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  Another dead-end. I tried one more time. ‘So, did Gerry lose his job like everyone else when Jack Robshaw took over?’ I asked. ‘Was there any personal resentment between the two men?’

  ‘Oh no.’ Maurice smiled. ‘Jack still needed a few lads about the place. The yard continued to undertake repairs and servicing. He kept Kimble on. I think I told you before, there’s always a lady involved in these things. Mary had a bit of a soft spot for young Gerry, I believe.’

  So, Mary Robshaw held the key to whatever tied Gerry to his mooring. I should have guessed. Mary was known for her charitable works, although a soft spot could mean anything. Was the name of Gerry’s boat a coincidence, or a clue? Maurice had said the Kimbles were an old Kerridge family, so Mary and Gerry would have grown up together. It was hardly likely that a friendship between a lowly apprentice and his employer’s daughter would have been encouraged, but it was impossible not to speculate.

  Had Mary insisted Jack retain Gerry in the yard and subsequently legalised her father’s casual agreement out of loyalty? Out of love? Was that the exposé Jack feared?

  Maurice directed me to the local history section of the library, and I signed up for a library card and took out a couple of books for research purposes. I felt positively inspired. In fact, I was so busy concentrating on plotting potential scenes for my amazing new novel, my face half hidden under the enormous peaked hood of Pearl’s coat, that as I exited the library I walked slap-bang into a man equally as concealed in waterproofs dashing across the car park.

  I mumbled an immediate apology and looked up.

  ‘God, Becca,’ Nick could hardly contain his laughter. ‘What are you wearing?’

  ‘Don’t,’ I said, peering out at him. ‘It’s not mine, okay?’

  ‘I should seriously hope not,’ he replied.

  ‘What are you doing here?’ I asked. ‘I thought you rarely left the marshes.’

  ‘I don’t.’ He fingered his chin. ‘I’ve been to the barbers.’

  ‘That’s an improvement,’ I said, admiring Nick’s newly-trimmed beard.

  He grinned. ‘What about you?’

  ‘I’ve just been to the library.’

  ‘Swatting up for the next quiz?’

  ‘I thought you didn’t want me to come any more,’ I reminded him. Rainwater dripped down onto my nose.

  ‘Well, I suppose you are an asset to the team. I can probably put up with you…’ His words were lost as a dark grey van roared into the car park.

  There was a huge puddle between us and the row of parked cars. The van could easily have avoided us, but it didn’t.

  ‘Flippin’ heck, mate!’ Nick yelled. We were both drenched, although Nick more so than me because at least Pearl’s raincoat was full-length. The van, clearly bearing the logo of Robshaw Marine Services, pulled into a distant parking bay.

  Nick shook his head in disgust. ‘I would ask you if you had time for a coffee,’ he said, ‘but now I’m so bloody wet and I have to be somewhere in an hour, I need to head back and try to dry off.’

  ‘That’s fine,’ I assured him. ‘Don’t worry about it, another time maybe?’

  ‘I’d like that very much, Becs,’ Nick said. ‘See you at the quiz.’

  I watched him head out of the car park and down towards the quayside, before returning to my car. If I wasn’t so conspicuous in my very distinctive coat, I would probably have been tempted to follow him – just out of curiosity’s sake. I couldn’t help but feel the coat had already caused me enough trouble. I couldn’t be certain, but the driver of the grey van bore more than a passing resemblance to JJ Robshaw. No doubt he had derived a great deal of pleasure from believing he had just given Pearl a thorough soaking.

  I clutched my library books to my sodden chest and returned to my car. Despite the drenching, my waterlogged feet, and the rain drops on my nose, I felt a glowing warmth radiating from my insides.

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  I didn’t want to upset Jack, and subsequently my mother, by opening up a can of worms, so I decided to keep my planned novel project under wraps. The seed had been sown, names, places, dates could all be changed with artistic licence, but common sense told me not to pursue any further real-life investigations. I had the bare bones to work with, my imagination could easily do the rest. Apart from providing the inspiration for an across-the-class-divide love story, which could possibly have no bearing on actual events, the reasoning behind Mary Dimmock’s decision to legalise Gerry’s claim to his mooring was none of my business. Unless, of course, JJ continued to persecute poor Gerry. In which case, out of human kindness, I would consider it my public duty to get to the bottom of things.

