The Cinderella Moment
‘Pet? A great time?’ she yelled. ‘We’re talking about a marriage here, David, not a day trip to a bloody theme park. Would you like to tell me what you came round for – aside from letting me know that everything is my fault – if you don’t want to see Danny?’
‘There’s no need to talk to me like that.’ David looked hurt. ‘And I’d be grateful if you kept your voice down. We don’t want to wake him up, do we? I’ve been to see my solicitor today.’
Cass’s eyes narrowed; she could sense a trap.
‘The thing is –’ he said quickly, before she could interrupt the flow – ‘I’ve got a lot of responsibilities and outgoings with the new business. I mean, we’re doing well – but…’ David hesitated. ‘It’s not been an easy year for the firm, one way and another, and I was wondering…well, you’ve got this house…’ He looked around thoughtfully, while Cass tried to work out exactly where the conversation was leading.
‘Your point being?’ she said.
‘Well, for one thing, I’ve come to discuss the idea of maintenance for Danny. I was thinking that maybe we could settle with a one-off payment rather than all this monthly malarkey. I was thinking something in the region of…what shall we say?’
Cass waited with bated breath.
‘I mean, presumably you will remarry at some time.’
‘David, you’ve been gone three months.’
‘Exactly. That’s what I’m saying – things move on, times change. How would you feel about, say, five thousand pounds?’ he said cheerily.
Cass stared at him, not quite able to believe what she was hearing. ‘What?’
‘Well, it seems fair. I mean, if we want to go with the letter of the law, legally I’d probably be entitled to half your house if I wanted to push it. But that would be mean, wouldn’t it?’
Mean? Cass didn’t know what to say, or where to begin, or at least she didn’t trust herself to open her mouth. What a complete and utter bastard.
‘So what do you think?’ he pressed.
‘I think that you ought to leave.’
He smiled. ‘So you’ll consider my offer then?’
‘I had Abby’s parents round over the weekend,’ countered Cass, her tone icy cold.
David paled. ‘Ah, right. And how are they?’
‘What do you mean, How are they? How do you think they are, David? They’re looking for someone to blame for why you ran off with their precious little girl.’
Cass paused, waiting for David to suggest that that, too, was her fault, but fortunately he just nodded. ‘You know, it’s sad really. They simply can’t see that the way they’ve treated her is at least half the problem. She is so, so complex – so fragile. It’s not easy. They’re not easy people to get on with, apparently. Abby has been telling me how they –’
‘David,’ Cass snapped, ‘they are perfectly reasonable people who are worried to death about their eighteen-year-old daughter running off with a man old enough to be her father.’
David flinched as if she had punched him. ‘Hardly old enough to be her father, Cass. Come on now, you have to admit that that’s a bit of an exaggeration.’ He ran a hand back over his thinning blond hair – which, it struck Cass, was several shades lighter than when he had left.
‘David. You’re forty-four –’
‘Forty-three, actually.’
‘All right forty-three, but you’ll be forty-four next month and, whichever way you add it up, surely to God you can see that Abby’s parents are worried sick about what’s happened – and they have every reason to be. As far as they were concerned, come October their precious little girl was off to De Monteford to do something meaningful in social sciences, and now here she is shacked up with some ageing Lothario in a love nest above the laundrette.’
David glared at her, his face fire-engine red. ‘You can be so bloody cruel at times.’
‘You mean when I’m not being pessimistic or a terrible burden?’
‘This is no joke, Cass,’ he snapped.
She got to her feet. ‘I wasn’t being funny. I think you should leave now.’
Reluctantly, David got to his feet. ‘So what do you think of my offer?’ he asked again.
‘I took it in the spirit in which it was made, David,’ she said, guiding him towards the front door.
‘Meaning what, exactly?’ he asked.
‘That I think you’re taking the piss. I’m going to see my solicitor and, in the meantime, I am seriously considering accepting a managerial position I’ve just been offered in Brighton.’
David’s jaw dropped. ‘What?’
‘You heard me.’ If she was going to be accused of being a cow, Cass decided, she might as well enjoy a few of the perks. She also didn’t bother pointing out that she was only going for the summer, nor that she would be managing Barney.
It totally wrong-footed David. ‘I hadn’t thought – I’m not sure how I feel about that. I mean, where does that leave us?’
‘Us?’ Cass said incredulously. ‘What the hell do you mean, us?’
