Chapter 6

There was a clear priority for Friday; clothes and other requisites for the girls. The Glovers threw themselves into their new responsibility, taking Carli and Jen into London, though after arrival, Angela turned to her husband and told him to:

"Go visit St. Paul's or something. We'll meet you for lunch in the crypt at St. Martin's in the Fields. You'll only be in the way while we shop."

He decided it was best to go along with that, but made his way to the National Gallery, right next to St. Martin's, to lose himself in contemplation of their Dutch interiors.

When Jeanne Stevenson raised the issue with Sasha, the girl shook her head.

"I'm a girl of simple tastes. I need some undies, but otherwise – jeans and t-shirts. I don't want to go rushing about after fancy stuff."

"Well, all right, but you're going to need more than jeans and t-shirts..." then turning to Malcolm; "if you're up to it ... will you return to school? You won't want to trail around after us, I think."

He grimaced. "Pass. I suppose it'd be best if I get back in the swim..."

"Then I'll write a note for the school secretary."

By lunch-time Sasha had the basics she needed including some 'smart casual' outfits. She'd protested, but all Jeanne would say was, "We'll talk over lunch."

The morning – in fact the day – was not easy for Malcolm. They'd decided that the best thing was to say that his father had had a heart attack and collapsed Tuesday night and keep it at that. The result was a general awkwardness between him and his friends. At least his teachers cut him some slack when he was distracted in class.

Sasha had sandwiches for lunch with Jeanne. As they were eating though, Malcolm's mother fixed her with her eyes;

"Sasha ... I really don't want to pressure you, or ... I don't know ... I'm hoping you'll be comfortable with us. I think you may sometimes find yourself uncomfortable when you're with us if you're very casually dressed. I mean, for example, will you want to come to church with us? I don't mind how anyone dresses, but you'll get some funny looks at church if you wear jeans. And if Malcolm takes you out, there'll be times when you need something more formal..."

Sasha was silent. She hadn't really thought through living with the Stevensons. She'd spent the years since puberty avoiding looking attractive – wearing clothes that minimised her figure, burying her head in a book rather than socialising with her peers. What was she afraid of? She'd actually initiated intercourse with Malcolm; she'd both needed and wanted to do so. What was the problem with looking good for him?

"Mrs Stevenson..."

"Jeanne, Sasha ... please?"

She nodded, slowly. "Jeanne ... the reason I was where I was," she swallowed and blinked hard, "I ran away from my foster parents as soon as I was sixteen. My social worker didn't, or wouldn't, believe they were ... having sex with me. I hated it, but I ... was turned on ... and I hated that. I dressed down, pretended I didn't have a body. Pretended I didn't like sex. I don't ... I feel dirty, but Malcolm ... treated me like I mattered. Even when I told him..." she trailed off.

Jeanne moved round the table and moved a chair next to Sasha, sitting next to her and putting an arm round her shoulders. Sasha relaxed into her embrace and the tears began to flow from both of them.

"My poor darling..." whispered Jeanne.

"You ... don't mind?"

"I think you are a lovely person with a strong character and I'm glad you've taken to my son. I just want to say one thing, though..."

"Oh..."

"Don't worry! It's just ... you're both young. I'm not going to ... worry about your ... relationship. But please – and I'll say the same to him – be careful and try not to hurt him. And ... try not to get pregnant."

Their eyes met. "Thanks," Sasha said, simply.

Dulcie took Emma and Rosie to the Freeport outlet near Braintree and had a great time choosing what the girls needed with a break for pizza at lunchtime.

They were on their way home when Dulcie saw a woman waving at them by a small van with its hazard lights flashing. She pulled in behind the van automatically and walked toward the woman.

"Oh, thank you for stopping!" The woman was effusive. "Do you have a mobile phone I could borrow to ring the breakdown service? I forgot to charge mine."

Dulcie didn't notice, as she dug out her phone, that another car had drawn up behind hers.

She didn't notice two men get out and tap on the windows of her car as she followed the woman to the van. She barely caught a glimpse of a second person in the load space of the van, the sliding door open, before the bag was over her head; she was aware, briefly, of a chemical smell before darkness overwhelmed her.

The girls locked the car doors when they saw the bag over Dulcie's head and Emma used her new mobile to dial 999. The man on her side smashed the window, reached in to release the lock, pulled the door open and grabbed the phone. He threw it over the hedge and dragged Emma out. Both girls were terrified and crying as they were marched to the van, trussed with plastic ties, gagged and blindfolded.

"Reverend Hanson?"

"Speaking."

"Detective Sergeant Wilson, Chelmsford C.I.D. Do you have any idea of your wife's whereabouts?"

"No, sergeant. She was going to take a couple of girls that are staying with us to Freeport for a shopping expedition. Actually, I would expect her home any time soon."

"Well, sir, I'm sorry to tell you this, but we found her car on Regiment Way with a side window smashed and evidence of a struggle. There was a new PAYG phone not far away – someone used it to dial three nines, which is how we came to find the car."

"Oh..." Peter was suddenly numb, stunned with the news. "I..."

"Have you anyone with you, sir?"

He gathered his scattered thoughts and tried to ignore the intense sinking feeling in his gut. "Thank you for asking, sergeant. I'm on my own, but I will call a friend."

"Sir ... is there anything you can tell me? Do you know of anyone who might ... have a grudge?"

Peter snorted. "Yes, as a matter of fact; there's a few people. Tuesday night, my wife interrupted a supposedly Satanist ceremony. Our local police are aware and trying to track down some of the participants. The two girls with my wife today are two of six that were going to be abused by them..."

This time it was the officer who was silent for a noticeable length of time as he assimilated the information.

"Thank you ... I'll follow that up," he said.

Apart from some meaningless pleasantries, that was the end of the call.

He got no answer from the Glovers, who were still not home from their shopping expedition to London, but did speak to Jeanne Stevenson, advising her to stay at home and keep the doors locked. When he told her it seemed that Dulcie, Emma and Rosie had been abducted, she gasped, but promised she, Malcolm and Sasha would pray for their safety.

There are various sayings about answers to prayers and coincidence. Archbishop William Temple commented, "All I know is when I stop praying, the coincidences stop happening.

Was it coincidence that old Miss Cordingly 'Just happened to be looking out of her window' when the van drew up outside the empty house opposite? That, being what some would call a busybody, she called the Police when she watched two men carry three bundles into the house, two of them apparently moving? Perhaps it was coincidence that the officer that took the call made a connection and didn't dismiss the call, but flagged it up.

In the house, Dulcie came to with a pounding headache, blindfolded and gagged. Naked, her wrists and ankles hurt from the plastic cable ties that bound her and she hurt from the pressure of the wooden floor. She moved involuntarily to minimise the discomfort.

"Ah ... you're awake. Good ... good. You really should not interfere; you get into all sorts of trouble." The voice was ... cold. Later, she could only describe it as 'evil'. Something was clamped on each nipple in turn and she grunted into the gag with the pain. But she also heard sounds that she just knew were from Emma and Rosie and her heart ached for them. What could she do? 'Yea, though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil..." The psalmists' words filled her head.