Ramsay 06 - The Baby-Snatcher Read Online Free PDF Page A

shouted, suddenly furious.
    ‘OK.’ He held up his hands as if she had threatened to shoot him. ‘ I told Mark to leave his car at the club so there’d be more room up here for parking.’
    What do you want, she thought, a medal for consideration?
    ‘I’ll go, then,’ Brian said. ‘Meet him there.’
    ‘Fine.’ She made an effort to keep the sarcasm from her voice. She didn’t want to spoil David’s birthday. ‘Fine.’
    He stood by the back door, pulling on his Berghaus jacket. It was raining again.
    She turned to see Claire standing just inside the kitchen. The nanny gave no indication that she’d been listening but it gave Emma a start.
    ‘I thought I’d nip home for a bit of lunch,’ Claire said. ‘I’ve put on a video for the boys. They’ll be quiet for a while.’
    ‘Oh.’ Emma was disappointed. ‘I thought we could have some lunch together.’
    ‘I’d best go back.’ She gave no reason.
    ‘Oh,’ Emma said. ‘All right.’
    ‘I’ll be back in an hour.’
    ‘Fine,’ Emma said again. Brian was still hovering in the doorway. He opened the door and a blast of cold air came into the kitchen, before he went out and slammed it behind him. Claire put on her wellingtons and followed.
    The boys’ playroom was at the top of the house. It was long and narrow and looked down the Headland towards the level crossing. Emma heard the music of the video as she climbed the stairs. It was an old one – Ivor the Engine – and the boys must have been tired because they watched in silence. David was curled up on a bean bag with his thumb in his mouth. They looked up when she walked into the room but turned their attention immediately back to the screen.
    She stood by the small window. It was streaked with salt but she could see Claire and her husband walking together to the double gates. Beyond that the rain closed in, and as they moved down the track she lost sight of them. Emma wondered what the girl, usually so unwilling to speak, could have had to say to her husband.
    The Headland Club had the faded grandeur of an old theatre, and it had been grand once, on the northern circuit attracting big stars and big audiences. Now it was a miracle it stayed in business.
    When Brian closed the heavy door behind him the temperature only rose by a couple of degrees. The drinkers standing by the big bar were still wearing overcoats and scarves.
    He had joined the club when they moved to the Coastguard House. Emma thought it was an affectation. Occasionally he liked to make a show of his working-class roots. She never thought he would actually go. He was more at home in the wine bars, and smart restaurants of Jesmond, the Newcastle suburb where he had his office. But he had taken to going there regularly on Friday nights and staggering home in the early hours of the morning. One of the lads. He was even nominated for the committee and was tempted to accept. Committee meetings were an excuse for drinking late. In the end he decided, reluctantly, to turn it down. There were other demands on his time.
    The manager of the club had his pint on the bar before he reached it. Les was a small, weaselly man with a mouth uncomfortably full of crowded teeth.
    ‘By man!’ Brian said. ‘Can’t you turn the heating up? It’s like a morgue in here.’
    ‘You’re getting soft in your old age.’ Les turned away, sensing that someone on the other side of the room needed a drink.
    ‘I’m expecting Mark. You’ve not seen him?’
    ‘Not yet.’
    They all recognized Mark. He’d shocked them when Brian first brought him into the club by asking for a Perrier. He’d never lived that down.
    The faded posters on the noticeboard flapped in a sudden draught and Mark came in. Brian looked at him with affection and concern. He’d lost weight in the last year, but Brian had thought he was starting to come to terms with his grief. Today, though, he looked pale and drawn and there were dark rings under his eyes. At university they’d