She froze, listening for another sound, another clue. But the wind and the loose aerial made it impossible to hear clearly. There was only one way to be sure.First she needed a weapon. In the top drawer of the desk she found a letter opener with a mother-of-pearl handle and a long thin blade. Gripping it at shoulder height, she crept across the room and on to the landing. She paused, hardly daring to breathe. The house shifted and groaned. The TV aerial rattled.Still she waited, paralysed. A gust of wind was followed by the clink of gla.s.s. .h.i.tting the floor, and she wondered if that was all she"d just heard. A piece of gla.s.s falling from the doorframe.The warring voices were back. One said: No, that was a different sound. No, that was a different sound.The other said: Either way, you have to check. You can"t stay here. Either way, you have to check. You can"t stay here.If it was him, Toby, then he was here for a reason. He was here because he knew she she was here. So hiding wouldn"t get her anywhere. Trying to climb out of an upstairs window would leave her fatally exposed to an attack. And bearing in mind what he"d done in Camber, he could simply start a fire and kill her that way. was here. So hiding wouldn"t get her anywhere. Trying to climb out of an upstairs window would leave her fatally exposed to an attack. And bearing in mind what he"d done in Camber, he could simply start a fire and kill her that way.No. There was only one option. The one she had so recklessly proposed to Craig as they waited in the ambulance on Wednesday night.Fight back.* * *She kept low, crouching awkwardly as she descended, one stair at a time, testing each tread as though negotiating a minefield. The hall edged into sight, revealing several open doors. All the rooms were dark. No sign of anyone lying in wait, but that didn"t mean no one was there.She reached the bottom stair and jabbed the knife as if shadowboxing. The hall was empty, all the way to the front door in one direction and the kitchen in the other. The doors in between led variously to a cloakroom, a dining room and a living room.Just as in the farmhouse, the open door was the better bet. From here it seemed an impossible distance away, standing like a prize at the end of a tunnel filled with unimaginable danger.But a minute or two had now pa.s.sed, and there had been no other suspicious noise, no movement. Maybe she had imagined it. Maybe it had just been the wind.Then she heard him.He breathed out.He was in the living room. Very close. Perhaps hiding behind the door.But he didn"t react. He didn"t spring out and attack her.He couldn"t see her, she realised. He must be relying on sound alone, and she"d come downstairs too quietly to be heard. If she could walk along the hall without making any noise . . .It was a tough challenge, tiptoeing slowly when every nerve in her body was screaming at her to run. Her resolve lasted only until she got to the kitchen, saw it was empty and knew she had at least a few seconds" advantage while he got out from behind the door. She would just have to make those seconds count.She ran across the kitchen, distantly noting that she could hear nothing from the hall. He was too slow to react, she thought. Ha! She made it to the back door and was about to burst into the cold raging night when suddenly he stepped into her path.She jerked to a halt, slithering on the broken gla.s.s. It was impossible, but he was standing right in front of her, close enough that she could taste his rancid breath in her face. He held the gun in one hand and in the other a two-way radio, a radio he had taken from Kendrick"s men. She guessed there must be another radio, set to the same channel, behind the living-room door. It had worked perfectly. It had flushed her out.So this is it, she thought. This is where it ends.He thought so too. "Give up," he said. Not a demand, or a request. A statement. A statement of the obvious.No. She wasn"t sure if she said the word aloud, or just thought it. He was aiming the gun at her, but some reckless intuition told her he wouldn"t shoot. He wasn"t done with her yet.She turned fast, twisting on the b.a.l.l.s