chapter Eleven
The approach came out of nowhere that afternoon, and was all the more frightening for it.
Chloe had done all she could for the day, as regards both her work and her investigation into Tom’s predicament, and she decided to spend some time with Jake. He was clamouring to go outside, so she strapped him into his pushchair and set off on a variation of her usual walk around the lanes near the cottage.
The brilliant late-afternoon light bathed the fields, picking out and enhancing the bright colours of wild flowers. A soft summer breeze ruffled the grass and brought with it the distant lowing of cows. Such peace around us, Chloe thought, and yet such turmoil within our hearts and our lives. It was the story of the human race, she supposed.
There was very little traffic on this particular road, so every vehicle was noteworthy. The one approaching in the distance was travelling slowly enough that Chloe had plenty of time to move over to the side with the pushchair. As the car drew nearer, Chloe saw there was something vaguely familiar about it. It was a red Mercedes, not a common sight around Pemberham.
The car slowed ten yards ahead of her, then stopped. Chloe assumed it was somebody from out of town, wanting to ask directions, until the driver’s door opened and a woman stepped out.
She was tall, with expensively teased and highlighted blonde hair, a poised, slender figure, and dark sunglasses perched on regal cheekbones. Chloe recognised her immediately.
Rebecca.
The woman stood by her car, her head tilted back a fraction, her feet slightly apart and clad in chic if precarious-looking high heels. One hand rested on her hip, the other on the roof of the car. It was an assured pose, arrogant and aggressive in equal measure.
‘Chloe Edwards.’
It was a statement, not a question. Chloe said, ‘Yes, that’s me.’
‘You need to back off.’
Chloe glanced around her. ‘You’re standing in front of me, and you’re saying I need to back off?’
‘You know what I mean.’ The woman’s voice had an edge to it. It was an educated voice, one that was used to being paid attention to and obeyed.
Chloe said, her own voice as steady as she could manage, ‘No, I’m afraid I don’t know what you mean.’
Rebecca crossed one elegant ankle in front of the other. ‘But you know who I am.’
‘Yes, of course.’
‘”Of course”.’ Chloe didn’t think she had a particularly distinctive accent but Rebecca succeeded in mimicking it uncannily. ‘I suppose you would know who I was. Conspiring with your boyfriend to keep my daughter away from me.’
‘Tom’s not my “boyfriend”’, Chloe said, unease starting to creep up her back. She glanced down at Jake in the pushchair but he was asleep. ‘He’s a friend, that’s all.’
‘A friend who gropes his female patients, it seems,’ Rebecca said, her voice like a whiplash.
‘Yes, well, you’d know all about that, wouldn’t you?’ Chloe retorted. She immediately regretted saying it. She didn’t want to inflame the situation, just wanted to get away from this woman as quickly as she could.
Rebecca took a step towards her, then another, her heels clicking on the tarmac in the quiet haze of the afternoon. Chloe stood her ground, though her instinct was to turn the pushchair aside and interpose herself between her son and Rebecca. She scanned the surroundings again. There wasn’t another living soul in sight. How unbalanced was the woman, she wondered? Was she likely to attack Chloe, even with her son present? Chloe felt her pulse quicken, her throat constrict, every nerve in her body strain to protect her child.
Very quietly, Rebecca said, ‘This isn’t your concern. It isn’t your battle. So back off.’
‘What makes you think I’m involved?’
Rebecca said nothing, her eyes invisible under the dark glasses.
In spite of herself, Chloe pressed on: ‘Isn’t it a coincidence, that you appear here to confront me, just hours after I’ve been to see Sabrina Jones, or whatever her name is?’ There – Rebecca had recoiled a fraction at the mention of the other woman’s name. ‘Because she told you about my visit, didn’t she? And you knew I wasn’t there on behalf of the newspaper. You knew I was on to you, and that I’m going to find out the truth about what you’re doing to Tom.’
For a long second Chloe was sure Rebecca was going to take a swing at her. The rage was coursing through the woman visibly, making her quiver like a bowstring. Then she raised a finger and waved it, slowly, the action somehow even more menacing than if she’d clenched her fist.
‘Do not push your luck with me, you interfering bitch.’
‘Or else what?’ Chloe said coolly. ‘We’ll all see what you’re capable of? Well, I think you’ve shown us that already, and frankly it’s not all that impressive. It’s quite laughably amateurish, if you want to know. But by all means, have a go.’
