by Susan Lewis
‘It turned out later,’ Katherine said, ‘that for the entire time Chris had worked exclusively as Franz’s art dealer, he’d been feeding whatever information he could find out about Franz to a couple of British intelligence agents who were part of an investigation into certain Phraxos business practices, which were thought to relate to a highly confidential project.’
Stacey frowned.
‘It’s a project intended to fuel civil and military unrest in various African nations in order to step up the need for arms on the one hand, and military action, or intervention by the West, on the other. What you might call a win-win if you’re a part of Phraxos.’
Stacey’s heartbeat seemed to slow.
‘I honestly believe,’ Katherine continued, ‘that your husband had no idea, when he was first approached by these agents, just how much was going to be expected of him. Obviously he’d have known that Phraxos is a defence-focused investment group, because that’s no secret, but it’s doubtful he expected to get involved in that side of Franz’s life. Needless to say, that’s all the agents were interested in, so whether it was anger, or revenge, or just plain opportunism, that motivated Chris to tell Franz exactly who he was and how he’d been double-crossing him, I’ve no idea, all I know is that Franz took him totally under his wing after that, and ever since they’ve worked an extremely complex but efficient system of feeding information to the interested parties that keeps them at just the right distance for business to carry on as normal.’
Though shocked, Stacey was quietly thrilled by this unexpected and extraordinary twist to her husband’s mystique, which under any other circumstances would be making her passion burn hotter than ever. However, right now, it was more welcome for other reasons entirely. ‘So what exactly does he do now?’ she said.
‘These days mainly he ships,’ Katherine answered.
‘Arms?’
‘Cash. He’s part of a select group that organizes the transportation of enormous sums of money around the world, to avoid the all-incriminating paper trail.’
Stacey’s eyes moved to the middle distance, then after taking a long, thoughtful draw on her cigarette, she said, ‘So essentially, what you’re saying is, he’s a traitor to his country.’
Katherine cocked an eyebrow. ‘That would be one way of putting it,’ she said.
Stacey absorbed the answer as though swallowing an elixir. ‘Is there any more?’ she said.
‘If you want there to be,’ Katherine replied.
Stacey looked down at Chris’s photograph. Did she? ‘No,’ she said. ‘I think I’ve heard enough.’ Her eyes came up to Katherine’s. ‘Thank you,’ she said earnestly.
Katherine’s expression was sceptical. ‘I doubt it’s what you wanted to hear about your own husband,’ she responded.
Stacey only smiled, because actually, she couldn’t have wanted to hear it more.
Chapter 29
RACHEL WAS SITTING at the dining table, staring down at a mind-numbing printout of defence budgets and expenditure for the past three years. Laurie was at the table too, assessing which British arms manufacturers had links with Phraxos, while Beanie dozed in a chair over by the fire with Romie at her feet. Everything was still and quiet, a warm, tranquil haven secure from the rain hammering down outside, and the more distant roar of the tide raging up into the cove.
Beanie suddenly snorted herself awake. Rachel glanced at Laurie, they exchanged a smile, then went back to their work as Beanie picked up her knitting. A few minutes later they looked up again as the hoot of an owl bleated down through the chimney.
‘No, please don’t tell us what that means,’ Rachel protested, before Beanie could speak, ‘because I just know it’s not going to be good.’
Clucking softly to herself Beanie carried on knitting, while Laurie returned to her computer and a couple of minutes later Rachel got up to go and sit in the window seat behind Beanie’s chair.
‘God, it’s so gloomy out there,’ she said, rubbing a circle in one of the steamed up panes and peering through the driving rain towards the cove. ‘It could almost be night already.’
Laurie glanced at her computer clock. ‘The news is about to start,’ she said. ‘Shall we watch?’
Rachel nodded, but made no move to get up. They’d been on line most of the day, so it was unlikely anything had developed that they didn’t already know about. So she stayed where she was, only half listening to the headlines as they came up, and experiencing no surprise when Franz Koehler’s murder and Elliot’s disappearance failed to get a first mention, for they’d lost top billing yesterday to other breaking news. However, that didn’t mean one of the stories, or even both, wouldn’t feature somewhere later in the bulletin, and she knew Laurie was eager to hear anything at all about Elliot, even if she’d heard it a dozen times before.