of her feet, and at the same time hurled the letter opener like a spear. He flinched away but it caught him on the cheekbone. A line of blood materialised from nowhere and cascaded down his face.She moved fast, but Toby was faster. As soon as he saw she wasn"t intimidated by the gun, his hand dropped and he jumped forward, knowing he couldn"t let her get the advantage. She was too unpredictable. Too f.u.c.king resourceful.The cut on his face didn"t hurt yet, but it p.i.s.sed him off. If it had been on target it might have killed him. Blinded him, at least.He hated her for that. He added it to all the other reasons for hating her. It fuelled him, made him more determined. He got to her while she was still on the threshold, still turning. He dropped the radio but kept hold of the gun. One free hand should be enough.He was on her before she could move. Wrapped his arms around her, jamming the gun into her stomach. His other arm reached over her shoulder, locking around her neck."Give up," he said again. "Or Kendrick will kill Craig."For a bluff, it was pure genius. Totally instinctive. He had no idea he"d say it till the words came out of his mouth.And it worked. All her resistance ceased. He almost heard the whoosh whoosh as the fight drained out of her. as the fight drained out of her.Thank Christ for that.Too slow. Too stupid. Not thinking clearly.She had run right into his trap. Now he had her, literally in his grasp. She was aware of everything as if in slow motion: her mouth opening, drawing in a breath to scream. Adrenalin pumping furiously into her bloodstream, muscles primed for fight or flight. Some primordial imperative told her to run: get upstairs, create some distance and a chance to regroup . . .A smarter section of her brain knew better. You can"t move forward. Even if he doesn"t shoot, he"ll tighten his grip and crush your windpipe."Give up," she heard him say. "Or Kendrick will kill Craig."In that moment she wrestled control of her instinct and let herself go limp. She released a breath and with it some of the tension. She felt his body close in on her, but the hand around her neck relaxed. He thought she had surrendered.She threw herself against him with all her weight. Drove both her elbows into his stomach. Whipped her head back and connected with his face. A loud crack as bone gave way to bone.He screamed a guttural scream. His arms fell away and he stumbled. She heard a thud and didn"t register it, but he had dropped the gun. It made no difference. By then she was moving, running across the kitchen, towards the only weapon she could see.His nose was broken. The pain was atrocious. It felt like she"d driven a burning hot spike into his sinuses. There was a flap of skin hanging loose on his cheek. Blood pouring down his face. Only his fury kept him moving. The thought of what he"d do to her once he got her away from here.He"d been so clever, planting the other radio inside the house. And now he was being denied the reward that his ingenuity deserved. His resentment was accompanied by a much darker thought: one he"d been struggling to deny for weeks.It was over. From the moment he learned Julia was alive, he was finished. As soon as she"d reappeared with Walker, bleating about a second killer, he should have cut and run. And now it was too late.No. He had to stay focused. You can still do this You can still do this, he told himself. You"ve seen off four of Kendrick"s men. You can deal with this b.i.t.c.h. You"ve seen off four of Kendrick"s men. You can deal with this b.i.t.c.h.Stupidly, she didn"t try to run upstairs. She stayed in the kitchen, and that meant he could easily catch her.She reached the worktop next to the fridge. No knife block, thank G.o.d. There were probably knives somewhere, but she wouldn"t have time to reach them. Another second and he"d slam into her from behind. Maybe trap her hand in a drawer and crush her fingers. He"d enjoy that.He was two feet away. A foot. Close enough to smell her sweat and fear. Now she was turning. Probably about to beg for another chance. Well, she could forget that. He"d suffered enough at her hands. Now it was her turn.
Seventy-Eight.
