‘Yes,’ said the man, tightly.
‘Then aren’t you acting prematurely?’
‘Our only concern is Emily’s welfare,’ persisted Victoria Pryke, a prim, cardigan-and-pearls woman.
‘Then we’re all on common ground,’ said Hall. ‘You’ve seen the circumstances in which Emily is living…’ He gestured towards Annabelle. ‘And you’ve met the nanny in whose care she is: I’m sure Ms Parkes will be only too pleased to show you her certificated qualifications and diplomas…’
He hadn’t expected it but Annabelle returned at once to the bureau in which she’d kept the media offers and came back with several documents, offering them generally to the group. Victoria Pryke took them, passing them one by one to the doctor who in turn offered them to Baxter.
‘You have a nursing qualification?’ queried Maureen Snare, looking up.
‘Specifically in paediatrics,’ elaborated Annabelle, triumphantly.
‘… and we’d be pleased to assure you of Emily’s care and well being in any other way we can,’ finished Hall, finally.
‘We’d like to see Emily herself,’ said the fair-haired social worker.
As Annabelle left the room Baxter said, ‘This is obviously a matter that will have to be considered after Mrs Lomax’s trial.’
‘ After,’ stressed Hall. ‘At which time it will be most vigorously opposed by me, for the same reasons you’ve been made aware of today.’
Emily was holding Annabelle’s hand when they entered but confronted with a room full of strangers she took her hand away and wrapped her arm around Annabelle’s leg. The nanny put a comforting hand around the child’s shoulders. Emily was wearing jeans and a Thomas the Tank Engine T-shirt. Her hair, bubbled in curls at the front, was plaited at the back, secured by ribbon with the same cartoon motif.
Both the woman social worker and the doctor hunched down, to Emily’s level.
‘Hello,’ said the social worker.
‘Hello.’
‘How are you?’ asked the doctor.
‘All right.’ At Annabelle’s touch against her shoulder, Emily added, ‘Thank you,’ and looked up apologetically at her nanny.
‘That’s why we’ve come to see you,’ said the doctor. ‘To see that you’re all right.’
Again the child frowned up at Annabelle. ‘Why?’
‘That’s our job,’ said Victoria Pryke.
The child stood, regarding the council group steadily.
‘Do you like it here?’ asked the social worker.
Emily’s face crumpled although more in bewilderment than at the hint of tears. ‘I live here!’
‘With Annabelle?’ persisted the woman.
There was a smile. ‘She’s my friend.’
‘Like your mummy is your friend?’ persisted the social worker.
Emily’s bewilderment became more obvious. ‘My mummy is my mummy! But she’s not very well. My daddy’s away.’
‘I won’t let this continue indefinitely,’ warned Hall.
‘Are you Mummy and Daddy’s friends?’ asked the child, unexpectedly.
‘No,’ admitted Victoria Pryke. ‘We want to be your friends. To make sure you’re all right while they’re away.’
‘Annabelle does that,’ said Emily and Hall decided every lawyer should be blessed with witnesses like the child.
‘Do you want a more specific answer than that!’ he demanded.
‘No,’ said the doctor, straightening.
The other woman briefly remained crouched, then she stood. ‘No,’ she agreed.
As Annabelle led the child from the room Victoria Pryke said, ‘There was no way we could prevent our photographs being taken at the gate. It was done before we knew what was happening.’
‘We were approached by a man with a tape recorder. We didn’t speak into it,’ said Perry, seizing the opportunity to enter the conversation. ‘Focusing publicity upon a child would be the last thing you’d welcome, as a social worker, wouldn’t it?’
The woman was the first to leave the room, ahead of the rest of the group. The three lawyers stood at the window, watching the departing cars. Perry said, ‘You mean it, about complaining to their departments?’
‘Of course, if the reason for their being here is published. It would be monstrous if Emily were brought into it because some bloody social worker wanted her picture in the papers.’
They turned, at Annabelle’s re-entry.
‘They’ve gone?’ she said, surprised.
‘It’s over, at least until after the trial,’ promised Johnson.
‘She’ll be found guilty, won’t she?’ demanded the girl, forthright again.
‘There could be mitigating circumstances,’ said Hall.
‘But she’ll go to jail?’
‘Probably a special one, for treatment.’
‘Broadmoor!’
‘There are others.’
‘Poor Mrs Lomax.’
‘What have you told Emily, about her mother not being here?’ asked Perry.
‘Just that she’d had to go away, at first. Then I said she’s ill and needs special doctors. And that her daddy’s away, working. He often was.’
Hall nodded. ‘She wants to see Emily. Before she’s transferred from a proper hospital. You’ll have actually been telling the truth.’
Annabelle frowned. ‘Is it…?’
‘… Safe? There’ll be doctors there. But it would be quite safe anyway.’
‘Will she frighten Emily? With her illness, I mean?’
‘She might appear odd. Say things she wouldn’t ordinarily say.’
‘Is there any way I can explain it to Emily in advance, so she won’t be frightened?’
Hall shrugged, helplessly. ‘You could say it’s the medicine she’s taking.’
‘When?’
‘Tomorrow,’ said Johnson. ‘I’ll collect you by car.’
Annabelle nodded. ‘Use the tradesmen’s gate. They don’t watch that so much.’
There was a remote control beam in the drive which automatically opened the main gate when it was broken by departing vehicles, lessening the need to slow, but at Hall’s insistence the surprised Perry stopped the car as soon as they emerged. There were three cars and a television van outside now. At once men disgorged from all of them: a television strobe burst on before the running cameraman got to them. The man with the tape recorder who’d been there when they arrived said, ‘Can we have your name, as Mrs Lomax’s lawyer? Is Emily being taken into care?’
‘There were some offers we’d like to consider,’ said Hall. ‘Can you give me some cards?’
There was a confetti of pasteboard as identification was thrust through the open window at him.
‘What can you tell us?’ demanded the man with the recorder.
‘That there will be a complaint to the Press Complaints Commission about everyone whose card I have here, as well as their organizations, for harassment and totally unwarranted intrusion. I will also complain in open court, at an appropriate time, and invite comment from a judge.’
As Perry swept the car out on to the London road Hall said, ‘We’ll be back in London by early afternoon. You’ll be able to file the complaints today, won’t you?’
‘Yes,’ said the solicitor, tightly.
‘Don’t forget the authorities here, either. We know now that they gave interviews.’
‘We won’t forget,’ promised Perry.
‘Perhaps you’d drop me off at the hospital, on your way past?’
‘Relax. Don’t fight against me…’
‘ I’ll fight him. He won’t be able to do it! ’
‘… Just listen to me, nothing else. No-one else. There’s a lot to talk about. To get you well.’ Mason’s voice was even, monotone. He’d unstrapped his plain-faced wrist-watch and was holding it towards her: it moved back and forth very slightly.
‘Can you see the numbers?’
‘ Don’t look! ’
‘Yes, I can see them.’
‘What’s before twelve?’
‘ Don’t play games! ’
‘Eleven.’ It was hard, so very hard. Jennifer tried to make rigid her entire body, to hold it stiff so there couldn’t be any movement she didn’t want: to keep her lips stiff, too, so that only her words would come out, not Jane’s.
‘What’s after?’
‘One.’
‘ Stop it! ’