‘What about Danny?’ he blustered.
It was all Cass could do not to punch him. ‘Don’t talk to me about Danny. You’re the one who planned your visit so that he was asleep when you got here.’
And then there had been Abby’s parents, who had been another complete nightmare. They couldn’t see beyond the fact that it had been Cass who had offered Abby the job after she had replied to an ad in the corner-shop window. Everything that had happened from then on, it seemed, had been everybody else’s fault except Abby’s.
‘She’s very naïve and young for her age. We thought it would be safe, letting her work here, didn’t we, Moira? We’re very upset about how things have turned out,’ said Abby’s father. It didn’t seem to occur to either of them that Cass might be hurt or upset too, or that their daughter might have had any part in seducing, flirting with, or encouraging David. Oh no, that it seemed was absolutely impossible.
‘We thought of her as our little girl,’ said her mum, tearfully. ‘You know, she hasn’t rung or been round or anything since…well, you know.’ They were talking about Abby in variations of the past tense, as if running off with David was the same as dying.
‘She was just a baby, really,’ agreed her father.
Cass nodded. Their little girl, their baby, who turned up to clean house in a pink lycra crop top with Sex Kitten in silver sequins across the front, no bra, breasts so pert they would have taken an eye out of the unwary, and a denim micro skirt that, combined with the top, was every dirty old lecher’s dream ticket. Abby may well have been young, but Cass had a horrible feeling that she had known exactly what she was doing when she sashayed across the sitting-room floor pushing the Hoover and plumping cushions. Certainly she had been just what David’s mid-life crisis needed.
3
Cass, holding her breath, standing up on tip-toe and reaching as far as she was able, struggled to tease a big holiday-sized suitcase down from the top of the wardrobe with the very, very tips of her fingers, watched by a wide-eyed and increasingly anxious Danny.
‘Are we going on holiday?’ Danny asked in a nervous little voice.
‘No.’
‘Is it for my school trip?’
‘Nope.’
Cass was trying to avoid going downstairs for a chair or to get the stepladder. She’d already sorted out a couple of portfolios, her art box and two small cases for Danny and…and…Cass took a deep breath, straining to stretch up that last half an inch. She was so close, so-very-very-close.
‘Am I going to stay at Granny’s for a very long time?’ Danny whispered.
‘No, sweetheart. God – bloody thing,’ Cass groaned, blowing hard. One more big stretch and…and she still couldn’t reach.
‘Are you going to take all my toys away and give them to poor children because I’ve been so naughty?’
Very slowly Cass turned to look at him and resolved to have a strong word with her mother. Danny was sitting on the end of the bed. He was dressed in a navy blue T-shirt, oatmeal-coloured shorts, blue socks and sandals, his big brown eyes watching her every move – he looked so cute that Cass could have scooped him up and eaten him.
‘No, sweetheart, no. I’m not going to do that and neither is anyone else, and I can’t imagine you’re ever going to be that naughty, ever. Take it from me, Granny Annie can be pretty bad herself, and no one ever threatened to take her toys away.’
Danny nodded solemnly.
‘The thing is,’ said Cass, reaching up again for the case, trying to fool herself that the first couple of attempts were just a warm-up and this time she would get it, no sweat. ‘You know that Mummy’s been looking for a job? Well, she’s got one and it’s going to be really good fun. We’re going to go and live by the seaside. Just you and me – and God, I really wish I was two inches taller.’
Danny considered the implications for a few seconds. ‘The seaside?’
Cass nodded. ‘Uhuh.’
‘With a beach and stuff?’
She nodded again. ‘With a beach and funfair and a swimming pool and ice cream and lots of places to go, and stuff –’
‘Are you still going to paint?’
Cass nodded.
‘And do books and cards and things?’
Cass wasn’t sure how much more nodding she could manage. ‘Yes, just like now, but I’m going to work in a gallery too, and do all sorts of other stuff.’
‘Are you still going to work at my school?’
‘Yes. We’re only going for the summer, for the holidays.’
Danny put his head on one side for a few seconds, and then said, ‘What about Daddy? Is Daddy coming too? How will he know where we live? He won’t be able to find us. And what about Milo and Bob?’ The words tumbled out in a breathless rush.