She could feel him close behind her, right on her heels. Not even enough distance to turn and fight properly.This had to work.She knew Craig was living in his father"s house at the moment, but he obviously wasn"t doing much cooking. The kitchen looked more like something from a show home. No dirty dishes on the unit in front of her. No spice racks or mug trees or egg holders. No knives. No clutter. Just a brushed-steel toaster and a matching kettle.The kettle was modern, high-tech. Shaped like a tall jug, resting on a detachable base which plugged into the mains. It had a vertical strip of transparent plastic to show the water level. It was half full.She grabbed it in desperation. Her stomach was protesting again, a terrible splitting sensation that could only mean something was seriously wrong. There was no way she could get upstairs. No way she could outrun him.As she lifted the kettle clear of the base she realised how heavy it was. A solid, expensive piece of kit.Good.She could feel Toby closing on her. He was going to ram her, crush her against the units. She didn"t even have time to turn properly. She just spun her upper body and brought the kettle round in front of her, swung it over and down like a tennis serve, aiming for the point where she hoped his head would be.At the moment of contact she thought of the dream. She was on the beach at Camber Sands and the killer had fallen from the tree. She"d beaten him to death with a poker or a crowbar.Only it wasn"t a poker, or a crowbar. It was an ordinary domestic kettle. And she didn"t beat him over and over. She hit him twice.But the result was the same.His own momentum contributed to the force of the blow, like a man running into a wall. The kettle landed on the top of his head and she saw his skull crack. The sound it made was unlike anything she"d ever heard. It entered her ears and seemed to trickle through her body like an infection, a chilling nausea.Toby came to an abrupt stop. His eyes rolled up in his head and his legs gave way.She hit him again as he dropped. She didn"t know why. Perhaps in response to some vestigial echo of her dream. Even as she did it, there was a voice telling her it was unnecessary. s.a.d.i.s.tic, even.Well, maybe I"m ent.i.tled, she thought. Maybe he owes me this one.He lay at her feet, not moving. There was so much blood on his face, she couldn"t tell if his eyes were open or shut. The back of his head was oozing dark, clotted blood. Blood mixed with something else. She didn"t want to think about what it might be.She was pressed against the kitchen units. Trapped. She couldn"t move without stepping over him. She stayed like that for a long time, still holding the kettle, the water inside sloshing because she was shaking so hard.Gradually the shock subsided. You have to move, she told herself. It"s not over yet.She stared at the kettle as if seeing it for the first time. Blood and hair had adhered to the underside. She set it down on the unit and looked at the body once more. Watching it for movement.Holding the worktop for balance, she brought her right knee up and extended her foot over the body. She had an image of his hand whipping out, grabbing her ankle. She could feel her nerves jangling like a fire alarm, a wailing inside her head that made it an effort to think or breathe or move.She planted her right foot on the far side of his body, then repeated the move with her left leg. A big exaggerated motion, her knee arching high, like some absurd mime artist.When she was finally standing clear she felt drained, as though she"d just run a marathon. She gave the body one final glance, then left the kitchen, stumbled through the hall and into the cloakroom. She grabbed the sink as she felt herself blacking out. Possibly she did, for her next memory was of climbing to her feet, running cold water over her wrists while she looked in the mirror and a killer stared implacably back at her.For a moment her parents were standing behind her, just as they had stood on the terrace in her dream, regarding her with quiet shame."I"m not her," she whispered. But she knew it was a lie.The last words he ever spoke floated back to her.Kendrick will kill Craig.Could she believe him? What would make Toby say that?She knew Kendrick was here, in the village. It wasn"t impossible that Craig was here too. Perhaps . . .Perhaps he had come looking for her. Perhaps he hadn"t given up.She sighed. She faced herself in the mirror and made a conscious decision: she would ignore the pain in her stomach until she knew that Craig was safe.If he hadn"t given up, neither could she.
Seventy-Nine.
