The Au Pair Page 14

  ‘What would I do if I wanted to trace someone in this country?’ she asked Francine, the language-school teacher, one morning after the other girls had streamed out, exchanging cigarettes and chatting loudly. ‘You have tried online?’

  ‘Yes,’ Marie-France hesitated. ‘But I don’t really have enough details to get what I need.’

  ‘I think there is a place in London that holds records of births, deaths and marriages. I will ask my husband and let you know.’ Francine gave Marie-France a conspiratorial nudge. ‘These English – they do things so differently, n’est-ce pas?’

  That was true enough, thought Marie-France as she walked back from class. She’d never known anyone drink as much tea as this country. And this habit of taking baths was so grotesque! It was simply wallowing in dirty water. Last night, Dawn was in hers for hours! Phillip, she suspected, was much more of a shower man. This morning, when coming down for breakfast, he had smelt of the fresh pine woods where she and Thierry used to walk.

  The thought of Thierry made her feel homesick. He’d sent a few texts but they were abbreviated and to the point. The gist was always the same. When was she coming back? What did she do in her spare time?

  I told you when I’m returning, she had texted back. In the spring. As for doing stuff in my spare time, you know I’m trying to find my dad. I’m not here to go clubbing.

  She didn’t add that she’d received plenty of invitations to do so from the other girls in class. They all went to some place called Kings Tun. ‘Fantastic!’ giggled Heidi excitedly. ‘You should come. Ja?’

  But because she kept making excuses, they stopped asking. Still, she thought as she turned down the long gravel drive to Dawn’s house, maybe she should take this opportunity to go up to London alone on her day off. She’d always loved art and there were some fabulous galleries she could visit, according to the guidebook Phillip had thoughtfully lent her.

  Sometimes Marie-France wondered if this love of the arts was inherited from her father. It was infuriatingly frustrating to know so little about him! Did he have her nose, which was thin and almost bony? Were his eyes a mixture of blue and green? Did he also like walking in parks – there were some lovely ones in London – and playing the guitar? Why had he left her mother in the lurch like that? So many questions. So few answers …

  ‘YOU’RE NOT OUR FATHER SO YOU CAN’T TELL ME WHAT TO DO!’

  She heard Tom’s yells before she reached the front door. It sounded as though he was round the back, in the garden. Not wanting to intrude but also unable to contain her curiosity, she hovered by the wrought-iron gate that led down the ivy-covered pathway to the enormous kidney-shaped swimming pool and the sauna cabin beside it.

  There, she could just see Tom standing by the pool opposite Phillip, who was wearing smart navy blue chinos and a beige jacket. Of course. He and Dawn were going out. Dawn had specifically asked her to forgo her usual afternoon off so she could ‘babysit’. Instead, she had been promised the following day off in lieu.

  ‘I know I’m not your father,’ Phillip was saying in a voice that sounded as though he was struggling to stay patient. ‘Or Tatiana’s. But I am married to your mother and that gives me the right to tell you when you are out of order.’

  Mon Dieu! So Phillip wasn’t the children’s father? The knowledge gave Marie-France a funny little tingle down her spine for a reason she didn’t like to admit, even to herself. The one thing she could never do would be to break up a family but if these weren’t his children … no. She pulled herself up. Don’t even think like that. Phillip was a good-looking man who had shown her some kindness. That was all.

  ‘Your behaviour, ever since I’ve known you, Tom, has been outrageous.’ Phillip’s voice sounded clear and decisive even from where she was standing. ‘You won’t do your homework. You steal things from people and then pretend someone else has taken them … Hey, don’t you dare try to push me in!’

  Marie-France stared aghast as the boy bent his head again and tried to head-butt Phillip into the water. There was a struggle and then a splash. She almost laughed out loud as the boy toppled in. Served him right! Tom was now splashing about in the water, yelling indignantly. ‘I’ll tell Mum you pushed me.’

  ‘Go ahead.’ Phillip was walking away, brushing his hands as though to rid himself of the child. Help! He was coming her way and it was too late now to go back.

