‘Whatever happened,’ Annie said, ‘I’ll never stop loving him and I know you won’t either. That’s why I came. He needs to know we are all here for him and we’d do anything to ease what’s happening.’
Sonia nodded but wished Annie would get to the point without wasting more of the evening.
‘Each time I go to see Elyan he asks about you,’ Annie said, sitting forward in her chair. ‘You’re his mother but you haven’t been to see him.’
Sonia pressed the corners of her eyes and easily produced rolling tears. ‘You don’t understand,’ she said, her voice breaking. ‘I love him so and I can’t see him there. It’s too painful. All that talent wasted.’
‘What’s happened has happened,’ Annie said. ‘The point is that to help him make it through somehow, he needs to know we care about him, deeply. In time he may be released … if he gets better. For any hope of that we must support him. I’m here to ask you to see him. Just go up there and visit him. It isn’t scary or strange. You’ll visit one-on-one. And I know how healing that will be for him.’
She did love Elyan, Sonia thought, a great deal, but some situations were too much for people who were as deeply sensitive as she was. Annie was staring at her, beseeching her with those great, dark eyes. Somehow she had to satisfy the girl without making promises she might not keep.
‘I go as often as they’ll let me,’ Annie said, and tears welled in her eyes. ‘I’m not his wife, not a relative. Percy has helped get past that. He sees Elyan regularly even though I know how much it hurts him. I never liked Mr Quillam very much but I’ve learned to respect him because I think he’s really sorry for not being more sensitive to Elyan’s needs. And Hugh Rhys goes. I see him there and he comforts me. Elyan loves him and it raises his spirits when he sees him.’
Sonia turned cold. Everyone was a hero, everyone but her. Nobody gave a damn about her needs. She loved people, she was a passionate woman, too – was that a sin? She had her needs and she knew the things she must protect herself from.
‘Sonia,’ Annie said quietly, ‘will you go to see Elyan, for all of us?’
Damn, she had always had to fight for what she wanted and she was fighting again. ‘I’ll think about it, Annie. I really will. I love my son so dearly. But I want you to see things more clearly and try to understand some of the troubling truths that weigh on me.’
Annie only watched her, the pallor of her skin increasing.
‘Percy visits Elyan because he believed this protégé was a continuation of himself. The maestro produced a virtuoso pianist. And every time he watched Elyan he thought he was watching his own creation. Every accolade Elyan got, Percy snatched as his own.’
‘I can’t disagree with you,’ Annie said. ‘I also don’t know all the details as well as you must. It seemed that Percy drove Elyan much too hard. But I’m now sure he loves him very much.’
‘I wonder if he’d love him so much if he knew the truth,’ Sonia snapped, tired of holding back from doing what she needed to do – for herself. She had suffered quite enough.
She felt Annie looking at her and gave her a slight smile.
‘What truth?’ Annie asked, her voice kept low.
If she hoped to beat them all – and it would be risky regardless – it was time to play her trump card. Sonia stood up and raised her voice. ‘Just listen to me.’ Her voice, sung or spoken, was a powerful tool. ‘Why do you think Hugh Rhys visits Elyan so often?’
Annie still didn’t say anything, just watched and waited.
‘They all want to pretend it isn’t so, but Hugh is Elyan’s father. Of course he goes to see him. And he hates Percy. He couldn’t bear to think of Percy spending more time with Elyan than he does. Hugh is a jealous man, and I should know.’
Sonia leaned against a counter and used her mobile. It only rang once before she heard the low voice. ‘What do you want?’
‘I just had an unexpected visitor. I think you know who I mean. We had an agreement that you wouldn’t tell anyone I was coming here but you did, didn’t you?’
For seconds there was no response. When the voice did come again, boredom dripped. ‘Is that all you called for? Whether or not I did whatever you’re talking about isn’t your business.’
‘I feel trapped in this house.’ Now she could hear music in the background. ‘I’m not good at being alone. Alone I can think of ways to punish people who ignore me.’
‘You chose to go there.’ The voice became muffled as if the mouthpiece was covered. Who else was there?