Ten minutes, Kendrick had said. And then they would be dead.Craig believed him. He found himself counting the seconds, knowing he had to act now or he might never see his children again.With two minutes to go, the lights went out again. This time they didn"t come back on.Kendrick had just made another attempt to contact his men. The pair he"d sent after Toby weren"t responding. Now, when the room went dark, he reacted as if they were under attack. Craig saw him draw a gun and fire several times, wild panicky shots directed at the driveway outside. There was a loud crash as one of the big windows shattered.The guard, Moss, gave a shout of alarm and moved towards his boss. In the confusion Craig dived forward and threw all his weight into a tackle, trying to bring him down while also wrestling the gun from his hand.He failed on both points. Moss was simply too strong. He was knocked off balance, but he didn"t fall. For Craig it was like hurling himself at a brick wall. He grappled with the man"s wrist, but Moss jerked his elbow back and caught Craig in the chest, knocking the air from his lungs. He was driven backwards by the blow, and in the darkness saw Moss turning, trying to aim the gun in his direction.Then something flew past his head, and there was a loud thud. The big man groaned and fell back, and as he did the gun went off. Craig also dropped to the floor, expecting another shot, but none came. Instead he could hear Moss breathing in painful gasps and swearing quietly.Then a controlled voice said, "Stay there, Craig. Move and you"re dead."It came from less than three feet away. Craig was lying awkwardly on the floor, one of his legs caught beneath a chair. He wasn"t in a position to get up quickly, even if he wanted to. His rebellion had failed.As his eyes adjusted to the dark, Craig risked moving his head slightly. George was on his knees, facing Craig. Kendrick stood behind him, the gun against George"s skull. It was a cla.s.sic execution pose, but far from looking defeated, George"s eyes were blazing with determination. Like Craig, he had been biding his time.Kendrick said, "Moss, are you all right?""f.u.c.ker threw something at me," Moss growled. His voice was tight with pain. Craig turned, saw the dark gleam of blood on the big man"s forehead. There was a broken ashtray on the floor next to him, but Moss was more concerned about his leg, clutching his calf with both hands. "Gun went off as I fell," he said. "Caught my f.u.c.king leg."Kendrick sighed. "Can you walk?""I don"t know, boss.""Well, you"re gonna have to. We"re getting out of here."Then another voice shouted, "Drop your gun."Kendrick turned towards the sound, his mouth forming an incredulous smile. From his position on the floor, Craig couldn"t see the person who had just entered the room. But he recognised the voice, and for a moment thought he must be dreaming.The power failure nearly killed her. She was approaching the grounds of Chilton Manor when a ferocious gust of wind was accompanied by a loud rending sound from the field to her right. Without consciously understanding what it was, Julia surged forward. The pylon toppled slowly, colliding with a tree and then landing in the field. At the same time she had the impression of a dark cable whipping through the air above her head.Flinging herself down on the opposite verge, she saw a bright flash of lightning just feet away. There was a harsh burning smell in the air, and she understood it wasn"t lightning. It was the live wire sparking as it hit the ground.She lay on the wet gra.s.s, watching for another strike. The pain in her stomach was back with a vengeance, but she had no choice but to ignore it. She hadn"t made it this far just to end up electrocuted in a freak accident.At the next lull in the wind she got up and dashed clear of the cable"s reach. Clutching her belly as she ran, she reached the manor gates and found little more than two twisted heaps of metal. Kendrick must have rammed right through them.Seconds later she spotted Craig"s car, destroying her last faint hope that Toby had been bluffing. On the approach to the house, she noticed one of the living-room windows was shattered. She could dimly make out shadows moving inside. Praying she wasn"t too late, she struggled up the steps and found the front door was open.Crossing the hall, a spasm of pain almost caused her to black out. It felt like someone was pouring hot tar into her stomach. She blinked away tears and checked the gun in her hand. After taking it from Toby, she had gone into the garden and fired into the air. If the moment came to use it in anger, she wanted to know she could pull the trigger.Now that moment was here.She stepped into the doorway and took aim."Drop your gun," she ordered.
Eighty.
