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Clive was silenced for a moment. “Then I’ll have to get another job,” he eventually managed.
“And where do you think you’d live?”
“In my flat, of course.”
“But for how long? You must be aware that the lease on Glebe Place expires in September. I know it was your father’s intention to renew it, but given the circumstances…”
“You can keep the damned flat, Mother. You won’t come between Jess and me.” He turned his back on them both, walked out of the room and closed the door quietly behind him. He then ran upstairs, hoping to reassure Jessica that nothing had changed, and to suggest that they drive back to London immediately. He looked in both bedrooms, but she was nowhere to be seen. On her bed were two dresses, a small evening bag, a pair of shoes, an engagement ring and a drawing of his father. He ran back downstairs to find his father standing in the hall, unable to hide his anger.
“Have you seen Jess?”
“I have. But I’m afraid nothing I could say was going to stop her leaving. She told me what that dreadful woman said, and who can blame the poor girl for not wanting to spend another night under this roof. I asked Burrows to drive her to the station. Get dressed and go after her, Clive. Don’t lose her, because you’ll never find anyone like that again.”
Clive sprinted back upstairs as his father headed toward the drawing room.
“Have you heard Virginia’s news, Robert?” Priscilla asked as he entered the room.
“I most certainly have,” he said, turning to face Virginia. “Now listen to me carefully, Virginia. You will leave this house immediately.”
“But, Robert, I was only trying to help my dear friend.”
“You were doing nothing of the sort, and you know it. You came here with the sole purpose of ruining that young girl’s life.”
“But, Robert darling, Virginia is my oldest friend…”
“Only when it suits her. Don’t even think about defending the woman, otherwise you can go with her, and then you’ll soon find out just how much of a friend she is.”
Virginia rose from her place and walked slowly toward the door. “I’m so sorry to have to say, Priscilla, I won’t be visiting you again.”
“Then at least something good has come out of this,” said Robert.
“No one has ever spoken to me like that before,” Virginia said, turning back to face her adversary.
“Then I suggest you reread Elizabeth Barrington’s will, because she certainly had the measure of you. Now get out, before I throw you out.”
The butler only just managed to open the front door in time to allow Lady Virginia to continue on her way.
* * *
Clive abandoned his car outside the station and ran across the bridge to platform 3. He could hear a guard’s whistle, and by the time he reached the bottom step, the train was already pulling out. He sprinted after it as if he was in a hundred yard final, and was beginning to make up ground, but the train gathered speed just as Clive ran out of platform. He bent down, placed his hands on his knees and tried to catch his breath. As the last carriage disappeared, he turned and began to walk back along the platform. By the time he reached his car, he’d made a decision.
He climbed in, switched on the ignition and drove to the end of the road. If he turned right, it would take him back to Mablethorpe Hall. He turned left, accelerated and followed the signs to the A1. He knew that the milk train stopped at almost every station between Louth and London, so with a bit of luck, he would be back at the flat before she arrived.
* * *
Slipping the front door lock didn’t present a problem for the intruder, and although it was a fashionable block of flats, it wasn’t grand enough to employ a night porter. He climbed the stairs cautiously, making the occasional creak, but nothing that would wake anyone at 2:30 in the morning.
When he reached the second-floor landing, he quickly located flat number 4. He checked up and down the corridor; nothing. This time it took a little longer to slip the two locks. Once he was inside, he quietly closed the door behind him and switched on the light, as he had no fear of being disturbed. After all, he knew where she was spending the weekend.
He walked around the small flat, taking his time to identify all the paintings he was looking for: seven in the front room, three in the bedroom, one in the kitchen and a bonus, a large oil propped up against the wall by the door with a sticker on it marked Smog Two, To be delivered to the RA by Thursday. Once he’d moved them all into the living room, he lined them up in a row. They weren’t bad. He hesitated for a moment before taking a flick knife out of his pocket and carrying out his father’s instructions.
* * *
The train pulled into St. Pancras just after 2:40 a.m., by which time Jessica had decided exactly what she was going to do. She would take a taxi back to Clive’s flat, pack her belongings and phone Seb to ask if she could stay with him for a couple of days while she looked for somewhere to live.
“Are you all right, luv?” asked the driver as she sank into the back of the cab.
“I’m fine. Number twelve Glebe Place, Chelsea,” was all she could manage. There were no more tears left to shed.
