Chain Reaction (30 page)

‘Steady. I think that’s probably going a bit over the top.’

‘Why? There’d be very little risk when you think about it, and I’ve had loads of time to do that, all the way here in the train. Mummy and Daddy have no idea that I’m pregnant—’

‘But Charlie and Mags…?’

‘They’d never dare make a fuss once they realised what had happened to me. They’d be terrified. And they didn’t know about my appointment at the private clinic, either. All that would happen is that I’d lose my baby, a common enough event at this early stage, and if they locked me away, well, the doctors could say whatever they liked—that I’d made up the whole story about Jamie and me in my deluded state. Everyone would say how sad. And I’d be so befuddled with drugs I wouldn’t even know what was going on.’

‘Dear God,’ says Belle. ‘This is unbelievable. I just don’t know what to think.’ But Belle does realise the enormity of the threat to the Royals if the press should get hold of Arabella’s story. Do such awful things as Arabella’s imagining really go on in this country today? It’s hard to tell. Perhaps they ought to go to the press, not for blackmail purposes but for immediate protection. At least the press, unlike the police or the services, are independent—
or are they?

‘The important thing is for me to see Jamie,’ says Peaches stupidly, as they pull up and park outside The Grange. ‘Whatever is happening I know that Jamie himself can’t know anything about it. He’d never do anything cruel or unkind.’ And then Peaches hesitates before she makes her staggering request. ‘You live so much nearer, Tusker, I though you might be able to get me there.’ As Belle alights from the Jeep, Peaches changes the subject again as if she’s afraid she has gone too far too soon. The old terror is back in her voice. ‘You get out and look round, and if the coast is clear I’ll follow you.’

As the truth dawns, Belle listens to her old schoolfriend with mounting horror. It’s good there’s no one at home so they can sit on cushions as they did in the old days in Matron’s sitting room, playing the old music… nothing of Jacy’s for once… and eating sticky popcorn while Arabella goes on and on about the depths of her love for James, about the sinister Sir Hugh Mountjoy and his threats in the Brighton tea rooms, about the pressure she is under to move into The Grange. ‘In spite of the fact that I consistently refused unless I could speak to Jamie first, they carried on with the purchase,’ she moans. ‘Dougal Rathbone is on the phone every day asking me what I’ve decided and telling me time is at a premium. Now, of course, I see why. All the time they were plotting to many him off to this horsey creature just because it’s convenient Establishment politics. And I can’t bear it, Tusker.
I just can’t bear it.’

‘And you expect me to run you up to Scotland so we can confront him? How on earth d’you think we could possibly achieve that?’

‘Church,’ answers Peaches swiftly, ‘the Sunday ritual. Every Sunday morning They go to church. They don’t bother with too much security there. All the locals worship Them—well, they would do, as most of them depend on Them for their bread and butter.’

‘What would you do if you did get anywhere near him?’

‘I’d make a scene,’ says Peaches determinedly. She has obviously thought this all through. ‘Then the press would see and the thing They are all so ashamed of would be out in the open. There’d be no more need for poor Jamie to play along with their stupid games. He would be free to choose and I know he would choose me—yes, Tusker, don’t look at me like that. I am not mad, I have never had the slightest mental problems in my life, I have never seen a psychiatrist or even a psychotherapist. I am quite depressingly normal, in fact, and always have been. The only abnormal thing about me is my low IQ.’

‘What about the fiancée?’

‘I don’t give a damn about her.’

‘What if she really loves him?’

Peaches raises a silken eyebrow. ‘Come on, Tusker, get real.’

Reason tells Belle not to touch this one with a bargepole. ‘What if I refuse to help you?’

‘Then I’d do it alone,’ says Peaches defiantly. ‘And you would have to live with the consequences if my plans broke down, if they caught me before I got there and the men in white coats—’

‘That might happen anyway, once you’d made your first move towards him.’ Oh, this is quite ridiculous! Why are they sprawled here on the floor talking about this ludicrous fantasy and taking it all so seriously. ‘Peaches, what do you hope to achieve?’

‘Love and marriage, of course.’ Such a pathetic answer, and Belle, knowing the feeling well, groans with some of her own anguish. ‘I am determined, Tusker,’ says Arabella, brushing the interruption aside with an obstinate look on her pretty, doll-like face. ‘For the sake of my child. For the sake of Jamie’s future happiness.’

