by Penny Jordan
‘I’d like to think so, but so much has happened recently.’ Kate told her about the newspaper article. ‘He can’t care about me if he’s willing for people to believe we’re lovers and that I leaked the information in a fit of jealous pique—because that’s how it will appear.’
‘He’s probably already regretting what he said,’ Lyla soothed. ‘When you go back talk to him. Oh, Kate, I do so much want you to be happy,’ she said softly. ‘You’re like a daughter to me, although perhaps I haven’t always shown it conventionally. Do you know, I was actually jealous when Jake married you. I thought he would take you away from me. I knew how much he disapproved of me, and I must confess that when you first split up I was selfishly glad. Go home tomorrow,’ she suggested softly, ‘don’t let pride and misunderstandings come between you any longer. One of you has to make the first move. Why not let him see that you love him enough for it to be you?’
Put like that it all sounded so simple, Kate thought in the morning as she paid her bill and picked up her case. By nightfall she would be back in Woolerton, and her heart started to thud heavily at the thought. Did she have the courage to go up to the house and tell Jake that she loved him? If she didn’t she might spend the rest of her life regretting that she hadn’t. The worst thing he could do was laugh at her, and surely that would be no harder to bear than her existing pain; than the loneliness of living apart from him.
CHAPTER TEN
THE HOUSE was empty when she got back, and a scrawled message from Meg lay by the kettle, telling her that she was spending the night at the farm.
Making herself a cup of coffee, Kate sat down to drink it when she heard the sound of something being pushed through the letterbox. The local paper, she guessed, glancing at her watch. Heart thumping, she went downstairs, refusing to even glance at it until she was back in the kitchen, her fingers curled protectively round her mug. Apprehension quivered through every nerve as she placed the paper down on the formica top and spread it out. The banner headlines leapt up at her, and sickness invaded the pit of her stomach as she read swiftly through the front page article. It was all there, their relationship; the fact that they had spent the night together at Jake’s house; Jake’s admission that they were lovers; everything but the fact that they were married, and the cruel innuendoes that her earlier ‘revelations’ had been prompted by jealousy and the fear of Jake ending their relationship sickened her to her very soul. Jake had his revenge and more! How could she face people when every house in the area would have received a free copy of this paper? How could she face Jake?
She wanted to curl up and die; to hide herself away somewhere where no one could find her again. The article cheapened everything she had hoped there could be between them. Only now could she admit how much she had banked on Jake having second thoughts and recalling the statements he had made to Harold Barnes. She had allowed herself to believe the pretty fairy tale Lyla had spun for her, but a fairy-tale was all it had been; Jake did not love her.
She made herself go through the article again, reading every word, each one of them a stab in the heart. It was all there for everyone to read. When she had finished reading she felt soiled and degraded. Who reading it would not believe that she and Jake were lovers and that, worse, she had given Harold Barnes the original story in a fit of feminine jealousy.
She didn’t sleep well that night, suffering from the irony underlining the difference between the way she had imagined her return and the actuality of how it had been. She had intended to go straight round to see Jake, but now there was no point. Just by allowing that article to be printed he had shown how little he really cared about her.
She was awake well before dawn, her body drained and exhausted, her mind in overdrive, tormenting her mercilessly. It seemed an effort merely to face the day. Meg wasn’t back by the time she opened the shop, and a phone call from her confirmed that she was staying on at the farm for a couple of days longer. ‘It’s Karen,’ she told Kate, referring to Matt’s little girl. ‘She’s started with flu and she doesn’t want me to leave her, poor pet. I’m glad you’re back. I was frightened I might have to leave the shop closed.’ They chatted for a few minutes more, but Meg made no reference to the article in the paper. Perhaps she hadn’t had time to read it yet, with Karen sick, Kate decided when she eventually hung up.
