Falling Off Air (24 page)

She grinned, and I knew at once not only that she would solve this particularly knotty problem without a bull's-eye, but that
she'd solve many more. She was young, and energy and confidence and competence breezed out of her.

“Jane said you have twins,” I said.

“No way,” she laughed. “Is that what she said? Ha! Me with twins, that'll be the day.”

“Then why …?”

“Why did I want to see you, when no one else will talk to you? Paula was obsessed with you, she told me all about you. You
were this mythical figure in her eyes. She used to call you the reluctant earth mother. How could I not want to meet you?”

I smiled politely. The reluctant earth mother. How very charming.

“Doesn't the fact that I killed Adam Wills put you off?”

“You didn't kill him,” she assured me. “It just doesn't fit and believe me, I know about these things. I'm an expert on murderous
spouses.”

She didn't seem inclined to elaborate and I didn't push her. I already knew I hadn't killed Adam. Besides, if she was going
to detail her theory I'd rather she did it to Finney, not to me.

“You know Paula and I were never introduced,” I said.

Rachel Colby grinned. “That was part of the charm. Paula always said it was like watching a lab experiment.”

“Well, it is great, obviously, that she spied on me,” I said, trying not to show my irritation, “and that I gave hours of
pleasure. But why me?”

“She'd heard about you before she ever saw you,” Rachel explained. “Adam poured out his soul to her one day, and she was immediately
hooked and wanted to know what had become of you. Then she and Richard had to move, and the real estate agent took them to
see this house, and she told Adam about it, and he said that was your street, and she told him the number and he said it was
right opposite. Richard doesn't know it, but you're why they bought the house.”

“She bought a house because of me?”

I was incredulous, and Rachel smiled at my expression, then her face became serious.

“I know it sounds spooky,” she said, “but that's not how it was, it wasn't anything threatening. Richard wanted to buy it
anyway, and he knew nothing about you. When I say she was obsessed by you, she never peered through your windows or anything
like that. She just liked to keep a kind of motherly eye on how you were doing. It may have been a bit wacky …”

“Was it something to do with Adam?” I was having trouble finding Paula's fascination with me endearing. “Were they having
an affair, was that why she wanted to watch me?”

“No,” Rachel said, then reconsidered. “Well, I don't think they were. This whole thing with you, that wasn't about Adam. It
was about Paula. There she was, hugely successful, achieving all the things she'd dreamed of, and helping lots of people into
the bargain, just like she'd always wanted—but she hardly had a moment for her own kids. All the time she was traveling, or
she was in Parliament, or she was giving speeches. And in those speeches she was telling other people to take better care
not only of their own children, but of all the children in society, because they are our future, they are the world of tomorrow
… but at the same time she was all chewed up with guilt over Kyle and George. I used to tell her: Look, they're teenagers,
they don't want their mum hanging round their necks anyway. But she tortured herself—every time any little thing went wrong
she said it was because she wasn't spending quality time with them. Watching you took her back to when Kyle and George were
babies too, before she had to be everything to everyone, when she was just a young mother looking after her kids. Babies never
have problems with drugs, or fall behind in class, or mix with the wrong kids. As far as I could make out, it was nostalgia
that drew her to you. Nostalgia and regret. Great combination. Paradise lost.” She paused and thought for a moment. “Nostalgia,
regret, and Adam Wills would be an even more potent combination, I have to admit.”

“You say they weren't having an affair, but they were close.”

“They were really close.” Rachel was as far from inscrutable as you could get. Everything she said was accompanied by an expression
as readable as a book, open and direct.

“But they weren't lovers?”

“You have to understand, Paula was very depressed before she died, and Richard was no good at dealing with it. She was getting
no support from him, and she was lurching around, trying every damned thing to get some satisfaction. As far as I know, she
and Adam were never lovers, but they were very intense. Even I don't know what went on between them.”

“Was Paula always depressed?”

