Forgive Me

  Phil stayed only long enough for a cup of tea, and to see Ben into bed. As he kissed Eva goodbye he advised her to sleep in the other bed in Ben’s room. ‘He might have a nightmare tonight. And if he does, you’ll be right there. Tell him how proud you are of him for defending Sophie and saving her life. I expect his feelings are very mixed up – no boy ever expects to have to fight off his own father.’

  She looked up at his face, which was wreathed in concern, and felt bad that she’d been nothing but trouble for him. He was such a good man; he deserved better than a girlfriend who lurched from one crisis to another.

  After he’d gone she went back upstairs to check on Ben. He was fast asleep already – which was hardly surprising after not getting any sleep the previous night, and so much stress today. The other bed was already made up; it was a little reminder of when Ben and Sophie were small. They used to share the room then, because they didn’t like being alone, and the bed had remained in here. She tucked the duvet around him more firmly and lightly kissed his forehead, struggling not to cry.

  She went back down to the kitchen and washed up the cups. It felt very strange, being back in the house – creepily strange. So quiet, so large and empty. She had never imagined that it would feel so alien, and even hostile, when it had been her home for as long as she could remember.

  Ben had said on the way home from hospital that he’d refused to see Andrew in intensive care, and he was never going to. It was obvious that he was freaked out by opposing feelings. On the one hand, he was shocked to find he was capable of hitting someone so hard, and felt an enormous amount of guilt that Andrew might never recover. Yet on the other hand, he was also still full of anger that the father he had loved and looked up to had tried to kill Sophie.

  Phil had been good with him; when they got back to the house he gave Ben a man hug and said he’d done the right thing. ‘Your instinct was right – to save your sister at any cost. Don’t be ashamed of that, because it was very brave. It won’t be easy to come to terms with what your dad has done, but you’ve got nothing to feel guilty about.’

  But what was going to become of Sophie now? Ben would of course go back to university. He’d spent enough time away from home during the last year to adjust to taking care of himself. But Sophie needed a real home with supervision; after this attack she was likely to feel very insecure for some time.

  And what would happen to this house? If Andrew remained in a coma, would it even be possible to sell it without his agreement? If he recovered and was sent to prison – what then? Sophie couldn’t live in the house alone or take care of it. But without anyone living there, it would fall into disrepair.

  ‘No point in worrying about that now,’ she said aloud, and her words seemed to echo eerily. The house didn’t look as well cared for now as it had when Flora was alive: she saw there were fingermarks on the cupboards and doors, the skirting boards were dirty, and when she opened the oven she saw it hadn’t been cleaned for a long time, perhaps not since she last cleaned it.

  Was Rose still coming in? If she was, she wasn’t doing a very good job.

  She wandered back into the hall. Sophie’s holdall from the weekend in Leeds was still there, and there were traces of grass on the carpet that had perhaps been brought in on Ben’s shoes when he carried Sophie back in here.

  Looking up at the skylight above the stairs, she could see stars in the night sky. She remembered she used to sit on the stairs as a little girl and look up at them, imagining angels lived on them. She thought Flora must have told her that.

  ‘If you’re there, Mum,’ she whispered, ‘help us through this. I don’t know what to do.’

  When Eva walked into the hospital ward to see Sophie the next day, she wasn’t prepared for the rush of emotion she experienced on seeing her sister after such a long time.

  In a hospital gown, and wearing no make-up, she looked closer to fifteen than eighteen. When she saw Eva she held out her arms, like a small child wanting to be picked up.

  Eva ran the last few yards to her and hugged her tight to her chest. ‘Poor baby,’ she murmured. ‘I’m so sorry.’

  ‘It’s me who should be apologizing to you,’ Sophie sobbed, her voice very hoarse and strained. ‘I’ve been so horrible to you. I can’t believe that you would come to see me after that.’

  ‘I didn’t stop loving you,’ Eva said, and she gently moved back from Sophie and dried her eyes with a tissue. ‘How are you feeling?’

  She could see the vivid fingermarks on her sister’s neck. The amount of pressure Andrew must have used left no doubt that he really was trying to kill her.

