Closing In

  Contents

  Sue Fortin

  Dedication

  Prologue

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  Chapter Thirty

  Chapter Thirty-One

  Chapter Thirty-Two

  Chapter Thirty-Three

  Chapter Thirty-Four

  About HarperImpulse

  Copyright

  About the Publisher

  Sue Fortin

  Lover of cake, dragonflies and France. Hater of calories, maths and snakes. I was born in Hertfordshire but had a nomadic childhood, moving often with my family, and for a time I did actually think my name was ‘The New Girl’. However, having lived in West Sussex all my adult life, it does feel like home and I do now know what my name is! In my previous life, aka before children, I worked in various secretarial/PA roles before admitting defeat at juggling a career with four tiddly-peeps, and left the world of paid employment to rediscover my love of writing.

  You can follow me on Twitter @suefortin1.

  To The Romaniacs for eternal encouragement, sublime support, words of wisdom and lashings of laughter.

  Prologue

  The bag had been hidden at the back of the loft for several weeks now. Packed and ready to go. Helen checked the contents. The all-important papers were there. Deed poll, change of name. New bank account. New bank card. New passport. She ran her finger over the gold-embossed coat of arms of the little red book before flicking through the green pages, pausing at the photograph. The face that had stared back at her all these years was the same; shoulder-length blonde hair, hazel eyes and fair complexion but the name betrayed the picture. Helen Matthews was no more.

  ‘Hello, Ellen Newman.’ It was a whisper. Helen barely dared to say her new name out loud. The past twelve months had taught her caution at all times. She had been waiting for this opportunity for what seemed like forever; like a sleeper cell, her escape plan could finally be activated. Her hand shook at the thought of what lay ahead. A mixture of anticipation and fear. She took a moment to calm her breathing and bring the rush of adrenalin under control. She needed to keep a clear head and not panic. She had rehearsed this over and over again in her mind for several months. The anxiety passed, allowing the control to take its place. She closed the passport and stuffed it back into the holdall. ‘Come on, Ellen, let’s get you out of here.’

  ‘What do you mean, you don’t know where she is, Kate?’ He squeezed his mobile phone tightly, feeling the frustration rise but fought to keep it in check. ‘You’re her best friend. Surely she told you where she was going?’

  ‘Look, Toby, I honestly don’t know where she is.’

  Toby didn’t miss the guarded note in Kate’s voice. She wasn’t going to tell him anything. He took a deep breath and forced a conciliatory tone. ‘I don’t even know why she took off. I got back from a weekend away clay-pigeon shooting and found a note. I’m worried about her. That’s all. Please, Kate?’ Jesus, was he going to have to beg?

  ‘Okay,’ Kate relented. ‘If I hear from her, I’ll tell her to ring you or something.’

  ‘Thanks. I really appreciate it. I feel lost without her.’ Finishing the call he dropped his phone on to the sofa and picked up the note Helen had left.

  Toby, by the time you read this, I will be gone. I am leaving you for good and not coming back. Things between us have become too bad. Please don’t try to find me. It’s over between us. Helen

  P.S. Please remember to feed Scruffs. I’ve stocked the cupboard up with cat food so you don’t need to buy any more for at least a week.

  He looked at Scruffs stretched out on the sofa next to him. Toby reached over and ran his fingers up and down the cat’s neck. He could feel all the tiny bones of its skeleton beneath the fur and skin. Scrawny little thing. Helen adored that cat and, yet, she had left it. This was all so out of character for her. Running out on him, on the cat, on their life together. It was the last thing he thought she would do. How had he not seen this coming and where in God’s name could she have gone? He was sure Kate knew. In fact, he’d stake his Square Mile bankers’ salary on it. Scooping the cat up, Toby continued to stroke the tortoiseshell fur as he walked over to the full-length window. He stood looking out over the Islington skyline.

  His finger and thumb massaged the back of the cat’s neck, before sliding all the way around, meeting under its chin.

  ‘You’re out there somewhere, Helen.’ He dropped Scruffs to the floor, ignoring the squeak of protest at the rather unceremonious dismissal. Toby pressed his forehead against the glass, the palms of his hands following suit. ‘I’m not letting you go without a fight, that’s for sure, sweetheart.’

  Chapter One

  Six months later

  Ellen checked the address on the piece of paper in her hand. The Lodge, Sea Lane, Felpham, West Sussex. She looked up at the flint-built house, with its imposing black front door, flanked each side by two sets of Georgian-style paned windows. Her gaze followed the building up to the roof, where a pair of dormer windows looked out like eyes peering across the rooftops. Ellen wondered if you could see the beach from up there. It would be nice if that was going to be her room. Her eyes travelled back down the building, locating the circular brass bell embedded in the flintwork. She pushed it in for a couple of seconds, hearing the buzz coming from inside before releasing it. She took a polite step back from the door. Ellen felt uncomfortable and self-conscious as she waited. A little bubble of nerves bounced around her stomach as she heard the lock being turned from the other side, shortly followed by the door being opened.

