'My dear, what on earth is it?' Dodie exclaimed.
Emma sat up in alarm, and brushed her eyes. 'You startled me! Valerie? Hi. Nice to see you. Can I get you a drink? Coffee? Or something stronger?'
'Coffee would be lovely,' Dodie said firmly. She dreaded to think of the drive back if Valerie had been swigging alcohol.
By the time Emma returned, now wearing jeans and a tee shirt, she had renewed her make-up, but she hadn't been able to disguise her red-rimmed eyes.
'Lots of sea birds round here,' Dodie said. 'Do you mind if I borrow your binoculars?'
'Go ahead. Garajau means terns in Portuguese. They called the point after the hundreds of them that nest here.'
Dodie focussed the glasses, then swung them round in a wide arc. From the angle Emma had been using them she'd been watching something on the ground, not soaring birds, but all Dodie could see apart from people sitting or working in their gardens were several people walking dogs and a couple of joggers in the distance.
She laid down the binoculars and turned back, listening to Valerie's account of Libby's disappearance and their suspicions. 'You probably know her as well as anyone else here,' she finished. 'Is it likely she could try to get money out of us this way?'
Emma nodded. 'It's just the crazy sort of scheme she'd try,' she agreed. 'She's determined to act, has been ever since I've known her.'
'Where can she be? You've seen her, I think?'
'Only briefly, once. Oh, and she popped in once with David to show off her new party dress. They were going to his friend's, I gather. I don't know of anyone else here she knows. And she can't be with Alex in his place, even if it weren't him she was trying to get money from.'
'We've asked David Holmes, he hasn't seen her, and she couldn't be with him, he's living with his boss's family. She hasn't any money to stay at an hotel, even a cheap one. I just pray she's not trying to sleep rough.'
'There aren't any hippie beaches in Madeira,' Emma said. 'There are the parks, but she'd probably be seen, they're mostly pretty open. There are a few who sleep rough, but they are mostly old winos and the like. She'd be too scared to mix with them.'
She had no more suggestions, and Valerie got up to leave. 'Thanks. We'd better go back in case there's another message. Emma, just in case it isn't Libby's own idea, but a real kidnap, you won't tell anyone else? Oh, God, I do hope it is her playing a stupid prank, even if she is sleeping under some wretched bush!'
Dodie was deep in thought as Valerie drove home, more sedately this time. 'How did Emma know Alex had what she called his own place?' she asked suddenly. 'He hadn't arrived that first time Libby said she'd seen Emma. And would she have had cause to mention it during a brief visit to show off her dress?'
Valerie tried to remember. 'Emma said she hadn't seen her apart from that, but Funchal's so small, people are always bumping into one another. Libby may have seen her again, or Emma may have seen Alex. It isn't important.'
After a few more minutes Dodie spoke again. 'She'd been crying.'
'Emma?'
'She was very edgy. I'll swear it was connected with whatever she was watching through those binoculars, but all I could see were dog walkers and joggers.'
'Bruce jogs. I'm surprised Emma doesn't. I wonder if she works out to keep that lovely body in trim? It must have dented Alex's ego when such a gorgeous creature left him. Oh, Dodie, I'm so worried about Libby. Children are such a responsibility.'
*
Gloria shook her head and turned away. She couldn't find anything she wanted. In the whole of Paris there was nothing which would make up to her for the misery she felt. There was no one interesting staying in the hotel, the food was terrible, the service worse. She'd try somewhere else next time.
She drained two fingers of neat rum and rolled the tumbler in her hands. It wasn't the thought of Jake which was so depressing. She didn't care for him, he was far too openly greedy, but he had a vigorous body and he provided companionship of a sort. She'd tolerate him for a while longer. Then she grimaced. It was a toss-up whether he went first. She supposed it depended on how generous she was. He could get tired of waiting for the bribes she promised.
She poured more rum. Then she shook her head and tipped it into the flower pot where a leggy plant struggled to survive. 'It's kill or cure you,' she muttered, and forced herself to move into the bedroom. She was too weary to go through her usual routine. Her face could look after itself tonight. After all, who cared? Jake didn't. She was just a wallet to him. She couldn't even kid herself he enjoyed sex with her. He was a stud, but he did it for money. A male whore. What was the word? She'd remember it tomorrow. She was too wretched to care.
