Rob frowned at this. The trough suddenly seemed to him very much like the presence of the ponies: unnecessary. For hadn’t there been a trough here already? Within the paddock? Surely, there had.
He looked for it. It didn’t take long. He found the old trough in the unrestored section of the paddock, heavily overgrown with brambles, vines, and weeds. It stood some distance from the water source, which made the new trough not altogether unreasonable as it could be more easily reached by hosepipe. Still, it was strange that Gordon would go to the expense of a new trough without having uncovered the old one. He had to have suspected it was there.
It was a curiosity. Rob intended to have a word with Gordon Jossie about it.
He returned to his vehicle and murmured to the ponies moving restlessly within the trailer. He called to Frank, the dog came running, and they set off to the northernmost part of the Perambulation.
It took nearly an hour to get there, even keeping to the main roads. Rob was stymied in his progress by a train stopped on the railway tracks in Brockenhurst, blocking the crossing, and then again by a tour coach with a flat tyre that caused a tailback on the south side of Lyndhurst. When he finally got beyond it and into Lyndhurst itself, the restiveness of the animals in the trailer told him that taking them up to Minstead was a bad idea. As a result, he veered onto the Bournemouth Road and made for Bank. Beyond it and along a sheltered lane stood the tiny enclave of Gritnam, a circle of back-to-back gardenless cottages facing outward onto the lawns, the trees, and the streams that comprised the expanse of Gritnam Wood. The lane itself went no farther than Gritnam, so there was likely no safer place in the New Forest to release ponies that had too long been kept in Gordon Jossie’s paddock.
Rob parked in the middle of the lane that encircled the cottages, as the place was so tiny there was no other spot to leave a vehicle. There amid a silence broken only by the call of chaffinches and the trill of wrens, he eased the ponies out into freedom once more. Two children emerged from one of the cottages to watch him at work, but long schooled in the ways of the New Forest, they did not approach. Only when the ponies were making their way towards a stream that gleamed some distance into the trees did either child speak and then it was to say, “We got kittens here, if you want to see ’em. We got six. Mum says we’re meant to give ’em way.”
Rob went over to where the two children stood, barefoot and freckled in the summer heat. A boy and girl, each of them held a kitten in arms.
“Why’ve you got the ponies?” the boy asked. He seemed to be the elder of the two by several years. His sister watched him adoringly. She put Rob in mind of the way Jemima had once watched him. She put Rob in mind of how he’d failed her.
He was about to explain what he was doing with the ponies when his mobile rang. It was on the seat of his Land Rover, but he could hear it clearly.
He set off to take the call, heard the news all of the agisters dreaded hearing, and swore when he was given it. For the second time in a week, a New Forest pony had been hit by a motorist. Rob’s services were wanted in the manner in which he least wished to give them: The animal was going to have to be killed.
THE WORRY MEREDITH Powell felt had grown to full-blown anxiety by the morning. All of it had to do with Gina. They’d shared the double bed in Meredith’s bedroom, and Gina had asked in the darkness if Meredith didn’t mind holding her hand till she went to sleep. She’d said, “I know it’s ridiculous to ask but I think it might soothe me a bit…,” and Meredith had told her yes, of course, she didn’t even need to explain, and she’d covered Gina’s hand with her own and Gina’s hand had turned and clasped hers and there their hands had lain for hours upon hours on the mattress between them. Gina had fallen asleep quickly-which of course made perfect sense as the poor girl was exhausted by what she’d gone through at Gordon Jossie’s cottage-but her sleep was light and fitful and every time Meredith had tried to ease her hand away from Gina’s, Gina’s fingers tightened, she gave a small whimper, and Meredith’s heart had gone out to her again. So in the darkness, she’d thought about what to do about Gina’s situation. For Gina had to be protected from Gordon, and Meredith knew that she herself might be the only person willing to protect her.
Asking for police participation in the matter was out of the question. Chief Superintendent Whiting and his relationship with Gordon-whatever it was-put paid to that, and even if that were not the situation, the police weren’t about to deploy their resources upon the protection of a single individual based on the strength of her bruises. Truth was that cops wanted a lot more than a few bruises before they did anything. They generally wanted a court order, an injunction filed, charges made, and the like, and Meredith had a very good feeling that Gina Dickens was too frightened to apply herself to any of this anyway.
She could be urged to remain at Meredith’s house, but that could hardly go on indefinitely. While it was true that no one was more accommodating than Meredith’s own parents, it was also true that they were already sheltering Meredith and her daughter and anyway, since Meredith had impulsively come up with the gas leak tale to explain Gina’s presence, her mum and dad would assume the gas leak would be fixed within twenty-four hours.
That being the case, Gina would be expected to return to her bed-sit above the Mad Hatter Tea Rooms. This, of course, was the worst place for her because Gordon Jossie knew where to find her. So an alternative needed to be developed, and by morning Meredith had an idea what that alternative might be.
“Rob Hastings will protect you,” she told Gina over breakfast. “Once we tell him what Gordon did to you, he’ll certainly help. Rob’s never liked him. He’s got rooms in his house that no one’s using and he’ll offer one without our even asking.”
Gina hadn’t eaten much, merely picking at a bowl of grapefruit segments and taking one bite of a piece of dry toast. She was silent for a moment before she said, “You must have been a very good friend to Jemima, Meredith.”
That was hardly the case since she hadn’t been able to talk Jemima out of taking up with Gordon and look what had happened. Meredith was about to say this, but Gina went on.
She said, “I need to go back.”
“To your bed-sit? Bad idea. You can’t put yourself where he knows where to find you. He’ll never think you might be at Rob’s. It’s the safest place.”
But, surprisingly, Gina had said, “Not the bed-sit. I must go back to Gordon’s. I’ve had the night to sleep on it, and I’ve thought about what happened. I can see how I was the one to provoke-”
“No, no, no!” Meredith cried. For this was how abused women always acted. Given time to “think,” what they generally ended up thinking was that they were at fault, somehow provoking their men to do what they’d done to hurt them. They ended up telling themselves that if they’d only kept their mouths shut or acted compliant or said something different, fists would never have been swung in their direction.
Meredith had tried her best to explain this to Gina, but Gina had been obdurate. She’d said to Meredith in reply, “I know all that, Meredith. I’ve got my degree in sociology. But this is different.”
“That’s also what they always say!” Meredith had cut in.
“I know. Trust me. I do know. But you can’t think I’d let him hurt me again. And the truth is…” She looked away from Meredith, as if gathering the courage to admit the worst. “I do honestly love him.”
Meredith was aghast. Her face must have shown it because Gina went on to say, “I just can’t think, at the end of the day, that he hurt Jemima. He’s not that kind of man.”