‘I need to talk to you now,’ Sonia said, sniffling. ‘Something has happened. If you like I could come to you. Just name the place.’
‘You are not learning, are you? Don’t push me. You hear? It won’t help you. And I want you to stay right where you are.’ As always, the threat was implicit.
The phone went dead. Sonia’s finger hovered over the keys before she changed her mind about calling back and dropped her mobile into a pocket.
‘I hate you,’ she muttered.
In one swallow, she finished the glass of Sauvignon Blanc she had poured after Annie left and went to get the bottle from the refrigerator again. She rose to her toes on the cool floor and wobbled as she lifted the bottle to see how much was left. Just an inch in the bottom and she knew she had drunk the rest. So what? She would finish this and start another. Dealing with Annie, with her tears and questions, had been exhausting.
Before the refrigerator could close, a hand passed before her eyes, and clamped over her nose and mouth. The pressure of a body on her back rammed her forward against hard, cold shelves, rattled the contents. Her scream cut off, but not the ragged shudder of her breathing or the surge of burning vomit in her throat. The bottle slipped from her hand to smash on the tiles. Cartons and jars fell. Cold wet liquids splashed over her feet.
He had waited for her.
Did he want to kill her?
It was all black.
For an instant the grip slacked a little. He was adjusting his hold, trying to close the refrigerator door at the same time. She flailed, twisted, grabbed for his face, his head, anything. Flexed muscle in his shoulder pushed her away and drew her tighter against him. He was big. That was all she could tell about him.
Go limp. Drop.
Burning pain stabbed at her feet. They felt slimy and wet. Bleeding. Glass and blood.
Sonia thrust up her arms, punched her fists beneath the arms that held her. She slid to the floor and scrambled, expecting him to fall on her, to shout, but there was no sound from him – until a shuffling like snowshoes on ice.
More silence.
Who was it?
Her lungs filled with rushes of burning air.
Standing again, her bare feet slid on the tiles.
She didn’t fall.
Through the door and along the passageway past the downstairs rooms she went. He would catch her, throw her down, beat her, squeeze the life out of her. Sobs grabbed with each breath and no air reached her lungs. Her head pounded.
Now, he would catch her now. Now! Now! Thundering in her chest. Let me go. Someone come. Please come. Stop him.
The front door was open again. Hadn’t she closed it when Annie left? Sliding, slapping her feet down and curling her toes to grip … nothing … she was outside.
Not just warm. Suffocating. Down the steps, the backs of her ankles scraping stone. Where are you? You’ll get me when you want to. You’re watching me, sneering at me. Why? What have I done to you?
Her feet hit the driveway, the toes curling again, into the gravel. Gravel felt good. Every cutting edge was a pain she hissed at, gasping as she went. But pain meant she was alive.
Sonia wanted to scream. The struggle to keep the noise down bubbled in her throat and mouth. Any loud sound would only let him know exactly where she was.
Running, she left the house behind. Then she reached the trees on the far side of the driveway where they fronted the edge of small but dense woods that stretched away from the line of sycamores, and she
knew where to go. Had she heard him fall? Was he unconscious? Yes, he must be or he would have caught her. He was unconscious, and she was free – until he came to and followed her. He would be wilder, more vicious than ever.
Panting, she fumbled for her mobile. The police would come. She hadn’t been able to call while she was so close to whoever attacked her, but now she could.
The mobile had been in the right pocket of her trousers. She dug in the left one, too. Again and again she delved deep. Nothing. It must have fallen out. Moving on was essential, and she did, but she couldn’t stop the tears.
The woods would hide her. They would also tear her feet apart even more. Bracken, thorny bushes and trailing brambles grew thicker and more tangled with every step she forced through them.
Was she a dreaming fool and he had another plan for her? Did he want her to run?
Where should she go? Once out of the estate grounds and into the lane, downhill was a long way to anything. At the bottom of the lane, the road curved around the hill above that miserable Folly-on-Weir. One way the road went to Folly, the other by some meandering route to a pathetic wide spot in the road called by a name she didn’t remember. Uphill there was a house under renovation, and a continuation of the lane to fields she had wandered through once or twice. There was the long back way to the Derwinters and almost opposite, a mostly unused and overgrown route that meandered across the fields to another hill track. No help up there at this time of night.
