by Anna Jacobs
Carla appeared in the opening. ‘Hell! The man’s a lunatic.’ She brandished her mobile phone and jerked her head towards the other door. ‘Talk as you go and if you stop talking, I’ll start screaming and call the police.’
Jenny went into the room. ‘There’s no one here, but oh, God! Carla, it’s such a mess.’ She was weeping helplessly now. ‘I’m looking in the wardrobe – nothing here, either – just the bathroom to check now – oh, the bastard! What a mess!’ All her make-up had been ground together in the sink and all her perfumes poured down it so that the place was full of a cloying stink. ‘He’s not here – you can come in.’
Carla walked through the small flat, muttering to herself as she inspected the damage. ‘He’s sick, that man is, really, really sick. Oh, my God! Look at that.’
Jenny turned reluctantly towards the bed. Her best underwear was arranged on top of the covers, as if a body were wearing it. Black lace bra and knickers, the suspender belt she’d bought because he said it was sexy. Why the hell hadn’t she thrown that away? And there was a condom standing ready by the bedside. But where her heart would have been, just below the black lace bra, a carving knife was sticking up in a pool of red.
‘Don’t touch anything.’ Carla dialled the 000 emergency number on her mobile.
It took an hour for someone to turn up, during which time Jenny jerked in fright at every sound of footsteps in the stairwell, even though Carla had wedged a chair under the front door handle.
The policeman was brisk and factual, examining everything, then calling into the station for someone to come out and investigate more thoroughly. ‘It’s a sicko,’ he said into the phone. ‘A real sicko.’
It was three hours before the investigation team had finished with Jenny, by which time she had repeated the sordid details of her affair with Michael and her troubles since they broke up, going over it so many times she felt like a record stuck in a groove.
‘Do you have somewhere else to stay tonight?’ the woman officer asked as they prepared to leave. ‘We’ll send someone to make this place secure, but you shouldn’t stay here on your own from now on.’
‘I – yes, I can go to my gran’s – oh, but she hasn’t got a spare bed now.’ She stood there, feeling utterly dumb, unable to think of an alternative.
‘Come round to my place and crash on the floor,’ Carla offered. ‘Sue won’t mind. You can think of something more permanent tomorrow.’
Jenny could only nod. ‘I’ll pack some things.’ She took plastic bags and stuffed every garment she could find that was untouched into them, emptying her drawers and her shelves. She didn’t want him coming back to finish creating mayhem. And she didn’t want to come back here herself, either. Not ever.
It wasn’t until the following morning, as they were getting ready for work, that Jenny remembered her mother’s embroideries. How lucky she’d forgotten about them and left them in the car boot! As she was fumbling in her bag for her keys, she found the scratchie. Well, she certainly didn’t feel lucky at the moment! Still, she got out a coin and scratched off the coating.
As she studied the numbers, she gasped and checked everything again. But she hadn’t made a mistake. ‘Five thousand dollars!’ She raised her voice to yell, ‘Carla, I just won five thousand dollars on a scratchie. Oh, I don’t believe this!’ Then she was weeping again and her friend was comforting her.
‘But why are you crying, you idiot? You’ve won some money. That’s good news, for a change.’
‘Because this is the answer, don’t you see?’
‘Call me stupid, but I don’t see. Five thousand dollars isn’t exactly a fortune.’
‘It’s enough to get me to England. I’m going to stay with Mum.’ Michael wouldn’t be able to reach her there or even find out where she was.
‘Wow! Good idea.’ Carla went back to her breakfast, waving one hand at the phone. ‘Be my guest. Phone her now and tell her. And if she’s out, you can use my computer and email her.’
Jenny picked up the receiver, then put it down again. ‘No. I’m not giving her the chance to speak to Dad. He’ll say no for sure and she always does as he tells her. I’m not even going to tell Gran.’
She hugged her arms around her chest. ‘I’m really scared, Carla. That policeman was right. Michael’s a real sicko. I’m leaving the country. And if that means that bastard’s won, well, he’s won.’
‘What about your job?’