Rebecca pursed her lips and breathed out, slowly, as if she couldn’t believe anyone dared to speak to her like that. She stepped back until she was alongside the Mercedes, opened the door and climbed back in, all the while watching Chloe. As she disappeared behind the wheel and pulled the door shut, Chloe thought she saw the faintest of smiles playing about Rebecca’s lips.
The Mercedes took off in a squeal of tyres and dust. Chloe watched it disappear into the distance.
She peered at Jake, and saw thankfully that he was still asleep. Heaving the pushchair to the side of the road, Chloe dropped to sit beside it, her legs suddenly too fragile to support her. The aftershock of the adrenaline surge hit her and she gripped her elbows to try to stop the shaking in her hands.
Chloe had always hated encounters of this kind, confrontations with a simmering undercurrent of violence. They left her shaken and depressed. As she breathed deeply, steadying her nerves, Chloe realised the most disturbing part hadn’t been the isolation of the surroundings, or Rebecca’s blunt warnings. Rather, it had been the small smile on the woman’s face as she’d left.
What was she planning next?
Nonetheless, as Chloe began to recover her composure, she reflected that she’d held her own rather well, if she said so herself. She’d shown herself neither flustered nor intimidated by the other woman, and had made it quite clear to her that she understood the game she was playing and wasn’t going to allow it to succeed. If nothing else, Rebecca would have left the encounter realising that Chloe was no pushover. And if that was unlikely to make her desist entirely from her persecution of Tom, it might at least give her pause, sow the seeds of doubt in her mind as to whether or not it really was worth following the course of action she’d chosen.
But, as she rose and brushed the pollen off her trousers, Chloe still felt unsettled. The fact that Rebecca had driven out here to find Chloe suggested she knew where Chloe lived. Might she be capable of doing something drastic, confronting Chloe in her own home? Harming Jake, even? Chloe couldn’t bear even to consider it. She debated whether or not to contact Tom and tell him about the episode. In the end she decided not to, not just yet. Once she had a bit more on Sabrina Jones, she’d speak to Tom, and she’d mention Rebecca’s visit then, too.
When Chloe arrived back at the cottage with Jake, Margaret McFarland was in her own front garden tending her roses. She gave the pair a cheery smile and wave, but as Chloe approached the older woman’s brow knitted in concern.
‘My dear, what’s happened?’
Chloe stared at her, confused. ‘What do you mean?’
‘You’re as white as a sheet. Are you feeling ill?’
Clearly the encounter had shaken Chloe even more than she’d realised. She attempted a smile. ‘A little too much sun, I think. I’ll be fine.’
‘Cup of tea will put you right.’ And before Chloe knew it, she and Jake were being bundled inside.
***
As it happened, Tom was spared the difficulty of choosing a time to speak to Rebecca about the allegations against him, because she came to him first.
It was Wednesday evening at nine, and the interviewer from the Pemberham Gazette had been and gone an hour earlier. A polite young man named Simon, he’d listened to Tom’s categorical denial of the allegations against him and given Tom ample opportunity to add comments of his own. Tom had added that he’d never met or even heard of Sabrina Jones before now, and certainly had never been to her house. The journalist asked a few more pertinent questions, explained that there’d be an article in Monday’s edition of the Gazette which would try its best to incorporate any newer information that might come to light before then, and took his leave.
This time there was no phone call, no ambushing in the car park after work. Kelly was in bed, and Tom was sitting in his favourite armchair in his living room, thinking of everything and nothing in particular, treating himself to a rare glass of whisky – he’d had the kind of day which he considered meant he’d earned a drink – when the hammering on his front door jolted him out of his brooding.
More reporters? he wondered, hurrying to the door before the pounding woke Kelly. Opening it a crack, he saw Rebecca on the doorstep, glowering at him. She was as always sensationally dressed and coiffed, though her composure was clearly ruffled.
‘I need to talk to you,’ she said without preamble.
He opened the door and stood aside for her. ‘Let’s keep it down, though,’ he said. ‘Kelly’s asleep and she’s had a long day.’ As I have, he didn’t feel the need to add.
Rebecca stormed past and into the living room, as if it were her own. He followed her. She didn’t sit, but stood in the middle of the room, her arms folded, his back to him.
‘Do you want a drink?’ he offered.
