strengthened the bond by later marrying Lucy. He wanted to keep this matter out of his father’s reach for as long as possible, but he needed Trevor’s help because of his various contacts. Which meant trusting him.
‘Not yet, and I’d like to keep it that way.’
‘This “no parental involvement” thing you have going, will it lead to conflict of interest for me?’ Trevor asked.
They both knew what he was referring to. Trevor was the one who’d let slip, inadvertently, that Jason’s involvement with Cathy had developed into something more than a fling. Derek had put the screws on, then, got the whole story. Jason had tried not to blame Trevor when the whole sordid affair went belly-up, but it had cost him.
‘It shouldn’t do,’ he said. ‘It’s just an enquiry.’
Trevor downed the last of his drink. ‘Okay, so let me get this straight: you’ve met this girl, you like her, she’s lying to you about something, and you want to know what and why.’
Jason nodded.
‘Christ, you don’t ask much,’ Trevor grumbled. ‘Why don’t I discover a cure for cancer while I’m at it? Who is she?’
‘Her name is Helen Stephens, and she’s just moved into my house. Claims she’s been to prison, but I think she’s lying about that.’
‘Why on earth would anyone do that? I mean, the other way around, yes, but …’
‘Beats me,’ Jason shrugged. ‘She said a child died, in an accident. I think she might be telling the truth about that bit, but there’s more to it than that. Perhaps she used to be a nanny or something and is hiding because she’s worried about the family coming after her. I’d like to help her if I can. Except I can’t find any information about her. Do you know how many people are called Helen Stephens in this country? I tried everything, Google, combinations with murder , child , manslaughter , drink-driving , Münchausen Syndrome by Proxy , you name it, but nothing came up.’
‘Maybe she’s the sort who just falls under the radar,’ Trevor suggested.
‘No one falls under the radar, you know that. Not completely. Something would show a connection.’
‘Mhm.’ Trevor’s eyes had slid back to the TV screen. ‘Oh, you twat!’
‘Could you look into this for me?’
‘You’re not giving me much to go on.’
‘That’s all I have, I’m afraid.’ Jason handed him a slip of paper with a description of Helen and a guesstimated age of somewhere in her mid-twenties. ‘And while you’re at it, could you check that she isn’t one of Dad’s spies?’
Trevor put it in his shirt pocket. ‘I’d need to take a look at this bird myself, though.’
‘Won’t be difficult. She hangs around the house at the moment, going in and out.’
They were interrupted by Lucy dressed in an apron with a bikini-clad torso on the front. ‘Could one of you be a real darling and lay the table while I get the roast out of the oven?’
Leaving Trevor to his game, Jason followed his aunt back into the kitchen. The Rottweiler was lying prostrate in the middle of the floor, and as he stepped over the huge lump of a dog to get to the dinner plates, he realised how much he felt at ease here, amidst the noise from the TV, the homely smells and the gentle chaos. He couldn’t recall his own home-life ever having been anything like this, and it gave him a sense that he’d been deprived of something which was both normal and rare.
‘Have you found a job yet?’ Lucy asked, stirring an Oxo cube into the pan of meat juices.
‘I’m still at the Market, and that’s going well. Dad’s finally signed his Acton house over to me, and it needs a lot of work.’
Lucy looked at him sharply, her carefully plucked eyebrows coming together in a frown. ‘He did? That’s a first. Did you hear that, Trevor?’
‘I heard. Good for you.’ Trevor paused. ‘What a load of rubbish!’ he shouted, to the TV.
‘You do know he’ll want to have a finger in the pie,’ Lucy added in a low
‘Not yet, and I’d like to keep it that way.’
‘This “no parental involvement” thing you have going, will it lead to conflict of interest for me?’ Trevor asked.
They both knew what he was referring to. Trevor was the one who’d let slip, inadvertently, that Jason’s involvement with Cathy had developed into something more than a fling. Derek had put the screws on, then, got the whole story. Jason had tried not to blame Trevor when the whole sordid affair went belly-up, but it had cost him.
‘It shouldn’t do,’ he said. ‘It’s just an enquiry.’
Trevor downed the last of his drink. ‘Okay, so let me get this straight: you’ve met this girl, you like her, she’s lying to you about something, and you want to know what and why.’
Jason nodded.
‘Christ, you don’t ask much,’ Trevor grumbled. ‘Why don’t I discover a cure for cancer while I’m at it? Who is she?’
‘Her name is Helen Stephens, and she’s just moved into my house. Claims she’s been to prison, but I think she’s lying about that.’
‘Why on earth would anyone do that? I mean, the other way around, yes, but …’
‘Beats me,’ Jason shrugged. ‘She said a child died, in an accident. I think she might be telling the truth about that bit, but there’s more to it than that. Perhaps she used to be a nanny or something and is hiding because she’s worried about the family coming after her. I’d like to help her if I can. Except I can’t find any information about her. Do you know how many people are called Helen Stephens in this country? I tried everything, Google, combinations with murder , child , manslaughter , drink-driving , Münchausen Syndrome by Proxy , you name it, but nothing came up.’
‘Maybe she’s the sort who just falls under the radar,’ Trevor suggested.
‘No one falls under the radar, you know that. Not completely. Something would show a connection.’
‘Mhm.’ Trevor’s eyes had slid back to the TV screen. ‘Oh, you twat!’
‘Could you look into this for me?’
‘You’re not giving me much to go on.’
‘That’s all I have, I’m afraid.’ Jason handed him a slip of paper with a description of Helen and a guesstimated age of somewhere in her mid-twenties. ‘And while you’re at it, could you check that she isn’t one of Dad’s spies?’
Trevor put it in his shirt pocket. ‘I’d need to take a look at this bird myself, though.’
‘Won’t be difficult. She hangs around the house at the moment, going in and out.’
They were interrupted by Lucy dressed in an apron with a bikini-clad torso on the front. ‘Could one of you be a real darling and lay the table while I get the roast out of the oven?’
Leaving Trevor to his game, Jason followed his aunt back into the kitchen. The Rottweiler was lying prostrate in the middle of the floor, and as he stepped over the huge lump of a dog to get to the dinner plates, he realised how much he felt at ease here, amidst the noise from the TV, the homely smells and the gentle chaos. He couldn’t recall his own home-life ever having been anything like this, and it gave him a sense that he’d been deprived of something which was both normal and rare.
‘Have you found a job yet?’ Lucy asked, stirring an Oxo cube into the pan of meat juices.
‘I’m still at the Market, and that’s going well. Dad’s finally signed his Acton house over to me, and it needs a lot of work.’
Lucy looked at him sharply, her carefully plucked eyebrows coming together in a frown. ‘He did? That’s a first. Did you hear that, Trevor?’
‘I heard. Good for you.’ Trevor paused. ‘What a load of rubbish!’ he shouted, to the TV.
‘You do know he’ll want to have a finger in the pie,’ Lucy added in a low
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