Without a Trace (44 page)

‘He’s a very opinionated man,’ George said thoughtfully. ‘I went into the shop yesterday before I left and, just to be polite, I told him I was coming up to London for the trial. It’s been the talk of the village, of course, because the local papers rehashed all the stuff about Cassie’s death and Petal disappearing the minute they found Reg Coleman’s body. They portrayed you as a heroine for rescuing Petal from Miss Gribble.’

The waitress came over to them at that point and they gave their order for sausages and chips and a pot of tea.

‘So what did he say?’ Molly asked once the waitress had gone.

‘“Waste of taxpayers’ money giving the woman a trial,” and
he said it in that snooty way he has. “They should take her out and hang her. Can’t think what they need you there for either. You should be down here investigating who has been stealing my coal.”’

Molly laughed because George had sounded exactly like her father. ‘So who has been stealing his coal?’

‘No one. Your mum has just been putting more on the fire because it’s cold. She told me so herself. When he goes out to the pub she goes down and fills up the coal scuttle.’

‘She shouldn’t have to be carrying coal scuttles up the stairs at her age!’ Molly exclaimed. ‘He said four years ago he was going to get a gas fire put in. Do you know what stopped him?’

‘The cost of the fire?’

‘No, because some women were talking in the shop about how much less work there is without a coal fire. Hardly any dusting, and no clearing out ashes or laying the fire. He went right off the idea then, afraid Mum might spend part of her day sitting down reading a book.’

‘Surely not!’

‘I promise you. He made out that a gas fire costs more than a coal fire to run, but that just isn’t true. But I’m going off the subject … did he ask about me?’

‘No, but I asked if he had a message for you, and he said, “Why would I send a message?” I pointed out that being a witness is a horrible ordeal for most people. Guess what he said?’

‘That I shouldn’t have stuck my nose in other people’s affairs?’

George grimaced. ‘You know him so well. I don’t know how you stood him all those years. He’s utterly joyless.’

‘I thought about leaving so many times, but Mum was always the problem. I thought he’d be nasty to her. Is she all right, George?’

George leaned across the table, put one finger under her chin and tilted her face up. ‘She’s fine. For some peculiar reason, he’s been nicer to her, or at least so she tells me. She reckons he was always jealous of you girls, wanted her all to himself.’

‘That’s obscene.’ Molly laughed.

‘Since I’ve been in the police force, I’ve come across lots of men like your dad.’ George smiled. ‘They lash out because they feel inadequate. They say nasty things because they think it makes them sound like big men. Deep down, they’re insecure little twerps, but the saddest thing of all is that they don’t see what they’ve got. Like your dad: he’s got a lovely wife, two daughters to be very proud of – especially you – and a good business. Though it’s a wonder he’s got any customers, he’s so rude or offhand to most of them.’

‘I wish I could go home to check on Mum, but it’s difficult. She’d be upset if I didn’t make the peace with him and stay there, but I know I couldn’t do that.’

‘You could always stay with my folks and get a job locally. That would satisfy your mum.’

The waitress chose that moment to come with their meal, giving Molly time to think about how she could hint to George that she wanted more from him than just friendship.

‘Would it satisfy you? I mean, me being in the spare room?’

Molly was aware that the question hadn’t come out in the seductive way she’d intended but, considering the length of time they’d known one another, she would’ve expected him to at least laugh. Instead, he blushed furiously and looked very uncomfortable.

She was mortified, yet at the same time she felt indignant that he couldn’t rise to the occasion with a joke, some banter, anything that would stop her feeling like a first-class idiot.

It had spoiled the evening. George changed the subject to ask how Petal was, and Molly did her best to sound animated and happy when, inside, she felt hollow. George went on to tell her about two farmers in a neighbouring village who were caught up in a bitter feud. It had started when one of the farmers found his prize-winning sheepdog dead, apparently poisoned, and he was so convinced the other man had done it out of jealousy he retaliated by setting fire to his hay barn.

Normally, Molly would’ve been all too eager to hear the full story, but she wanted George to be the way he had been at the station, when he’d hugged her, to see that light in his eyes that said he thought the world of her and was excited to be alone with her in London for a few days. So she didn’t show any enthusiasm for his story. In fact, she yawned and looked pointedly at her watch.

