Your Secret's Safe With Me Page 5

  Chrissie had a point. I caught Nick’s expression. The request to join him was not so much a suggestion but a command. Tough. I was enjoying watching him squirm.

  ‘It’s very tasty,’ I replied, cutting through the layers of carbohydrate. ‘I’m on the Sauvignon, Alex; the French, not the Chilean.’

  I concentrated on my pie, scooping out as much innards as I could and leaving the outer wall. Nick had aged well over the last fifteen years. The beard, just showing the first few flecks of grey, coupled with the longer hair gave him a ruggedness he’d lacked before when he’d been a sharp-suited police detective. He was still a good-looking man, several inches taller than Craig, having to bend his head to avoid the beams at the bar. I wondered how I appeared to him. Even today, for my meeting with Stella I’d opted for my uniform of black trousers and a simple lightweight cream sweater; my efficient, professional look. I didn’t want Nick to think I’d let myself go – but there was no stopping the tide of time. I’d lost the exuberance of youth and any sense of fun and frivolity.

  ‘So, are you all regulars?’ I asked Chrissie. ‘I take it you all live in the village?’

  ‘Craig and I are old-timers. We’ve lived here for nearly thirty years. As I said, our friends, Mark and Marie – the M&Ms we like to call them – are currently on holiday. Alex is a relatively new addition to the team. We saw him up on the marsh for the first time a couple of months back and realised he must share our love of bird-watching. Then we just bumped into him here one night and got chatting.’

  ‘So, Alex lives in Kerridge, too?’

  ‘He’s on the marsh. Stella rents out a houseboat down at Helme. He needs the solitude. He’s writing a book.’

  ‘Oh, really?’ I wondered where he’d pinched that idea from.

  ‘Yes. Perhaps your mum could give him some tips,’ Chrissie suggested.

  ‘I expect she’d relish the opportunity,’ I replied.

  Nick and Craig returned to the table with the drinks.

  ‘I hear you’re writing a book, Alex,’ I said as he sat down. ‘How interesting. What’s it about?’

  To my disappointment, Nick’s answer was drowned by an ear-piercing whistle from the PA system.

  ‘Phones away and pencils at the ready, everyone,’ Stella called out.

  Chrissie had meticulously marked out the team’s answer sheets. I’d never experienced the world of the pub quiz before and was amazed when a tense hush fell over the bar. Craig and Chrissie had their heads bent, pens poised. I glanced sideways at Nick, who glanced sideways back at me. The chance for conversation was over.

  Chapter Six

  As predicted, I was no help at all with the inevitable TV soap question, but the art and literature round fell into my hands. At halfway point, the Twitchers were in joint first place.

  I ignored Nick’s suggestion of heading out for some fresh air during the break and remained firmly in my seat. He changed his mind and decided to stay at the table with me. Chrissie was keen to show off photographs of her latest grandchild, and I feigned an interest. The inevitable question arose about my marital status. which I played down with a quick, ‘I’m currently single,’ which at least implied I hadn’t always been.

  ‘What about you, Alex?’ I asked. ‘Are you a family man?’

  Nick shuffled awkwardly on his seat as the sound system switched on again. A quick shake of his head left me confused as to whether he meant no, he wasn’t a family man, or no, I shouldn’t have asked. Another static scream signalled the start of the second half.

  At least Chrissie and Craig appreciated my contribution to the evening. A final round of pot-luck questions saw the Twitchers win by a point.

  ‘I hope you’ll join us next week,’ Chrissie beamed, counting out the cash prize into four equal piles. ‘I can’t believe we beat the Bloodhounds. They’re too bloody clever for their own good.’

  ‘I won’t be in Kerridge next week, but I’d certainly love to join you whenever I can,’ I told her, deliberately avoiding Nick’s eye. We had matters to discuss. I knew he wouldn’t let me out of his sight.

  He caught me up in the car park. I allowed him to take my arm and lead me to a secluded spot behind a bin store.

  ‘I suppose I should thank you,’ he said.

  ‘For what? Knowing that croquembouche is a desert made out of choux pastry balls as opposed to croque monsieur which is cheese on toast?’ I replied.

  His face was deadly serious. ‘You know exactly what I mean.’

