‘I think we should leave.’ She hurried out, appalled at what she had just seen: Ester and Julia in an embrace, both naked, locked in each other’s arms.
Ester grabbed her towel and ran out after them as they disappeared up the cellar stairs. ‘Just a minute! Wait! Wait a minute.’
But they couldn’t get out fast enough even when Mr Crow suggested that perhaps they should apologize.
‘Apologize? We should just leave. You didn’t see what I did and this is the last place I would recommend a child be sent to. It’s disgusting.’
Mr Crow turned as Ester, draped in a towel, followed. He stared and then hurried out. She looked down the stairs to Julia. ‘I think they were from the social services. We’d better not mention this to Dolly.’
It was getting dark when Angela appeared. When they saw her alone the women downed tools and called to her. ‘Where’s Dolly?’
‘I don’t know, she sent me home.’
‘Shit!’ Ester marched over to Angela. Where did she go? She’s coming back, isn’t she?’ she demanded, her heart sinking. Would Dolly just up, take the cash and leave them all here? She went into Dolly’s room. All her belongings were there, including the deeds of the house, so she felt a little easier, reckoned she would be back.
By the time Dolly did come back, a few hours later, the women were all having supper. When she walked in, they started talking at once about how much work they had been doing, how they loved the house, but slowly their conversation petered out as Dolly chucked the pouch bag on to the table.
‘Take a look. They’re worthless, glass, all of them.’
They gaped, fingering the glittering stones, before looking at Dolly in confusion.
‘There’s no money, no cuts, nothing.’
Kathleen picked up one of the biggest stones, held it in her pudgy hand, then rested it against her cheek. It felt cold but it soon warmed up. She hurled it against the side of the Aga where it shattered into tiny fragments. ‘Fucking glass, all right.’
Each one of them would have liked to smash something, anything, as their initial confusion turned to anger, their dreams smashed like the fake diamond. And the realization of the lengths to which they had gone to get the fakes made the atmosphere explosive. Eyes met eyes, hands clenched, hidden beneath the table, but no one voiced their innermost feelings. Gradually their anger subsided and left them almost bereft. Depression hung in the air. Dolly slowly sat down and picked up a piece of bread, picking bits off it as she looked from one crestfallen face to another. ‘So, will you be staying on, Ester?’
‘Well, I’ve got to admit it, Dolly, I’ve never been one for kids so I guess I’m out of here.’
‘What about you, Julia?’
Julia shrugged her shoulders, then looked at Ester. ‘I guess I’ll leave with Ester. That’s not to say I don’t love this place because I do but—’
Dolly interrupted, looking at Connie. ‘What about you?’
Connie flushed. ‘Well, to be honest, I know I’ve got this problem with Lennie and I need a place to lie low for a while but as a long-term thing, I want to start off my career proper, you know, get an agent and...’ She trailed off, head bent, not able to meet Dolly’s eyes.
Kathleen coughed. ‘I’ll stay put with you, love. I need a place, I got nowhere else.’
Angela reached out and touched Dolly’s hand. ‘I’ll stay too. We’ll maybe be able to make it work — you’ll apply for grants and things.’
Dolly held Angela’s hand tightly, as Gloria pushed back her chair. ‘I’ll be here for a few weeks.’ Dolly looked up at her, surprised. ‘You got Eddie’s gear some place and we’ll have to sort something out about that.’
‘I see,’ Dolly said quietly. ‘Well, at least I know where I stand. So, those that are going, pack up and leave. It’ll save on food bills. Goodnight.’
They waited until they heard her footsteps going up the stairs before discussing it, each one examining the fake stones.
‘That’s it, then,’ Ester said flatly. She poured a glass of wine. ‘Well, I’m out of here.’
They knew they all were. None of them cared about the house or Dolly or her dreams, but they had all just lost theirs.
Dolly stared at her reflection in the dressing-table mirror. She calculated that with the money from Audrey she might still be able to pull off something. It might even be better that it had worked out this way — at least she knew who she could trust, now that she’d found out it was Audrey, poor Shirley Miller’s mother, who’d grassed her.
Chapter 9
Dolly had only just come down to breakfast when John asked to speak to her. He was obviously angry: the men wanted paying, he wanted paying. She had successfully put off the first instalment but now it was Friday and there was still no cash.
Dolly felt guilty and apologized: she said she was having problems releasing the cash but assured him that he would have it by the following morning.
John was hesitant but trapped. What could he do? He had no choice but to wait and believe she would pay him. His workers were really pissed off when he told them they’d have to wait until Monday. They put down their tools and walked off the site, saying they would come back when he paid up.
The house, with the scaffolding and debris surrounding the grounds, looked in an even more dilapidated condition than before. Loose tiles had been thrown from the roof, the chimneys were still at a dangerous angle, windows were out in some rooms, sections of the front of the house had no plaster, the rough old bricks exposed. It was a depressing sight and the only thing that kept Dolly’s spirits up was that she had done well with the social services and that money was coming her way via Audrey.
Audrey, in a state of nerves matched only by her son’s, gathered all the money she could lay hands on. The only plus was that Dolly still had no knowledge of Mike’s part and, thankfully for him, neither did the police. However, they’d just heard that DCI Craigh’s chief was pushing Traffic to trace the hit-and-run car that killed James Donaldson. Mike’s part had been played down by Craigh and there was no mention that he had a personal motive for bringing in Dolly Rawlins. Nor was there mention that the police had succeeded in tracing the stolen gems at Donaldson’s antique shop. That, too, was glossed over.
Traffic liked nothing better than a hopeless case — or one that seemed like one — and now, with the incentive to pull out all stops, they went to work. They had only a part index and a vague description of the vehicle, but they checked on paint colour co-ordination with both Rover and Volvo companies, their computers triggering off further developments as they began slowly to narrow down the make and year of the vehicle. The bonus was the section of the number plate and the massive, detailed, computerized cross-references moved into action. They were positive that they would be able to trace or narrow down the vehicle owner. All they required was time.
Although the women had agreed they would be leaving, none seemed eager to depart. Julia and Ester had argued: in reality Julia did not want to leave and felt guilty about the on-site visit from the social services. Ester eventually told her that if she wanted to stay she should. She, Ester, had better things to do with her life than sit buried in the country. Julia knew that she would be in deep trouble if she returned to London and tried to make her see sense. ‘Maybe, I just got to sort it for myself, Julia, by myself. You do what the hell you like.’
Julia had flounced out in a bad temper and taken herself off to the local pub. She asked for a double Scotch on the rocks and leaned on the bar. Across the room, seated at one of the bay windows, was Norma Hastings. She had been riding and was wearing jodhpurs and a hacking jacket. She watched Julia, lowering her newspaper. Norma was an attractive woman, thick, red hair, a pleasant round face and obviously fit: her cheeks had that ruddy glow. In comparison, Julia seemed pale, her skinny frame mannish and her long, wiry brown hair like an unruly mop-head. Norma continued to watch her as she pretended to read the paper until she could not be bothered to hide her interest. She tossed it aside. She reckoned she was right about her — it was rare that she wasn’t — but she didn’t make a move. Instead, she enjoyed studying the woman at the bar. Just like a man would covet a woman he fancied, Norma’s eyes roamed over the unaware Julia. Norma liked her hands, the way she leaned on her elbow; she liked her mane of hair, her hawk-nosed features. And yet she knew something must be wrong because she was ordering one double Scotch after another, knocking them back in one gulp, then staring at the polished wood counter. Norma noticed how she dug into her pockets to count out the cash to pay the barman. Her trousers were skin-tight and she had a perfect, tight arse.