Chapter 128
They arrived at Highwood at the same time as Estelle and Bradshaw.
Towler saw them safely inside, then went outside and raised his hand like he was summoning a black cab. Two minutes later, a car arrived to pick him up. He said, ‘I still have guys watching the house, but I think we’re OK.’
‘For how long, though?’ Poe replied. ‘They’ll hand over Océane’s money, but I reckon that’ll refocus them.
I shouldn’t have agreed to her demands. Before she piped up, we’d agreed mutually assured destruction.
They would leave her and Esmerée alone and we wouldn’t release Tilly’s deepfakes.
But people make rash decisions when so much money is involved. They might come for it.’
Towler faced him. ‘They’ll definitely come for it, mate. They’re gangsters; they see that fourteen million as theirs, not hers. They’ll want it back. You got a plan?’
‘I do.’
Poe told him what it was.
When he’d finished, Towler said, ‘Jeeesus, remind me to never get on your bad side, Poe.’ He laughed. ‘But that’ll fucking do it. You reckon the lady of the manor will go for it?’
‘I don’t think there’s anything she wouldn’t do to keep Esmerée safe.’
They shook hands at the door.
‘Cheers, Matt,’ Poe said. ‘I’ll have you and the boys around for meat and mead when this has settled down. We’ll roast a pig in the garden. Get a beer tent.’
‘They’ll like that,’ Towler said.
He got into the waiting car and it sped off into the emerging darkness.
Poe went inside and joined Estelle, Bradshaw, Océane and Esmerée in the main kitchen.
Esmerée was sitting so close to Estelle she was just about on her knee.
Estelle was making her drink sweet tea and eat chocolate.
Poe remembered from his battlefield first-aid training that sugar helped negate shock.
He didn’t know why. He was probably the only permanent member of the household who didn’t.
Bradshaw was fussing with her laptop.
And Océane was pacing backwards and forwards like she was a trial lawyer and everyone else was the jury. ‘Where’s my goddam money?’ she said as soon as Poe sat down.
He looked at Bradshaw. She shook her head.
‘It’s not in our account yet,’ he said.
‘But when it is, you’ll transfer it over to my account?’
‘Of course.’
‘You won’t attach a finder’s fee or some other bullshit way of stealing from me?’
‘I don’t want a single red cent of that money, Océane.’
‘Well aren’t you just Mr Holier-Than-Fucking-Thou!’ she snapped.
She seemed nervous. Scared even. She kept glancing at Esmerée then quickly looking away. She seemed both embarrassed by and terrified of her daughter.
Poe said, ‘I guess we have some decisions to make.’
‘I guess we do,’ Estelle said.
Esmerée faced Estelle. ‘What decisions?’
‘Poe and Tilly did what you asked, Esmerée. They found your mum. You need to decide what you want to do next. Whatever you decide, we’ll support—’
‘I’m not going with her.’
‘Glad to see you took your time there, Esmerée,’ Poe said. ‘That nanosecond really made the difference between a rushed decision and a considered one.’
‘You’re an asshole, Poe.’
‘And I don’t want her,’ Océane said. No hesitation, no doubt. It wasn’t shock and it wasn’t a knee-jerk reaction. She genuinely didn’t want her daughter in her life.
‘Colour me surprised,’ Esmerée said. She didn’t look upset. Well, she did, but not about that.
‘It’s been a crazy couple of days, Esmerée,’ Poe said. ‘For all of us. Decisions made on adrenaline are never good decisions. I need you to think about it.’
‘The bitch doesn’t want me, and I don’t want her.’
‘Then why hire us to find her?’
Esmerée looked away. Seemed guilty.
‘This is getting us nowhere,’ Estelle said. ‘Poe, go into the back kitchen and make us some sandwiches. Brunton has a ham hanging in the larder. There’ll be something in there for Tilly as well. I think we need to eat, let cooler heads prevail.’
Esmerée said nothing.
Océane said nothing.
Poe plucked out the cloves that studded Brunton’s ham.
He threw them in the bin. He hated cloves.
Always had. They looked like popped blackheads and they smelled like Christmas.
He hated Christmas too. He carved off thick slices, ate the first two before they even saw the loaf.
He threw a piece of rich, creamy fat to the drooling Edgar.
It didn’t touch the spaniel’s sides. He cut some bread – Estelle’s favourite kind: pebble-dashed – and smeared the slices with freshly churned salted butter.
Added some strong English mustard. Fiery as hell, the kind that hit you in the sinuses and kept hitting until your earwax had melted.
He found a weird vegetable paste and made a butter-free, meat-free sandwich for Bradshaw.
He was putting it all together on a plate when Estelle shouted his name.
‘Can you come here, please, Poe?’
‘I’m almost done,’ he shouted back. ‘I’m just looking for lashings of ginger beer. Thought we could take the boat to Kirrin Island and join the Famous Five for tea.’
He waited for her to laugh. She didn’t. Other than Edgar panting, the house had gone silent.
‘What is it?’ he said.
‘Just come back here, please.’
‘What’s up?’
‘Washington Poe, get your arse in here right now!’ Estelle yelled, frantic now.
Poe dropped the butter-free butter knife and ran.