Oh God, oh God. She is driven by some missionary zeal. Do it or die. Belle is shaken by Peaches’ crazed resolution. She is clearly obsessed and suffering even more tortures than she shows. How the hell can she bring her to her senses? At the very best she’ll end up in prison for a night. ‘Let me get this perfectly straight. You absolutely refuse to consider that Jamie might not want you, despite all the signs that shout otherwise. Is that really how it is?’

Arabella Brightly-Smythe twists her nervous fingers. It is all she can do not to slap her friend. Hot and furiously stimulated she struggles to find the right words. ‘Don’t start sounding like Charlie and Mags—you don’t know him like I do. He has been frightened and manipulated into taking this stand; he was probably afraid that something awful would happen to me if he fought to keep me. I see it all now, so clearly. Poor, poor Jamie, what chance did he ever stand against Them and their wickedness? I was such a fool not to understand what he was trying to tell me. But now, Tusker, with your help, I intend to take Them on and show Them up for what They really are.

‘I intend to be there in church on Sunday with or without your help.’

Oh my God.

‘W
HERE THE BLOODY HELL
is she?’

‘I haven’t the vaguest clue.’

‘I thought Lovette was supposed to be watching.’

‘I thought so, too, Sir Hugh. The man on duty clearly was not up to his job and Lovette assures me he will be severely reprimanded.’

‘Let us hope so,’ says Sir Hugh Mountjoy, pacing his sumptuous office, sipping from a glass of Andrews Salts every now and again because this is the very worst scenario he could possibly have imagined and it seems to have given him a peptic ulcer. In these dark waters even Sir Hugh is out of his depths. How he wishes, now, that he’d never taken Lovette’s advice, that sinister little man with his crude devices, and it is quite apparent that Dougal, so clean-cut and dapper, standing so apologetically before him, feels this issue to be just as distasteful as he does.

But what else was Sir Hugh supposed to do, faced with the wretched girl’s continued obstinacy? She couldn’t be allowed to give birth to the child, that much was obvious once she refused to give up all claim to Prince James, and a quick and painless abortion disguised as a sad miscarriage would have alleviated much distress on all fronts, including her own in the long run. After that, well, it was merely a matter of branding the girl an hysterical fool given to delusions, and Lovette’s tame doctor swore that a few visits to his private clinic, one little injection, would certainly achieve that with a minimum of fuss. There would be no proof, absolutely no come-back at all. The clinic’s reputation was spotless. So Dougal might do well to take that look of disdain off his face. After all, it was he who advised that Arabella Brightly-Smythe was so dull-witted she would happily submit to private treatment, all expenses paid. ‘She is easy to manipulate,’ said Dougal, showing off to some extent, Sir Hugh is certain, eager to demonstrate his power over women although, of course, the cocky young fellow gets no satisfaction in that direction. ‘And she is a fool.’

‘Well, we know that already,’ Sir Hugh had pointed out on the fatal day when they had Lovette in and discussed this option with him.

‘She stubbornly insists on seeing Jamie and we’re running out of time now. She’s not going to change her mind, although I’ll carry on with the house purchase in case we get some sudden alternative response.’

‘Well, no one can say we haven’t tried kindness,’ mused Sir Hugh, reluctant to give Lovette his head even at this late stage. ‘We have bent over backwards, and I’m still not convinced the wanton hussy isn’t playing with us for what she can get.’

‘She’s not bright enough to do that,’ Dougal annoyingly insisted. ‘She’d have to have some larger brain guiding her from behind if she was intending to do that.’

‘We don’t know for certain that she hasn’t,’ argued Sir Hugh, at his wits’ end, seeing his promotion going out of the window. ‘How about those friends she shares that flat with? They must know what’s going on, surely.’

‘Apparently Arabella is playing all this business fairly close to the chest. According to her, these two friends initially urged her to have an abortion, just as James did. We all know her feelings on that subject. And because of that I believe Arabella is fairly careful with what she lets slip. I know she hasn’t told them about The Grange, simply because I urged her that it would be better, at this stage, if she didn’t.’

‘Oh, and she does what you tell her without question, is that it?’ asked Sir Hugh, disbelieving.

‘She trusts me,’ said Dougal with no shame. ‘And why not? I am a trustworthy person. Or have been so far.’ And he stared pointedly at Lovette.

The thin little man who wore a mac like a spy spoke up from his upright chair in the corner. Sir Hugh noticed with some horror that he was wearing the kind of white shoes gangsters in movies used to wear. ‘Would she accept the idea that she should visit a private gynaecologist for further checks if you put this to her?’

