can’t,’ Phoebe protested. ‘She’s upset enough as it is, poor little devil. It could create all kinds of repercussions.’
Lynn sighed. ‘Then what are you going to do?’
Phoebe took a deep breath. ‘I’ll take her home myself. And hopefully give Cindy, and this absentee father of hers, a piece of my mind in the process.’
‘You can’t just walk off with someone’s child. Otherwise it will be you the police will be calling on.’
‘That’s a risk I’ll have to take.’ Phoebe looked at the clock above the kitchen door. ‘And why isn’t there a search party out for her anyway? No, I’ve got to do it, Lynn. I’ve got to see her home safely and talk to someone in authority about what’s been going on.’
Lynn shook her head. ‘Rather you than me.’
As Phoebe had expected, Tara was reluctant to accompany her.
‘No, I’ve got to wait for Cindy.’ Her bottom lip jutted ominously.
‘But the café is closing for the night,’ Phoebe told her gently. ‘If Cindy comes it will be all dark and locked up.’
‘Then I’ll sit in her car and wait.’
Over my dead body, Phoebe returned silently. Aloud, she said, ‘Let’s go and see if it’s still where she parked it, shall we?’
The main car park was emptying fast, and the white Peugeot 205 was standing in the middle, in splendid isolation. It was also securely locked, which Phoebe secretly regarded as a bonus under the circumstances.
However, she was getting more concerned about Cindy’s non-appearance by the minute.
‘Perhaps her boyfriend’s motorbike’s had a puncture,’ she suggested neutrally. ‘Whatever, there’s no point hanging round here in the cold and dark. We’ll go round to the bus station and find out when there’s one to Fitton Magna.’
But here too she drew a blank. Buses to Fitton Magna, she learned, were thin on the ground. There was one return trip mid-morning and mid-afternoon each day. And a market day special which she’d missed as well.
‘Right,’ Phoebe said breezily, thanking her stars she’d been paid at lunchtime. ‘We’ll get a taxi.’
Even if the people at the other end weren’t very pleased with what she had to say, they would at least reimburse the fare to her—wouldn’t they?
‘Do you know the address?’ she asked, fixing Tara’s seat-belt.
‘Of course.’ The outraged note was back, if a little wobbly. ‘It’s North Fitton House.’
‘Would that be on the Midburton Road?’ the driver asked as he started the engine.
‘I don’t know,’ Phoebe confessed. ‘I’ve never been there.’ At least, I hope I haven’t, she amended silently. ‘Is it, Tara?’
‘I think so.’ The little girl didn’t sound any too sure.
‘Well, Fitton Magna isn’t exactly big. Reckon we’ll find it,’ said the driver.
It was a placid drive through the dark lanes, but, all the same, Phoebe could feel tension rising inside her. Beside her, Tara was very quiet. Perhaps too quiet?
I don’t really know anything about her, Phoebe realised ruefully. Certainly not enough to go charging in and taking over like this. Lynn was right. I should have stayed out of it. Handed the whole mess over to the police or Social Services.
What do I do if there’s no one at her home either? Why didn’t I think things through?
There was a muffled sound beside her, as if Tara was choking back a sob, and Phoebe reached out and took a small, cold, shaking hand, squeezing it comfortingly.
‘Everything’s going to be all right,’ she whispered. ‘Trust me.’
Knowing, even as she spoke, that in truth she could guarantee nothing.
They were coming to a scatter of houses, lights gleaming behind curtained windows, and Phoebe felt an icy fist clench in her stomach.
Any moment now, she thought, and she might find herself back at the place where the actual scenario of her nightmare had been played out.
But maybe that was what she needed—to go back and exorcise this particular demon once and for all. Let herself see that it was all in the past. That, even if it was the same house where she’d been so bitterly humiliated, the people had changed. Because Tara’s name was Vane, and no one called that had been involved.
I would, she told herself, have remembered that.
Ashton, she thought. Dominic Ashton. That had been his name. No Dark Lord of her overheated imagination, but a normal man caught off-guard and reacting furiously to a shameful, tasteless joke.
Who was now somewhere else, living his perfectly normal life, and who had probably never given the incident another thought. Whose biting mouth would twist sardonically in disbelief at the possibility that she could still be tormented by her memories.
It doesn’t matter any more, she told herself, drawing a deep breath. I can’t afford to let it.
‘Well, this is it,’ the taxi driver announced.
Leaning forward, Phoebe saw NORTH FTTTON HOUSE inscribed on the gate pillar, and, glancing up, the stone gryphon which crowned it. Quite unforgettably.
‘Yes,’ she said tonelessly. ‘This is the place. Could you drive up to the door, please, and wait for me?’
Tara was reluctant to leave the taxi. ‘They’re going to be so angry.’ Her voice caught on a sob.
‘But not with you,’ Phoebe said bracingly. ‘Or they’ll have me to deal with.’
She walked forward up the two shallow steps flanked by stone urns, bare now with the onset of winter. On her last visit they’d been a vibrant, sprawling mass of colour which had matched the light and warmth spilling out of the house and her own inner excitement about the party she’d been going to. The man she’d been going to see.
‘Sweet Phoebe.’ She could hear his voice whispering to her persuasively, overcoming her scruples. ‘Promise me you’ll be there.’
And I went, Phoebe thought as she rang the bell. Like a lamb to the slaughter.
After a pause, the door was opened by a stout, white-haired woman wearing a dark dress and a neat apron.
‘Good evening.’ She sounded surprised. ‘Can I help...?’ Her gaze fell on Tara, clinging to Phoebe’s hand, and her hand flew to her mouth.
‘Oh, my God, it’s the little one. You should have been home hours ago, you naughty girl. I was just going to take your supper up to the nursery. And where’s that Cindy, may I ask?’
‘You may indeed,’ Phoebe said quietly, leading Tara into the hall. ‘I’ve brought
