22

IT WAS A windless morning in Speldhurst. Charlotte watched dawn break and spread its bleary greyness across the trim-lawned bungalows of Farriers. A couple of Derek’s neighbours had already set off for work in their company cars, speeding towards the bright office lights of normality, minds focused on today’s meeting and tomorrow’s round of golf. Not for them this eerie vigil she was bound to keep, hidden behind the net curtains of Derek’s lounge. Not for them the mind-numbing alternatives she knew she would have to face when and if and every time his telephone rang.

She crossed to the bookcase beside the television and cast her eye along the titles in search of one with which she might ease the tension of waiting. Economic theory. Photography. Natural history. Vintage cars. Fine art and poetry to balance the dog-eared yardage of pulp fiction. The mixture reminded her how little she really knew about him, how abnormal the manner was in which their paths had crossed. She wished it could have been otherwise. And then she saw, lying flat on a rank of paperbacks, Tristram Abberley: A Critical Biography. She pulled it out and studied the face of its subject on the cover. What would he have done if he had realized the havoc his literary lie would wreak in the lives of his sister and his son and half a dozen others still unborn when he caught his last breath in Tarragona? It was too late to ask him. Just as it was too late to ponder what she would do if she could know for certain what the next few hours would bring.

In Corunna, Derek had had to walk a mile or so into the city centre to find a kiosk selling the International Herald Tribune. Now he hurried with it to a bench in the palm-treed park nearby and turned anxiously to the classified advertisements, PEN PALS CAN BE REUNITED, blared the boxed and capitalized words, ORWELL WILL PAY. And there was his own telephone number in England. It could not be missed. It could not be mistaken. It had begun. Rolling the newspaper in his hand, he rose and set off back towards the hotel.

By ten o’clock, Charlotte had been expecting the telephone to ring for the best part of an hour. Nevertheless, when it did so, she started violently before running to answer it.

‘44-892-315509,’ she said as slowly as she could.

There was no reply. She waited, then began to repeat the number. But, before she had finished, the line went dead. She glared at the instrument as if it were to blame, then slammed it down. She was still glaring at it when it rang again.

‘44-892-315509.’

‘Miss Ladram?’ To judge by Derek’s description, the voice was Galazarga’s. But she knew better than to ask.

‘Yes.’

‘I represent those who are holding your niece, Miss Ladram.’

‘I know.’

‘We saw your advertisement.’

‘Good.’

‘Why the change of number?’

‘Because the police may be listening on mine. This is safer.’

‘I am glad to hear it. The subscriber is listed as D.A. Fairfax. We have recently had some contact with Mr Fairfax. I take it he is a friend of yours?’

‘Yes.’

‘Then I advise you to be more careful in your choice of friends. We have found Mr Fairfax to be an unreliable man to do business with.’

Now, Charlotte knew, was the moment to be firm. Now was the moment to seize the initiative. But she had only to think of Samantha, alone and frightened, to hold back a little longer. ‘I am well aware of Mr Fairfax’s dealings with you.’

‘In that case, you will be well aware of his failure to hoodwink us in the matter of the map.’

‘We’re not trying to hoodwink you. My aunt destroyed the map before handing the document over to us. I wish she hadn’t, but I can’t change what she did. It’s gone. Only Ortiz’s statement remains.’

‘We don’t believe you.’

‘Fine. Don’t believe us. But believe this.’ Deliberately, she hardened her voice. ‘We’ll hand the document over to the Spanish press unless you release my niece before the expiry of the deadline.’

There was a pause, then Galazarga said: ‘You are bluffing, Miss Ladram. And bluffing poorly. You would not take such a risk with your niece’s life.’

‘You’re right. I wouldn’t. But I no longer have the document. Mr Fairfax has it. He and his companion don’t share my scruples.’

‘Who is his companion?’

The question was a sign of weakness. Charlotte knew she must exploit it. ‘A ruthless man. Just like Señor Delgado.’

She had named Delgado for the very first time, but, if Galazarga noticed, he gave no sign of it. ‘Where is this … ruthless man?’ he asked.

‘With Mr Fairfax. In hiding. I don’t know where. They thought it safer for me not to know. They can contact me, but I can’t contact them. They’re waiting to see if they have to carry out their threat. So am I.’

‘Come, come, Miss Ladram. They will only do what you tell them to do.’

‘Not so. Mrs Abberley and I agreed with them before they left for Spain that they would ignore any subsequent change of mind on our part. It was a precaution we felt we had to take, to protect us from our own weakness as the deadline approached. So, you see, nothing I say will stop them going to the press. Only you can do that.’

