Distant Voices

by Barbara Erskine

  ‘Kate?’ It was Dave. ‘Richard has sent his plane for you. It arrived in the night and it’s all right; he didn’t come himself. I told his boys there is no panic and you’re okay but they’re anxious to get back. How soon can you be ready?’

  I blinked up at the ceiling. ‘You mean he wants me to fly back to the States?’

  ‘Looks like it. I think you should go, Kate.’ There was something in his voice which did not brook argument. And suddenly I didn’t want to argue. I had been thinking about Richard almost without ceasing for weeks now, and all I wanted was to see him again, to find out if my love for him was real; if the love he felt for me existed at all.

  Richard’s plane was waiting at the local airport and it seemed hardly any time before I was ensconced alone in state in the cabin, being served breakfast and fragrant coffee as we winged our way out across the Atlantic. I was completely relaxed. The quiet tough men who had driven me to the airport looked competent to deal with any eventuality and I could understand Richard being content to send them to save me from Sara.

  From Boston, after a minimum of formalities they drove me straight out to Bay View. I had hoped that Richard would be at the airport, but there was no sign of him, and by now the silence of my escorts was beginning to worry me. I had had time to think on the long flight; time to have second thoughts.

  Why in heaven’s name had I agreed to come? I had not been in danger any longer from Sara at home, but now, what was I heading for? My obscure longing to see a man who, even though he protested his innocence, had been charged with murder, had brought me, in the company of strangers, back to the States. And suddenly I was afraid again.

  But it was too late to turn back; my escort would see to that.

  Edith Marlesford greeted me at the door of the mansion and showed me to the room I had had before with the same gloomy silence, which she broke only when I asked her if Richard was in the house. Shaking her head she said reluctantly, ‘I don’t know where he is at present.’ That was all, and turning she left me to myself.

  I looked round the room with a shiver, remembering my last brief visit; that one night which I had spent sleepless with terror under Richard’s roof. And I thought about Jacqui. I was in a bedroom only two doors away from the room in which she had died. I didn’t want to stay. Miserable and afraid, I did not even unpack my case; I dragged a comb through my hair and sat on the bed thinking, then I reached for the phone and dialled Minna’s number in New York. There was no reply, so I tried Chris’s. It rang and rang in the silence, and then I heard a click. ‘Chris Hannaway is out just now,’ came the voice, mechanical and without animation. ‘At the tone will you leave your name …’ I hung up without a word, conscious suddenly that I was crying.

  I would have sat there all day had not Mrs Marlesford knocked, and after a moment entered the room again. She looked to be in an even blacker humour than before.

  ‘The police are here,’ she said grimly. ‘They want to speak to you.’

  ‘To me?’ I felt my stomach turn over apprehensively. ‘Why?’

  She shrugged austerely. ‘They’re downstairs.’

  Literally shaking, I followed her.

  Two men were standing in the dining room, gazing out of the windows across the garden towards the ice-blue pool. They turned as I came in. ‘Miss Parrish?’ one of them asked. I nodded. He had a note book in his hand and consulting it he went on, ‘You are Richard Bradshaw’s cousin from England, I understand? May I ask when and where you last saw him.’

  I stumbled through his questions, doing my best to answer, not understanding where they were leading. The men were bland, seemingly only half interested. Then suddenly came one sneaky as a knife: ‘I gather someone tried to kill you too, Miss Parrish?’ The hard brown eyes were no longer evasive. They bored into my skull.

  ‘How do you know that?’ I said, shaken.

  ‘We get to hear about most things, in the end,’ he said laconically. ‘Now, you recently sold some land in England to your cousin. Is that right?’

  I nodded.

  ‘As did a third cousin, Miss Minna Monro?’ He was looking at his note book.

  I nodded again.

  ‘And neither of you wanted to part with your property?’

  ‘Well, no, but –’

  ‘Pressure was brought to bear on you, and in the end you agreed, Miss Parrish, isn’t that right?’ There was a moment’s silence. He put his note book away and looked me straight in the eye. ‘Did Bradshaw try to kill you?’

