The Secret Child (DI Amy Winter #2)(40)

‘I wouldn’t be so sure,’ Christina replied. ‘I’ve always thought there was something dodgy about that fire.’

Stuart cast her a filthy look. ‘Easy for you to say. You weren’t there.’

‘Hey, I’m just saying,’ Christina replied. ‘It’s been bad enough getting those flowers every year. That card . . . “Ladybird, ladybird . . .” Whoever’s behind it wants to hurt our families.’

Deborah’s expression darkened. She hated being reminded of the Curtis Institute and all the times she had walked down those creepy corridors at night. Sometimes she could have sworn she heard crying, long after the children had vacated the space. She repressed a shudder as goosebumps broke out on her skin. ‘Look. We need to stand together on this, otherwise—’

‘Otherwise we’re going to jail,’ Stuart interrupted, his face tight. ‘How we thought we’d get away with it, I don’t know.’

‘Don’t,’ Christina squeaked, the colour leaving her face. She reached for Stuart’s hand, unspoken words passing between them. His expression melted and he squeezed her fingers.

‘The guilt is killing me. I can’t bear . . .’ The words died in Christina’s throat as the waiter arrived with their main course. It was a set meal that Deborah had pre-ordered. Christina was a ditherer and she could not afford to waste time.

Stuart picked at his steak as they fell into silence.

‘Eat up, will you?’ Deborah grumbled. ‘This didn’t come cheap, you know.’ It had been the same when they worked together. She had to continually keep on top of things and tell them what to do.

Christina delivered a weak half-smile before swallowing a mouthful of steamed fish. The very sight of her made Deborah tense. Here was a woman with the power to tear her world apart. She returned her smile, forced a softer tone of voice. ‘There’s no need to panic. If they start digging, then tell them the testing was government-approved and you’ve done nothing wrong.’

‘But the government didn’t approve what happened.’ Stuart gestured with his fork as he directed his concerns towards Deborah. ‘Christina’s right. It’s inhuman, that’s what it is. Makes me sick.’

Her nostrils flaring, Deborah inhaled a sharp breath. ‘You weren’t complaining when you both took the pay-off.’ Deborah’s finger curled around her steak knife as anger bubbled to the surface.

‘This is dreadful. Just dreadful,’ Christina said, her words arriving on panicked breaths. ‘If my Marcus hears about this . . . He’s a vicar, for goodness’ sake. He’ll fall to pieces.’ Christina was on her third husband. She may have come across all sweetness and light, but Deborah knew that past infidelities had split her marriages up.

Slicing off a cube of steak, Deborah popped it in her mouth. It melted on her tongue and brought momentary relief. ‘I told you. Stick to the story and we’ll be fine.’

‘What if he comes after my son?’ Stuart said. ‘It’s all right for you. Your kids are grown up. Toby’s only six years old.’

‘Is everything to your satisfaction? Can I bring you another drink?’ Behind them, the waiter spoke, making Christina jump.

‘We’re fine. Thank you, Neil,’ Deborah replied on behalf of them all. She had flirted with him during previous visits, and they were on first-name terms. But today her smile was tight and he took the hint to leave them alone. Shame, Deborah thought, admiring his backside as he walked away. She had been alone for far too long but, for now, dating was not on the cards. She returned her attention to Stuart and Christina, wishing they’d never been involved.

‘It’s too late to change the past,’ she continued. ‘But confess now and our families will pay the price.’ She glared at Stuart. ‘What will become of Toby if you end up in jail?’ She turned back to Christina. ‘And how would your husband deal with the shame?’

Satisfied she had chastised them both, Deborah returned her attention to her meal. She’d had a long time to contemplate things. It had happened a lifetime ago. Only four people knew the truth and Dr Curtis was paying the price. As long as they kept their silence, it ended there, with him.





CHAPTER THIRTY

‘Sure your mum won’t mind me coming over so late?’ Donovan smiled as Amy greeted him at her front door. He knew all about Flora’s adoration of Amy’s ex, as she had discussed it with him at length. But Amy valued their late-night phone calls, and after today’s events she needed to talk to someone who would understand.

‘Of course not, it’s my home too.’ Amy reached for Donovan’s coat, freezing as he took her hand. Closely, he examined the tips of her fingers, which were bandaged after the earlier incident. Heat spread within her, rising as a bloom to her cheeks, but Donovan seemed oblivious to her discomfort as he turned her hand over in his. ‘That looks painful. Are you OK?’

‘It’s fine.’ Slowly, Amy freed her hand, making a conscious effort not to snatch it back. Taking his coat, she hung it on the hook in the hall. The injuries to her fingers were superficial and the cut on her elbow had received three Steri-Strips. It could have been a lot worse.

Turning to Donovan, she drank in his form. Adam had always been clean-shaven but Amy liked Donovan’s stubble. It suited him. It was nice to see him in jeans and a jumper for a change. Having come straight from work, she’d barely had time to change into an old pair of Levi’s and an oversized sweatshirt before he turned up at her door. The proposed get-together was welcome. The house was warm and welcoming, the sweet aroma of freshly baked cookies hanging in the air. Flora had set the scene before making herself scarce. Fresh flowers in vases, the sideboards polished and a batch of cookies cooling on a wire rack in the kitchen. Adam loved Flora’s biscuits, but little did she know it was not Adam who was keeping her daughter company tonight.