The Devil's Feather - Minette Walters [56]
THERE’S NO QUESTION Jess was my protector when she roared up the drive within ten minutes of my phone call. It was a little like having a knight on a white charger come to the rescue, except there was no chivalry and very little TLC. When I unlocked the back door her dogs came bounding in behind her, and she snapped at me angrily as I shrank against the wall. “I’m not facing an intruder on my own,” she hissed, following the mastiffs into the kitchen. “Wait there.” I heard her unlock the door to the corridor and then the swish of the green baize as she and the dogs disappeared into the body of the house.
It was only when she came back alone five minutes later that I saw she was carrying a gun. She broke it across her knee and put it on the table. “You’re OK. No signs of a break-in, and I’ve left the dogs in the hall. So what happened?”
I can’t remember what explanation I gave, other than to repeat that I thought I’d seen someone in the garden the evening before. The truth was too complicated, and I was too tired to pick my way through the minefield of revelation. Jess was unimpressed. “Why didn’t you call the police? That’s what they’re there for.”
“I don’t know,” I said, sinking miserably to my haunches in the corner. “I didn’t think of it.”
She reached down impatiently and hauled me to my feet. “Stop being so bloody pathetic and show some guts,” she growled, pushing me on to a chair. “I know you’ve got them.”
I wondered if this was how she’d treated Nathaniel. If so, it was hardly surprising he’d preferred Madeleine’s flattery. I don’t know what I’d expected from her—sympathy and a little affection, perhaps—but it never occurred to me that she might be frightened. It should have done. I should have guessed that my mention of an intruder would take her straight to MacKenzie’s photo.
At the time she’d worked on the headshot, I’d expected her to bombard me with questions. She hadn’t, although I do remember her asking what the man’s name was and why I was doing it. She used the computer at the farm, with me sitting beside her, and she seemed content with the answers I gave—that it was someone I knew by sight, who was wanted in Africa for passport offences. The only comment she made was that it was surprising I was ignorant of his name when I remembered his face so well.
“Was it that man?” she demanded now.
I stared at my hands.
“Who is he? Why would he come looking for you?” When I didn’t answer, she reached for the cordless phone and held it out to me. “Call the police…I’ll give you the number of the local station. The person you should ask for is Steve Banks. He’s our community bobby, and this is his area. He’s a good bloke.” She put the receiver on the table in front of me. “You’ve got one minute to make up your mind, then I’ll do it myself.”
I pulled the phone towards me and cradled it against my chest. “There’s no point. I didn’t see anyone.”
“Then why tell me you did? Why lock yourself in here?”
“You wouldn’t have come if I’d said I’d locked myself in for no reason.”
She turned on the tap and ran some water into the kettle. “You look like shit,” she said severely. “Do you want to go upstairs and sort yourself out while I make some coffee? I’ll shut the dogs in the back room so you don’t throw a panic attack when you see them.” She flicked me one of her penetrating gazes as she switched on the kettle before heading for the door to the corridor. “And don’t start feeling sorry for yourself. If you take longer than half an hour, I’ll be gone…and I won’t come back. I really hate weepy women.”
DENIAL’S A WONDERFUL THING. You can survive forever if you say “no.” It’s “yes” that puts you at risk. Yes, I’d like a job. Yes, I’ll go to Baghdad. Yes, I know who abducted me. Yes, I can identify MacKenzie. I had a great-aunt who said “no” to everything. She died a virgin at ninety-eight and her