No way to use a phone …
Down to the main road was the only way and then hide in the bushes until she saw a car coming. She would keep going through the trees, working her way toward the hedges that surrounded the estate. She remembered that beyond the hedge there was a steep bank of rough grass along the edge on this side of the lane.
Pausing, rocking from foot to foot and sucking in breaths, Sonia thought she had heard something. Branches snapping? She held her breath to listen. It wasn’t there now. Was he coming?
Stumbling on, her feet became first an agony but eventually numb. Roots tripped her. Dragging herself up again and concentrating on the direction she took, she fought her way downhill and toward the lane at the same time. Brambles caught her clothes and she tore them free with bleeding hands.
At last she made out a thinning in the bushes. Cautiously, Sonia parted the hedgerow and staggered through. Clinging to branches at the top of the verge that sloped to the lane, Sonia struggled to let go and slither down. She’d come this far. Now, she would reach the lane and take it down to the road between Underhill and Folly-on-Weir. There, she remembered that other place now. If a car traveling in either direction came by, she could flag it down and at least ask them to call the police? If a car traveled by at all – the place was deserted most of the time. No vehicle had passed out here in the lane. She’d have heard an engine if there was one.
That man had got to the house somehow. He might be in any vehicle driving past but she thought something quite different had happened to him. He could have run away over the hills. She muttered a little prayer that he had.
A car, she couldn’t see the make, was parked a few yards ahead against the ragged verge. She could make out it’s dark shape. Big. Sonia swallowed hard, stopped, and peered ahead. She thought it might be a BMW but there was little light from a quarter moon. Nothing seemed to move inside the car but that didn’t have to mean there was no one inside.
Hands closing on her waist, fingertips digging painfully beneath her ribs, swung her from the ground and threw her, face-first, among sticks and brambles.
Fingers tore at her hair, lifted her head and pushed, pounded her forehead into the jumble. Sonia choked on the blood that flooded from her nose into her throat.
She coughed, retched, and he fell on her, a great dead weight, pushed the air from her lungs.
Steady whining started – low, growing. An engine. Sonia fought to arch her back, to see. A headlight swung across her.
The weight on top of her made sure she couldn’t signal. She couldn’t shift a muscle. She was trapped against the ground, making certain no passing vehicle saw them.
Dimly, she heard a voice. Once more she attempted to shift. Useless. Her cry was muffled against the earth.
So tired now. So much pain.
Sonia’s eyes closed.
FOUR
One look at Hugh and Alex decided small talk would be a bad idea. He hauled out chairs from tables in the saloon bar and thumped them on the wooden floors. From table to table he went, muttering under his breath.
Finally, she said, ‘What’s wrong, Hugh?’
‘If you can’t see, I won’t bore you with it. Where’s Scoot? He’s supposed to get in here and do these floors by six in the morning? If he doesn’t want the job, I’ll find someone who does.’
When she had got back from Radhika’s last night, Hugh was tight-lipped but working steadily. His mood had headed downward ever since. She had to think the visit to Green Friday and his temper were connected.
Neve Rhys was apparently in residence although Alex hadn’t set eyes on her. Lily said Neve had gone out very early in the morning. There had been a note left saying Perry Rhys, Neve’s husband, would arrive in a day or so to stay with her.
‘This is Scoot’s morning off,’ she said quietly. ‘He did the floors before he left last night. They look fine to me. Let’s have some coffee, Hugh. You sound in as much of a funk as I’m starting to feel.’
‘Why are you in a funk? Tony stepping out of line?’
This would be a morning to remember and hope never to repeat. Hugh wasn’t a man to make snide digs – or be deliberately annoying. ‘No,’ she told him, walking past and behind the bar to the kitchen. In fact she was – or had been – in good if slightly anxious spirits since she got up. She had old demons to face but she wasn’t unhappy about that – just a little nervous – but glad she’d made up her mind to take an action she should have taken long ago, no matter the result.
