Beautiful

by Anita Waller

  Amy felt a calming relief at the news. At last this child would be off her hands. And at least they knew Pilot, knew she wouldn’t be forever running back home – he would take care of her. With a good job at Farmers and the subsequent heir to the business, she needn’t worry about Lauren.

  She was surprised by how well John had taken the news – almost as if he had known. She raised the glass of champagne.

  ‘To both of you! Many congratulations. We’re delighted.’

  ‘And I endorse every word.’ John was all smiles. ‘We’ll have David and Pat and the rest of your crew over for a meal this weekend, sort of make it official. I presume they know?’

  ‘Not yet.’ Pilot shook his head. ‘We’re going over later to tell them.’

  Amy stood and walked across the room to kill the strident ringing of the telephone. She said hello and then said she would take it in the hall. Minutes later she returned.

  ‘That was Brian. He was ringing to see if he could come down for the weekend. I said he could. Looks like we are going to be having a party anyway. I’ll ring the caterers tomorrow and see what they can do. I’m not landing Carol with this, as good as she is. And really she should be invited as a guest, not a housekeeper. I’ve a couple of pieces of furniture to deliver tomorrow and one to pick up, so I’ll finish earlier than usual and put my organising head on.’

  John watched his wife in amazement. She hadn’t been as voluble as this in years. It couldn’t be that she was glad to be free of Lauren?

  They waved the young couple off and returned to the lounge.

  ‘Are you really pleased?’ he asked quietly.

  ‘Of course. A little surprised – she’s certainly kept this from us. But we’ve always liked Pilot. I wonder when they slept together…’

  ‘But…’

  ‘Now, John, please don’t be naïve. Nobody gets engaged these days without having slept together first. I just hope she’s using contraception. Perhaps I should talk with her.’

  He refrained from saying it would be a first if she did.

  She was cruising slowly along one of the small side lanes in Delabole when she saw his car. The new white Ferrari was parked half in the driveway and half on the pavement.

  Slowing to a crawl, Amy wound down the window of the transit van. A woman ran down the drive and jumped in the car that was blocking his entry. Amy heard her call out.

  ‘Sorry, didn’t think you’d be here yet – I’ll move mine round the back.’ She watched the Ferrari follow the Astra around the cottage.

  She knew the woman. She scanned her memories but couldn’t come up with an identity… but she did know that woman.

  Driving slowly past the cottage she picked out the name half hidden by a rambling rose that festooned the wall – Mayflower Cottage. Why was John visiting someone in Delabole – someone he’d never mentioned?

  She pulled the transit into the side of the road and sat for a minute, her head in her hands.

  Who was that woman? And where the bloody hell was this cottage she was meant to be looking for, anyway? She glanced at the address on the piece of paper – pick up a writing desk at Rosemary Cottage, Delabole. First things first, she had to find Rosemary Cottage and then she could decide what to do about John. And that woman.

  She drove into the centre of Delabole looking for a newsagent.

  The old lady appeared from out of the back of the shop, her face wreathed in smiles.

  ‘Hello, my love, and what can I do for you? Lovely weather for the time of year, isn’t it?’

  ‘Yes, lovely,’ Amy replied vacantly, her mind on the woman who lived in Mayflower Cottage. ‘Erm, can you help me? Do you know where Rosemary Cottage is?’

  ‘Well, bless you, of course I do. Old Mr. Dobbs.’

  ‘That’s right.’

  ‘It’s just round the corner. Go out of here, turn left by the post box, down the road about a hundred yards and it’s on your right.’

  ‘Thanks very much. Er… I’ve also got something to pick up at Mayflower Cottage –‘

  ‘Oh, that’s Dawn. Dawn Lynch. Now if you want to know where that is, ask that young man across the road. He’ll probably take you himself. That’s young Josh, her son.’

  Amy looked across to where the old woman was pointing and saw three young men in their late teens, standing by an old mini.

  She walked out of the shop, her mind turning. Dawn Lynch, she knew that name. Crossing towards the group of three, she suddenly stopped.

  She didn’t have to go up to them and ask which one was Josh. There was no mistaking her husband’s son.