‘I’ll tell my supervisor what’s happened. I think he’ll understand. He’s been asking me if anything’s wrong. And if he doesn’t give me leave, I’ll quit.’ It was better to be alive and unemployed than dead – or raped – or both.
After Carla had left, Jenny rang work and told them what had happened, then phoned the detectives. Before she could say anything about her plans they asked her to go to the police station and answer some more questions.
What they said made her even more determined to leave Perth. Michael had an alibi. Well, of course he did. Two of his sleazy friends had sworn he’d been with them at the hotel drinking, they’d gone there straight after work and stayed until closing time. And a barman remembered seeing him, because he’d complained about a wrong order, but the guy couldn’t decide on the exact time for this, as things had been pretty busy around then.
Jenny looked the female detective in the eyes. ‘I knew you wouldn’t be able to prove anything, but I swear to you it’s him.’
‘I believe you.’
The male detective looked at her thoughtfully, then nodded. He was inclined to believe her, too. The suspect was a cocky bastard and had smirked the whole time they were interviewing him. He smelt bad, as far as Dean was concerned. And the victim was as nice as that guy seemed suspicious. ‘We’ll keep an eye on him from now on. Your parents’ neighbours gave us a clear description, even to the colour and make of his car. We both believe you, Jenny.’
‘You do?’
The female detective smiled at her. ‘You’ve got that sort of face, Jenny Stevenson. Honest. So what are you going to do? You’d be best getting away for a while, if you can.’
Jenny managed a near smile. ‘I’m going to England to join my mother.’
‘Your ex won’t know her address?’
‘No. It’s a rented house. She went there after I broke up with him.’
‘Perfect. Leave us your contact details, though.’
It was not until she was sitting on a plane that Jenny remembered the note she’d scribbled to her gran and forgotten to post in her hurry to get away. It was still in her pocket. Oh, well, she’d ring from England. She snuggled down in the seat. She hadn’t felt so safe for a long time. Soon she was asleep.
Chapter Nine
The sun was low in the sky and it had been a balmy spring day. Rosalind walked slowly round the gardens of Destan Manor with Jonathon, a short stroll, so as not to overstrain her ankle. Dusty trailed behind them, sniffing at this and that, wagging his tail whenever someone looked his way. Rosalind felt more at peace with the world than she had done for a long time.
She bent to caress a patch of vivid purple aubrietia that tumbled over a low, grey stone wall above a clump of bright daffodils, then half-turned to smile at Jonathon. ‘These are so beautiful, aren’t they? I think I’ll do a Dorset garden in spring as one of my next pieces, with an art nouveau kind of lady in the centre, slender and elegant with sweeping skirts that tangle into the flowers till you can’t tell which is which.’
‘That sounds beautiful.’
‘It’s good sometimes to escape into fantasy art – though I enjoy capturing reality, too.’
She also enjoyed talking to someone who understood her references. Paul would have asked what she meant, Liz would have told her to do something from the twentieth century, and her children would just have shrugged and said, Yeah, yeah, very nice – no, Jenny might have been genuinely interested.
But Jonathon, well, he seemed tuned in to the same cultural things as she was. It was one of the many things
which made him such an easy and pleasant companion.
As they reached the end of the alley, he took hold of her hand and swung her to face him. ‘I’ve been trying not to say this, but I can’t hold it in any longer. Rosalind, dearest Rosalind, you do realise I’ve fallen in love with you, don’t you?’
She stood and stared at him, mouth open. She had sort of realised it, she admitted to herself, but she hadn’t let herself face up to it. She hadn’t admitted to her own feelings, either. She was attracted to him, very, though she couldn’t understand how this had happened. She hadn’t encouraged him to be more than a friend, because she wasn’t the sort of person to be unfaithful. Only – she’d seen so little of Paul during the past year or two, and he seemed to have changed … and Jonathon was so … She didn’t let herself finish that thought.
Gnats drifted past them in a cloud, trailing a thin wailing sound that seemed to express exactly how she felt. She couldn’t be less than honest with him. ‘Oh, Jonathon, why didn’t I meet you twenty-five years ago?’