The shop was surprisingly busy during the morning, but Kate didn’t delude herself that her ‘customers’ had come to buy. Oh no, they had come to see for themselves what she looked like, this woman who was having an affair with the director of the Power Station while officially maintaining an anti-nuclear stance. Not even that had been left to her, Kate admitted numbly, when a phone call during her lunch break brought the unwelcome news that the local anti-nuclear lobby weren’t too pleased with the publicity she had received. ‘You must see, Kate,’ Geoffrey Cranwell, the local organiser, had complained, ‘this sort of notoriety can only bring our organisation into disrepute. Before we know where we are one of the Sunday rags will have picked it up, and you know how they’ll make a field day of it.’
Geoffrey had been pleased enough with the original article, Kate thought grimly when he had eventually hung up. She wondered if there was anyone in the whole world whose concern was primarily for her, and not tinged with their own angles. It was then that she thought of Sarah, suddenly feeling a need for the older woman’s calm manner and wisdom. She closed the shop early, wishing she hadn’t done when she stepped out into the street just in time to see Jake driving by with Rita sitting in the passenger seat of his car. So Rita had won after all. Pain seeped into every pore; she wanted to lie down in the gutter and abandon herself to grief like a child, but pride kept her chin up and her profile averted as she walked through the village in the direction of Sarah’s cottage.
Sarah answered the door immediately to her knock, but seemed surprised to see her, almost as though she had been expecting someone else. The old lady had lost more weight, and Kate felt guilty that her worries had kept her away from her friend.
‘Sarah, is anything wrong?’ she questioned the old lady, when they were both sitting in front of the fire with cups of tea. She had the feeling that Sarah was loath to prolong her visit, but the good manners ingrained in people of her generation prevented her from omitting the courtesy of offering her friend a drink.
‘No…no, I’m fine, but what about you? It seems someone doesn’t like you very much,’ she said shrewdly, indicating the folded newspaper by the fire.
‘No.’ Briefly Kate explained her belief that Rita had been the one responsible for leaking the information. ‘And of course no power on earth is going to make Harold Barnes admit that. The whole thing has been blown up out of all proportion,’ she added bitterly. ‘I…’ she paused as she heard a loud rap on Sarah’s front door, silenced not so much by the sudden sound as by the terrified expression on Sarah’s face. ‘Sarah, what is it?’ She went quickly to the old woman’s side, feeling her frail body tremble in her arms. The front door was thrust open and a youth Kate vaguely recognised came in. At first she didn’t make the connection between Sarah’s very evident fear and the young man’s swaggering confident manner. She had remembered seeing him at the house before—the nephew of a neighbour hadn’t Sarah said? Whoever he was he certainly lacked manners, Kate thought, eyeing him with distaste as he flung himself down into a chair and helped himself to a handful of the dainty homemade biscuits Sarah had put on their tray. These he crammed into his mouth, spilling crumbs haphazardly on to the worn carpet.
‘Got yourself some back-up this time, have you?’ he jeered, watching Sarah. ‘I thought I told you not to tell anyone about this? What do you think she’s going to do anyway?’ He jerked his head contemptuously in Kate’s direction, adding coarsely, ‘Even if she is shacking up with His Nibs up the road… come on,’ he added, ‘don’t waste time. Hand it over!’
Kate had barely recovered from her anger at the way he had spoken about her before the truth dawned. A single glance
into Sarah’s terrified face confirmed her worst fears. This loutish youth was no young neighbour helping out an elderly woman but a cruel parasite, playing on her fear, using his youth and strength as weapons against her helplessness. Kate felt sickened as she saw the fear in Sarah’s face and the triumph in his. How could this be happening in a small place like Woolerton where everyone knew everyone else? She had read about old people being mugged and worse in major cities, but in this country area… And was Sarah the only victim of his greed? There were several other elderly people living in the town…
She was on her feet without even thinking about it, her eyes darkening to sapphire as she looked scornfully at him. ‘Get out of here,’ she told him furiously, ‘before I call the police!’ She was going to do that anyway, but not before she was able to reassure Sarah a little.
