Penny Vincenzi - The Best Of Times

“No,” he said firmly, “nothing like that. Everyone was driving rather well, as a matter of fact. I do remember a rather fine old E-Type in front of the lorry, but he was driving perfectly safely. Pulling ahead steadily, but certainly not speeding.”

“And the vehicle ahead of you?”

“Oh… it was a large station wagon of some kind. Again, driving very steadily.”

It went on and on: could he pinpoint where he had first noticed the lorry, had he been driving erratically, cutting in and out of lanes? Then, suddenly:

“Did you have the radio on, sir?”

“Yes. Briefly, although not just prior to the crash. Miss Scott had switched it on, but I found it distracting, asked her to turn it off again.”

“I see. So you were just… talking?”

“Yes. Chatting, you know.”

Just chatting. While he tried to end the relationship, while she threatened to go and see Laura…

“And I presume you weren’t using a phone?”

Shit. Here it came. He managed to prevaricate.

“The in-car system in my car wasn’t working properly, and I had my ordinary mobile with me. I called my secretary at the clinic from the service station. To say I might be late.”

“And did anyone call you?”

“I did,” said Laura suddenly.

“At what time would that have been, Mrs. Gilliatt?”

They weren’t going to like this.

“Oh, I don’t know. Two or three times. He just didn’t answer. I was frantic with worry. Then finally I got through.”

“And what time was that?”

A long silence. Very long. Her eyes met his very steadily. He remembered an expression about your entrails withering or something. His were doing exactly that.

“It was around four, I think,” she said finally. Reluctantly.

“And what happened?”

“Well, it was answered. He said… well, he said, ‘Hello.’”

“And? Was that all?”

“Absolutely Then there was an awful noise and then it was switched off. Well, it went silent, at least.”

“Did you switch it off, Mr. Gilliatt?”

“Well, no. Not consciously. I just flung it down; the lorry was already skidding-”

“Skidding?”

“Well, swerving. Whatever. I was scared by then by what was happening. Switching the bloody phone off was the last thing on my mind. Maybe Miss Scott did it. I honestly don’t know. I keep telling you, it’s all a bit confused.”

“Of course.” Sergeant Freeman’s voice was soothing. “It’s entirely to be expected. Right, sir. Could we perhaps now concentrate on the actual crash? What was the first thing you were aware of, the first sign that something untoward was clearly happening?”

“I’d say the first thing I was aware of was the lorry swerving violently away from us, and I couldn’t see why. It seemed to be out of control. I… well, I just put my brakes on and made for the hard shoulder. Managed to stop there. Incredibly lucky. I was the very last car to get through, so to speak, before the road was blocked off.”

“So you stopped?”

“Yes. I… well, I just sat there for a moment or two, wondering what the hell had happened. And then I got out, and all the fridges and freezers and so on were spilling all over the place; it was almost surreal. And I looked back and saw this dreadful sight: the lorry, ploughed across the other side of the road, all this, this stuff everywhere, and cars just skidding, swerving, driving endlessly into one another…” He paused, smiled feebly across at Laura, then said, “It was all extremely… traumatic.”

“Of course, sir. It must have been dreadful.”

He waited respectfully for a moment. Then: “Now… if we can carry on from there, sir. What did you do next?”

Jonathan suddenly felt an odd release of tension; now that the memories were clear, unconfused, he found he could give a straightforward account; it was acutely painful reliving his genuine emotion at the death of the girl in the Golf, the young mother, the carnage of the minibus, the horror in the lorry driver’s cab… but it was easier.

Freeman paused in his note taking, looked at him, and smiled.

“You acted very courageously, sir, by all accounts. Climbing up into the cab to switch the engine off. Most commendable.”

“Well, I’m sure anyone would have done the same.”

“I’m afraid you’re wrong there, sir. Now, could we ask you about a girl by the lorry?”

“A girl-what girl?” He stared at him stupidly. Then, “Good God. I really had forgotten about her. Yes, of course. You know, because she just disappeared… I assumed… well, I imagined someone was looking after her, or… How stupid…”

He was genuinely embarrassed, discomfited; he could see Laura was staring at him. Another mysterious girl. Did this put him in an even worse light?

“That’s perfectly all right, sir. You had a great deal on your mind.”

“You could say that. Yes, I was standing with another chap; he wasn’t badly hurt, just a broken arm, I think.”

“Mr. Blake. It was him who told us how you climbed up into the lorry. And he said this young lady just appeared out of the van.”

“Yes. Yes, she did. Well, she was actually standing on the step; I can’t think she’d have climbed in to have a look. She was obviously very shocked; she vomited, didn’t say anything, and then just went over to the hard shoulder and sat down on the ground, but she clearly wasn’t hurt. I was too concerned about the lorry bursting into flames to pay her much attention, but when I got down on the ground again, she seemed to have disappeared. I intended to have a look for her later, but there really were more serious things to worry about. She might have turned up at the hospital; I really have no idea.”

“Could you describe her?”

“Yes. She was very young, pretty, black, or certainly dark skinned; I think she was wearing a dress of some sort, and then a pair of boots. Suede boots with a sort of fur or sheepskin lining. I did notice the boots because it seemed so extraordinary on such a hot day…”

“UGG boots,” said Laura. “They all wear them, the girls. However hot it is. Our daughters are pestering me for some.”

“Right, well, thank you, Mr. Gilliatt.” And then: “Now, the young lady, sir. Miss Scott. What happened to her? She wasn’t hurt, I take it?”

“Well, she did cut her head. On the dashboard, as we stopped. It wasn’t serious, bit of a gash. She was fine.”

“And you drove on to London, I believe? After the injured had all been taken to the hospital?”

“Yes, I did.”

“And Miss Scott?”

“Well, she was looking after some small boys. And she went back to the hospital in the ambulance with one of them, apparently. He had an asthma attack.”

“And have you heard from her since?”

“Just that she’s OK. She called to let me know-as I said, our relationship was entirely professional.”

“Indeed. Fine. Well, I think that’s all for now, sir. We may have to ask some more questions later.”

“I really don’t think I can possibly tell you anything else. I’m sorry.”

“No, no, sir. It’s just that if any other evidence came up, we might want to check it with you. Given that you were at the very front of the crash, one of our prime witnesses, so to speak. But you’ve been most helpful. Thank you very much.”

When they’d gone, he looked at Laura.

“God. Bit of an ordeal. Think I might like a drink. How about you?”

“No. No, thank you. Sorry if I dropped you in it with the phone business, but I just think it’s best to be completely honest.”

“Of course it is. Sure you don’t want a drink?”

“Quite sure.” A pause; then: “I hope you’re being completely honest with me, Jonathan.”