Mike followed him to the door. ‘She’s out today, Gov.’
Craigh opened his office door. ‘I know that, son, just don’t start jumping over hurdles until we know what the fuck we’re gonna do.’
Mike looked glumly at Palmer as Craigh slammed the door. ‘It’s just that she’s out, and she might call Donaldson, find out he’s in the nick and...’
‘Maybe she knows already,’ Palmer said, doodling on a notepad.
‘Maybe she doesn’t,’ snapped Mike, eager to put the cavalry on to it, eager to get cracking.
But Palmer yawned. ‘Just sit tight. If the Super gives the go-ahead, we’ll see what they decide. In the meantime...’
Mike sighed. He knew that he had a load of reports he had to complete so he took himself off to the incident room. As he reached his desk, his phone rang. It was Craigh. They were going out to talk to Donaldson, if he wanted to come along. Mike grinned; it was going down faster than he’d thought.
Ester ordered the six boys from the job centre to collect every bottle and piece of broken glass and clear the place before they started to hoover and dust. A florist’s van had arrived with two massive floral displays that were propped up in the hall. Julia was using a stiff brush to sweep the front steps when she saw the taxi at the open manor gates. ‘Someone’s coming now,’ she called out.
The taxi drove slowly down the drive, skirted the deep hole in the gravel and stopped by the front steps. Kathleen O’Reilly peered from the back seat. She had boxes and cases and numerous plastic bags. ‘Hi. You moving in or on the move, Kathleen?’ asked Julia.
Kathleen opened the car door. They’re all me worldly possessions. I had to do a bit of a moonlight but Ester said I could doss down here for a few days. Will you give the driver a fiver? I’m flat broke.’
Kathleen: overweight, wearing a dreadful assortment of ill-matched clothes — a cotton skirt with two hand-knitted sweaters on top of a bright yellow blouse. She had dyed red hair spilling over a wide moon face and big wide blue eyes. Her false teeth needed bleaching as they were yellow with tobacco stains but she had a marvellous, generous feel to her, an open Irish nature. Julia delved into her pocket to pay off the driver as Kathleen hauled out her belongings. ‘They said this was closed down,’ she bellowed as she staggered into the hallway. Kathleen dumped her bags in the hall and looked around. ‘Holy Mother of God, what a dump! Is that chandelier safe, Julia?’
Julia dropped one of Kathleen’s cases. ‘Ask Ester — she’s running the show.’
At that moment Ester moved down the stairs. ‘Hi, there. You made it here, then?’
‘Well, of course I did.’ Kathleen embraced her. ‘I was glad you called, darlin’. I was in shit up to me armpits, I can tell you, with not a roof over my head. So... is she here, then?’
Julia turned, listening.
‘Not yet, and I hope she won’t be for a few hours. We’ve got to get the place ready in time.’
Kathleen plodded to the stairs. ‘Well, let me unpack me gear, darlin’, and I’ll give you a hand.’
Ester instructed Kathleen to use one of the second-landing bedrooms and passed into the kitchen, squeezing past the boys as they scrubbed the floor. Julia picked up the broom again, trying to remember what Kathleen had been in prison for, but she couldn’t recall and her attention was diverted by yet another car making its slow progress down the driveway.
Connie Stevens sat next to the railway-station attendant, a nice man who, seeing Connie outside the small local station waiting for a taxi, had offered her a lift. Men did that kind of thing for Connie: she had such a helpless Marilyn Monroe quality to her, they went weak at the knees. She even had a soft breathy voice, blonde hair dyed to match her heroine’s, and recent plastic surgery gave a dimple to her chin, tightened her jaw and removed the lines from her baby eyes. She worked hard to retain her curvaceous figure as she was already in her mid-thirties, not that she ever admitted it to anyone — she had been twenty-five for the past ten years.
Julia watched as the flushing man lifted an enormous case on wheels from the boot of his car.
‘Thank you, I really appreciate this so much,’ Connie cooed. The station attendant returned to his car, offering her a lift any time she needed it, but seeing Julia’s amusement made him even more embarrassed so he drove out as fast as he could, hitting the pothole as he left and all but killing his suspension.
Ester leaned out of an upstairs window. ‘Hi, Connie, come on in. Kathleen’s already arrived.’
Connie dragged her case towards the steps. Julia tossed away the broom and took her case by the handle. ‘Here, lemme help, Princess.’
Connie gave a breathy ‘aweee’ as she looked at the hall. ‘It’s changed so much since I was last here.’
Ester jumped down the stairs and embraced Connie warmly, then held her at arm’s length to admire her new face. ‘You look good — really good. Just drag your case upstairs and get into some old gear. We’ve got to clear the place up and make it ready for Dolly.’
‘How many more are coming?’ asked Kathleen. ‘I mean, are we gonna cut it between us all?’
‘I don’t know. Like I keep saying, Ester’s in charge, ask her. She hasn’t told me what she plans on doing.’
Kathleen moved closer. ‘They’re worth millions, the diamonds, everyone used to talk about them. Are you certain she’ll be coming?’
Julia picked up the broom and started sweeping the steps again. ‘Ester seems to think so, that’s why she’s got us all here.’
Kathleen returned to hoovering with venom. She certainly hoped this wasn’t all a waste of time. She needed money, a lot, and fast. She was in deep trouble: the thought of a cut of all those millions had been like a raft to a drowning woman... Kathleen was drowning and her three kids had been taken into care. Dolly Rawlins’s diamonds would be her only way out of the mess she had got herself into.
Way down the lane, Gloria Radford threw up her hands in fury. She’d been down one dead end after another, up on to the motorway three times, and still not found the manor house. She slammed out of her dilapidated Mini Traveller and headed towards a man on a tractor in the middle of a field. ‘Oi, mate, can you direct me to the Grange Manor House?’
The old farmhand turned in surprise as Gloria, small, plump and wearing spike heeled shoes over skin-tight black pants, waved from the field gates. Her make-up was plastered on thick: lipgloss-smudged teeth, mascara-clogged lashes with bright blue eye-shadow on the lids, like someone stuck in a time-warp of the late sixties. Gloria Radford was a real hard-nosed character and was in a fury as she wafted the hand-drawn map Ester had sent her. The old boy wheeled his tractor towards her.
‘Down there.’ He pointed.
‘I been down there and I been back up there and I keep gettin’ back on the bleedin’ motorway.’
‘Ay, yes, they cut off the access road. Just keep on this slip road and you’ll get to it. The manor’s off to the right.’
Gloria stepped over the clods of earth and headed back to her Mini. He remained watching as she reversed straight into a pothole and let rip with a stream of expletives. He was gobsmacked.
Ester was now checking the cutlery. Some of it was quite good but it all needed cleaning, as did every plate and cup and saucer. Kathleen was now on duty in the dining room, dusting the chairs, when the crate of wine was delivered. She was ready for a drink and about to open a bottle when they all heard the tooting of a car horn and the sound of Gloria Radford arriving, towed in by a tractor.
They all stood on the doorstep, watching the spectacle. Julia turned to Ester. ‘Subtle as ever. I suppose you wanted the entire village to know we were here.’