Loving

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Jay shook his head. ‘She wouldn’t want to know. I would have given her custody of Heather, but she didn’t want her.’ His back straightened, his face suddenly bitterly angry, as he read the expression in the policeman’s eyes. ‘I love my daughter very much, Sergeant,’ he told him curtly, ‘but that doesn’t stop me thinking that a little girl of Heather’s age needs her mother. I can’t be there all the time for her. God, when I think I deliberately looked for an older woman to look after her, thinking that she would be likely to be more responsible! I have to be away a great deal—there’s nothing I can do about it, at least not at the moment …’

‘No one’s blaming you, sir,’ Sergeant Holmes said quietly. ‘All of us here are parents, and we all know what kids are like. Half the time you just don’t know what’s going through their heads.’

‘If she was so frightened of Mrs Roberts, why didn’t she tell me? If anyone’s touched her … hurt her …’

He couldn’t put his fears into words, and Claire felt her body clench on a wave of nausea and pain. That was the way her father would have looked if he’d known … but he’d been dead then and she’d been alone … She sent up a mental prayer that somehow Heather would be safe. If she was, no matter what her father had to say about it Claire intended to give her as much love and attention as she wanted. She felt almost as much to blame as Jay. She had known that Heather was unhappy, but because of her pride and her determination not to give Jay the slightest cause to think she was trying to attract him, she had deliberately backed off. ‘I normally go and collect Lucy from school about now,’ she told the sergeant. ‘Do you want to come with me, or shall I …?’

‘It’s best if you go alone; we don’t want to frighten her. Try and act as naturally as possible with her, Mrs Richards. Children get some weird ideas in their heads. If she does know anything we don’t want to frighten her into keeping it to herself.’

The sergeant’s words made sense, but they were hard to put into practice. Claire could feel her voice turning croaky with anxiety as she casually asked if Heather was at school, already knowing what the answer would be.

Lucy shook her head. As Claire looked down at her she saw that her daughter was avoiding her eyes.

Did Lucy know something about Heather’s disappearance? Striving to seem calm, she said, ‘Oh dear, Heather’s daddy’s waiting for us at home. He thought Heather might be coming home with you.’

No reaction, but Claire felt the small hand tucked into hers clenching betrayingly.

She took Lucy into the kitchen and settled her with a glass of milk and a biscuit before going into her sitting-room.

‘I think she knows something,’ she told Sergeant Holmes worriedly.

‘Will you let me talk to her?’ he asked. ‘I promise I won’t frighten her.’

Knowing what was at stake Claire could hardly refuse. She took the two police officers into the kitchen and made sure that Lucy knew who they were before leaving her with them. She sensed that the sergeant was more likely to learn something if she was not hovering anxiously at his side.

As she opened the sitting-room door she saw that Jay Fraser had slumped down into one of her chairs, his head in his hands. He looked up as she walked in, and she saw the dread and the pain in his eyes.

‘I pray to God that we can find her.’

Instinctively she placed her hand over his, shocked to feel its fierce tremble. ‘I’m sure Lucy knows something … she looked so guilty. Perhaps Heather’s …’ she broke off, his eyes widening as she suddenly remembered Lucy’s disappearance and the missing cakes.

‘What is it?’

‘I think Heather might have run away,’ she said unsteadily. ‘Last night Lucy disobeyed me and left the garden … I found some cakes missing, I …’

Before she could say any more the sitting-room door opened and Sergeant Holmes appeared, holding a tearful Lucy in his arms.

‘I promised Heather I wouldn’t tell Mummy …’ her bottom lip wobbled. ‘She wanted to come and live with us, but you said she couldn’t and Mrs Roberts was very cross because she’d come here for her tea. Heather wanted her daddy, but he wasn’t there …’

Oh, the anguish of that innocent double indictment! Over the tousled brown curls, grey eyes met green, both of them mirroring their guilt and anguish.