She gazed bleary-eyed into the bathroom mirror as she pulled off her skirt and blouse, leaving them on the floor. She could no longer pretend, even to herself, that she looked half her age. There were yet more wrinkles showing, but she could not endure the thought of more surgery. Her underwear was discarded, and she walked into the bedroom. She sat on the bed and then, with a shrug, went to fetch the rum bottle. It didn't make her happier, but it would help her decide whether to leave Jake to stew by himself, while she went down to Monte Carlo for Christmas, or whether to go back home. Perhaps he'd agree to going on a cruise with her. At least he'd find it more difficult to escape from a boat. But she wasn't sure if she wanted to keep him. She drank straight from the bottle, and then rocked back and forth as she lay down, hugging the bottle to her. She sank into oblivion and the rest of the sticky liquid, unnoticed, tricked over her abused body to soak into the expensive Parisian mattress.
*
Libby jumped nervously. She hadn't heard the garden gate open. Jake had said he'd oiled the hinges well to facilitate his own comings and goings. She crouched down near the window, hoping that if anyone glanced in they wouldn't be able to see her. She'd been here for two days and nights now, and was becoming bored as well as anxious. It had been a near miss when her father had come searching for her. She only got out into the garden just in time. The letters she and Jake had composed, with much giggling, had elicited a short reply brought as instructed to a distant rendezvous by the second taxi-driver they'd used as courier, agreeing to their demands, but asking for details of what to do next. She'd wanted to insist on cash being sent to England, and she would be there to receive it, but Jake had pointed out the problems with this idea, and also said curtly that he didn't mean to finance her ticket to England out of his own slim hoard of savings.
Footsteps went past the window and Libby risked a peep. She frowned. It was Isabella Maclean. Was she bringing a message from her parents? Did they know Jake's employer? Surely Isabella could have nothing to do with the old hag who was making such a fool of herself over Jake? Yet Mrs Neville was away.
Curious, bored with her inactivity, she decided to follow the girl. There were plenty of shrubs in the garden to hide her, as she'd discovered when dodging her father's search. She slipped behind a bank of dense foliage and began to weave her way towards the main house. Then she heard raised voices and halted abruptly. Why was Jake, who'd said he would be watering the profusion of hanging baskets Gloria had taken it into her head to put up, in this part of the garden?
'You must help me, Jake!' Isabella was saying, a catch in her voice. 'My mother is so angry. I can't bear it much longer.'
'Hush, darling, we don't want anyone to hear us,' Jake said, trying to urge her towards the gate.
'Why did you say we had to part? Why, just now? Don't you love me any more?'
'Isabella, sweet, of course I do. But perhaps it is wrong. I'm too old for you.'
'I said you weren't! Why haven't you met me like I asked?'
'I've been to London, you knew I had to go.'
'You've been back for more than a week.'
'There's been a great deal to do. Isabella, you have to trust me to know what's best.'
'I can't stay here. You promised to take me away,' she cried, panic surfacing.
'And I will, when it's
possible. Look, this isn't the time to talk about it, but don't worry, darling, it'll be all right, I swear.'
'How? What can I do? You said it would be safe, I couldn't have a baby, you would make sure it didn't happen, but it has!'
'You can't be certain it's mine,' he interrupted, and Libby gasped with shock.
Isabella did not appear to see the implications. 'And my mother is furious,' she sobbed. 'Jake, I'm frightened. I have to get away from here.'
'I'll meet you later in the afternoon. Where could we be private?'
'Why not here? Why not your cottage where we used to meet?'
'Isabella, pet, Gloria has another guest there now, and I have to sleep in the house while she's away. I can't ask you there, it wouldn't be right. Can't you think of somewhere?'
There was a short silence, and then they moved towards the gate. Libby flattened herself on the ground and missed the next words. In a short while Jake came back alone and she sat up and stared after him thoughtfully.
