‘Did they?’ Jenna asked coldly. ‘Or were they bribed—my designs used, but at a lower price? Oh come on, Richard, I’m not that naïve, I know it’s done,’ she said heatedly, ‘but have you thought what’s going to happen when they discover you’re incapable of any innovative work of your own, excellent copyist though you might be?’
Jenna could see from the expression on his face that she had now totally alienated him.
‘God, typical of a woman,’ he exclaimed, jumping up out of his chair. ‘You damn career types, you all think you’re so wonderful! Success doesn’t keep you warm in bed at night though, does it?’ Richard sneered, looking at her in a way that made Jenna long to strike him.
And then suddenly it hit her. Richard had mentioned an offer from someone else to help set him up—that could only mean an offer of financial assistance. Her body felt hot and light, and yet at the same time she was shivering. James must have offered him the money. James must have done this to her because he knew that without those contracts, without Richard’s assistance, she simply could not continue her business and hold on to the old Hall as well. The office seemed to recede and swing dizzily round her. She must not faint now, she must not, not in front of Richard. Somehow, she found the concentration to tell him to go. He looked sulky but triumphant, she noticed absently. James would have to be prepared to lose whatever money it was costing him to back Richard, she reflected in unexpectedly vicious delight, because ultimately Richard would not be a success. What she had said to him was true: he was an excellent copyist but no innovator. James had done this to her.
She was overwhelmed by a need to cry, but she couldn’t let herself. Thank God Maggie had asked to leave early and there was no one to see her like this. She managed to make her way to her small private shower-room and once there, stared in mute disbelief at her white face and huge eyes. She looked at least ten years older. She started to shake, the movements of her body, normally so graceful, jerky and unco-ordinated.
What was she going to do? The bank would not lend her any more money—she knew that. Slowly she made her way back to her office and dialled Harley’s number. He had been away on holiday since she bought the Hall but he was due back today, and would be in the office this morning.
He answered on the fourth ring. Tensely, Jenna explained to him what had happened. He was silent for a moment and then whistled tunelessly. ‘You’ll have to sell the Hall, Jenna,’ he told her quietly at last. ‘If you don’t, it’s going to pull everything else down around you. I warned you not to buy it.’
‘I won’t sell it.’ She hadn’t told him of her suspicions about James primarily because she had known that his answer would be to sell him the house and get rid of it, but she wasn’t going to part with the Hall no matter what James did.
She spent all Friday night lying awake, desperately searching for a solution to her problems but none was forthcoming. She had virtually no assets to mortgage. With Richard leaving and taking contracts with him the work she had in hand scarcely merited the bank loan she already had. There must be some way, she thought exhaustedly just before sleep finally claimed her, her final thought being that surely nothing else bad could happen this week—it would be impossible to top this latest blow.
On Saturday she discovered that she was wrong. She was reading her paper, her attention caught by a photograph of James entering the hospital where his step-sister had been receiving treatment, and a few brief lines saying that he was arriving to take her home. There was then a hint of speculation as to how he intended to look after her, the implication being that perhaps marriage might be the answer. Once again her own name was mentioned, but Jenna ignored it. Let the gossip columnists write what they wanted; she had far more important things to worry about.
The phone rang and she put the paper down, frowning as she picked up the receiver. The last person she expected to hear on the other end of the line was Norma Goodman.
Her normally calm voice was fractured with anxiety as she told Jenna that Lucy was missing from school.
‘We can’t pinpoint an exact time, but we believe she left during games yesterday afternoon. She hasn’t taken her clothes. I’ve talked to all the girls in her set and none of them knows anything about it. At first I thought she might just have been playing truant, but she’s been missing for three hours now and I thought I ought to let you know.’
Jenna swallowed. ‘Have the police…?’
‘I haven’t informed them yet,’ Mrs Goodman told her, anticipating her query. ‘I wasn’t sure whether you’d want me to.’
Jenna thought bleakly of all the pitfalls waiting for a young girl on her own and said huskily, ‘Please do. Of course, I’m hoping that she intends to come home—I blame myself for what’s happened. I knew she wasn’t happy at school.’
Visions of Lucy alone in London, vulnerable to a variety of unpleasant fates, tormented her mind agonisingly. Lucy would not come home, Jenna was sure of that.
But why had she run away from school? There had been no quarrel with anyone, no criticisms on the part of a teacher which might have precipitated her departure. She had been withdrawn and quiet, Norma Goodman told Jenna, but then that was not unusual for Lucy.
‘I’ll contact the police at this end,’ suggested Mrs Goodman. ‘It will probably be easier for them to institute enquiries. No doubt they’ll be in touch with you.’
‘I’ll stay by the phone until they do,’ Jenna confirmed.
When she had replaced the receiver she sat, simply staring into space, her head in her hands. Dear God, Lucy…How could she have failed Rachel’s child to this extent? Her whole body ached with weariness and misery.
Had she really been so unapproachable that Lucy had been driven to running away? Jenna could see no chance of the proud, stubborn teenager voluntarily getting in touch with her. Where would she go?
She got up and rushed into Lucy’s bedroom. What was the surname of her friend? Lucy had, of course, taken her address book with her. Jenna remembered seeing her writing in it just before they left. Tears scalded her throat and eyes as she thought back to that occasion. Dear God, please keep her safe, she found herself praying as she searched feverishly through her memory and finally came up with the family’s surname.
Fortunately, Jenna knew where they lived, and with that information it was relatively easy to find their number. It seemed an eternity before the phone was answered, and she knew instantly from the surprise in Emily Harris’s voice that Lucy was not there.
There was no place in her life for pride now. Quickly she explained to Emily Harris what had happened. She was so instantly and overwhelmingly sympathetic that Jenna—who never cried—found herself close to tears again.
‘Janet’s just come in,’ Emily told her. ‘Let me talk to her and then I’ll ring you back. Look,’ she added suddenly, ‘don’t think me interfering, but would you like me to come round? I can’t do anything, but it must be hell to be alone with something like this.’
Jenna knew instinctively that the offer was made through genuine concern, but she was still amazed to hear herself accepting. She had never leaned on anyone, not even Bill and Nancy. Even when Rachel had died she had stood on her own two feet.
‘I’ll be round as soon as I’ve spoken to Janet. Try not to worry too much. You know what teenagers are like, it’s probably all blown up over a row with a boyfriend or a squabble at school. God preserve me from ever being fifteen again!’
As she replaced the receiver, Jenna wondered feverishly if Lucy could have gone to Bill and Nancy. She professed not to like Yorkshire, but up until recently she had been fond of the older couple.
Nervously she dialled the Yorkshire number. Nancy answered the phone. Barely able to articulate Jenna poured out her story.