The Show

  He’ll get over it. He only wants me because he can’t have me.

  Magda bought the paper and headed home. As she turned the corner into Swan Lane, two police cars sped past her so fast she had to yank Wilf up onto the verge to prevent him being flattened. A third car followed a few seconds later.

  Their speed was odd, but not their presence. Ever since Sir Edward had been triumphantly returned to Parliament as the local MP in a by-election that attracted unprecedented national coverage, the police had been regular visitors to his Riverside Hall surgeries, along with various local magistrates, county court judges and councillors. But when two more unmarked Mercedes came gliding along the lane, sinister shadows with blacked-out windows and quiet engines, like two cats about to pounce, Magda began to feel nervous.

  This wasn’t normal. Something was up.

  Her suspicions were confirmed back at the house. A veritable army of police and other official-looking vehicles were parked on the gravel drive, as if a messy child had got bored of his game of cops and robbers and left his toy cars scattered about everywhere. Wilf, sensing a drama brewing and not wanting to miss out, began barking frantically and straining at his lead. Unthinkingly, Magda reached down and unhooked the border terrier’s collar, sending him careering off towards the house like a fluffy brown missile.

  Inside, Eddie was so angry it was a wonder flames hadn’t started shooting out of his nostrils.

  Pacing in front of the library fireplace, he shouted at a policeman. A very senior policeman, if the rows of gold stripes on the shoulders of his jacket were anything to go by.

  ‘I’ve told you,’ he roared, ‘this is a mistake. All right? A mistake. Now I’d like you to leave.’

  ‘I’m afraid we can’t do that, sir,’ the policeman responded, with commendable politeness. ‘As I explained, according to our information—’

  ‘False information!’ Eddie seethed. ‘Where did you get it, I wonder? Could your “source” be David Carlyle, by any chance?’

  The policeman said nothing.

  ‘This is a witch hunt!’ Annabel spat. ‘That’s what it is. The whole world knows that man’s on a mission to destroy Eddie. And now you, the police, the very people who are supposed to protect us, are bloody well colluding in it. Worse, you’re involving an innocent young woman.’

  ‘Lady Wellesley, no one’s colluding in anything,’ the policeman said calmly. ‘This has nothing to do with either David Carlyle or your husband.’

  ‘Like hell it doesn’t!’ spat Eddie, picking up the phone. ‘I’m calling my lawyer. This is harassment.’

  ‘Neither of you is under arrest, or even under suspicion. At this stage,’ the policeman added ominously, while Eddie dialled. ‘Our information comes directly from the Home Office. We came as early as we could this morning, to minimize disruption to the family. But the fact that the young lady appears to have absconded doesn’t bode well …’

  ‘No one has absconded, you ridiculous man,’ said Eddie. ‘I told you. Magda’s taken the dog for a walk, like she does every morning.’

  With impeccable timing, Wilf sauntered into the library.

  The policeman raised a laconic eyebrow.

  ‘This dog?’ Bending down he patted Wilf. ‘Because this dog does seem to be very much here. Wouldn’t you agree, Sir Edward? Whereas Miss Bartosz is very much not here.’

  A scream, sudden and shrill, caught them all by surprise. Eddie dropped his phone and rushed into the hallway.

  ‘What the blazes do you think you’re playing at?’

  Magda, wide-eyed and plainly terrified, had been pounced on by two burly officers. She looked desperately to Eddie for help as they dragged her back towards the front door.

  ‘Let go of her!’ Eddie shouted. ‘She’s an unarmed woman, for heaven’s sake. She’s not a suicide bomber.’

  The two officers glanced at their boss, who nodded for them to continue. Ignoring Eddie, they dragged the still screaming Magda outside.

  ‘I’m sorry, sir. This is standard procedure in deportation cases.’

  ‘Well it shouldn’t be,’ said Eddie. ‘She’s a cleaner, not Osama bloody Bin Laden. In any case, Magda’s not here illegally. I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again. This is a mistake. You have no idea how much egg you guys are going to have on your faces tomorrow, Chief Inspector. Then again, you wouldn’t be the first idiots to be taken in by David Carlyle’s spin.’