Poor deluded Isabella, she thought. Abruptly her own concerns seemed trivial, and what she and Jake were planning shabby and contemptible. It had seemed justified, fun to get the better of her family in such a way, but now she saw it differently. And, a small inner voice asked, could she trust Jake? He'd been very insistent he had to collect the cash wherever it was handed over. Now she wondered cynically whether she'd ever have seen it if she'd agreed. He'd told Isabella plenty of lies.
Slowly she went back to the cottage, gathered together the few possessions she'd brought with her, and slipped out of the gate. As she plodded along the lane she considered how much she ought to tell her father. Not about Jake, she concluded. There was enough bad blood between them, and while she didn't care in the least what happened to Jake, she didn't want her father charged with assault. She'd just say she never saw her kidnappers, but had managed to escape out of a window, and she'd make sure that she wouldn't know the way back to her supposed prison.
*
'Bruce, what on earth's happened?'
Emma, who had reached home a few minutes earlier and was putting away her coat, went to Bruce who was clinging to the edge of the door. His jacket was torn, there were dried streaks of blood on his face, and one eye was closed.
'Get me a brandy,' he said, as she helped him across to a chair.
When he'd gulped down one glass he glanced up at her. 'I was mugged,' he said, his voice full of surprise. 'I was in one of those quiet little lanes which run at the backs of some of the big villas. I'd left the car there while I went to collect my photos. Then out of nowhere someone coshed me on the back of the head.'
'My poor darling! Let me get a bowl of warm water and clean your poor face. Have you seen a doctor? Should I call one?'
'There's no need. I'm just a bit groggy. I think I was out for a moment. I didn't see who it was, but I did see someone tall running away, round the nearest corner.'
'Did they steal your wallet?' Emma asked after she'd cleaned Bruce's wounds. Despite his protests, she had prevailed on him to have a check-up and was driving him to the hospital.
'No, didn't even try to. And they could have done, I was in no state at first to resist.'
'Then why on earth? You don't have enemies who'd do it for some form of revenge, and what other reason could there be? It wasn't Alex Ross, I suppose?'
'Alex?' Bruce asked sharply. 'Why should it be?'
'Valerie says he's acting oddly,' Emma improvised swiftly. 'When we divorced, he seemed not to care, but perhaps he did. Seeing us here, so happy, he might have been suddenly overcome by jealousy.'
Bruce guffawed, and then held his head. 'God, you sound like a trashy teenage romance! I had a feeling I knew the fellow, but it was getting dark and he was some distance away. I don't think it was Alex.'
'He gave Jake a lovely black eye.'
'When? I hadn't heard about this?'
'It was some fight, over a woman, I believe.' Emma tried to sound casual. She wasn't going to tell Bruce all Alex had told her, or she'd set off his jealousy again. 'He's capable of violence.'
'It wasn't Alex. Forget it, Emma, the doctors told you I'm still in one piece, and all I want now is bed and a good night's sleep.'
*
Theo hurried, panting as he climbed the steep hill. He felt as though he'd been playing truant. He'd taken longer than he'd intended, browsing amongst the books in the Quinta Magnolia library. Normally he read in Portuguese, conscientious in trying to perfect his grasp of the language, but there was very little available about his major interest, the Saxons, and he'd indulged himself with a visit to the English section. He hadn't meant to leave Isabella for so long in the Santa Clara Church, but she'd begged for an hour, and he sympathized with her need to be alone. At home she was watched incessantly, constantly chided by her mother and brothers and, when they saw her, by the rest of Maria's family too. Just lately Maria had insisted she could only leave the hotel when one of the family could go with her, and none of them ever seemed free. She must find it irksome. Maria hadn't been able to forbid her to go to confession, though, and fortunately hadn't been able to accompany her because of some kitchen crisis. He half expected Isabella to be waiting for him in the small courtyard, but it was deserted. He hoped she had not broken her promise and left, for that would bring further recriminations down on both their heads. He went inside and at first thought the church, with its heavy grille at the back, and the wonderful, clear blue wall tiles, was empty. Then he saw what looked like a bundle of clothes on the steps of the altar, and recognized the brightly patterned scarf he had given Isabella last week in a vain attempt to cheer her.
