The Winding Stair

by Millie Vigor

  ‘Ah, but books last longer and you can read them again, and however nice a meal is, it can only be experienced once.’ He poured and handed her a cup of coffee then slid a small jewellery box across the table.

  ‘And this is for you, I hope you like it.’

  ‘Not another present, Curtis. You’ve given me so many already and I did ask you not to buy any more.’

  ‘Ah, don’t say that, Virginia. I like to make you happy.’

  Ginny picked up the box. What was it going to be this time? She lifted the lid and looked in and there, nestling on a velvet lining was a brooch, not big, but beautiful. A deep red ruby was encircled by diamonds.

  ‘I can’t accept this,’ she said. ‘It’s very beautiful and much too expensive.’ She closed the box and passed it back across the table to Curtis.

  ‘Please accept it,’ he said. ‘You are the only one I have that I can give presents to. If you’re worried that I spent a lot of money on it, well, I haven’t. It belonged to my mother.’ He pushed the box back towards her. ‘Please take it.’

  There was no point in refusing so Ginny thanked him, picked up the box, opened it and looked again at the ruby, red as a drop of spilled blood. Would he continue to shower her with gifts like this if she stayed?

  ‘I’d like to show you the rest of the house,’ said Curtis. ‘And I will if you’ll be patient and wait while I clear the kitchen.’

  Ginny stood up. ‘Can I help you?’ she asked.

  ‘Oh, no, I know where everything goes. I like to be able to put my hand on something when I want it and not to have to search around. It saves time in the long run.’

  Oh, yes, thought Ginny, I’ve noticed how particular you are.

  The dishwasher was loaded, the vegetable pots and pans washed and put away.

  ‘Come, let me show you around. We’ll do the ground floor first. The lounge you know and the television room too, but come and see this.’ Curtis opened a door at the back of the hall and gently pushed Ginny into the room.

  ‘This can be your writing room. It’s the perfect place for you.’

  Ginny took a few steps forward then looked around her. A magnificent kneehole desk stood with its back to a window that looked out on to the garden. It was a substantial piece of furniture, the top covered in leather. The desk chair that stood by it was equally handsome. Its curved back continued as arms that finished in carved ram’s heads. Bookcases lined two walls and in the centre of a polished wood floor lay a red patterned carpet.

  ‘It’s beautiful,’ she said.

  ‘You like it?’ said Curtis and when Ginny said that she did, added, ‘Well, once you’ve made up your mind to stay, it’s yours.’

  ‘Mine?’

  ‘Yes, a nice peaceful spot in which to write your novels.’

  He’s taking it for granted that I no longer want to go home, thought Ginny, I’d better be careful what I say.

  They climbed the stairs then, a staircase cushioned in carpet and wide enough for them to walk side by side. Crossing the landing, he showed her two bedrooms at the front of the house.

  ‘They were kept for visitors,’ he told her, then, as he closed the doors, ‘But no one ever came.’

  The landing was big, as big as her bedroom at home. Ginny pointed at two large oil paintings of a man and a woman hanging there.

  ‘Who are they?’

  ‘They are my parents,’ said Curtis and offered no more explanation.

  His mother, stiff backed and formal, her expression haughty, stared down at Ginny. His father looked down his nose at her from under half closed eyes. Ginny shivered. There was not a hint of love in either of the faces, poor Curtis. I’m glad they’re not mine, she thought.

  As Curtis opened the door to another room he said, ‘This will be yours.’

  Like the other rooms she had seen it was also sumptuously furnished. She thought of the bedroom in her own house, a small room which would easily fit into a corner of this one. Her bed was single. The bed here was king size. About to protest that she had no intention of sleeping in this room, beautiful though it was, she bit back the words, so instead she said, ‘But it’s a king size bed.’

  ‘And why not?’ Curtis, beside her, reached out and took her hand. ‘It’s the one we will sleep in when we are married.’

  ‘Married!’ Snatching her hand away from his, Ginny jumped back in shock. ‘What makes you think we’re going to get married?’

  ‘I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to spring it on you like that, Virginia. It is just that I didn’t want to say anything before. There are so many things we have to discuss. Um … children, for instance … you wouldn’t want any, would you?’

