Her Perfect Family(19)

There have been a number of similar approaches in recent months – all politely declined. He should laugh it off but in truth, it depresses him. Why don’t people take his work more seriously?

Sal reckons it was the stalker case he worked on. His wise wife had always warned against anything too close to security work. He took on the stalker case strictly as a one-off as he felt very sorry for the woman involved. A journalist – Alice Henderson. It was a legitimate and intense inquiry – at times emotionally gruelling, also dangerous – and although it worked out in the end, he’s promised Sally not to take on anything remotely resembling bodyguard duties ever again.

No Kevin Costner gigs, Matt. It sends the wrong signal. Promise?

Promise.

Sadly, despite greater clarity on his website, potential clients – many of whom appear purely rich and lonely – are not yet taking the hint. Matthew fears he’s losing credibility while Sally is losing patience.

These women clearly fancy you, Matthew. It was that picture in the paper. And that new TV series. People get the wrong idea . . .

Don’t be ridiculous, Sally.

The ‘local hero’ newspaper coverage of the cathedral shooting hasn’t helped. The local Sunday ran another big feature yesterday. And while high-profile cases are technically good for PR and hence business, Matthew’s still quietly disappointed he’s not being offered the kind of legitimate and complex investigative work he craves. Interesting cold cases. Shoulder to the wheel. Is that really so much to hope for?

Matthew pours a dash of hot milk from the jug on his tray into the remnants of his coffee and sips. Better. It’s borderline obscene how quickly good coffee revives him. He’s just about to google advice on options to help Amelie – whether in fact they should turn to a professional counsellor – when the entry buzzer signals someone at the door downstairs.

Matthew frowns and checks his watch. Mondays are normally quiet. There’s nothing in the diary and ‘walk-in’ clients are rare now that his website urges a phone call or email as first contact. He moves across the office to the intercom, praying it’s not someone breathy who wants him to go on holiday . . .

‘Hello. Matthew Hill. Can I help you?’

‘I’m so sorry to turn up here without an appointment, Mr Hill. It’s Ed Hartley. Gemma Hartley’s father. Can I come up? I really need to speak to you, please.’

Matthew’s puzzled. His office is nearly an hour from Gemma’s hospital. He presses the buzzer and issues his regular warning about the steepness of the flight of stairs.

He holds the door ajar and waves his arm to signal for Ed Hartley to take a seat over to his right.

Matthew sits in his own chair behind the desk but, seeing the ashen nature of Ed Hartley’s face, gets straight back up.

‘You look quite shaken, Mr Hartley. Must be such a difficult time for you. Can I get you a coffee? Or a glass of water?’

‘Both please. Very kind.’

‘No problem. To be perfectly honest, I’m surprised to see you. I imagined you’d be at the hospital.’

‘I’m on my way back there right now actually. Haven’t had time for breakfast. My wife’s staying at the hospital full time still. I’ve just been nipping home to fetch bits and bobs.’

‘Oh right. I see.’ Matthew doesn’t see at all but parks his surprise and moves straight through to the adjoining kitchen to make yet more coffee.

‘I used to live in this flat next to the office.’ He raises his voice so that Mr Hartley can hear him through the door connecting the two spaces. ‘We sometimes think about letting it but I rather like having the kitchen space. And strictly between us, I’ve been known to take a little nap in the flat after a long night.’

Ed Hartley lets out a small, nervous laugh but his mouth remains tight and Matthew watches as he taps his hand against his lips. Tap, tap, tap. His visitor runs his fingers through his hair, crosses his legs and then jerks his right foot up and down repeatedly.

By the time Matthew emerges with a cafetière and hot milk in a jug – he decided against the noise and delay of his espresso machine – Ed’s face is even paler.

‘Are you sure you’re alright, Mr Hartley?’

‘Well no, I’m not actually.’ He takes the mug and nods as Matthew offers to pour in some hot milk but shakes his head to sugar.

‘How’s Gemma doing? Any change?’

Mr Hartley just shakes his head again. Matthew takes in a long breath.

‘OK. So why are you here? What can I do for you?’

Gemma’s father starts a strange rocking in response to the question, his eyes darting around the room as if trying to find the answer among the furnishings.

Matthew waits.

Mr Hartley sips at his drink and then stares at his feet. ‘This is probably going to sound a little odd. Irregular even. But I was wondering if you might help me find someone, Mr Hill. It’s to put my mind at ease. Purely to put my mind at ease.’

‘I’m sorry. I’m not following you. Find who?’

He does not reply.

‘I’m very sorry, Mr Hartley, but you are going to have to spell this out for me. Is this something to do with Gemma? With the inquiry? Because if it is, I need to be clear that this is perhaps something you – we – should be discussing with the police. With DI Sanders. This is a live and complex investigation as you know. There’s no way I could be taking on—’