Continuing to gaze out at the dark, angry sky, Rachel suddenly felt a twinge of alarm as she realized she hadn’t heard from Anna all day. She knew the whole family was going to spend the weekend with friends in Dorset, but it was unlike Anna not to call at all. Then a baleful feeling entered her heart as she thought of how easily the car could go off the road in this sort of weather … But no, she wasn’t going to torment herself like that. She’d just wait till the news was over, then try Anna’s mobile to make sure everything was all right. And at least she knew that for once poor Anna wasn’t having to worry about Stacey Greene, because Stacey was apparently still here in Cornwall.
Trying to settle a little more comfortably on the bench seat, she pushed a cushion behind her back while wondering what Stacey was doing now, all alone in that big house up there on the thinly wooded stretch of the moor. A part of her was almost tempted to go over there to reassure her that there really was nothing between her and Chris, but it would probably end up making matters worse. Besides, could she really, in all good conscience, face the wife of a man she had so many conflicting emotions about, and swear there was absolutely nothing going on, when her thoughts, if not her actions, made her every bit as guilty as Stacey feared?
Closing her eyes, she ran a hand absently over the baby as it stirred, and tried to disentangle herself from the confusion she felt about him and his life. She’d spent too many hours this past week going over and over everything they’d talked about, not just that day on the clifftop, but in the Caribbean, and here at the cottage, and she was still no closer to knowing whether she should trust him or not. She wondered where he was now and what he might be doing. He hadn’t called at all since he left, which had caused her far more concern than it should, not only about his honesty and integrity, but about his safety and what thoughts he might be having about her.
Sighing restlessly, she returned her gaze to the thickening fog of rain. It was still only just after five o’clock, far too early to be completely dark, but the gloom was hanging there like a malevolent shadow. Then becoming aware of the story that was being read on the news she tuned in to listen to how the search was continuing for Katherine Sumner, who police wanted to interview in connection with the murders of Franz Koehler and Tim Hendon. At the mention of her husband’s name a surge of intense longing rose up in her, as she wished to the very depths of her soul that they could turn the clock back. She still missed him so much, and never stopped wanting him, even when she was hating him. He’d turned her life inside out, left it shattered and empty, then filled it with so much doubt that it was hard to imagine ever being able to trust anyone again. Yet still she couldn’t help loving him.
‘Max must be having a field day over there,’ Laurie commented, switching off the TV as the commercials came on.
‘Sorry?’ Rachel said, turning round.
‘Max,’ Laurie repeated. ‘He’s in Dubai, where they’ve seized all that cash. Apparently they made some arrests today.’
Rachel’s eyes drifted to the middle distance, not because she had no interest in the story, but because she was so tense and on edge that she was actually willing the thunder to explode overhead if only to break the awful e
xpectancy in the atmosphere, and prove that it was the only storm brewing.
Anna’s car was parked in tight to the hedge, lights off and wipers still. The road was narrow and twisted, but she was tucked into the overhung niche of a passing space, so other vehicles could get by, possibly without even seeing her. From where she was she could see the open gates that marked the entrance to Stacey’s drive, but the house itself wasn’t visible from here, so it was impossible to tell if anyone was home. Certainly no one was answering the phone because she’d tried, several times, on the way here. She’d called Robert several times too, to give him a progress report of her journey in the bad weather, and a few minutes ago she’d told him she’d arrived safely at Rachel’s, and would be back at their friends’ house in Dorset around lunchtime tomorrow. Now she only had to call Rachel to let her know she was coming, which she should have done hours ago, but with so much else on her mind, she’d forgotten.