She moved further into the room. Close enough to see who she was aiming at, but not so close that he could spring at her.She recognised him straight away. He turned his head and looked at her in amazement. He glanced at the gun in her hand, then back up, studying her face. A quick, professional a.s.sessment. Would she have the guts to shoot?"Toby"s dead," she told him, by way of an answer. "I killed him."He gave the merest nod of his head, almost a congratulation. "And my men?""Toby killed them.""Well, well. Quite a mess to clear up."Keeping her eyes locked on him, she called out, "Craig? Are you all right?""I"m here," said a voice from the floor. "I"m okay. So is George. He"s kneeling in front of Kendrick.""I can see him," Julia said. "Is there anyone else?""One of Kendrick"s guys. He"s on the floor near me. He"s wounded, but he has a gun.""And he"ll use it," said Kendrick. "He"ll shoot Craig, and I"ll shoot George, unless you put your gun down right now.""Don"t listen to him," Craig said. "He was involved in the ma.s.sacre. Toby"s only targets were the Caplans. It was Kendrick who persuaded Carl to murder the others.""I know," said Julia. "And I know why."Kendrick was still smiling, still radiating confidence. "You don"t know anything. Give me that gun and I might, just might, let you live."Now George spoke up. "He"s bluffing. Shoot him now. Don"t worry about me. Shoot him."Julia"s finger tightened on the trigger. Deep down she knew George was right. Her best chance of survival was to fire now, while Kendrick had his own weapon aimed at George. But in that scenario George was also likely to die. Kendrick knew it, and he was banking on the a.s.sumption that she wasn"t capable of such ruthlessness."I know your real name," Julia said. "And I know who your target was."Kendrick"s expression changed. There was a little more respect in his voice when he answered. "In that case, you"ll know how easily I can walk away from this.""Can you? Give up all your power and wealth?""I can get it again. It"s easily acquired, if you have the right qualities.""I don"t understand," said Craig. "Is this man Kendrick or not?""That"s what he calls himself," Julia said. "His real name is Robert Meade. Isn"t that right? Robert Meade, from the island of Montserrat."Craig could hear what Julia was saying, but none of it made much sense. That didn"t matter, so long as she kept on talking. While everyone concentrated on her, Craig was slowly inching his way across the carpet.Moss was still in a sitting position, but he had leaned to one side, resting against a sofa. Once or twice he"d shut his eyes for a few seconds. He hadn"t yet let go of his injured leg, which meant his gun must be lying on the floor nearby. Craig kept shuffling closer, his hands feeling for the gun while he looked from Kendrick to Julia and tried to follow the conversation.So Kendrick wasn"t his real name? George appeared equally confused by this revelation. He was saying something when Julia"s last sentence finally penetrated.Robert Meade, from the island of Montserrat.Craig knew that name. He"d read it somewhere. He had heard it spoken. Someone had told him about a man called Robert Meade."Oh no," he gasped. "No."Julia said, "I"m sorry, Craig. You shouldn"t have to find out like this.""My father?" Craig said.Julia wasn"t sure if the question was directed at her, or at Kendrick, who was now staring at Craig. Julia took a sly step closer, improving her line of fire."But Kendrick"s from Trinidad," George said. "I researched him. He comes from a good family."Kendrick chuckled. "Stolen ident.i.ty, George. I met the real Max Kendrick in prison, more than ten years ago. The guards thought it was hilarious that we looked so alike. We could have been twins. Kendrick had run off when he was a teenager. The day he told me his family hadn"t seen him for years, I came up with the idea of impersonating him, helping myself to some of their fortune. It was Jacques who convinced me to play a long game, and that way I got everything."George let out what might have been a sob. Kendrick s.a.d.i.s.tically prodded him with the gun. Craig saw Moss"s eyes were closed and shifted another couple of inches."I left prison knowing everything about his life, all kinds of details that would convince his parents. He was released a couple of months later. Jacques got rid of him for me, and pretty soon I was living the high life in Trinidad, back in the bosom of my estranged family.""They accepted you?" Julia asked, remembering the malevolent gaze from the newspaper cutting."I think they had their doubts, especially the mother. But they were so glad to have their wayward son back, they believed what they wanted to believe. It"s human nature, isn"t it, George?" Again he jabbed him with the gun. "By that time the old man was dying. And I