Angel of Death

The two policemen looked at each other, then got up. ‘Thank you for your co-operation, sir,’ Sergeant Maddrell said politely.

When they had left the office Terry reached for the phone, began to dial, then changed his mind and slammed the phone down again. It would be a mistake to ring the airfield and tell them not to talk to the police. What would they think, if he did?

He ran his hands over his face and groaned softly. For years he had been free of this tension, this permanent anxiety, needing to watch everything he said, did.

He had thought it was all behind him, he would never have to live with feelings like that again. But here they were once more. He was living in a minefield; before he took a single step he had to test the ground around him, and even then something could set off an explosion which might blow his whole world away.

He had tried so hard, moving away from everything he knew, distancing himself from all his old friends, even from his family, transforming his life in every way. Sean didn’t remember how it had been. The boy had no idea what he had achieved, how hard he had fought. He took for granted everything they owned, the house, the cars, the money.

Maybe it was time to tell him, but Terry wasn’t ready to do that yet. There was a tightness in his chest, a coldness round his heart. He was afraid that Sean would be excited, fascinated, rather than alarmed or frightened. The boy was drawn to that dark side of life, to clubs and cheap women, to fast cars and gambling. It wasn’t his fault, though, Terry knew very well. It was in his blood. It was their genes, their fate.

Terry was afraid for him. Sean was all he had, his hope for the future. He couldn’t see him destroyed without trying to save him, even if it meant fighting Sean himself.

He would talk to that girl again. It was a risk, but one worth taking, with so much at stake. Maybe now she would listen. She had come close to death. That always made you think, made you realise hard facts, harder choices.

Miranda was being allowed to walk, well, hobble, round the ward now. She had a stick to lean on, to help her balance, her plastered ankle lifted off the ground. Not being in bed made everything look brighter. She could talk to the other patients, sit down beside their beds, chat to them, then move on to someone else. She could go to the bathroom alone.

‘You’ll be home any day now,’ Nurse Embry said, smiling. ‘Will you go to your mother?’

It was decision time. Miranda could not risk her mother’s life by involving her. Nor did she want to go back to her flat, after the burglary. But what should she do? Where should she go?

She rang the number Pandora Leigh had given her. A man answered, his voice deep and foreign. Yet strangely familiar.

‘Who’s that?’ she asked, knowing it wasn’t Pandora’s husband. Charles was English, she would recognise his voice. She guessed that this man was Greek.

He did not answer the question, simply asked, ‘To whom do you wish to speak?’

‘Mrs Leigh, Pandora, please.’

‘Who wishes to speak to her?’

‘My name’s Miranda Grey.’

‘Please wait.’

A moment later Pandora said, ‘Hello? Miranda? How are you?’

‘I’m better, thank you. What about you? How are you feeling?’

‘I have to rest for hours every day, which is a bore, but I’m watching TV and videos and reading, and Charles and I play Scrabble most days. I like to sew and knit, but I’m afraid to make baby clothes in case it brings me bad luck.’

‘Oh, I’m sorry,’ Miranda said inadequately, feeling a pang of sympathy. Poor girl. She had heard the old superstition that it is not wise to make clothes for an expected baby, or buy prams or blankets, until very close to the birth, but she did not believe it. Yet in Pandora’s situation, having already lost other babies, it was easy to understand this reluctance to tempt fate.

‘I hope the fact that you’ve rung means you’ve thought about coming to work for us and decided to come?’ Pandora said brightly.

‘Well, I’m walking, with a stick, and in another couple of weeks I may be able to walk unaided, I hope. So, if the job is still open I thought . . .’

‘It is! Oh, I’m so pleased. I’m sure we’re going to get on. The minute I saw you I liked you, and it will be so nice to have someone English to chat to. Oh, I have Greek friends, girls I knew as a child, but I always feel half-English, because I came to school here. Look, we shall be leaving in a few days – would you be able to fly with us? Or must you stay in hospital for a while?’

‘I’m not sure. I’ll speak to the doctor when he makes his rounds later today, and ring you again tomorrow to let you know.’

‘Don’t forget you’ll need your passport.’

‘Of course, it is up to date, don’t worry.’

‘Charles will draw up a contract for you to sign before we leave. And we’ll need some references – just a couple, from your bank, your doctor, simply personal references. Is that OK?’

‘I’ll get that done when I get out of here,’ Miranda promised and, while she waited to speak to the doctor, made a list of what she would need to take with her. It would mean going to the flat, which made her nervous.