  ‘Can I help you?’ A woman stood before Ellen. She was probably in her early forties, hair tied back neatly and she was wearing a business-like skirt and jacket.

  ‘Hello, I’m Ellen Newman.’ Ellen hoped she sounded casual, as if she’d being saying her name all her life, rather than just the past six months. Choosing a name so close to her original one, Helen, had made the transition easier. There hadn’t been many times when she had missed someone addressing her as Ellen. She forced herself to exhale slowly. The woman said nothing but cast her eyes over her. Ellen pushed on. ‘I’ve come from Cherubs Nanny Agency. Mr Donovan should be expecting me.’ She tried a smile.

  ‘Oh, yes. That’s right. Come in.’ The woman opened the door wider and stepped back to reveal a spacious, almost square hall, black and white tiles covering the floor and a dark oak staircase sweeping up and round. ‘I’m Mr Donovan’s PA. Carla Grosvenor. But we just call him Donovan. No need for the Mr.’ Ellen nodded as the PA continued. ‘Do you have a letter of introduction from the agency? I have your file with your photo ID; I need to confirm you are who you say you are.’

  Ellen took the letter from the agency out of her bag and handed it over. She was relieved to see her hand was steady, even though her heart was racing. Carla read the letter.

  ‘That all seems in order,’ she said. ‘If you follow me
, I’ll show you to your room. I’ll leave you to sort your things out and then a bit later I can give you a tour of the house.’

  Ellen nodded. She was about to ask after the child she was going to be nanny to, when a movement caught her attention. Ellen looked around the PA down the hallway. A little dark head bobbed behind a doorway out of sight and then, after a second or two, slowly looked around the corner. Two big brown eyes met with Ellen’s before once again disappearing from view.

  ‘Oh, that must be Izzy,’ said Carla. ‘She’s very shy. Izzy! Izzy! Come and meet your new nanny … err,’ she looked at the letter in her hand. ‘Ellen.’

  ‘Don’t worry about it now. I can meet her in a little while,’ said Ellen. She didn’t quite like the sharp tone of voice Carla was adopting.

  ‘Izzy! I said, come here. Now,’ continued Carla without acknowledging Ellen at all.

  ‘Please, it’s really not a problem,’ said Ellen. ‘Don’t force her. There’s plenty of time.’

  Carla let out an impatient sigh. ‘No, I’ve asked her to do something. She shouldn’t ignore me.’

  At that moment, another woman appeared from around the doorway. She was in her late sixties, Ellen estimated.

  ‘Come on Izzy.’ The woman gently pulled the child out into the hallway and led her to where Ellen and Carla were standing. ‘Hello, I’m Mrs Holloway. Housekeeper.’

  She extended a hand to Ellen. ‘Pleased to meet you,’ said Ellen, shaking the pudgy digits of the housekeeper.

  ‘This, here, is Izzy.’

  Automatically, Ellen crouched down so she was level with the little girl and hopefully would seem less intimidating. ‘Hello, Izzy,’ she said. ‘My name’s Ellen. I’m going to be your nanny.’ She waited for a response but wasn’t particularly surprised when none was given. ‘I’ve just got here, so I’m going to go up to my room and unpack my things and then later perhaps we can do something together. Yes?’ Still no response.

  ‘Don’t be rude, Izzy,’ said Carla. ‘Say hello.’

  ‘Really, it’s okay,’ insisted Ellen.

  After sending Izzy on her way back to the kitchen with Mrs Holloway, Carla proceeded to show Ellen up to her room.

  ‘You’re up on the top floor. Your bedroom is next door to the playroom. Izzy sleeps on the middle floor. She doesn’t usually wake up so it doesn’t matter that you are sleeping on a different floor.’

  Ellen’s room did indeed have a sea view, albeit a glimpse through the trees and rooftop of the house on the opposite side of the private road. All the houses on the Sea Lane estate were individual affairs; some more subtly designed than others, but all very expensive-looking. Her room itself had a double bed, covered in a pretty flowery, very French-looking eiderdown, next to a dressing table and a wardrobe on the opposite wall. A further door led to a small, but modern, shower room.

  Ellen began unpacking her case. It didn’t take long. After all, her life had only begun six months ago. If it had been Helen Matthews standing here, then there might be a whole lot more stuff to unpack. A little flutter of unease flew through her but she fought it down. She’d been safe for the past six months. The longer the time passed, the more distance she put between Helen Matthews and Ellen Newman, the safer she was. If anything was going to happen, surely it would have done so by now. She unzipped her handbag and took out the little brown bottle of tablets; they rattled against each other and the plastic bottle as she shook out one small white pill. She popped it into her mouth and swallowed, the film coating making the journey to her stomach easier. Ellen replaced the bottle in her bag, taking deep breaths, allowing the moment of fear to pass over her. She noted with satisfaction that these anxiety attacks were becoming less frequent and passing quicker. She was still safe.

  Chapter Two

  An hour later, Ellen was following Carla around the house for her guided tour. The middle floor comprised bedrooms for Izzy, Donovan and for Carla.

  ‘I don’t stay very often,’ explained Carla. ‘I prefer to go home these days. Things to do.’