  47

  The house was crowded. Amy was quiet and in control. Her plans had been carefully laid and she intended on seeing John’s world crumble by the end of the evening.

  She had gone to a great deal of trouble to organise the party and had invited everyone they knew. A marquee was erected in the large back garden and even the weather stayed fine. Lauren looked supremely happy and Pilot carried an air of pride that nobody could mistake.

  ‘It looks wonderful, sweetheart,’ John whispered as she hurried past carrying a tray loaded with drinks.

  Brenda, at sixty-five, looked ten years younger and Ken’s eyes were fixed on her. They had supplied all the flowers for the house and marquee and everywhere looked spectacular. The fragrance was breath-taking, perfectly complimenting the warmth of the evening.

  And yet Brenda felt uneasy. She took Freda to one side but before she could say anything, Freda spoke. ‘There’s something wrong.’

  ‘What do you mean?’ Brenda frowned.

  ‘It’s Amy. Has she said anything?’

  ‘No, not a thing. Why do you think something’s wrong?’

  ‘Don’t know.’ Freda ran a hand through her grey hair. ‘It’s that smile – as though there’s something going on in her mind that has her scoring points. I just hope it’s not against Lauren.’

  Brenda nodded. ‘I’d just said as much to Ken but he laughed. Does it make you uneasy?’

  ‘Sure does. Behind that beautiful façade is one hell of a woman and I have to admit I don’t trust her an inch. I love her to pieces. And if I could get my hands on Treverick…’

  ‘Please… he’s been on my mind such a lot lately. He’ll be what, fifty-five now? I’m surprised he hasn’t reoffended since he came out of prison. When they told us he’d been released, the police inferred he would be back behind bars in no time. Once a rapist always a rapist. Thankfully, he’s never been back to this area. At least, as far as we know.’

  ‘As far as we know.’ Freda said. ‘Just look around this room – I bet there are half a dozen men here who we know very little about. Tell you what, Bren – I shan’t write Treverick off until the day I hear he is dead.’

  ‘Have you ever considered he might be dead?’

  ‘No,’ she said slowly. ‘Don’t ask me to explain but I know he’s not. We wouldn’t be that lucky. Besides, the police would have informed us.’

  ‘Don’t forget,’ she whispered. ‘Nine o’clock in my bedroom.’

  John turned to look at Amy and grinned.

  ‘Best offer I’ve had all night.’

  ‘Just don’t forget. Dead on nine o’clock. The cake is too big for me to carry down on my own. Don’t let me down, John.’

  ‘Have I ever let you down before, my love?’

  ‘I don’t know. Have you?’

  The emerald green silk of her dress swished as she turned and walked away from him.

  ‘Mark, can I have a word?’

  Mark turned, surprised to hear Amy’s voice and excused himself from Greta.

  ‘Back in a minute,’ he whispered. ‘Grab another champagne when one passes, okay?’

  She winked and blew him a kiss.

  He followed the green dress as Amy made her way to the garden. He felt his hands twitch as he imagined the body beneath the smooth silk. It wouldn’t do at all to torment himself, tonight of all nights. Not filled with champagne anyway.


  ‘Mark,’ she said, turning to face him. ‘I need you.’

  Inwardly he groaned and hoped that his thoughts didn’t show on his face. He tugged on the pale blue and peach tie.

  ‘I’ve laid a surprise on, but I can’t do it on my own. It’s a surprise for John. Can you escape at about ten to nine and go up to my bedroom? I’ll tell you what we’re going to do when you get there.’ She looked at his expression and laughed. ‘Nothing raunchy, I promise you. I need you to carry something.’

  ‘Do I get a clue?’

  ‘Certainly not. Just bring those chunky arms and I’ll do the rest.’

  He had a feeling she was flirting with him and he tried to squash his panic.

  ‘You know, Mark,’ she said in a gentle voice. ‘You’ve worked for John for a long time now and we’ve never said thank you. For what it’s worth, I think you do a great job. And I know you keep an eye on him for me.’ She reached up and planted a kiss that was half on his cheek and half on his lips. ‘Thank you from me anyway. So, you’ll come at ten to nine?’

  He nodded. Whatever she had planned, he would do without question.

  He ached for her.