To her utter incredulity, all he did was laugh. He too stood up. He topped her by a couple of inches, and as she glanced down at his rough hands and filthy, broken nails Kate felt the first stirrings of fear. She was being ridiculous, she told herself, letting Sarah’s very understandable terror affect her. He was only a boy, barely fifteen. And then she remembered reading about the physical abuse boys of ten and less inflicted upon their victims; their teachers, and her shudder of dread was very real indeed.
‘So you’re going to call the police, are you?’ he mocked tauntingly. ‘I wouldn’t do that if I was you, Miss High and Mighty. I bet that feller of yours wouldn’t fancy you half so much if you was all bruised, would he…and then there’s that shop of yours. How would you like to come home one day and find all your windows smashed in? Could happen as easily as that.’
As he spoke he picked up a delicate china figure, letting it smash down on to the hearth. Behind her Kate heard Sarah moan. ‘I’ll give you the money…just go away, please! I’ve got it all ready for you…’
Instantly it all clicked. Kate remembered that today was pension day, he must call every week to collect his ‘protection money’, but if he thought she…
‘Come on, you’ve got more than that tucked away somewhere,’ he snarled when he had snatched the thin wad of notes from Sarah. ‘Don’t try putting me off any more either, I’ve heard all about the money your Stan left you. Come on, where is it? Got it hidden under the bed, have you?’
Sarah was crying, shaking with dread, and Kate, for the first time in her life, felt an overwhelming urge to strike another human being. What sort of monster was he, that he could do this to a frail old lady?
‘It ain’t no use turning on the waterworks,’ he warned her. ‘I know it’s here somewhere. If you don’t tell me I’ll just have to look for myself, won’t I?’
Before Kate could stop him he was flinging the cushions off the small settee, pulling open drawers and tossing their contents into the middle of the room. Realising that the only way she was going to stop him was by getting help, she started to edge towards the door, but he must have read her mind. Just as she was within reach of it he turned, leaping over the tumbled cushions, slamming her against the wood as he closed it, holding her pinned there with the force of his shoulder. She felt her bones crack under the impact; the stifling contact with his body eliciting a primitive fear that raced sickly through her body.
‘Not so ‘igh and mighty now, are we?’ he jeered, watching her with a feral grin. His skin was pale, his eyes a flat pale brown. Everything about him emanated menace. He might only be little more than a boy, but he was dangerous, Kate knew that. Dimly she heard Sarah crying piteously, begging him to go away.
‘Not until you tell me where you’ve stashed your money, old woman,’ he told her. ‘Or perhaps you need persuading.’ A knife had appeared in his hand and Kate stared at the glittering blade, hypnotised by the light dancing on it. ‘Come on now, tell me where it is, otherwise your friend gets this…’ The knife rested coldly against the base of her throat, the pulse there jumping frantically. With every breath Kate expected it to cut into her. She could hear Sarah protesting that there was no more money, her voice high with terror.
‘Can’t you see she’s telling the truth?’ she demanded huskily, terrified that the old lady would have some sort of seizure if the torment continued. ‘You’ve got what you came for, why don’t you just go away?’
‘And have you running straight round to the police? Oh no!’ He shook his head, grinning wolfishly. ‘First I’ve got to convince you that it wouldn’t be sensible for you to go against me. How am I going to do that, do you suppose?’ His knife moved slowly in a straight line down from her throat, slitting her jumper to reveal her pale skin. Kate shuddered in sick fear which crawled along her spine as she recognised the lust glittering in his eyes as his knife slid between the breasts. ‘I ain’t never ‘ad an older woman before.’ He wetted his lips lasciviously, his mouth going slack.
Nausea churned up inside her as Kate tried not to betray her fear. He was talking about rape, but she no longer found the thought of being terrified by a boy of less than fifteen amusing. He meant it—she could tell by the way he was looking at her. ‘I’m glad you were here today. That shop of yours must make a pile. Perhaps I’ll add you to my round… make a regular call like every week. Perhaps I won’t even make you give me money!’