“Well,” Rachel paused to think. “She was always up and down, very volatile. Her ups were great, except that none of the rest
of us could keep up with her, and her downs were miserable. But this last time was different. It came on quite suddenly, and
it was …” She shook her head. “It was really distressing to watch for anyone who loved her. She just couldn't shift it. Suddenly
she was disillusioned by the whole Carmichaelite thing. She even wanted to close everything down. I never really got a good
reason from her …”

Rachel's voice trailed off. When she started to speak again her words were slower, more considered. “We did have a problem
… This goes no further, is that agreed?” I nodded. “I mean you swear on Paula's grave?” I nodded again. “Because this has
never reached the press. We had a problem with fraud. Thousands went missing. We never did find what happened to it. It seemed
to be the thing that triggered the depression. I tried to tell her it was just a tiny bit of the picture, but she seemed to
think it made the whole thing rotten and corrupt. It changed her whole attitude to everything we've achieved. I mean—and this
also, on Paula's grave—by the time she died I'd been carrying the organization for months.”

She heaved a sigh and sat back in her chair, giving me time to digest all this. I gazed at her, and she was the sort of person
who didn't mind. She didn't avert her eyes, just sat there content to be inspected.

“Do you have any idea who took the money?”

Rachel shook her head.

“There was no obvious suspect. It was done by manipulating the accounts, which were all on computer, and a lot of people had
access. Paula refused to involve the police. It was something we disagreed on, quite badly in fact. I said we had to make
it public if we were going to maintain our integrity as an organization. She said the police would trample all over the private
lives of our volunteers, and that we'd end up convicting some poor chap who just needed to pay his rent, and that we'd lose
the goodwill of donors too. She said we'd conduct our own investigation, but she was busy with that documentary that never
got shown and really there never was any investigation.”

“Charity accounts have to be audited,” I pointed out. “You can't just have thousands disappearing and cover it up.”

“You can if Paula pays the cash back out of her own pocket,” Rachel corrected me.

“Which is what happened?”

“Which is what happened, but you never heard it from me. Look, Paula would have gone to the end of the earth for all of this.
Never mind good sense. She was all about instinct and inspiration and devotion and loyalty. She expected a lot from people,
she expected them to do the right thing time after time after time. It really hurt her if they didn't. I mean it was like
a physical pain. Don't get me wrong, I'm devastated that she's dead, but this Carmichaelite thing … well, ultimately Paula
couldn't have kept it up. She was exhausted by it, drained. It's a wonderful thing, there's a real energy there, but it's
not a fairy tale. There are thousands of people involved now, each with their own agenda, and just because it's charity doesn't
mean people are nice together. Now Paula was a great leader, but she was no good with factional fighting, and cliques, and
egos that belong to people other than herself. She could have motivated a sloth, and she wanted people to take the initiative,
that's what it was all about, but she just got irritated when people started arguing, and let me tell you that six months
from now that's what every Carmichaelite in town will be doing. The movement is just too big, too unfocused. You can't keep
up a feel-good factor like we've had.”

“If you feel like that…”

“Oh, I'll defend it to the death … but realistically, if we're going to keep any impetus going, we'll have to narrow the focus
of the movement, pull out of some projects, concentrate on others. People are going to get hurt. It'll be very messy.”

“You've given this a lot of thought,” I said. “I mean what happens, post-Paula.”

“I was thinking about it long before she died. We'd have got to this point whether she was alive or not.”

“But you've been telling the press that the movement is going full speed ahead.”

She shrugged.

“It's not a good time to announce a major restructuring,” she said. “And there's this huge surge of interest that Paula's
death has inspired. I'm not going to knock that on the head.”

There was a tap at the door, and Rachel left the room. Her assessment of Paula's legacy was a sobering one, but I was not
sure that it got me very far. When she returned and told me she was running out of time, I asked her about the Corporation
documentary.

“Paula really didn't say much about it afterwards. She got very tight-lipped any time I brought it up. I think she talked
to Adam a lot more. They didn't meet until they were working on the documentary, and it was only afterwards that they became
bosom buddies. Anyway, I got the impression she and the producer had a personality clash.” Rachel pulled a face, and added,
“These things happen.”

