Secret Sins: A Callie Anson (47 page)

Callie had remained in the car when Morag ran to embrace Alex; now that the police had arrived, she got out and went to stand at Morag’s side.

A woman police officer was trying to steer Alex towards one of the police cars. Alex, though, was ignoring her, focussing her attention on Morag.

‘I have to see Mum,’ she said fiercely. ‘You understand, don’t you, Granny? I’ve come all this way. Ever such a long way. I have to see her. I’m not going anywhere till I’ve seen her.’

Alex was, Callie observed, a bit the worse for wear. Her frizzy hair was wild, uncombed, and her coat was filthy, with bits of wood and dead leaves clinging to it. But her spirit was unquenched as she stood her ground. Callie found herself admiring the girl enormously, rooting for her to get her dearest wish.

Morag put a protective arm round Alex’s shoulder and faced the police woman. ‘Officer,’ she said, ‘I’m going to take Alex inside, and ask whether it’s possible for her to see her mother.’

Her authoritative voice carried the day; the police woman backed off and Morag marched through the front door of Lochside, holding Alex’s hand.

Callie, not sure what else to do, followed, nodding at the policewoman. The policewoman made no effort to stop her, perhaps, Callie realised, because she was wearing a dog collar. Callie stood by Morag and watched as she spoke to the
receptionist
, who in turn called a doctor.

The doctor arrived in person a few minutes later. Dr. Farnsworth was a woman: late middle-aged with a kindly face, in spite of the bags under her eyes and a harassed expression. She looked at Alex, who stared back at her without flinching, then at Morag, and finally at Callie, her eyes travelling down from face to dog collar. Pressing her lips together, Dr. Farnsworth beckoned Morag and Callie and drew them aside, away from Alex’s hearing.

‘I’ve spoken to you on the phone, haven’t I?’ she addressed Morag.

Morag nodded. ‘That’s right. I try to keep up with my
daughter
-in-law’s condition. But I haven’t talked to you for—oh, a few weeks, I suppose.’

‘Mrs. Hamilton has been making good progress,’ said the doctor quietly. ‘Very good progress indeed. I’m very
encouraged
.’ She smiled—a professional sort of smile. ‘I don’t want to get too technical, but the treatment we’ve been using seems to be effective. She’s far more responsive than she was, even a few weeks ago. The depression isn’t nearly as severe and debilitating as it was at first. But she does miss her daughter, most dreadfully. And she’s been asking for her more frequently.’

‘Then Alex can see her?’ Morag asked.

‘I’m inclined to think that at this stage in Mrs. Hamilton’s treatment, it could be very beneficial.’ This time Dr. Farnsworth’s smile reached her eyes, and she glanced over at where Alex stood,
her arms folded across her chest in defiance. ‘And I’m sure it would do Alex a world of good as well.’

Frances didn’t have much time with Rachel before the police arrived—just a few minutes to sit next to her on the bed, to say a handful of reassuring words, sounding far more positive than she felt. She’d been there; she knew how terrifying the experience was, whatever its outcome. Being arrested was not something she would wish on her worst enemy.

‘Will they take my baby away?’ Rachel asked, choked with emotion.

Frances shook her head. ‘No, I’m sure they won’t.’

‘Not even if I…if I get sent to prison?’

‘Not even then.’ Frances knew one or two prison chaplains, so she could speak with some authority. ‘If you’re sent to prison, they’ll let you take the baby. They’d put you in a women’s prison, with a special baby unit. Don’t worry about that.’

Alex held onto her granny’s hand tightly. Now that she had nearly achieved her goal, and was about to see her mum, she was assailed by just a flicker of doubt. What if Mum had changed? What if she didn’t recognise Alex, or was reluctant to see her? What if they didn’t have anything to say to each other?

‘I’ll be with you,’ Granny said, as if reading her mind. ‘The doctor says your mother is eager to see you.’

Someone opened a door; Granny led her to it, then released her hand.

Mum. Just the same, just as beautiful. Smiling and laughing and crying all at the same time. Rushing forward to meet Alex halfway, arms outstretched.

Alex threw herself into her mother’s arms.

While Morag took Alex to see her mother, Callie stepped outside to use her phone. It should be safe now to ring Peter.

First she tried her own flat, reasoning that Peter would be there, and probably quite concerned about her absence.

There was no reply, so she rang Peter’s mobile.

He answered after a couple of rings. ‘Oh, hi, Sis,’ he said breezily. ‘Hope you haven’t been too worried about me. I
suppose
I should have rung.’

‘Worried about
you
? Why should I be?’

‘Since I didn’t come home last night. I thought maybe you’d be worried.’

She didn’t need to explain her own whereabouts, Callie realised. ‘So where
are
you, then?’

