James tore the letter into pieces and dropped them into the bin beside the desk. "Think twice before you persuade Nancy to reveal her connection with me," he said coldly. "I have lost my wife to a madman… I have no intention of losing my granddaughter as well."
Wolfie slipped through the trees in the wake of his father, drawn by a terrified curiosity to find out what was happening. He didn't know the saying "knowledge is power" but he understood the imperative. How else could he find his mother? He felt braver than he had for weeks, and he knew it had something to do with Bella's kindness and the conspiratorial finger that Nancy had put to her lips. They spoke to him of a future. Alone with Fox, he thought only of death.
The night was so black that he couldn't see anything, but he trod lightly and bit his tongue against the assault of branches and brambles. As the minutes passed, his eyes adjusted to the niggardly moonlight, and he could always hear the sound of twigs snapping as Fox's heavier tread broke through the woodland floor. Every so often he paused, having learned from his capture earlier not to walk blindly into a trap, but Fox kept moving toward the Manor. With the cunning of his namesake, Wolfie recognized that the man was returning to his territory-the same tree, his favorite vantage point-and, eyes and ears alert to obstacles, the child moved off at a tangent to establish a territory of his own.
Nothing happened for several minutes, then, to Wolfie's alarm, Fox began to speak. The child shrank down, assuming there was someone with him, but when no answer came he guessed Fox was talking into his mobile. Few of the words were distinguishable, but the inflections in Fox's voice reminded Wolfie of Lucky Fox… and that seemed strange when the old man was visible to him in one of the downstairs windows of the house.
"…1 have the letters and I have her name… Nancy Smith… Captain, Royal Engineers. You must be proud to have another soldier in the family. She even looks like you when you were younger. Tall and dark… the perfect clone… It's a pity she won't do what she's told. Nothing can be gained by involving you, you said… but here she is. So what price DNA now? Does she know who her father is…? Are you going to tell her before someone else does…?"
Mark replayed the recording several times. "If this is Leo then he really believes you're Nancy's father."
"He knows I'm not," said James, dropping files to the floor as he looked for the one marked "Miscellaneous."
"Then it isn't Leo," said Mark gently. "We've been looking in the wrong direction."
With resignation, James abandoned his search and folded his hands in front of his face. "Of course it's Leo," he said with surprising firmness. "You really must understand that, Mark. You're a godsend to him because your reactions are so predictable. You panic every time he shifts his position, instead of holding your nerve and forcing him to declare himself."
Mark stared at the window and the darkness outside, and his face in reflection had the same hunted look that James had worn for two days. Whoever this man was he had been in the house and knew what Nancy looked like, was probably watching them now. "Perhaps it's you who're the godsend, James," he murmured. "At least consider that your reaction to your son is also entirely predictable."
"Meaning what?"
"Leo is the first person you accuse in any situation."
19
Prue's face, too, looked hunted when she answered the hammering on her front door. A peek through her curtains had shown her the gleam of a pale car in the drive, and she assumed immediately that the police had come for her. She would have pretended she wasn't at home if a voice hadn't shouted: "Come on, Mrs. Weldon. We know you're in there."
She attached the chain and opened the door a couple of inches, peering at the two shadowy figures standing on the doorstep. "Who are you? What do you want?" she asked in a terrified voice.
"It's James Lockyer-Fox and Mark Ankerton," said Mark, jamming his shoe into the gap. "Switch on your porch light and you'll be able to see us."
She pressed her finger to the button, and a little courage returned with recognition. "If this is about serving a writ, I'm not going to accept it. I'm not accepting anything from you," she said rather wildly.
Mark gave an angry snort. "You certainly will. You'll accept the truth. Now let us in, please. We want to talk to you."
"No." She put her shoulder to the door and tried to close it.
"I'm not taking my foot away until you agree, Mrs. Weldon. Where's your husband? This will go a lot faster if we can talk to him as well." He raised his voice. "Mr. Weldon! Will you come to the door, please! James Lockyer-Fox would like to speak with you!"
"He's not here," hissed Prue, leaning her considerable weight against the insubstantial leather of Mark's loafer. "I'm on my own and you're frightening me. I'm going to give you one chance to take your foot away, and if you don't I'll slam the door so hard it'll really hurt you."
She relaxed the pressure briefly and watched the shoe vanish. "Now, go away!" she shouted, shoving against the panels and turning the mortise lock. "I'll call the police if you don't."
"Good idea," said Mark's voice from the other side. "We'll be calling them ourselves if you refuse to speak to us. What do you think your husband will feel about that? He was pretty unhappy when I spoke to him this morning. As far as I could make out, he didn't know about your malicious calls… the whole idea shocked him rigid."
She was breathing heavily from fear and exertion. "The police will be on my side," she panted, bending forward to bring her heaving chest under control. "You're not allowed to terrorize people like this."
"Yes, well, it's a pity you didn't remember that when you started your campaign against James. Or perhaps you think the law doesn't apply to you?" His voice took on a conversational tone. "Tell me… would you have been so vindictive if Ailsa hadn't run away every time she saw you? Isn't that what this is about? You wanted to boast about your chum at the Manor… and Ailsa made it plain she couldn't stand your poisonous tongue." He gave a small laugh. "No, I'm putting the cart before the horse. You were always poisonous… you can't help yourself… you'd have made these calls eventually whether Ailsa lived or died-if only to get your own back for being called Staggerbush behind your back-"
He broke off when he heard Prue's squeal of shock, immediately followed by the rattle of the chain and the mortise turning. "I think I've given her a heart attack," said James, opening the door. "Look at the silly creature. She'll break that chair if she's not careful."
Mark stepped inside and looked critically at Prue who was gasping for air on a delicate wicker seat. "What did you do?" He kicked the door closed with his heel and handed his briefcase to James.
"Touched her on the shoulder. I've never seen anyone jump so high."
Mark stooped to put a hand under her elbow. "Come on, Mrs. Weldon," he said, heaving her to her feet and supporting her with his other arm around her back. "Let's get you onto something more solid. Where's your sitting room?"
"This looks like it," said James, entering a room on the left. "Do you want to put her on the sofa, and I'll see if I can find some brandy?"
"Water might be better." He lowered her onto the padded seat while James returned to the kitchen in search of a glass. "You shouldn't leave your back door unlocked," he told her unsympathetically, hiding his relief as color came into her cheeks. "In these parts it's an invitation to enter."
She tried to say something but her mouth was too dry. Instead she took a swipe at him. She was a long way from dying, he thought, as he stepped out of reach. "You're allowed to use reasonable force only, Mrs. Weldon. You've already broken my foot because you're so damn fat. If you hurt me anywhere else I might just decide to prosecute."