Marianne’s face turned white. “What do you mean, Freda answered?” she cried.
“Are you sure it was Holly’s number you connected to?” Callum cut in, scrolling to it himself.
“I don’t have Freda’s,” Marianne told him.
Fear and confusion were welling up in Joely. “What is she doing answering Holly’s phone? And why the hell did I just ring off? What a fool. Call back . . .”
“Holly? It’s Dad, are . . . Christ, it’s her voicemail. Holly, ring me as soon as you get this. I need to hear from you.” Clicking off, he stared hard at Joely and her mother. “What exactly is going on?” he demanded, his face tight with confusion and concern. “Who is this Freda person, and what is she doing with Holly’s phone?”
“She’s the woman you saw at the house, before we left,” Marianne reminded him, more agitated than ever.
“The one Joely’s been working with?”
“She must still be there,” Marianne said to Joely. “We were in such a rush to leave . . . Oh God, Holly must have turned up . . .”
“We need to get back to London,” Joely said to Callum, and ignoring the pain she struggled to her feet. “Someone help me into those clothes . . .”
“Is Holly in some kind of danger?” Callum insisted, snatching up the carrier bag as Marianne tore off the paper gown. “Is this woman . . . What the hell is she likely to do?”
“I don’t know.” Joely grabbed his arm as she stepped into the panties her mother was holding out. “Probably nothing, but she’s not . . .” She broke off as a nurse came into the room. “Mum, you tell him,” she said, gesturing for her mother to hand the clothes to the nurse.
“Do we need to call the police?” Callum persisted. “Christ, Joely, this is our daughter . . .”
“I know who she is,” Joely snapped. “And the woman we’re talking about is nuts, so yes, we probably should ring the police. Mum will know what to tell them.” She yelped as her damaged left side became trapped between her and the nurse.
“It’s her!” Callum cried as his phone rang. “Holly? Are you OK?”
Joely’s right hand tightened like a vice on the nurse’s arm.
“So where are you?” Callum asked, eyes going to Joely. “And who’s with you? She’s been there all night? And you’ve been with her? Is she . . . ? Holly, calm down, I’m only asking. Yes, Mum’s fine. We’re coming . . . We’ll be there very soon. Fine. Yes. We love you.” As he rang off, Joely said, “You didn’t ask why Freda answered her phone?”
Callum held out his mobile. “Call her back. I’m going to get the car.”
“Did she sound all right?” Marianne asked, moving swiftly after him. “I don’t think Freda will harm her . . . She had nothing to do with what happened.”
“Nor did I,” Joely called after her, “and look at me.”
“Freda?” Holly said, sauntering into the kitchen where Freda was making breakfast. “Why did you answer my phone? I know you did, because I can see there was a call from Grandma . . .”
“It was on the sofa, where you left it,” Freda informed her, putting a plate of toast on the table, “and when I saw it was Marianne I thought I’d tell her to hold on while I fetched you. Unfortunately we got cut off. Have you spoken to her now?”
“No, but I have to Dad, and seems like they’re all in a flap about you still being here.”
“Oh dear.”
Perching on one of the barstools, Holly helped herself to toast and coated it with butter. “You know, that story about Grandma is totally awesome,” she commented, taking a bite.
“Mm,” Freda grunted. She brought mugs and coffee to the table and set them down. “So you’ve said, more than once. Do all teenagers keep repeating themselves?”
Holly shrugged. “I’m still trying to get my head around her sha— getting it on with her music teacher. And he was your brother?”
Before Freda could reply, Holly’s mobile jingled the Dad tone and with a sigh she clicked on. “Hey,” she said, crunching into more toast.
“It’s me,” her mother announced. “Is Freda still there?”
“She is.”
“What’s she doing?”
“Making breakfast.”
Silence.
“Totally amazing story about Grandma,” Holly declared. “I haven’t read it all yet, but wow, she rocked when she was young.”
“Holly, I need you . . .”
“Oh, sorry, Mum, Caitlin’s just texted and I need to get back to her. Glad you’re OK, see you later,” and clicking off she launched into a lengthy exchange of messages with one of her best friends. By the time she looked up again Freda had disappeared.
Returning to her phone, Holly spent the next ten minutes catching up with other friends while finishing her breakfast and drinking more coffee. It wasn’t until she got up to take her dishes to the sink that she realized Freda was standing in the doorway behind her, watching her.
“I wish you wouldn’t do that,” Holly grumbled. “It’s dead spooky.” This had to be the fourth or fifth time she’d turned around to catch Freda staring at her, and it was starting to freak her out.
“You can read these now,” Freda said, bringing a handful of pages to the island. “You’ll probably end up seeing your grandmother in a very different light to the romantic hue you’ve cast her in now.”
Holly glanced at the time.
“It won’t take long,” Freda told her, and going to close the kitchen door she stood against it, blocking the way out.
With a sigh Holly drew the pages toward her and started to read. She got no further than the first couple of lines before her phone buzzed into life again. “A lot to sort out today,” she told Freda, not looking up as she went off on another messaging spree.
Freda crossed over to the sink and began loading the dishwasher.
With more arrangements firmed up, Holly dutifully returned to the pages, reaching behind her head to bring her hair over one shoulder.
A few minutes later, as she got to the part where Sir confessed he already had a girlfriend she started to frown. “Bastard,” she muttered under her breath. “Sorry, I know he’s your brother, but . . .” She looked up and her eyes widened in shock. Freda was standing with her back to the sink and staring at her so hard it was as if she’d forgotten how to blink. Worse though was the bread knife she was holding up in one hand.