She shuddered with nerves as she thought of what she had to get through before she could go to Rachel’s, but if luck was on her side, it shouldn’t take long. It was probably naive to think that a face-to-face encounter would intimidate Stacey into giving her the poems back, but she was intending to try it. And if it didn’t work, she was even prepared to fight Stacey for them. What a mercy it would be to find that Chris had arrived home unexpectedly, so that he could add his weight to her side, but since she knew that wasn’t very likely, she’d decided that the next best scenario was to find no one at home at all, so that she could creep in, search out the poems and steal them back without anyone even knowing she’d been there.
Her hands tensed on the wheel as the draught of another car speeding by rocked her own. Whoever it was must be a lunatic to drive like that on a night like this, but they were gone now, hurtling off towards Helston, and she could only hope for their sake that they made it in one piece.
She looked at the gates again. Any minute now she would find the nerve to restart the engine and begin the journey along the drive to the house. She couldn’t think why she was so afraid, when it was only another woman she was facing and she had every right to be doing this.
Her hand was on the ignition key now, her foot on the clutch. Then noticing a set of headlights coming down the drive towards her, she froze. Please God let it be Stacey going out, she prayed fervently. Please give me the chance to get in there without having to face her. There was so much rain on the windscreen that it was impossible to make out who was at the wheel of the other car as it turned in front of her and started towards Roon Moor, but as the tail lights vanished round a bend, she was daring to hope that God might actually be on her side. She’d just give it another few minutes, then she’d make herself go in.
Stacey was in her studio, sliding the printouts on Tim Hendon into a drawer with Robert Maxton’s poems. She liked the idea of the two husbands being shut up there together like that, it felt symbolic of the power she had over their wives, though of course Tim Hendon needed no symbol of being shut in a drawer, when he already had the reality of a grave. As for Rachel Hendon’s power over her … She paused a moment, allowing herself to see Chris’s hands on that pregnant belly again, the hands that had now, in her imagination, moved up to the big, milky breasts, stroking and teasing them, while Rachel Hendon ran her fingers through his tousled dark hair and they laughed softly together … She slammed the drawer closed, and turned sharply away from the desk. Anger was good, it helped keep her focused.
The room was in semi-darkness as she wove a path through the easels, paints and canvases that had hardly been touched. Every now and again jagged forks of lightning flashed the place alight, showing how benign everything was when the shadows were lifted. Catching her foot on something, she stooped to pick up a chiffon scarf that she sometimes used to tie back her hair. Draping it over a smock that was hanging near the door, she clicked off the lamp on the table beside it, then walked on along the hall towards the arch that connected the studio to the first floor landing of the house. On reaching her bedroom she was tempted to light another joint, but she’d already had two today; any more and she’d be at risk of losing control.
Since her talk with Katherine earlier she’d more or less avoided her, keeping to her studio or bedroom as she ran through the various options that were now open to her. Of course if Katherine were lying about meaning Rachel Hendon no harm, then all decisions would be taken for her, and the only problem she’d face then was explaining to Chris why she’d allowed Katherine to come here. But that was already worked out, and now, thanks to the extra information Katherine had given her, Chris was hardly in a position to make too much of a fuss about anything.
A growl of thunder rumbled through the rafters, but she barely heard it as going into her dressing room she began removing her clothes. Her face was blotched and pale, but her eyes were vivid and staring hard as she thought of how she needed to dress. Going to her wardrobe she pulled out one of the long white shifts she frequently wore and slipped it over her head. If she needed to go out in the storm, she didn’t want it to look as though she’d prepared for it, so casual evening attire was called for now – boots and a raincoat would raise no eyebrows later, would in fact prove that she’d rushed out in a panic. As she walked back into the bedroom she could feel herself being assailed by all the painful emotions that made her feel so vulnerable and helpless and afraid of what to do. But she’d managed to fight them off earlier, and she would again, for she only had to think of a future without Chris, of being alone while he made a life with Rachel Hendon, and the anger would return to drive her. Then she’d stop caring which scene she had to play out, and remember that either one would lead to the right denouement – though if pressed, she had to confess that she’d prefer it if no one actually did get killed, at least not by her hand. However, once again, much depended on Katherine, and as she’d heard her go out a while ago, she guessed now would be a good time to go to her room to find out if she’d taken the gun.
