I Trust You (8 page)

Chapter 14

‘I’
m taking a big risk meeting you here today.’ Marisa climbed out of the car and took in the bustle of the busy port that surrounded them. ‘I told Eliot I was having a spa day with an old school friend. I just hope he doesn’t check with the hotel.’

Lee Powell shook his head in exasperation. ‘What would the guy actually do if he found out? Hey, he doesn’t knock you about, does he?’

              ‘No,’ Marisa replied quickly. ‘Eliot just likes to know where I am, that’s all.’

              ‘Controlling type. I get it.’ Lee led them towards the docks. ‘The Oriana is in port today. Do you want to take a look? These cruise ships are pretty impressive.’

              ‘I’m not really on a sight-seeing trip. Can we get a drink somewhere?’

              ‘There’s a café by the Mayflower Terminal. It’s not very glamorous.’

              ‘I don’t mind that. I want it to be somewhere the Colemans wouldn’t be seen dead in.’

              Lee led the way, pushing through the glass door and ordering them both teas, which arrived in polystyrene cups. Marisa chose a booth by the far window which had views of the cargo berths.

              ‘You know, thirty five years ago, Gerry Coleman would only have hung around places like this.’

              Marisa had already filled her friend in on what she’d discovered from Companies House. ‘It’s just so hard to imagine. My father-in-law
oozes
‘old money’ charm. If it’s all been an act then he deserves an Oscar.’

              Lee chuckled. ‘He probably always had airs and graces, even when he was mopping down the decks of one of those old cargo ships.’

              Marisa gazed out of the window at the dark sea just visible beyond the machinery of the port. ‘How far did your father travel when he worked for Southern Seaways? You mentioned South Africa? Did they ever venture as far as the South Seas?’

              ‘What does that even mean?’ Lee polished off his tea in a couple of gulps. ‘Isn’t it the old fashioned term for the Pacific Ocean? If that’s the case then sure. Dad went to some places in South America. They shipped in electronic equipment from Mexico for most of the eighties.’

              ‘Or Gerald might have been having a joke with the name of the company. It did strike me it might simply be Southsea, but with a gap added for greater glamour.’

              ‘As in Southsea, Portsmouth.’ Lee smiled wryly. ‘That would be more like Gerry’s true stamping ground.’

              Marisa put down her cup, nearly spilling the mahogany brown contents. ‘What if that really
is
Gerald’s stamping ground? Maybe Southsea is where he was born and grew up? Don’t they say that fraudsters always need to leave little clues as to their true identity - their real past?’

              Lee’s expression became serious. ‘Then perhaps that’s where we should start.’

              ‘Are you up for a trip along the coast?’

              ‘If it means unmasking Gerry Coleman, of course.’

*

The sun was strong, but so was the easterly breeze. They walked side-by-side along the seafront at Southsea, the pier a few hundred yards ahead of them. Marisa imagined it got busy with visitors at the weekends. Right now, the sandy beach was almost deserted.

              ‘Have you been here before?’ She asked her companion.

              ‘Linda and I brought the boys a few times. We’ve also stopped off here on the way to get the ferry.’

              ‘To the Isle of Wight.’

              ‘Yeah, that’s why a lot of folk come out this way, or to visit HMS Victory.’

              Marisa glanced around her. ‘It’s a big place. I wasn’t sure what I was expecting, but our search seems like a needle in a haystack job.’

              ‘When would Gerry have been born?’

              ‘He’s seventy now. So the mid-forties? Just after World War Two.’

              ‘What about the first wife, Celia?’

              ‘She was forty six when she died in 1994, so she’d have been born maybe a couple of years after Gerald.’

              ‘And they got married in ’73. Just like my parents did.’

              ‘That’s right.’

              ‘Then we’ve got plenty to go on.’ Lee rested his hand on her arm. ‘Why don’t you head into town and perform some of your tricks at the library. I’ll meet you at the end of the pier in a couple of hours.’

              Marisa creased her face. ‘What are you going to do?’

              Lee was already striding away from her. He called over his shoulder, ‘I’ve got some old friends to look up.’