‘I’m sure she would.’

‘And you would be prepared to go with her?’

‘Of course he would,’ put in Sir Hugh. ‘It’s his job.’

Lovette’s voice was thin and sly. His predatory little eyes circled their sockets as he spoke. Both his superiors regretted the necessity of doing business with such a creature but he’d been reliable in the past, got them out of certain distressing scrapes concerning some Family members, particularly James. And he’s tight as a clam. Ex-CIA. ‘You think she would keep this matter to herself in the same way she took your advice over the purchase of The Grange?’ he asked.

‘I don’t see why not, but I must make it clear at this stage that I am not entirely happy with—’

‘We are not concerned with everyday morality here,’ broke in Sir Hugh firmly. ‘We are here to protect a great tradition and to ensure it goes forward from strength to strength in spite of all the little hiccups that sometimes beset it along the way. And may I remind you of your oath, young Rathbone?’

‘I just feel—’

‘And what makes your feelings so superior to everyone else’s?’ blustered an apoplectic Sir Hugh. ‘God dammit, Dougal, I must say this is really most aggravating of you. We are all reluctant to take such a dire step, we’re not monsters after all, but it seems there is no other way out. If you feel so strongly against it, then come up with something better why don’t you. Put up or shut up! Hah!’

‘I’m sorry my sincere opinions antagonise you so, Sir Hugh, but I really must ask Mr Lovette here, what sort of mental state would Miss Brightly-Smythe be in once she had succumbed to his friendly doctor’s ministrations and miscarried? Would there be any longterm damage, for instance?’

Lovette laughed, not a pleasant sound, more like a rat scuttling along through watery gutters. ‘No longterm damage, son. She’d get over it in the end, most women do.’

‘Well, that doesn’t sound too bad now, does it?’ Sir Hugh looked at Dougal expectantly, tapping a polished shoe, waiting for a positive answer.

‘And this drug, this little injection—it would merely induce a normal miscarriage?’

‘Yes, although the miscarriage wouldn’t start until some days later. She’d probably not even associate it with the clinic at all. But it has to be done quickly. The later the pregnancy, the more damage, psychologically as well as physically. That’s just plain common sense.’ Lovette fiddled with the cigarette wedged behind his ear. Sir Hugh had refused him permission to smoke, a decision he’d accepted with grumpy reluctance.

‘So Arabella is going to be in safe hands,’ Dougal stated uneasily, standing with his back to the others and staring out of the window.

‘The end justifies the means in our job, dear boy, and it’s time you started remembering that. Whatever happens to the girl it’s hardly a fate worse than death. You’re not here just to deal with garden parties, exercising the dogs and the launching of ships, you know. I’m afraid we have no choice.’ Sir Hugh came and stood beside Dougal with his hands behind his back and his chin up belligerently high. He rose and came down on his smart black heels. ‘It’s time we made the decision.’

‘Right,’ Dougal capitulated reluctantly. ‘I’ll ring her up then and tell her that it’s important she gets some top-rate maternity care. I’ll say that the first appointment’s for tomorrow then, shall I—tomorrow morning. Would that be convenient, Lovette, for your amenable doctor friend?’

‘I think so, sir,’ oiled Lovette from the corner, getting up to leave and picking up his scuffed little bowler.

‘The only thing that’s rather unfortunate,’ Dougal added before Lovette could move, ‘is the timing of all this. Pity we didn’t do it earlier. The big engagement announcement is due to be made tonight and I do worry about Arabella’s reaction.’

‘We can’t help that now,’ said Sir Hugh crossly. ‘There’s even a chance the shock will make her more amenable.’ He’d had enough of all this pussyfooting about. Problems, problems, they were ever beset by beastly problems and most of the time Sir Hugh, with his military background, derived the greatest satisfaction from solving them. But now they had to act; they’d explored other avenues and now there was only this. ‘Carry on, Lovette, put a tail on the girl tonight in case she decides to do something silly. Let’s get cracking and get it all over and done with. Make your arrangements, and Dougal, phone the girl from your office as quickly as possible. Tell her you’ll pick her up at her flat at ten-thirty tomorrow morning and drive her to the clinic. She seems to enjoy your company, that might sway her, and give the idea you’ll take her out somewhere nice for the afternoon—lunch etc. Give her some inducement, you know how to play it.’