  The house was immaculately kept, noted Ellen, as they trawled through the rooms. A formal dining room led off one side of the entrance hall and a large sitting room on the other. Halfway down the hall on the right was Carla’s office, which had an interlocking door into the sitting room on one side and on the other, another door, which led into Donovan’s office.

  ‘Donovan has consulting rooms he uses. They are over at Chichester. If he’s not there, then he’s down at the police station. I’m based either here or at the consulting rooms, depending on whether he has a clinic that day or not.’ Carla paused. ‘Did they tell you what he does?’

  ‘He’s a psychologist, I think they said.’

  ‘That’s right. A criminal psychologist for Sussex Police. Hence the reason for spending a lot of time there.’

  ‘Is that where he is now?’ asked Ellen.

  ‘Yes, they called him in earlier. I don’t know what time he will be back; these things can drag on for hours. You will probably have to wait until tomorrow to meet him.’ Carla strode down the black and white-tiled hallway to the back of the house where Ellen had first seen Izzy that morning. Ellen followed her down the corridor and into the kitchen.

  Izzy was bent over a mixing bowl at the kitchen table, attempting to knead a piece of dough about the size of a tennis ball.

  Mrs Holloway was standing on the other side of the table doing the same with her much larger piece of dough. She looked up as Ellen and Carla entered the room.

  ‘Hello,’ she said, smiling at them. Then she spoke to the child. ‘Izzy, you’ve got visitors.’ She nodded towards the doorway.

  Izzy gave a quick glance in Ellen’s direction but then immediately turned her attention back to the piece of dough. Ellen sat down beside her at the table. ‘Hello, Izzy,’ she spoke gently and with warmth. ‘What have you got there? Dough? What are you making with that?’

  Izzy shrugged and let the dough drop into the bowl. She began picking at her fingers. Ellen carried on, understanding that it was going to take a while before she earned the child’s trust

  Ellen picked up the dough ball. ‘Eww, it’s all sticky. Look, if we sprinkle some more flour into the bowl and roll the dough around, it will stop it being so gooey. Here, you do it.’

  Izzy hesitated for a moment before putting her hand into the bag of flour and taking a handful, sprinkling it into the bowl. Ellen dropped the dough ball into it. A puff of flour ballooned into the air, showering them both in white dust. Ellen made an exaggerated yelp of surprise, followed by some spluttering noises.

  It had the desired effect. Izzy giggled. ‘Oh my word,’ said Ellen. ‘What a mess I’ve made.’ She wiped her hand across her face, purposefully leaving a trail of flour over her nose and her cheek. This was rewarded by more giggling from Izzy.

  ‘You’ve got it on your face,’ said Izzy.

  ‘Have I? Where?’ Ellen wiped her face, knowing full well she was making it worse.

  ‘There!’ Izzy laughed out loud, pointing at Ellen’s chin.

  ‘Here?’ More flour on her face.

  ‘No! There!’

  The two of them were now laughing together, as was Mrs Holloway. Only Carla remained immune to the fun. ‘Don’t make too much mess,’ said Carla. ‘It will be your bedtime soon.’

  Immediately, Izzy’s face fell and she lapsed back into a subdued silence. Ellen bit down the urge to say something to Carla. Now wasn’t the time, not in front of Izzy and certainly not in the first few hours of her new job.

  ‘Doesn’t she stay up to see her father?’ said Ellen instead.

  ‘Izzy needs routine,’ explained Carla. ‘Donovan likes it that way. And truth be told, the child does too. In fact, while I think about it, there’s a folder up in the nursery I should have told you about. It’s got Izzy’s routine set out. When she has her meals, how she spends her time. If you can acquaint yourself with that, then it will make the transition easier and create minimum disruption for Izzy.�
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  Poor Izzy, it made her sound like some sort of Stepford child. Every minute of her day planned out. Where was the fun in that?

  ‘I’ll have a look. It may be that I make a few changes once I get used to everything,’ said Ellen, trying to keep her voice casual.

  ‘Not too much. We like things to run smoothly around here.’ There was a distinctly challenging tone to Carla’s voice.

  Once again, Ellen resisted the urge to argue but nevertheless, she resolved to make changes as she saw fit. Carla could take a running jump with her timetable. Ellen contemplated her new employer. Was he a stickler for routine as well? Maybe that was why the previous nanny had left; too much control? She shuddered to herself as this idea nudged painful, not too distant memories, to the fore. Control like that was never a good thing. She couldn’t help but wonder if that’s why there was no Mrs Donovan. The agency had said that the mother had left three years ago but had offered no explanation as to why. What would make a mother leave her young child? It must have been bad. Was it as bad for Mrs Donovan as it had been for herself? A slither of mistrust towards her new employer coiled itself in her stomach.

  The French Marseillaise sounded out on Donovan’s phone; the tune he had specifically assigned to Amanda, his soon to be ex-wife. As he drove into Felpham village, he flirted with the idea of ignoring it. However, previous experience told him this would be futile. She would simply keep ringing. With much reluctance, Donovan hit the accept button for the hands-free kit.