Cass gave up on the suitcase and turned her attention to Danny. ‘It’s all right. We’re only going for a little while. Jake is going to look after Bob and we’ll take Milo with us. And we’ll tell Daddy exactly where we are. OK? We’re going to live in a flat in Brighton and Mummy’s going to work for a man called Barney, and he’s got a cat and a dog too…’ Cass hesitated, it was probably best not to suggest that Barney was a nice man.
Danny’s eyes widened in horror. ‘Oh no. Barney’s not your new boyfriend, is he?’
Six, and he should be working for the local police force. ‘No, honey, he’s not my boyfriend. He’s an old friend of Jake’s.’ Cass paused; childcare was going to be a nightmare. Danny, swinging his legs, studied her thoughtfully.
The job, as explained by Barney over a lot of frothy coffee, a glass too much of house red and a crash course in Italian profanity, was a complex, fast-moving combination of PA, nanny, shopkeeper and head wrangler for Barney’s various family, art and business interests. These would include his pets, mother and various ex-wives, children, stepchildren, girlfriends, ex-girlfriends, creditors, artists, and such domestic help as he could lay his hands on, explained Barney conversationally, topping up Cass’s glass with the brandy that the waiter had left on their table.
To be fair, although Barney swore blind he didn’t like children, he seemed more than willing to accommodate Danny. And Cass, over dessert, had finally agreed to take the job for the summer holidays. Although on reflection maybe it was the booze talking.
‘Daisy’s going to be here for most of the summer and I thought we could hire an au pair – or at least you can. I’ll pay her, you just have to pick someone who won’t steal the teaspoons and hide bread in the airing cupboard,’ Barney had said, dipping a little crispy almond biscuit into his coffee so that the froth crept up it like a rising tide. ‘She can clean house and mind Danny and feed the animals. Actually, I’m not sure why I didn’t think of it earlier. It’ll be perfect. I can teach her to play backgammon and she will think I’m wounded and complex, and moon around after me with her hairy armpits, wearing strange clothes in peculiar foreign ways. They like a father figure, in my experience. I will try to be strong for both of us. It will be absolutely wonderful,’ added Barney gleefully. ‘When did you say you can start?’
‘As soon as the school holidays begin, although maybe we need to talk about living arrangements. For a start, I barely know you. You’re grumpy, rude and untidy – not to mention an alcoholic.’
‘You just said you didn’t know me.’ Barney looked wounded. ‘Jake never told me how rude you were.’ He paused. ‘Presumably you’re worried about your virtue?’
Cass didn’t think that deserved an answer.
Barney sighed. ‘You’ve seen for yourself how big the flat is. There are two decent-sized rooms and a little bathroom at the back – all yours, own key, everything. You’ll have to share the rest, but I’m sure Jake will give me a reference. And don’t worry, you’re not my type at all – my woman of choice is a neurotic bunny boiler who is stalking her therapist.’ He looked sadly down at the remains of his dessert. ‘God, I miss that woman.’
‘Own rooms? Own key?’
Barney nodded and extended his hand across the wreckage of supper. ‘So, it’s a deal then?’ he said, closing his great paw over hers and shaking it firmly before waving the waiter over. ‘Let’s have some more booze, shall we? How’s your tiramisu?’
Now, back at home in the spare bedroom, Cass stared down at her son; she must have been nuts to agree. But then again, maybe it was just the kind of thing that they both needed, a summer by the sea.
Easy. Or at least that was how it had seemed when Barney explained it to her.
She looked up at the wardrobe. It was no good, she would have to go and get a chair.
‘Cass?’ Jake’s voice made her jump. ‘Are you there?’
‘We’re upstairs,’ she called back. ‘Packing.’ Or at least they would be if she ever got the bloody case down. Jake was tall. ‘Come on up,’ she continued cheerily. ‘We’re in the spare room.’
Danny still looked anxious. She stroked sunshine yellow baby-boy hair back off his face. ‘It’s OK,’ she said softly. ‘Daddy will know exactly where we are going. And you can ring him every day if you want to. Maybe we can arrange for you to stay with him for part of the summer holidays. It’s going to be all right. Promise. Cross my heart –’ Was that for Danny’s benefit or hers?
Danny’s solemn expression didn’t alter. ‘Yes, but what about Jake?’ he whispered as their neighbour lumbered noisily up the stairs. ‘Who’s going to look after Jake if we’re not here?’
