It was a frosty December day when Nula came home in the Bentley. Terry was in the front passenger seat, and Peter – one of Charlie’s old boys who had advanced training in mobile protection work – was at the wheel. Charlie sat beside her in the back, chatting to her, making out everything was fine. Nula had felt like it was, back at the clinic. The doctors had said they were pleased with her progress.
Now, doubts were creeping in again. What they were riding along in was a mobile fortress; the car was armour-plated. They had someone at the wheel who could thwart an attack if one happened. And Terry was armed. When he’d picked up her bag at the clinic, she’d seen the bulge of the gun in its shoulder holster under his suit jacket.
‘All right then, babes?’ Charlie was asking her, while she was thinking about all this security that Charlie had to have around him now. Because people wanted to kill him. He was a wealthy man with a dangerous secret life, and there were those who would want to take all that away from him and have it for themselves.
‘Yeah.’ She forced a shaky smile. ‘Fine.’ She looked at her husband. He was growing older, chunkier. His brown hair had receded until now his head looked like a monk’s, with a smooth bald section in the middle. Only his brown eyes were the same as always. He looked tanned. He looked rich. Every inch the successful owner of Stone Furnishings Ltd.
The car swung sharply left as they turned into the driveway, passing the gatehouse. Then they were roaring up to the main house and Peter was parking up. The engine died and they all got out, Charlie moving ahead of her, leading the way indoors. Indoors, to the place where her baby had died. And where – she didn’t doubt this, not for a minute – their adopted child had tried to kill her.
She hesitated inside the open doorway, looking in at the massive gold-decorated Christmas tree, the loops of ivy and bright baubles bedecking the big staircase in the hall. She could hear David Bowie and Bing Crosby dueting on ‘Peace on Earth/Little Drummer Boy’.
‘Like it?’ asked Charlie. ‘We had it all done special, just for you.’
‘Where’s Milly?’ she asked, not answering his question.
‘Upstairs,’ said Charlie. ‘She’ll be down in a minute. Can’t wait to see you.’
‘And is he here . . . ?’
She could see Charlie making an effort to be reasonable. To be patient. Neither of which were Charlie’s strong suit. ‘Who, babes?’
‘Harlan.’
‘Mum!’ It was him, coming across the hall, smiling. Harlan. He’d passed his seventeenth birthday and was growing into a smoothly handsome young man, one of those individuals who were always immaculate. He was wearing a white silk shirt, Harris tweed jacket, stylishly cut jeans and well-polished tan brogues. His honey-brown hair was brushed and gleaming, his face clean-shaven, his cool grey eyes alight with what seemed to be pleasure at seeing her. Or he’s faking it, she thought.
Nula felt a moment’s total panic. She repeated the mantra the psychologist had taught her at the clinic. What happened to your baby upset you, made you see and hear things that weren’t there. But you’re better now, and everything’s OK. Of course Harlan isn’t a threat to you. Not at all.
Somehow she got an answering smile plastered onto her face. ‘Harlan,’ she said, and didn’t shudder or shove him away when he came in close and hugged her. Then he hugged Charlie too.
Nula watched the two of them together and thought: Charlie’s committed to Harlan now. He’s completely invested in the devious little shit; he’s blanked Jake, his real son, his dead son, from his mind and locked him away in a box marked too painful to think about.
Terry put the bag down on the hall floor and said: ‘OK, Charlie, I’ll leave you to it,’ and he left, closing the front door behind him.
Charlie turned to his wife. He thought that she’d aged, the poor bitch. Worry had etched deep lines in her face. Her eyes were anxious.
‘Come on babes, let’s get you upstairs, get your stuff unpacked,’ he said.
‘I’ll bring the bag,’ said Harlan, reaching down to snatch it up.
‘No,’ said Charlie a shade too sharply. ‘I’ll take it.’
Despite her efforts, Charlie could see that Nula was rattled by the sight of her adopted son. Right then and there, he made a decision. Harlan was done with schooling now. He’d sort him out a place in town, get him started properly in the business, get him out of Nula’s way.
Beezer could keep an eye on him.
It would work out fine.