Home for the Holidays Page 9

  He rose too, wincing as the blood returned to his legs in a storm of pins and needles. ‘Let me drive you. Not because I think you can’t walk home in the dark on your own,’ he added, remembering her objections to Sebastian, ‘but because you look cold after sitting around on the kitchen floor and it’s late. You’ll only get colder.’

  When she looked undecided he added, ‘You have to let me because it’s evidence that I’m trying to be a better person.’

  Her eyes sparkled for a moment as they had the night of the wrecking party. ‘Oh, OK then, if I’m helping you along the path to redemption.’

  When he’d driven her into the village and watched her hop out of his truck outside her cottage with its old stone wall and her car parked outside, Ben drove back to Woodward and slept all night for the first time in months.

  Chapter Seven

  October blew in like a dragon, which meant Alexia had to keep running to The Angel to check the tarpaulin was still nailed to the old roof timbers.

  She attended to her day job despondently. Her major project was a townhouse refurb in Bettsbrough where walls were coming down to make the loo and bathroom into one space and the kitchen, utility room and dining room another. It was all systems go because she’d scheduled various tradesmen for the three-week period when she could promise the clients would stay with family, out of the way. She reminded the client how much dust and inconvenience there would be, just to make sure.

  At the same time – or on the same loan – the clients had ordered new windows and chose the last minute as the perfect time to go into mourning for the original stained glass. Alexia dashed to the site to take photographs and rubbings to enable a specialist glazier to make up replica double-glazed units. Just as she was ready to leave for the glazier’s workshop she received a text.

  Gabe: Everybody who needed to give police statements or provide consent to close old accounts and open new ones has done so. Some of the dust could be considered settled.

  Gabe had taken the lead in dealing with the bank’s fraud department, grumbling that it had to be by telephone to some remote location instead of in their local branch with an actual person. With a bit of ‘not like in my day’ harrumphing he was spending hours jumping through the tedious and frustrating hoops that needed to be jumped through for both bank and police, and marshalling Alexia, Jodie and Christopher Carlysle as necessary.

  Alexia closed the door of the client’s sitting room against the noise of a disc cutter from the bowels of the house and rang him. ‘There’s a lot more than dust to be settled – the police haven’t found Shane and Tim!’

  Gabe’s short laugh echoed in her ear. ‘I think they know we’ve seen the last of the slick little weasels.’

  Alexia rubbed her forehead. A band of pain above her eyes tightened with every bang and clang from the kitchen. ‘So the police don’t think they’ll be able to pin them down?’

  ‘They haven’t been able to discover a thing. When I question whether they can do more I’m told, “It’s a matter of resources”. I’d like to pin down Shane and Tim – or whatever their real names are – with their own nail guns.’

  ‘So –’ Alexia heard her voice shake ‘– we are going to have to go public about the money.’ Word had got around about The Angel being stripped out – the police doing their door-to-door thing had made sure of that – but Gabe had suggested silence regarding the money until the police and the bank had had a chance to consider the situation and give their views. He’d said it would be easier to face the inevitable and understandable questions if they had at least some idea of the answers.

  He sighed. ‘But you know that. Tubb’s agreed we can call a village meeting in the pub for Saturday.’

  ‘Yes. But I was hoping we’d get the money back first …’

  Alexia rang off with a feeling of doom. Perhaps she’d read too much crime fiction but somehow she’d expected the police to catch the miscreants and restore all they’d stolen. She hadn’t let herself consider the consequences should they refused to be caught, but now, as she let herself out of the noisy house and into the comparative quiet of her car, she had to face the fact that there was a nasty mess to clear up and she and Gabe were the ones left holding the mops and buckets.

  Christopher Carlysle couldn’t wait to disassociate himself from The Angel and all who sank in her. Benign landowner lending his estate for fundraising events had been his chosen role. Hapless victim held no attraction.

  Jodie, after taking several days off to cope with the misery of Shane’s perfidy, had returned to her job in a Bettsbrough coffee shop and had to be coaxed and cajoled into doing her part in providing what the police and the bank needed. Having to admit that Shane had emptied her personal accounts had made her more silent and withdrawn than ever.