They barely spoke on their way back to the hotel and, although George hesitated outside her door, shuffling his feet and looking sheepish, he didn’t say anything more than goodnight and that she shouldn’t get too worked up about being cross-examined in court the next day, as she probably wouldn’t be called for a day or two.

Molly slept soundly despite everything, and woke refreshed. After a very big cooked breakfast she and George decided to walk to the Old Bailey, as it wasn’t very far and they would be sitting down waiting for most of the day. Molly wasn’t one to keep up bad feeling with anyone, so she chatted normally, as if the night before had been a pleasant one.

George was in his uniform, as he was officially on duty as a witness, and he looked very smart. ‘Once witnesses have given their evidence they can watch the rest of the trial,’ he explained as they walked along. ‘It’s quite interesting watching and listening to the two opposing barristers. Sometimes, they’re just like actors, only playing to the jury instead of an audience. But I doubt I’ll be here to hear the closing speeches and the verdict. I expect I’ll be summoned back home.’

‘Oh, that’s a shame,’ Molly said. ‘I thought we had a week or so up here.’

She purposely didn’t say ‘together’, in case that was too familiar.

‘Unfortunately, police witnesses are usually called right at the start. This case is a bit more complicated than most, as Miss Gribble has pleaded not guilty to abduction, claiming that Christabel had the right as Petal’s mother to go and get her from Cassie. She claims, too, that she never touched Cassie; she just tripped over and fell. She’s also pleading not guilty to murdering Reg Coleman, though how she can maintain that story I don’t know, not when his body was found in the garden.’

‘I suppose she could claim that someone else killed him and put him in the ground. How are they going to prove it was her after all these years?’

‘I think the forensic team have got something up their sleeve and, besides, when the jury hear she locked Petal upstairs for months and was going to leave you to die of starvation I can’t see them finding her not guilty of stabbing and burying Reg when she alone had the motive and opportunity to do it.’

‘Whatever happens, it’s going to be tough for Christabel
today,’ Molly said. ‘I’d hate to be in a position like hers. Miss Gribble is almost like a mother or big sister to her, and she must have loved her.’

‘I’m hoping that now she realizes just how badly she’s been betrayed, and that Miss Gribble stole her whole life it will make her speak out when she is called to give evidence.’

‘It’s funny to think such a weak woman could produce a daughter like Cassie,’ Molly said. ‘She used to tell me to stand up for myself and demand my rights. I used to think I was weak, just like my mum.’

‘You are like your mum in that you care about other people,’ George said, taking her arm as they crossed a busy road. ‘That isn’t weak. And you’ve got to remember that women of your mum’s age were told from birth that being a good wife meant never criticizing or opposing their husband.’

‘I suppose that’s okay if you’ve got a reasonable husband like your dad.’

‘Don’t ever tell my dad that! Mum is the boss in our house. She’s just good at making him think he is. She was even the one who proposed!’

Molly giggled. ‘Really?’

‘Yes, really. Apparently, he’d been hinting at it for months, but never came right out with it. He hadn’t even dared to say he loved her. So she got cross with him, and just said she was tired of it all, she loved him and wanted to get married, but if he didn’t feel the same he was to admit it and then clear off.’

‘That was brave of her! Most women would feel a man was just stringing her along if he didn’t speak about his feelings, or that he was rather pathetic.’

George’s head whipped round to look at her. Molly felt
herself blushing and she hoped that, by just looking ahead, she would appear nonchalant.

Neither of them was called on the first day of the trial; they just had to sit and wait. At first Molly enjoyed watching people coming in, wondering who they were and what crime they were involved in, but that soon wore off and she began to feel cold and bored. The time passed very slowly, even with George to chat with.

Her mind wandered and she began to think how far she’d come since that first time in London for her interview at Bourne & Hollingsworth. She’d been scared to eat in a café, terrified she’d get lost on the underground and convinced she stood out as a naïve country girl. What a lot she’d seen and done since then! She’d been sacked from her job, almost raped by the man in Soho, gone to live in the East End and then got the job at the George. And she’d done what she set out to do: to find Petal and see Cassie’s killer brought to justice.

