‘Then we’ll speak to her,’ said Belle, and they lay back down on the grass and soaked up the last of the sun. ‘Gently, mind. When you think she’s strong enough.’

69

It was a frosty December day when Nula came home in the Bentley. Terry was in the front passenger seat, and Peter – one of Charlie’s old boys who had advanced training in mobile protection work – was at the wheel. Charlie sat beside her in the back, chatting to her, making out everything was fine. Nula had felt like it was, back at the clinic. The doctors had said they were pleased with her progress.

Now, doubts were creeping in again. What they were riding along in was a mobile fortress; the car was armour-plated. They had someone at the wheel who could thwart an attack if one happened. And Terry was armed. When he’d picked up her bag at the clinic, she’d seen the bulge of the gun in its shoulder holster under his suit jacket.

‘All right then, babes?’ Charlie was asking her, while she was thinking about all this security that Charlie had to have around him now. Because people wanted to kill him. He was a wealthy man with a dangerous secret life, and there were those who would want to take all that away from him and have it for themselves.

‘Yeah.’ She forced a shaky smile. ‘Fine.’ She looked at her husband. He was growing older, chunkier. His brown hair had receded until now his head looked like a monk’s, with a smooth bald section in the middle. Only his brown eyes were the same as always. He looked tanned. He looked rich. Every inch the successful owner of Stone Furnishings Ltd.

The car swung sharply left as they turned into the driveway, passing the gatehouse. Then they were roaring up to the main house and Peter was parking up. The engine died and they all got out, Charlie moving ahead of her, leading the way indoors. Indoors, to the place where her baby had died. And where – she didn’t doubt this, not for a minute – their adopted child had tried to kill her.

She hesitated inside the open doorway, looking in at the massive gold-decorated Christmas tree, the loops of ivy and bright baubles bedecking the big staircase in the hall. She could hear David Bowie and Bing Crosby dueting on ‘Peace on Earth/Little Drummer Boy’.

‘Like it?’ asked Charlie. ‘We had it all done special, just for you.’

‘Where’s Milly?’ she asked, not answering his question.

‘Upstairs,’ said Charlie. ‘She’ll be down in a minute. Can’t wait to see you.’

‘And is he here . . . ?’

She could see Charlie making an effort to be reasonable. To be patient. Neither of which were Charlie’s strong suit. ‘Who, babes?’

‘Harlan.’