  Alexia drove to the glazier and then home through pelting rain, realising she could no longer ignore Elton’s How’s it going? Let’s make plans emails.

  The police were not going to pull off a miracle.

  The village meeting in two days’ time would have to go ahead. If Alexia had ever considered running away, now was the time, before that meeting, but she knew she’d never leave Gabe to face it alone. At least it should make up for any business the wrecking party might have cost The Three Fishes as a lot of stiff drinks would be required when the news broke.

  Alexia didn’t know if or when she’d be in a position to add a dazzling altruistic touch to her portfolio via The Angel. Her heady vision of restoring The Angel to its former glory, all glittering glass, glowing wood and flowing lines, was under a giant black cloud. With a heavy heart she let herself through her front door, shucked off the red raincoat that usually made her feel cheery and, taking a deep breath, picked up her phone to call Elton.

  He answered instantly. ‘About time, too! What’s going on with you? I absolutely stole a Streatham property at the auction today. It’s a small block of studio flats with shower rooms but they have their own balconies, Alexia … in Streatham! I’m my investor’s golden boy today because young professionals will lap them up.’

  ‘If the ceilings are high you might be able to put in mezzanine sleeping platforms to maximise the space,’ Alexia suggested automatically, before remembering she hadn’t called for a creative ideas storm. She sighed. ‘Actually, I’m calling with bad news.’

  Instantly, Elton sobered. ‘What’s that?’

  He became progressively quieter as Alexia explained.

  ‘So that’s about it,’ she wound down eventually. ‘We’ve worked through the aftermath with the police and the bank, which has got us precisely nowhere, so I can’t give you an idea of when or how I’m going to get the project underway. We’re still reeling from the shock.’

  If she’d harboured any glimmer of hope that Elton would react with, ‘Oh, no! You poor guys. Don’t worry Alexia, make your portfolio as fantastic as you can and include The Angel as “work in progress” and I’ll present it to my investor now,’ she was destined for disappointment.

  First came a pregnant silence. Then Elton swore viciously. ‘How the hell did you let this happen? I can’t present you to my investor applauding your outstanding project-management skills when you’ve just let a builder do you up like a kipper!’

  Alexia’s leaden heart sank towards her boots. ‘But—’

  Elton snapped, ‘Don’t ask whether we really have to tell her. Because yes, we sodding do. Otherwise I’d be putting my nuts on the chopping block. She expects scrupulous honesty.’

  Instantly, Alexia felt her hackles rise. He was making it sound as if she’d been found out doing something awful and was looking to Elton to lie for her. ‘And you couldn’t just tell her honestly what’s happened and get her views on whether she wants to see my portfolio anyway?’

  A pause. ‘She also expects me to act professionally.’

  Alexia swallowed. ‘I see.’ A wave of anger almost stole her voice. ‘Disappointing.’

  ‘Not kidding. I thought I’d have you on boar
d by New Year. We could all have made a lot of money, you know. If things had gone to plan.’

  ‘Being mistaken over someone’s support is unpleasant,’ Alexia said, through her teeth. She waited for Elton to get the irony and realise he ought to say something sympathetic or even apologetic. When all she got was further griping about Elton’s plans being ruined, she cut across him. ‘You’re going to be busy finding someone to take my place in the team so I won’t waste any more of your time.’ She ended the call, sick with disappointment and disillusion.

  She sank her face in her hands and wallowed in self-pity. The worst had happened. No new job. No new home. No exciting regeneration projects or healthy bank balance. It hadn’t been a black cloud threatening her project, more a swinging axe – wielded by about the only fellow-student who’d bothered to keep in touch with her after her short-lived time at uni. The one she’d thought was her friend.

  By the time Saturday crawled around, Alexia was feeling very alone.

  To start with, Jodie made it clear that facing the village meeting was not on her agenda. ‘I just can’t, I’m sorry.’ Alexia stood at the window and watched her buzz off up Main Road in her little white Fiat knowing that Jodie feared bleeding from the cuts of a hundred accusing gazes because of her involvement with Shane. Though her only crime was to have been taken in by a conman, Jodie wasn’t good at bearing anguish.

