Forgive Me (42 page)

‘Tell me honestly, Patrick. Can you
believe that of Flora?’

He frowned. ‘My first reaction was
that it was impossible. But thinking now of how distraught she was when she lost our
baby, and how reckless she could be, plus what you’ve told me about her time in
Scotland, I’m no longer quite so positive. While I really hope the police will be
able to prove Flora gave birth to you, Eva, this whole business of Andrew setting the
fire makes that look unlikely.’

He paused for a moment. ‘Eva, you told
me that the mother you knew didn’t seem to match up to what others told you about
her. So it is possible that Andrew may well have used what she’d done to control
and manipulate her. But the police seem to be dragging their feet,’ he continued.
‘How difficult can it be to prove if you are, or are not, this stolen
baby?’

‘I’ve rung them twice,’
Phil said. ‘I think one reason for the delay is because the investigation involves
London, Cheltenham and Carlisle police forces.’

‘Hmmm,’ Patrick frowned.
‘I suppose even if they had found the mother in Carlisle straight away, they could
hardly rush into telling her about this until they were almost a
hundred per cent sure you were her child. Imagine what a shock it would be for
her!’

Eva could only nod. From what she knew of
Sue Carling from the newspapers of the 1970s, she dreaded being told this woman was her
real mother.

‘Even if she is your mother, you
don’t have to meet her,’ Patrick said, looking at Eva intently as if reading
her mind. ‘You are the innocent in all this. And although it might seem too cruel
for the woman to be told you are her child but don’t wish to see her, that is your
prerogative.’

‘It would be cruel,’ Eva said.
‘What sort of person would that make me?’

‘An honest one.’ He
shrugged.

‘You have to keep in mind that Sue
Carling isn’t blameless,’ Phil said, reaching out for Eva’s hand and
squeezing it. ‘She cared more about putting on a bet than taking care of her
baby’s welfare. We read that she’d had other children taken away from her
too. I agree with Patrick, you don’t have to meet her. You can be nice about it.
Write her a letter and say it’s all been very distressing but you are an adult now
and, on balance, you think that there’s nothing to be gained for either of you in
taking it further.’

‘I don’t think I could do
that,’ Eva said, and her eyes filled up with tears.

‘Let’s cross that bridge when we
come to it,’ Phil said soothingly.

‘She might not be your mother
anyway,’ Patrick said. ‘But if she is, the police might be able to offer the
services of a counsellor to mediate between the two of you. But shall we talk about
something more cheerful? Tell me about your plans for the old studio.’

‘I couldn’t bear to live there
again,’ Eva said. ‘It will have to be renovated, though, so that I can sell
it.’

‘I’ll be getting some of my
builder pals to sort it,’ Phil said.

‘One of my closest friends is an
architect,’ Patrick said. ‘He’s drawn up plans for many renovations in
that area. I could put him in touch with you, if you like? It might be a good idea to
scrap the garage and make an extra room downstairs. You could probably add another room
in the attic too. That would get you a much better price when you sell it on.’

Eva thought about that for a moment.
‘That makes sense, doesn’t it, Phil?’

‘It does,’ he agreed. ‘The
garage is a waste of space – too hard to get into, and lots of people buying around
there don’t even bother with a car. A good architect has ideas that ordinary
tradesmen wouldn’t think of too. I think you should get Patrick’s friend in
on it, Eva.’

‘Will you give him our number
then?’ Eva said. ‘The insurance is all going through, so we’ll have
the money to do all the work.’

‘I will,’ Patrick said.
‘My friend’s name is Simon Curlew. But there is another thing I wanted to
ask you. The man who attacked you, Eva. What’s happening about that?’

‘He’s still on remand, waiting
for a court date. But I’m tempted to drop the charges,’ she said a little
sheepishly. ‘In the light of everything else that’s happened, I
haven’t got the stomach for more nasty stuff.’

Patrick raised his eyebrow in surprise.

‘I didn’t agree when Eva first
said that’s how she felt,’ Phil said. ‘But when I think what giving
evidence means – the defence lawyers picking holes in Eva’s story, maybe even
bringing up things about her past – I’m inclined to side with her now. The chances
are he’ll only get a suspended sentence. Is it worth seeing Eva get upset again
just for that?’

‘I suppose not,’ Patrick said.
‘I just don’t like the idea of him getting off scot-free.’