  ‘It’s hard to swallow. I’ve only had drinks so far,’ Sophie said, catching hold of Eva’s hand and holding it as if she wasn’t going to let go. ‘But the worse thing is, I thought Dad really loved me. How could he do it?’

  ‘I don’t know,’ Eva admitted. ‘But people do all kinds of things when they feel threatened – even to those they love.’

  ‘I’ve been knocking off college, hanging around with dodgy people and staying out half the night,’ she croaked out to Eva. ‘If I hadn’t lied to the police about Dad being home that night, it wouldn’t have come to this.’

  ‘But you’ve told the truth now,’ Eva said. ‘And you haven’t done anything worse than I did when I was younger – with far more reason, because you’d lost your mum.’

  ‘Everyone will be talking about us. First Mum and now Dad. I don’t want to be in Cheltenham any longer,’ she said as tears trickled down her cheeks.

  ‘You don’t have to stay here,’ Eva said. ‘You can go anywhere you want. But first you have to recover from this, and I’ll help you.’

  ‘Is Dad going to die?’ Sophie asked.

  ‘I don’t think so. But he’s got to have an operation in the next day or two. The doctor told me he’s got a good chance of recovery, but I doubt he’ll come out of it the way he was before.’

  She didn’t tell Sophie that perhaps it would be better if he didn’t recover completely, because with two charges of attempted murder hanging over him, he was likely to face a long prison sentence. But she knew there was something more. The police were going through the house with a fine-tooth comb, delving into all his business interests, as if they knew something more about him.

  ‘Do you mean he’ll be paralysed.’ Sophie’s eyes went wide with horror.

  ‘I doubt that,’ Eva said. ‘But stop worrying about him. You need to think about yourself and what you want to do now.’

  ‘I’m so glad you’re here, Eva,’ Sophie said, and tears filled her eyes again.

  ‘Ben’s here too. He decided to wait outside to give us time to talk alone. Shall I go and get him now?’

  Sophie just nodded, and tears streamed down her face.

  In the next few days, in between visiting Sophie in hospital and supporting Ben as he struggled to make sense of everything, Eva tried to do what Flora would have done. She cleaned the kitchen properly, tidied Sophie’s bedroom ready for when she came home, made a couple of cakes and cooked enough food so that, after she and Ben had eaten some, the rest could go into the freezer for the future.

  But however upbeat Eva tried to be, she could see no easy solution to anything. The Beeches, the on-going police investigation, Sophie and herself – it was all too much to get her head around. She’d rung Horace at Serendipity, and he’d been very understanding. But he wouldn’t keep her job open for her indefinitely.

  If she took Sophie back to London, it would soon become difficult living in Phil’s flat; it wasn’t as if the two of them had always been close. Eva didn’t want to stay one minute longer in The Beeches than she had to. But she couldn’t leave Sophie on her own in the house – or anywhere – until she knew she really was alright.

  Ben had made a tentative suggestion that if The Beeches was sold, he could buy a place in Leeds and Sophie could stay there with him. But did he mean that? And how long before the house could be sold, if at all?

  T
he police finished searching the house and took away many files and folders from Andrew’s study. Eva wondered what they were hoping to find. What had Andrew’s accounts and work files got to do with his attack on her, or on Sophie? When she asked one of the officers, he just said it was routine. But she didn’t really believe that.

  At the end of the week Sophie was allowed to come home. Phil drove up on Friday night with more clothes for Eva. Despite all the problems they had, nothing seemed quite so bad once he was there: the weather suddenly turned a bit warmer, the bruising on Sophie’s neck was less vivid and she could eat solid food again. The swelling around Ben’s eye had gone down a little, and it had turned from red to black – but with a purple tinge, which Phil said meant it was beginning to fade. Phil was good at making them all feel more optimistic and safe. He cut the grass, checked all was well with the swimming pool, and even changed the locks on the front and back doors as a precaution in case Andrew had given a key to anyone.