  The policeman put his hat back on. ‘I’m sorry, Sir Edward.’

  ‘You will be,’ said Eddie, rushing back into the library to retrieve his phone.

  Carlyle had gone too far this time. Trumping up ridiculous charges against a perfectly innocent cleaner, all in a last-ditch attempt to smear Eddie’s name.

  To Eddie’s immense relief, his lawyer picked up immediately. ‘Simon. Thank God. It’s Eddie. Now listen, we’ve got a real situation here.’

  Outside, Milo pulled up in his black VW Golf just in time to see Magda being bundled into the back of an unmarked police car. Tears streamed down her face. She looked like an absolutely terrified calf being led to the slaughterhouse.

  ‘What the fuck!’ He raced over. ‘What’s happening? Get your hands off her!’

  He tried to pull one of the policemen back by his shoulder but the officer shrugged him off easily, like a shire horse flicking away a fly. Milo tried again. This time it was Magda who stopped him.

  ‘It’s all right.’

  ‘It’s not all right. What’s happening?’

  ‘I … I think they’re going to deport me. I can’t go back there, Milo. I can’t!’ The tears welled up again.

  Before he could say anything else, Magda was pulled inside the car and the door slammed shut. Milo watched in mute horror as she was driven away. Within seconds the other cars all followed. Nothing was left but a cloud of dust.

  ‘Did you know about this?’

  Eddie’s voice, accusing, jolted Milo out of his stupor. He turned round to find his father standing right behind him.

  ‘Know about what?’

  ‘That she was here illegally. That she didn’t have papers.’

  ‘No.’ Milo looked down at his shoes. ‘I didn’t know. But after a while maybe I … I suspected.’

  ‘You suspected? And you didn’t think to tell me?’

  ‘I wanted to handle it myself. I was trying to help her.’

  ‘I think you’d better come inside,’ Eddie said furiously. His voice was almost a whisper but his lips were trembling and his fists clenched. That’s when Milo knew he was in deep trouble.

  Back in the library, his mother twisted her diamond and sapphire engagement ring around and around and looked at him intently.

  ‘You were trying to help her?’

  ‘Yes,’ said Milo.

  ‘Even though you knew she’d lied to us? That she’d put your father’s career at risk? It was Magda you were concerned about?’

  ‘Yes!’ Milo defended himself. ‘You don’t know her, Mum. Neither of you does. She had a terrible childhood. Her dad was a drunk, abusive. All she ever wanted was a normal life, away from Poland. A fresh start. She works hard. Isn’t she the sort of person we should want to come to Britain?’

  Eddie sighed deeply. It was a titanic effort to keep his temper.

  ‘You’re missing the point. I’m an MP, Milo. I can’t employ an illegal immigrant. The fact that I have, unwittingly or not … it’s a disaster. It’s the end. And you could have prevented it!’

  ‘By getting Magda sacked?’

  ‘She’s a charwoman!’ Annabel exploded. ‘What on earth is wrong with you?’

  Milo looked at his mother with naked contempt. ‘Being a cleaner is Magda’s job. It’s not who she is. She’s an incredible woman.’

  ‘God give me strength …’ muttered Eddie.

  ‘I love her,’ Milo said baldly. ‘I’m in love with her.’

  Annabel burst into laughter.

  ‘Laugh all you want,’ Milo said furiously. ‘But I’m g
oing to marry her. I’d have thought you of all people would understand.’

  ‘Understand what?’ said Annabel.

  ‘What it’s like to fall in love with someone from a completely different world.’

  Milo glared at his mother defiantly. It was an unspoken rule, since Annabel’s overdose, that the past, her past, was never mentioned or even alluded to. But her hypocrisy was too much for Milo to bear.

  To his surprise, however, she reacted calmly.

  ‘You’re right,’ she said. ‘I do know what it’s like. And I can tell you it is damned hard. Damned hard. You have no idea what you’re signing up for, Milo.’

  He turned to go but she called after him, her voice rising and ringing with emotion.