*

For a good while, Marisa was convinced she’d been stood up. The wind was fierce at the end of Southsea pier. She was huddled on an elaborate iron bench inside a shelter which wasn’t providing her with much protection.

              Lee was forty minutes late. Marisa wondered how long she could leave it to start the journey back to White Bay. As it was, her hair would be windswept and her face sunburnt a salmon pink. She wasn’t sure how that one could be explained away.

              When she was just about to give the plan up as a bad job, Marisa sensed a presence beside her on the bench. Lee’s muscly thigh was lightly pressed against hers.

              ‘Sorry it took so long, but there was lots to find out.’

              She breathed away her irritation. ‘Shall I go first?’

              ‘Yeah, fire away.’

              ‘I found a register of births and marriages online. Gerald Lawrence Coleman was born at Fareham Community Hospital in December 1945. His father was Lawrence Alan Coleman, his profession listed as sailor. Valerie Emily Coleman was his mother. They both died in the sixties.’

              ‘Our Gerry is definitely from these parts.’

              ‘Exactly. Celia was harder to trace, as I didn’t have a maiden name, so I looked up their marriage certificate first, to find out from that.’

              ‘You’re getting the hang of this.’

              ‘Gerald Coleman married Celia Kilpatrick at St Swithin’s Church, Southsea on 21
st
June 1973.’

              ‘They were still in Southsea in ’73 then.’

              Marisa turned to face her friend. ‘The idea of Gerald being a Roman Catholic is incredible. According to him, he’s the most valued member of our local C of E Church. My father-in-law is protestant through and through.’

              ‘It was obviously Celia who was the Catholic. Her family must have been Irish immigrants judging by the name. Did you find out any more about her?’

              ‘Yes,’ Marisa glanced back down at her notebook. Celia Mary Kilpatrick, born 8
th
October 1947 in Rosslare, County Wexford, Republic of Ireland.’

              Lee whistled through his teeth. ‘I wonder when her family came over to England. Rosslare is a substantial sea port. Her father must have worked on the boats too.’

              ‘Might her family have had money, could Celia have helped Gerald set up in business?’

              ‘They were an immigrant family forced to travel to Portsmouth after the war to find work in the port. I’d say they were poor as church mice.’

              Marisa was really beginning to feel the chill. ‘So what did
you
find out? Where have you been for the best part of the last three hours?’

              ‘I’ve been at Southsea Police Station.’

              She raised her eyebrows.

              ‘Linda’s brother is a DC who works out of the Criminal Investigation Department there. We’re still on good terms.’

              Marisa was immediately alarmed. ‘You didn’t report Gerald did you?’ She wasn’t entirely sure how far she wanted this whole thing to go, or if her father-in-law had even done anything illegal.

              ‘Don’t panic about Gerald and your delightful hubbie. I just called in some favours with Jimmy. I waited outside whilst he took a look through the records. He took ages, that’s why I’m so late.’

              ‘What was he checking?’

              ‘This is all strictly off the record. Jimmy said he’d deny being the source of the info if it got out.’

              She nodded vigorously.

              ‘He looked up the name Coleman on the criminal database for the Portsmouth area. It seems that Gerry was a well-known figure in Southsea during the fifties and sixties. He was in and out of juvenile court for offences like petty theft and common assault. He even spent some time at Petersfield Hall.’

              ‘What’s that?’

              ‘It was a kind of reform school on the outskirts of Southsea. According to Jimmy, the school was run by psychologist types who wanted to set the boys onto a new path.’

              ‘It doesn’t seem like it worked.’

              ‘No. I reckon Gerry’s problems started with his old man. You said he was a sailor? Lawrence was probably an ordinary seaman during the war, picking up scraps of work on the ships in peacetime. His boy was very likely roaming the streets of Southsea nicking stuff and getting into fights from an early age.’

              ‘He wasn’t a great catch for a good Catholic girl like Celia.’

              ‘No, the young Gerry was definitely a bad lot. Perhaps her parents even objected to the marriage. Your husband doesn’t seem to have much to do with his mother’s side of the family, does he?’

