Shifting Sands (6 page)

It had been through Sophie's coming to her rescue in the playground that their friendship began. Though they'd started school together, Sophie had been spared the harassment routinely handed out to ‘new girls', principally, Imogen suspected, because the possibility of it had never even occurred to her. Supremely self-confident, she treated everyone as her friend, thus disarming those who might have tried to belittle her, and that same assurance led her to face the bullies on Imogen's behalf, rather than herd with the favoured few. And to some extent, Imogen thought humbly, Sophie had been fighting her battles for her ever since.

‘You should have more backbone, Imo,' she'd say. ‘It's no use wilting at the first sign of opposition, then whining about it afterwards.'

Wilting and whining. Sophie had never been one to mince her words, but as usual she was right.

‘Why do you let her boss you about like that?' Roger would ask in exasperation, but Imogen knew the bossing was without malice and in her own best interest. She and Sophie were opposites in many respects, but their friendship was a strong bond, important to both of them. If only, she thought again, she could be more like her.

And, having come full circle, Imogen turned on her side and at last went to sleep.

That weekend, instead of phoning to arrange when to collect the boys, Jonathan called at the house on Friday evening, taking Vicky by surprise.

Seeing him on the step, her eyes widened, but before she could speak, he said quickly, ‘Could we have a word?'

Her instinctive glance towards the stairs confirmed that the boys were playing in their rooms, which, knowing their routine, he'd counted on.

‘You're not wanting to take them out now?' she asked in confusion, moving aside as he came into the hall.

‘No, but lately you've not been around when I've called, and we need to talk.'

Her eyes fell. ‘As I said on the phone, Jonathan, there's nothing to talk about.'

He put a hand under her elbow and, not wanting to alert his sons to his presence, steered her gently into the sitting room and closed the door.

‘And as
I
said on the phone, there's the hell of a lot, principally,' he continued, raising his voice above her protest, ‘that I've been a selfish bastard, and I'm truly sorry.'

She stared at him, and he went on more quietly, ‘Really, Vic, I've had time to think things over, and I'm only surprised you stuck it as long as you did. I've been as miserable as sin these last months, and believe me, things will be very different if you'll just let me come home.'

Her eyes filled with tears, but as he instinctively moved towards her, she held up a hand. ‘No – wait. How do I know you're not just missing home comforts, and when you've been back a while, you'll revert to your old ways? They were pretty . . . ingrained.'

‘I know I got away with it far too long, but that's over, I promise.' He paused. ‘Look, we could have a trial period, if you like. I could even sleep in the spare room, if it would make things easier.'

‘It'd be an interesting news item for show-and-tell, that's for sure.'

He answered her half-smile. ‘Well, I'm certainly not pressing it; I'm just trying to say I won't rush things. We can take it as slowly as you like, but perhaps –' his eyes strayed to the bar unit – ‘we could at least have a drink on it?'

Vicky wiped her eyes with the back of her hand. ‘I think we might manage that,' she said.

Jonathan joined them for supper on Saturday, much to the boys' delight.

‘Is your work in London finished, Daddy?' Tom enquired, eyes shining.

Work had been the cover story which, for the first month or two, both boys had accepted. Lately, though, they'd started asking why he stayed with Granny on his visits, and though his mother's recent bereavement provided an excuse, it was one he was increasingly uncomfortable with.

‘Almost,' he replied guardedly.

Vicky came to his rescue. ‘Perhaps, when Daddy takes you out next weekend, I could come too – make it a family outing.'

‘Like it used to be,' Tim said, nodding with satisfaction.

‘But much better!' Jonathan added, and, catching Vicky's eye, they exchanged a smile.

The world was suddenly a brighter place, and there was a spring in his step when he returned to London.

‘I must say you're much better company,' Steve remarked a couple of days later as they ate their evening meal. ‘The only thing that puzzles me is why you didn't make this move weeks ago.'