  ‘Marie-France!’ His face clearly expressed surprise.

  ‘I am sorry.’ She could feel herself going very red. ‘I did not mean to listen in. It was just that I heard voices.’

  ‘That’s all right.’ He pushed open the gate for her and unexpectedly put his hand in the small of her back as though to guide her round the path that led towards the sitting-room French windows. ‘I’ve been wanting to talk to you for some time, actually.’ He was striding towards the mini-fridge in the corner, concealed inside a wooden cabinet. ‘Would you like a glass of wine?’

  She nodded. ‘Merci.’

  He poured himself one and clinked it against hers. ‘Salut.’

  She was surprised. ‘I didn’t realise you spoke French. Your accent is very good.’

  He nodded modestly as though acknowledging the fact although not in a boastful way. ‘I worked for two years in Paris when I was in banking.’

  She’d been wondering how he got all this money.

  ‘And you are a banker still?’

  ‘No.’ He laughed. ‘I moved into security.’

  ‘What kind?’

  ‘All types.’ He waved his hand around as though he didn’t really want to talk about it. ‘Looking after people. Their money. Their houses.’ He gestured that she should sit down. ‘What I really wanted to ask you, Marie-France, was whether you are managing to survive in this viper’s nest?’

  ‘Viper’s nest?’ She moved uneasily in her chair. ‘I don’t understand.’

  ‘Oh, I think you do.’ He poured himself another glass after offering to top hers up. ‘Tom and Tatiana aren’t the easiest of kids to deal with. Nor is their mother.’

  Marie-France took another sip to hide her embarrassment. Her mother had warned her that Englishmen always said their wives didn’t understand them.

  ‘We only got married last year,’ continued Phillip moodily. ‘That’s right, have another drink. And frankly, from the day we exchanged vows, it’s as though Dawn is a different woman. She never used to be like this, you know – all demanding and unreasonable.’

  Small beads of sweat were appearing on his forehead and his eyes were red and troubled. ‘No one else would understand this insane household unless they actually lived here.’

  ‘Tom is horrible,’ she conceded, ‘but Tatty Arna is rather cute. But I think they must read more. They do not have enough books.’

  ‘Hah!’ He drained his glass. ‘That’s because they’re not high up on my wife’s priority list. The nearest she gets to books are magazines and that’s just the pictures.’

  ‘But Tatty, she has holiday reading to do. I try to force her. It is hard.’

  ‘I know.’ He leaned forward. ‘They have different dads, you know. Dawn doesn’t stay with the same man for long, as I’m beginning to discover. Still, I shouldn’t be telling you all this.’ Phillip patted her arm lightly and his touch sent an electric shock through her. ‘Now is there anything I can do for you in return? Is your bedroom satisfactory? I haven’t seen it but Dawn says she gave you the guest room.’

  ‘Guest room?’ she spluttered. ‘It is a cupboard for brooms!’

  His face darkened. ‘Is that right?’ He leaped to his feet. ‘May I see it?’

  ‘Non.’ Common sense told Marie-France that it would not be sensible for Phillip to go to her room. ‘It is adequate. I do not want to fuss.’

  They were standing now, so close that she could smell that lovely pine scent that seemed to go with him wherever he went. For a few seconds, it looked as though he was going to …

  ‘Phillip?’ The shriek rang out from the hous
e. ‘Where are you? We’re going to be late!’

  ‘Looks like I’m being summoned.’ His voice was regretful. ‘Au revoir. And let me know if the kids play you up. Remember! I’m on your side!’

  The following day, Marie-France went up to London. In return for babysitting, Dawn had given her the whole day off, which meant she had enough time to visit the National Gallery and the Royal Academy, where there was an exhibition of English seaside pictures. So beautiful!

  Afterwards, she spent ages walking round, breathing in the excited hustle and bustle of Oxford Circus – you could have fitted her entire village in Top Shop alone! Then she caught the tube to this really long road that led to Buckingham Palace. How amazing to think that the Queen actually lived there! Excitedly, she bought a postcard with a picture of a guard in a bright red uniform to send home. Even if she didn’t find her father, it was almost worth coming over to England just to see this!

