She stopped her polishing with a jolt.
‘He was spying on me.’
The startling realisation made her nervous and she glanced over her shoulder, feeling suddenly vulnerable in the empty house where the sound of the torrential rain masked any other noise.
Mark’s arrival at the office was greeted with an assortment of telephone messages, which his flustered secretary thrust into his hands the minute he walked in the door. His own mood was one of irritation caused by his late arrival and a mounting feeling of frustration. The frustration increased as he read one of the messages left for him. He dialled a number and scanned the remaining messages as he waited for his call to be answered.
‘Hello, it’s Mark.’ He sank down into his desk chair and spoke in a low controlled voice. ‘Yes, well I do have other things to do, you know.’ He signalled through the glass partition to his secretary that he would like a cup of tea. ‘I know. I know,’ he snapped into the receiver, ‘but it’s too late for that.’ His voice dropped to a churlish mumble. ‘She’s found out.’ He nodded his head angrily. ‘Yes … yes … And I think she’s guessed its worth.’ He drummed his fingers on the desktop and gave an exasperated sigh. ‘I agree with you, but the fact of the matter is that when I went to visit, she wasn’t there, if you recall.’
He glanced up as his secretary placed a cup of tea on his desk. She gave him a questioning look and went back to her desk. Mark watched her go and remained silent until she was out of hearing. He spoke softly but urgently into the mouthpiece.
‘We’ve got to be very careful how we handle this. It’s difficult enough as it is with the police hovering around, but I’ll have another go at getting her to sell.’ He listened intently as the voice at the other end of the phone interrupted him. His expression hardened.
‘You mean it exists? Then it’s certain that she knows everything. In that case, I’ll make one last attempt. If she refuses – we’ll have to look at our options.’
Belinda had just folded clean towels into the airing cupboard when she heard a key turn in the front door and Mark’s footsteps in the hall. As she entered his kitchen it was to find him opening a bottle of champagne. He gave her a broad smile and poured two glasses of the wine.
‘Not much happening at the office today,’ he said, nodding out the window to the rain. ‘This weather has really slowed sales rather badly.’ He handed Belinda a glass and toasted her with his. ‘Here’s to the prettiest char in Bath.’
Belinda took her wine and eyed Mark suspiciously.
‘Champagne. And in the middle of the afternoon. What, may I ask, is the celebration? You can’t have made a good sale. You said yourself things are tough.’ She took a sip of wine.
Mark leaned confidently against the large kitchen table. He was the picture of a prosperous young blood. Successful in business and successful with women.
‘I’m celebrating in advance. You see, I’m hopeful of pulling off one of the best deals of the year.’
‘Congratulations. May I ask what it is?’
‘You may. After all, it concerns you.’
‘I don’t see how it can. I’ve got nothing to sell.’
Mark sipped his champagne. ‘Don’t be too sure about that. Wait until you …’
Belinda put her glass down on the table with a thump.
‘Mark, don’t waste your breath.’
‘Wait until you hear the offer,’ Mark continued as though she had not spoken.
‘I’m not interested in your offer, Mark.’
‘It’s not my offer, actually,’ he replied, walking to the window and looking into the waterlogged courtyard. ‘It’s a client of mine. He’s prepared to offer you a princely sum for the cottage.’
‘I don’t want to sell, Mark.’
He turned back to her, a red flush of anger creeping over his handsome features.
‘Why don’t you listen. It’s a very good price for a rather rundown property – a price that I doubt you’ll get again.’
‘Not even if the garden was restored to the way Capability Brown designed it?’ Belinda shot angrily at him.
For a moment the two looked at each other, then Mark took a slow sip of his champagne.
‘Yes, Mark. I do know. Did you think it would remain a secret?’
Mark shrugged. ‘No. That has nothing to do with it.’
‘Oh come off it, Mark,’ snapped Belinda, ‘I didn’t come down with this rain. The reason you’re keen to buy it is because if restored to Capability Brown’s plan it could be sold for a small fortune. You know it. I know it. And whoever your so-called client is – they know it.’