His voice was soft. ‘You were on the other side of the world and actually, I took a while to settle down, rebelling against the burden of all this.’ He waved a hand towards the house. ‘Then Dad died suddenly and it all came to me, so I had no choice. Later I fell in love with Isabel and I think she loved me at first, I really do! Though it’s hard to be sure now, after all the acrimony.’
He stared into the distance. ‘Only I wouldn’t wipe out my sons any more than you’d wipe out your children. We’ve both reaped the pleasure of children from our marriages, even if other things haven’t been – wonderful.’
As she met his solemn gaze, she tried to find the right words to answer him, but failed because her thoughts were in a total tangle.
‘But we’ve met now, Rosalind, and I don’t think you’re indifferent to me.’ He took her other hand and raised it to his lips, gazing into her eyes, trying to gauge her response. He saw only confusion.
Her voice was breathless, soft as everything else about her. ‘You must think I’m stupid, but I hadn’t realised until now how you felt – or how I felt, either. No,’ she corrected, determined to be absolutely honest, ‘I had realised, but I just hadn’t let myself admit it. I’ve never even looked at another man before, you see.’
He nodded. ‘You seem like the sleeping princess sometimes, slightly out of touch with reality. You’re not happy with Paul, though, are you?’
She stared blindly at the masses of colour around them. ‘No. I’m not happy with him and I haven’t been for a long time.’ She closed her eyes for a moment before saying the rest of it and facing things squarely. ‘He’s good in bed, but not much use as a husband and father. Well, you can’t be when you’re never there. And where he’s heading now isn’t where I want to go. I’m not even sure I can pretend any more, let alone follow him further up the corporate ladder.’
Silence whispered around them for a few moments, then she stretched out one hand to touch his cheek briefly. ‘I am attracted to you, Jonathon, but I’ve been married a long time and we’ve both been faithful, so Paul and I do share a bond of loyalty, if nothing else. I can’t just walk away from everything. Your marriage is over, you’re cut off from your sons and I can tell how that hurts you. If I left Australia, came to live in England, I might cut myself off from my children, too, and I don’t think I could bear that.’
And besides, Paul had cared enough about their marriage to arrange this second honeymoon, even if it had gone awry. She’d held on to that thought through her weeks of being angry with him.
She let her hand drop and walked on. Jonathon walked with her, not interrupting, allowing her time to think. Dusk closed in around them, encouraging her to more confidences. ‘Paul and I have admitted that we’ve grown apart and we’ve agreed to try to – get closer again. I have to give it a chance.’
‘And you’re not the sort to have an affair.’ To him it was part of her charm. ‘But would it upset you greatly if I kissed you? Just this once? I’ve been longing to for days.’
Without waiting for an answer, he drew her into his arms, holding her for a few moments to gaze down into her eyes. Love shone brightly in his face.
When he bent his head to kiss her, she gave in to temptation and with an inarticulate murmur, she put her arms round his neck. She didn’t hold back because she wasn’t going to do this again and wanted something to remember him by. When they stopped kissing, she rested her head on his shoulder and let him hold her for a long time.
At last he pulled away. ‘May I remain your friend, Rosalind? I promise I won’t pester or embarrass you about how I feel.’
‘You are my friend.’ She swallowed a hard lump that was sitting in her throat. How quickly she had grown to love this man. Love him? Yes, this was love. She couldn’t imagine life without him now, couldn’t bear the thought of going back to Australia and never seeing him again.
But she didn’t voice those thoughts because acting selfishly would mean hurting Paul and her children. She reached out to hold Jonathon’s hand, allowing herself that small pleasure, and together they strolled back through the softly shadowed gardens.
By now he knew her real preferences, so made her some coffee and said in a more normal tone, ‘I told you, didn’t I, that my sons will be visiting me for the fundraising fête?’
She was glad to talk of something else. ‘I shall look forward to meeting them.’