              Marisa’s head was buzzing with thoughts, then reality seemed to pull her up short. ‘Oh God,
Eliot
. I really need to get going.’

              Lee leant forward. ‘You’ve got a pink face. How’re you going to explain that?’

              ‘Shit. I’ll have to put on some concealer in the car.’

              He laughed, then took her hand and pulled her closer, brushing his lips across hers. ‘You drive straight home. I’ll take a bus back.’

              Before she knew it, he was gone. Marisa was left seated on a hard bench at the end of the pier, staring out into the channel, her heart pounding like a jack-hammer inside her chest.

Chapter 15

W
hen Marisa woke up her head was throbbing. The bedroom felt hot and stuffy, like it was later than usual. She turned over and looked at the clock. It was ten thirty. Marisa levered herself up and took a gulp of stale water from the cup on the table.

Then an image of the dream she’d just had flashed across her mind’s eye. A child was crying. Long, drawn out wails of anguish coming from another room. Marisa wasn’t making any effort to go to the child, to comfort him. She’d simply clamped her palms over her ears to blot out the noise.

              She nearly jumped out of her skin as the sound came again. This time in reality. A high-pitched wail seemed to envelope the whole house. Marisa leapt up and dragged on her dressing gown, racing out of the bedroom and down the stairs.

              Eliot was propped up at the breakfast bar. Sitting by his feet was a large, fierce looking dog. Every so often, the animal was letting out a haunting howl that threatened to shake the walls.

              ‘What on earth is going on?’ Marisa stood her ground in the hallway, determined not to move a single step closer.

              When the animal heard her voice, it turned its huge head and growled menacingly, baring startlingly white teeth.

              ‘This is Charlie. He’s an English Mastiff. Isn’t he magnificent?’ Eliot didn’t look up from his paper.

              ‘What is he doing in our house?’ Marisa’s headache was now making her feel sick.

              ‘Sam’s brother breeds them as guard dogs. I decided we need more protection for this place. You’re here on your own most of the day and the house is very isolated. With Charlie on the prowl, we won’t get any unwanted visitors.’

              For a horrible moment, Marisa worried that Eliot somehow knew Lee Powell had been in his house. Why else would he pull this stunt?

              ‘I’m uncomfortable around dogs. You know that.’

              Eliot finally looked up. ‘That’s just animals you aren’t familiar with. It won’t take long for Charlie to get to know you, then he’ll rip apart anyone who tries to break in and take advantage of you.’

              ‘Nobody is going to do that, darling,’ she hissed through gritted teeth.

              ‘You’re too sweet natured, Marisa, too willing to see the good in any old bleeding heart you come across. That’s where you’ve got me to step in – apply some worldly common sense. We complement one another.’

              ‘Couldn’t we just have some CCTV rigged up? I don’t think I can bear listening to
Charlie
barking all day and night. It’ll drive me insane.’

              ‘Oh, I’ve already got some cameras placed here and there. The technology is remarkable simple these days. Very discreet.’

              Marisa felt the blood drain from her face. She wondered if she might faint. Did Eliot know
everything?

              ‘Come and have some breakfast. You look a bit peaky.’

              ‘I’m not going anywhere near that dog.’ Marisa felt her voice wavering.

              Charlie seemed to recognise her tone as threatening and began barking fiercely.

              She turned on her heels and stomped up the stairs. When she reached their bedroom, Marisa got quickly dressed, throwing on some light make-up and stuffing a few items of clothing and toiletries into a soft bag. Storming back down the stairs again she stopped in her tracks halfway.

              The dog was sitting up squarely in the middle of the hallway, as if guarding the entrance to the house. Eliot was nowhere to be seen.

              Marisa felt sweat prickling along her back and up her neck. Although she knew it was the worst thing to do, her body was visibly shaking with fear, the emotion must have been sweeping off her in waves.

              The dog suddenly stood, its ears and tail erect.

              Marisa wondered if she had time to get back up the stairs and lock herself into a bedroom before the animal reached her. Their eyes were locked, apparently both assessing the situation.