‘Because I've only just realized how objectionable I've been,' Jonathan said frankly. ‘Up till then, I was convinced Vicky was at least partly to blame.'

‘So you're now a reformed character?' Steve's raised eyebrow expressed doubt.

‘You'd better believe it. If things go wrong again, it will definitely be curtains. I can't risk that.'

His mobile cut off Steve's reply. The number showing was not one he recognized, and he frowned, resenting the interruption of his evening. ‘Hello?' he said brusquely, then stiffened, signalling Steve to come and listen.

‘This is Elise, Mr Farrell.' She paused, and when he made no comment, went on falteringly, ‘I am sorry to trouble you again, but I need to speak with you after all, if you could please meet me?'

Jonathan and Steve raised their eyebrows at each other.

‘I'm not sure that I can,' he said stiffly. ‘I'm engaged on other work now.'

‘But please, I implore you!' A note of urgency crept into her voice. ‘I do not know where else to turn.'

‘What guarantee have I you won't change your mind again and refuse to say anything?'

‘I promise. Things are more . . . serious now.'

‘For a start, will you tell me who you're working for?'

A pause, then: ‘Yes.'

‘So why is this time more important than last?'

There was a silence, and he thought she wasn't going to answer. Then she said in a half-whisper, ‘People have died.'

Jonathan felt the frisson that presaged a good story. ‘Your last chance, then,' he said. ‘Tomorrow morning, eleven o'clock at the same place?'

‘Oh thank you, thank you so much! I shall be there.' And she rang off.

‘Well, what do you make of that?' he demanded as Steve returned to his seat.

‘Worth looking into, at least.'

‘Will you come with me?'

Steve gave a surprised laugh. ‘Afraid she might proposition you?'

‘Hardly. I'd just like to know what you make of her. If it really is a big story, as she seems to imply, we might even work on it together.'

Steve shook his head doubtfully.

‘What? You still think she's taking me for a ride?'

‘I don't know; she could be.'

‘She didn't strike you as genuine?'

‘Oh, she was fairly convincing, I grant you. The test will be if she turns up tomorrow and spills the beans.'

‘Then you will come?'

‘OK, but only to satisfy my curiosity.'

By ten to eleven the following morning, they were seated at a window table. At least, Jonathan told himself, they'd not met Elise in the doorway, fleeing the scene. But as the hand of his watch crept past eleven, he was convinced, suddenly, that she wasn't coming. It was illogical – she was not yet five minutes late – but the certainty grew.

‘Let's order for ourselves, anyway,' he said, ignoring Steve's quick look as he called the waitress over. Damn the girl! he thought furiously; that was twice she'd made a fool of him. Steve, he knew, was concentrating on not saying ‘I told you so'.

Their coffee came. At nearby tables, people met, chatted, left. By eleven thirty, conversation between the two of them had dried up.

‘All right,' Jonathan said harshly. ‘Say it.'

Steve moved uncomfortably. ‘Perhaps she looked through the window, saw me with you, and panicked.'

‘Why should she panic? You haven't got two heads.'

‘She might have thought it was a trap of some kind.'

‘If it's a trap,' Jonathan said drily, ‘I'm the one who's been caught. I can't believe I allowed myself to be talked into it again, after what happened last time. But what the hell is she playing at, Steve? It's not the first of April. What possible good can be achieved by making a fool of me?'

‘Relax!' Steve said easily. ‘It's no big deal. For all we know, she might have a genuine reason for not coming.'

‘And pigs might fly.'

They had just asked for their bill when her call came. Jonathan glanced at the screen and swore under his breath; the number showing was the same as the previous evening.

‘I've a damn good mind not to answer it.'

‘At least give her the chance to explain.'

He jabbed at the button, but before he could speak her voice reached him, hurried and barely audible.

‘I am so sorry – please forgive me! I could not get away. I'm afraid they might suspect—' The next few words were drowned in a burst of static. Then a rapid whisper: ‘I shall contact you.' And she ended the call. Jonathan had not spoken one word.