Good question. More to the point, who was going to look after Cass if Jake wasn’t there to make tea, pick up the pieces and say it would be all right even if it quite obviously wasn’t true? He was like a father, big brother and fairy godmother all mixed into one.
Before she could think of a good answer, Jake sprung across the threshold, clutching a folded newspaper. ‘Have you seen this?’ he said, thrusting it under her nose. The headline read, ‘Local businessman sought for questioning in multimillionpound accounting scam.’
Cass looked up at Barney. ‘Don’t tell me.’
He nodded. ‘’Fraid so – Mr Peaches,’ and then began to read: ‘“Local businessman, James Devlin, forty-one, is wanted for questioning in connection with the disappearance of company funds believed to be worth in excess of two million pounds from Devlin Holdings Ltd of Little Lamport, near Ely. Mr Devlin, a prominent and popular local figure, vanished last week after an emergency meeting was convened to discuss cash-flow problems and discrepancies in the accounts revealed during a routine audit. A company spokesman told our reporter yesterday that company representatives were keen to speak to Mr Devlin as soon as possible.”’
Jake looked up to see if Cass was still listening.
‘There’s a dreadful photo. Looks as if it was taken when he was at school,’ he said, before reading on: ‘“At their home, Mrs Margaret Devlin was unavailable for comment, but in a statement made through her family solicitor said she was anxious for her husband’s safety and mental wellbeing. He has been under a lot of pressure over the last few months, Mrs Devlin added, and said she had no doubt her husband would be happy to cast some light on the company’s present financial position as soon as he returned, and on a personal note added that she hoped that he would be home soon as his family missed him dreadfully.”’
Cass held up her hands in surrender. ‘Don’t look at me like that, Jake. It’s got nothing to do with me.’
‘I just thought you might be interested, that’s all. I mean, you were one of the last people to see him alive.’
Cass stared at him. ‘What do you mean, see him alive? As far as I’m concerned, he is still alive; he was off to have an adventure in Rome. He gave me a mint humbug, for God’s sake, not his last will and testament.’
‘Well, this comment by his wife suggests…you know…’ After checking that Danny wasn’t looking, Jake drew a finger ominously across his throat. He waved the paper at her again. ‘Anyway, I thought you might be interested. Here –’
Cass peered at it. Jake was right about the photograph. It looked like it had been blown up from some kind of eighties team photo and, other than the mop of blond hair, it looked nothing like the man she had met on the train.
‘Well, like I said, I’m not interested. When I saw him he was very chirpy, no hint of…you know.’ She expertly mimicked Jake’s tone and gesture as she returned the paper to him.
‘Have you talked to anyone about seeing him, besides the police?’ asked Jake. ‘The press or anything?’
‘No. Why on earth should I?’
‘I just wondered. Only there’s a car been sitting at the end of the lane for most of the day. I noticed it parking up when you came home. I wouldn’t swear to it, but I think the guy inside has got some sort of camera or maybe binoculars. I wondered if it was a reporter, the paparazzi.’
Cass laughed. ‘Oh, stop it. You’re being paranoid.’
Jake shrugged. ‘Maybe, but I was just thinking, what would happen if the national press got hold of your connection with the case?’
‘Got hold of what connection? I haven’t got a connection. I saw him on the train – it’s hardly headline news, is it? “Woman sees man on train.”’
‘Maybe you’re right. But you don’t know what his wife might have said about you.’
Cass groaned. ‘Please, Jake, stop, will you,’ and then added casually, ‘Is there any chance you could get that case down for me?’
Jake looked heavenwards. ‘Work, work, work, what on earth are you going to do without me?’
At which point Danny, still sitting on the end of the bed, sniffed miserably.
At the end of the lane where Cass and Jake lived, Mr Marshall had logged Jake’s arrival and taken a couple of photos with the long lens on his new digital camera.
A few miles away in Little Lamport a stream of police officers, as industrious and diligent as worker ants, were busy carrying box after box of James Devlin’s papers and personal effects out from the office he had had built above the double garage and stacking them neatly under the carport. Alongside the papers and folders were computers, screens, boxes of CDS, DVDs, files, folders, and God knows what else, all neatly sealed in evidence bags which were being carefully logged and doublechecked before being packed into an unmarked navy blue Transit van.
Margaret Devlin watched their progress from the sitting-room window and bit her lip, holding back a great torrent of fury.
