon as the money’s released. Now,’ she went on, checking her watch, ‘crash course in Rufus about to begin, then I’ll have to go like the clappers if I don’t want to be late.’

  Half an hour later, still munching on the smoked-salmon sandwich Mrs Davies had prepared for her, she drove into the stable yard and came to a halt next to a gigantic trailer that hadn’t been there before. She soon discovered it was divided into dressing rooms for the ‘auction lots’, while the smaller vehicle behind it was for make-up. The place was a frenzy of activity with crew and the construction team still working on the barn, the WI setting out rows of chairs or decorating their telephone tables, and Pete bossing about Theo and six of the firemen, who were being photographed for one of the local papers.