Mark was silent for a moment. ‘I take it that you don’t want to discuss it further?’
‘What’s to discuss? You forget, Mark, that whatever else it may be to you, to me it’s my home. And that’s the way it’s going to stay.’
To her surprise, Mark suddenly grasped her arm and roughly pushed her against the wall.
‘Mark,’ Belinda yelped in pain. ‘Let go, you’re hurting me.’
Suddenly his lips were upon her. Upon her eyes, her cheeks, her lips. His hands explored her in a rough caress and he held her tight against him.
Again his lips found hers and crushed them as his arms folded her in and engulfed her. A shiver of excitement went through her at the same time as she rejected his kiss. His body was too demanding, too impulsive and she struggled, her hands on his chest, to break free. She staggered back away from him and he reached out to take hold of her again, his fingers biting into the soft flesh of her arm.
‘No, Mark. No. Please let me go.’
He pulled her violently towards him.
‘Belinda, listen to me.’ His face was close to her, his eyes blazing with an intensity she had never seen in him before.
‘I want you. I’ve been content to wait quietly until the time was right. But I can’t wait any longer.’
‘Mark, you’re talking nonsense.’
‘Nonsense, is it? What about your infatuation with that idiot Jacob? That’s a doomed relationship.’
‘How can you say that?’ cried Belinda, as she backed away.
‘Does he love you?’ With a quick move he held her in his arms again and thrust kiss upon kiss upon her throat and lips. ‘I’m the one who loves you. Forget him. What can he give you? Are you content to be a gardener’s little bit of fluff?’
With an effort Belinda pushed him away.
‘You’re talking drivel,’ she shouted. ‘Why are you behaving like this?’
‘Because you are behaving stupidly. You need bringing to your senses.’
Belinda found herself shaking with emotion. Mark watched her, his eyes calculating and determined. Belinda raised an eyebrow.
‘What were you going to do, Mark? Get me drunk, make love to me and get me sign on the dotted line?’ She gestured towards the wine. ‘Seduce me into selling the cottage? Do you think I’m that much of a pushover? Is that how you conduct your other business deals? In the bedroom? If you don’t mind I’ll finish my work here later in the week. I find it uncomfortable at the moment.’ She walked to the door. ‘That is if you still want me to clean house for you?’
Mark stood with his back to her. ‘Suit yourself.’
Belinda turned and left the building.
As the slam of the door echoed through the hall, Mark increased the tension on the glass in his hand. In a surge of anger he snapped the delicate glass stem. Razor sharp fragments gashed his fingers. How could he have been so stupid to imagine that she would be persuaded to sell by such clumsy methods? Still, desperate times call for desperate measures and it was vital that he got his hands on that property.
Late afternoon found Belinda in Bath. She bought some food for her supper and as she scurried across the Abbey Churchyard, the rain eased and faint rays of sunlight lit up the facade of Bath Abbey.
Realising that she had not played the tourist, and weary from her work and the recent confrontation with Mark, she slipped into the ancient Abbey and
sat bathed in the faint coloured light spilling from the windows.
Gazing up at the elegant fan vaulting over the chancel, Belinda felt herself relax fully for the first time in weeks. Warm tears flowed down her cheeks as she mourned the loss of her aunt, tears that she had held back but now released in gentle tribute to her dead relative.
Intrusive questions rose in her mind, increased in potency and drove the tears from her cheeks. She dried them and found herself puzzling over the events of the past weeks.
Aunt Jane’s letter, for one.
Why had Rosemary been killed and what was the significance of the scrap of paper bearing the name “Michelangelo”?
Who had broken into her house and what were they looking for?
The garden design by Capability Brown?
If so, was that all they were looking for?
Given the fact that the discovery of the plan and the potential to redesign her garden to Brown’s specifications was considered valuable, who would benefit from it most?
Mark wanted to sell it – for a commission.