  Christopher Carlysle hadn’t even bothered replying to Gabe’s notification of the meeting.

  So that left Alexia and Gabe.

  And, to her surprise, Ben, who arrived with Gabe at ten to seven. Alexia had barely seen him since the night his confidences had built a shaky bridge over the breech between them, but managed a wavering smile as she fumbled to do up her coat. ‘Let’s get this over with.’

  Gabe gave her a bracing hug. ‘They can only hang us once.’

  The chill inside Alexia matched the bite in the October air as the three of them trudged up Main Road to the pub, which had already been strung with lights outside ready for Christmas and looked much cheerier than Alexia felt.

  The Three Fishes was so full that they had to push their way in past the red and silver poster that invited them to ‘Come and join us for a special festive dinner on Christmas Eve! Ask at the bar for details!’ Alexia tried to smile as eyes swivelled in their direction. Reminding herself that these were people she’d known all her life, the same who’d enthusiastically supported the fundraising in the first place, she forced her chin up as she followed Gabe. Someone patted her on the shoulder and she flinched as if expecting a knife in her back until she realised it was probably Ben.

  When they reached the polished wooden bar where Tubb watched events from behind the beer taps and beside a counter-top Christmas tree, Gabe gave Alexia a reassuring smile. ‘Might as well get on with it.’

  She nodded and they turned to face the rows of expectant faces. Alexia’s hands began to sweat.

  Without hesitation, Gabe boomed, ‘Ladies and gentlemen.’ The bar, which had been alive with hushes and mutterings, fell silent. Even the thunk … thunk … thunk from the dartboard paused.

  Gabe made the grave announcement that the money the village had raised had gone and there was little prospect of it coming back. Before he could provide more details, the protests began.

  ‘What?’

  ‘How the hell—?’

  ‘What do you mean “gone”?’

  ‘Has someone got sticky fingers? Started their Christmas shopping early, have they?’

  Gabe held up his hands for quiet but it only caused the volume to increase as people tried to shush those uttering protests, and the protestors protested at being shushed.

  A loud, ‘Please! If you please!’ from Gabe did eventually reduce the clamour to an angry buzz. Meeting the stunned, hostile and suspicious gazes as Gabe explained everything they knew was the hardest thing Alexia had ever done. Her heart felt as if it were trying to escape her chest and Gabe had to raise his voice again and again as angry muttering became angry talking, even punctuated by the odd angry shout.

  Then Ben, who’d been watching in silence, leant over the bar and gave the last orders bell several energetic tugs. The clanging ripped through the uproar and left a startled hush in its wake.

  He spoke quietly. ‘Gabe can now take any questions you might have.’

  People certainly did have questions. They asked loudly, louder, loudest, over one another, of each other, and Ben clanged the bell again. ‘One at a time, please!’ Thereafter he took control of the meeting, pointing at each person in turn, giving them the go ahead to speak.

  Gabe did his best to answer. No, the police had no leads on Shane or Tim. In fact, there was no record of this particular Shane Edmunds or Tim O’Neill existing.

  No, the police hadn’t put out descriptions to other forces as the fraud wasn’t considered big enough, but they had circulated pictures of Shane on the police national computer. No, that hadn’t brought forward any clues. No, nobody knew what their real names were or how to stop people opening accounts with stolen identities.

  No, it was unlikely that the bank would replace the money unless it could be proved that their organisation had been negligent.

  Bracing herself, Alexia stepped in and took the next barrage, the flashing lights on the Christmas tree beginning to make her head ache. No, neither she nor Jodie had had any clue that Shane was anything but genuine or, obviously, they would have had nothing to do with him. Well, yes, she supposed they had made it possible for him to see examples of their signatures and snaffle cheques from their cheque books. And, likewise, Jodie must have allowed him to see her password as she typed it in. Yes, they did feel terrible—

  Ben clanged the bell again. ‘I know you don’t mean to make this personal,’ he suggested mildly. ‘Jodie was taken in by a trickster. It could have happened to any one. Many of you met Shane. Hands up everyone who noticed he was a practised conman.’