  ‘Children!’ This is unbelievable, she thought.

  ‘Yes, only I can’t … um … you know …’

  Ginny stared at Curtis. She knew her mouth was hanging open. What was he saying? Was he telling her he was impotent? And was that the reason he had never made any sexual advances towards her? She closed her mouth and swallowed hard. This was not the place to have this conversation.

  ‘Curtis,’ she said, ‘we can talk later. Please show me the rest of the house.’

  The remaining rooms in Curtis’s house, his bedroom, the bathroom and shower room, and the little self-contained flat in the roof space, were as beautiful, as immaculate and well-maintained as the rest, but Ginny wasn’t interested. All she could think of was that Curtis had decided that she would agree to marry him. What made him think she would? And how was it to happen seeing that he was keeping her prisoner? Was he going to bring the priest, vicar, whoever, to the house? And did he not realize that she would be recognized, that the police would come, that he would be arrested and she would at last be free? Or was he going to wait until he thought he could trust her enough to take her out with him? If that was the case … how much longer did he intend to keep her?

  In a daze she followed him down the stairs and into the kitchen, where he put the kettle on and took cups and saucers from the dresser. She sat in a chair and watched as he went through the motions of making tea.

  ‘You’re very quiet,’ said Curtis as he put the tea things on a tray. ‘We’ll take this into the lounge. Come along.’

  Lost for words, Ginny followed him. She sat down, Curtis opposite her. He put the tray of tea things on a coffee table that stood between them, poured tea and handed her a cup.

  ‘What makes you think that you and I are going to be married, Curtis?’ snapped Ginny.

  Curtis looked at her. ‘I don’t think,’ he said, ‘I know.’

  ‘Oh you do, do you? Well, this time you’re wrong. You were never my boyfriend; there was never any courtship and you have never given me any reason to believe that marriage was what you wanted. You just can’t take things like that for granted.’

  ‘But it’s logical, isn’t it, Virginia? You will live here with me, I will be the house husband taking care of everything practical and financial, and you will be free to follow your career.’

  ‘You’ve got it all worked out, haven’t you? You don’t intend to let me have any say in the matter. But you’ve forgotten something, Curtis, you can take a horse to water but you can’t make it drink and you can drag me by the hair to the altar but nothing on earth will ever make me say I will.’

  ‘Come now, Virginia, you’re being melodramatic.’

  ‘No, I am not, and you’re wrong when it comes to having children because I do want to have a family. I don’t agree with your plans, they would never work and I don’t want to marry you.’

  ‘Then I think you will have to stay here until you do.’

  ‘No,’ cried Ginny. She stood up and stamped her foot. ‘I am not going to marry you and you can’t make me. You can’t keep me locked up any longer. You’ve got to let me go.’

  ‘No. I can’t, you can’t leave me.’ Curtis’s eyelids blinked rapidly, then his eyes went wide and black as he changed, curling in on himself. Sunk into the corner of the settee he twisted his hands together and o
n the verge of tears spoke in Peewee’s voice. ‘Don’t go, please don’t go, everybody goes away and leaves me. I want to keep you; I want you to stay with me. You can’t go. I won’t let you.’

  Abruptly the voice changed and the shell that was the child fell away. Curtis stood up and took on a menacing stance. Flexing his arms he rolled his shoulders, seemed to grow taller and broader. Then he spoke … and it was Mikhail’s voice.

  Ginny took a step back. Oh God, she should run. She had forgotten Angel’s warning to beware of Mikhail and now it was too late, he was here, towering over her, threatening her. What was he going to do now? Whatever it was, was she going to let him? He’s only another part of Curtis. I will not let him bully me. Squaring her shoulders, Ginny pulled herself up to her full height. I can do this, too, she thought, and in her most commanding voice she said, ‘Sit down, Curtis, and we will talk about this sensibly.’

  ‘I am Mikhail,’ shouted Curtis. ‘You vill not call me Curtis.’

  ‘Don’t be so stupid, I am not going to talk to you while you threaten me. Sit down.’ Where had this bravado come from and did she really think he was going to do as she asked? To her surprise he did.

  ‘Why are you here?’ she asked. ‘Can’t Curtis fight his own battles?’

