‘Give her my love.’
‘If she asks about you, then of course I will. Have patience, Mr Stonebridge. It’ll be worth it in the long run.’
Will hoped that it would, because this was agony. He called Barry, who said he could get a lad to him the following day and would ten o’clock be convenient.
How refreshing it was to hear nothing about his recent troubles. If only everything were so simple. When would life return to normality?
Absentmindedly, he began looking through Kate’s old paintings. He selected one entitled A Meeting of Fairies in the Forest and stood it on her workbench. He then took one of her most recent works, a grim and forlorn depiction of dark shapes trudging across the marsh at twilight and stood it beside the first. The two paintings had absolutely nothing in common.
He put the later picture back with the others, its face to the wall, and left the joyful woodland dance on the bench. He remembered her finishing it — her joyful smile when he had declared it her best to date. He had picked her up and swung her round. How he had loved her! He saw them not long after they had moved in, chasing each other through the house and giggling like two children.
Would they ever be like that again? He tidied her brushes up and straightened some sheets of paper. He doubted it but swore that he wouldn’t give up hope.
* * *
Days passed. Sophie remained silent, locked inside herself. Kate, he was told, was slowly responding to the drugs and the therapy.
Matt and Liz spent a lot of time with him, mainly trying to resurrect the garden after the damage wrought by all those policemen’s boots. They prepared nourishing meals, Will having no appetite for his own efforts.
He and Matt helped Emilia move back into her cottage, and he resumed his twice-daily walks there, just to reassure the old lady that he was around should she need him. They also provided a good excuse to get out of Holland House.
Although there was precious little to report, Swifty kept them abreast of developments in the cases against Grove and Hemmings. Every day had brought new evidence to light about the indecent images of children and the pornography racket. It had been a big, well-organised business and Grove had been much more than just the go-between on the marsh. Offshore accounts traced back to him showed up a lot of money. The cottage on the marsh for the “reclusive entomologist” was just a temporary and useful base, being situated so close to where his delivery boats came in. They also discovered that he had other properties scattered around the country. The business had yielded him rich pickings and, apparently, another year working from Whisper Fen would have seen him ready to cash in and disappear abroad.
Despite all this, evidence proving that he had also abducted Sophie was much more difficult to find, and with the child unable to help, the police were growing increasingly frustrated. The boy Grove was alleged to have kidnapped some years ago had disappeared without trace. There was nothing suspicious about this. The young man had taken to the streets the previous year and had not been heard of in months.
Bryn Owen finally admitted that there was a real danger that Grove would get away with abduction again. They were still sure that he had taken her, but proving it was a different matter. So far they didn’t have nearly enough evidence for the CPS. He would certainly go down for all the other crimes, but most likely not for taking Sophie.
Tempers were running high at the police station, and patience wearing thin in the family unit where Sophie was being looked after.
And on Whisper Fen, time stood still.
* * *
The following weekend, Sam, who had been staying on to lend Will his support, announced that he needed to go home. He had mail and messages to attend to, and he ought to make sure that his cottage was okay. He promised to return the following Monday.
On Sunday evening, at the end of a miserable, drizzly day, Will had a visitor.
Will was shocked by the change in him. Philip Fauve looked as grey as the weather. He had visibly lost weight, was unshaven, and his usual buzz cut had grown out. Will was reminded of Kate’s abrupt change from a healthy, vivacious brunette to a lank and dreary stranger in scruffy clothes.
They went into the lounge, where Will poured him a large scotch and they sat facing the log fire.
‘How is she?’ Will asked.
‘They say she is improving, but I can’t see it,’ Philip said.
‘Have you been allowed in to see her?’
‘Yes. Yesterday they let me sit with her for almost an hour. I talked to her about all the things she loves — the Brownies, the animals, and what Françoise has been up to. I even told her funny stories, but there was no response. Nothing at all.’
Will’s heart sank. ‘So, what’s next?’
‘Getting her home,’ Fauve said.
‘Ah.’
‘That’s why I’m here. They are moving her to the psychiatric wing tomorrow. They’ll do some tests there, and hopefully release her into the care of Dr Abrahams, the air force doctor. We could be airborne a week from today.’
‘That’s good, isn’t it?’ Will asked.
‘Yeah.’ Fauve hesitated. ‘Thing is, Will. I know that you’re her only relative, and . . . and I’m real sorry about this, but they don’t want you to see her before she goes.’
Will felt like a bucket of freezing water had been thrown in his face.
‘It’s to do with associations,’ Philip was saying. ‘You know, she associates you with the fen, and then, obviously, with what happened to her.’
While he had been alone, Will had been indulging in various fantasies in which he and Sophie were happily reunited. He had pictured himself in Canada, spending days at the lake with her, rowing, swimming, fishing. It was never going to happen.
‘Could I see her through the one-way glass, do you think?’ Will asked hopefully.
Fauve avoided his gaze. ‘Sorry, Will. Look, as soon as she is better . . .’ He stood up. ‘I have to go, things to organise. Will, I am so very sorry.’
‘Look after her, Philip.’ Will stepped forward and hugged him.
‘I’ll keep in touch, Will, I promise. And tell Kate we are thinking about her. Good luck.’
Will closed the door, turned the key and drew the bolt.
* * *
In the weeks that followed, the news from Canada was fairly encouraging. Back with her family, Sophie had emerged from her shell. But there were subjects that remained taboo, and sadly he was one of them. According to Annette, she was improving daily but there was little trace of the child that had embarked for England. She was nervous, moody and prone to rages that were followed by periods of black depression. Nevertheless, the doctors at the military hospital, where she was being treated as an outpatient, remained tentatively optimistic. It would just take time. She had never once mentioned her ordeal, or even her trip to England. It was as if she had never gone.
* * *
‘You may come and see Kate if you like, Mr Stonebridge. Tomorrow at two, if that is convenient?’
He chose his clothes with care, feeling like a youngster going on a first date. It had been three weeks since Kate had gone into the clinic. He had spoken on the phone with her a couple of times, but this would be his first visit. He longed to breathe her special scent of flowers.
He checked the time again.
This was it. He smoothed down his trousers and picked a piece of cotton from his sleeve. Reminding himself to stop on the way and buy her flowers, he locked up and headed for the car.