‘Nor me,’ Phil said. ‘If it
was down to me, I’d like to go round to his house and give him a good kicking. But
I’d be arrested immediately, and that won’t help Eva.’

Patrick laughed. ‘I’m so glad
she’s got you beside her. You are a man after my own heart. I want you both to
know that I will help in any way I can with the house, and giving any evidence about
Flora – if that becomes necessary.’

‘There is one thing I wanted to ask
you about my mother,’ Eva said. ‘Do you see anything of her in
me?’

He looked at her for the longest moment.
‘Not physically,’ he admitted. ‘Well, aside from both being small and
blue-eyed. But there is something – whether that’s nature or nurture, I
couldn’t say. You’ve got the directness I always liked about her, and her
inquisitive nature. But you are kinder, Eva, and you also have inner strength. You will
come through all this, and she would’ve been very proud of how you turned
out.’

Just before Patrick left, Eva showed him the
Cornish painting which had survived the fire.

‘I remember that one so well,’
he sighed. ‘We used to talk all the time about going down to Cornwall to paint –
the light is so good there – but sadly we never got around to it. I’m so glad it
wasn’t burned, it was always my favourite one of hers. It needs a good clean.
Would you like me to take it and get it done for you? I have a friend who restores old
paintings, and he’ll make a lovely job of it. You’ll be amazed at how
vibrant the colours will come up.’

‘That would be lovely,’ Eva
said. ‘I intended to get it reframed too. That gilt frame is horrible and all
wrong – it needs something more contemporary.’

‘Well, that will be my little
housewarming present to you both,’ Patrick said with a wide smile.
‘I’ll take it with me now.’

After Patrick had left Phil looked
thoughtful. ‘How different
things would be for you if either
Patrick or Gregor had turned out to be your father.’

Eva felt a shiver run down her spine. It was
bad enough thinking Sue Carling might be her real mother. And if that was the case, she
certainly didn’t want to think who her father might be.

‘Are you sure this is the
place?’ PC Clive Avery pulled up the collar of his waterproof coat against the
heavy rain and shone his torch at the derelict old cottage tucked down in a dip on the
Cumbrian fells. ‘I can’t imagine anyone choosing to stay out here,
especially a young girl.’

The call had come in from a farmer from
Caldbeck who had seen a girl out on the fells several times in the past couple of weeks.
He didn’t think anything of it at first, because the weather was still good – this
was, after all, a favourite place for walkers – but when he spotted her early this
morning, in the rain, without a waterproof coat, he became suspicious that she was
sleeping rough.

Unfortunately, he hadn’t got to a
phone to call the police until the evening. Now it was pitch dark, raining cats and
dogs, and on this part of the northern fells the roads were just dirt tracks to remote
farms.

‘When Sarge told me we had to check it
out I knew where he meant, because I used to come out here camping with my
brother,’ WPC Sonia Banbury replied. ‘We stayed in that cottage one night
too when it was tipping down with rain just like tonight. My brother said he’d
never take me camping again, because all I did was cry to go home. The cottage was
tumbledown then, and that was twelve years ago.’

Avery turned his torch off for a moment and
then put it on again. ‘Well, there’s not a glimmer of light coming from it.
So if she’s in there, she can’t be right in the head,’ Avery
said. ‘Come on then, we’d best go down. I’ve got
water dripping down my neck already.’

Leaving the car headlights on to give them
some light, they slithered down a narrow path flanked by rocks on both sides. It was so
muddy it looked more like a stream in the light from their torches, and it was hard to
get a firm foothold.

‘If this is a wild goose chase, or one
of Sarge’s sick jokes, I’m going to make him pay to get my uniform
dry-cleaned,’ Sonia said.

The tiny cottage, little more than a hut,
was built into the hillside and would have belonged to one of the hardy tenant fell
farmers in the last century. Part of the roof had caved in, and if there had ever been
glass in the two windows it was gone now.

‘My brother tried to light a fire when
we stayed here,’ Sonia said. ‘But the rain came down the chimney and put it
out. We were freezing – and that was in July.’

The old door was hanging off its hinges. But
when they shone their torches on the ground around it, they could see the earth was well
trampled. Avery yanked the door open enough for him to squeeze in, and Sonia followed
him.