‘By releasing your niece?’

‘Exactly.’

There was a delay of several seconds before Galazarga spoke again. When he did so, Charlotte detected a trace of hesitancy in his voice. ‘Miss Ladram, this really—’

‘What’s your answer?’

‘I beg your pardon?’

‘I have to know what to tell Mr Fairfax. Your answer, Señor Galazarga. I must have it now, please.’

He did not react to her use of his name any more than he had to her use of Delgado’s. ‘Very well. I will confer … with those I represent … and deliver their answer to you.’

‘When?’

‘This morning. By noon at the latest.’

‘All right. But—’

‘Goodbye, Miss Ladram.’

Derek walked across to the window of his hotel room and stared out at the harbour, where a red-hulled fishing boat had made no discernible progress towards the open sea since he had last observed it.

‘We should have heard from her by now,’ he said, turning back towards his companion, who sat in the only armchair, smoking his pipe and gazing at nothing.

‘We should hear from her,’ Frank said slowly, ‘when she has something to report.’

‘They must have seen the advert hours ago. What are they waiting for?’

‘If they’re waiting, it’s to test our nerves. Yours don’t seem to be standing up to the test too well.’

‘Oh, for God’s—’

‘Take some advice from me, boy. The advice of somebody who’s waited to go into battle often enough to be an expert. Waiting’s hard. But sometimes it’s a hell of a sight better than knowing.’

‘Thanks, Frank.’ With an exasperated shake of the head, Derek returned to watching the fishing boat. ‘Thanks a lot.’

Noon was still twenty minutes away when the telephone rang again. Charlotte forced herself to wait until it had completed two rings before picking it up.

‘44-892-315509.’

‘Miss Ladram?’

‘Señor Galazarga?’

‘My name does not matter, Miss Ladram. What matters is our answer.’

‘And what is your answer?’

‘We accept your terms.’ Charlotte uttered a silent prayer of thanks. Four simple words justified every chance she had taken. But four words, it transpired, were not all Galazarga had to say. ‘On certain conditions which must be scrupulously observed. If they are not, the agreement is null and void. And your niece’s life is forfeit.’

‘What are the conditions?’

‘The document must be brought to a location we nominate, where it will be handed over in return for your niece, who must then be delivered to a police station as if she had been set free without explanation. She must know nothing of the reason for her release and those who do know must say nothing, now or in the future.’

The arrangements for exchange were crucial. They might conceal a carefully planned deception. Charlotte knew this only too well. She had to weigh her eagerness to agree against the possibility of further trickery. But she had no sooner began considering the problem than a ring at the doorbell interrupted her. Rising from the chair with the telephone pressed to her ear, she peered out through the net-curtained window. But no car was visible on the drive or in the road. If, as she greatly feared, it was Golding, he had arrived on foot, which scarcely seemed likely. But somebody had, as a second ring of the bell confirmed.

‘Well, Miss Ladram? Do you accept our conditions?’

‘I must know more about them. Where … Where would the exchange take place?’

‘We have chosen somewhere offering privacy and security to both parties.’

There was a tapping on the window. When Charlotte looked round, she saw a bulky figure crouching close to the glass, cupping his hands around his eyes in an attempt to penetrate the screen of net.

‘Miss Ladram?’

‘I … I’m sorry. When … When do you envisage …’

‘Nine o’clock tomorrow morning.’

‘So … So soon?’ It was a stupid remark and she instantly regretted it. Looking round again, she was relieved to see that the figure had vanished from the window. She could only hope he had given up and gone away. ‘I’m sorry. Tomorrow morning is fine.’

‘Good. You accept, then?’

‘Perhaps. Tell me the details first.’

‘No. I must have your acceptance first. There can be no quibbling about any of our conditions. They are strictly non-negotiable.’

Another tapping, more like a drumming now. And from a different direction. Charlotte looked up. Standing at the uncurtained patio doors on the other side of the house, staring in at her through the dining room and the arch that separated it from the lounge, was Colin Fairfax. She recognized him at once from his court appearance more than three months ago. He was wearing exactly the same clothes – dark blue blazer, fawn trousers, open-necked striped shirt – and much the same expression of baffled disgruntlement. He tapped again as she watched.

‘Miss Ladram, do I have your undivided attention? You seem not to be concentrating on the matter in hand.’

‘I’m concentrating. Your conditions … I accept them.’ Speed was vital now. Colin Fairfax was not going to give up. That was obvious. She had to conclude her negotiations with Galazarga before he decided to take drastic action. ‘I accept all of them.’

