Chapter 10
10
There’s no sign of Maria when we get back down to the kitchen, but the two congealed plates of bacon and eggs are still on the worktop, along with the cold cappuccinos. She hasn’t even turned off the coffee machine, I notice. I’m tempted to leave everything as it is – after all, it’s not my problem any more – but I know I can’t. With a sigh, I switch off the coffee machine, scrape the food into the bin and pour the coffee away before washing everything up. Jock has grabbed his knife roll and is rootling in the drawers, pulling various objects out and piling them on the worktop.
‘I’m not leaving anything behind that I bought,’ he tells me when I raise my eyebrows. ‘Madame may have liked everything just so, but she was as tight as a duck’s arse when it came to buying equipment, so a lot of this stuff is mine.’
‘ Comme le derrière d’un canard ,’ I joke.
‘Exactly. Can you give me a hand with this?’
We’re just loading up a plastic bag with the equipment Jock is taking when Maria reappears.
‘What the hell do you think you’re doing?’ she asks accusingly. ‘You’d better not be nicking that stuff.’
‘I’m only taking what’s mine,’ Jock tells her forcefully. ‘And even if I was stealing it, what are you going to do? Call the police? Oh, and in case you haven’t worked it out yet, I quit.’
‘Me too,’ I add.
‘What? Why?’ Despite being incredibly unpleasant from the moment she walked through the door, it obviously hasn’t crossed her mind that we might follow through on our threat to leave.
‘Oddly,’ I tell her coolly, ‘we have a problem with your business model.’
‘What do you mean? It never bothered you before.’
‘That’s because we didn’t know what was going on before. You can’t seriously expect us to turn a blind eye while you carry on an illegal business that’s exploiting vulnerable women.’
‘Oh, I get it,’ she sneers. ‘You don’t want to get your hands dirty now you know about our little sideline. But, before you come over all holier-than-thou, you sanctimonious little bitch, ask yourself this: where do you think all the girls we had working for us are now, eh? I’ll tell you. They’re probably on the streets servicing the fucking weirdos out there, and relying on pimps who will quickly get them hooked on drugs to control them. They’ll have to do more and more tricks to fund the drugs, and they’ll need more and more drugs to make doing the tricks bearable. If they’re lucky, they’ll get put up in some filthy, rat-infested squat, and they’ll have to service punters there too, like a conveyor belt. They’ll probably die of an overdose or choking on their own vomit. Of course, that’s assuming they don’t get murdered by a punter first. At least they were safe here. This place is a sanctuary in comparison.’
‘Sanctuary?’ Jock laughs humourlessly. ‘That’s not the word I’d use.’
‘That’s because you’re just as bloody ignorant as her. I expect you grew up in a nice middle-class home with hot meals on the table three times a day. You’ve never been forced to sell yourself just to survive. If you had, you’d realise just what a good deal it was working here. Anyway, I can’t be arsed to argue with you two fuckwits any more. If that’s how you feel, you can leave at the end of your notice period. In the meantime, I need you to help me make the beds.’
‘No. We’re going now,’ Jock tells her.
‘I don’t think so. You need to give notice. It’s in your contract.’
‘I don’t remember you being so concerned about our contracts when you told us to “pack our bags and fuck off” earlier.’
Jock’s landed a blow. I can tell because it takes her a while to decide what to say next.
‘Fine,’ she blusters eventually. ‘Play it like that if you want. It’s no skin off my nose; I can manage quite happily without you and your shitty attitudes. But don’t think of asking for a reference, because there’s no bloody way I’m giving either of you one.’
‘That’s just fine,’ I reply sweetly. ‘A reference from you is the last thing I want.’
I’m shaking as we drag our bags to the door. It’s not that I’m particularly afraid of conflict; I wouldn’t be a very good manager if I was. But there was something so malevolent about Maria that I actually wouldn’t have been surprised if she’d physically attacked us when we turned our backs on her. The relief when I step out onto the street is short-lived, however, as an awkward silence descends between Jock and me.
‘I guess this is it then,’ he says eventually. ‘Which station are you heading to?’
‘Paddington. You?’
‘Kings Cross.’
‘Right. Well…’ He peters out.
This is really uncomfortable. How is it that we could do all the things we’ve done together this week and suddenly not know what to say to each other? In the end, I step forward and wrap my arms around him. His arms come up and pull me close as I bury my head in his chest and breathe him in. Although we’ve been perfectly upfront with each other about our relationship being time limited, there’s a big part of me that doesn’t want to let him go.
