24

MILLER AND GOLDING had evidently changed their minds by Saturday morning. After a largely sleepless night in a cell at Newbury Police Station, Charlotte was released without explanation immediately after breakfast. She was driven back to Tunbridge Wells in a panda car, monitoring on her wristwatch the gradual approach of nine o’clock while heading east along the M25. What was happening in Galicia she could only imagine. She knew, moreover, that she would have to go on only imagining until definite news reached her. A visit or telephone call to Colin Fairfax at this stage could be just the mistake her release was intended to provoke.

In such circumstances, her return to Ockham House was merely the exchange of one kind of cell for another. She could go nowhere in case word came while she was out. She could speak to nobody for fear of betraying herself. And she could think of nothing beyond all the reasons why Frank’s plan might have miscarried, why he and Derek, especially Derek, might, thanks to her, be in mortal danger.

An hour of such agonizing made confinement unbearable. Leaving the French windows open to ensure she would hear the telephone if it rang, she walked out on to the lawn, where the autumn leaves had fallen thick and fast during the past distracted week. She remembered the hot day in June when the family had assembled there after Beatrix’s funeral and Derek had burst in on them, levelling accusations they had all agreed were absurd. The only absurdity apparent to her now was their collective ignorance, their mutual unawareness of what the future held. It was not yet four months ago, but seemed in other ways as distant as her own childhood, when they had played French cricket on this same lawn, her father winking as he tossed the tennis ball towards her and Maurice smirking as he crouched by the holly-bush, preparing to catch her out. ‘Hit it this way, Charlie. Go on. You can—’

Suddenly, a car appeared up the drive, moving fast enough to throw a shower of gravel on to the lawn when it braked to a halt. It was a large rust-pocked old Jaguar, similar to a model Charlotte’s father had once owned. Colin Fairfax climbed out, grinning from ear to ear.

‘What is it?’ Charlotte cried.

‘Good news.’

‘Really?’

‘The best.’ He lowered his voice as she approached. ‘Derek rang me from a bar in Castro Caldelas about twenty minutes ago. I thought I’d come straight over in case you’d been released, which I’m glad to see you have. Well, so has your niece. Everything went according to plan. She’s with Derek – safe and sound.’

‘Oh, thank God.’ Impulsively, Charlotte leant up and kissed him. For a moment, the car, his smile and her sudden elation made it seem as if her father had arrived home from work, armed as he often was with a present for her. ‘And thank you, Colin. Without you, it wouldn’t have been possible.’

‘True.’ His smile broadened. ‘But, after what I’ve been through recently, pulling the wool over the old bill’s eyes was a real pleasure.’

‘What you’ve been through is the fault of my family – the family you’ve just placed hugely in your debt.’

‘Freedom must be making me generous. How about a drink to celebrate?’

‘Certainly. Come inside.’

It was over now. The uncertainty. The misery. The suffering Maurice had caused to one and all by meddling in matters he did not understand. Life could begin again, on a note not of triumph over the past but of liberation from it. Laughing at the simple joy of it, Charlotte led the way towards the house. There she poured Colin a large scotch and herself a scarcely smaller gin to toast the success of their strange and fleeting alliance.

‘How long before the news becomes official, do you think?’

‘Several hours, I shouldn’t wonder. Derek said they planned to drop Sam at the police station in Santiago de Compostela. God knows how long it’ll take the Spanish authorities to sort things out from there.’

‘Meanwhile, only we know she’s safe. It seems a pity her mother should have to go on thinking the worst until … Do you know, I’ve half a mind to call her right now.’ But, as soon as she had said it, Charlotte realized how unwise such an act would be. ‘I can’t, can I?’

‘Not if you want to be sure of keeping our part in this secret.’

‘If only Ursula were here. If only I could tell her without running the risk of being overheard.’ The obvious solution flashed into her mind. ‘Why don’t I drive up and put her out of her agony?’ Then another objection arose. ‘But my car’s still at Speldhurst. Colin, could you—’

‘I’ll take you the whole way,’ said Colin, draining his scotch and gazing fondly at the bottle. ‘Matter of fact, I wouldn’t mind letting your sister-in-law know it was me who helped save her daughter.’

‘All right,’ said Charlotte decisively. ‘Wait here while I change into something that doesn’t smell of a standard issue police mattress.’

‘Want a hand?’

‘Wait here!’

When Charlotte returned to the lounge ten minutes later, she found Colin seated on the sofa, gazing benignly at Beatrix’s old Tunbridge Ware work-table, which had stood empty in the corner of the room since Charlotte had removed it from Jackdaw Cottage shortly after the funeral.

‘I’ve just been admiring it,’ said Colin. ‘Lovely marquetry. One of Russell’s, I shouldn’t wonder. Your aunt’s, of course. I remember seeing it there – during my brief visit.’

‘A brief visit with enduring consequences.’

‘I should say so.’ Colin sipped at his scotch and smiled gently, as if reflecting on the irony as well as the injustice of what he had endured.

‘But they’re nearly at an end now.’

‘What are?’

‘The consequences.’

‘Ah. I see what you mean.’

‘So, shall we go?’

‘Yes.’ Colin heaved himself up. ‘Let’s do that.’