              Then the sound of a toilet flushing filled the house. Eliot emerged from the cloakroom and hooked up Charlie’s lead. ‘What’s the matter boy?’ He muttered soothingly. ‘Sensed an enemy in our midst?’

              Marisa didn’t hang about to miss this opportunity to escape. She bolted down the stairs and threw open the front door, racing to her car and jumping into the driving seat. She revved the engine, taking off down the steep drive with her heart in her mouth. Not looking behind her, only dead ahead.

*

When she’d composed herself, Marisa decided she probably didn’t have long before the Coleman clan decisively locked her out of their exclusive world. With only a handful of possessions in a bag on the backseat, she turned the car in the direction of Weymouth.

              The estate of executive new-builds lay on the outskirts of town. There was no sea-view for these residents. Marisa pulled the car onto the driveway of her sister-in-law’s property, relieved to see that their people-carrier was parked up by the garage.

              Grace opened the door with Lily resting on her hip. She immediately broke into a beaming smile. Marisa felt her body relax. She’d clearly not spoken to Eliot yet.

              ‘What a lovely surprise!’ Grace strode through the house into an open-plan kitchen and family room at the back which had its patio doors open to the modest garden. ‘I’ll put the kettle on.’

              Marisa gave her niece a hug before watching the little girl run straight out onto the grass where a tiny paddling pool had been filled for her. She wondered with a heavy heart when she would see Lily again, or the boys.

              ‘I’ll prepare a cafétiere,’ Grace said absent-mindedly, busying herself by rifling through cupboards.

              ‘Oh, I’ll just have a cup of tea, thanks.’

              Grace glanced over her shoulder in surprise. ‘I thought you always drank coffee?’

              ‘Actually, I prefer tea. I think I only ever had coffee because Eliot prefers it.’ Marisa sat at the kitchen table, pushing aside the paper and pens Lily had strewn across its surface.

              ‘I don’t bother with the real stuff myself when I’m on my own. Instant is fine for me. I can’t really tell the difference.’ She smiled and sat down opposite. ‘Is everything okay? You don’t usually come and visit during the week.’

              ‘How are Tim and the boys?’

              ‘They’re great, thanks. Dom has a big tournament on Saturday. He’s practising every chance he gets.’

              Marisa glanced out at the goal nets set out at both ends of the small garden and the churned up lawn in between. ‘They certainly love their football.’

‘Yes they do, it’s a real passion for Tim. His father took him to Weymouth United matches every weekend as a boy.’ Grace looked wistful. ‘I don’t think Dad and Eliot think that footie is the right sport for a Coleman. Every time we visit Dad’s place, the cricket stuff comes out. Tim moans about it whenever we get back home.’

Marisa smiled. ‘Yes, I did notice how Eliot took over a bit the other day. Sorry.’

Grace sighed. ‘I’m used to it. You must be too. The Coleman men come first. They don’t like to play second fiddle to anybody else.’

Marisa was surprised to hear her speak like this. ‘It must be different when Gerald and Gaia come here though? It’s yours and Tim’s space, your domain?’

Grace laughed. Her voice contained a hint of bitterness. ‘It would be if they ever came here. We always go to them in Dorchester. Even when the kids were tiny and journeys were tricky.’ She got up to make the drinks, her back to her guest. ‘I don’t think Gaia would be seen dead in a house like ours.’

Marisa considered all the times Gaia and Gerald had been to their house in White Bay. It never crossed her mind they didn’t come here to Weymouth too.

              Grace returned to the table with two steaming mugs. ‘To be honest, Tim doesn’t like my family very much. He thinks they look down their noses at him.’ She suddenly checked herself. ‘Not you, of course. You’re normal, Marisa. Very down to earth.’

              ‘Your house is lovely, Grace. Most families would be overjoyed to live in a gorgeous place like this.’ To her amazement, her sister-in-law’s eyes began to fill with tears. Marisa got up and moved round the table, placing an arm around her shoulders.