Jacob wanted to re-create the garden for its aesthetic qualities.
What connection did those aspirations have with a mysterious intruder and the horrors of two deaths?
The answers still eluded Belinda. She rose from the pew, the initial calm she had experienced upon entering the church dissipating rapidly.
The car headlights proved barely adequate against the curtain of water that fell over Milford. Putting on the handbrake Belinda stepped out into the rain and shut the car door. As she did she noticed a faint light in the kitchen window of Jacob’s cottage.
‘Jacob is home,’ she cried and, slipping and sliding, made her way up the hill.
There was no reply to her knock on the door. With water trickling down her neck she turned the handle and stepped into the kitchen. It was icy cold and for a moment she thought the room was empty. The only light came from a reading lamp that stood near the window and she was about to turn and go when Jacob’s sombre voice startled her.
‘You may as well come in.’
Belinda shut the door behind her and pulled the wet scarf from her head. She saw Jacob sitting in the half-dark at the far end of the kitchen table. A half-empty bottle of whisky stood on the table before him and he twisted and turned a large glass tumbler in his restless hands.
‘Get yourself a glass. You can get drunk with me.’ He poured himself another glass of whisky and downed it in a gulp.
Belinda drew out a chair and sat near Jacob.
‘Oh, Jacob.’ Tenderly she laid her hand on his.
He snatched his arm away abruptly and half turned from her so that she saw his strong profile against the pale light.
‘We’ll have none of that,’ he said huskily. ‘None of that false sympathy.’
Annoyed, Belinda said, ‘I’ve no sympathy with self-pity.’
Jacob looked at her from the corner of his eye and a contemptuous smile curled his lips.
‘Pardon me, I forgot. I’m talking to the cool calm and collected Miss Lawrence, whom nothing, but nothing, fazes.’
Belinda struck the table with her hand. ‘Goddamn it Jacob, shut up.’
The strength of her anger startled him and he looked at her in astonishment.
‘Do you think I wasn’t upset finding Rosemary dead in my kitchen? Or my aunt half-eaten by rats at the bottom of the stairs? Do you honestly believe that I wasn’t affected by that? Because if you do, then you are the most self-centred individual I’ve come across.’
Her rage increasing, a rage that she realised she had been holding in for the past weeks, she stood and towered over Jacob.
‘So you’ve lost your sister. She’s dead. Well I’m sorry. I am very sorry – if you’ll believe me. But the fact of the matter is that she – and my aunt – they are dead. Gone! And as sad and as horrible as that is, nothing, not even all the whisky in Scotland or all the self-pity in this world will bring either of them back again, and we just have to accept that and get on with our lives, Jacob. Do you hear me? Get on with our lives!’
Her voice had risen to a roar and in the sudden silence she heard a strange noise. She fought to catch her breath and realised that the sound was Jacob sobbing. Softly and gently he grieved.
In a rush of compassion, Belinda slid her arm around his shoulder and held him close.
He turned suddenly and buried his face in her body, crying and wailing like a small child who faced reality for the first time. Together they clung to each other, Belinda gently rocking him back and forth.
Belinda lay back on the pillow staring at the ceiling, the sound of the rain filling her ears. Jacob lay nestled beside her, sleeping fitfully, one arm across her waist. She glanced down at him and lightly stroked his forehead. He stirred and murmured in his sleep, some indistinguishable accusation.
They had fallen into each other’s arms, each seeking from the other comfort for their own particular anguish. Their lovemaking had proved frenzied and intense as though by welding their bodies, they could secure a common shield against the dismay and revulsion surrounding them.
Being honest with herself, Belinda admitted that she had been attracted by Jacob since she first saw him and that it was more than just a physical charm. As annoying as he could be, she admired his passions even though she did not always share them.
The hum of the rain lulled Belinda into a restless sleep.
She woke with a start and tasted the salt of tears on her lips.