She turned. ‘I’ve had enough, Tom. I’ve put up with more than I’m willing to.’
‘You have?’ he stared at her, not believing what he was hearing. ‘Rebecca, do you have any idea what I’ve been through today? And it’s not over. Not by a long shot. It’s just beginning.’
‘Well, then perhaps you shouldn’t go feeling up your patients, should you?’
‘Oh, come on, Rebecca.’ Tom disliked theatrics but couldn’t help rolling his eyes. ‘You may not like me, but you certainly know me. Of course I didn’t do anything like that. It’s all trumped up.’
‘Whatever.’ The dismissive wave of her hand indicated to Tom that she didn’t believe he was guilty either. But then, why would she? She was the one who’d set him up, he reminded himself.
‘So what’s your problem now?’ he asked.
‘Her.’ Rebecca jabbed a finger towards the door, her eyes blazing. ‘Your girlfriend.’
‘Who?’
‘You know perfectly well who I mean.’
‘If you mean Chloe Edwards, she’s not my girlfriend, as I’ve told you before. But what’s your problem with her?’
‘She’s interfering in our business. She’s poking her nose in where it isn’t wanted. You need to rein her in, Tom. I’m not joking.’
‘Rebecca, I have absolutely no idea –’
‘She visited that woman who’s accusing you. Pretended she was there for the newspaper, and tried to get her to admit I put her up to this.’
‘What? How do you know –’
‘It doesn’t matter how I know. Answer me this, though, Tom. Have you been telling people I’m behind this?’
‘No.’
‘But?’
‘But, what?’ He was starting to lose the thread of this conversation.
‘But you think I am, don’t you? You think I’m stirring up rumours about you?’
He watched her for a second, then decided he might as well be truthful. ‘Yes, Rebecca. I believe you are.’
Her eyes wide, she stared at him, and for a few moments he had no idea what she was going to do. Explode in fury, break down in tears, or perhaps something else.
She swallowed, as if fighting down a storm of emotion, and said, quietly: ‘I’m going to destroy you.’
‘Rebecca –’
‘I’m going to humiliate you in court. I’m going to make sure you can never work as a doctor again, or even show your face in public again.’
‘Rebecca, listen to me.’ He raised his voice as loudly as he dared, still conscious of Kelly upstairs, hoping fervently that she wouldn’t wander in. ‘There’s no need for us to go to court. I’m willing to concede custody to you. A prolonged court battle would be devastating to Kelly, and her welfare’s more important in all of this than yours or mine. So let’s calm down, and discuss the details like a couple of adults.’
Rebecca stepped closer, almost within the invisible area around Tom that constituted his personal space. In a wintry voice she said, ‘Oh, it’s too late for that, Tom. Too late for an amicable arrangement. You had that opportunity weeks ago. I gave you plenty of chances. Even this morning, I might have been willing to consider it. But now that I’ve learned you’ve set your girlfriend on the trail, sniffing around like a dog, things have moved on. I’m going to make sure you never, ever have the chance to regain custody of Kelly. I’m going to prove, in court, that you’re unfit.’
He watched her, absorbing the bitterness, the meaning of the words. Carefully he said, ‘What else have you got up your sleeve, then, Rebecca? More cooked-up allegations? Because I tell you this. If you ever, ever dare suggest that I’m in some way a risk to Kelly, I will never forgive you.’
Once again her eyes flared, but this time there was more than just fury there. There was triumph, too, as if she’d won a small victory over him. Which he supposed she had. She’d rattled him, almost provoked him into countering with hysterical threats of his own. At the last minute he’d pulled back and ended with the lame-sounding I will never forgive you, hardly something that would give her pause.
Rebecca pushed past him and headed for the door. Instinctively he put out a hand to stop her but she swept it aside. The heaviness of the front door was the only thing that prevented her from slamming it.
When Tom had heard the engine of her car start and recede into the distance, he sank into the armchair, his hands in his hair.
So it was going to be even uglier than he’d expected. He’d give Rebecca and her solicitor anything they wanted, but it seemed she still wanted her day in court, so that she could rake up all sorts of other allegations about him and put him through the equivalent of standing in the stocks on the village green. No doubt there’d be more women coming forward alleging harassment, and even though their stories too would be easily discredited, the sheer number of the charges against him would start to weigh heavily in the public mind.