He stared down into his cup. ‘Isabel doesn’t like them staying here – she wants to stop all the family traditions and get Giles to break the trust when he grows up, but the more she keeps them away from Destan, the more the boys seem to love it.’ He gave a wry smile. ‘There’s an extra fascination in the forbidden, don’t you think? They come here every year at this time. That’s part of our divorce agreement. They think the fête is enormous fun.’
‘I’m looking forward to it, too. Perhaps you’d like to bring them round to tea?’ Twelve-year-old boys on their best behaviour could be delightful. Or utterly ghastly, if they were in an off mood. She could remember Tim at that age, before he’d withdrawn from any closeness with her.
‘I think it’d look better if I gave everyone tea here – you, me, Harry.’ He knew Isabel questioned the boys when they got back and would love to find an excuse to keep Giles and Rufus away from him in future.
As they drank their coffee and chatted quietly, Rosalind saw how his glances sometimes betrayed his feelings and wondered if hers did the same. She was very conscious of his body – and of her own. How short a distance his hand was from hers! She kept wanting to kiss him again. Or at least hold his hand.
But she didn’t.
And neither did he.
Tim took the money back to the dealer and handed it over.
‘Where’s the rest?’
‘What do you mean?’
‘I gave you fifty packets. There’s money here for only forty. Where’s the rest?’
‘I don’t have any more.’ Tim’s mind raced back to his hour on the street. Wayne had come up to chat to him. They’d been laughing and horsing around a bit. Surely his friend hadn’t robbed him?
Who else could it be? No one else had touched him, and a serious thief would have taken all the dope.
‘Someone must have picked my pocket and—’
‘Do you think I came down in the last shower of rain?’ The dealer beckoned and two figures stepped out of the shadows.
Tim backed away, but the two men dragged him outside. One of them flung him hard against the wall, then punched him several times. When the fist slammed into his gut again, he was violently sick, unable to control himself.
‘Hell!’ said a voice up above his crouched body. ‘This bastard just puked all over my shoes.’
‘Kick him in the balls.’
Tim curled up, trying to protect himself. ‘Please, no! I won’t – it was an accident, losing those packets.’
A foot slammed into his back and pain exploded everywhere. ‘Make sure you
don’t have any more accidents, man! And don’t push for no one else in this town. Got it?’
He screamed, but they ignored that and continued to beat him till he felt himself losing consciousness. He was sure by then that they intended to kill him.
He woke early next morning, surprised to find himself still alive and lying in an alley he didn’t recognise. It took him a while to drag himself painfully to his feet, for every inch of him seemed to hurt. Although people were passing the end of the alley, they didn’t come to help but hurried away when they saw him staggering round.
He leant against a wall and began to weep, but it didn’t make any difference. No one came to help him.
After a while, he stopped sobbing and staggered towards the street. Oh, hell, what was he going to do? Those bastards had emptied his wallet and money belt. Or someone else had.
He was only sure about one thing: he had to get out of town fast. He didn’t even dare go back to confront Wayne and pick up his clothes.
At first he stumbled blindly along the streets, but he found a ten-dollar note in an inside pocket and a stop at a burger joint for two cups of strong coffee helped him pull himself together. Another stop bought him some aspirin and the pain receded a little. It took him a while to work out what to do, but the only safe place he could think of was the cemetery, so he went there and hid among the tombstones, shivering every time he heard a car drive past.
Come nightfall, he’d retrieve his money and passport and leave town.
He was going back to Australia, even if he had to ring up and grovel to his father for the rest of the ticket money. And once he got there, he was never, ever going to leave it again.
After another disturbed night lying worrying, Audrey went into her granddaughter’s room and stared at the smooth, wrinkle-free bedcovers. Seven o’clock in the morning. Bed not slept in again. And no threat seemed to have any effect on Louise’s increasingly nocturnal habits.
The girl did clear up after herself now and do her washing more or less regularly. But that was a minor victory. Set it against Louise’s blatant refusal to keep reasonable hours or let her grandmother know where she was going – not to mention a certain glassy-eyed look the last couple of times she’d come in late … and Audrey knew she was beaten. As for studying, well, she suspected Louise was cutting classes as well, but couldn’t prove it.