  ‘No! No, you’ve got it all wrong!’ Desperately I tried to explain. I told them about Sara and the gun, floundering as they asked question after question. How many shots had been fired? What time was it? Why hadn’t I called the British police? Why had Sara hated me enough to want to kill me? And again, when had I last seen Richard?

  At long last they went. I was left with two pieces of information, both of which frightened me. One, that by admitting my attraction to Richard, I had somehow perhaps implicated myself, and two, that Richard had not been seen since he was released on bail. He had completely disappeared.

  As the front door closed on the two police officers I stood uncertainly in the hall and wondered what to do. The house seemed deserted. Then I heard a distant sound from somewhere at the back. Hesitantly I made my way towards it and found myself in the huge gleaming kitchens. Edith Marlesford was making coffee, her back to the door, and I stood for a moment watching her in her absorption with her task. Eventually I cleared my throat. ‘I … I’m sorry.’ I found I was stammering. ‘I … I could smell the coffee …’

  She turned quickly, a jug of cream in her hand. ‘Did they give you a rough time?’

  Collapsing into a chair at the kitchen table I nodded wordlessly. She eyed me, then she brought the percolator to the table and produced two shallow French coffee bowls. ‘What did they say?’ she asked sharply.

  I was too tired and too upset to be on my guard. Sipping the coffee gratefully I poured out the whole story yet again, conscious that her black eyes never left my face. When I reached the bit about Sara I saw the malicious gleam increase.

  ‘And you told them all that?’ she asked.

  ‘I had to.’

  She laughed out loud. ‘They’ll call the English police and that will fix that lady for good. Save Mr Richard the trouble of doing it himself, and good riddance to her!’

  Something in the way she said those words made me stare at her.

  ‘You do know where he is?’

  She looked away. ‘I might. I might not.’

  Cupping my hands round my bowl and sipping the coffee gratefully I watched as she stirred her own. She drank it black, without sugar or cream, and yet she stirred it endlessly, gazing down into the black eye of the whirlpool she was making with her spoon.

  ‘Will you tell me something?’ I asked after a long silence.

  She put her head slightly on one side. ‘What?’

  ‘Did Jacqui kill herself or was she murdered?’ I held my breath as I waited for her reply, knowing instinctively that she would have the answer.

  There was a further long pause. Then: ‘Richard wanted her dead, honey.’

  I felt myself growing cold. ‘You mean he did kill her; it wasn’t Sara at all?’ I breathed.

  She laughed out loud. ‘Oh it wasn’t Sara!’

  ‘Then it was Richard?’ I persisted. I was sick with horror.

  Shaking her head she smiled down at her coffee. ‘Not with his own hands. Richard gives orders and they are obeyed.’

  Somehow I stood up. ‘What’s the difference?’ I cried in despair. ‘He’s the killer! Even if he got someone else to do it. He killed her!’

  Blindly I turned for the door and ran out into the hot sunlight. I had to get away. I had to leave that evil, frightening house.

  But I had forgotten the security which surrounded the estate. Pounding across the yard I dodged through the stables and ran as fast as I could across the grass towards the distant gates, only to find
them locked fast. Sobbing, I beat feebly on the heavy painted iron with my fists, but I knew it was no good. I was trapped.

  Edith Marlesford found me there and I felt her arm slip stiffly around my shoulders. ‘Come back to the house, honey,’ she said calmly.

  Too exhausted to argue, I went with her, allowing her to lead me back to my chair at the kitchen table. I sat there, still crying silently as she busied herself once more with a new brew of coffee.

  ‘I know it’s a shock, honey.’ She was talking softly, almost to herself. ‘You’re an English lady, not used to our way of doing things. Not like that trash, Sara. She was good for nothing, that one, and Jacqueline. Useless. Not the right ones for Mr Richard at all, either of them.’ She put the freshly filled coffee bowl down before me. ‘There, drink that.’ Sitting down opposite me, she put her hand over mine. It was ice cold. ‘You’ve nothing to fear, Katherine,’ she said again. ‘Nothing at all. He likes you.’

  I drank the coffee slowly, half listening to her almost hypnotic voice droning on, reassuring, soothing, wondering sleepily why the events of the last two days and the long flight had left me more exhausted than I had thought possible. I no longer felt I could cope with what was happening to me as a warm drowsiness began to creep through my veins.