              ‘I know. But it feels like we’re a bit of an embarrassment to Dad.’ She sighed heavily. ‘I’ve had three children and I’ve struggled to shift the baby weight. You and Gaia are both slim, chic and beautiful. I feel like one of the ugly sisters compared to you too.’

              Marisa squeezed her tightly. ‘I had no idea you felt that way. You know I’d give anything to have children like yours. I thought you had the perfect family.’

              ‘I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to be insensitive. God, I’m being so vain and self-absorbed. Of course, my kids are everything to me, I love them to bits. I just feel frumpy when I’m mixing with you lot, that’s all.’

              ‘I think you’re beautiful Grace. You know, I was looking through some old photographs the other day. It struck me how much you look like your mother.’ Marisa held her breath, wondering how she would react.

              Grace dabbed her eyes with a tissue and smiled. ‘I was always more like Mum, and Eliot was like Dad. It was a family joke, really.’

              ‘What was Celia like?’

              ‘I forget that you never met her. Tim did, but only very briefly. I was in my first term at college when she had her accident and Mum met him when she came to visit for a weekend. She was a lovely person. Dad really relied on her. It’s hard to imagine it now. Mum did a lot of the admin for the business, especially in the early days.’

              ‘Do you recall much about the time when your parents were building up the boat business, did you always live in White Bay?’

              Grace narrowed her eyes, as if deep in thought. ‘My first memories are of that house – your house,’ she corrected herself. ‘I recall how very bright and white it seemed to me.’

              ‘It must have appeared a very striking place to a young child.’

              ‘I remember occasionally having a feeling, as a child, that we’d moved from the darkness into the light – that I’d lived somewhere dark and cold then suddenly we were surrounded by pure, bright white, and such dazzling sunlight, like I’d never seen before. When I told Mum or Dad about this feeling, they always said I was imagining things. I’d always lived at White Bay. I was born there.’

              ‘Your mum seems like she was quite different to Gaia.’

              Grace snorted. ‘They couldn’t have been more opposite. Mum was tall and naturally slim, but she never wore heavy make-up. She disagreed outright with designer brands and labels. Eliot and I were dressed very simply by her. She was a very humble person.’ She shifted round to look Marisa in the face. ‘Did you know that Mum was a Roman Catholic? Dad never mentions it now, like he was ashamed of her faith.’

              ‘I didn’t know that.’

              ‘I think it’s because Mum’s family must have been very poor Irish immigrants and Dad didn’t like it to get about. It didn’t sit well with the Coleman image.’

              Marisa felt the anger bubble up inside her. How dare he be ashamed of Celia, when his own background was as a petty criminal and bully-boy? She swallowed the feeling down. ‘Do you remember much about the accident?’

              Grace was quiet for a moment. ‘I was away at college. Eliot probably knows more than I do. Mum was driving to a Christmas shopping evening, being held at a friend’s place in Charmouth. She took the coast road and it was very icy. The car must have lost control on a bend. She went over the edge of the precipice. I was told at the time she would have died immediately the car hit the rocks. But it always worried me that Mum might have been alive down there for a while, all on her own, knowing that help wouldn’t be coming.’

              ‘You can’t afford to think that way. If the coroner said she died on impact, it must be true.’

              Grace fixed her with a pleading glance. ‘Really? Because I’m beginning to wonder what’s true and what isn’t these days.’

              ‘How do you mean?’

              ‘Because Dad has a funny way of twisting the past. In the years after Mum’s death, he told everyone he met how they were so devoted to each other. But they’d been arguing that summer of ‘94. Mum was really upset about something. When she was dead, Dad glossed it all over.’

              Marisa was about to press her further on this when the phone rang.

              Grace got up and moved into the hallway to answer it, as if in a trance. ‘Oh, hi Eliot. Yes, we’re fine. How’s work? Good. Actually, I have seen her. Marisa is right here. It was a lovely surprise. She dropped in about half an hour ago for a cup of tea…’ Grace turned to address her sister-in-law but found the kitchen was empty. All she could see was Lily out in the garden splashing her bare feet in the water of the paddling pool. Then she heard the sound of a car engine speeding away, the tyres screeching noisily in the distance.