A Place of Hiding

Simon’s distrust was a spur to Deborah, and an additional spur was the fact that he would probably justify that distrust by telling himself it was owing to her not delivering that Nazi ring to the local police on his timeline. Yet his current doubts were not a reflection of the real situation. The truth was that Simon distrusted her because he always distrusted her. This was his reflex reaction to anything that came up which asked her for a bout of adult thinking, of which he seemed to believe her incapable. And that reaction was itself the bane of their entire relationship, the outcome of her having married a man who’d once acted in the role of second parent. He didn’t always return to that role in moments of conflict. But the galling fact that he fell back upon it at all —ever— was enough to encourage her to take whatever action he most didn’t want her to take. This was why she went to the Queen Margaret Apartments when she could have window-shopped on the High Street, climbed the slope to Candie Gardens, walked out to Castle Cornet, or browsed in the jewellery shops tucked away in the Commercial Arcade. But she got no results from her visit to Clifton Street. So she dropped down the steps that rose from the market precinct below and told herself that she wasn’t searching for China, and even if she was, what did it matter? They were old friends and China would be waiting to be reassured that the situation in which she and her brother found themselves was well on its way to being resolved. Deborah did want to offer her that reassurance. It was the least she could do.

China wasn’t in the old market at the base of the steps, and she wasn’t in the food shop where Deborah had come upon both of the Rivers earlier. It was only when Deborah gave up entirely on the thought of finding her friend that she located her as she herself was turning the corner from the High Street into Smith Street.



She began ascending the slope, resigned to returning to the hotel. She paused to buy a newspaper from a vendor, and as she was tucking her purse back into her shoulder bag, she caught a glimpse of China halfway up the hill, stepping out of a shop and heading farther upwards, towards the point where Smith Street fanned out at its apex, creating a plaza that accommodated the World War I memorial. Deborah called out her friend’s name. China turned and scanned the pedestrians who were also heading upwards, well-dressed businessmen and -women at the end of their working day in the many banks below. She lifted her hand in greeting and waited for Deborah to join her.

“How’s it going?” she asked when Deborah got close enough to hear her speak. “Anything?”

Deborah said, “We don’t quite know.” And then to direct their conversation into another area, one which didn’t put her at risk of wanting to offer specifics in the cause of reassurance, she said, “What’re you doing?”

“Candy,” she said.

Deborah thought at first of the gardens, which made little sense since China was nowhere near them. But then her mind did the little sidestep that she’d learned to do while she was in America, making a quick translation of China’s version of English into her own. She said, “Oh. Candy. ”

“I was looking for Baby Ruths or Butterfingers.” China patted her capacious shoulder bag in which she’d apparently stowed the sweets.

“Those’re his favourites. But they don’t have them anywhere, so I got him what I could. I’m hoping they’ll let me see him.”

They hadn’t done on her first visit to Hospital Lane, China told her. She’d gone directly to the police station when she’d left Deborah and her husband earlier, but she’d been refused access to her brother. During a suspect’s interrogation period, she’d been told, they allowed only his advocate inside to see him. She should have known this, naturally, having been held for questioning herself. She’d phoned Holberry. He’d said he would do what he could to make arrangements for her to see her brother, which was what had led her to go out and about looking for the chocolate bars. She was on her way to deliver them. She glanced towards the plaza and the junction of streets a short distance above them. “Want to come with?”

Deborah said that she did. So they walked together to the police station, a mere two minutes from the point at which they’d met. At the reception counter, they learned from an unfriendly special constable that Miss River would not be allowed to see her brother. When China said that Roger Holberry had made specific arrangements for her to be admitted, the special informed her that he personally knew nothing about anything from Roger Holberry, so if the ladies didn’t mind, he’d be getting on with his work.