“But not between you and Paula,” I said.

Rachel smiled, and there were tears in her eyes.

“No, not between me and Paula.”

“What about Richard? Do you see a lot of him?”

“Paula had compartments for things. It was how she got such a lot done. Anyway, Richard was one compartment, I was another.
I knew what was going on with him, but only from her. He was watching her like a hawk at the end. He knew something was wrong
and it scared him. He just didn't get that it would have been better to talk to her than to yell at her and listen in on her
phone conversations.”

“He did that?”

“Uh-huh.” Rachel nodded. “Well, he wouldn't be the first husband to do it, but it didn't help when Paula was saying she felt
claustrophobic, hemmed in, as though everyone was watching her, waiting for her to fail.”

The doorbell rang, like an alarm in the tranquillity of the hostel. Rachel glanced at the CCTV monitor next to the desk and
grimaced at me.

“Here comes our petition,” she said. “It's showtime.”

M
Y route home was dogged by traffic jams. By the time I got there, and Erica delivered the children into my arms ready fed,
bathed, and dressed for bed, I hated myself for things which were actually totally beyond my control.

“Was everything okay?” I asked

“Okay,” Erica parroted. “Nobody came here, but there was a phone call. From someone who wishes you well.”

“What was the name?”

Erica stared at me.

“Somebody who wishes you—” she started.

I interrupted her. I guess I was a little brusque, but all I wanted was to kiss my babies and cuddle them before they fell
asleep. “Yes, I got that,” I snapped, “but that's not a name.”

Erica gave me a look that said I was being unreasonable.

“No name,” she said, “but someone who knows you, someone who has visited here because they know where you live.”

What was this? Twenty questions? I rolled my eyes at the ceiling. I know I shouldn't have done that. She'd been taking care
of my children, freeing me to do what I needed to do. I couldn't have done it without her, but why couldn't she just take
a message?

“They say you are doing too much.” She said it as if she was scolding me.

I shrugged. Kind, but I wished people would keep their noses out of my business.

Just then the doorbell rang. I would have ignored it but Erica was standing right there, pulling her coat on, and she just
went ahead and opened it—without looking through the spyhole first, I noticed. Perhaps a day without the press camped outside
had made us all relax.

“Hello there,” said Dan Stein, on my doorstep, wearing a forced smile.

Erica stared at him.

My face must have been blank. The poor thing had to fill the silence.

“We had a date?” he said, “Saturday, at eight? Well this is Saturday at eight, and we have a reservation at Padua…”

“Oh shit!” I said.

Erica turned to look at me, her face shocked. I saw Dan's face redden.

“I'm sorry,” I said. “I didn't mean it like that. Shit. What am I going to do?” I had assumed our date had gone down the drain
along with my reputation, but here he was and I didn't have the heart to turn him away.

“Look, just say if you don't want…” He was fed up now and who could blame him?

I hesitated, torn. I had been repeatedly rude to Dan, and he had been patient and he had been kind to the children. I had
no desire to go out, and not the slightest interest in a date, but he had been sweet and he didn't deserve to be stood up.
Reservations at Padua are not to be sneezed at.

“What time's the reservation for?”

“Eight-thirty.”

“Do I have time to put the children to bed first? It'll take me fifteen minutes to get them to sleep, then five minutes to
change?

Can you ring them, tell them we'll be a few minutes late?” I turned to Erica. “Erica, could you possibly stay?”

“You're going out now?” She was disapproving. “You did not tell me.”

“I'd forgotten.” I nodded toward Dan, hoping she'd take pity on his face, but her eyes moved toward him and still she did
not budge. “Look, Erica, I'm really sorry. I can offer you double time, it's the best I can do. The kids will be asleep.”

Erica looked from him to me, and back again.

“I don't have any choice,” she grumbled, “or the children will be left alone.”