‘Good. These, then, are the arrangements. Make a careful note of them, since I shall not repeat myself.’

Charlotte grabbed a pencil and leant forward to reach the pad of paper she had placed by the telephone earlier. ‘I’m listening.’

‘Mr Fairfax and his companion will drive to Orense, one hundred and eleven kilometres south-east of Santiago de Compostela. From there they will take the N120 road for Ponferrada. After forty-nine kilometres, they will reach the village of Castro Caldelas. There they will turn off to the north on the minor road to Monforte de Lemos, descending by a series of zig-zags into the valley of the river Sil. They will stop on the southern side of the bridge by which the road crosses the river, arriving no later than eight fifty-five tomorrow morning, Saturday October ten. Our representatives will bring your niece to the northern side of the bridge by the same time. At nine o’clock exactly, Mr Fairfax will walk unaccompanied to the centre of the bridge, taking the document with him, but no weapon of any kind, nor anything that could be mistaken for a weapon. One of our representatives will join him on the bridge and will inspect the document. If it is found to be satisfactory, your niece will be allowed to cross the bridge. Mr Fairfax and his companion will then start back with her towards Castro Caldelas, while our representatives depart in the opposite direction. Mr Fairfax and his companion will deliver your niece to a police station of their choice during the morning, but will not accompany her inside. They will tell her to say she was released by her kidnappers without explanation and does not know where or by whom she was held. They will tell her nothing else. Is that clear?’

‘Yes. It’s clear.’ Colin was banging his fist against the patio door now and shouting. Soon, the neighbours would be bound to hear. And she had still to pass Galazarga’s conditions on to Derek. She held up her hand to pacify Colin, but it appeared to have no effect. ‘Mr Fairfax will abide by these arrangements to the letter. You have … You have my guarantee.’

‘And you have mine that we will do the same. I trust there will be no … mishaps.’

‘So do—’

‘Goodbye, Miss Ladram.’

Charlotte slammed the telephone down, hurried across the dining room, released the lock on the patio doors and slid one panel open. Her action seemed to confuse Colin, who stepped back uncertainly.

‘Mr Fairfax,’ Charlotte said as calmly as she could, ‘I am here with your brother’s knowledge and consent, so there is no need to create a disturbance.’

His eyes narrowed. ‘Don’t I know you from somewhere?’

‘My name is Charlotte Ladram.’

‘Bloody hell! You’re Maurice Abberley’s sister.’

‘Yes. And I greatly regret the injustice you’ve suffered on his account, but—’

‘Was it you Dredge spoke to on the blower? I thought it must be some … Where is Derek? And why wasn’t he in court this morning? You were supposed to tell him about it.’ Each remark was accompanied by a stab of the forefinger and an ominous lowering of the brow.

‘Derek’s in Spain.’

‘Spain? But … According to his office, he’s supposed to be down with flu, being nursed by a cousin in Leicester neither of us has. Do you mean to say I might have had to stay in chokey just because he’s decided to have an illicit week in the sun?’

‘Of course not. He’s not on holiday. And you’ve been released anyway, haven’t you?’

‘Small thanks to Derek. If he’s not on holiday, what is he on?’

‘He’s doing something for me.’

‘For you?’

‘Yes. But I don’t have time to explain. When he gets back—’

A ring at the front door-bell stopped her in mid-sentence. She whirled round, hoping against hope … But there was a car in the drive now and another in the road, its blue light and Thames Valley Constabulary markings clearly visible. They had come, as she had known they would. But they had come too soon.

‘Oh, God, it’s the police.’

‘The police?’ There was a second and longer ring at the door. ‘What do they want?’

‘Me.’

‘You? Come off it.’

Time was running out. If she was lucky, she had a few minutes left, a few minutes which she had to put to good use. To call Derek now was impossible, especially with Colin firing questions and accusations at her. But maybe, just maybe, Colin might be her saviour. ‘Come inside,’ she said, grasping at his forearm. ‘Quickly!’

‘What the hell’s going on?’

‘Listen to me. Please.’ Charlotte slid the door shut behind him and locked it. ‘I did my best to make up for what my brother did to you, didn’t I? I handed over the evidence of his guilt to the police. It’s because of that evidence you’ve been released.’

‘I suppose so, but—’

‘Now I need to ask you a favour in return.’

‘A favour?’

There were three sharp rings at the door, followed by several raps of the knocker. Charlotte ran back to the telephone and grabbed the sheet of paper on which she had recorded Galazarga’s instructions. Colin walked slowly after her, his face creased by a puzzled frown.