Weakened by sickness, her head muzzy, Kate tried to marshall her thoughts, not daring to move. His knife had sliced straight through her jumper and the front of her bra where the two cups joined. The thought of those filthy hands pawing her, touching her intimately, made her stomach heave, but she daren’t give in to the fear threatening to swamp her. Just as she tensed, someone knocked loudly on the door. The knife was immediately pressed closer to her skin, in explicit warning.
‘Keep quiet,’ he warned them both in a whisper. ‘Don’t say a word.’ Twisting her neck, Kate could just about see out of the window, and her heart thumped as she recognised Jake’s car parked outside. She didn’t waste time in reasoning what he was doing there, screaming his name in blind panic as her captor swore violently.
Everything moved so quickly, she barely had time to register what was happening. The front door must still have been open, because the door at her back was thrust open, dislodging both her and her attacker, the knife grazing against her skin as she fell on the floor. She could hear Sarah crying and Jake’s deeper voice, but somehow she couldn’t summon the strength to say anything herself. A deep, dark mist seemed to whirl up out of nowhere, and as she felt herself falling she recognised dimly that she was fainting, observing the extraordinariness of the sensations she was experiencing without being able to do a thing about them.
When she came round she was lying on Sarah’s settee. Jake was standing in front of the fire, and on the floor in front of him was her attacker, blood streaming from a cut on his lip, his jaw already swelling ominously. As she opened her eyes she saw Jake examine his knuckles, sliding his hand into his pocket. Sarah hurried into the room, looking much recovered. ‘The police are here,’ she announced, and again Kate was aware of the world sliding hazily away from her as two uniformed men came in and a brisk conversation ensued.
‘You realise that because he’s under age, there’s not much we can do?’ one policeman said to Jake while the other bustled the youth away. ‘I’ll have to get statements from both women.’
‘Later,’ Kate heard Jake say harshly, his face contorting as he added rawly, ‘You do realise that if I hadn’t turned up when I did that that under-age thug would have raped my wife, and that he could have killed her?’
‘I understand how you feel, sir.’ The policeman sounded sympathetic, but Kate was still trying to take in the fact that Jake had referred to her as his wife. ‘However,’ the policeman’s voice became slightly dry, ‘I think perhaps the…er… measures you used to…’
‘If it hadn’t been for the fact that he is under age, I’d probably have killed him,’ Jake interrupted flatly. ‘As it is, he can thank his lucky stars that you turned up before I’d done more than give him a bloody nose!’
‘
And a broken jaw,’ the policeman said wryly. ‘We’ll have to get him patched up before we’re accused of more police brutality.’
Jake had hit that boy. Beaten him up because of her? Kate couldn’t believe that she was feeling such a primitive surge of gladness. She had never believed in violence, it was a complete anathema to her, and yet… When she remembered her own vulnerability, her inability to protect herself or Sarah, she started to shake from head to foot, unwillingly remembering Jake once telling her that nuclear weapons were as much a deterrent as a provocation. Without them they would all be as vulnerable as she had been, open to the attack of any bully with the strength to attack.
The realisation was so enormous, so contradictory to everything she believed in, that Kate’s head ached from even trying to think. Was she actually saying that she sanctioned physical force on a personal basis because it had been to protect her; but that her country must unarm itself because she feared the consequences if it did not because they were a target for other powers because of their missile bases? Did she honestly believe that if they did give up their missiles they would be safe from attack? In an ideal world all countries would realise the very real danger of harbouring these weapons, but how could disarmament be enforced on a worldwide basis? Who would do the enforcing? And who would ensure that the enforcers were above corruption?
It was all too muddling to think through now, but she couldn’t escape from the knowledge that if Jake hadn’t arrived when he did she would have been a victim of that young boy’s aggression…
‘Kate, I’m going to take you home with me,’ Jake announced, coming to lean over her and look down into her pale face. ‘Sarah is fine, she’s going to spend the night with a friend. You don’t have to worry about her. Don’t move,’ he instructed when she tried to sit up. ‘I’ll carry you out to the car.’