Chapter 15: The Lane

Rhiannon's POV

The story ran on Tuesday at seven in the morning, five days before the Sunday Cressida had named.

Bridie read the headline off her phone in a flat voice, standing at the stove in her dressing gown.

"ASHWORTH'S SECRET DAUGHTER," she said. "Tycoon's five-year-old lives in the east wing while wife raises a toddler alone."

"Tilly is four," I said.

"They always get the small things wrong first."

At one in the morning Rafe had emailed me a recording and a single line.

The line said: This is the real call. Do what you like with it.

I had listened to it once at Bridie's table with the sound low, and then I had forwarded it to my solicitor.

I had not answered Rafe.

I had put the kettle on instead, and sat with my hand over my mouth so Tilly wouldn't hear me.

"Two cars at the end of the lane," Bridie said now, at the window. "And a van with a dish."

"Already?"

"It's Whitstable, love. Nothing happens here, so they came early."

At eight a taxi stopped at the gate and a tall woman in a grey coat got out of it.

She had a stiff back, a good hat and Rafe's dark eyes.

I opened the door before she knocked.

"I am Rafe's mother," she said. "I have come to apologise to a woman who will not want to hear it."

"Come in," I said. "Mind the cat."

She sat at Bridie's kitchen table and refused tea.

She looked at me, at Bridie, and at the cold kettle.

"My son has told me everything," she said. "I would like to hear whether he told me the truth."

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