When Night Closes in

by Iris Gower

  The receptionist gave her an understanding smile. ‘Men eh? I’m sure you’ve nothing to worry about, though. I don’t think your own sister would want to borrow your man as well as your scarf. Your chap is tall, isn’t he? Lovely dark hair and so handsome. I could have fallen for him myself.’

  Lowri sighed. ‘Well, Jon fits that description but then so do many men.’ She forced a smile. ‘I shouldn’t be so suspicious but it’s the good-looking ones you have to watch.’

  She ignored the lift, it was old and very small and it creaked alarmingly. In any case, room 101 was on the first floor – it was quicker to walk up the stairs. She paused outside the room, her thoughts reeling. Jon and Sally? Surely not. She had allowed Sarah Brandon to plant the seeds of suspicion. No doubt there were other scarves just like the one Lowri was wearing.

  She opened the door and stared around her at a scene of normality. The bed was made, the room was fresh and clean, it was a hotel room like any other.

  Lowri walked over to the balcony doors, trying to stem the nostalgia that washed over her. She took several deep breaths. The balcony was empty, the plastic chairs neatly turned up on the tabletop.

  She moved nearer to the bed: it was as pristine as the rest of the room. It was hard to believe she and Jon had lain there, making love like crazy people. Had he known even then it would be for the last time?

  Lowri sank into a chair and rubbed her forehead tiredly. Sarah Brandon seemed to think Sally was Jon’s type of woman. If she was, and Jon had fallen for her, why had he disappeared?

  Lowri felt she was going mad. She was sitting in the Swan Hotel expecting to find clues to what had happened that last night with Jon. She realized now that she had very little chance of that. Impatiently, she stared down at the brightly patterned scarf, shimmering in a shaft of light from the window.

  The room was cold, impersonal. It was as though it had never been inhabited by real people. She would learn nothing here. She picked up the scarf and pushed it into her pocket and then pulled the door shut behind her before going downstairs. As she approached the desk, Lowri stopped abruptly. There was now a man in charge of reception.

  She still had the key to 101 clutched in her hand, what should she do with it? She headed towards the lounge, cursing her bad luck.

  ‘Excuse me, Miss Richards?’ Startled, Lowri looked round. ‘Thank goodness I spotted you.’ It was the young receptionist. ‘Have you got the key?’

  ‘Here it is and thanks.’

  ‘Did you find your earring?’

  Lowri shook her head. ‘No, I suppose it was a long shot but I thought it worth a try.’

  ‘What a shame.’ The girl hesitated. ‘I thought I should tell you that the lady I saw wearing the scarf wasn’t you at all. When I saw you coming down the stairs I knew straight away I was mistaken. The other girl had long hair and it wasn’t reddish like yours.’

  ‘Was she blonde by any chance and was she wearing lots of nail polish?’

  ‘Yes, that’s right! She had her arm around the man’s back and I spotted the bright nail polish.’ The receptionist’s face fell into lines of sympathy. ‘Your sister with your chap, do you think?’

  ‘It sounds like it,’ Lowri said. ‘What name did they register under?’

  ‘I wouldn’t know that, I wasn’t on duty, you see. As I said, I only saw her from the back and admired the scarf.’

  ‘Thank you anyway,’ Lowri said. ‘These men, you can’t trust any of them, can you?’

  ‘Look on the bright side, as you said, the same description could apply to lots of men.’ The girl seemed sympathetic. ‘I’m sure it’s all just a coincidence.’

  ‘Off duty, now, are you?’ Lowri asked.

  ‘I’m on my way home, thank goodness. What a busy morning it’s been!’

  ‘Please,’ Lowri said, ‘can you spare the time to have a drink with me? I feel lonely on my own.’ She smiled wryly. ‘Mad too at my boyfriend.’

  The receptionist hesitated. ‘All right then, I’m not supposed to mingle with the guests but I suppose a few minutes won’t matter.’ She settled herself into a chair. ‘Oh, it’s good to relax. Look, don’t take too much notice of what I’ve said, mind, I don’t expect your chap would chance bringing your sister to the same hotel, would he?’

  ‘No, I suppose you’re right.’ Lowri sat beside her. The large comfortable lounge was furnished with huge sofas and chairs. The overhead lighting was subdued, befitting a place where lovers met illicitly. Lowri smiled wryly.