And Kelly… every day she’d watch and listen in growing bewilderment and misery as her parents fought and people whispered and pointed. Then, at the end, she’d be whisked away to live somewhere else, like a toy being fought over by a pair of self-centred toddlers and finally claimed by the stronger of them.
Tom no longer pitied Rebecca. He was furious at her for the way she’d allow this obsession with getting her own way to take over her mind, to blind her to the damage she was going to do to her daughter. He was furious at himself, too, for having misread the situation as he had, for underestimating his former wife’s capacity for vindictiveness, for not having done more, somehow (though if he was onset, he wasn’t quite sure what he might have done better), to protect Kelly from this unpleasantness.
And, Tom realised suddenly, he was furious at Chloe. Just what exactly had she done? Had she been interrogating Sabrina Jones, as Rebecca claimed, and was she spreading word that Rebecca was behind the allegations? Even though it was true, it wasn’t the sort of thing that was going to help the situation. What was Chloe trying to achieve by meddling like this? Now she’d made things worse, and a merely terrible situation had been turned into a catastrophic one.
Tom got up, took the whisky glass into the kitchen and poured what was left into the sink. He needed a clear head, because he had a lot of thinking to do. As a doctor, Tom was used to finding solutions to problems. In the practice of medicine, this was often more straightforward because the problem could be viewed dispassionately. In matters of personal significance, strong emotion had a tendency to cloud one’s judgement.
Tom paced, then sat, then gazed out the window at the balmy night. But try as he might, he couldn’t shake off the feeling that he’d met his match. That here, at last, he’d come face to face with a problem which not only didn’t have a clear solution, but didn’t have a solution at all.
***
Some instinct or other made Chloe rise earlier than usual, at five thirty in the morning. The sun was already bathing the fields outside the window and the day promised to be another brilliant one. Chloe checked on Jake – he was still fast asleep, sucking his thumb, a habit she was going to have to start getting him out of for the sake of his developing teeth, she reflected – and went into the kitchen to set the coffee machine going, before heading to the living room and her laptop.
An email was waiting for her. The time signature was one thirty that morning, when she’d been asleep, and the sender was Dave, her journalist friend from London. Attached was a password-protected file. The message in the email read: Have texted you the password. I pulled some serious strings to get this, so you owe me big time. Dinner at the Ritz, at the very least.
Chloe checked her phone and found the text message. She entered the password and waited as the document downloaded.
It was a scanned document, the resolution a little grainy but without affecting its legibility. Chloe read through it. Then reread it.
She sat back, closing her eyes. A smile crept across her face.
This was it. Just what she’d been hoping for, and more.
Her first impulse was to pick up her phone and call Tom. But she held herself in check. It was five thirty in the morning, for heaven’s sake. He probably wouldn’t have got much sleep that night anyway, considering all that had been happening.
Instead she composed a reply to Dave, thanking him profusely for his help and, without going into specifics, mentioning that the information he’d supplied might very well save somebody else’s career. And yes, she’d come through on that dinner, though it probably wouldn’t be the Ritz.
She closed the laptop, too excited to do any more work for the time being, and bustled about the cottage, planning the day. Tom would be her first port of call, and she’d discuss with him the options they had. After all, it would be largely up to him what they did with the information she’d obtained.
By seven she decided it would be a suitable time to call Tom - neither too early nor just as he was about to start work and might be feeling harassed. Keeping one eye on Jake, who was in the high chair at the kitchen table and doing his level best to feed himself his porridge oats without getting them all over his face and clothes, with limited success, Chloe dialled Tom’s number.
It rang twice, three times. He was probably getting Kelly ready for the run to nursery, she thought. When the voicemail kicked in, she said, trying to keep the excitement out of her voice, ‘Tom, it’s me, Chloe. Hope you’re bearing up. Could you give me a ring when you’ve got a moment? I’ve got some very good –’
She was interrupted in mid-sentence by the abrupt intrusion of Tom’s voice: ‘Chloe?’
‘Tom. Hi.’ Momentarily flustered, as you tended to be when the other person picked up while you were in the middle of a voice message, she took a moment to collect herself. ‘Sorry to call so early, and I hope it’s not too inconvenient. I just wanted to –’
‘It is a bit of an awkward time, as it happens.’ There was something in his tone she’d never heard before. A testiness. Well, she didn’t blame him. He must dread the phone ringing, considering all that had been happening.
