For a second she wanted to suggest that they spend the day together. She wanted to ask him if he was as lonely as she was. But she pulled away and said goodbye. After all, she had things to do, and so did he.
Chapter Thirty-Four
Abby called Jonathon Soames’ mobile number as soon as Nick had phoned to say that everything was in place. She had also contacted Ros, who had given her Jonathon’s address, although Abby had been vague with her about the details of what she and Nick planned to do with it. She was aware that what they were doing was illegal, and while she knew that Ros was anxious to find out anything she could about Dominic, she didn’t know her well enough to guess how she would feel about breaking the law to do so.
Her fingers had actually trembled as she punched the digits into her Galaxy. Abby hated the phone, always had done. Although it was something she’d had to overcome – even archivists had had to ‘work the phones’ more in recent years – she still felt uncomfortable speaking to people she didn’t know, and she’d needed a stiff vodka before ringing Lord Soames.
She couldn’t remember the exact words she’d used to accuse him of telling the Soviet intelligence services that his friend Dominic Blake was a British agent. A double agent. There was no easy way of saying it, and of course he’d denied it, laughing it off and telling her with a theatrical guffaw that she’d been given ‘bad information’.
Now it was done, Abby felt feeble and hollow. She’d called him over four hours ago, and nothing had changed. She’d pottered around the house, doing the washing, tidying up. She’d watched a little television, paid some bills. It was business as usual, and that had made her feel even more unsettled.
She sat down at the kitchen table and stared out of the window. What had she expected to happen? she asked herself. And what was the point? A few days ago, seeking justice for Dominic Blake had seemed like the natural thing, the only thing, to do. Nothing could bring him back, but at least someone could pay for betraying him.
But with just a little bit of distance, it all seemed like misplaced revenge. And what business of Abby’s was it anyway? Yes, she liked Rosamund Bailey and wanted to help her. Yes, she’d felt empowered, useful, trying to find out the truth about her fiancé’s disappearance. But sitting here, she wondered if it was just a way of distracting herself from her own domestic and professional problems.
‘What’s done is done,’ she whispered sadly.
She decided to go for a walk to her favourite deli, Bayley & Sage. Good food always cheered Abby up. She could almost taste the big vine tomatoes, fresh burrata and home-made truffles she knew they stocked.
Pulling on her trainers, she hurried out of the house. It was gone 6.30, so she power-walked up the hill to make the shops before they closed. It was still light, but the sun was already starting to dip behind the horizon. She had just turned on to the high street when her phone rang.
‘Hello,’ she said, already feeling in a better mood with some fresh air in her lungs.
‘Abby, it’s me,’ said a familiar voice at the end of the line. ‘You need to get in touch with Anna as quickly as you can. I think I’m about to be arrested.’
She had no way of getting back in touch with Nick after that. Numerous calls to his mobile had gone unanswered, and the only information she had to go on was what he had told her in his first, hurried communication, when he was apparently still at home and had managed to make a quick call as detectives had entered his flat with a search warrant.
She had called Anna immediately, who had reassured her that Nick would be allowed to make contact again if and when he was taken into custody. Neither Anna nor Matt were criminal solicitors, but between them they had enough legal firepower. Abby was grateful that Anna had also promised to get Larry Donovan, Matt’s father, involved. He was a man of legendary reputation and sometimes dubious morals, just the sort of character to have on your side at a time like this.
She curled up on the sofa and drew her knees close to her chest. She could see her watch in this position. Almost eight o’clock. Anna had promised to come over as quickly as she could, but the minutes seemed to drag out endlessly. She felt totally powerless just sitting here, but she wasn’t sure what else she could do. Resting her chin on her knees, she started to sob.
When at last the doorbell rang, she wiped her eyes and went to answer it, desperate for Anna’s comforting presence.
The chain was still on the door as she unlocked it. Peering through the thin space, it took her a moment to recognise Jonathon Soames.
She felt her heart start to beat faster; a sense of unease made her shiver.
‘Lord Soames?’
‘Hello, Abby. Can I come in?’
Instinctively she gripped the handle on the back of the door, as if some fight-or-flight instinct had kicked in at the sight of Dominic’s nemesis.
She made a quick assessment of the situation and decided that the old man was not strong. If she pushed the door in his face she was sure she could shut it. Her mobile phone, meanwhile, was just a few feet away in the kitchen.
‘Abby, don’t worry. I just need to speak with you. It’s about your husband.’
‘Where is he?’ she said, feeling her palms grow sweaty against the cold metal of the door handle. ‘Where’s Nick?’ she repeated, her voice fierce.
‘Just answering a few questions,’ said Jonathon more calmly. ‘There are a few things we need to discuss too.’
‘My lawyer is due round any minute,’ Abby said, trying to disguise the fear in her voice.
‘This will only take a few minutes. Please, Abby, let me in. It’s important. It’s about Dominic. It’s about what happened to him.’
Abby summoned her courage, and slowly her grip on the door handle relaxed. She slid the chain off the door and stepped back to allow Jonathon Soames into the house. She looked behind him, half expecting to see snipers in bulletproof vests, but he seemed to be alone. A voice at the back of her head wondered if this was the point where she disappeared, never to be seen again, just like Dominic Blake, but she felt oddly brave and defiant.
Looking at Soames, a white-haired old man, his hands frail and veiny, it was difficult to believe that she had anything to be scared of at all.