  It was Phil’s suggestion that Ben go back to Leeds on Sunday. He pointed out that Ben shouldn’t miss any more lectures, and Sophie was fine with Eva. The plan was that both Ben and Phil would come back the following weekend, and during the week Eva would go to the solicitor to find out the legal position about the house. Phil hoped that by the time he and Ben returned, the police would have decided if Ben was going to be charged with anything. And there might also be news from the hospital about Andrew.

  ‘Ring an insurance company and get cover to drive Andrew’s car, so you aren’t cut off,’ he said to Eva as he was getting ready to leave for London on Sunday night. She had been using taxis and she couldn’t go on doing that. ‘Sophie will be OK in a week or two. Try not to agonize over what to do with her, because she’s a bright girl and I bet she’ll come up with a plan of her own. I’m going to ring Patrick tonight when I get back, to tell him what’s happened. I wouldn’t be surprised if he didn’t come up here to hold your hand. Now, will you promise me you’ll stop worrying about your job and being away from me? The job isn’t really important, and we’ve got the rest of our lives to be together.’

  Eva clung to him. She knew he was right about everything, but she didn’t want him to go. She was scared to be alone with Sophie in a house that held so many bad memories.

  Several journalists had phoned to ask questions, and a few of the neighbours had called too. They pretended to be concerned, offering help, but she knew full well they were just digging for dirt. She hated being under all this scrutiny, feeling she had to be responsible for everyone. The awful tiredness and the desire to be alone that she’d been experiencing in London were coming back again. They had disappeared in the rush to Cheltenham, and stayed away while she was looking after Ben, but now the feelings were here again, creeping up on her, and she was afraid she wouldn’t be able to cope.

  But she didn’t say any of that to Phil. He’d said today that he was proud of the way she’d taken care of Ben and Sophie, and how she’d instantly forgiven them for doubting her. She didn’t want him to think she was the kind of person who crumbled under pressure.

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  Eva opened the front door of The Beeches on Tuesday morning to a policewoman accompanied by a tall dark-haired man in plain clothes.

  ‘Hello, Eva,’ the woman said. ‘I’m WPC Markham. We’ve met before, but I don’t expect you’ll remember.’

  ‘I do,’ Eva replied. ‘You were here the night I found Mum. You were very kind. Do come in. I expect you want to talk to Sophie.’

  Markham introduced the man with her as Detective Inspector Fellows. ‘We’d actually like to speak to both of you – and Ben too, if he’s here. How is Sophie now?’

  ‘Ben’s gone back to Leeds,’ Eva said over her shoulder as she led them to the sitting room. ‘We thought it was best he didn’t miss any more lectures. He’ll be down again at the weekend. Sophie’s a bit down in the dumps, but no one would expect her to be anything else after just a week.’

  ‘And you? It must be difficult for you to come back here after all that’s happened?’ Markham said as she sat down on the sofa.

  ‘I don’t like being here much, but I’ve got no choice. Sophie needs me right now. But let me call her, she’s doing something upstairs.’

  Eva returned moments later with Sophie and introduced her sister to both the officers.

  Markham hadn’t been on duty the Sunday night when Patterson attacked his daughter. The last time she’d seen Sophie was when she interviewed her after the fire in London, when she had looked very tarty and was astoundingly belligerent. But now she looked more like the young girl she’d met a year ago: no make-up, hair in two plaits, wearing a pink tracksuit, and with a thin scarf hiding the bruises on her neck. But she was very pale and she looked frightened.

  ‘Hello, Sophie,’ Markham said. ‘You’ve had an awful time of it. I wish we could tell you and Eva that it’s almost over, but I’m afraid these things take time.’

  ‘I made a statement in hospital about lying when I said my dad was here the night Eva’s house was set alight,’ Sophie blurted out, perching on the edge of the sofa and wringing her hands with nerves. ‘Am I in trouble for that?’

  ‘No, we aren’t here about that. Detective Inspector Fellows wants to tell you both about some new developments.’

  Sandra Markham liked and looked up to Ian Fellows. He was in his late forties and dedicated to his job. He had superb insight into the criminal mind, was sensitive with victims and easy on the eye – six foot tall, with sparkling blue eyes and a physique a man half his age would envy.

