The Secret Mother(60)

‘That still doesn’t give her the right to—’

‘I know, I know.’

‘Tessa,’ Ben says, the tone of his voice injecting me with fresh worry. ‘If she can get into your house, did you ever stop to think that it could have been Carly who put that boy in your kitchen?’

‘What? No!’ I bring my hand up to my mouth, start chewing my thumbnail. ‘That doesn’t make sense.’

‘Who else could have let themselves in?’ Ben says. ‘And she has a motive.’

‘What motive? Why would she…?’ And then the penny drops, and I push the tips of my fingers into my forehead. ‘For a story?’

‘Exactly.’

‘I don’t know, Ben.’ Would she really do something so awful? ‘She does have serious financial worries. She told me that if she doesn’t get a lead soon, she might lose her house.’

‘There you go,’ Ben says. ‘And she looks like the type who’d sell her own grandmother for a story.’

‘Shi-it.’ What if I’ve been going after the wrong person? What if Fisher really is nothing to do with this, and it’s all Carly’s doing, using him and his son to fabricate an outrageous story? ‘I need to speak to her, don’t I? But she’s not answering her phone. She’s gone AWOL.’

‘Since when?’

‘She was supposed to have gone to Cranborne yesterday, but I haven’t heard back from her since. I think I need to go and visit that housekeeper again. She’s the only person I know who might actually have some useful information.’

‘Go and see her now.’

‘I can’t. I’ve got work.’

‘You can carry on with the planting any time. This is important, isn’t it?’

‘Yes, but—’

‘So, go. I can come with you if you like.’

‘No, she’s really nervy. If she sees the two of us, there’s no way she’ll let us in. I don’t think she’ll even talk to me.’

‘Worth a try, though.’

‘Are you sure you don’t mind?’

‘Wouldn’t have suggested it otherwise.’

‘I’ll make up the time,’ I say.

‘No worries.’

I lean across and plant a kiss on his damp cheek without thinking. It feels like the most natural thing to do. Ben takes my hand and grazes my knuckles with his lips. Then he replaces my hand on my lap and gets out of the car back into the streaming rain.

‘Let me know how you get on. And be careful,’ he calls out to me before closing the door with a dull thunk.

‘Yes, sure.’ I give him a wave, but he’s already a blur through the window.

The more I discover, the more confusing and conflicting everything seems. Could Ben be right? Could Carly be behind the whole thing? I guess it’s a possibility, but I just don’t know who to trust…





Chapter Twenty-Nine





Here I am once more, outside Fisher’s ex-housekeeper’s flat, only this time she hasn’t answered the buzzer. It’s almost 9 a.m., so she’s probably at work, although she was home last Friday around this time, so maybe she’s up there but just not answering. I press the buzzer one more time and wait. Still no response. I’m worried Vince will call the police if he doesn’t hear back from Carly soon, and that will open up a whole new can of worms.

I step back down onto the sodden pavement and gaze up at the bay window where I saw Merida Flores the last time I came. Icy rain splashes onto my upturned face, clinging to my eyelashes and running down my neck. I pay it no attention. Her curtains are open today. The room beyond is dark. My guess is that she’s out. I should leave, head back to work and trust that Carly will call me when she’s ready. If Ben’s theory is correct, my devious neighbour could be avoiding me on purpose.

Before I go, just in case Flores is in there and can somehow see me, I stare up at her window with my palms pressed together as though in prayer, pleading. One last attempt to get her attention. To let her see my desperation. My heart jumps a beat as a shadowy figure comes into view. It’s her. She’s there. Our eyes lock for a brief moment. She gives a quick nod and then disappears. Does this mean she’s going to let me in?

I step back up to her front door and ring the buzzer, holding my breath. This time she answers.

‘Tessa Markham,’ she says, like a statement of fact.

‘Hello,’ I say, trying to think of something non-threatening to add, something that will make her more likely to speak to me. ‘I need your help,’ I say. ‘Can we talk? Just for a few minutes?’

The door buzzes, vibrating on its hinges. I give it a push and it swings inwards, revealing a surprisingly bright and welcoming communal hallway, the smell of lemon furniture polish emanating from the woodwork. The place is cleaned to within an inch of its life, not a speck of dirt anywhere.

As I walk up the steep carpeted staircase, one of two doors opens at the top and I spy the diminutive figure of Merida Flores – and that’s saying something given my own vertically challenged state.

‘Hello,’ I say, excited and nervous to finally get to talk to this elusive person who might well hold the key to what’s been going on in my life.