‘It seems that Heather spent the night in one of the huts on the old allotments down by the railway,’ Sergeant Holmes informed them. ‘She made Lucy promise not to tell.’

‘Mrs Roberts smacked her,’ Lucy whimpered, ‘she made her cry …’

‘I was wondering, Mrs Richards—if WPC Ames here stays with Lucy, would you …’

Claire didn’t even think of refusing. After hugging and kissing her daughter and reassuring her that no one was cross with her, she was half way out of the door as Jay opened it.

It was less than half a mile to the allotments, but none of them spoke. All of them must surely be thinking of the terrors that could be inflicted on a small girl of six on her own.

As they reached the allotments, the Sergeant suggested softly, ‘I think you’d better be the one to go first, Mr Fraser. If she’s still there, we don’t want to frighten her.’

From the white look on Jay’s face, Claire knew that nothing on earth would have prevented him from going first. Hands clenched, her body tense with dread, she waited as he walked towards the tumbledown hut.

He opened the door and went inside. Claire held her breath, all sensation suspended as she prayed harder than she had ever done in her life before. It was illogical to feel this depth of emotion for someone else’s child, but she knew the horrors that could be inflicted on the innocent—oh, how she knew—and in that aeon of waiting there was an emotional bonding between her personal anguish and the fear she felt for Heather that coalesced in a wave of love so strong and intense that when Jay walked out of the hut, carrying his daughter in his arms, nothing on earth could have stopped her from stumbling across the distance that separated them to take the sobbing child in her arms.

Small arms clung to her, heaving sobs swelling the childish chest. Jay looked white and stunned—lost, almost.

‘She was frightened of me!’ Claire heard him say disbelievingly. ‘She was frightened …’

‘Let’s get her home now,’ Sergeant Holmes suggested, ‘time for questions later.’

As Jay leaned forward to take her from Claire, Heather clung to her, and wept piteously. ‘I want to go to Lucy’s house, Daddy. I don’t want to go home!’

Claire avoided looking at him. She could sense everything that he was feeling. If he had resented and disliked her before it must be nothing to what he was feeling now.

They took Heather back to the small cottage, a look of relief and guilt mingling on Lucy’s face as they walked in.

‘I think we should leave her with Mrs Richards for a few minutes, sir,’ Sergeant Holmes suggested to Jay.

Busy trying to soothe Heather’s tears, Claire was absently aware of Jay stepping back from them and allowing the sergeant to take him into the kitchen.

It was a long time before Heather calmed down enough to be coherent, and the story she told left Claire shaking with rage and appalled by the enormity of what could have happened.

She took her upstairs and put her in the spare bed in Lucy’s room, knowing from experience that such an outburst would soon result in sleep. She was emotionally and physically drained, poor little mite, and even in sleep she clung to Claire’s hand, not wanting her to leave her.

She went down to the kitchen, where the sergeant was entertaining Lucy by reading her a story.

‘She ran away because she was frightened of Mrs Roberts,’ Claire told them tiredly. ‘It’s partly my fault.’ She looked at Jay Fraser and saw that his face was shuttered and remote. Who knew what he was thinking behind that iron mask? ‘She wanted to have tea with us the other day and I … I refused. I said she must ask Mrs Roberts’ permission. The next day she said she had; I didn’t check—I …’ She couldn’t look at Jay Fraser; surely he must know why she hadn’t felt able to speak to his housekeeper. ‘Apparently she hadn’t asked at all, and after I took her home that evening Mrs Roberts was very angry with her—the poor woman must have been out of her mind with fear when she didn’t turn up from school. Apparently she shut Heather up in her bedroom and told her she was going to tell her daddy what she had done. Mrs Roberts told Heather that her father would be very cross.’ Claire bit her lip, wondering if she ought to suppress the next bit, and then, deciding that she could not, ‘Apparently Mrs Roberts threatened to leave and told Heather that if she did, Heather would have to go into a home because neither her mummy nor her daddy wanted her.’ She heard the sound Jay made and steeled herself against it. ‘That’s why she ran away. She was frightened.’

