Believing the Lie

ARNSIDE

CUMBRIA

When Lucy Keverne phoned her, Alatea Fairclough was alarmed. Their arrangement was that Lucy would never phone, either Alatea’s mobile or the land line at Arnside House. Lucy had the numbers of course, because giving her the numbers had been one of the ways in which Alatea had made a stab at legitimatising that which could never be legitimate between them. But she’d impressed upon her from the first that ringing the number could bring an end to everything, and neither of them wanted that.

“What shall I do in case of an emergency?” Lucy had asked, not unreasonably.

“Then, of course, you must phone. But you’ll understand, I hope, if at the moment I can’t speak to you.”

“We’ll need some sort of code for that.”

“For what?”

“For your not being able to speak at the moment. You can’t just say ‘I’m not able to speak to you now,’ if your husband’s in the room. That would be rather obvious, wouldn’t it?”

“Of course. Yes.” Alatea had thought about it. “I shall say, ‘No, I’m sorry. I’ve sent for no package.’ And then I’ll ring you back as soon as I’m able. But it might not be at once. It might not be until the next day.”

They’d agreed to this arrangement, and as things developed between them, Lucy had had no reason to phone. Because of this, all the uneasiness Alatea naturally felt in embarking upon a confidential journey with this woman had faded over time. So when Lucy rang not terribly long after their rendezvous in Lancaster, Alatea knew that something had gone wrong.

How badly wrong became clear within moments. They’d been seen at the university together, Lucy told her. They’d been seen inside the George Childress Centre. It was probably nothing, but a woman had followed them from the university back to the disabled soldiers’ home. She wanted to talk about surrogacy. She was looking for a surrogate mother to carry her child. Again, it could be nothing. But the fact that this woman had settled on Lucy to talk to instead of Alatea …

“She claimed you have the ‘look,’” Lucy said. “She claimed it was a ‘look’ she recognised well because she knows she has it herself. And because of this she reckoned I was the one to talk to about the possibility of surrogacy and not you, Alatea.”

Alatea had taken the call in the inglenook of the main hall. It was a sheltered place, topped by a whimsical minstrel’s gallery, and she liked it because it gave her a choice between the L-shaped window seat at one end of the inglenook, looking out on the lawn, or the confines of a pew-like shelter at the other side of the fireplace, one that hid her from anyone who might come into the hall.

She was alone. She’d been leafing through a design book relevant to the restoration of Arnside House, but she’d been thinking not of the house but rather of the progress she and Lucy were making. She’d been considering how each step of the process was going to be successfully managed. Very soon now, she’d decided, Miss Lucy Keverne, a struggling playwright from Lancaster who made ends meet by working as a social director in the Kent- Howath Foundation for Disabled Veterans, would come into her life as a newfound friend. From that point forward, things would be easier. They would never be perfect, but that was of no account. One had to learn how to live with imperfection.

When Lucy mentioned the woman who’d followed them, Alatea knew at once who this woman had to be. She thus put the pieces together very quickly, and she arrived at the only possible conclusion: She herself had been followed from Arnside and the red-haired woman called Deborah St. James — she of the faux documentary film — had done the following.

Alatea’s earlier fears had revolved around the newspaper reporter. She’d seen The Source, and she knew its appetite for scandal was insatiable. The man’s first visit to Cumbria had been an ordeal for her, his second a torment. But the worst his presence had ever suggested was a photograph that might lead to discovery. With the red-haired woman, discovery was here, just a knock- on-the-door away.

“What did you tell her?” Alatea asked, as calmly as she could manage.

“The truth about surrogacy, but she already knew most of it.”

“Which truth are we talking about?”

“The various ways and means, the legalities, that sort of thing. I’d thought at first there was nothing in it. It rather made sense in a bizarre sort of way. I mean, when women are desperate…” Lucy hesitated.

Alatea said quietly, “Go on. When they’re desperate…?”

“Well, they will go to extremes, won’t they? So, considering everything, how extreme was it, really, that a woman who’s gone to the George Childress Centre for a consultation would see us at some point in one corridor or another, perhaps as she’s coming out of someone’s office…”

“And what?”

“And think there was a chance. I mean, essentially that’s how you and I met.”

“No. We met via an advertisement.”

“Yes. Of course. But the feeling is what I’m talking about. That sense of desperation. Which was what she described. So I believed her at first.”

“At first. Then what?”

“Well, that’s why I’ve rung you. When she left, I walked with her to the front of the building. The way one does, you know. She headed up the street and I thought nothing of it, but I walked to a window along the corridor and happened to see — quite by chance — that she’d reversed directions. I thought she intended to come back for another word, but she passed altogether and got into a car some way down the street.”

“Perhaps she’d forgotten where she’d parked,” Alatea said, although she reckoned there was more to come, something that had further intrigued Lucy. And so there was.

“That’s what I thought at first. But when she got to the proper car, it turned out that she hadn’t come alone. I couldn’t see who was with her, but when she reached the car, the door swung open as if someone had pushed it from inside. So I continued to watch till the car drove by. She wasn’t driving. It was a man. That made it all suspicious, you see. I mean, if she had her husband with her, why not come to talk to me together? Why not mention him? Indeed, why not say he was waiting in the car? Why not say he was in agreement with her in the matter? Or he was against her in the matter? Or he was anything at all? But she said nothing. So on top of her story of having stumbled upon us, the fact that there was a man — ”

“What did he look like, Lucy?”

“I didn’t get a good look, merely a quick glimpse. But I thought it best to ring you because… Well, you know. We’re on very thin ice as things stand and — ”

“I can pay more.”

“That’s not why I’m ringing. Good heavens. That’s all been agreed to. I’m not about to squeeze more money out of you. Of course, money’s always nice, isn’t it, but we’ve agreed on a sum and I’m not the sort to go back on my word. Still, I wanted you to know — ”

“We must get on with it, then. And soon. We must.”

“Well, that’s just the thing, you see. I’m suggesting we slow things down a bit. I think we need to make sure this woman — whoever she is — is completely out of the picture. Perhaps then in a month or two — ”

“No! We’ve made our arrangements. We can’t.”

“I think we should, Alatea. I think we must. Look at it this way: Once we know it was just a one-off — this woman turning up — a strange coincidence meaning nothing, then we’ll move forward. I’m at bigger risk than you, after all.”

Alatea felt numb, someone straitened on all sides with those sides pressing in till she reached the point when she’d no longer be able even to breathe unconstricted. She said, “I’m in your power, of course.”

“Alatea. My dear. This isn’t about power. This is about safety. Yours and mine. This is about dancing round the law. I daresay this is also about a number of other things as well, but we’ve no need to touch on those.”

“What sort of things?” Alatea demanded.

“Nothing. Nothing. It’s just a turn of phrase. Listen, I must get back to work. We’ll speak in a few days. Till then, you’re not to worry, all right? I’m still on board. Just not at this precise moment. Not till we know for certain