Reginald Hill - The Woodcutter

‘Pippa? Is that you? It’s Wolf.’

She didn’t reply but I heard her call, ‘Imo, it’s him.’

A moment later I heard Imogen’s voice saying, ‘Wolf, how are you?’

She sounded so unworried, so normal that my spirits lifted several degrees. This was not the least of her many qualities, the ability to provide an area of calm in the midst of turbulence. She was always at the eye of the storm.

I said, ‘I’m fine. Don’t worry, we’ll soon get this nonsense sorted out. How about you? Is Ginny with you? How is she?’

‘Yes, she’s here. She’s fine. We’re all fine. Pippa’s being marvellous. There’ve been a couple of calls from the papers. I think that once they realized I’d gone, and Ginny had been taken out of school, they started checking out all possible contacts. They really are most assiduous, aren’t they?’

She sounded almost admiring. I was alarmed.

‘Jesus! What did Pippa say?’

‘She was great. Pretended not to have heard anything about the business, then drove them to distraction by asking them endless silly questions till finally they were glad to ring off.’

‘Good. But it means you’ll have to keep your heads down in case they send someone to take a look for themselves. I blame that little shit Medler for this, he obviously alerted the press in the first place…’

She said, ‘Perhaps. But it was Mr Medler who suggested I got Ginny out of school, then helped smuggle me out of the house without the press noticing.’

This got a mixed reaction from me. Naturally I was pleased my family were safe, but I didn’t like having to feel grateful to Medler. Still, I comforted myself, it was good to know that Imogen’s powers of organization included the police.

I said, ‘I’m glad to hear Medler’s got a conscience. And if the media turn up mob-handed at Pippa’s door, we’ll definitely know who to blame, won’t we?’

‘Yes,’ she said. ‘We’ll know who to blame. Wolf, I need to ring off now. I’m expecting a call. I rang home to let them know what was going on. I didn’t want them to start hearing things through the media. I spoke to Daddy but Mummy was out. She’s expected back for lunch, so Daddy said he’d get her to ring me then.’

I bet she’ll enjoy that! I thought savagely. My mother-in-law, Lady Kira Ulphingstone, had never been my greatest fan, though things improved slightly after the birth of Ginny. I suspect she vowed to herself that her granddaughter wasn’t going to make the same ghastly mistake as her mother, and she was clever enough to know that pissing me off all the time might put Ginny outside her sphere of influence. So superficially she thawed a little, but underneath I knew it was the same impenetrable permafrost.

My father-in-law, Sir Leon, on the other hand, though he was a Cumbrian landowner of the old school with political views that erred towards the feudal, had demonstrated the pragmatism of his class by making the best of a bad job. Unlike my own father, Fred. He and Sir Leon had been united in absolute opposition to the marriage, the difference being that Fred’s disapproval survived the ceremony. I can’t blame Dad. After putting him through the wringer by vanishing for five years with only the most minimal attempt at contact, I’d returned, and while he was still trying to get his head round that, I had once more set my will in opposition to his. Any hope of getting back to our old relationship had died then and things had never been the same between us since. That had been the highest price I paid for my fairy-tale happy ending. For fourteen years I had judged it a price worth paying. I was wrong. And though I didn’t know it yet, I was never going to get the chance to tell him so.

I said, ‘Well, we can’t have Mummy getting the engaged signal, can we? But if the journalists start bothering them up there, do try to stop Leon setting the dogs on them. Listen, you couldn’t give Fred a ring, could you? The bastards are likely to have him in their sights too. I’d do it myself soon as I get out of here, but I’m not sure how long that will take.’

‘I asked Daddy to make sure Fred knows,’ she said.

God, she was efficient, I thought admiringly. Even at moments of crisis, she took care of all the details.

She went on, ‘You’re expecting to be out…when?’

‘I don’t know exactly, but it can’t be long,’ I said confidently. ‘You know Toby. He’s helped get serial killers, billion-dollar fraudsters and al-Qaeda terrorists off. I’m sure he can sort out my bit of bother.’

I was exaggerating a bit, less about Toby’s CV than my confidence in his ability to sort out my problem. I recalled the way he’d looked at me. Perhaps he was just too high powered for something like this.

‘Is he there with you now?’ said Imogen.

‘No, he left after…after my interview.’

I hesitated to tell Imogen that I’d assaulted Medler a second time. She’d find out soon enough, but no need to give her extra worry now.

‘Then I’ll hear from you later,’ she said.

‘Of course. Listen, don’t ring off, I’d like a quick word with Ginny.’

There was a pause then she said, ‘I don’t think that would be a good idea. She’s very bewildered by everything that’s happened, naturally. So I gave her a mild sedative and she’s having a rest now.’

I said, ‘OK. Then give her my love and tell her I’ll see her very soon.’

‘Of course,’ she said. ‘Goodbye, Wolf.’

‘Bye,’ I said. ‘I love you.’

But she’d already rung off.

I put the phone down. The fact that Imogen hadn’t felt it necessary to refer to the monstrous allegations being made against me should have been a comfort. But somehow I didn’t feel comforted.

Medler came into the room a moment later, confirming my suspicion he’d probably been listening in.

I said, ‘Look, I need to get Mr Estover back here so that he can speed up whatever rigmarole you people put me through before my release.’

He said, ‘We’ve kept Mr Estover in the picture. He’ll be waiting at the court.’

I said, ‘The court? Which court?’

He said, ‘The magistrate’s court. The hearing’s in half an hour.’

And again, I was relieved!

Magistrate’s court, assault charge, slap on the wrist, hefty fine,

I could be out in a couple of hours organizing my own super-investigation into what the fuck was going on here.

‘So what are we hanging about for?’ I said. ‘Let’s go!’

When we reached West End Magistrates Court, the media were already there in force.

I looked at Medler and said, ‘I expect they were just passing, huh?’

He said wearily, ‘You’d better get used to it. You’re in the system now and the system is accessible. Wherever you’re headed, there’ll always be someone ready to make a quick buck by tipping the mob.’

Curiously, this time I believed him.

Inside I was shown into a small windowless room furnished with two chairs and a table. Toby was waiting there. He quickly disabused me of my notion that I’d be in and out in the time it took to sign a cheque.

He said, ‘You’re being charged with assaulting a police officer in the execution of his duty and occasioning actual bodily harm. The magistrate can deal with this himself or decide it’s serious enough to commit you to the Crown Court for a jury trial.’

I said, ‘Which is best for me? I mean, which will get me on my way home quickest?’

He regarded me gloomily and said, ‘There are problems either way. The magistrate has the power to jail you for six months…’

‘Six months for hitting a cop?’ I interrupted. ‘There’s people murder their mothers and get less than that, especially when they’ve got you on a retainer!’