‘Kraus? How do you spell that?’
‘K-R-A-U-S. Martin Kraus.’
‘No,’ Clarke sounded offhand. ‘I don’t think so. Why?’
‘He’s listed as the sole director of Turnstile Quality Systems.’
Clarke withdrew his diary and pen from his pocket again and wrote the names in the inside cover of the book. ‘Doesn’t mean a thing, I’m afraid. But I’ll check through my address book and email directory if you like, just to make sure.’
‘Good idea,’ Brock said, not mentioning that they had already done that.
11
The front door of the cottage swung open before Kathy’s hand had touched the brass horse-head knocker, her approach betrayed by the sound of her feet crunching up the gravel path. Charlotte Verge stared intently at her visitor, then stepped forward across the threshold into the sunlight, followed by a rich whiff of cooking. She was wearing no make-up, her elfin features childlike, and Kathy recalled Clarke’s reference to her as Lolita.
‘What did you mean on the phone,’ she demanded in a whisper, ‘that you wanted to see me in private? What’s it about?’
‘It’s about Sandy, Charlotte. Sandy Clarke.’
The dark eyes widened as she stared fixedly at Kathy, then blinked as her grandmother’s voice called from inside the house, ‘Who is it, Charlotte?’
The young woman frowned at Kathy, indicating for her to go inside. Madelaine Verge was seated in her wheelchair at the kitchen table, a knife in her hand, skinning tomatoes.
‘Ah, Sergeant, what a nice surprise.’ She wiped her hands on a towel and propelled herself across the room.
‘That smells good.’
‘We’re making romesco sauce for our dinner tonight. It’s a Catalan speciality. My mother-in-law taught me when I lived in Spain with Charles’s father.’ ‘I’ll have to get the recipe.’ Kathy thought guiltily about the pizzas they’d been living off recently. Maybe that was why Leon was so down, still in withdrawal from his mother’s cooking.
‘Of course. And what brings you here? Is there news?’
‘I’m afraid not, Mrs Verge. I just have to ask Charlotte a few questions.’
‘Charlotte? Well, if you must.’ Madelaine Verge looked displeased, but began to move forward as if to lead them into the sitting room.
‘She wants to see me alone, Gran,’ Charlotte said. ‘It’s because she didn’t interview me properly the last time. It’s not important.’
Kathy was surprised by the effortless way Charlotte told her lie. She raised the transcript of Clarke’s interview that she was carrying as if it were some official document that spoke for itself. ‘Just some paperwork to tidy up, Mrs Verge.’
Madelaine seemed reluctant to accept this, but Charlotte went on, ‘We’ll go outside. I could do with some fresh air.’
She led the way to the sitting room, and through the French window onto a brick-paved terrace overlooking the back garden. ‘What about Sandy?’ she asked quietly.
‘He’s told us that he’s the father of your child.’
‘What?’ Her voice rose in a suppressed yelp. ‘Why would he do that?’
‘He misunderstood something we said to him. He thought we already knew. He assumed you’d told us.’
Charlotte looked horrified. ‘No! You tricked him, didn’t you? You told him lies about me.’
‘It wasn’t like that. It was an innocent mistake. We told him you hadn’t said anything to us. But it is true, isn’t it? He is the father?’
Charlotte looked away, towards the vegetable patch in front of which the handyman, George, was on his hands and knees, painstakingly positioning bricks on a bed of sand to form a new path. After a moment she turned back to Kathy. Her lips were pouted like those of a stubborn child.
‘No one must know, you understand?’ she said fiercely. ‘Sandy was a fool to tell you. I don’t know what got into his stupid head.’ She was trembling and clutching her hands across her front as if to hold herself physically together. Then suddenly she froze, her eyes looking past Kathy to something behind her and low down. Kathy turned and made out Madelaine Verge’s foot just visible through the bottom pane of the French window.
‘Come on,’ Charlotte muttered, and took off diagonally across the lawn, Kathy hurrying after. When they reached the line of apple trees Charlotte stopped and turned to look back. The gardener got stiffly to his feet and gave her a little wave, then wiped his brow with his handkerchief.
‘He’s making a path to the end of the vegetable patch, where he’s going to build a sandpit for my kid. He’s got it all worked out. Sometimes I wish he’d just bloody well piss off and leave us alone. He’s so bossy in his quiet way.’
Him and Gran both, Kathy thought. Between the two of them Charlotte was pretty well chaperoned.
‘Can’t you tell him to go away?’
‘It’s not as simple as that. He feels he owes it to Dad to do what he can for me. He was in prison…’
‘Yes, your grandmother told me the story. Are you his only client?’
‘He does Gran’s and Luz’s gardens, too. I don’t know about anybody else. I should be grateful. I’m hopeless at practical stuff like that, and when the baby comes…’ She took a deep breath. ‘In a funny sort of way it’s a relief to be able to talk about the baby with somebody who knows the truth. But please, for Christ’s sake, you mustn’t let it get out. If Gran heard she’d die. And if it got back to my dad…wherever he is.’
An interesting thought, Kathy reflected. Would he come back to punish his partner?
‘How did it happen?’
‘None of your business, is it?’ the young woman said bitterly.
‘No. It was only if you wanted to talk…’
They walked a few paces along the row of gnarled old pippins, then Charlotte stopped again. ‘What did he tell you?’
‘He said you were in Atlanta together and your dad had to fly home suddenly. He said the two of you decided to drive to Charleston, and stayed there overnight in a motel…’
‘A crummy little place, but he thought it had a tacky charm. I wondered if he just wanted to make sure we wouldn’t bump into anyone he knew.’
‘Did he rape you, Charlotte?
Colour rose up her pale throat. She clenched her jaw. ‘It wasn’t like that. I suppose I encouraged him.’
Why? Kathy wondered. It was hard to believe that Charlotte would find ‘Uncle Sandy’, the long-time family friend, physically attractive, though you could never tell. Was she punishing her father perhaps, for marrying a woman not much older than herself?
‘After I split with my last boyfriend I decided I wanted a baby, but not a man to go with it. I thought he would do as well as anyone. Only, when it came to the point…’
‘But he insisted.’
‘Something like that. It was gross, if you want to know. The first time he was so excited he came all over the front of me, before we’d managed to get undressed. After that I was so shocked I didn’t argue. But it worked, didn’t it?’ She ran a hand across her belly. ‘I got my baby.’
‘And you told no one else but him?’
‘No one.’
‘Is it possible that he might have told someone?’
‘It’s not likely. When I told him he nearly had a fit. He was petrified that Denise, his wife, might get wind of it.
He was so grateful when I said I didn’t want anything from him that he actually wept.’ She curled her lip with contempt.