  But first, Pearl and I had another public duty – our visit to Norah Morland. Twenty-four hours after his encounter with Gerald Kimble, Jack was still in a bad mood.

  ‘He really didn’t want to come,’ Pearl whispered in my ear as I joined her on the back seat of the Range Rover.

  Clay Kiln Lane was home to Kerridge’s meagre stock of social housing – three blocks of semi-detached OAP bungalows located on a steep and pensioner-unfriendly slope. The previous day’s wild weather had dispersed and although a stiff breeze left an unseasonal nip in the air, pavements were dry and watery sunshine filtered through the last remaining clouds. Nev had to help wheel Jack’s chair to Norah’s door, where we were met, to my surprise, by Judy Stevenson.

  ‘I’m Co-ordinator of the Good Neighbours,’ she explained.

  If my mother had hopes of emulating Mary Robshaw, she’d have to knock Judy off the throne first.

  Norah was currently in bed taking a nap and had no idea she had guests.

  ‘We’ve worked out a rota,’ Judy explained, ushering the three of us to Norah’s miniscule front room. ‘It was the only way the poor dear could come home. I don’t suppose we could put you down for a session could we, Pearl?’

  Norah’s front room was a revelation. There were pictures of Mary Robshaw on every surface, from beaming childhood to blushing bride. It was clear Norah had doted on her young charge, and I could see at once that Pearl was overwhelmed by the presence of her predecessor. No wonder Jack, who presumably already knew the lie of the land, had been so reluctant to come. The last thing he would have wanted was more reminders of Mary’s alluring charm after his encounter with Gerry Kimble. My imagination was running away with me again.

  ‘I really don’t think I can spare the time,’ Pearl said, gazing at the pictures that adorned the walls. ‘There’s so much to do for the wedding. Some people take years to plan their big day; I’ve had to do it all in less than three months.’

  Judy seemed unimpressed. ‘How about you, Becca, could you help out? Just a couple of hours?’

  ‘I don’t see why not,’ I confessed. ‘But she won’t know who I am.’

  ‘She doesn’t know who any of us are, dear,’ Judy replied. ‘I wouldn’t let that worry you. All you have to do is keep her company. The carers come three times a day. It’s just the times in-between we need to look after. Could I put you down for one afternoon next week?’

  I could barely contain my enthusiasm. ‘Yes, please.’

  Pearl looked aghast.

  Jack said there was no need to wake Norah, so within ten minutes of wheeling him into the bungalow, we wheeled him out. He remained subdued.

  ‘I need a drink,’ he announced as we settled back into the car, ‘and a change of scenery. How about we head along the coast to Hooke’s Bay? I feel like some fresh sea air.’

  ‘But I’ve things to sort out back at the house,’ Pearl protested. ‘What about Pippa? She’ll be wondering where we are. Can’t you drop us off at the Rivermede first, Nev?’

  ‘Hookes Bay,’ Jack seemed adamant. ‘Full speed.’

  ‘Yes, of course, sir,’ Nev replied.

  We didn’t return to Rivermede until half six. We spent the afternoon in a dreary pub watching Jack drown his sorrows. Pearl constantly checked her watch and made no attempt to hide her agitation. It
was the first sign of strife I had seen between them. I had tried to keep things pleasant, despising my role as mediator and wishing I was somewhere else entirely. In the end, Pearl and I left Jack to his beer and headed outside, walking along the blustery seafront. Hooke’s Bay was a characterless, bleak-looking place, with a scruffy shingle beach.

  ‘They call this the seaside?’ Pearl whined. ‘Remind me to look at honeymoon destinations when we get home, Becca. Somewhere exotic. I’m tempted to take another cruise.’

  ‘It is a little uninspiring,’ I agreed. ‘What did you think of Norah Morland’s front room? It was like a shrine, wasn’t it?’

  ‘Shrine?’ Pearl muttered. ‘It felt more like a tomb.’

  The minute we pulled up on the drive at Rivermede, Pearl instructed me to check up on Ruby and the baby while she rushed to rescue Pippadee, convinced the puppy would be pining from starvation and neglect.