  ‘Oh, for not blowing your cover? You are here working, I take it?’

  ‘You know I can’t say.’

  ‘Well, you’re going to have a harder job keeping your identity secret if my mother bumps into you,’ I pointed out. ‘I might have forgiven you for saving me from a fate worse than death and becoming Mrs Nick Quinlan, but she hasn’t. You spoilt her big day, and not only that, deprived her of the potential for any grandchildren, and an entire crime series she’d been planning, entitled My Son-in-law, The Ace Detective. I take it you are still in the police force?’

  Again, he didn’t answer my question. ‘Where is Pearl living?’

  ‘A house called Rivermede, in the village. She met this old boy on a cruise and moved in with him a few weeks’ back. Now they’re planning a wedding. I’m not totally happy about it to be honest but—’

  ‘She’s at Rivermede?’ Nick interrupted, ‘with Jack Robshaw?’

  I nodded. ‘Yes. Do you know him?’

  Nick shook his head, not in answer but with a look of disbelief. ‘Tell me you are not serious?’

  ‘Yes,’ I replied. ‘I wish I wasn’t.’

  ‘This can’t happen, okay. You have to get her away from that place.’

  ‘Excuse me?’

  ‘You can’t let her marry Jack Robshaw. You have to get her away from Rivermede.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘I really can’t tell you, just trust me.’

  ‘Trust you?’ I couldn’t stifle the giggle. I’d been knocking back the wine all evening and any hope of a serious, sensible conversation was long lost. How on earth was I going to drive home? I steadied myself, clutching hold of the nearest wheely bin. The irony of trusting Nick Quinlan. ‘You can’t tell me what you’re doing here, you can’t tell me why my mother shouldn’t marry Jack Robshaw. I just have to trust you?’

  ‘Yes. Please, believe me, Rebecca, you cannot let your mother marry that man.’

  Rebecca. Only two people ever called me by my full name. My mother was one and Nick had been the other. Rebecca. He’d had a way of saying it, of making it sound sexy and sophisticated, evoking images of the desirable, haunting, femme fatale in the Daphne Du Maurier novel I was named after.

  ‘S’what’s wrong with him?’ I slurred. It was almost as if I had forgotten just twenty-four hours ago that I’d had a list of reasons as long as my arm as to why my mother shouldn’t be getting married to Jack Robshaw.

  ‘Just please take your mother away from Rivermede,’ Nick said. ‘It’s for her own safety.’

  ‘You’re just saying that because you want her out of the way, so she doesn’t see you and blow your cover for whatever it is you’re really doing here in Kerridge,’ I accused.

  ‘Becca, please.’

  ‘Why would I trust you, Nick? You slept with my best friend the night before our wedding. You’re the last person I’d trust on earth.’

  I hadn’t meant to sound hysterical. There were still a few patrons milling about in the car park. I could hear car doors shutting, friends calling goodbyes.

  ‘Keep your voice down,’ Nick hissed. ‘You don’t want to draw attention to yourself.’

  ‘You mean draw attention to you?’

  ‘Yes, exactly, to me.’ His face was a dark scowl. ‘I’m doing something important here, of national importance, that’s all I can say, and I can’t afford to let you, or your mother, mess it up.’

  ‘Oh, don’t worry, your secret’s safe with me. I’m not planning on spending a great deal
of time in Kerridge so hopefully our paths won’t cross again. But I’ve no intention of putting off my mother’s wedding. You already denied my family one big day, Nick Quinlan, you are not going to deny us another.’ I wasn’t Pearl’s daughter for nothing. I gave him a haughty glare and began to stumble across the car park towards my car.

  ‘Becca, what are you doing? You’re in no fit state to drive.’ He caught up me with me again.

  ‘Arrest me then, Officer.’ I held out my wrists. ‘Still got your handcuffs?’

  It was an old private joke, reeled out many times during our relationship. Every policeman probably got fed up of hearing it, but Nick never seemed to. He’d kept a pair of handcuffs by his bed – not exactly police regulation, but a very good mock-up – and we’d had great fun using them.

