The Attic Room: A psychological thriller - Huber Linda - Страница 20
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Nina blinked unhappily. It was true, but the fact remained that Claire’s silence had allowed John Moore to abuse heaven knows how many kids after the two of them left. It was very, very difficult to get her head round that, and it didn’t sound like Claire, either. Something monumental must have happened to make her behave like that. Nina put the thought to the side for the moment and arranged with Sam to have lunch together the following day.
Ending the call, she switched her phone right off. She would waken Naomi and take her down to London for the day. They would do some sights, go shopping, maybe go to a show if anything was available. Life had been depressing for long enough; a day out with her daughter was exactly what they both needed.
And what a pity it was that the whole bloody mess would still be here when they got back.
Chapter Twelve
Friday 21st July
Nina took one look at the cheap envelope lying face down on the mat and ran to the kitchen for a knife. Shit, oh shit, this was going to be another horrible letter. Crouching behind the front door and praying Naomi wouldn’t choose today to get up early, she flipped the envelope over.
Oh. Her own name and this address were clearly handwritten, and unlike Monday’s letter, this one had come by post. Maybe it wasn’t anonymous. She wiped away the sweat that had broken out on her brow.
Still squatting by the door mat, she considered whether or not to open the letter. There was no one she could think of who would be writing to her here. It wasn’t Beth’s or Tim’s handwriting, and apart from Alan in South Africa, no one else who might conceivably write to her knew she was here. Nina rose to her feet and trotted into the kitchen for her phone. A quick call to the police might be best.
Sabine Jameson was dubious. ‘Hm. It doesn’t sound like an anonymous letter. Hold the envelope by one corner, and open it with a knife. Then use the knife to open out the letter,’ she said. ‘Call me back when you’ve read it.’
Nina sat down at the photos table to open the letter, keeping an ear open for Naomi. No way did she want her child any more involved in anonymous letters and paedophilia than she was already. Fortunately, Naomi was sleeping the sleep of the exhausted tourist. They’d had a great day out yesterday, with lunch in a creperie, a visit to Greenwich and then a boat trip back to the centre. To round off the day they went to an outdoor ‘oldies’ cinema and watched ‘E.T.’ for the zillionth time, with the added attraction that they were out there under real stars themselves.
As always, the end of the film brought tears to Nina’s eyes. A lost little creature going home. It brought back to her how very much she wanted to be back home, even though without Claire, home was a different place. They would have to deal with the change in the old farmhouse, remember the past with love and move on with joy, as Claire would have wished. A lot of reorganising lay ahead on the Isle of Arran, and John Moore’s hard cash would undoubtedly make things easier.
Nina blinked unhappily. ‘We’ll go back early next week.’ She spoke aloud, using the paper knife from the desk to assist the kitchen knife. Sam would be able to carry on here without her physical presence.
It wasn’t easy to get the single sheet of paper from the envelope without touching it, but at last she managed to ease it out. The same handwriting was on the letter, and Nina spread the sheet with the knives, her heart sinking as she read.
Dear Nina Moore,
Please forgive me for writing to you like this, but I know you recently inherited a large fortune. Please consider that there are people less fortunate than you. My husband was in an accident in May, and he no longer earns a living wage. ?500 would mean nothing to you and everything to us. After all, it’s not your money, is it, you did nothing to earn it. Please, Nina, be generous and help a family in need.
Yours sincerely…
The signature was illegible, though the address wasn’t, Nina noticed wryly. Did this person imagine she was going to stick ?500 in an envelope and send it off just like that? No way. And who the hell could it be from? No one knew about John Moore dying and leaving her a fortune… but no… that wasn’t quite true. The staff at the hospice and the crematorium would know he was rich, and anyone could have seen the death announcement in the paper. It might even be from someone who’d visited the hospice, or delivered something… Nina sniffed, then looked at the letter again.
In a way it was true, what the letter writer said. She could easily spare ?500 now. But there would be more begging letters; she couldn’t give money to everyone who asked for it and she didn’t want to, either. Nina folded the letter, thinking.
Maybe she should make one big donation, to a children’s charity, for instance. That way she would be doing good and also showing Naomi that helping people was the natural thing to do. They could choose a charity together – Naomi would enjoy doing some research on the internet. Or they could look into one of those sponsorship arrangements, maybe support a child in India. Yes, good idea. But now she’d better phone Sabine Jameson and tell her it was just a begging letter. The first, but probably not the last.
She was making the connection when her fingers slowed and a frown came over her face. There was something vaguely familiar about the language on that letter…
‘After all, it’s not your money, is it, you did nothing to earn it.’
Wasn’t that very similar to what the anonymous caller said on the phone?
Sabine Jameson listened to her fears. ‘I’ll tell the boss when he gets in, but there isn’t much to go on there. We’ll have a look at it later. Oh – Nina – your test result’s back. Ready for it?’
Nina gripped her phone. ‘Positive, isn’t it?’
‘I’m sorry. I know you were hoping for a negative result.’
Nina broke the connection and stood fighting disappointment. The last vestige of hope was gone; John Moore was her father. Well, there was nothing she could do about that. She wasn’t responsible for his crimes. What she needed to do now was find out enough about the past to give herself peace of mind, and the best way to do that was to sort through these wretched photos.
‘Mum! I’ve had cornflakes, can I email Jay?’
Nina jumped, then went to hug Naomi. ‘Heavens, you got up quietly! Yes, of course. You can have an hour online, shoot bubbles or something after your email, and by that time I’ll be finished with the photos and we’ll think of something fun to do when Sam arrives.’
Naomi raced upstairs to clean her teeth, and Nina went back to work. By half past eleven she had another row of ‘people’ on the table. As well as the family with the little boy she found four photos of the same little boy with some older people. On two of them he was sitting on a middle-aged women’s knee, looking much happier than on the other photos. The woman was smiling too; maybe she was his grandmother. Which could well make her Nina’s grandmother too, or an aunt. Was this woman one of the people on the list? Abandoning the photos, Nina pulled out the address list and scanned it again. She should see if she could find any current phone numbers for these Moores.
‘Anything interesting?’
Nina jumped for the second time that morning. Sam had come into the room without her hearing. This must be her day for being crept up on; she should watch her back. She grinned at Sam. ‘Hello! How did you get in?’
‘I arrived at the front door as Naomi was coming downstairs and she saw me through the glass,’ he said, joining her at the table. ‘And guess what, she’s speaking to me today. She said, ‘Mum’s miles deep in those boring old photos again’ and went into the study. What have you found?’
Nina showed him the letter and pointed out the similarity to the threatening phone call. He grimaced, tapping his fingers on the table.
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