  At 8.45 pm Amy went upstairs. The party had grown noisy with laughter and loud music. Nobody noticed her disappearance except Mark Carter who swallowed nervously.

  She slipped into the pink and grey bedroom and closed the curtains. She pressed the pink velvet against her cheek before walking back to the door. Turning the key in the lock she shrugged the low cut dress from her shoulders.

  It fell to the floor in a shimmering cascade of silk and she bent to pick it up before carrying it to the side of the bed and dropping it once more on the floor. It was all about staging; she wanted John to think they hadn’t been able to control themselves.

  The mirror revealed a perfect body. Unmarred by the travails of giving birth, her breasts and stomach could have belonged to a twenty-three year old rather than a woman in her forties. She reached up and loosened the clip holding her hair high and allowed it to fall in golden-blonde waves around her shoulders.

  Hearing the tap on the door, she turned and crossed the room. ‘Yes?’ She kept her voice low.

  ‘It’s Mark, Mrs Thornton.’

  She opened the door, staying behind it. ‘Come in, Mark,’ she said throatily. ‘Call me Amy.’

  His penis began to harden as she spoke. He remembered the tone from years earlier when they had almost made love on the office floor and he knew he was lost.

  As she moved from behind the door he caught her reflection in a mirror and he groaned.

  Softly closing the door she came into his arms.

  ‘This time, Mark,’ she whispered, her lips soft against his ear. ‘This time, we don’t stop. I’ve waited too long for this and I want you. Now Lauren is leaving, I can have my own happiness.’

  He wished he hadn’t had so much champagne.

  ‘But… where’s John?’ His brain felt woolly, his speech uncoordinated.

  ‘John’s downstairs with his guests and I’ve locked the door.’ She began to loosen his tie. Stroking his bulging penis through his trousers, she began to lower the zip. Sinking to her knees, she took him into her mouth.

  ‘Stop!’ he spluttered. ‘If you don’t…’

  ‘Then take off your clothes.’ She crossed the room, his eyes never leaving her. Lying on the bed she rolled on to her back. ‘Come on, Mark, I’m waiting. I’ve waited too long.’

  His clothes joined hers and he lowered himself on to the bed. Tentatively he began to stroke her. Greta was banished from his mind for ever. Amy’s skin was baby smooth and he counted to ten in his mind. He wanted to take his time.

  She opened her legs a little wider.

  ‘Amy…’ His voice was guttural. ‘Amy, I can’t believe this –‘

  ‘Believe it, Mark. Take me, take me now.’

  He lay on top of her and she removed his glasses, placing them on the bedside table. The digital clock read 9.01.

  ‘Now, fuck me,’ she commanded and pulled him into her

  ‘Amy, you’re beautiful,’ he murmured as he thrust in and out, neither noticing her hardening expression nor the click as the bedroom door opened.

  John stopped on the threshold of the bedroom and was instantly sober. And murderous. A wave of grief overwhelmed him but the sound that came from the back of his throat was sub-human.

  And Mark heard it.

  He rolled off Amy and tried to grab the bed cover, ineffectually.

  Amy gave a deep laugh.

  ‘Hi, John. Fancy seeing you here. You might have knocked.’

  ‘Amy?’ He felt dazed, as though the walls were closing in on him. ‘But…’

  ‘But what, John?’ Her voice was sugary sweet. ‘You want to know why? Try Dawn Lynch. And try your son.’

  The pain hit him and his legs buckled. He clawed at his chest and then at his throat, fighting for air. He was on the floor before either Mark or Amy could move.

  ‘Tablets,’ he gasped losing consciousness.

  Mark turned to look at Amy as she rolled away from him and off the bed.

  ‘Get his tablets, Amy!’ he shouted. ‘Quick, Amy, they’ll be in his coat pocket.’

  John was curled on the floor in a foetal position when Amy reached him.

  ‘Hang on, boss, we’re getting the pills!’ Mark shouted as he struggled to disentangle himself from the bed and get to John.

  Amy looked at John for some time then reached into his coat pocket. She palmed the small bottle of tablets and slid them under the bed.

  Agitated, she tried to shake her husband.

