Читаем A Finer End полностью

“She had a chance at the best universities,” their father continued. “An abortion would have been the sensible solution, but, no, she wouldn’t hear of it. So I told her the boy and his family would have to do their part—why should we take on full responsibility for the little bastard? But she wouldn’t tell us who it was!”

“So you suggested that she leave?” Kincaid asked, as if it were a perfectly sensible action.

“I only meant to make her see reason. I never thought she’d actually go.…”

“You should have,” said his wife, as if their presence had given her the courage to speak up. “You should have thought. You know how stubborn Faith is—” Maureen turned to Gemma and Kincaid. “Since she was a toddler, she’s been that way. And she was a hard delivery. I used to tell her she was stubborn even then … determined to come into the world on her own time.”

“But surely you must have had some idea who the boy was,” suggested Gemma. “A regular boyfriend, or some gossip among her friends at school.”

“She didn’t date.” Maureen said it firmly. “Faith always looked down on girls who giggled and had crushes; she was far too serious for that. And her friends—”

“They didn’t want to talk to us,” Wills interrupted bitterly. “You’d have thought we’d done something terrible to her. And why should we go begging to anyone for information our own daughter wouldn’t give us? If Faith is so determined to get on in the world without our help, she’s bloody well welcome to it.”

“You!” Furiously, Maureen Wills turned on her husband. “Why don’t you admit all the hours you’ve spent driving round, looking for her? Or all the nights you’ve sat up in the kitchen until dawn? I’ve seen you—you can’t deny it!”

Gary Wills gaped at her.

Maureen looked back at them, her face tear streaked but resolute. “I’d do anything to have Faith back. I don’t care who the baby’s father is, as long as our Faith is safe and well. You will tell us, won’t you, where she is?”

“Mrs. Wills,” Kincaid said gently, “Faith didn’t give us permission to do that. She—”

“But the child must be due any day! You say the woman who was looking after her is dead—someone’s got to take care of her. Please—”

Gary Wills broke in again. “I suppose Maureen’s right. Faith needs to come home. Let bygones be bygones.”

“We’ll talk to Faith,” Gemma promised. “If she knows that you’ll accept her without question, perhaps she’ll agree.”

“You’ll let us know about the baby, at least?” pleaded Maureen, and Kincaid assured them he would.

At the door, Gemma turned back to the couple. “I know it must be hard to let your child go—they always seem to grow up before you’re ready—but Faith has proved she has courage and determination. You should be very proud of her.”

When they reached the car, Gemma said, “Do you think her father’s capitulation will last if she comes home?”

Kincaid shrugged. “Human nature being what it is, I rather doubt it. But I also doubt he’d have insisted on knowing the baby’s parentage if he were responsible. I just hope I make a better job of it in the father department.”

Gemma glanced at him and said not a word.

“Have we time for another stop before your train?” Kincaid asked as they returned to Glastonbury. “I’d like to see the scene of Winnie’s accident.”

Gemma glanced at her watch. “We should be all right. Let’s leave the car at the café, shall we? I’d like to take the same route Winnie must have used that evening.”

They walked up Wellhouse Lane, its incline steep and slick, not suitable for any but the most expensive of mountain bikes, and Jack had told them that Winnie’s was an old clunker. “Faith said Winnie was pushing her bike—I can see why,” Kincaid grunted as they reach the turning into Lypatt Lane.

The smaller track was claustrophobic even at midday—how much more so had it seemed at dusk? But Winnie could have squeezed the bike against the hedge if she’d heard a car approaching. Soon they reached the jog where the lane connected with the footpath.

“If someone struck Winnie deliberately, they waited here,” Gemma mused. “But how could anyone have known she would be in this place at that time—unless she had had an appointment!”

“But that brings us back to square one,” Kincaid objected. “If Winnie agreed to meet someone here, she has no memory of it. And unfortunately, an assignation in a dark lane isn’t something she’s likely to have put in her appointment book—”

“Hullo!” A woman had appeared in the lane and was gazing at them curiously. “I’m sorry, but you looked a bit lost,” she added. A slight woman with untidy brown hair and brown eyes, she frowned as she studied Kincaid. “You remind me a bit of someone I know.”

“Jack Montfort, by any chance? I’m his cousin, Duncan Kincaid. And this is Gemma James.”

“Fiona Allen.” Her smile faded as she realized just what they must have been doing. “You’re looking at the scene of Winnie’s accident, aren’t you?”

“You found her, I understand? And you live just up the lane?”

“The far end. Why don’t you two come along for a coffee?”