Jacob was awake and sitting on the bed looking down at her. He leant over and gently kissed her salty mouth, then rose and walked to the chair to fetch his clothes. By the grey light seeping through the folds of the curtain Belinda saw his powerful, robust body as he drew his shirt over broad shoulders. He sank back onto the bed to pull his socks on, and Belinda ran her hand down the potent arch of his back.
‘She was more than a sister to me,’ he said softly, his movements slowing and his voice growing sweet as he began to talk, for the first time, about Rosemary.
‘I think I gathered that,’ whispered Belinda.
Jacob shook his head. ‘No, I don’t think anyone really could understand how close we were. She really was like a mother to me. After our parents died we were thrown together on our own resources and it was she who enabled me to study gardening.’ He half-turned to Belinda. ‘She took whatever work she could get to pay for my schooling. She even worked in a slaughterhouse at one stage, sorting out the offal. She’d come home with dried blood on her hands and that used to upset her.’ He chuckled as he recalled a distant happening. ‘For about six months we lived on liver and kidneys.’
Belinda smiled.
‘She believed in me, in what I wanted to do. I think she was proud of me and what I had achieved.’ He was silent for a moment, lost in his emotions. ‘Then she took on housework. I used to tease her about it but underneath I was grateful. Grateful and proud that she was my sister. And I intended to make it up to her for all the hours of hard demeaning work that she’d undertaken. Now I’ll never get the chance.’ His voice faded to a whisper.
Belinda rested her hand on his shoulder.
‘No. But at least we can make sure that her murderer is found and brought to justice.’
She felt Jacob flinch. He rose abruptly and pulled on his trousers. ‘Yes,’ he said in a frosty voice, ‘at least I’ve got that pleasure to look forward to.’
***
Thirteen
Intense torrential rain continued relentlessly all week. By Friday the garden was awash and everything was damp and threatening mildew. Jacob had been unable to continue work in the garden as it gradually sank into a quagmire of mud and decaying leaves. The police guard on the cottage had been removed, ostensibly because the police believed that any potential threat to Belinda had been reduced. Belinda herself guessed that it had more to do with the weather and the risk of the force catching pneumonia.
The departing police officer had given her a telephone
number to ring but the nearest telephone was in Jacob’s house, and it would be a very considerate murderer who would wait patiently for her to run up the hill to place a telephone call – prior to having her throat cut.
Belinda was driven to distraction as she mopped water and mud from the halls and floors of her clients’ homes. The water seeped in everywhere and nightly on television, weather bureau experts were belittled by smug news presenters and more or less accused of being personally responsible for the inclement weather.
The week had gone by and each day Belinda had telephoned Mr Munro’s office, but the old man had not returned to work. Searching through her bag, Belinda located his card, which he had given her when they first met, and called his home number. There was no answer. It seemed that Mr Munro had disappeared.
The windscreen wipers flashed back and forth. With the aid of her ancient directory, Belinda was able to locate Mr Munro’s village. Or, rather, the village near where he lived.
There had to be a reason for Mr Munro to break his appointment with her, and a further explanation why he had not contacted her or his office. With this thought Belinda made her way towards his home. Perhaps his housekeeper or staff member could explain his whereabouts. Keeping one eye on her directory and one on the misty landscape Belinda passed the ruins of a monastery set far off in a field.
According to the map, the village was just over the hill. It was really a collection of a few dilapidated farms, but at least it had a village store that sported ice cream signs and newspaper hoardings; all the important signs of civilisation. Belinda pulled the car over in front of the store and made a run for the door.
The interior was gloomy and smelt of sticky sweets and day old bread. A young girl of about fourteen slumped behind the counter reading a teenage magazine with a particularly lurid cover of semi-naked youths disporting themselves on some distant beach. The girl barely glanced up as Belinda entered and proceeded to ignore her. Belinda stood at the counter for a few moments and cleared her throat.
‘Excuse me, I’m looking for Mr Munro’s house. He lives near here. Could you tell me how to get there?’
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