  ‘Have you and your chap quarrelled?’ the girl asked, crossing her legs and leaning back against the plump cushions.

  ‘Not exactly. What would you like to drink, Miss . . . ?’

  ‘Trisha, just call me Trisha. I’ll have a gin and tonic please.’

  Lowri held up her hand as a young waiter hovered near and ordered the drinks. ‘Can I confide in you, Trisha?’ She leaned forward in her chair. ‘If Sally is going out with Jon she’s in for a shock, I’ve just found out he’s married.’

  ‘Oh, dear. No wonder you’re mad.’ Trisha accepted her drink from the waiter and leaned back in her chair, looking up at him. ‘Paul,’ she said. ‘Do you remember a man and woman who booked in a week or two ago? He was tall, dark and handsome,’ Trisha smiled, ‘which is why I noticed him, and she was a small blonde girl, with long hair.’

  The boy shook his head. ‘You must be joking, Trisha! It’s summertime, people are booking in all the time.’

  ‘What about room service?’ Lowri asked. ‘Would you be dealing with that, perhaps?’

  ‘Yes I would. Come to think of it, I did take a tray of drinks up to one of the rooms one night. He grinned. ‘I remember that the girl was small and blonde with gorgeous legs. She was wearing really high-heeled shoes, not the sort you see very often these days.’ He rubbed the side of his face. ‘I remember they had champagne,’ he finished hastily.

  ‘And?’ Trisha asked.

  ‘And they were on the bed.’ Paul laughed nervously. ‘Naked as a jaybird she was. Small, as I said, and she was wearing a lot of that eye stuff on her lids and her lipstick was a sort of bright colour like her nails.’ He grinned. ‘And she still had her shoes on, odd that.’

  ‘What about the man?’ Lowri asked.

  ‘Sorry! I didn’t pay him much attention.’ Paul looked over his shoulder. ‘I’d better get back to work or I’ll be out on my ear.’

  As he walked away, Trisha looked at her watch. ‘I’d better get off home too. Was any of that any good?’

  ‘Some, perhaps,’ Lowri said. ‘Thanks for your help and could you do one more thing for me? Could you look through the bookings to see if the name Brandon or White turns up?’

  ‘Sure, no problem.’ Trisha shook her head. ‘Men, why do we bother with them? They cause us nothing but trouble!’

  When she had gone, Lowri sipped her Scotch slowly. The last time she had drunk it was when she was here with Jon – it seemed a lifetime ago now. Since then her world had turned topsy turvy.

  Trisha appeared at her side. ‘I’ve had a quick look at the register but the name Brandon wasn’t there, nor White.’

  ‘Oh, well, thanks for looking anyway.’

  ‘Oh, right then,’ Trisha said. ‘I’m off home now.’

  Lowri finished her drink; she had better be getting back to the office. She walked slowly to the car, slipped into the driving seat and wound down all the windows. It had been a fruitless journey. What exactly had she achieved by going back to the Swan? She had found that a woman who might or might not have been Sally had stayed at the hotel with a man who might or might not have been Jon Brandon.

  It was all so tenuous, like trying to grasp at mist. Sally and Jon might have been lovers; the possibility seemed more likely now. But so what? For that small snippet of gossip, she had only added to the questions racing through her mind.

  When she got back to the office, she did not say anything to Sally about the scarf or what the receptionist had told her.

 
; ‘So you didn’t find out anything, then?’ Sally pulled a face. ‘You wouldn’t make a good Miss Marple, would you?’

  ‘Have you ever stayed at the Swan, Sally?’ Lowri asked casually.

  ‘No never, poor old Timmy wouldn’t be able to afford the prices there.’

  Sally was lying for some reason of her own. Forget it, she told herself, there was little point accusing Sally of anything.

  Lowri was glad when it was time to get in her car and go home. She could not concentrate on work and Sally’s bubbly talk was wearing her nerves to shreds. She drew up at the kerb and parked. For once, there was plenty of room. She walked briskly towards the house and had the distinct feeling that something was wrong. It was.

  One of the panes in the sitting-room window was shattered and pieces of glass sparkled like diamonds in the pile of the carpet. In among the broken glass was a stone with a note tied around it. It was all too melodramatic for words, but frightening too.

  Lowri unwrapped the note. It was unsigned and it read:

  ‘I’m out to get you. From now on, you had better watch your back.’