Detective Inspector Turner, the officer in charge of the investigation, who was sitting opposite her drinking tea and eating his way through a packet of Garibaldis, took it for grief, which was most probably a good thing. Margaret glanced at him. He was a large affable man with wavy grey hair and a rather natty moustache that made him look distinguished and added a slightly military air.
‘We really appreciate your co-operation, Mrs Devlin. My men and I will try and ensure there is as little disruption to your day-to-day routine as possible. I realise that life can’t be very easy for you at the moment.’
He could say that again; her solicitor had just rung to tell Margaret that an application had been made by the shareholders to freeze all James’s assets. Why couldn’t the bastard have had the decency to die quietly in his bed and leave her in peace? She really hoped Gordie Mann’s weaselly friend tracked James down. Life would be so much simpler if James was dead – a heart attack or something quick and terminal – but obviously only if he hadn’t been using the company funds as his own personal current account. Bastard. Outside in the run, Snoops, pressed tight up against the wire, threw back his head and howled miserably.
‘I’m afraid I need to ask you a few more questions.’ DI Turner’s voice focused her attention.
‘I’m so sorry,’ she said. ‘I was miles away.’ If only.
He waved her apology away. ‘It’s perfectly understandable. Would you prefer to wait until your solicitor is present?’
Margaret shook her head. ‘No, of course not, Inspector. I’ve got nothing to hide. Ask away.’ She smiled at the WPC who was perched on the edge of the sofa, taking notes. The girl really didn’t make the best of herself, a bit of eye makeup and a decent bra really wouldn’t go amiss; what did they teach them at police training college?
The Detective Inspector took a deep breath as if he was about to launch into a big speech, but at that moment the au pair appeared at the sitting-room door, anxiously wringing her paws as she looked from one face to the other, finally settling on Margaret with those big brown watery eyes of hers.
‘Missis Devlin?’ The au pair smiled wanly at her. Margaret glared right back. This, after being told on numerous occasions that she wasn’t to interrupt when Margaret had guests, even if the guests were in this case the police.
‘Yes?’ said Margaret, feigning interest; she still wasn’t altogether sure what the girl’s name was, despite her having been with them six months. It was something Eastern European, maybe Romania, which sounded like a cross between a sneeze and a hacking cough, and refused point-blank to stay in her head, even after she had written it down phonetically on a whole pile of post-it notes and stuck them at various key points around the house.
‘What is it, dear?’ she added, mostly for DI Turner’s benefit. ‘Only, as I’m sure you can see, I am a little busy at the moment.’
The girl smiled nervously. ‘Sorry to disturb you, but this eeeez important.’
Margaret sniffed; that remained to be seen. Probably another defrosting, how-many-minutes-to-let-it-stand-between-microwaving emergency. She was tempted to suggest whatever-her-name-was went back into the kitchen and read the bloody packet, but held fire. The girl took this to be a green light.
‘This won’t take long, I just want to tell you that I have to leave now.’ Margaret had to pick her way through the words, the girl’s accent was as thick as a hand-knitted vest.
Margaret smiled indulgently at DI Turner and then back at what’s-her-name. ‘No, dear, not yet. It’s barely three o’clock,’ she began, her eyes narrowing. ‘It’s not time for you to finish work yet. You finish later.’ She tapped her watch for added emphasis. ‘Later. Six o’clock.’
But the girl was insistent. ‘No,’ she said emphatically, shaking her head. ‘No, I hef to go now.’
‘No, you don’t. You leave off at six, after you’ve cooked the children’s supper. Then it will be time for you to go to your language class.’ Margaret talked slowly, her smile stretched as tight as a drumskin as she enunciated every last word. God, the girl was such a bloody moron. ‘I’ll tell you what, why don’t we talk about this later. I’m rather busy at the –’
But the girl would not be stopped. ‘No, no, no, you not make of me any understanding. I have to go. Really. I do.’ She mimed walking away, using two pale, podgy fingers to represent those dumpylard white legs of hers. ‘Now.’
‘Oh, I understand perfectly, dear,’ said Margaret, keeping her tone as even as she could manage, while pulling a jolly ‘sorry, what-can-you-do-face’ for DI Turner. ‘But you don’t leave off until six. Six.’ She held up six fingers. ‘Six o’clock.’
The girl frowned. ‘No, not six, I know six. I have to go to my mother’s.’