  ‘He needs my help; he needs to be looked after—’

  ‘I thought he was doing a pretty good job of that anyway.’

  ‘So you vill do as you are told. You vill marry Curtis.’

  ‘Don’t be so ridiculous. I am not going to marry him. Why should I? And it’s time he let me go home. You can tell him that when he decides to come out.’

  With a roar Mikhail was on his feet.

  ‘I vill kill you first,’ he shouted as he lunged at her.

  But Ginny was quick. Picking up the tea tray, she threw it at him. Milk and hot tea cascaded down Mikhail’s shirt front, stopping him momentarily. Ginny made her dash for freedom, but Mikhail was quicker. He threw himself at her, seized her by the legs and brought her crashing to the floor. And then he was at her throat, his hands on her windpipe, choking her. She kicked but could obtain no purchase, no contact. As his hands gripped ever tighter her head began to pound. She could hear the rush of blood in her ears. Gradually, as her strength left her, his leering face grew dim, then disappeared and everything went black.

  TWENTY-FIVE

  The voice was soothing. ‘Come now, wake up. You’re going to be all right.’

  Soft hands smoothed Ginny’s hair and stroked her cheek. Warm breath fanned her face. Someone was bending over her. Why was she lying down? Was she ill? She moved a hand, expecting to touch the smoothness of a sheet. It was not cool cotton she could feel but the roughness of a carpet. She was on the floor. Her head throbbed and her throat hurt. She must be ill. Slowly she opened her eyes. A face swam into view, Curtis’s face. A scream rose in her chest, died there and the only sound that came out was a strangled squeak.

  ‘There, there,’ said Curtis. But it wasn’t Curtis, it was Angel. Had Angel saved her from Mikhail? Now she knew why her throat was hurting. It was Mikhail who had his hands round it; it was his evil face that was the last thing she remembered seeing. He had said he was going to kill her. She wasn’t safe here. He could come back at any time.

  She struggled to sit up. ‘I’ve got to get out,’ she said. ‘Please help me.’

  Angel took her hands and raised her to her feet.

  ‘You need to get some rest. Come, I’ll take you to your room.’

  This is not real. I can’t do this. Walk beside Angel and know that it’s really Curtis who could change in an instant into Mikhail, or Peewee or himself. And how would any of them react? Don’t show any fear, don’t let them know I’m afraid.

  Through the hall and down the stairs to the cellar they went, Angel with a hand on Ginny’s arm. As she pushed open the door to Ginny’s cell she said, ‘You’ll be all right now.’

  As she walked in and the door closed behind her Ginny said, ‘Thank you, Angel.’

  But she wasn’t safe yet and straight away she seized her chair and wedged it under the handle of the door. It was not enough and not content with that, she tugged her bed – made of oak and very heavy – and dragged it until she had it pressed against the door. No one was going to come in without her permission. She would be safe from all comers, be it Curtis, Angel or even Mikhail; not one of them could get at her.

  And then the enormity of her situation struck her. She was trapped. There was no way out. She couldn’t trust Curtis, for he might shift into Mikhail’s skin at any moment and Mikhail wanted to kill her. And if she didn’t trust Curtis enough to let him in, she would die of starvation. She couldn’t win.

  And then the tears came.

  She threw herself on the bed, buried her face in the pillow and pounded the mattress with her fists as the floodgates opened. She howled at the foolishness that had led her into this situation. She wept for her mother, cried for her friends and her cat and her home. Poured out her despair until there were no more tears left, then sitting up she sobbed, cried again, then dried her eyes, or tried to, with the sodden piece of cloth that was her handkerchief.

  Gingerly she felt her throat. It was very tender. Mikhail had meant to kill her. She remembered his hands round her neck, his face so close to hers, the madness in his eyes and then her loss of strength and blanking out. How close she had been to death. It was only close, wasn’t it? This wasn’t a dream. She pushed up the sleeve of her jumper and pinched the skin. Ouch. It still hurt. She was alive, but for how much longer? She was truly the fly in the spider’s web and the spider wanted to kill her. How much longer could she fight him?