Rather than have coffee, she made a pot of tea, expecting Hugh to join her at any moment. He wouldn’t feel good about being surly.
He didn’t come. She could hear him working with the fireplace in the saloon bar. Even in warm weather they burned a fire in the evenings. The patrons liked it.
A tap sounded at the back door and Sam Brock, the locksmith who worked in several surrounding villages, looked inside. A round-faced man with curly blond hair, he was known to be efficient and honest, if garrulous. ‘Alex,’ he said. ‘I’m looking for Hugh.’
She poured strong tea, added milk and handed him the mug. ‘Come on in. I’ll round him up.’
‘Wait a moment,’ Sam said. He grimaced. ‘Do you know if there’s been any trouble at Green Friday … Hugh’s place on Trap Lane?’
Apprehension tensed her stomach. ‘Trap Lane?’ she said. ‘I’d forgotten its name.’
‘I think that’s it,’ Sam said.
Alex said, ‘I don’t think there’s anything wrong at Green Friday,’ but couldn’t get Hugh’s visit to the house out of her mind.
‘I got worried up there. I was supposed to change all the locks, but I didn’t stay. Thought I should have a word with Hugh first. What a place that is.’
‘It is something,’ Alex said. ‘I haven’t been there since … not in a long time.’ She hadn’t intended to mention the past.
‘I know what you mean,’ Sam said. ‘A tragedy, that. But it’s over now. Or I hope it is.’
Alex swallowed hard. There were places and times you’d rather not revisit. ‘Of course, it is. Let me find Hugh for you.’
Leaving Sam in the kitchen, she went through to the main bar, expecting to find Hugh. He wasn’t there, but she found him in the restaurant on the other side of the building. ‘Hey, Hugh, what’s going on?’ she said. Bogie had come to sit at Hugh’s feet and stare up into the man’s face. ‘Don’t shut me out. You’ve been there for me when I’ve needed you. If you’ve got issues, I’m here.’
‘I’m feeling ace,
’ he said and clamped his mouth shut.
Alex grimaced. ‘When did you start with that ace stuff? You feel good – I’m with you. Ace? I don’t know about that.’
‘I feel shitty. How’s that?’ He turned away from a window that looked over the little duck pond. ‘I don’t know what to say to you, Alex, except I apologize for being a foul-mouthed boor. And I can’t explain why right now, OK? When I can, you’ll be the first to know. I’m being an ass. Sorry.’
She went to him and gave him a hug around the waist. That on its own was something she’d never done before. ‘You are special to me. I know something’s bugging you, but I’ll wait until you’re ready to tell me – or whatever. Sam Brock is in the kitchen. He went up to do something to the locks at Green Friday. Now he’s looking for you. I think there was a problem. Why did the locks need to be changed?’
‘Oh, God.’ Hugh looked down at her, his dark eyes desperate. ‘Today? He’s supposed to change them all but not until next week. Right, I’d better see him.’
But he didn’t move at once.
Alex thought of him walking toward Green Friday last night and looked at the floor. He hadn’t mentioned being there, not that he needed to account for his movements.
Abruptly, Hugh turned on his heel and walked away. She followed him across the restaurant, through the archway that led to the short passage that passed the snug, and into the saloon bar. Sam Brock was in the middle of the room, shuffling back and forth.
‘All right then, Hugh? I just came down from Green Friday. You asked me to get up there early. I know you said next week but I had some time now. I hope that was all right.’
Hugh gave no response.
Alex made to leave but Hugh turned and said, ‘You don’t have to go.’
Sam said, ‘I was going to start on the front door but it was open so I went inside and called out. No one answered, like. I wasn’t sure what to do. I went a bit farther and kept shouting. There wasn’t anyone there but there was dried blood on the tiles in the hall. Smears of it. It went all the way to the kitchen. A wine bottle was broken on the floor and there was more blood – a lot more. That’s when I stopped. I was going to call the police but I thought I should check to see if anyone was in the house and injured. The whole place was empty. Then I decided you should know before I got the police in.’
Trap Lane Page 3