  ‘I’ll tell you something else, Milo. When I made those sacrifices, I made them in pursuit of a better life, not a worse one. Your father was from a different world, but it was a better world than the one I crawled out from. It was a world worth striving for, a life worth striving for! I wanted a better life for myself then, just like I want a better life for you now. So if you think I’m going to sit back and watch my only child crawl back into the bloody abyss that I’ve spent my life escaping, by marrying a penniless, immigrant char, you can think again!’

  ‘I don’t know what to tell you,’ said Milo, ‘except you’re wrong. I’m leaving now.’

  He stormed out.

  ‘Hold on.’ Eddie ran after him. ‘Where are you going?’

  ‘What do you care?’ snapped Milo. He didn’t want to admit how much the exchange with his mother had shaken him. He knew that in her own, warped way, she was trying to show him love. But she was wrong about Magda, so wrong he didn’t know where to start.

  ‘Don’t be childish,’ said Eddie. ‘Of course I care. We both do.’

  ‘If you really want to know,’ Milo said grimly, ‘I’m going to see the person who turned Magda in.’

  The colour drained from Eddie’s face.

  ‘For God’s sake, don’t! The damage is done, Milo. Magda will be deported and I’ll have to resign. If you try to confront Carlyle, he’ll have you done for harassment, or assault. Do you want to go to jail? Milo? Milo!’

  The black Golf was already tearing off down the drive.

  Louise Carlyle was making a pot of tea when the phone rang.

  ‘This is Eddie Wellesley.’

  ‘Oh! Er … hello.’

  ‘Is David home?’

  Louise hesitated. David was home, watching the golf in the family room. But he’d been so much better recently, so much calmer and happier. She didn’t think she could bear it if the feud between him and Eddie Wellesley started up again.

  ‘I know you must be worried about him.’ Eddie’s voice sounded calm and kind. ‘But it really is important that I speak to him. It’ll only take a couple of minutes.’

  Reluctantly, Louise took the phone through to David.

  ‘Eddie Wellesley, my arse. Who is this?’ David barked.

  When he realized it really was Eddie, he was too shocked to do anything but listen.

  ‘I had nothing to do with it,’ he said, once Eddie finally stopped talking.

  ‘Oh, come on, Carlyle. We’re both too long in the tooth for these games.’

  ‘I mean it,’ said David. ‘I know nothing about your cleaner, Wellesley. If it had been me, don’t you think I’d be shouting it from the rooftops?’

  This was a good point. Even so, Eddie wasn’t sure whether he believed him.

  ‘My son, Milo, is on his way to you,’ he said. ‘Milo’s very fond of Magda and his blood’s up. I suggest you keep your gates firmly closed.’

  ‘Are you threatening me?’ David’s voice took on a harder edge.

  ‘Of course not. I’m warning you, you fool,’ said Eddie. ‘Perhaps I shouldn’t have bothered.’

  He hung up.

  ‘What was all that about?’ asked Louise, returning with two mugs of tea.

  David looked at her blankly. ‘I have absolutely no idea. But I think Eddie Wellesley might be about to resign.’

  ‘But … he was only just re-elected.’

  ‘I know.’ David broke into a grin. ‘Marvellous, isn’t it?’

  Magda was silent as the female guard led her down a long, windowless corridor. The staff at the detention centre had actually been kind, but the place itself was awful. Peeling paint on the walls, too-bright strip lights that buzzed like dying flies above one’s head and the smell of burned hopes in the air.

  Magda was led into a room full of women and children. Part dormitory, part living room, it had metal bunks stacked against the walls and a television blaring in one corner that no one was watching. Nobody so much as glanced up at Magda.

  ‘This is your bunk.’

  The stripped bed in the corner of the room had a blanket, sheet and tiny pillow wrapped in Cellophane at the end of it, the sort you get on a plane.

  ‘You’ll be interviewed in the morning. The Home Office will send someone down to talk to you. Supper’s at six, lights out at nine, toilets are through that door. Any questions?’

  Magda shook her head.

  Too numb to speak, she was still in shock. Somewhere on the long drive east to Folkestone, all the fight had drained out of her.

