A Change of Climate: A Novel

“I’m sure it’s fine,” Kit said uneasily, to the men.

Already, Anna thought, she is treating me as if I were of unsound mind, unable to speak up for myself. I must expect it, I suppose. “Go and get the proper warrants,” she said. “The papers. Then come back. And then you can search.”

At once the atmosphere changed; the men changed, their natural obstructiveness and obtuseness giving way to a sneering hostility. “Why do you want to make it difficult?” the first man said.

“I don’t want to make it difficult. I just want things done properly.”

“If the young girl dies,” the second said, “you’ll be to blame.”

“I thought there was no question of her dying. I thought she was comfortable.”

“Mum—” Kit said. Her face was shocked; she thinks I’m a new woman, Anna thought. “Mum, look. It’s just to help Melanie.”

“There’s a principle,” Anna said to her daughter. “There’s a correct way. Once you depart from it, you leave yourself open.”

“It’s not South Africa,” Kit said.

“Not yet,” Anna snapped.

Her daughter was silent. A policeman said, “Well, madam, perhaps it would be better if we talked to your husband. What time are you expecting him?”

“No particular time.”

“Doesn’t he keep regular hours?”

“By no means.”

Kit said, “We usually know where to contact him, but today there seems to be some mix-up with his diary.”

“Oh yes?”

“So we don’t know how to get hold of him, you see.”

“That’s unlucky,” the second man said. “We’ll have to radio in. Say he can’t be found.”

“I can come to the hospital,” Anna said.

“Yes, madam, but it’s not you that’s in loco parentis, is it? Well now, we have got a problem.”

None of their language, Anna thought, means what it says. It is a special dialect, charged with implication. One of the men was looking over her shoulder. He seemed to be staring at the wall. She turned to see what he was looking at. “That picture there,” the policeman said. “That photo. That wouldn’t be Mr. Eldred, would it?”

“Yes.” She picked up the photograph, defensive, startled: Ralph on the stoep at Flower Street. “If you’re thinking of putting out a wanted poster, I’m afraid it won’t be much use to you. It’s twenty years old, this picture —more.”

“Is it, now? It’s not a bad likeness, not bad at all.” He turned to his colleague. “Brancaster way? Down the track? The market-trader?” He turned back to Anna. “We’ve had a few dealings with Mr. Eldred. We’ve seen him coming and going from a smallholding, just off that loop of road before you get to Burnham Deepdale. I wouldn’t be surprised if that’s where we’ll find him, madam.”

Each time he said this—“madam”—it was like a kick or a blow with his fist. He meant it so; he was watching her face, waiting for her to flinch. “Would you know a woman over that way, involved in market-trading?”

“A Mrs. Glasse?” Anna’s face seemed frozen. She nodded. “Will you go over there now?”

“It might be worth a try.”

“Kit,” Anna said, “when Rebecca comes home from her friend’s, will you see that she has something to eat? Then take her over to Foulsham and ask Emma to put you both up for the night.”

“What for?”

“Because I don’t want her here. Okay?”

“Can I take your car?”

“No. I need it.” She turned to the men. “I’ll follow you,” Anna said to the men.

“We can’t stop you, madam.”

Anna said to Kit, “You can bike over, can’t you? Just take your toothbrushes.”

“I’ll leave Becky with Emma, and I’ll come back.”

“No. Stay with your sister. Kit, look—do this one thing for me, please?”

Anna was brittle, exasperated; Kit knew the tone, it was familiar. But she saw how Anna’s nerves were stretched—tight, tight. “What shall I say to Emma?”

“I don’t know. Must I think of everything? Aren’t you old enough to help me?”

“No,” Kit said. “Not really.”

Anna picked up her car keys from beside the photograph. She has been waiting for this, Kit thought, waiting to go out, her bag ready and to hand.

Anna followed the police car. They could have lost her, at this junction or that, but they preferred to dawdle