  ‘John!’ she said with just the right note of urgency. ’Where are your tablets?’ There was no response as she feverishly went through all of his pockets. ‘They’re not here, Mark! Check his bedroom.’

  Mark stood and looked around wildly for his clothes. He was all too aware of the naked figure of Amy within reach of him.

  To his horror it was Freda who handed him his trousers. He looked at her with utter shock. ‘I’ve told Brenda to ring for an ambulance,’ she said icily. ‘I imagine about half the people at the party will be in this room in about thirty seconds. I suggest the pair of you get some clothes on.’ She looked down with disdain at his shrunken penis. ‘She must have been desperate. Now get out of my way while I help John.’

  She didn’t notice any movement from Amy as she frantically searched for a pulse.

  Standing, Freda straightened to her full height and walked across to Amy. Pulling her arm back to its full extent and with all her strength she hit Amy across the face.

  ‘You bitch,’ she hissed’. ‘You did this. You used Mark.’

  She turned to the stricken man still trying to get dressed.

  ‘He’s dead, Mark. I hope you never sleep again.’

  48

  Dawn couldn’t rest, couldn’t concentrate on anything. She glanced at the clock and stood.

  ‘I’m going to bed,’ she announced.

  Josh moved away from the window. He had been looking out at the garden for more than five minutes without actually seeing it. ‘It’s only nine o’clock. Are you okay?’

  ‘Fine. I’m tired, that’s all.’

  ‘I’ll lock up,’ he said and smiled at her. ‘You look a bit peaky. Want me to bring a cup of tea up?’

  She smiled and kissed his cheek. ‘That would be nice.’ It was as she was climbing the stairs that she began to retch and only just made it to the bathroom before vomiting harshly.

  She leaned with her head against the hand basin, feeling too weak to stand. What was wrong with her? All day she had felt out of sorts and Josh was the same.

  ‘Mum?’ Josh stood in the doorway, concern clouding his face. ‘You all right?’

  ‘I hope so now. I’ve been sick. Think I’ll just crawl into bed for the night. Perhaps I’d better not have that tea, love, just water.’

  ‘That’s okay,’ he said. ‘Don’t worry. I’ll stay downstairs for a bit until
you’re asleep then I’ll lock up. Give me a shout if you need anything.’

  She smiled and went to her room.

  Downstairs was eerily quiet. Josh didn’t want the television on, didn’t feel like listening to music and didn’t feel like reading. He paced the lounge, listening for any sound from upstairs; he went to the bottom of the stairs twice just to make sure she wasn’t calling him.

  At ten o’clock he decided enough was enough and switched off the lounge light. He went through to the kitchen and locked and bolted the back door. As he turned off the kitchen light he saw the headlights of a car sweep into the driveway. He waited and dread settled over him like a cloak. He recognised David’s dark green Volvo.

  Josh didn’t want to open the door. He was sliding back the bolt when David knocked using the brass lion’s head.

  ‘David?’

  ‘Josh.’ David’s bulk moved into the kitchen and without speaking he pulled Josh towards him.

  ‘It’s Dad,’ Josh said, his face smothered in David’s jacket.

  ‘Where’s your mum?’

  ‘In bed. What’s wrong? He’s ill again, isn’t he?’

  ‘Go and get your mum, Josh.’

  ‘David?’ Dawn came into the kitchen tying the belt of her housecoat. She looked wan.

  He held his arm out and she moved towards him.

  ‘It’s John. What’s wrong?’

  Her anxious face searched his. He couldn’t speak. Didn’t know how to tell her.

  ‘Dad’s dead, isn’t he?’ Josh spoke quietly, realising David couldn’t bring himself to tell them.

  He nodded and sank on to a kitchen stool. His legs wouldn’t support him any longer.

  Dawn stared at him.

  ‘Dead? But… he’d been so well. How can he be dead?’

  ‘Details later, Dawn.’ David spoke wearily. ‘He died just after nine o’clock…’

  Dawn sat down at the table and stared.

  ‘I know,’ she said blankly. ‘I felt him leave.’

  Josh gave a low moan and sank to his knees.

  ‘Josh, sweetheart.’ Dawn knelt by her son and cradled his head against her bosom.