Believing the Lie

“But what will you tell your editor, Zed? How long can you hold off giving him something?”

“No problem there. I’ll have Rodney where I want him once I tell him about the deal I’ve struck with the Met. He’ll love that. It’s right up his alley.”

“You be careful, then.”

“Will do, always.”

Yaffa rang off then. Zed was left literally holding the phone. He shrugged and shoved the mobile into his pocket. It was only when he was on his way down to breakfast that he realised Yaf hadn’t made her usual kissy noises at him. It was only when he’d tucked into his plate of watery scrambled eggs that he also realised he wished she’d done so.

MILNTHORPE CUMBRIA

They’d passed a wretched night together. Deborah knew that Simon wasn’t happy with her. They’d had a desultory dinner in the Crow and Eagle’s restaurant, an establishment that wasn’t exactly within breathing distance of being awarded a Michelin rosette. He’d said very little at the meal about the matter of open adoption, which Deborah knew was the source of his displeasure, just a quiet, “I’d have preferred it had you not phoned David quite so soon,” and that was it. What he meant, of course, was that he’d have preferred it had she waited until he could talk her into something that she did not want in the first place.

Deborah had not replied to this at first. Instead, she’d made conversation with him on other matters and waited until they’d returned to their room. There, she’d said, “I’m sorry you’re unhappy about this adoption situation, Simon. But you did tell me the girl wanted to know,” at which he’d observed her with his grey-blue eyes so assessing in that way he had. He’d said, “That’s not really the point, though, is it?”

It was the sort of remark that could make her miserable or fire her anger, depending upon which part of her history with Simon she went to in order to receive it. She could hear it as the wife of a beloved husband whom she’d inadvertently hurt. Or she could hear it as the child who’d grown to adulthood in his house and under his gaze, recognising the disappointed-father tone in his voice. She knew the former but at the moment, she felt the latter. And sometimes it was such a pleasure just to let one’s feelings fly.

So she’d said, “You know, I really hate it when you talk to me like that.”

He’d looked surprised, which added fuel. He’d said, “Talk to you like what?”

“You know like what. You are not my father.”

“Believe me, I’m aware of that, Deborah.”

And that had set her off: that he wouldn’t allow himself to be roused to anger, that anger simply wasn’t part of who he was. It maddened her, and it had always done so. She couldn’t imagine a time when it would not.

Things had developed from there in the way of all arguments. From the manner in which she’d put an end to this matter with David and the girl in Southampton, they’d found themselves examining the myriad ways in which she had apparently long required his benevolent intervention in her life. That took them ultimately into the manner in which he’d dismissed her in the car park during their conversation with Tommy. This was a primary example of why he was required to watch over her, he’d pointed out, since she could not see when she was pigheadedly putting herself into harm’s way.

Of course, Simon hadn’t used the word pigheadedly. That was not his style. Instead, he’d said, “There are times when you don’t see things clearly, and you won’t see things clearly. You have to admit that,” in reference to her insistence in the car park that the route to investigate had everything to do with Alatea Fairclough’s possession of a magazine called Conception. “You’ve reached a conclusion based on your own inclinations,” he said. “You’re letting your judgement become clouded because of what you want instead of relying upon what you know. You can’t do that and be effective in an investigation. And none of that has any importance anyway because you shouldn’t be involved in this matter at all.”

“Tommy asked me — ”

“If this is going to come down to Tommy, he also pointed out that you’ve served your purpose and there’s danger likely if you go any further.”

“Danger from whom? Danger from what? There is no danger. Oh, this is absurd.”

“I agree completely,” he replied. “So we’re finished here, Deborah. We need to return to London. I’ll see to it.”

This positively made her erupt, as he’d known it would. He’d left the room to do whatever he felt needed to be done regarding their departure, and when he’d returned her anger was so icy that she saw no point in speaking to him at all.

In the morning, then, he’d packed up his things. She pointedly did not pack up hers. Instead she’d informed him that unless he wished to carry her over his shoulder all the way to her hire car, she was remaining in Cumbria. She said, “This isn’t finished, Simon,” and when he said, “Isn’t it,” she knew he was referring to more than matters associated with the drowning of Ian Cresswell.

She said, “I want to see this through. Can’t you at least try to see this is something I need to do? I know there’re things connected to this woman…”

It was definitely the wrong route to take. Any mention of Alatea Fairclough would only make Simon think more determinedly that Deborah was blinded by her own desires. He said quietly, “I’ll see you in London then. Whenever you return.” He gave her a half smile that felt like an arrow to her heart. He added, “Good hunting,” and that was that.

All along, Deborah knew that she could have told him about her plans with the reporter from The Source. But had she done that, the fact that she and Zed Benjamin were going to join forces in the investigation would have come out into the open. Then, Simon would have done something to stop this from happening, and telling Tommy would have accomplished it. In keeping the truth from Simon she was actually protecting Tommy from exposure as the Scotland Yard detective. She was, effectively, giving him more time to get to the bottom of things. If Simon couldn’t see that she now had a vital place in this investigation, there was simply nothing she could do about that.

Even as she and her husband had their final words at the Milnthorpe inn, Zed Benjamin was down the road in Arnside, maintaining a position from which he could see the comings and goings at Arnside House. He would text her should Alatea Fairclough leave the property. Move meant she was on the move, heading somewhere in her car. Your way meant she was heading towards Milnthorpe.

This was the beauty of Arnside, Deborah and Zed Benjamin had concluded on the previous day. Although there were narrow lanes leading out of the village that one could take to reach the other side of Arnside Knot and the hamlets beyond Arnside Knot, if one wanted a quick route out of the place, there was but a single good road upon which to travel. That road was the road to Milnthorpe. That road passed by the Crow and Eagle.

When the text message came, Simon had been gone thirty minutes. Deborah examined her mobile with a surge of excitement. Move and Your way comprised the message.

She’d already gathered her necessary belongings. In less than one minute, Deborah was down the stairs and waiting just inside the entrance to the inn with a view to the street. Through the glass half of the door, she saw Alatea Fairclough drive by and make a right turn into the A6. Three cars behind her came Zed Benjamin. Deborah was ready for him when he pulled to the kerb.

“South,” she said.

“I’m on it,” he replied. “Nick took off as well, looking down in the mouth. Heading for the family business, I dare say. Doing his part to keep the country well-supplied with loos.”

“What do you think? Should one of us have been following him?”

He shook his head. “No. I think you’re right. This little lady is at the crux of it all.”