Memories of You (42 page)

‘What do you mean?'

‘You haven't always been as clever as you think you are. Matthew spotted you. He recognised you from the dog track.'

‘No, I knew he'd seen me, but he must have mistaken me for Joe. He doesn't know there's two of us.'

‘Whichever one of you he thought it was, he also thought that you'd followed him because of his investigations. He thought he might have put me in danger.'

‘So what are you going to tell him?'

‘I don't know.'

‘If you tell him the truth he would put it in his report. He would tell the police. Unless you asked him not to.'

‘I couldn't do that. I couldn't ask him to cover anything up for my sake. He's too honest. I wouldn't want him to abandon his principles.'

‘If Joe and I go you won't have to say anything. Just let us hide out here for a while until we decide what to do. Perhaps you could give us enough money to get away somewhere.'

‘No. You're not going anywhere. Without me, that is. If we go anywhere – and I think we must – we go together.'

And that means I must abandon any hope of putting things right with Matthew, Helen thought. Matthew whom I love with all my heart. But I love my brothers, too, and they need me. I've spent all these years wishing and hoping that we can be together again. And even if it means that I can never see Matthew again I'm not going to part with Joe and Danny now.

 

The next morning the newsboy on the corner was shouting something that Helen couldn't understand. She never had been able to make out his garbled speech and she wondered if anyone else could. The only word she could make out was ‘'Orrible!' A small queue waited to buy their morning newspaper and as they moved on Helen saw the news board and the words written on it.

‘SLAUGHTER AT DOG TRACK!'

She waited her turn and while she did so realized that what the boy was shouting was: ‘'Orrible murder! Man beaten to death!' Numbly she handed over her penny, glanced at the headlined story then stuffed the paper in her shopping bag. And instead of going to catch her bus to work she went back to her flat.

Danny and Joe were up and dressed and making tea and toast for themselves as she had told them to do. She had also told them to make as little noise as possible until they heard the tenants of the flat downstairs leaving and to stay put until she came home from work. She had promised to come home early.

They looked up in surprise. ‘Forgotten something?' Danny asked.

‘No. Pour me a cup of tea while I read something in the paper and then you'd better read it too.'

 

 

‘Jackson?' Helen said.

‘That's the name I gave to Raymond when I asked for the job,' Joe said. ‘Didn't want to use our real name.'

Helen handed him the newspaper. She thought that for all they were dressed like slightly flash men-about-town they looked very young and vulnerable as they sat next to each other on the sofa reading Matthew's report.

So that's where Matthew was last night, she reflected. It's just as well he didn't come to see me, for I wouldn't have been able to let him come in. Nor would I have had an explanation that he could understand. She took the newspaper back and looked at the story again.

‘This report only mentions Joe,' she said.

‘I never worked in the kennels,' Danny told her. ‘Like I said, Mr Renshaw only knows about one of us.'

‘But this Miss Thomson might have mentioned that there are two of you.'

‘Perhaps she didn't,' Danny said. ‘After all, it's only Joe that was involved with the doping.'

At this Joe gave an anguished cry.

‘What is it?' she asked.

‘This is all my fault,' he said.

For a terrifying instant Helen thought he was going to confess that he had been there when Raymond Costello was murdered and that he had somehow been party to the savage beating the man had received. But when she saw his anguished bewilderment she was angry with herself for considering the possibility, even for a moment.

‘How is it your fault, Joe?' she asked.

‘I didn't dope the dogs last night. The deal went wrong. They had to teach him a lesson.'

‘I don't see how killing him teaches him anything.'

‘It's to warn others not to cross them,' Danny said. ‘That's the way they think.'

Helen saw that Joe was weeping silently, the tears running down his good-looking young face. ‘Listen, Joe, this is not your fault. It's Mr Costello's own fault for getting mixed up with these crooks.'

‘I should have told him I wasn't going to do it.'

‘You know we couldn't do that,' Danny said. ‘He would have handed you over to them. We had to get away for our own safety.'

‘Danny's right,' Helen said. ‘And I'm not going to let any harm come to you now. So stop worrying.' She stood up and gave them what she hoped was a confident smile. ‘I've got to go out now; I've got things to do and people to see. And if the bell rings, keep quiet and don't open the door.'

When Helen left they were still sitting huddled together like frightened children. If I had managed to keep us all together when our mother died it would never have come to this, she thought. But I didn't and I've got to make up for it now. I've been given this chance to help my brothers, and I can only pray that fate will be kind and that one day the three of us will be reunited with Elsie.

As she hurried to the bus stop she tried not to think that the only person who might call at the flat was Matthew and that she wouldn't be there – not today or ever again.

‘I'm sorry, Matthew, I really don't have any idea where Helen is.' Jocelyn Graves looked uncomfortable but Matthew knew she was not the sort of person who would lie to him.