‘Someone’s been here
alright,’ Avery said. In the light of his torch they could see a wooden crate with
a saucepan, a tin plate and a mug on it. The side of the cottage where the roof had
caved in had nothing in it other than a plastic bucket. But as he shone the torch around
the other side, they saw what looked like a mound of old sacks, ancient blankets and
bits of carpet. ‘No one here now. Maybe the girl was just meeting a boyfriend
here, or something.’

Sonia moved closer to the mound of sacks and
blankets and shone her torch directly on to it. Seeing a slight movement, she jumped
back thinking it was a rat.

‘What is it?’ Avery asked.

‘Something moved there,’ she
said.

Avery picked up a stick lying on the floor
and flicked back the sacks. There was more slight movement and what sounded like a low
groan.

Sonia forgot her fear of rats and darted
forward to pull the sacks further back, revealing a young girl, her eyes wide and
fearful in their torchlight.

‘Don’t be scared, we’re
police officers.’ Sonia realized the girl was blinded by the torchlight.
‘What on earth are you doing here?’ She reached out and took the
girl’s hand in hers; it was very cold, yet she could see beads of sweat on her
forehead. ‘What’s your name, love? Are you hurt?’

‘It’s Freya,’ she
whimpered. ‘I’m not hurt, but I don’t feel very well.’

‘Then we’d better take you to
the hospital to get you checked out,’ Sonia said. ‘How long have you been
living out here?’

‘I think it’s about a
month,’ she said, her voice weak and shaky. ‘I lost my job and
couldn’t pay the rent, so I came here.’

‘Freya Carling!’ Sergeant
Withers exclaimed when Avery and Banbury reported back to him later that night that
they’d found the girl and taken her to hospital. ‘Is she Sue Carling’s
daughter?’

Avery and Banbury looked at each other in
consternation. In their concern for the girl’s health her surname hadn’t
registered with either of them as being the same as the woman whose whereabouts were
currently being sought.

‘Sorry, Sarge, we didn’t think
of that,’ Avery said. ‘But she isn’t fit for questioning right now
anyway. They think she’s got pneumonia.’

‘Well, as soon as she is up for it,
she’ll have to be asked
where her mother is. The Met are getting
very impatient – they think all the police north of Blackpool are useless turnips as it
is.’

‘She said she lost her job and
couldn’t pay her rent, so it doesn’t sound like her mother is around,’
Banbury said. ‘She’s a sweet little thing, and she strikes me as a kid who
hasn’t experienced much kindness in her short life.’

‘Sue Carling was in trouble right from
the age of sixteen. She had two kids taken away from her because of neglect before she
had the baby that was allegedly taken from the street,’ Withers said. ‘But
there was another child, born a few years after the baby disappeared. One of the
bleeding-heart-brigade social workers got involved at the time, and she wanted Sue to be
able to keep the new baby. I’m assuming that child is Freya. I don’t recall
Sue getting into any more trouble after that, so maybe she did turn over a new leaf – at
least for a while.’

‘Well, Freya is only seventeen, and I
got the idea she’s been living on her own for a good while,’ Banbury said.
‘Maybe her mother isn’t around any longer?’

Withers sighed. ‘I was always
surprised that she didn’t leave right after her baby was taken. Most folk believed
she killed her and buried her somewhere. Sue certainly never behaved like a grieving
mother. Now there’s this girl in London who might be that child!’

‘And we’ve got Freya,
malnourished and sick in hospital,’ Banbury said.

‘You found her and clearly made some
sort of connection with her, so be at the hospital first thing in the morning and see
what you can find out,’ Withers said to the WPC.

Two days after seeing Eva, Patrick called
on his friend Nathan Cohen with Flora’s Cornish painting.

They had been friends since meeting at
Goldsmiths Art College in the 1960s. Back then Nathan had ambitions to be an artist too
but, as happened to so many of their friends from that era, the need for a real income
took over. Nathan was offered work on an art restoration project in Italy and soon found
it to be his forte – along with being well paid – and he’d never looked back.

Nathan hadn’t aged as well as Patrick.
Spending so long bent over old canvases had made his back stooped; he wore thick
glasses, and his once thick black hair was now white and sparse. Patrick often dropped
into Nathan’s home in Primrose Hill to see his old friend. As always when he
visited, Nathan’s thin lined face broke into a wide and welcoming smile.