‘You were back pretty late last night.’ Dean almost smirked. ‘Lola was tucked up and fast asleep in Sorrel’s room by the time you were back. We’d both been wondering where you were. You know, what you wereup to. Have a good time, did you?’
Ignoring Dean’s implication that I was out on the town while he was left at home to babysit, I said, ‘Dean, I have to be up at The White House all morning. I need to know where Lola is, who she’s with and what time she’s coming back.’
‘A sleepover, the woman said.’ Dean took a surreptitious look at his phone. ‘Look, Jess, I really need to get on. You lot might be on an extended Easter holiday, but I have a queue of MOTs and services to get through. So, if you don’t mind…’
‘“A sleepover”? And “the woman said”?’ I air quoted the phrases crossly, pointing my fingers somewhat rudely in Dean’s face as I did so. ‘Rubywaswith this woman? This fit housekeeper, wasn’t she?’
Dean hesitated for a split second. ‘Yes, in the car. She must have been.’
‘She must have been?For fuck’s sake, Dean! Did you not go down the drive and see Lola off in the car? What car was it? Have you got a phone number? You donotlet Lola go anywhere without my knowing where she is…’
‘Youdoknow!’ Dean was sulky now. ‘Queen’s Gardens. You picked her up from there the other day. She’ll be having a great time away from your wittering. Which, although you’ve decided to throw me out, you still seem to think it OK to subjectmeto…’
Subject him to?Dean’s vocabulary was obviously improving. I tried to think rationally.
‘Dean,’ I said as calmly as I could, ‘did Lola have clean knickers with her? Her nightie? A bag with her if she’s staying overnight?’
‘I’m sure she did. She went upstairs to get her things while I chatted to the woman.’
Chatted up, I thought peevishly. Could the man never see a female without the need to impress on her the charisma that was Dean Butterworth?
‘I have to get off,’ I said.
‘Fine.’ Dean held up two hands, almost in defeat, before scratching absentmindedly at his scrotum through his boxers, an unsavoury habit of his I’d put up with for the past twelve years or so and now, yes! Now, I wouldn’t have to put up with it any more. ‘A plate of your scrambled eggs wouldn’t be on the cards, would it, Jessie?’
‘No, Dean, it wouldn’t,’ I said pleasantly. ‘I’m going to takemydog inmyvan, to find out exactly wheremydaughter is before heading off tomynew place of work.’
That shut him up. For all of two seconds.
‘OK, if you’re beingproprietorial’ – (Dean was obviously proud of this word because he repeated it) – ‘if you’re determined to beproprietorial,’he shouted at my retreating back, ‘then can I ask justwhogave that kid permission to ridemybike and usemyhelmet…?’
But I was bundling Arthur onto Vera’s backseat and heading for Queen’s Gardens.
* * *
‘Hello?’ On this, my second visit to Will-O’-The-Wisp,the intercomcrackled immediately into life once I’d pressed the buzzer on the gate post.
‘Oh, Mr…’ I couldn’t for the life of me remember what Ruby’s dad was called. Henry, that was it. Henry double-barrelled. ‘Hi, it’s Jessica, Lola’s mum again. We met a couple of days ago? I just need…’ The huge metal gate swung open, cutting me off mid flow. I followed the gravel path I’d taken before, but this time, Henry (that was his name, thank goodness I’d remembered) was waiting in front of the huge closed second gate, no dogs (either the daft Pomeranians or the ravening beasts as described to me by Lola) to be seen or heard.
‘Jessica, isn’t it? Do come in. How lovely to see you again!’
Was it? I stared up at this tall, good-looking man, dressed, today, in white shirt and chinos. Very stylish.
‘So, what can I do for you?’
‘Basically, I need a phone number.’
‘A phone number? Any particular one?’ He smiled.
‘Yourphone number.’
‘Mine? Oh? Why?’
Hell, this was hard work. ‘Lola is here…’
‘Lola? Oh, your daughter? She’s here?’ Henry glanced around the garden and towards the house and then back at his watch. ‘At this time of the morning?’
My pulse raced. ‘My husband said a woman had picked Lola up an hour or so ago?’