Holly’s heart turned over in fear. “What are you doing with that?”
Freda looked at the knife.
“You need to put it down,” Holly told her, getting up from the stool.
Freda was still looking at it.
Holly took a step back.
Freda said, “You haven’t finished. You must read to the part where her lies began. It’s the only way we’ll end up getting to the truth.”
As Callum drove them back to London, breaking speed limits on both motorways, Joely and Marianne explained about Freda, what she wanted from Marianne, and how she’d used Joely to get it. “It was manipulative to the point of crazy,” Joely said, letting her head fall back against the seat as everything throbbed. “She’s clearly lost all sense of perspective on what happened to her brother . . . And I still don’t know what did,” she said to her mother. “Did he go to prison?”
“Yes, he did,” Marianne answered quietly.
“I don’t care about him,” Callum said brusquely. “I’m more interested in my daughter being used to get to you, Marianne. Am I right? Is that what’s happening here?”
“I don’t know,” Marianne replied, anxiously, “but it’s possible.”
“So damned well give the woman what she wants.”
“I will. I’ll confirm everything she believes . . .”
“So did he, or didn’t he rape you?” Joely demanded from the back seat.
Marianne clasped her hands to her face. “There’s so much more to it, Joely,” she cried wretchedly. “What happened back then . . . I never . . . He . . .”
Realizing how distraught her mother was becoming Joely said, “OK, we need to calm this down. We’ve called the police, and we’ll soon be there ourselves.”
Several minutes passed in silence as they left the M4 and sped across the Chiswick flyover into London. They were approaching the outskirts of Kensington when Callum’s temper flared again, “I can hardly believe this, Joely. Not once during all the years you were a reporter dealing with some of the worst types of humanity did it ever come home with you. Now you’re supposed to be a safe and respectable ghostwriter and we get this . . .” He broke off as his phone rang.
It was the police calling back.
“An officer has been to the house,” a female voice informed them, “but there doesn’t appear to be anyone at home.”
“Did anyone try to get in?” he almost shouted.
“I believe so, but the doors and windows were locked and there was no sign of a disturbance.”
“But I told you, we think someone could be . . .” He stopped as Joely pressed his shoulder.
“We’re almost there,” she reminded him. “They haven’t got in, so there’s no point arguing.”
Minutes after ending the call he pulled up outside Marianne’s house and Joely threw open the rear passenger door to climb out.
“For God’s sake,” he cried, leaping out to help her.
“Let’s just get in there,” she said, and hardly feeling the pain racking her shoulder she started up the path.
Marianne was right behind them, taking out her keys, but before she could insert them in the door it opened wide.
All three of them froze.
“Where’s Holly?” Joely demanded pushing her way past Freda.
Freda didn’t answer, simply stood aside for them to enter as if it were her home they were barging their way into.
“Where’s Holly?” Joely shouted, from the sitting room.
Marianne went through to the kitchen. “She’s not here,” she cried shrilly.
Glaring at Freda, Callum growled, “Where is my daughter? What have you done with her?”
“I know who you are,” Freda told him, “you’re the cheating husband . . .”
“Freda!” Joely shouted. “Where is Holly?”
“She’s gone,” Freda replied.
“Gone where?”
Freda fluttered her fingers through the air, and with a small puff of air she flicked them out in a fan.
“Oh Christ,” Joely cried, recognizing the movement. “What have you done to her, Freda? She’s only a child. This has nothing to do with her.”
“I’ll check upstairs,” Callum said, and taking them two at a time he threw open the door to every room, but the only sign of Holly was her school bag and uniform dumped on the bed, and the usual clutter of shoes, hairdryer, brushes, and cosmetics scattered about the place.
In the hall, Marianne said to Freda, “I understand what you want, and I promise I’ll give it to you, but you must tell us where Holly is.”
Freda glanced at Joely, who was using Callum’s phone to call Holly again.
“No reply,” Joely said, as it went to messages.
“Try texting,” Callum instructed from the stairs. “She’s better at responding to that.”
Joely tapped in, Where are you? and pressed send.
She turned to Freda again and found her staring at Marianne. It was disturbing to see how superior she appeared to consider herself in someone else’s home, how in control she apparently felt—and how ready she was for this confrontation. Joely’s eyes moved to her mother. Marianne was holding the stare with a steel and confidence of her own, and yet there was something deep inside her that made Joely almost afraid to know what she was thinking.
“Why don’t you ask where he is?” Freda asked.
“Because I know where he is,” Marianne replied. Her eyes closed. “Stop this, Freda, please. You don’t know everything . . . I know you think you do, but I . . .”
Joely looked down as a text arrived. It was from Holly.
“She’s with Caitlin,” she told Callum half-collapsing with relief, and she handed him the phone so he could respond.
Freda regarded her archly. “Presumptions, Joely,” she stated loftily. “What have I told you about them? Once again you’ve leapt to an incorrect conclusion and what did it achieve apart from unnecessary fear and distress?”
“For God’s sake, Freda,” Joely snapped, “this isn’t a game,” but Freda had already turned back to Marianne.
“Shall we?” Freda invited, gesturing toward the sitting room as if she were the host and Marianne the guest.
Marianne signalled for her to go first and followed.
Joely said quietly to Callum, “I’m not sure what’s going to happen now, but I think it’s best if you wait in the kitchen.”
His eyes searched hers worriedly. “You’re exhausted,” he said. “You shouldn’t—”
“I’ll be fine,” she assured him, and because there was no more she could say for the moment she attempted a smile and went to join her mother and Freda.