  With an effort I pulled myself together and forced myself to listen to what she was saying, propping my head on my elbow as I tried to focus on her face.

  ‘I’ve always taken care of Richard, since his momee died,’ she was explaining. ‘I’ve known what’s best for him since he was five years old. Hundreds of women have chased him; but none of them were good enough. I’ve gotten rid of them all. Then Jacqueline came along. She was too dependent, too weak. She wouldn’t let him go so easily, so I had to make her.’

  I stared at her, trying to keep my eyes open with an effort, my brain struggling as I tried to understand. ‘What are you saying?’ I murmured.

  She laughed, almost gaily. ‘Don’t you know?’ she asked.

  ‘You killed her?’ I whispered. ‘You killed Jacqueline?’

  ‘It was what he wanted,’ she replied complacently. ‘I’ve always been the instrument of his wishes. That’s what I’m here for.’

  Her face was swimming before me, in a haze, as I tried to stand, and I realised suddenly that I couldn’t.

  ‘What have you done to me?’ I heard myself crying. ‘You’ve poisoned me. In the coffee!’ My mind had gone numb; I wasn’t even afraid as, smiling, she rose slowly to her feet. ‘No, no,’ she said reassuringly. ‘Not poison. I’m not going to hurt you, Katherine. You are the right one for him. I knew it the first time I saw you. You are what he needs; the others were wrong, but not you.’ She was coming round the table towards me and I could do nothing but watch. I felt her arm go round my shoulders. ‘Come, I’ll help you to bed. This will help you sleep, honey, that’s all. You’re overwrought by everything that’s happened.’

  I seemed unable to argue. Her grip was surprisingly strong and I could feel her almost carrying me along the hall and up the stairs towards my bedroom. There she helped me to the bed and I fell on it heavily, my eyes closing. I heard the rattle of the curtains as she shut out the sunlight, then she came back to the bedside and I felt her removing my shoes. ‘There, Katherine Parrish,’ she said from a long way away. ‘Relax and you’ll soon be comfy.’

  Dimly I realised that she was pulling off my dress, then the rest of my clothes, and I felt the satin sheets cold against my burning body. Her hand brushed my breast for a moment, caressing my skin, then gently she pulled the cover over me and tucked me in. I was unable to struggle, unable to move as I fought in vain against the terrible sleepiness which was overwhelming me.

  ‘This’ll keep you safe and quiet, honey,’ she murmured, bending over me and touching my hair. ‘Ready for him when he comes home …’

  Through eyelids heavy as lead I saw her tiptoe across the shadowy carpet, remove the key from the lock and, taking it with her, slip out of the room. Seconds later I slid into unconsciousness.

  When I awoke the room was almost dark. I lay there for a while conscious only of the painful throbbing behind my eyelids, feeling the numbness slowly ebbing from my limbs as gradually I remembered where I was.

  ‘So, she’s waking up.’

  Only when I heard the voice did I realise at last that someone was sitting on the bed beside me and, as my eyes grew used to the gloom, I recognised Richard. His weight on the sheet was pinioning me to the bed, but I was suddenly painfully conscious that beneath the smooth satin I was naked.

  He laughed softly and I felt the whisper of fear begin to play once more about me. This man was a murderer.

  ‘I’m glad you decided to pay off your debt after all,’ he said, still smiling as he reached out and touched my cheek with the back of his hand. ‘You are beautiful, Katherine. I can see why Mrs M is so taken by you.’

  I shrank away from his touch, but the sheet held me fast and I found I could not move as he leaned forward over me and began gently to kiss my lips.

  So I did not resist or turn my head away. Perhaps I was still drugged; perhaps I had realised even then that I could not fight him, but slowly I felt a quick tingle of desire mingling with my fear. Even as I realised it Richard released me and straightened up with a grin. ‘There is no time for this now,’ he said standing up. ‘Do you feel strong enough to get dressed? We must hurry.’

  Hurry, before the police could find him. I stared at him, trying to see a murderer in the face of the man I had imagined myself in love with; a man who was prepared to let others kill for him; a man with the blood of a beautiful, helpless woman on his hands.