  Deep down she’d always known this day would come eventually. As soon as Sir Edward Wellesley had decided he was going back into politics, she’d known it would only be a matter of time before someone found out. And yet she’d dared to hope, to believe, that if she kept her head down and herself to herself, that perhaps the storm would pass over her this time. That she’d be safe.

  She’d thought about leaving many times. She should have left, for Sir Edward’s sake, if not her own. But she couldn’t do it. She realized with shame that Milo was the reason. Somewhere along the line, as ridiculous as it was, Magda had fallen in love with him. His laugh, his smile, his occasional kind words, tossed casually in her direction. In her loneliness, she’d allowed those things to mean too much. She’d allowed them to mean everything.

  And now it was all over. Not just the fantasy, but her entire life in England, the life she’d worked so hard to build for so long.

  She was being sent back to Poland. Back to hell.

  Milo would never speak to her again.

  I brought all this on myself.

  Too tired even to cry, Magda lay back on the bunk and stared at the bed above her.

  Violet Charteris was just heading out for lunch in Belgravia when Milo turned up at her flat.

  ‘Darling!’ She flung open the door and smiled, tossing back her newly washed blonde hair. ‘What a lovely surprise.’

  In a sexy, dark green dress that brought out the colour of her eyes, and knee-high suede boots, Violet knew she looked good. Milo, however, was clearly in no mood to be charmed.

  ‘It was you, wasn’t it?’

  ‘What was me?’ Violet asked innocently. Leading him into the drawing room of her stunning flat, she sank down onto the antique Knole sofa and invited Milo to do the same.

  ‘You told immigration about Magda.’

  ‘Oh. That.’ Violet rolled her eyes. ‘I might have said something.’

  ‘You did say something, you stupid bitch!’ Milo shouted at her. ‘Why?’

  ‘Why not?’ Violet shouted back. ‘She was breaking the law, Milo. I guessed something was up when I saw you snooping around about Poland at work.’

  ‘You went on my computer?’

  ‘It’s not your computer. It’s the office computer. And you were the one doing something shady, not me. In case you hadn’t noticed, we work for the Home Secretary, Milo. We can’t go around protecting illegal immigrants just because you happen to have the hots for your parents’ cleaning lady!’

  Milo stepped forward, looming over Violet like a giant oak tree about to fall. Looking down at her pretty, spiteful, doll-like face, he felt an overwhelming urge to smash his fist into it.

  ‘You have no idea what you’ve done,’ he hissed at her.


  ‘Actually, I do. I’ve done the right thing.’ Violet stuck out her chin defiantly. ‘And I’ve done you a favour. I love you, Milo. I want to be with you. This ridiculous obsession had to end some time.’

  Bending down, Milo put his face very close to Violet’s. It took a supreme effort of will not to hit her.

  ‘I wouldn’t sleep with you now if you were the last woman on earth,’ he said venomously. ‘You make me physically sick.’

  Turning on his heel, he stormed out of her flat.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

  Eddie stared out of the window of his first-class carriage as the train rattled through the wintry Sussex countryside. Last November had been nothing but rain, but this year the cold was back with a vengeance, plunging Southern England into a deep, almost Nordic frost. Bare trees shivered in the bitter wind, while stiffened blades of grass made the fields look oddly static, sparkling grey-white beneath an ice-blue sky.

  Usually Eddie loved this sort of crisp winter weather. But today he was too worried to enjoy it properly. Neither he nor Annabel had heard from Milo in almost a month. Magda had been deported back to Poland in October. The next day Milo had resigned from the Home Office in disgust, precipitating a fairly spectacular row with his mother. Eddie had given things a few days to calm down before dropping in at Milo’s London flat. But Milo wasn’t in – not then or on any of the subsequent occasions Eddie called. His mobile phone went straight to message, and a few worried phone calls established that none of his old friends had heard from him either.

  Panicked, Annabel had insisted on calling the police. But as Milo was an adult and there was no reason to believe he was in any immediate danger, there was little they could do.

  ‘He wouldn’t be the first young man to get a bee in his bonnet after a row with mum and dad and go off on his own for a bit,’ the policeman told Annabel. ‘He’ll turn up. Probably when he wants some money,’ he joked. But Annabel wasn’t in the mood for joking.