  Lowri picked up the phone to call the police but the line was dead. She dropped the receiver and searched in her bag for her mobile phone.

  She got through to the police station. ‘I want to report an incident,’ she said and then she began to cry.

  6

  DI Lainey looked at the broken glass on the carpet and then read the brief note. ‘Some crank did this,’ he said. He looked at Lowri. Her face was white, her eyes had dark circles below them. It was clear she had not been sleeping very well. ‘You were out when this happened?’ he said. ‘Just as well, I’d say.’

  ‘I’m not so sure about that.’ She glanced up at him, as if seeking reassurance. ‘Earlier, I went to the Swan hoping to find something out about Jon. Perhaps I was followed.’

  Lainey thrust his hands into his pockets. He was glad his sergeant was searching the rest of the house.

  ‘Are you sure you’ve told me everything, Lowri?’ he said quietly, looking directly at her. ‘Did you have anything here belonging to Jon Brandon? Did he ask you to keep anything safe for him?’

  Lowri shook her head. ‘No, nothing. Why?’

  ‘Just a thought. Can I call someone for you?’ He tried to sound impersonal, resisting the urge to show any sympathy. ‘A friend to stay overnight perhaps?’

  Lowri shook her head. ‘No, I’ll be fine, thank you.’ She sounded dispirited, as if the broken window was the last straw.

  ‘Look,’ he moved closer to her and spoke in a low voice, ‘I really think you should get away from here for a few days. A hotel perhaps.’

  Lowri looked up at him. ‘I don’t seem to have much luck in hotels and anyway, they cost money.’

  ‘What about your parents? I could run you home if that’s what you want.’

  ‘No thanks. Why are you so concerned? Do you think I’m in danger or something?’

  ‘A stone through the window is hardly a friendly gesture, is it? Well, the offer of a lift is there, take it or leave it,’ he said, turning away from her.

  ‘I’ll stay here, but thanks anyway. I’ll have to go to work tomorrow. I have a living to earn, you know.’ He watched as she sank wearily into a chair.

  ‘Look, I’ll board up the window for tonight and tomorrow, perhaps you can get it done properly.’

  ‘You won’t find out who broke the window, will you?’ Lowri asked him, her eyes large. ‘Why can’t you take fingerprints or something?’

  He shook his head. ‘I’ll see if forensics can find anything.’ He shrugged. ‘But this is just a petty crime. Uniform would usually deal with it but it was the connection with Jon Brandon that I was interested in.’

  ‘Why, what has he done?’ Lowri asked. ‘Other than dumping me, of course.’

  ‘I’m not really sure but I’ll find out, eventually.’ He walked to the door. ‘Lock up after us, I’ll speak to you again tomorrow.’

  Lainey pulled the front door shut behind him and waited to hear the bolt slip into place and then, with his sergeant at his heels, he walked towards his car.

  Mr Watson met Lowri in the hallway. He paused and looked at her over his glasses. His cheeks were pink, his sparse hair like a pale halo around his face. He had grown old before his time Lowri thought.

  ‘You’re not looking at all well, my girl,’ he said. ‘You young girls don’t eat enough breakfast.’ He walked into his office and stood in the doorway.

  ‘Is everything all right, Lowri? At home I mean. Mother well, is she?’

  ‘Yes, of course, Mr Watson,’ she said. ‘It’s just man trouble, that’s all.’

  Lowri went into the office she shared with Sally and slumped into her chair, rubbing her eyes wearily.

  ‘What’s wrong now?’ Sally switched on the coffee-machine. She busied herself with the mugs and did not look up.

  ‘I’m fed up!’ Lowri said. ‘I am so fed up I could cry.’

  Sally made the coffee and then pulled her chair towards Lowri’s desk.

  ‘Well don’t cry for heaven’s sake, you look a right mess as it is.’

  ‘Thanks,’ Lowri said dryly. She took the coffee, cupping the mug in her hands, drawing comfort from the warmth. ‘I got a stone through my window yesterday,’ she said. ‘And a note telling me to watch my back.’

  ‘Oh, good heavens!’ Sally’s eyes were round. ‘You must have been frightened to death!’

  Lowri shook her head. ‘I wasn’t there at the time, luckily for me. It happened while I was here, or at the Swan. I found out a few interesting facts while I was there, mind. Seems I wasn’t the only woman Jon took to the Swan for a dirty weekend.’