‘Did she come to see you?'

‘Only once after she got back from Newcastle.'

‘Newcastle?'

‘She has family there – well, an aunt at least.'

‘Could she have returned there?'

‘No, she would have told me. She just said she felt the need to get out of town. She was going to look for a house to buy somewhere and she would be in touch when she was settled.'

‘What about her work?'

‘She's decided to bring the À La Carte column to an end. That's part of it, I think. She felt her work was getting stale and she needed to find inspiration for something new.'

‘And you are willing to wait and see what she comes up with?'

‘Of course. Look, Matthew, I have to tell you this – even when Helen does get in touch with me she may not want me to tell you where she is.'

‘And that's your own fault!' It was Charlotte who had spoken and Matthew turned towards her desk to find her glaring at him. ‘I told you to get on with it, didn't I? I told you that Helen and you were made for each other and that you ought to stop shilly-shallying and get married otherwise she would get sick of waiting and you would lose her. And I was right. What do you think, Aunt Jocelyn?'

‘I'm not sure.'

‘Why do you say that?' Matthew asked.

‘Helen isn't the sort of person to simply run away. If that was what it was, I think she would have had the decency to tell you. There must have been another reason.'

‘And it must have been something important,' Charlotte said. ‘She told me that she was very sorry but she can't be my bridesmaid after all.'

Charlotte looked so glum that despite his own feelings Matthew found it in his heart to be sorry for her. ‘I'm sorry,' he said.

Charlotte made an effort and smiled. ‘Don't worry. Mother has come up with Stephanie, the daughter of an old school friend of hers. They've just come back from India and they're keen to get into the swing of things. The girl's a bit feather-brained but she's good-hearted and she's grateful to me for taking her under my wing.'

‘So life goes on,' Matthew said.

Charlotte frowned. ‘Of course it does. I mean, just because you've made a mess of things doesn't mean I have to postpone my wedding until Helen surfaces. She wouldn't expect me to; she told me so when she called in here.'

Matthew turned to Jocelyn. ‘When she does get in touch will you let me know?'

Jocelyn stared at him gravely. ‘I've already told you. That depends on whether Helen wants me to.'

For a while nobody spoke. Matthew became aware of the patter of rain against the windowpanes and the sounds of the traffic in the square below. Charlotte had resumed her typing and Jocelyn was trying not to show that she wanted to get back to reading a manuscript that lay on the desk in front of her.

‘Well, I'd better be off,' he said.

‘Yes . . . I'm really sorry I can't help you,' Jocelyn replied.

A little awkwardly he turned to go and he sensed immediately how relieved the two women were. Just as Marina had been relieved when he had given up trying to get her to tell him exactly what Helen had said when she gave notice at Stefano's.

‘How many times do I have to tell you?' Marina said. ‘She came in and she gave notice immediately. She said she was very sorry to let us down like that but she was leaving London straight away.'

‘And she didn't say where she was going?'

‘Mr Renshaw, I am not lying to you. She didn't say and as a matter of fact I didn't ask. I was too busy thinking who I could get in to take her shift at such short notice and where would I find another waitress as good as she was.'

Matthew didn't know what else he could do. He had been to Helen's flat several times. No one answered when he rang her doorbell and the girl in the ground-floor flat, whose coming and going was admittedly erratic, was a little hazy as to whether Helen had come back from her holiday or not. They had not seen her but they thought they might have heard her moving around. Or at least she had heard people moving around.

‘What do you mean, “people”?' Matthew had asked her.

‘Well, actually . . .' she paused and looked embarrassed. ‘I think I've heard more than one person up there – at the same time, I mean. Oh, dear . . .'

Matthew had turned and left abruptly. He knew what the girl was suggesting and he didn't want to allow for the possibility that she could be right.

One evening in September he found himself sitting at the kitchen table in his sister's house and pouring out the full story. His baby niece was asleep in her pretty nursery upstairs and Patricia was preparing a meal for herself and George, who would be home any minute from his job at the BBC.

‘What shall I do?' Matthew asked.

Patricia stopped stirring whatever it was in the pan and turned to look at him. ‘Matthew, I have no idea what to say to you.'

He looked at her in surprise. It was so unlike Patricia not to be able to come up with some kind of advice – even if it was the kind of advice he would ignore. Then he saw how tired she looked and a surge of guilt swept over him. Baby Gillian, although adorable, was very demanding. She was a robust and healthy child who seemed to need an inordinate amount of feeding. Whenever her daughter obliged by sleeping for a while Patricia dashed about catching up with her household chores or simply sat down and tried to get her strength back.

‘I'm sorry, Patricia,' Matthew said. ‘You don't need to hear my troubles. What's that you're cooking, by the way?'

Surprised, Patricia answered, ‘A sauce for the spaghetti – bolognese, as a matter of fact. There's enough for you if you want to stay.'