made sure "Mummy" followed soon after.""And my father knew the truth?" Craig said."He would have done. He was the one who got me locked away in the first place." He chuckled. "When I came over here I hadn"t given him a thought in years. It wasn"t until we started due diligence that I found out about the campaign to stop the Chilton development. And who should be leading it but good old Philip Walker. Probably the only man in Britain who could look at me and know I wasn"t really Max Kendrick."Craig felt a surge of fury. He opened his mouth to speak, but at the same time his fingers touched cold metal. He eased back a little further."There was no way I wanted to abandon the deal, so he had to be removed. Discovering that Toby was plotting to kill the Caplans gave me a perfect opportunity.""But why so many deaths?" Julia asked."It"s an imprecise science," Kendrick said, his eyes sparkling with humour. "Carl wasn"t exactly stable. All we told him was to make sure it didn"t look like Walker was the only target. Even then he nearly bungled it. Luckily Walker came out, trying to be a hero again." Another chuckle. "Of course, we had the protection of knowing that even if a conspiracy came to light, it would be Toby, and possibly the Mathesons, who took the fall.""And you killed Abby Clark, didn"t you?" Craig demanded."I take my privacy very seriously," Kendrick said. "She tried contacting one or two people in Trinidad, and I decided that was a little too close for comfort."George suddenly jerked forward, and for a second Julia thought he had been hit. Then he shouted, "Shoot him, for G.o.d"s sake. Shoot!"The words emerged in a strange elongated stream, as if through a funnel, and although Julia knew it was the right thing to do, her body refused to obey. A black gauze was wrapping itself round her, pulling her down, and as she fell she heard gunfire, three shots from two different guns, and told herself that if this was dying, it really wasn"t so bad.Craig had to angle his shot high to be sure of missing George. He aimed at Kendrick"s head just as Kendrick fired first at Julia, then in Craig"s direction. He was moving at the same time, and even as Craig shut his eyes and felt hot blood hit his face he knew his own shot had missed.He opened his eyes, amazed to find himself still alive, just in time to see Kendrick leaping through the window. Moss was lying dead beside him, and George was on his hands and knees, vomiting on to the carpet. There was no sign of Julia.Kicking a chair away, Craig got to his feet and blundered across the room. He made out the shape of her body, face-down on the floor. He screamed her name into the darkness but she didn"t respond. He dropped beside her and gently lifted her arm. There was no blood visible on her, no obvious wound, but it wasn"t until he found a pulse that he let out a jagged breath and dared to believe it could be all right.
Eighty-One.
She woke in a gloomy dawn to the patter of rain on the roof. Then the sun broke through and the birds began their raucous celebration of the coming day. Julia lay and listened to them, realising with a kind of awe that not only was she alive, but that for the first time in many days she had a genuine expectation of life, of recovery, of happiness.Although Kendrick had fired in her direction, it had been way off target, partly because by then she had already collapsed. She had Craig to thank for her survival. It was he who decided her need for medical attention took priority over chasing Kendrick.Together with George, he had carried her out to his car and driven like a maniac to the nearest A&E, in Haywards Heath. There she underwent an emergency operation to stem internal bleeding. She was also diagnosed with pneumonia, and spent the next two weeks in hospital.As word of the events spread, the media attention became even more rabid than the first time around. Julia had to be kept under a strict guard: her only regular visitors were her brother and his wife, and Craig, who had needed two dozen st.i.tches to repair the knife wound in his thigh.It was Craig who updated her on the police investigation. Nothing had been seen of Kendrick, although the two men with whom he was thought to have escaped were later found dead, their Jeep abandoned in an industrial estate in Folkestone. The police believed this was a ploy, designed to suggest he had left the country by this route. Craig"s police contact, DI Sullivan, was also found outside the village with a gunshot wound to the spine, and it was still doubtful as to whether he would walk again.Kendrick"s ruthlessness was confirmed when the police told Craig they thought he"d deliberately killed Moss, so as not to leave a witness who could reveal his whereabouts. It was several days before they traced his rented house in Berkshire, by which