  ‘The police know I’m here,’ I stammered at last – the first words I had spoken to him since a lifetime ago he had driven me back to the farm with his cheque for a million pounds in my pocket.

  ‘Ah yes. The police.’ He picked up my clothes and tossed them to me.

  ‘They are probably watching the house,’ I stammered, sitting up, the sheet pulled up to my chin. ‘They’ll catch you, you know. You mustn’t stay …’ I realised for the first time that behind the curtains the sky was dark. I must have been asleep for hours.

  He was watching me closely, his expression inscrutable, but for a moment I thought I saw a smile hovering behind his eyes. ‘I don’t intend to stay. And they’re not going to bother me where I’m going.’ He paused, then he corrected himself slowly. ‘Where we are going, Katherine.’ Gently but firmly he unfolded my fingers from my sheet and pulled it back. Then he smiled and reached to touch a strand of my hair which lay curling across my bare shoulder. ‘Hurry up, my love. Put on that dress and come down. My car is at the door.’

  I watched as he left the room, a tall, slim figure in immaculately cut jeans, and I shivered suddenly as I remembered the burning touch of his hands on my skin and realised that I did still love him. But how could I love a murderer? How could I have borne such a touch?

  My fingers trembling, I reached for my clothes and began to put them on. I pushed my feet into my sandals and stood shakily up, grabbing my bag, then I ran for the stairs. The front door stood wide and outside, drawn up before the steps, I recognised the red Mercedes, the same car Jacqueline had driven when she rescued me before from Bay View. There was no sign of Richard.

  I looked round cautiously, and then tiptoed out onto the steps. In the light from the porch I could see the keys in the ignition. Without another thought I ran down, pulled open the door and threw myself in. The car started at the first turn of the key. I slammed down the accelerator and hurtled down the drive as if all the hounds of hell were after me.

  The tall iron-bound gates were still closed, but I remembered the button on the dashboard in time. At a touch the heavy green wings began to swing slowly open and I could see the black ribbon of the road stretching away into the darkness beyond.

  I turned the car southbound with a squeal of tyres and drove with my foot flat on the boards. After the first hour I stopped glanci
ng in the mirror to see if I was being followed; after two I dared to pull in for gasoline and picked up a sandwich and a paper cup of coffee to help keep me awake. It was the early hours when I reached New York and only as the traffic thickened and swirled around me, sucking me with it closer and closer to the heart of the city, did I feel safe at last.

  Even so, I did not dare to go to Minna. It was the first place Richard would look. Instead I swung the car through the streets, threading my way towards Chris’s apartment. It was three in the morning when I rang his bell.

  For one awful moment I thought he wasn’t there, then at last I saw a light come on in the hall and he swung the door open.

  ‘Hi Chris,’ I said.

  ‘Kate!’ He did not seem pleased to see me. ‘What the hell are you doing here?’

  ‘Oh Chris I’m sorry. You’ve got to help me!’ I slipped past him. ‘It’s Richard!’

  I heard a murmured curse behind me, but he closed the door to my relief and I watched as he put on the chain. ‘What about Richard?’ he said wearily. ‘I thought it was all sorted out.’

  ‘Sorted out?’ I swung round on him. ‘Chris! It’s a mess!’

  ‘It’s that all right. I saw the old witch on the TV news last night.’

  I was stunned for a moment. Then I heard myself repeat: ‘On the news?’

  ‘Sure. Edith Marlesford.’ He must have noticed my blank face. ‘Don’t you know? She gave herself up to the cops last night. Confessed everything. Richard is in the clear.’

  I sat down abruptly on the chest by the door. ‘Richard is not under suspicion any more? Not even for wanting Jacqui dead, for incitement or whatever it’s called?’ I was dizzy with relief.

  ‘Not for anything. Hell Kate, I thought you were the one who believed in him!’

  Yes, I had believed in him. Hadn’t I?

  ‘Oh God!’ I said. I grabbed the phone and with shaking hands I punched out the number to Bay View while Chris stared at me in astonishment.

  A man’s voice answered; not Richard.