it.
The telephone, then, with its jangling bell, was just insult added to injury, and Chace heard it, acknowledged it, and then discarded the information just as quickly, because she was certain the call wouldn’t be—couldn’t be— for her. No one called Valerie Wallace to speak to Tara Chace. Not on Valentine’s Day, or on any other day for that matter.
It wasn’t that Chace hadn’t tried to fit in with town life. She had, she truly had. She’d attended the church services and the teas and the social get-togethers, she’d worn the stoic face and said all the right things, as much as for Valerie’s peace of mind as her own. And it wasn’t that people were unkind, certainly not once Valerie had explained that Chace’s baby was her grandchild, that her son had died before he’d even learned that Tara was pregnant. That particular tragedy had earned her a unique respect, even, with Valerie’s friends and neighbors clucking in placid concern.
“Eeee, the poor dear, having to raise the wee thing alone.”
“Ooo, all alone, but it’s good she’s come back here, raise the child right.”
“Oh yes, raise a good Lancashire girl, among her own people.”
And so on, and on, and ever on.
But there was a pity to it as well, and Chace couldn’t stomach that. She didn’t want to be pitied, nor did she wish to become prey to self-pity, and so she had come to avoid people, describing an orbit to her life that included Tamsin and Valerie, and not much more. When she went out, she went out pushing the pram, walking alone. She carried out her business around town with the barest of interactions, the most minimal of required pleasantries. She avoided conversation and contact; she steered clear of people when she saw them coming.
She was that poor girl who’d lost her baby’s father. A little distant, a little odd, not unpleasant, but best to leave her alone for now, you know how it is. She’ll speak when she’s ready, when her daughter’s out and about, the wee thing will lead the mother back into the world, and the mother will follow, to be sure. Just you wait and see.
When Valerie stuck her head into the bedroom, then, as Chace was snapping Tamsin back into her clothes, she’d already forgotten that the telephone had rung at all.
“It’s for you, Tara,” Valerie said.
“What is? Dammit, Tam, stop fidgeting!”
“The phone, dear. I’ll take Tam, you go and answer it.”
Chace looked at Valerie with a mixture of confusion and suspicion, hoisting Tamsin to her shoulder, stroking her daughter’s hair. It was coming in faster now, soft as silk and so blond as to be almost white, and whenever Chace found her patience running short with her daughter, she would stroke Tamsin’s hair, amazed by the feel of it, always surprised by the way her baby would nestle against her in response.
“I’m not making it up, dear, it really is for you,” Valerie said again, almost laughing at her expression.
“Who?”
“Didn’t get his name. But he asked for you straightaway, quite polite.”
Chace frowned, and Tamsin shifted, responding to the tension suddenly coming from her mother, pushing her face against her shoulder with a soft whimper. If it had been Poole calling, he’d have said as much, and Valerie would have shared it. So it wasn’t Poole on the phone, and there was only one other person Chace could think of who knew where to find her.
“Shall I tell him to ring again later?”
Chace shook her head, then reluctantly handed Tamsin over to Valerie. The baby resisted, taking hold of Chace’s hair, and she had to free her daughter’s fingers before she could slip out of the room down the narrow flight of stairs back to the ground floor, to the telephone in the hall. Behind and above, she heard Tamsin cry again, then go quiet.
Chace picked up the handset and said, “What do you want?”
“I’m in Colne,” Crocker said. “I’ll be there in fifteen minutes. You can meet me outside.”
“I don’t want to meet you at all.”
“Fifteen minutes,” Crocker repeated, and hung up.
Chace replaced the handset in its cradle, slowly, then stared at the phone for several seconds, thinking.
From the top of the stairs, Valerie asked, “Who was that, Tara?”
“Nobody,” Chace said, and then added, “I have to go out for a while.”
Valerie adjusted her grip on the baby, repositioning her at her hip, fixing Chace with a stare from above, her expression draining, the corners of her mouth tightening. It had been well over a year now that Chace had shared her home, and in that time they’d talked about Tom only a little, and about the work they’d done together even less. But Valerie Wallace wasn’t stupid, and Chace was certain she’d long ago deduced at least the broad strokes of the job Chace had shared with her son, if not the specifics.
“You go on,” Valerie told her. “We’ll be fine here without you for a while.”
Crocker surprised her, not because he was on time, but because he was driving a red Volvo wagon, and the car was at least ten years old. She didn’t know why, but it seemed an absurd choice for him, and as she climbed into the front passenger seat beside him, she told him as much.
“It’s my wife’s,” Crocker replied. “We’re going someplace we can talk. Where’s someplace we can talk?”
“The Yorkshire Dales aren’t too terribly far,” Chace responded, belting herself in. “Though I’m not certain you want to take me anyplace away from witnesses.”
“You’re going to murder me?”
“I haven’t decided yet, to tell the truth.”
“Then let’s hope what I have to say doesn’t push you over the edge,” Crocker said.
Crocker waited until he’d found his way onto the Skipton Road before speaking.
“You think I sent you to Iraq knowing you were knocked up.”
“You did send me to Iraq knowing I was knocked up,” Chace retorted.
Crocker shook his head, flicking the indicator, turning onto one of the narrower lanes. It was a clear day, cold, windy, and out the car windows Chace could see the rolling Lancashire hills, the beautiful houses and the winter- stripped trees, smoke rising from occasional chimneys. The heat was on in the Volvo, the hot, dry air blowing hard from the vents, and both of them had to raise their voices to be sure they were heard.
“When I got to the Farm, I was given a complete workup,” Chace said after another mile. “A complete workup, and that included a fucking blood draw.”
“And the blood work showed you were pregnant,” Crocker confirmed.
“Yes,” Chace said, emphatic. He’d made her point.
“I didn’t see the results until after you’d come back from Red Panda.”
“That’s the best you can come up with? You had the entire drive up from London, and that’s the best lie you could come up with?”
“Which should tell you that I’m not lying at all.”
“Or that you don’t think terribly highly of me.”
“If that were the case, I wouldn’t have made the drive in the first place.”
Crocker signaled again, turning them onto an alarmingly narrow strip of road that curled along one of the hillsides. Dry stone walls bordered the way on both sides, and Chace wondered what Crocker would do if they encountered an oncoming car.
“Do you really believe that I’m that much of a bastard?” Crocker asked. “That I’d not only keep that information from you, but then put you into harm’s way besides?”
“Yes,” she answered immediately.
“Well, at least we’re being honest with each other.”
“It wasn’t always that way, Paul,” Chace said. “Don’t misunderstand. I mean, I always knew you were a bastard, from the moment you brought me into the Section. But I believed you were, at least, our bastard. That was the rule, wasn’t it? D-Ops says ‘frog’ and the Minders jump, never mind how high, all with the understanding that you’ll be there to catch us when we come down. That was the agreement. You broke the trust, and Tom died for