There had been some terrible times but some very good ones, too. She’d made a friend for life in Dilys, and Ted and Evelyn had become almost family. She could thank Cassie and Constance for expanding her mind and making her realize that she wasn’t weak. London had played its part in rounding her out but, although it would always be an exciting place to visit, she was very glad she didn’t have to live or work here any more.

She could imagine Cassie smiling down at her. She felt her friend would think she’d turned up trumps. Not just for saving Petal, but for saving herself from becoming a cowed little mouse like her mother.

That evening she and George went to the pictures. He wanted to see
On the Waterfront
, starring Marlon Brando, but Molly insisted she had to see
Carmen Jones
, with Dorothy Dandridge, and somewhat reluctantly George agreed.

She loved it, as she knew she would, because the music was so moving, and she cried several times. George admitted as they came out that he had been close to tears, too, and that he had loved the film, but said he was going to drag her to see
On the Waterfront
the following night.

He hadn’t held her hand or even put his arm around her in the cinema but, when they got back to the hotel, he kissed her goodnight outside her room.

It was a delicious kiss, slow, sensual and toe curling, but George pulled away from her and smiled down at her. ‘Bed for you. I wish I could come in and share it, but I promised your mum I wouldn’t take advantage just because we were in a hotel together.’

‘I think I’m old enough to decide for myself whether I would welcome a man in my room,’ she said jokingly.

‘I agree, but a promise is a promise and, anyway, we may need to have our wits about us tomorrow,’ he said. ‘But can I just add that there would be nothing I’d like better than to spend the night with you.’

Molly closed the bedroom door behind her and stood leaning against it for a moment in a daze. He’d finally admitted he wanted her. Was that because she’d put him under pressure by talking about weak men? Or because he really meant it?

They had barely got to the Old Bailey the next morning when the prosecuting barrister, Mr Barrington-Sloane, came to tell Molly she was to be called first.

‘I want the jury to see straight away that there is no doubt Miss Gribble is a ruthless and cunning murderess who had total control of Christabel Coleman. So I will first ask you to tell the jury about Sylvia Coleman and Pamela, then lead on to you finding Sylvia Coleman dead in Stone Cottage. I aim to go on from there to how you came to be imprisoned by Miss Gribble, but there is a possibility the judge will not allow that evidence today. We’ll see how it goes.’

Molly’s stomach began to churn with fright. Yesterday, as she and George were waiting, he had told her tales about defence lawyers throwing doubt on things witnesses had said. He’d assured her that she’d be all right as she was simply reporting what she’d seen at Stone Cottage and no one could twist it, as it was fact.

‘Don’t look so scared,’ Barrington-Sloane said. He was scary, too, tall and very thin with a nose like a beak. With his robe, wig, and half-moon spectacles perched precariously on the end of his nose, he reminded her of a crow. ‘You’ll be fine,’ he went on. ‘Just look at the judge and speak up.’

Molly didn’t think she’d be able to speak up, or to call Cassie and Petal by their real names. She couldn’t even think of them as Sylvia and Pamela, let alone remember to use those names.

It began very well. Barrington-Sloane encouraged her to set the scene by explaining how Sylvia and Pamela hadn’t turned up for the Coronation Day party, and how Molly had gone up to Stone Cottage on her bicycle to find them and found Sylvia dead on the floor and Pamela missing.

The defence lawyer, a short, stubby man, said he had no questions, so Barrington-Sloane moved straight on to getting Molly to relate what happened when she went to Mulberry
House with the intention of meeting Christabel Coleman. Molly went on to say how she was attacked by Miss Gribble and knocked unconscious, only to come to later to find herself locked in a room in the cellar.

‘Will you tell the court what it was like in that cellar?’ Barrington-Sloane asked her.

‘It was very cold,’ she said. ‘The only thing to sit or lie on was a wooden bench. I couldn’t sleep because of the cold, and I was hungry and thirsty.’

‘You were in there for two days,’ Barrington-Sloane said. ‘Were you confident you’d be either let out by Miss Gribble or rescued by someone else?’