‘I never knew!’ It was agony listening to the torment in his driven voice. ‘I trusted the woman. I thought she was reliable! I had no idea.’

‘It happens to the best of us, sir,’ said Sergeant Holmes gruffly. ‘Try not to blame yourself. I’ve known Amy Roberts for years. I knew she didn’t like kids, but I’d never have suspected …’

‘I’ll have to dismiss her, of course.’ Claire felt that he was talking more to himself than to them. He looked directly at her for the first time and she was shocked by his haggard expression.

‘Could you … would you let her stay here tonight? I’ll …’

‘I’ll leave the two of you now, sir. No need for us to stay any longer …’

Tactfully the sergeant and his colleague left. Lucy was sitting down in front of the television in the sitting-room when Claire peeped in to check that she was all right.

She went into the kitchen. Jay Fraser was standing by the window, his arms rigid against the rim of the sink. He looked up at the entrance and stepped back from the unit, his movements jerky and unco-ordinated. He walked like a man who had had too much to drink, and suddenly he swayed, his face tinged with a frightening pallor.

‘The bathroom,’ he muttered thickly.

Numbly Claire told him, trying to blot out of her mind the sound of him being violently sick. Shock affected people in many different ways, and she could almost feel the bitter combination of pain and anguish that made up his.

When he came back down he moved like an old, old man. Leaning against the kitchen door, he said slowly, ‘I owe you an apology.’ He shuddered suddenly. ‘God, when I think of what could have happened to her … I had no idea how she felt, no idea at all.’

She could hear and see the anguish of a parent suddenly realising how it had failed its child. Ridiculously, she wanted to comfort him, but what could she say?

‘You did your best. It can’t be easy …’

‘No, I didn’t do my best,’ he said savagely. ‘If I’d done my best she’d have a proper mother.’ His eyes suddenly focused on her and darkened. ‘Someone like you. Have you any idea what it does to me to know that you know more about her feelings and her fears than I do …? That you cared enough to make sure she got home from school safely, while I …’

‘You didn’t know. You couldn’t know. In your shoes I’d have opted for an older woman.’

‘I should have known there was something wrong. Hell, I did know,’ he said savagely. ‘She never stopped talking about you, but I wouldn’t listen. It’s been one hell of a bad year for me,’ he added slowly. ‘The divorce became final eighteen months ago. I suppose you’ve heard the story: the neglected wife leaving; having an affair with her husband’s business partner right under his nose. Susie never wanted children. She wanted to abort when she discovered she was pregnant …’

He was telling her things he’d normally never dream of telling anyone, Claire sensed; his defences were relaxed by shock and fear. He needed the release of talking, even if he barely realised who he was talking to. She wasn’t a person to him right now, she was just a presence … someone to listen.

‘She never cared for Heather, and Heather seemed to sense it. I was glad when she said she didn’t want her. She’s my child and I love her,’ he said fiercely as though she had voiced a doubt. ‘But after my experience with Susie I swore I’d never marry again; never allow another woman to entangle me in that sort of emotional mess. It isn’t that easy, though. Human beings have certain needs.’ He wasn’t aware of how Claire froze. ‘And I soon discovered there are plenty of women willing to share a man’s bed, especially when they think he’s vulnerable. I’ve lost count of the number of women who’ve told me that Heather needs a mother.’

He knew who she was now, Claire recognised, catching his oblique glance.

‘I misjudged you and I’m sorry for it, but I’d just spent a fortnight in the States, trying to fend off half a dozen or so attempts at matchmaking from the wives of my business colleagues. Heather might need a mother, but I don’t want a second wife.’ He pushed one hand through his hair. ‘What the hell am I going to do?’

What could she say? ‘I don’t know.’