‘Look, I’m really sorry,’ she said quickly. ‘This won’t take long. Listen, I’ve been doing some digging –’
‘Yes, I know you have.’ Again, there was that edge to his voice. It wasn’t irritability, quite, she realised. Nothing as spontaneous as that. Rather, it was a disturbing coldness.
‘I... don’t know what you mean,’ she said uncertainly.
There was a pause, and although it lasted only two seconds at most, it had the quality of a gorge opening up between them.
‘I know you’ve been digging, Chloe,’ he said, his voice flat now, betraying no emotion. ‘You’ve rather shaken things up with your excavations. And I’m afraid to say it’s caused a fair amount of damage.’
The shock of his words took a moment to sink in. ‘Tom! I really don’t know what you’re referring to. What I’ve done. Please tell me.’
Was there a hint of doubt in his tone as he replied? ‘You went to interview Sabrina Jones, didn’t you?’
‘Yes,’ she said immediately. ‘Tom, that’s what I’m phoning about. She’s –’
‘And you know Rebecca’s put her up to this.’ The steeliness was back in his voice. Chloe was utterly disorientated by the sudden changes.
‘Yes,’ she said. ‘That’s exactly –’
‘Rebecca came to see me last night,’ he cut in. ‘She knows you spoke to the Jones woman. That you believe she, Rebecca, is behind these allegations. And she’s furious. It’s tipped her over the edge. She’s determined to drag this through the courts now, this custody fight. Even though I’ve offered her full, uncontested custody. She wants to make it as messy as possible. All to humiliate me.’
‘Tom, that’s terrible.’ Chloe was trying to process everything he’d said. ‘But what do you mean, you agreed to give up custody? There’s no need.’
‘She would have backed down,’ Tom continued, as if he hadn’t heard Chloe. ‘She would have let us settle this quietly. But your involvement has provoked her. And Kelly’s going to suffer as a result.’ His voice rose in pitch. ‘Why couldn’t you leave it alone, Chloe? Why did you have to interfere?’
‘Tom, I’m so sorry.’ Chloe felt the tears choking her voice. ‘I only wanted to… I didn’t mean to –’
‘I’m sure your intentions were good,’ he said, his tone softening a degree. ‘But the result is that the situation’s become far worse than it needed to be. So please, Chloe. Back off. Don’t interfere any more. This is my problem, and I need to deal with it myself. I don’t need any help, especially not if that help is going to end up aggravating things.’
‘Tom –’
‘Goodbye, Chloe.’
And the line went dead.
Chloe stared at the phone before the shaking in her hands made her put it down. The sobs welled in her chest and she fought them down, because Jake was looking at her quizzically and she didn’t want to upset him.
Tom was right, she knew. She’d meddled, without his asking her to. She had promised to be a good friend to him, and her actions had harmed him. That wasn’t the sort of thing a friend did. He’d trusted her, and she’d betrayed his trust.
Chloe thought about her own problems with trusting people. Doctors, in particular. Well, trust worked both ways. She could hardly complain about not being able to trust others when she wasn’t worthy of it herself.
Tom had asked her to back off. The respectful thing to do would be to grant his request and retreat, keeping her nose out of his business. Chloe knew this. And yet… what she’d learned just that morning from the email she’d received changed everything. She couldn’t ignore it. To do so would be far more of a betrayal of Tom than would ignoring his wish for her to stay away.
In for a penny, in for a pound, she thought, and picked up the phone once more, her hand steady again.
The number was easy enough to find through Directory Enquiries. Chloe had in fact wondered if the woman would have a land line, considering how many people used only mobile phones these days, so she was gratified when a number came up for Sabrina Jones. Chloe would probably have been able to track down her mobile number sooner or later, but this saved time.
She suspected Ms Jones would be at home, given how early it was and the fact that she was off sick form work. Sure enough, a voice bleary with sleep answered after four rings.
‘Yeah? Who is it?’
‘Chloe Edwards.’
There came a sharp cough, then almost a shout. ‘I’m not talking to you. You tricked me.’
‘I need to meet you in person again.’
‘What? No way.’
Chloe said, ‘I think you might change your mind when you hear me out, Ms Jones. Or should I say, Christina Hutchinson?’
The silence hung thickly.
Then the woman said, a tremor in her voice: ‘What do you want?’
Chloe told her.