  Night had never seemed so long. No Curtis came to offer her any supper, for which she was glad. There was no way she would have let him in. She lay on the bed; she had not dared to undress. Eventually, physical and mental exhaustion brought sleep, a fitful nightmare-ridden sleep, broken by periods of wakefulness when she listened for any sign of movement in the house. What was Curtis doing? Was he sleeping or was he planning his next move?

  Though the sky did not lighten until later in the day, morning announced itself by the sound of traffic on the road, the roar of bigger engines that told her that buses and heavy lorries were on the move. She glanced at her watch; the glow of the hands told her that it was nearing eight. Would Curtis bring her some breakfast? Yes, she could hear him coming.

  Bolts squeaked as they were slid back and then came Curtis’s voice. ‘I’ve brought your breakfast, Virginia. Please move the chair so that I can come in.’

  ‘I don’t want any breakfast,’ said Ginny.

  ‘Oh, but you must. You didn’t have any supper.’

  ‘I wouldn’t have eaten it if you’d brought it.’

  ‘What’s the matter with you, Virginia?’

  ‘Do you have to ask?’ Ginny would have shouted at him but her throat was sore. ‘You tried to kill me and you ask me what the matter is? Go away.’

  ‘Tried to kill you? I did not. Why are you behaving like this?’

  ‘Go away, Curtis.’ There was no point in arguing with him. When he morphed into another personality, something seemed to blank those periods out of his mind so he probably didn’t know what he had done. ‘Go away.’

  She knew that he stood there for a while, because there was no sound of movement, no sound until she heard that of his feet going slowly up the stairs.

  DI Barker picked up a plate, put it on a tray and joined the queue at the hot food counter in the police station’s canteen. DC Tremayne, close behind him, watched as Barker filled the plate with two sausages, three rashers of bacon, two eggs, black pudding and as many chips as it would hold. He then took two bread rolls, put them on a small plate and added it to his tray. Moving on, he pushed a large mug under the tea dispenser.

  ‘Is that all you’re having?’ asked Tremayne.

  ‘It’ll do for now,’ said Barker. ‘What about you?’ He cast a glance at Tremayne’s tray. ‘Are you o
n a diet or something? Never mind, let’s eat; I’ve got some thinking to do.’

  Slowly and methodically, DI Barker worked his way through his meal.

  ‘That bloke, Curtis Brookes, the one at the library, what did you make of him, Tremayne?’

  ‘I wouldn’t want him for a friend.’

  ‘Why not?’

  ‘He’s too good to be true. What’s he doing working in a library? That suit he was wearing didn’t come from M&S.’

  Barker cut a chunk of black pudding, rolled a piece of bacon, added it to the pudding and popped all of it into his mouth.

  ‘So he wears expensive clothes. That doesn’t mean to say that he needs to go to work to pay for them. Perhaps he has other income and works because he enjoys it.’

  ‘Maybe,’ said Tremayne. ‘But I wouldn’t trust him.’

  Barker speared a couple of chips and anointed them with tomato sauce. While he ate them, he cut another piece of black pudding, covered it with rich yellow egg yolk and put that into his mouth too. Tremayne waited patiently for the DI to speak again.

  ‘It would seem,’ said Barker, ‘that he is highly thought of at the library. Mrs Thomas was full of praise for him. So what have you got against him?’

  ‘Nothing really, it’s just a gut feeling.’

  ‘Hang on to that,’ said Barker. He pointed at Tremayne with his fork. ‘Trust your gut feeling, go with it. Was there anything else?’

  ‘He and Miss Harvey were friends, but he doesn’t seem that upset that she’s missing. He says that he believes she’ll come back safe and sound. It makes me wonder if he knows more than he’s letting on.’

  ‘My sentiments exactly and that’s why we’re going to go and have a word with the laddie, but it’ll have to wait till I’m finished here. Go and get me another mug of tea, will you?’

  Mid-afternoon was not a busy time at the library, but there was still a quiet buzz of librarians going about their work, the muted hum of voices, the rattle of teacups in the café and the riffle of pages as books were looked into. From the café, the aroma of coffee mingled with the smell of wood, of carpet and of books.

  Curtis Brookes was stamping books for a woman when DI Barker and DC Tremayne walked in. They headed straight towards him. Ignoring them, he smiled at the woman and watched as she put the books into a bag.