‘So that,' he said heavily, ‘is that. If I'd had the chance, I'd have told her not to bother. I've had enough of being messed around.'

‘It didn't sound like a hoax,' Steve said consideringly.

Jonathan stared at him. ‘Are you pleading devil's advocate?'

‘No, I just . . .' He broke off, shrugging.

‘Just what?'

‘It's hard to explain. At first, I assumed she was out for publicity; but the last two calls – I don't know; I'm inclined to think there might be something in it.'

Jonathan sat back in his chair, regarding him sceptically. ‘Well, you've changed your tune.'

‘Perhaps she's fooled us both. The thing is . . .'

‘What?'

‘If you
don't
hear any more, we'll be left wondering.'

Jonathan frowned. ‘So what do you suggest we do?'

‘There's nothing we
can
do. You've no address for her, have you? Not even a last name. Just what
do
you know about her?'

‘Let's see: she works in the leisure industry – whatever that means – and has been over here for around two years. She wants me to look into something nefarious – or at least, she
thinks
she does, but the people she works for wouldn't want her speaking to me. And, most importantly, she says people have died.' He frowned. ‘What the hell did she mean by that?'

‘God knows. Industrial espionage?'

Jonathan gave a snort. ‘She's hardly the type.'

‘Well, you've met her and I haven't. But what else could it be?'

Jonathan shrugged, staring down at his mobile.

‘You could ring her back on that number,' Steve suggested.

Jonathan considered for a moment. ‘Suppose it got her into trouble? She didn't seem free to talk.'

‘You see!' Steve said triumphantly. ‘You're beginning to wonder, aren't you?'

‘Let's say I'm not prepared to risk it.'

‘In which case, we're back to square one, having to wait till she contacts you.'

‘Or writing it all off as a lesson in being gullible.'

Their bill was placed on the table, and Jonathan took out his wallet. ‘Thanks for coming with me. At least you can see what I'm up against.'

‘A handful of smoke,' Steve declaimed whimsically, ‘that dissolves in the air when you try to grasp it.'

‘And a colleague who's finally lost his marbles,' Jonathan retorted, pushing back his chair.

Sophie sat in the studio, the latest brochure on the desk in front of her. The immediate rush was over, orders had been despatched, and they could now sit back and await the next batch. In the meantime, she saw from her desk diary that it would soon be her nephews' birthday. Tom and Tim had been born on the same date two years apart, so shared a joint party. She lifted the phone and called her sister-in-law.

After they'd exchanged greetings, she said, ‘I'm in search of suggestions for birthday presents.'

‘Well, they've both made lists,' Vicky replied, ‘but that's little help, since they range from a puppy – which is
not
on the cards at the moment – to vastly expensive toys seen on TV, which they'd doubtless tire of within a week.'

‘Then I'll have to use my ingenuity, but as you know, I don't do boys. Will there be the usual joint party?'

‘Yes, but it'll probably be the last. So far, they've been happy with friends for tea and a conjuror or entertainer of some kind. But next year Tom will be seven, and among his friends, tenpin bowling or the cinema are already taking over. I'm pretty sure he'll be wanting something similar, which might not appeal to Tim.'

‘Better make the most of it this year, then!'

‘Oh, and as Anna only arrives home on Sunday, we'll be holding it the following weekend, so she can be there. You're invited, of course, if you can bear it.'

Sophie hesitated. ‘And . . . Jonathan?'

There was a pause. Then Vicky said, ‘Haven't you spoken to him this week?'

‘No?'

‘Well, we reached a sort of truce at the weekend. He came for supper on Saturday.'

‘Oh, Vicky, I
am
glad! He's been so miserable.'

‘So have I, heaven knows. But he really wants to try again, so we're going for it. He'll come home for good the weekend of the party – and what's more, he's promised to help with it, which will be a first.'