Now Mary remained silent, although not for as long as Felicite. ‘I don’t know. Nothing. Can I speak to him? Please!’
‘Why don’t you want to stay with me?’
Mary flinched at the sudden harshness. ‘I can’t stay with you for ever. You know I can’t.’
‘Would you, if you could?’ said Felicite, allowing the fantasy.
Mary knew the answer was important. ‘Yes, if I didn’t already have a mom and dad.’
The simplistic logic blunted Felicite’s irritation. She wouldn’t be giving in, letting Mary speak to her father: she’d be increasing the pressure. An additional idea began to form. ‘They might try to stop you.’
‘Who?’
‘People who are with your papa. A woman. Her name’s Claudine. That’s why it’s taken so long: sometimes when I call she won’t let me talk to him.’
‘Why not?’
‘She won’t believe it’s about you. A lot of people are playing jokes on your papa: calling and pretending to be you.’
‘We’re not pretending!’
‘I know.’
‘Tell her she must let me!’
‘I’ll try. If I do, will you promise to tell her something for me?’
‘What?’ asked Mary doubtfully.
‘Something that might sound silly but she’ll understand.’
‘All right.’
They were close to the house now. Hopeful gulls swooped and called overhead. A ship so laden with containers it seemed to have a city skyline was making its way slowly from the port towards the open sea. It was still too far away for anyone to be visible but Mary waved.
‘Did you see anyone?’ demanded Felicite sharply.
‘No.’
‘Why did you wave?’
Mary shrugged. ‘Because.’ She stood in the middle of the pattern-floored entrance hall, watching Felicite carefully lock, bolt and test the huge front door. ‘Are any of the others coming?’
‘No.’
‘When will they?’
‘Never.’ Felicite smiled. Of all the decisions she’d made in the last twenty-four hours, the one to abandon Smet and all the others satisfied her the most.
‘I don’t want to go back downstairs,’ announced Mary, risking the defiance.
The telephone conversations would be in French: there was no way the child would be able to understand. Felicite said: ‘If you stay upstairs you’ve got to be a good girl.’
‘I will be.’
‘You know what I mean by being a good girl, don’t you?’
‘Yes.’
‘What?’
‘Not try to get away.’ She was glad she hadn’t run to the top of the bank. She’d intended to, at first.
‘If you do try I’ll bring back the man I stopped hurting you to look after you again. And I’ll leave.’ Felicite felt almost physical pain at the fear that registered at once on Mary’s face. ‘So you will be good, won’t you?’ she added hurriedly.
‘Yes,’ said the child quietly. She tensed when Felicite put her arm round her to take her into the huge room with the panoramic windows. Inside Mary curled up in a large chair, staring out over the river with her back to the room and Felicite.
Hans Doorn said he was glad she’d called to rearrange the postponed booking. It was fortunate the house was still available. He’d arrange for it to be prepared before the arrival of her and her party and understood they’d be bringing their own staff. If there was a change of plan he could fix local cooking and cleaning people. Felicite said there wouldn’t be any change.
The Luxembourg lawyer whom she’d continued to use after Marcel’s death and had briefed that morning said he’d already started the chain in Andorra and Liechtenstein and hoped to complete with the confirmation in Switzerland within three days. He remained unsure whether the expense was justified but accepted it was her money and she could do what she wanted with it. In the meantime, now that she’d confirmed the rental, he’d release the money transfer she’d authorized and hoped she’d have a good vacation. Felicite said she was sure she would.
Pieter Lascelles admitted being surprised by her moving into the Antwerp house but didn’t question it, more immediately interested in the arrangements for what was going to happen.
‘What do you think about the identification?’
He smiled quizzically. ‘What is it?’
‘An English nursery rhyme I learned at school.’
‘Very appropriate.’
‘You still bringing the same number of people?’
‘Yes. You?’
‘Just me.’
The surgeon didn’t speak for several moments. ‘What’s wrong?’
‘I’m simply not including anyone.’
‘Your decision,’ Lascelles conceded.
‘I’ll probably be seeing a lot more of you in the future,’ said Felicite.
‘I’ll look forward to that.’
In Lille Georges Lebron responded as excitedly as Lascelles. ‘I was becoming impatient,’ he complained.
‘How many of you will there be?’
‘Ten, as arranged,’ said the man. ‘And a special guest, of course.’
Throughout the conversations Mary hadn’t turned from the window. Felicite said: ‘I’ve got hamburgers.’
‘I’m not hungry,’ said the child sullenly, her back to the woman.
‘Hamburgers and then we’ll telephone papa,’ said Felicite.
Mary turned, finally. ‘All right.’
The outraged head of mission insisted upon summoning the young embassy lawyer, Elliot Smith, and that McBride be told, so they’d all transferred yet again to the ambassador’s study, taking McCulloch and Ritchie with them. McBride’s reaction was mixed. Like Harrison he showed incredulous disbelief, but he was quicker to recognize the restrictions of the discovery. ‘The bastard!’
‘He’s got to be arrested! Made to talk,’ exclaimed Hillary.
The reluctant Elliot Smith was once more thrust into the forefront, as he had been during the original jurisdictional problem and again when Norris had committed suicide. It seemed, he thought, as if events had come full circle. Nervously – apologetically – he said: ‘In my opinion there is no official action that can be brought against Smet. There’s probably a Belgian law against possessing pornography featuring children: there is in most EU countries. But that information was gained illegally. It can’t form the basis for any formal investigation. He’s a lawyer. He’d know that.’
‘What about the basement cell, for Christ’s sake!’ demanded McBride.
‘It’s a coal bunker, with a strengthened door,’ said Blake. ‘It could be for burglar prevention from the street outside.’
‘You absolutely sure he’s in contact with who’s got Mary?’ demanded Hillary.
‘Yes. But I can’t prove it,’ said Claudine.
Ignoring her qualification McBride said: ‘You telling me we couldn’t sweat it out of the bastard?’
‘That’s exactly what we’re telling you,’ said Claudine pityingly. ‘He’d have to be arrested to be interrogated. We’ve got no legally obtained evidence for his arrest. And he’d know more than that: he’d know the only way he could face prosecution would be by admitting knowledge of Mary’s captors. So there’s no way he’d do that. At this moment we’ve got a way through to them, whoever and wherever they are. We’d lose all that even if we could
