The Cure of Souls

something else entirely to kidnap the kid. And bring her here, thus connecting Allan Henry to it?

An arm around her waist. She screamed.

‘Ssssh.’

‘Irene!’

‘Not so loud, cariad.’ He pulled her down into the rhododendrons.

‘Cariad?’

‘Welsh term of endearment. What’s happening?’

‘I know that. They’re demanding to talk to Allan Henry. That guy claims to be the gardener, would you believe? Where’ve you left the car?’

‘There’s a little clearing about thirty yards back. I turned it round and tucked it under some trees.’ She had the feeling that now he was sure Gwennan’s car was safely off the road he was almost enjoying this. ‘He’s breaking the law, making that noise. He drove here like he was on his driving test, and now—’

‘He knows. The gardener guy’s threatened to call the police. Shelbone’s just ignored him.’

‘Maybe he wants them to call the police. Maybe he realizes that if he went to the police himself and asked them to start questioning this Allan Henry’s daughter about the disappearance of his kid, it would be quite a long time before they even took him seriously.’

‘Yeah,’ Jane said. ‘That’s good thinking, Welshman.’

‘But if Henry does know where that kid is, getting the police up here’s going to be the last thing he’ll want.’

The gardener guy was no longer visible. Maybe he was taking instructions on the phone. Shelbone was still blasting away on his horn.

‘He’s even beginning to annoy me,’ Eirion said.

Jane became aware of a small gate, set into one of the big gates – became aware of it because it opened, and the guy in the leather jacket came through and walked around to the driver’s door of the Renault.

‘Open the window!’

No reaction. The horn went on blaring. You could just make out the Shelbones – heads and shoulders front- facing, neither of them moving. You felt they ought to have placards in the windscreen: Save our Child. They were a little crazy.

‘Open it!’

No movement inside the car. The guy in the leather jacket swung an arm and stepped back. There was a faintly sickening snapping sound.

‘Jesus,’ Jane whispered.

‘He’s smashed the wing mirror.’ Eirion’s arm tightened round her waist. ‘I can’t believe he did that.’

‘Open the window,’ the guy said, almost conversationally, like he was into his stride now.

Shelbone revved the engine a little but stayed on the horn. The guy’s arm went back again; there was a glint of moonlit metal.

‘Bloody hell, Jane, he’s got some kind of big wrench.’

The arm came down fast and there was this massive crunch.

‘Oh my God, Irene, he can’t—!’

The gardener had begun smashing in the driver’s door and the side panels, his arm pumping with a deliberate, workman-like savagery, which reminded Jane of those disgusting clips of the bastards beating baby seals to death. The whole car was rocking with each blow, the horn intermittent now, fractured beeps, Mrs Shelbone screaming, the woods echoing to a scrap-yard symphony of violence.

Eirion let go of Jane. ‘We can’t just stand and watch this.’ He pulled out his phone, thrust it at her. ‘Call the cops.’ He stepped out of the bushes.

‘No!’ Jane grabbed his arm. She’d seen lights coming on, some way behind the gates. ‘Wait.’

The guy in the leather jacket backed away from the car as both metal gates started to swing back.

Then this man in a check shirt and jeans strolled coolly out, making these casual but authoritative side-to- side wiping movements with his hands until the gardener guy and his wrecking tool went back into the shadows.

And the man just stood there, waiting – until the horn stopped, and Mr Shelbone’s door began to open with this really horrible rending noise. The man didn’t move, didn’t wince. Mr Shelbone got out, unsteadily – kind of top- heavy like a wall-flower that had come unstaked.

‘It’s David Shelbone, isn’t it?’ The man was talking like this was a cocktail party. ‘From the Planning Department.’

Mrs Shelbone shouted, ‘David, don’t go near—’ But the rest was muffled by Mr Shelbone slamming the car door and taking a step towards the casual guy, who just stood between the headlight beams, his arms by his sides.

‘Well,’ he said, ‘I was going to say I’d be surprised if this were an official visit, Mr Shelbone, at one in the morning. But then, on reflection, I suppose I wouldn’t be surprised at anything you did.’

Shelbone was breathing hard, ‘Where is she, Henry?’

‘What? Who? What are you talking about? This your idea of a night out, is it, Shelbone? Taking a tour of historic buildings in the moonlight to make sure nobody’s replaced any slates with the wrong colour—’

‘Tell me where she is.’

Allan Henry stood with his legs apart. He wasn’t the puffy, bloated tycoon-figure Jane had imagined. He looked quite young from here. He looked fit – a lot fitter than Mr Shelbone.

‘So what’ve you got against me, David? It’s just your name keeps cropping up time and time again. Everything I do to bring new business into this town, improve the local economy, create jobs – you’re there trying to sabotage it. I don’t understand – it’s just you, every time. A reactionary little man, a deluded loner with a grudge. Nobody at the council can figure you out. What’s the problem? What’s the matter with you?’

‘You and your thugs!’ Mrs Shelbone was out of the car, now, a big, bulky woman, arms flailing. ‘You can have your thugs destroy our car, but you won’t intimidate us, with the… with the Lord Jesus Christ on our side!’

‘Destroy your car?’ Allan Henry looked for a moment like he was going to laugh but in fact, Jane thought, his expression had turned suddenly menacing. ‘Thugs? You arrive at my private residence at one in the morning in a car that’s either been in an accident or been… quite deliberately damaged by you and your husband and you wake everyone up – to accuse me and my gardener—’

‘You—’ Mr Shelbone stabbed a quivering finger at him. ‘You’re filth. God will punish you!’

‘Ah, you’re a sad and a sick old man, David Shelbone,’ Allan Henry said, almost lazily. ‘You should be having treatment. You should be on medication.’

‘It’s you that’s made my husband ill!’ Mrs Shelbone shrieked. ‘And you’ve turned our daughter… You and that… witch.’

‘Ah, yes.’ Allan Henry turned on Mrs Shelbone. ‘That’s something else, isn’t it? I had a silly little woman vicar here allegedly investigating some ludicrous allegations against my stepdaughter. I might have known where all that came from.’

Jane began to quiver. Eirion put a hand over her mouth. ‘Save it,’ he whispered. ‘Just remember everything that’s said. You’re a witness.’

She thought she caught a movement behind Allan Henry, a figure flitting like a moth. Eirion took his hand away.

‘You…’ David Shelbone’s rigidly pointing arm began to shake suddenly. God, Jane thought, what if he has a heart attack? ‘You tell me… where you’ve got’ – his voice rose to a howl of helpless anguish – ‘GOT MY DAUGHTER!’

And suddenly Allan Henry was losing it. ‘Shelbone!’ Advancing through the gate in the illumination from the headlights. ‘What would I want with your fucking daughter? Truth is, you and this mad old bat should never have been allowed to adopt that child, and if she’s run away, then you’ve driven her away. We —’

He half turned as headlights appeared behind him. There was the mean, throaty snarl of a powerful engine,