‘Neither do I,’ he said grimly.

She heard him sigh as he levered his shoulders off the door. Even now, exhausted with anxiety and tension, there was a magnetic attraction about him that she recognised and recoiled from. She saw him frown as she stepped back.

‘Look, I really am sorry about what I said to you. There was no call for it. Put it down to tiredness and the frustration of having to fend off my friends’ matchmaking efforts. To have you repeat what they had been saying to me—that Heather needed a mother—’

‘Made you leap to the instant conclusion that I had myself in mind,’ said Claire wryly. ‘Yes, I can understand that, but you were quite wrong. A husband is the last thing I’d want.’

She saw him frown. ‘My remark was crass and uncalled for.’

A silence stretched between them, but it wasn’t an uncomfortable silence. In fact, it was oddly companionable.

‘I’ll come and see Heather later, if I may. Will it be all right if she stays here with you?’

She could see how much he hated having to ask, and that was something else she could understand from her own experience of single parenthood. It bred in one a fierce pride, a determination to manage alone without having to ask for help—but help was sometimes needed, and it wasn’t in her nature to be anything less than generous. Pushing the heavy weight of her hair off her face, she said firmly, ‘Heather can stay here as long as she wants to. I’m genuinely very fond of her, you know,’ she paused, searching for the right words, ‘she’s so vulnerable … and … and wanting. Nothing like my independent little Lucy.’

‘Perhaps because she hasn’t experienced the same security and love.’ Jay’s voice was clipped, his eyes edged with bitterness. ‘I’ve got to go back now. I want to have a few words with Mrs Roberts. I can’t blame it all on her, though; I should have known. But she seemed so responsible. She had such good references!’

‘As a housekeeper, perhaps,’ said Claire gently, sensing his frustration and guilt. ‘But a woman who’s a good housekeeper isn’t always a good …’

‘Mother? No,’ he said bitterly. ‘I can see that—now. I’ll just go up and see Heather before I leave.’

He sounded uncertain and awkward, and Claire didn’t go with him. Some things were too private to be witnessed by anyone else.

‘She’s still asleep,’ he told her when he came down. ‘I’ll come back later.’ Claire walked with him to the front door. As she opened it he turned to face her.

‘I haven’t thanked you,’ he said huskily.

‘There’s nothing to thank me for.’

And she didn’t feel there was. If she hadn’t been there perhaps Heather might never have thought of running away. She hadn’t meant to encourage the little girl to love her, but how much damage had she inadvertently done?

CHAPTER THREE

BOTH GIRLS HAD had their supper and were bathed and pyjamaed when Jay Fraser came back. They were sharing Lucy’s room, but Claire took her own daughter downstairs so that Jay and Heather could be alone.

She had barely been downstairs with Lucy for more than ten minutes when Jay Fraser’s dark head suddenly appeared round her sitting-room door. He looked unexpectedly vulnerable for such a very hard-edged man, his mouth set in a grimly despondent line.

‘Can you come?’ he asked quietly. ‘Heather seems to have cast me in the role of angry parent; I can’t get it through to her that she isn’t going to be punished.’

Claire had always been acutely sensitive to the feelings of others and it was for that reason that she kept her attention fixed on a point to the left of his shoulder rather than on his face. She didn’t need a crystal ball to know that he was finding it very hard to ask for her help.

When she got upstairs Heather was curled up in a small ball, crying. The moment she saw Claire she flung herself into her arms, cuddling up against her. Over her dark head Claire looked at the grimly set face of her father. Strange to think that less than a month ago she had viewed a second meeting with this man with both apprehension and dread. Now she was seeing him stripped of his masculine arrogance, a human being with fears and doubts, and ridiculously she wanted to reassure him that everything would be all right, and that Heather would eventually come round.

Instead, she stroked her soft dark hair, and said quietly, ‘It’s all right, Heather, your daddy isn’t cross with you. He was very worried about you, we all were.’