  ‘Sorry,’ I said, dropping my hands as an instant picture came into my head of all the other women – one in particular – who had probably been teased and charmed by the same method. ‘I shouldn’t have mentioned the handcuffs.’ I shouldn’t have reminded myself. I shouldn’t have reminded him.

  His body language changed at the same time as mine. ‘Let me walk you back to Rivermede,’ he sighed.

  ‘I don’t know the way,’ I admitted with a hiccup.

  ‘Well, fortunately for you,’ Nick said, holding out his hand, ‘I do.’

  Despite all my reservations and pledges never to speak to him again, there was no denying I had quite enjoyed baiting Nick during the quiz. For once I’d had the advantage, and it was extremely satisfying to hold the upper hand after all the previous pain he’d put me through. Power was a wonderful aphrodisiac. One word from me and whatever he was doing in Kerridge could all come crumbling down. I just couldn’t believe it was anything to do with national security. That was typical Nick, playing up his own personal self-importance. He’d always been very good at putting himself on a pedestal, although a rapid rise through the ranks of the Metropolitan Police had certainly helped to boost his already over-inflated ego. He had been one of their rising stars.

  Nick was heading down towards the river.

  ‘So, if what you’re doing here is all hush-hush, how come you teamed up with the Twitchers to play in a pub quiz every week?’ I asked as we slipped through a kissing gate and onto a gravel path. There were no lights, but Nick used his phone for a torch. The tide was up, and the River Deane glistened in the darkness.

  ‘Oh, don’t ask.’ There was just a hint of humour in his voice. ‘I bumped into them on the marsh. I had to come up with some excuse as to why I was lurking in a gorse bush with a long lens camera and a pair of binoculars, so I said the first thing that came into my head, I wasn’t to know they were amateur bloody ornithologists. Anyway, after bluffing my way through a conversation about Brent geese and widgeons, I then ran into them again at the pub and they insisted I join them. Stella owns the houseboat I’m renting. I’d made the mistake of popping into see her on a Monday evening because the toilet wasn’t working properly. It’s all to do with pumps and it was pretty unpleasant, I can assure you. She suggested I stop for a pie and pint, and the next minute Craig and Chrissie and their regular partners – the dreaded M&Ms – turn up. To have declined their invitation would not only have seemed rude, but it could have aroused suspicion. To them, I’m just an ordinary bloke taking a bit of time out to get back to nature and write a book. Plus, it was a foul night and I was looking forward to some decent food.’

  ‘Is that your disguise, an ordinary bloke?’

  ‘Don’t I look like an ordinary bloke?’

  ‘Nick, you’ve always been just ordinary bloke. You’re not anything special.’

  ‘I really pissed you off at some point, haven’t I?’

  ‘Really? You don’t say.’ The path had become very squelchy underfoot. ‘Are you sure this is the right way?’ Up ahead, I could see very few lights.

  ‘Yes, don’t worry. You’ll recognise where you are in a minute. This is just a shortcut. You’ll be back at Rivermede before you know it.’

  Almost before he finished speaking, we left the course of the river and headed through woodlands. Within minutes, we reached the lane that led to the house.

  ‘So what about your family?’ I realised with an unwelcome sense of dismay we were at the point where Nick would soon turn back. ‘You managed to avoid answering earlier. How is Saskia?’

  ‘I’ve no idea how Saskia is,’ he replied. ‘I haven’t seen her for years.’

  I tried to hide my surprise. ‘Really?’

  We came to a standstill. ‘Yes, really. Saskia and I were never a couple. We were not compatible in any way, shape or form. It was all a huge mistake.’

  The words I’d always longed to hear, just fifteen years too late.

  ‘But you went to Texas with her,’ I pointed out, trying to keep my voice under control. Nick sounded very matter-of-fact, as opposed to full of regret and remorse. I didn’t want to let him know he’d just catapulted me into an emotional frenzy.

  ‘When everything blew up, at first I blamed you,’ he said, ‘then I blamed her, then I realised the only person who was really to blame was myself. I went to Texas with her because I didn’t know what else to do, and me being me, I had to save face. I tried to contact you when I came back to the UK, but you wouldn’t take my calls or answer my letters.’

  ‘Why would you think for one minute that I would? Saskia attempted to befriend me on Facebook years back. She never said you’d split up. She had pictures of herself with kids—’

  ‘Not my kids,’ Nick cut in. ‘As I said, it was all a big mistake.’