  I headed to the guest room and knocked on the door. There was no sound and no reply to my question of, ‘Ruby, are you in there?’ I didn’t want to intrude if Ruby and Ivy were both sleeping. I knew Freddy was home from work because I’d seen his Lambretta parked outside the garage. I trotted up the stairs to the next floor.

  I could hear Freddy talking softly in his room.

  ‘Fred, can I come in?’

  The room was in its usual state of disarray. Freddy sat on the bed, Ivy balanced awkwardly in the crook of his arm. In his free hand, he held a book – Peter Rabbit. His eyes were red.

  ‘Where’s Ruby?’ I asked, instinctively knowing that something was wrong. Horribly wrong. Freddy had hardly touched Ivy since she’d arrived at Rivermede.

  ‘She’s gone,’ he said with a sniff. ‘She’s left us, Becs. What am I going to do? She’s gone.’

  He nodded to the bedside table. She had left a note.

  Dear Freddy, I can’t cope with Ivy. I want you and your family to have her, to love and care for her. You can give her all the things that I can’t. Ruby.

  I stared at Fred, at Ivy, at the note. ‘When did she go?’ I asked.

  ‘I don’t know,’ Fred sniffed again, ‘sometime this afternoon, I think. I came home from work and Ivy was with Heather in the kitchen. She said a taxi had come earlier, and Ruby had just said she was popping out and could Heather look after her for a bit. The stuff’s gone from her room.’

  ‘Have you tried ringing her?’

  ‘’Course I have. Her phone’s switched off.’

  ‘Oh Fred.’ I sat down on the bed next to him. Ivy was asleep, oblivious to the chaos happening all around her, her eyelids fluttering as she dreamt.

  ‘What am I going to do?’ he wailed. ‘What am I going to do?’

  I put my arm around his tense, bony shoulders. He rested his head against my chest, the tears still wet on his cheeks, the lost, lonely little boy he’d always been. There was so much I could have said to Freddy at that moment, but our relationship worked because we functioned at a purely practical level. We didn’t reach out emotionally to each other or delve beneath the surface. I was too afraid of the currents.

  Given time, he would understand about loyalty, about love, about those irrevocable bonds between parent and child. Instead, I used the words Pearl had said during the trauma preceding Freddy’s birth.

  ‘We’ll cope,’ I promised him. ‘We’ll look after Ivy. She’s part of our family. She’s our flesh and blood.’

  We used to be three, and now we were four.

  It was all change once again at Rivermede. Pearl, as always in times of trouble, pulled on all her powers of resourcefulness and resilience. At her insistence, Freddy phoned around a few college friends until he could find someone who confirmed that Ruby was safely back in her student flat.

  ‘You will need to talk to her,’ Pearl told him, ‘and she needs to talk to you.’

  Pearl was right, but Freddy was adamant he didn’t want to put any pressure on Ruby – yet.

  ‘We’ll wait until after the wedding,’ Pearl conceded, ‘but then we’ll sort this out properly. Just because she feels like this now, it might not always be the case. We need a solicitor. Ivy needs to be safeguarded.’

  It seemed like a plan. Freddy relocated to the sumptuous surroundings of the guest room, and Pearl drew up Ivy’s feeding schedule. I promised to sleep over in the house every second night so that Pearl and I could help out with the nocturnal feeds. We all agreed Freddy needed to remain in work.

  ‘If, and when, Social Services come poking their noses into this, as they inevitably will,’ Pearl said, showing remarkable good sense, ‘you need to prove that you can be a responsible parent.’

  During the day, Pearl was happy to take on the main role of Ivy’s carer. ‘At this age, it’s not as if she’s in the way, is it?’ she said, conveniently forgetting that when Freddy had been that age she’d insisted she couldn’t manage without a second, full-time pair of hands.

  The weather continued to warm up. The sweet scent of roses and honeysuckle filtered into the stable flat from open doors and windows. Monday came, and quiz night went in a baby blur. The Twitchers would have to manage without me.

  ‘A baby needs fresh air,’ Pearl announced on Tuesday morning, strapping Ivy to her chest in her brand-new baby harness. ‘Let’s take her out for a walk in the grounds.’

  ‘Why don’t we take the pram?’ I suggested.

  Pearl, who had been a modern, progressive mother, was determined to become a modern, progressive grandmother. ‘No, I’ll work this thing out if it kills me,’ she said, pulling on a strap and nearly ejecting Ivy from her cocoon.