  Then, on her way back, she came across the most wonderful park with trees everywhere. Incroyable! An oasis in the middle of London. ‘Excusez-moi,’ she asked someone. ‘What is this called?’

  ‘Hyde Park,’ said the woman walking past quickly.

  Hyde Park! Was that because you could hide there? She sat for a time on a bench – it was getting a bit cold now – next to a couple who, oblivious to her presence, began to kiss.

  Thierry used to hold the back of her head with both hands like that, she observed enviously. Was he doing the same to someone else now? Marie-France bit her lip. She was taking a chance, she knew, leaving her handsome but headstrong boyfriend back home. But finding her father was something she needed to do. If Thierry really understood her, he’d know that.

  Phillip understood her! She could tell that from the look in his eyes. What would he be like to kiss?

  No. Marie-France pulled herself up again. She must not imagine such a thing! This was exactly the trap her mother had fallen into. She must not, on any account, make the same mistake. Instead, she must stay focused on her search.

  Her French teacher had told her that there used to be a place called Somerset House that held the records of births and marriages and deaths. But now – just her luck – it didn’t exist any more. Francine thought there might be somewhere else instead and was going to find out more by the next lesson. But maybe now she was in London, she could do her own research.

  Leaping up, she made her way back towards the busy road that led to the tube station. ‘Excuse me,’ she asked the man selling newspapers from a stand, ‘but I am trying to trace my father.’

  He cackled, revealing a row of uneven teeth. ‘Aren’t we all?’

  ‘I was told there was somewhere in London that might help.’

  How rude! He was completely ignoring her, holding out a grubby hand for someone else’s change.

  ‘I couldn’t help overhearing what you were saying,’ said a soft voice behind her. She turned to see a kindly looking woman holding a toddler by the hand. ‘I had to find out about a death myself the other month so I went to a large archives centre in London that stores it all on microfiche. It’s in Westminster. Here.’ She scribbled down directions on a piece of paper.

  Flushed with excitement, Marie-France threaded her way through the evening crowds; someone trod on her foot and someone else elbowed her in his bid to get past. It took ages to get there and by the time she found the building, there was just half an hour until closing.

  ‘Do you have proof of your address?’ asked the girl on the desk.

  Marie-France hadn’t been expecting this. ‘I am from France but I am staying with my family.’ She fumbled in her handbag. Thank goodness! She had her contract letter from the agency with her, containing Dawn’s details.

  ‘Fine. Can you fill in this form?’

  Shaking with excitement, Marie-France did as she was told.

  ‘All our information is on microfiche readers.’ She pointed to a room which was full of tables and people peering at screens. It looked so daunting! The girl looked kindly at her. ‘Would you like me to help you?’

  ‘Please. Thank you.’

  Together they sat down at one of the desks. ‘I am looking for a John Smith,’ said Marie-France breathlessly. This was the place that would help her! She just knew it. Any minute now and she would find out who her father was and then …

  ‘Date of birth?’

  Marie-France’s heart fluttered with uncertainty. ‘I do not know exactly but I think he is in his sixties now.’

  ‘Is he married?’

  ‘Possibly.’

  ‘You don’t have a date of a marriage then.’

  ‘No.’

  ‘And is it possible that he is dead?’

  Her mouth went dry. ‘I do not know. I hope not.’

  Marie-France could tell from the girl’s tone that this wasn’t good. ‘If you can find out a bit more, we might be able to help. But I’m afraid that John Smith is a very common name in this country.’

  It wasn’t fair! To have got so close to the answers she needed on those microfiche films but not to have succeeded. If only her mother had known more, she could have found him. She knew it. Instead, the lack of information about her parenthood made her feel cheap – and also angry. Dejected, she made her way back to Marly Bone.