‘Thank you,’ I murmur into his shirt. ‘For everything.’
He gently loosens his grip, holding me by my shoulders at arms’ length as we look into each other’s eyes. ‘Thank you,’ he replies. ‘Apart from the police thing, this has been one of the best weeks of my life.’
‘Mine too,’ I agree.
‘Do you want to keep in touch?’
‘Sure.’
He smiles as we swap numbers, and I’m glad to have given the right answer. I think, deep down, we both know it won’t happen. As soon as we’re both settled in new jobs, we’ll be flat-out busy again and the time we spent together will become nothing but a distant memory. All we’re doing is fooling ourselves, so parting doesn’t feel so final.
‘OK,’ he says decisively. ‘Kings Cross, here I come. Safe travels, Beatrice, and I’ll see you around.’
‘Safe travels yourself,’ I reply, before giving him a quick final kiss. He turns and starts to walk towards the main road, and I stand and watch until he’s out of sight.
I’m in a reflective mood as my taxi heads towards Paddington station. I’m thinking about Jock, obviously, but I’m also trying to decide whether I should call DI Winter and let her know what Maria is planning. It’s the right thing to do, but she might want to interview me again, and I don’t want to go anywhere near that custody suite. By the time the taxi drops me off, I’ve decided. That doesn’t stop me feeling nervous as I pull out her card and dial the number, but I know I won’t be able to sleep easily if I don’t do it.
‘DI Winter speaking,’ she says when the call connects.
‘Hello, this is Beatrice Fairhead. You interviewed me in connection with Eileen Strickland?’
‘I remember you, Beatrice. What’s up?’
‘Can I give you some information in confidence, without coming in and being interviewed?’
‘Of course. What is it?’
I tell her about Maria being Eileen’s daughter, which she already knew. Their plan for Eileen to take the hit to allow Maria to stay free is obviously news, but when I tell her she’s planning to reopen the brothel just as before, she laughs softly.
‘What?’ I ask.
‘That’s exactly what we suspected she was going to do. Thank you for the information, Beatrice. We’ll be keeping a very close eye on her, don’t worry.’
I’d forgotten how long the train from London to Ludlow takes. With a change at Crewe, the overall journey time is predicted to be over three hours. With nothing else to distract me, I fish out the digital camera and scroll through the photos I’ve taken during Jock’s and my week together. We certainly crammed a lot in. There are selfies at most of the tourist attractions we visited, as well as a surprising number of photos of the various dishes Jock prepared in the evenings. There’s a lovely one of him doing the flambé, which makes me smile. He’s seriously talented; I don’t think I’ve ever eaten so well. Someone will snap him up, no doubt.
To begin with, the scenery outside the window is the urban landscape I’m used to. London is not at its prettiest from the railway – too much concrete and graffiti – but I feel affection for it nonetheless. Shropshire is beautiful but very rural, so London always seemed like a glittering world full of amazing possibilities when I was growing up. As we leave the city behind and the view changes to fields and trees, my mood only darkens.
This is temporary , I remind myself. I’ll be back before I know it . It doesn’t seem to help.
By the time the train finally rattles into Ludlow station, it seems the weather has come out in sympathy with me, as the sky has darkened and heavy rain has started to fall. There’s no canopy over the platform, so the few of us that disembark are decidedly bedraggled by the time we’ve crossed the bridge over the tracks to reach the ticket hall. My mood isn’t improved when I realise that there’s no sign of my dad, despite me texting him earlier with my arrival time. I pull out my phone to see if I’ve missed a message, but there’s nothing. I flick through the list of numbers until I find his mobile.
‘Hi, Beatrice,’ he answers when the call connects. ‘I haven’t forgotten you, I’m just a bit held up. I don’t suppose there are any taxis at the station, are there?’
I look out of the window at the bare taxi rank. ‘No, Dad,’ I tell him. ‘There never are.’
‘OK,’ he sighs. ‘Give me half an hour to sort this and I’ll be with you.’
At least there are a couple of seats in the ticket office, so I plonk myself down on one of them to wait. After around ten minutes, I’m surprised to see a taxi splash to a halt in the rank outside. Grabbing my case, I hurry out. The driver lowers his window a fraction.
‘Are you Clare?’ he asks.
‘No, Beatrice. Why?’
‘I’m here for Clare.’
‘Oh, right.’
‘Did you need a taxi then?’
‘Yes please.’