time it had been gutted by fire. There was no saying how long Kendrick had stayed there, or what he might have taken with him when he fled.After that, the trail went cold. Julia understood now what he"d meant when he said how easily he could walk away. For a man who"d spent more than a decade inhabiting a false ident.i.ty, it wouldn"t trouble him to slip on a new one and resume his life somewhere else.For Craig and Julia, that left one important question. Did he remain a threat to them?The senior detective, when he was finally permitted to speak to Julia, took a fairly dismissive att.i.tude. "He"s long gone, I"m sure of it. There"s really no need to spend your whole life looking over your shoulder."Julia couldn"t see quite as much reason to be confident, but in some ways it was irrelevant. There was no question of the police providing them with protection. She and Craig and George as well, for that matter would simply have to take their chances.She was discharged from hospital on the understanding that she would spend a long period of convalescence at the Old Schoolhouse, under Craig"s care. This time she intended to follow her doctor"s recommendations to the letter.First there was the media to contend with. Craig"s advice was not to hide from them. "They"re like hunters," he told her. "It"s the thrill of the chase that gets them going. Make yourself available and they"ll lose interest a lot sooner."And so it proved. She gave several print interviews, made one TV appearance, and then she was left alone. The world had moved on to newer, fresher tragedies.Returning to Chilton wasn"t nearly as traumatic as she expected. She arrived back on a grey, nondescript morning at the beginning of March. An almost palpable air of exhaustion hung over the village, but unlike before there was no sense of menace, no feeling of unfinished business. Entering the house, she had insisted on going into the kitchen, seeing for herself the room where Toby had perished.Where she had killed him.She had stood a moment, waiting to see what ghosts might appear, but there was nothing. Just weariness, and a satisfaction that it was all over at last.All over, but for one conversation.It took place on her third day after leaving hospital. First she talked it over with Craig, and sensed a marked reluctance on his part. She knew he feared the effect it would have on her recovery. For her sake and for his own, he was trying to focus remorselessly on the future. He"d also made it clear he wanted that future to include a relationship between the two of them, an idea which grew more appealing with each pa.s.sing day.She spotted him from the window and left the house. It was a warm, sunny morning. After the second wave of forensic investigation, the clean-up had removed all the remaining flowers and wreaths, signalling an end to mourning and a slow return to normality. Now, apart from some trees lost to the storm, the village looked exactly as it had done before 19 January.On the green, the great yew still dominated. George Matheson waited beneath it, gazing into the middle distance. He saw her and turned, offering an uncertain smile.It seemed to take them both by surprise when they embraced. While still holding her, he said, "I"m very sorry for what they did."They broke apart, and Julia nodded. "You don"t have to apologise. I know you had nothing to do with it."He seemed gratified, but still let out a heavy sigh. "I don"t think I"ll ever come to terms with the scale of Vanessa"s betrayal.""I remember that morning when we met here," Julia said. "I told you about my parents and you seemed so sympathetic, so genuinely upset about the ma.s.sacre. I couldn"t bear to think you were faking that grief." She swallowed heavily. "And now I know you weren"t.""No doubt Craig told you what happened at the house. You know what drove Vanessa to do it?"Julia nodded. "Your affair with Laura Caplan."George gave a funny little laugh. He turned away from the tree and walked towards the pond. Julia fell into step beside him. The sight of a Royal Mail van driving up the High Street caused a momentary flutter of nerves, reminding her of how it had all started."How"s Megan?" she said.His face immediately brightened. "She"s making progress. Not talking yet, but she responds to stimulation. She squeezes my hand. Sometimes she smiles."Julia faltered. Her mouth felt very dry. He gave her an inquisitive glance, his face benign, as if he knew what was to come and wouldn"t be offended."Is Megan your daughter?"His expression didn"t change. No surprise, no shock or anger. But he shook his head just the same, leaving Julia confused."I"m afraid the truth is even more tragic," he said. "I"m her grandfather."Julia felt too stunned to respond. She stopped by the edge of the pond, stared at the murky brown water and tried to