  When she finally got out at Corrywood Station, she realised that Antoinette must have been on the same train too. The girl glared at her, revealing a nasty bit of gum in her mouth. ‘Arrête, Marie-France, I want a word with you.’ Her eyes narrowed like a cat’s. ‘I hear you’ve been snitching on me.’

  Marie-France felt herself flush.

  ‘Yes you have. Don’t deny it. You told your agency that I left Immy on her own.’

  ‘Well you did.’

  ‘That’s none of your business.’ Antoinette’s eyes were dark and angry; they reminded her of an old woman in the village whom everyone said was a witch. ‘Luckily my employer believed me when I told her you made up stories. But I’m going to get you for this. See if I don’t!’

  Ignoring her, Marie-France stormed off. Girls like that weren’t worth arguing with. But nevertheless, she felt uneasy as she made her way up the hill and down Dawn’s drive through the security gates. Antoinette was such a bitch! But what, she wondered, as she opened the front door, if everyone believed her lies?

  Marie-France was so engrossed in her thoughts that she was taken aback by a flustered-looking Dawn storming out of the study. ‘You’re back early! I don’t need you today. I told you that. You can go to your room. I want some privacy.’

  As she spoke, there was a noise from the door behind her. How intriguing! Madame had a visitor and she didn’t want her around!

  ‘It’s the first on the left,’ Dawn tossed over her shoulder.

  ‘Pardon?’

  ‘Your new room.’ Dawn gave her a nasty look. ‘After you went moaning to my husband, he insisted you were moved. Enjoy it. You won’t be there for much longer.’ Then, turning, she slammed the study door shut and there was the sound of low murmuring.

  Not be here much longer? Was Dawn going to sack her wondered Marie-France as she went up the stairs. That would mean she’d have to go home or find another family, which might not be in Corrywood. Then …

  Wow! Marie-France’s worries flew out of her head as she stared in wonder at her room. There was a beautiful double bed with a blue silk bedspread and her own ensuite. Fantastic! But what was this? A note on the bed! In Dawn’s terrible, almost unreadable writing.

  A Mr John Smith called. Wants you to ring him back. Do not give out our landline number again. Use your own phone.

  And below, scrawled in such a way that she wasn’t sure if the ‘5’ was really a ‘3’, was a phone number …

  JILLY’S AU PAIR AGENCY: GUIDELINES FOR FAMILIES

  It is a good idea to write down your au pair’s jobs for the day so she can see exactly what you want her to do.

  For example:

  Monday. 9 a.m.–12 noon. Clear breakfast. Wash kitchen fl
oor. Vacuum entire house. Tidy children’s rooms. Make beds even if children are still in them (only joking!)

  Chapter 12

  NOTHING LIKE THIS had ever happened to Matthew before! When murder trials were reported in the paper, the murderer often turned out to be someone that the victim knew. So might it be possible that the police suspected him?

  The whole thing was so awful! According to the police, Sozzy had been killed in a London park only hours after storming out of his house. Yet some how her body had lain in the undergrowth undiscovered for days. Why had she gone there in the first place?

  The police were still ‘making inquiries’. In the meantime, the poor girl’s parents had apparently been contacted but neither was coming over to the UK, which was astonishing. If anything had happened to Lottie at that age – God forbid! – he’d have been the first on the plane. They hadn’t even rung him, as he would have done in their shoes, to find out as much as they could about her last hours.

  ‘Not every parent is as caring as they should be,’ one of the police officers had said. You could say that again. But he still couldn’t help feeling guilty. If Lottie hadn’t left that awful note telling Sozzy to go home and if he had been more welcoming instead of showing shock at the girl’s appearance, maybe none of this would have happened.

  ‘You mustn’t blame yourself,’ said Janine from the agency in a soothing tone that contrasted sharply with their earlier tense conversations. ‘It is tragic but I’m afraid to say that this isn’t the first time I’ve heard of such a situation.’

  He was shocked. ‘You mean it’s common for au pairs to be murdered?’

  ‘Not murdered, Mr Evans, but … well, other things. When you think about it, young girls are coming over to a country they know little of. They can be very naive; easy targets, if you like. ’