  The front lawn was undergoing a make-over in preparation for the imminent nuptials. An area had been cordoned off for the marquee and temporary flooring. We decided to take a walk around the back of the house.

  The doors to the study were wide open, a figure bent over the desk.

  ‘Cooee, love, just taking Ivy for a walk,’ Pearl called. Her greeting elicited no response. ‘Deaf as a post!’ she sighed and tried again, striding towards the open doors. ‘Jack, love, I’m taking the baby for a walk.’

  It wasn’t Jack who was in his study, it was JJ. He was sat at Jack’s desk looking through the box files.

  ‘What do you think you are doing?’ Pearl demanded.

  ‘I could ask you the same question,’ JJ replied, hastily closing the nearest box. ‘I’ve far more right to be here than you.’

  ‘Not poking through your father’s private papers, you haven’t,’ Pearl retorted.

  ‘For your information, these papers belonged to my grandfather,’ JJ replied. He put the box file back on the shelf. ‘There, no damage done, you see.’

  ‘You won’t find what you’re looking for,’ I told him. ‘Jack’s already looked. And so has Gerald Kimble.’

  ‘You don’t know what you are talking about,’ JJ sneered. He gave Ivy a disparaging glance. ‘I’d heard another member of your family had come crawling out of the woodwork. Is this the little maggot?’

  ‘How dare you refer to my granddaughter as a maggot,’ Pearl hissed. ‘At least my son can reproduce, which is more than can be said for you. I’ve heard all about your trips to the fertility clinic.’

  I stared at my mother appalled. If JJ and Rita were having fertility problems, this really was not the right time to mention it. JJ’s face turned to thunder.

  ‘How dare you,’ he snarled. ‘If you think for one minute that this wedding, this fiasco, is going to happen, you’ve got another think coming. There is no way I am going to let my father marry a poisonous old witch like you. Do you understand? I should have run you over when I had the chance.’

  ‘What do you mean you should have run me over when you had the chance?’ Pearl looked appalled.

  ‘It was me,’ I explained. ‘Last week in the car park at Portdeane. I was wearing your coat.’

  ‘Well, you’re just as bad as her,’ JJ spat, undeterred. ‘You’re just a hanger-on. No proper job, no man, and no prospects of either, and that boy
, doped up to the eyeballs, lolling around in my boatyard. I can’t wait to be shot of the lot of you, and I will, you see. I know people, people who will get rid of people like you, Mrs Gates. And that’s another thing. I think my father has a right to know what happened to Mr Gates, if he ever existed. Why don’t we ever hear about him? What happened to her father, or was he another one-night stand?’

  My mother puffed up to her full height, just about level with JJ’s chest.

  ‘How dare you insult my children,’ she said. ‘Rebecca is a beautiful, intelligent and talented woman, with a first-class honours degree in Business Studies. She is an excellent PA and a highly respected editor in her own right. As for my son, Freddy, he also has a degree from one of the country’s leading academies for the creative arts. As far as I am aware, your only claim to fame is that you once drove a speedboat very fast, and as I’ve not heard anyone extolling any of your academic achievements, I can only presume that’s because you have none.

  ‘And just for your information, your father is fully aware of the circumstances surrounding my first marriage. If you had conducted any research, you would know full well that my husband, Tony Gates, passed away when he was just twenty-seven years old following injuries sustained during a horrific motorbike crash whilst competing in the Isle of Man TT. Subsequently, left on my own with a young child, I managed a successful writing career and have sold millions of books, many of them topping the bestseller lists around the world. Romantic fiction may not be your favourite genre, JJ, but it’s very popular amongst the masses. I have made my own fortune and I’ve managed to keep hold of it, which I think is more than can be said for you.’

  JJ placed his hands flat on the desk, leaning forward. ‘Did you tell her about the prenup?’ he hissed at me.

  ‘Prenup?’ Pearl jumped on the word. ‘Too right, I’m drawing up a prenup to protect my assets. I don’t want you getting a penny of my money. You need to watch your step, young man. Your father is very fond of Freddy and Becca here, very fond. Maybe you need to start showing us a little bit more respect or else I might just drop a few hints into his ear that his hardworking stepchildren might be far more deserving heirs to his empire than a miserable, ungrateful little bastard like you.’