'Sweetheart, what is it?' he exclaimed as he hurried towards her, nameless fears surging through his jumbled thoughts.
To his relief she moved, and then he heard the racking sobs which tore from her throat. Carefully he lifted her and cradled her in his arms, rocking her gently as he had all those years ago when she had been a baby. She clutched at his jacket convulsively, and gradually the sobs lessened and she permitted him to carry her to one of the benches beneath the pulpit in the centre of the side wall.
'Tell me, little one,' he crooned. 'It can't be so dreadful. Let me help you. Was the priest unsympathetic?'
'I didn't go to confession. I lied to you when I said I wanted to,' she wailed. 'I'd arranged to meet Jake, but he won't help me, he just sent a note, said he was finished with me, that I'd been stupid!'
'Tell me exactly what happened,' Theo said gently.
She began to stammer out her anguished account, and from the muddle of self-recrimination, apologies, and condemnations of Jake, he discovered the truth. He read the crumpled, tear-stained letter and shook with helpless fury. Until now Isabella had refused to name her lover, but hearing the name made Theo long to rush out and tackle the man. He forced himself to remain calm, fighting down the furious rage which he felt against Jake. Not only had he betrayed Isabella, now he'd deserted her in the most callous way. But Jake would have to wait. He would deal with that monster later. Just now Isabella was all that mattered.
Theo was thinking rapidly. Life in Madeira had become impossible since Maria had turned against Isabella. They'd been so delighted when she'd been born, ten years after the boys, and when they'd given up hope of a daughter. He'd been thinking nostalgically of England during the past few years, wanting to study Saxon sites before he grew too old, but had never imagined he'd be able to go. Now, if he went to England, he could take Isabella and so hide the family's shame. That would please Maria. He didn't think further, to when he'd have to decide whether to come back. Isabella was the only important thing, her and his first grandchild.
'I could take you to England, to Aunt Connie, I think. We'll find a reason why which will silence the gossips. Let's say you're in need of change after what's happened, to get away and decide whether you want to marry Rui.'
'I've shamed everybody, I'll never be forgiven.'
'Never mind that. Your baby is what we need to cons
ider most of all. You have to be strong and think what's best for him. Let me work out the details. I'll come with you, I was hoping to go to England for a while anyway. I can stay with you if you want me to, until you've had the child. Then we'll see what can be done, whether you keep it or come back.'
The look of relief on her face both gladdened him and made him sad. How could he have allowed Maria and her family to have so much power to frighten his child? But he would make it up to her, she would have a better opportunity than he'd had to recover from his mistakes.
***
Chapter 5
'Why on earth do you want to go to such a boring affair?' Gloria asked petulantly. 'A ruby wedding, and then fireworks.'
'It's the New Year, a very special one for us,' Jake whispered. 'Besides, I want the chance of meeting my beloved mama where she can't bawl me out,' Jake explained for the second time.
'But why do you have to meet her?'
'To persuade her not to include me in this wretched TV thing they're doing about her.'
'I can't take my gardener handyman to a neighbour's party. It would look most peculiar.'
'Are you ashamed of me?'
'No, but it was mainly to protect you that we thought up such a little bit of pretend.'
He sighed. He'd already discovered what an elastic memory Gloria had, and an infinite ability to twist facts for her own benefit. He had to go to this party. He was furious with Libby for running away, losing him the opportunity of securing some cash, and he meant to tell her so. She'd been avoiding him, he was sure, but at her grandparents' party she could be cornered.
'Look, hardly anybody knows I'm with you, yet, so you could take me as a friend. Let's say we met in France, or Miami. Tell them I'm a friend of a niece or something. If I'm with you the Thorns couldn't have me thrown out even if Mama complains to them. And if I don't get her to stop those journalists ferreting round, looking for dirt on me, they'll soon discover what we really mean to one another. You'd hardly appreciate that.'
'I don't think all this adds up,' Gloria said, her tone suspicious. 'Those journalists aren't here now, you said.'
'No, but they'll be coming back. I'd have to leave the island if they did start pestering me,' he warned. Since her return from Paris Gloria had been even more desperate for his attentions, and he didn't fear rejection.