  Sally’s eyebrows almost met her hairline. She looked as if she would ask more questions but she closed her mouth firmly and returned to her desk. The phone rang, shattering the sudden silence. Sally picked it up and then put her hand over the mouthpiece.

  ‘Mrs Brandon for old Watson,’ she said, her eyebrows raised. ‘I’ll connect you right away, madam,’ she said in her best telephone voice. ‘What does the old bat want him for?’

  ‘Don’t ask me.’ Lowri sat and stared through the window into the street. The sunlight splashed on the walls of the building opposite. It was a hot day but then it had been a wonderful summer until that night at the Swan Hotel.

  The intercom buzzed and Mr Watson’s voice came over the line, requesting some property details.

  ‘Looks like our Mrs Brandon is wishing to terminate her lease at Plunch Lane,’ Sally said. ‘Don’t worry, I’ll see to it.’ She went out. Lowri allowed herself a smile. Sally was nothing if not curious: she would want to know exactly what Sarah Brandon was up to.

  Lowri switched on her computer and waited for it to warm up. It whined and buzzed – it was getting old but the firm of Watson Jones and Fry was resistant to change.

  Lowri clicked onto the details of properties and tenants, wondering who had rented the cottage in Plunch Lane before Jon took it over. There was a list of names but none of them meant anything to her.

  Perhaps she could do some hard-disk clearing and delete anything unwanted from her files. She ran the cursor down the lists until she came to Jon Brandon’s name. His home address was Bellingway House, in a select area of Bristol.

  What had brought Jon to the small village on the coast? Was it his job of which he hardly ever spoke, or had there been a more sinister reason behind it? And why had he chosen Watson Jones and Fry to draw up the agreement for his rented holiday home?

  A man would have to be a fool to offer his wife a holiday home and then have a liaison with a woman who lived nearby. Perhaps Jon’s wife was right and being caught was part of it all, part of the crazy fiasco that had been their love affair.

  When precisely had Jon Brandon walked into her life? Was it before he rented the cottage or after, and did he have an ulterior motive in setting up in a small Welsh seaside resort? The details of the rental agreement should be in the
filing cabinet which was Sally’s province.

  Lowri tried the cabinet and found it was locked. She walked slowly over to Sally’s desk – the key must be there. She hesitated. She was not normally a snoop but then she was not interested in Sally’s personal belongings, just the contents of the file on Jon Brandon.

  Impulsively, she opened Sally’s drawer and began to search through the untidy pile of papers. There was the usual paraphernalia of a young woman’s belongings, a file, a bottle of nail polish and a clutter of pens. Beneath the rubbish was a handwritten note and Sally had pencilled something in the margin.

  Lowri turned the sheet around, studying Sally’s scrawl. It was just a time and a date, innocuous enough except for the fact that the brief note looked remarkably like Jon’s handwriting. It said: ‘I need more information, contact me ASAP.’

  Lowri rubbed her forehead as if she could wipe the questions from her mind. She was becoming paranoid, suspecting everyone, but suspecting them of what? The phone rang suddenly, shattering the silence. Startled, Lowri stared at the instrument for a long moment, her heart thumping wildly. At last she snatched up the receiver, expecting she knew not what.

  ‘Is that Sally White?’ It was a woman’s voice.

  ‘I’m sorry, she’s in a meeting right now. I’m Miss Richards, can I help?’

  ‘I suppose you will have to do. It’s Sarah Brandon; I’m at the cottage in Plunch Lane. I need you to get here fast.’

  ‘Excuse me, Mrs Brandon, but I’m not a taxi service.’

  ‘Just get here.’ The line went dead.

  Lowri made a face as she replaced the receiver. The woman was impossible – she felt she only had to snap her fingers and people would come running. Still, Lowri was curious: what could Sarah Brandon want? Only minutes earlier she had been on the phone to Mr Watson.

  Lowri was undecided – should she just tell Mr Watson that Mrs Brandon had called? Or send Sally on the errand perhaps? But her curiosity got the better of her and she scribbled a note and then left the office.

  She stood for a moment in the sunshine of the street, taking stock of her situation. It was high time she changed her life around; became again the strong-minded woman she had been when she left home and the bullying of her stepfather behind her.