‘All right,’ Beanie sighed, rolling up her knitting, ‘time I went to put some dinner on. Though the way these lights keep flickering, I don’t know about lamb chops, we could be in for a salad.’
‘I’ll get you the torch,’ Rachel said, unplugging her computer. ‘I think it’s upstairs, on the bookshelf under the attic hatch.’
‘I’ll go,’ Laurie said, standing up and stretching. ‘I need a warmer sweater.’
‘You should find some candles up there too,’ Rachel told her, as she opened the stairwell door. ‘In a box under my bed. Better bring them down, just in case.’
As Rachel stepped up into the kitchen and unhooked Beanie’s raincoat from the alcove, she looked around curiously, wondering why the storm seemed so much louder up here. It unnerved her slightly, but then noticing that one of the windows over the sink wasn’t quite shut, she went to tighten the catch, remembering that it had been faulty for a while.
‘So what time do you want us to come round?’ she said, helping Beanie into her coat.
‘In about an hour,’ Beanie answered, patting her pocket. Pulling out a small torch she said, ‘Here, this’ll do us. Forgot I had it.’ She grimaced as the overhead lights shuddered and dimmed again. ‘OK, Romes, ready?’ she said, starting to open the door. ‘Let’s make a run for it, cabbage.’
As they disappeared into the night, Rachel quickly closed the door behind them, then remained where she was, trying to think why this storm should be unsettling her so much. It wasn’t as if it was the worst she’d experienced, for it was nowhere near as terrifying as the big seas that crashed up over the headland in winter, and flooded the whole village. Yet there was something almost wilfully portentous about this one; it even seemed to be making the baby fidgety, for it had hardly stopped moving all day.
Deciding to go and put something soothing on the CD, she chose Satie’s piano solos and as she pushed the button to start, was hoping that the lightning wouldn’t send it into meltdown. Hearing the first, tenderly romantic bars of ‘Je te veux’,
she quickly turned it off again, unwilling to deal with the memories of Paris that it instantly evoked.
‘It might be a good idea to set these up ready,’ Laurie said, holding up the candles, as she came back down the stairs. ‘Where’re the matches?’
‘Here,’ Rachel said, taking them off the mantelpiece. Then she promptly dropped them as the phone startled her. ‘God, I’m a nervous wreck,’ she grumbled, going to answer it as Laurie picked up the matches. ‘Hello?’ she said into the receiver.
‘Rachel. It’s me,’ Anna cried. ‘Surprise! I’ve dumped Robert and the kids in Dorset, and I’m on my way to spend a night with my sister.’
Rachel’s face lit up. ‘That’s fantastic,’ she said. ‘Where are you now?’
‘Not far. The weather’s terrible, but I should be there soon.’
‘Great. I’ll tell Beanie we’ll be one more for dinner. Laurie’s here, so you’ll have to have the small bedroom.’
‘No problem. See you in about half an hour.’
Ringing off, Rachel was about to start dialling Beanie when the back door suddenly flew open. Despite the sudden jolt to her heart, she realized it must be Beanie, back for something she’d forgotten. ‘I was just ringing you,’ she called out. ‘Anna’s on her way.’
When there was no reply Laurie turned to look over her shoulder, a lit match still burning in her fingers. Shaking it out as she heard the door close, she was about to go and investigate when someone in a yellow hooded raincoat appeared in the arch. Laurie’s eyes dilated with shock as the woman lowered her hood, and she realized who she was looking at. ‘Oh my God,’ she murmured.
Behind her, Rachel’s face had turned completely white. For a moment she could neither speak nor move, then so much emotion rushed through the barrier of shock that she became light-headed, almost faint. A thousand thoughts were speeding through her mind, but most dominant of all was the fact that it was because of this woman that Tim was no longer alive. Hatred and anger welled up so forcefully that she was almost blinded by an urge to lash out, then she was remembering the warnings from Franz Koehler, and Chris …