‘Well, you remember Jason?’

‘Jason, who ran off with a chorus boy?’ She wasn’t likely to forget him, she reflected. Not after Peter had cried on her shoulder for what seemed like days when Jason left him. Jason had been one of the longest-lived of Peter’s relationships; his departure had hit Peter hard.

Peter chuckled. ‘He’s lived to regret that. Anyway, Sis, he turned up at the club last night. He bought me a drink between sets. And…well, we’re back together,’ he announced
triumphantly
. ‘He said it was the biggest mistake of his life, walking out on me like that.’

She didn’t remind Peter that he’d declared he wouldn’t have Jason back if he were the last man on earth. ‘That’s great,’ she said loyally. ‘I’m so glad for you.’

‘I don’t think I ever stopped loving him,’ Peter confided. ‘And you can be glad for yourself, as well. He has a little flat in Chelsea and I’m moving in with him, so I’ll come by later and collect my stuff, then I’ll be out of your hair from now on. I know it hasn’t been easy, having me round under foot.’

‘Oh, no, Peter. Don’t say that,’ she protested. ‘As you once said, what are families for? I’ll miss you.’

As Callie pressed the button to end the call, she realised that she meant it.

Bella would miss him too.

Bella! She’d been left in the car when they’d encountered Alex in the drive. Guiltily Callie went towards the car to check on her.

The police were still there, standing about, evidently not quite sure what to do. The woman officer who’d tried to move the immovable Alex was on her mobile, probably seeking further instructions.

Another car was approaching up the drive: a sleek black limousine. It drew up behind the police cars and stopped.

The first person to get out was a man whom Callie recognised immediately from his photo: Angus Hamilton. Short, powerfully built, receding hairline. He was followed by someone she’d met before, in other circumstances—a youngish, blond policeman whom she seemed to remember was called Sid.

Then someone else got out of the other side of the limousine, and Callie’s heart constricted.

Marco. It was Marco.

He saw her at almost the same instant that she spotted him. Of the two, he was the far more surprised: his jaw dropped; his eyes widened. ‘Callie,’ he said. ‘What on earth are you doing here?’

Inevitably, it was Neville Stewart who came into Rachel’s room, followed by a WPC. He looked dead tired, Frances observed with an unexpected rush of sympathy. In fact, he looked worse than that: unshaven, unkempt, as though he’d slept in his clothes.

She’d heard on the radio that the little girl had been found, safe and sound. He’d probably been involved in looking for her. ‘They’ve found Alex Hamilton?’ she said to him, hoping to buy a few more seconds of freedom for Rachel.

‘Thank God. Yes.’ He ran his hands through his hair,
causing
it to stand straight up. ‘Her father is on his way to bring her home.’

He really wasn’t such a bad person, she said to herself. Not like some of those policemen you saw on the television, in those programmes that Graham loved so much.

Then she remembered what he’d done to Triona.

Impulsively, not stopping to consider the finer points of professional ethics, she stood up and faced him. ‘Could I have a word with you, Inspector? Alone?’

He looked startled; perhaps he thought she was going to try to intervene on Rachel’s behalf.

‘It’s a personal matter,’ she added.

‘Well…all right.’ He nodded to the WPC, then followed Frances to a small waiting room.

Frances didn’t beat about the bush, afraid that she would lose her nerve if she didn’t come straight to the point. ‘It’s about Triona.’

Immediately he looked defensive, crossing his arms across his chest. ‘What about her?’

‘I think you should ring her. Talk to her.’ There—she’d said it.

He pressed his lips together. ‘Forgive me, Reverend Cherry, but that’s not any of your business.’ Interfering cow, his
expression
said.

Frances didn’t back down. Too late for that. ‘She’s my friend. I’ve known her for a long time. I care about her.’

‘What has she been saying to you about me, then?’ he frowned.

Now she’d have to tread carefully. ‘Just that the two of you… weren’t exactly seeing eye-to-eye. I think you need to talk.’ You’re both so stubborn, she wanted to say. Each as bad as the other.

Neville hesitated. ‘For your information,’ he said at last, ‘I’ve e-mailed her and said just that—that we needed to talk. But she hasn’t even bothered to reply. I think you’re blaming the wrong person here.’

Triona’s complaints about her computer came back to her. ‘But her computer’s not working!’ Frances blurted. ‘She won’t have had your e-mail.’

‘Oh.’ He passed a hand over his bloodshot eyes, bewildered, as though it were taking him an age to absorb that information.

‘Ring her,’ Frances repeated. ‘As soon as you can, after you’ve had some sleep.’

‘You know,’ he said, a slow smile creasing his unshaven face, ‘I think I will.’