‘Aren’t you going to let them in?’

‘Not yet. There’s something I have to tell you first. I need your help, Colin. Desperately.’

‘My help?’

‘Yes. And when you understand, I can only pray you’ll agree to give it.’

One o’clock was a deadline Derek had imposed on himself an hour earlier to calm his nerves. As it passed, his patience snapped. He picked up the telephone and began dialling, deliberately avoiding Frank’s gaze as he did so. There was a delay of several seconds, then the ringing tone, followed almost immediately by an answer.

‘Tunbridge Wells 315509.’

It was not Charlotte. It was not even the form of words she had said she would use. It sounded disturbingly like a policewoman.

‘Hello?’

He slammed the telephone down and looked across at Frank. ‘It wasn’t her,’ he said numbly. ‘Somebody else answered. Somebody who … I think it’s gone wrong, Frank. I think it’s gone disastrously wrong.’

Two o’clock found Charlotte sitting at a metal table in a bare strip-lit interview room at Newbury Police Station. On the other side of the table, Golding leant forward in his chair, scanning her face for some kind of reaction while Superintendent Miller prowled the linoleumed space between them and the door, venting his anger at Charlotte’s conduct. Behind him stood a woman police constable, staring expressionlessly at the opposite wall.

‘You’ve thrown away our best chance of saving your niece. You’ve ensured we can’t contact her kidnappers as we’d planned, can’t reason with them, can’t negotiate at all. Why, Miss Ladram? Why do such a stupid thing?’

‘They may still call on Mr Fairfax’s number,’ Charlotte replied. ‘You can negotiate with them then, can’t you?’

‘But you won’t be there to answer.’

‘Well, that’s because I’m here, isn’t it? That’s your decision.’

‘We can’t trust you any more, Charlotte,’ said Golding. ‘Surely you understand that. How can we when you’ve gone behind our backs like this?’

‘I simply didn’t see the need to wait until tomorrow.’

‘You didn’t see the need to let us know what you said to the kidnappers,’ shouted Miller. ‘That’s the truth, isn’t it? You wanted to strike a private deal with them.’

‘Why, Charlotte?’ Golding gently enquired. ‘What were you trying to hide?’

‘Nothing.’

‘What made you think you could do better on your own?’

‘I just … wanted to try.’

‘If you were on your own, of course. Where’s Derek Fairfax?’

‘I don’t know.’

‘His brother said you refused to offer any explanation for his absence – or for your presence in his house.’

‘He told you the truth.’

‘But you didn’t, did you?’ bellowed Miller, bringing the flat of his hand down on to the table so suddenly that Charlotte jumped. ‘You were there yesterday morning as well. Why?’

‘Derek asked me to look in from time to time while he was away.’

‘Away where?’

‘He didn’t say.’

Miller snorted and turned away. But Golding’s gaze did not shift from her face. ‘Did the kidnappers ring this morning, Charlotte?’

‘No.’

‘Do you think they’ll ring later?’

‘I don’t know.’

‘Or tomorrow?’

‘I don’t know.’

‘What about Samantha? What do you reckon will happen to her now?’

‘I don’t know.’

‘In short, you don’t know anything?’

‘Nothing I haven’t already told you.’

‘We don’t believe you,’ growled Miller.

‘And until we do,’ said Golding, ‘you won’t be leaving here.’

Frank’s argument that they should wait until nightfall before assuming the worst was wearing thin as far as Derek was concerned. His inability to suggest an alternative course of action was in fact the only reason why he had not left the hotel room, which uncertainty and lack of information had turned into a prison he longed to escape. When the telephone rang, he grabbed at it instinctively, wanting nothing so much as to hear Charlotte’s voice at the other end. But he did not.

‘Hello?’

‘Derek?’

For a second, he did not believe his own senses. It sounded like Colin. It undoubtedly was Colin. But how? Why? ‘Colin? Is that really … What … I mean …’

‘I was released this morning. Since nobody seemed to know where you were, I called at your house. I met Charlotte Ladram there. She told me how to contact you.’

‘Charlotte did? But … Where is she?’

‘In police custody.’

‘Why?’

‘You know why, Derek. You know very well why. Drop the pretence. It won’t wash. She told me everything. Well, she didn’t really have much choice. It was either that or …’ Colin sighed. ‘Against my better judgement, like the soft-hearted fool I am, I agreed to act as her messenger. I’m at the shop now. By some miracle, the phone’s not been cut off. But I certainly can’t afford too many international calls. So, pin your ears back. I’ve a lot to tell you.’