make sense of this revelation."When I employed Keith, I had no idea," George went on. "Laura didn"t say anything to me for years. Too frightened that I might reject her, she told me later. She was the result of a very brief relationship I had in my early twenties. I knew nothing at all about the pregnancy. Laura didn"t find out about me until her mother died. By then she was married to Keith. When they saw the farm job advertised, Laura thought it would be a perfect opportunity to . . . well, observe me from afar, I suppose.""When did she tell you?" Julia asked."About two years ago. After the incident with Carl. Keith hadn"t been particularly sympathetic. We were discussing it one day when suddenly she came out with it." He shrugged. "After that, we spent more and more time together, usually when Vanessa was in London. We were rather secretive, because Laura wasn"t sure how Keith would react to the news. Their marriage was already in trouble.""Why not let Vanessa know the truth?" As she spoke, Julia remembered something Craig had told her. "She couldn"t have children."George frowned. "That"s right. We"d tried everything that was possible at the time, to no avail. It made her feel terribly inadequate, and I think over the years it ate away at her. Finding out that I had a daughter would have been a devastating blow. I was still agonising over how to break the news when the cancer was diagnosed."He sniffed, turned away from her for a moment. "I was a dreadful coward," he said. "I decided it was best to say nothing. Once Vanessa had pa.s.sed away, I"d intended to give Laura the financial support to leave Keith, and I wanted to pay for Megan"s education."He stopped as a sob escaped him. Julia stepped closer, taking his hand and pressing it between her own. He looked at her with a face crumpled with grief, tears wet on his cheeks."It was an appalling mistake, and it cost so many lives. If it weren"t for Megan, I don"t think I"d have the will to go on."Julia said nothing. A noise behind her made her turn. Craig had emerged from the Old Schoolhouse and was walking towards her, looking concerned. She waved him away.George blew his nose and recovered his composure. He looked at his watch and nodded to himself, as if he had said more than enough. But before they parted, Julia had one more question."What about the village?"He shrugged. "Nothing stays the same for ever. I can"t guarantee that Chilton won"t fall to the developers . . ." He rested a hand on her shoulder, gripping it tightly for a moment. "But it won"t happen while I draw breath."He kissed her on both cheeks, and wished her well. Julia watched him walk across the green and disappear into Hurst Lane. Then she turned and joined Craig by the yew tree. His expression hadn"t altered."This just arrived," he said.He handed her a postcard showing a spectacular volcanic eruption on the island of Montserrat. She turned it over and read the back. It was addressed to her, care of the Old Schoolhouse. The handwriting was neat, square, unfamiliar. The message was short and sweet.One day our paths will cross again.
Until then . . . stay alive for me.
Be lucky.
Her laughter caught Craig unawares. He stared at her as if she"d lost her senses."What are you going to do?"Julia gave him the card back. She looked up at the broad, graceful branches of the tree that had sheltered her and saved her life. Far above, she could see aircraft trails criss-crossing a milky-blue sky. A whole world carrying on as normal."I"m going to take his advice," she said.
Acknowledgements
For their help with research into police procedures, telecommunications and medical matters, I"d like to thank Supt Steve Voice, Tony Deakin, Simon Cude, Dawn Hayes, Natasha b.u.t.t and Mr S Waquar Yusuf. I must stress that certain liberties were taken for the sake of the story, so responsibility for any errors or inaccuracies lies firmly with the author.I owe a huge debt of grat.i.tude to everyone at Janklow & Nesbit UK, particularly my agent, Tif Loehnis, as well as Rebecca Folland, Kirsty Gordon and Jenny McVeigh. At Preface/Random House I"d like to thank Trevor Dolby, Stephen Dumughn, Holly Roberts, Mari Roberts, Ben Wright and most of all my editor, the incomparable Rosie de Courcy: her faith, guidance and support played a crucial part in seeing this project to fruition.Thanks to all my friends and family, especially my parents and parents-in-law, whose help over the past few years has been invaluable. Thanks also to Claire Burrell, Tracy Brown, Adrian Magson, Sheila Quigley, Nick Stone, Mike Paterson, Hugh d.i.c.kens and the late Bob Medland.Special love and thanks to James and Emily for their patience and inspiration. And to my wife, Niki, who endured all the years of rejection alongside me, without ever losing faith that one day this would happen.