‘Sorry, love. If you didn’t pre-book, you’ve got no chance. Everyone will be flat out in this weather. Next time you come, it would be a good idea to book in advance.’
‘Right. Thanks.’
Our unhelpful conversation is cut short by the arrival of a substantial woman in her mid-forties. As soon as she confirms her name to the driver, he transforms into a model of courtesy, jumping out of the car to help her put her bag in the boot.
‘Are you all right there?’ she says to me as the driver opens the door for her.
‘Yes, fine. I was looking for a taxi, but this gentleman has just explained that I ought to have pre-booked.’
‘Where are you going? Maybe we can share.’
‘The Bideford Arms hotel.’
Her face cracks open into a wide smile. ‘What a coincidence! That’s exactly where I’m going. Hop in and we’ll go together. I’m Clare, by the way.’
‘Beatrice. Are you sure you don’t mind?’
‘Not at all.’
The driver looks decidedly less than impressed by this turn of events, but helps me put my case in the boot nonetheless.
‘This is very kind of you,’ I say to her as the taxi pulls away. ‘Let me get the fare, at least.’
‘Absolutely not,’ she says firmly. ‘I’m putting it on expenses, so don’t worry.’
‘Are you here on business then?’ I ask.
‘Yes, you?’
‘Leisure. My parents own the Bideford Arms, and I’m staying with them for a bit.’
‘How lovely. I expect they’ll be delighted to see you. I hope you don’t mind me saying, but you look familiar. Have we met before?’
‘I don’t think so. I’ve probably just got one of those faces.’
‘Yes, maybe that’s it.’
The hotel is just as I remember it when we pull up. Clare pays the driver and we grab our bags from the boot.
‘Aren’t you coming?’ she asks when I don’t immediately follow her towards the front door.
‘No. I get to use the tradesmen’s entrance round the back,’ I tell her.
‘Nonsense. You’ll get soaked. I’m sure your parents won’t mind. Come on.’
I follow her reluctantly into the reception area. The faint smell of polish and sandalwood air freshener takes me straight back to my childhood, as does the floral-patterned carpet and the textured wallpaper.
‘Thank you again for the lift,’ I say to Clare as my mother appears behind the counter. ‘I hope you enjoy your stay.’
‘You too,’ she replies. ‘It was lovely to meet you. I just wish I could work out why you look so familiar.’
I’m very aware of my mother’s disapproving stare as I manoeuvre my case through the door marked Private next to the reception desk that leads to the annexe where my parents live. To my surprise, my father is sitting at the kitchen table, sipping a cup of tea.
‘Oh, hello, love,’ he says when he spots me. ‘I was just about to come and get you. There was a spot of bother with the sink in room twelve, but I’ve sorted it and I was just having a quick swig before setting off.’
‘Looks like I’ve saved you the trouble then,’ I tell him, trying hard not to feel hurt that he evidently thinks a cup of tea is more important than collecting his only child from the station like he’d agreed.
‘The kettle’s not long boiled if you want a cup. You know where everything is.’
As if to emphasise how unremarkable my arrival is, he turns his attention to the newspaper that’s lying open on the kitchen table, turning the pages until he finds the crossword and grabbing a pencil from the pot on the windowsill behind him. Flicking the kettle back on, I pull a mug out of the cupboard, add a teabag and I’m just about to retrieve the milk from the fridge when my mother bustles in.
‘Beatrice, what were you thinking ?’ she exclaims.
‘Sorry?’
‘Not only did you use the guest entrance, but Mrs Evans informed me that you also shared a taxi from the station. Do you have any idea how inappropriate it is to accept hospitality from our guests? Especially as she nearly recognised you. I thought we agreed you were going to keep a low profile.’
‘I tried, but what was I supposed to do? If it wasn’t for her, I’d probably still be at the station.’ I glance angrily at Dad, but he’s oblivious, his nose firmly in the crossword.
‘You might as well have stuck a banner on the hotel announcing your arrival,’ Mum scolds. ‘Heaven help us if that woman puts two and two together. Please tell me you paid your half of the fare, at least.’
‘No. She offered. She said she could claim it on expenses.’
‘It’s still not right.’
‘Nice to see you too, Mum,’ I mutter sarcastically.
‘Don’t be like that. Of course we’re pleased to see you, darling. It’s just that the manner of your arrival was rather unorthodox , and it threw me. How are you? You look like you’ve put on weight.’
I sigh. I wasn’t expecting the red-carpet treatment, but this is a new low, even for them. The shorter my stay here, the better.