  No hands were waved and a charged silence took the place of heated questions, but few of the villagers seemed to want to meet the gazes of Gabe or Alexia.

  Then, just as it seemed the worst was over, Carola pushed her way to the front of the pack. ‘Nothing like this ever happened to the village hall.’ Her triumph, though delivered in her silvery voice, carried as clearly as Tubb’s bell.

  Sick of the whole situation, Alexia jumped on her remark. ‘Good. Because I wouldn’t wish this situation on anyone. We’ve been betrayed and used and now we’re left with the fallout. It’s not just about the money the village raised. The Angel is Gabe’s personal property and it’s been thoroughly devalued by a pair of unscrupulous thieves. We couldn’t feel any worse, so you’re wasting your breath trying to make us.’

  Carola’s mouth shut suddenly.

  When no one said more, Ben turned to the bar and ordered three double whiskies. Janice, no doubt at Tubb’s prompting, began to take advantage of the crowded bar by trying to flog a few Christmas raffle tickets.

  ‘I’m going home.’ Alexia could hardly speak for the lump of misery in her throat.

  Ben’s eyes were sympathetic. ‘The anger isn’t really against you, it’s against Shane and Tim. Stay for a drink and they might begin to thaw.’ Passing along the whisky glasses, he gave them a mock toast. ‘To Shane and Tim.’

  ‘May it choke them,’ responded Gabe.

  They drank in glum silence. Gradually though, as Ben had predicted, a couple of people came to commiserate, a few to ask more questions, as if they could scarcely believe the baddies had got away with the loot. When the fifth person had said, ‘Bastards. They ought to be strung up,’ Alexia began to believe that Ben had been right. The anger wasn’t really directed against her and Gabe.

  Except Carola’s. That had seemed pretty personal. Alexia didn’t know what was wrong with her lately. Or rather she did – it was the village hall versus The Angel. With the village hall shut and her girls, Charlotte and Emily, being teens and increasingly self-sufficient, Carola didn’t
have enough to occupy her.

  Gabe nudged Alexia from her thoughts. ‘Whilst we’re dealing with difficult things we should schedule a clean-up meeting.’

  Alexia groaned. ‘Is it worth it?’

  Gabe’s eyebrows met. ‘I need to know where I stand.’ He paused, scratching his nose uncomfortably. ‘Christopher’s made it plain he wants no more to do with The Angel. I’d completely understand if you and Jodie felt the same but I need to know because I’ve got to do something with the bloody place.’

  Alexia almost choked on her whisky. ‘Do you think I’d just leave you holding the baby – dirty and smelly as it is?’

  He took a swig of his drink, looking relieved. ‘Why don’t you and Jodie come to Sunday lunch tomorrow? We can talk things over.’

  ‘Great.’ But Alexia felt a wriggle of doubt. ‘I’ll have to check with Jodie, though.’ Then, realising from his face that she’d sounded totally unenthusiastic, she gave Gabe a hug. ‘I’ll be there, of course. But now I’m going home to a comforting cup of tea and a good book.’

  Thankfully this time neither Ben nor anyone else tried to detain her, although a few of the villagers managed sympathetic or sheepish smiles as she pushed her way to the pub’s front door.

  When Alexia reached the cottage Jodie’s car was in its usual spot. Struggling out of her coat she called, ‘Jodie?’ When there was no reply she ran upstairs and tapped on the door to Jodie’s room.

  Jodie appeared, eyes red-rimmed and skin blotchy, hair unbrushed. She hovered on the threshold of her space as if on guard.

  Alexia hesitated, slightly wrong footed by the door not being thrown open to enable her to step inside. ‘Are you OK?’

  Jodie shrugged. ‘Suppose. What was the meeting like? Was it really hostile? I’m sorry I couldn’t …’ She gulped and any residual irritation and hurt drained away from Alexia’s heart. When Jodie was down in the dumps she really went a long way down.

  Not wanting to make her friend feel worse than she obviously did, Alexia tried to pass it off lightly. ‘There was some anger and disillusion, but nobody threw anything.’