  Nick was a good liar; a trained liar. I shouldn’t believe a word he said. I’d seen several pictures of Saskia’s children over the years, because she sent friend requests on a regular basis and her social media privacy settings were minimal. One child had a definite look of Nick. Untrustworthy.

  The gates of Rivermede loomed up ahead. ‘I can manage on my own from here,’ I told him.

  ‘Are you sure?’

  ‘Yes.’ I realised I sounded ungracious. ‘Thank you.’

  ‘The pleasure was all mine,’ he remarked. ‘Seriously, Becca, about Pearl and Jack Robshaw.’

  ‘I have very little influence over my mother,’ I said, stopping him before he could say any more. ‘As you must surely be aware, Pearl has always been a law unto herself.’

  He didn’t turn away. As the electric gates closed softly behind me, I was aware of his presence, lingering in the shadows of the trees outside in the lane. A surge of comforting warmth swept through my body. It could have been the wine, but I had a horrible suspicion it was something else entirely.

  Chapter Seven

  The following morning, despite a thumping headache, I crept out of Rivermede at first light and retrieved my car from the pub car park. Just as I was driving back up the lane towards the house, I caught a glimpse of Nev scurrying through the trees, as if he too had been out on some clandestine assignation. He was dressed in what appeared to be a wet suit, and had an oar tucked under his arm. Naturally, when we met at breakfast neither of us mentioned the sightings. Nev was far too well-trained. He lurked with not so much an air of menace but ingratiating politeness, and I had no intention of letting on to my mother I’d been too drunk to drive home. It would have led to far too many awkward questions.

  When I finally made it back to Battersea at lunch time, Freddy was ensconced in his black bedroom.

  I knew he was back in the flat because he’d left his moped in my parking space. The moped had always been a major bone of contention. Pearl had been distraught when he’d bought his first one. My father’s accident always haunted her. The current model, a vintage Lambretta, was his third.

  I expected to find him raiding the fridge; instead he was in bed. I woke him up with a shove, before heaving open his sash windows in an attempt to dilute the odour of stale sweat and alcohol.

  ‘What are you doing here?’ I demanded.

  He looked dreadful, even darker b
lack circles under his eyes than usual, his hair a badly bleached bird’s nest of a mess.

  ‘I’ve got a bit of a confession to make,’ he mumbled, looking surprising pleased to see me. ‘Where have you been?’

  ‘I’ve been down in Hampshire seeing Pearl. I did tell you. You didn’t want to come, said you had a rave or something to go to.’

  ‘Oh yeah, the rave.’ He shivered. ‘Can’t you shut the windows a bit?

  ‘No. You stink. Have you been arrested? Chucked out of college? Come on, what is it?’ After the shenanigans of the previous day, I really didn’t want to listen to any torrid tales of woe, but Freddy looked quite traumatised.

  He struggled to sit up. ’Can we go into the other room? I need a coffee.’

  Freddy had a hangover that equalled mine. I made us both a coffee while he took a quick shower. He re-emerged five minutes later, smelling of exotic Mon Guerlain shower gel and wrapped in one of Pearl’s dressing gowns.

  ‘So, spit it out,’ I said, as we sat opposite each other on the large floral sofas.

  As I waited for him to reply, my eyes skirted around the room, wondering how it would appear to a potential buyer’s eye, and how I could make it less appealing. It was a beautiful room with huge bay windows looking straight over the park. Even if I painted every wall the colour of Freddy’s bedroom, I highly doubted it would discourage a sale.

  ‘I got this girl pregnant.’

  ‘You what?’

  For some time now, Pearl and I had been hedging our bets as to whether Freddy would make an announcement about his sexuality. Gay sons were very fashionable in Pearl’s immediate social circle, and Freddy hadn’t mentioned girlfriends since primary school.

  ‘Oh, don’t make me say it again,’ he muttered, ‘you heard. This girl says I got her pregnant.’

  ‘This girl? A girl? Not a girl you love, or have been dating, or have had any kind of meaningful relationship with?’

  ‘Well, we were sort of seeing each other, a few times.’