  ‘Well, Eva and Sophie,’ he said, looking from one to the other, ‘you’ve both had a rough time of it and I don’t want to make it any worse for you. But as you are probably aware, we’ve been checking your father’s financial affairs since he attacked Sophie. We found some discrepancies, which led to an audit at Portwall Papers, his employers. I’m sorry to tell you this, but we have found evidence of fraud and embezzlement.’

  Eva gasped, and Sophie looked at her as if expecting an explanation of what this meant.

  ‘I won’t go into all the details, as it’s very complicated, but basically your father has been supplementing his salary in various fraudulent ways for some years. He’s been very clever. The system he used might not have been discovered for years, if we hadn’t been looking for reasons why a normally calm family man had reacted so violently towards his daughter.’

  ‘But fraud, embezzlement?’ Eva repeated in puzzlement. ‘How can that be connected to what he did to Sophie?’

  ‘Let me take you back and make things a little clearer,’ Fellows said patiently. ‘When our colleagues in London were investigating the fire there, Andrew appeared to have no motive for an arson attack. I know that you believed it had to be because of Flora taking you as a baby, but Andrew had no involvement in that – he hadn’t even met Flora when that took place.’

  ‘My boyfriend thought that,’ Eva nodded. ‘He said it didn’t add up.’

  ‘Well, Eva, we still have no real proof that Andrew did start the fire. But thanks to Sophie admitting he wasn’t at home that night, and his reaction to her telling him that she was going to the police, we are fairly certain he was responsible. As for his motive – well, we think it was because of the old diaries you found. This is only supposition, but it is possible that when you told him about them he was afraid there was something damaging about him in them.’

  ‘But there wasn’t. The diaries ended before Flora even met him,’ Eva said.

  ‘Did you imply to him there was something?’

  Eva thought about it. ‘Well, yes. He phoned me when I was up in Scotland and he was nasty, so I hinted I’d read something about him. I just wanted to wind him up, because he’d been mean to me.’

  ‘That clearly touched a nerve,’ Fellows said. ‘You see, the Met made some inquiries about him after the fire. They found that, a year or so after he met your mother, he came under suspicion of malpractice with the comp
any of estate agents he worked for in London. It was believed, though it couldn’t be proved, that he was taking bribes from people wishing to buy a property. He ensured the owners of the property never knew that there were other potential buyers offering a higher sum. It is well nigh impossible to get evidence of such transactions – the person who offered the bribe isn’t going to admit it, and it would have been cash, no paper trail. But he acquired a very expensive car at that time, for which there was no hire-purchase transaction. Nor was there any other evidence of how he paid for it. And he left the company he worked for, and London, in something of a hurry.

  ‘We have no way of knowing whether your mother knew about this – somehow, I doubt it. But he might have thought she had her suspicions and had written about it in her diary. When you said you were going to the police about your birth, he was afraid you’d be showing the diary to us.’

  ‘But if it couldn’t be proved twenty years ago, how could it be proved now?’ Eva asked.

  ‘Quite so,’ Fellows agreed. ‘But his alarm was caused by realizing that if the suspicions about him back then came to light, we would be likely to probe into his more current affairs. As we did.’

  ‘So it wasn’t ever about me being snatched then?’

  ‘We very much doubt it. We think his plan was just to destroy any evidence that might be in your house.’

  ‘And me with it!’

  Fellows pursed his lips. ‘That appears likely. Though he may have thought you weren’t in the house.’

  ‘Was it a lot of money he took?’ Sophie asked in a small voice.

  ‘Over the years, yes.’

  ‘But how?’ Eva was puzzled. ‘Portwall is a paper company, and he was a sales manager. He didn’t handle cash, as far as I know.’

  ‘But he did deal with setting up subsidiary companies, factories, finding new suppliers. And he made deals on Portwall’s behalf all around the world. Portwall have some proof now that he took backhanders for negotiating deals, just as he did in the London estate agency. That sort of practice is common enough in many quarters, and not actually illegal, but a principled company like Portwall would never countenance it. But what is totally illegal is diverting funds owed to Portwall into an account he set up for himself.’