In any case she knew what she'd heard. Of course, she did.
"…you're always rewriting history… you remember what you want to remember…"
Was Dick right? Had Ailsa been talking about James and not to him? She couldn't remember now. The truth was the one she had created during her drive home from the Copse when she'd filled in the gaps to make sense of what she'd heard, and at the back of her mind was the memory of a police officer suggesting exactly that.
"No one remembers anything with absolute accuracy, Mrs. Weldon," he had told her. "You need to be very sure indeed that what you're saying is true, because you may have to stand up in court and swear to it. Are you that sure?"
"No," she had answered. "I am not."
But Eleanor had persuaded her differently.
Fox knew a file must exist-James was too meticulous about his correspondence-but a search of the cabinets against the wall failed to produce it. In the end, he came across it by accident. It was at the bottom of one of the dusty desk drawers, with "Miscellaneous" written in the top right-hand corner. He wouldn't have bothered with it except that it looked less battered than the rest and suggested a more recent collating of information than the files on Lockyer-Fox history that were stacked on top of it. More out of curiosity than with any recognition that he was about to strike the mother lode, he opened the cover and found James's correspondence with Nancy Smith on top of Mark Ankerton's reports on his progress in finding her. He took the entire file because there was no reason not to. Nothing would destroy the Colonel quicker than knowing his secret was out.
Nancy rapped lightly on the side of the bus before she mounted the steps and appeared in the open doorway. "Hi," she said cheerfully, "mind if we come in?"
Nine adults were grouped around a table on the same side as the door. They sat the length of a U-shaped banquette in purple vinyl, three with their backs to Nancy, three facing her, and three in front of the unbearded window. On the other side of the narrow aisle was an elderly stove with a Calor gas bottle beside it, and a kitchen unit with an inset sink. Two of the coach's original bench seats remained in the area between the door and the banquette-presumably for the use of passengers while the vehicle was moving-and dazzling pink and purple curtaining hung from rails around the interior to provide partitioning for privacy. In a psychedelic way it reminded Nancy of the layout of the narrowboats her parents had hired for canal holidays when she was a child.
The occupants had been eating lunch. Dirty plates littered the table and the air was redolent with the smells of garlic and cigarette smoke. Her sudden entrance and the deceptive speed with which she advanced up the aisle in three long strides took them by surprise, and she was amused to see the comical expression on the face of the fat woman at the end of the banquette. Caught in the process of lighting a joint-perhaps fearing a raid-her black eyebrows shot like inverted Vs toward her cropped, peroxided hair. For no reason at all-except that beauty was the least of her attributes and she was dressed in flowing purple-Nancy decided this was Bella.
She raised a friendly hand to a group of children who were clustered around a small battery-operated television behind a half-drawn curtain, then positioned herself between Bella and the sink, effectively pinning her to her seat. "Nancy Smith," she introduced herself before gesturing to the two men following close on her heels. "Mark Ankerton and James Lockyer-Fox."
Ivo, sitting with his back to the window, made an attempt to rise, but he was hampered by the table in front of him and the people wedged against him on either side. "We do mind," he snapped, jerking his head urgently at Zadie who still had freedom of movement opposite Bella.
He was too late. With James urging him forward, Mark found himself guarding the end of the table, while James became the stop that closed the exit at Zadie's end. "The door was open," Nancy said good-humoredly, "and in these parts, that constitutes an invitation to enter."
"There's a 'keep out' notice on the rope," Ivo told her aggressively. "You gonna tell me you can't read?"
Nancy glanced from Mark to James. "Did you see a 'keep out' notice?" she asked in surprise.
"No," said James honestly, "I didn't see a rope either. Admittedly my eyesight's not as good as it was, but I think I'd have noticed if our way was barred."
Mark shook his head. "It's completely free entry from the Copse," he assured Ivo courteously. "Perhaps you'd like to check for yourself. Your vehicles are parked at an angle to each other so you should be able to see from the window whether the rope's there or not. I can guarantee it isn't."
Ivo twisted around to peer along the length of the bus. "It's fallen on the fucking ground," he said angrily. "Which of you idiots tied that one?"
No one volunteered.
"It was Fox," said a child's nervous voice from behind James.
Ivo and Bella spoke in unison.
"Shut your mouth," growled Ivo.
"Hush, darlin'," said Bella, trying to rise against the apparently casual pressure of Nancy's arm, resting on the banquette back.
Mark, as ever the observer, turned to look in the direction from which the voice had come. He was becoming obsessed with Lockyer-Fox genes, he thought, as he stared into Wolfie's startling blue eyes beneath the tangled thatch of platinum blond hair. Or perhaps the word "fox" had created associations in his mind. He nodded to the boy. "Hey, mate, what's happening?" he said, aping the style of his numerous nephews while wondering what the child had meant. Had a fox gnawed through the rope?
Wolfie's lower lip trembled. "I dunno," he muttered, his courage ebbing away as fast as it had come. He had wanted to protect Nancy because he knew she'd untied the rope, but Ivo's angry reaction had frightened him. "No one never tells me nothing."
"So what's 'fox'? A pet?"
Bella gave a sudden hard shove against Nancy to push her out of the way and came up against an immovable force. "Look, lady, I wanna stand up," she grunted. "It's my sodding bus. You got no right to come in here and throw your weight around."
"I'm just standing beside you, Bella," said Nancy amiably. "It's you who's throwing her weight around. We came for a chat, that's all… not to exchange blows." She jerked a thumb at the unit behind her. "If it's of any interest, my back's rammed up against your sink, and if you don't stop shoving your unit's going to collapse… which seems a shame, since you've obviously installed a tank and a pump, and the system will run dry if your pipes rupture."
Bella assessed her for a moment, then relaxed her pressure. "A bit of a wise-arse, eh? How do you know my name?"
Nancy lifted an amused eyebrow. "It's written on your bus in large letters."
"You a cop?"
"No. I'm a Captain in the Royal Engineers. James Lockyer-Fox is a retired Colonel from the Cavalry, and Mark Ankerton is a solicitor."
"Shi-i-it!" said Zadie ironically. "It's the heavy brigade, folks. They've given up on the candyfloss and sent in the armored division." She sent a mischievous glance around the table. "What do you reckon they're after? Surrender?"
Bella quelled her with a frown before assessing Nancy a second time. "At least let the kid get by," she said then. "He's scared out of his wits, poor mite. He'll be better off with the others round the telly."
"Sure," Nancy agreed, nodding to James. "We can pass him along in front of us."
The old man shifted to make room, reaching out a hand to guide Wolfie forward, but the child dodged back. "I ain't going," he said.