Theft of Love

by Marina Oliver

  She went down the stairs and opened her front door. The Inspector had told her they'd installed various devices in the flat, and they were utterly certain no one was lying in wait, but she still had to summon up all her resolution not to turn and flee, but to open the door and step inside.

  There was a small pile of letters on the mat, and she automatically stooped to pick them up. Most were circulars, which she threw into the waste bin, or bills which she set aside to deal with later, when all this was over. She couldn't concentrate now. There were two personal letters. She recognised the handwriting on one envelope as that of an old schoolfriend who now lived in London, and put that aside too. She wasn't in the mood for Vicky's gossip.

  The final envelope had been hand-delivered, and her heart began to hammer as she slit it open.

  There was one sheet of paper, and the message, though longer, was as uncompromising as the previous one.

  'You didn't obey me before, and now it's too late. When I've dealt with your mother I'll be back for you, however long I have to wait for you to come home.'

  Her immediate instinct was to rush out and go to make sure her mother was safe, but this could well be playing into Pete's hands. Linda shivered, and reached for her mobile phone. She had to report this. The police would give her mother protection.

  The man who was answering the contact number she'd been given was calmly brisk. 'Don't worry, lass, your parents are being watched, so's your brother. He can't get to them, and he'd be running too many risks. It's you he wants.'

  Which was hardly reassuring, Linda reflected as she switched off. She unpacked the case, hung up her clothes or put them to be washed. Then she went through into her tiny kitchen and began to prepare a snack. Act normally, they'd said, but she had no desire to eat. She'd forced down some dry toast that morning, but it had taken great self-control even to nibble half a slice. If only she smoked, she might find a cigarette calming. She longed for a drink, but alcohol would dull her senses, and she had to remain alert.

  He might wait until darkness, which in the middle of June was as late as it could be. Linda breathed deeply to calm herself. She wanted it to be over as quickly as possible, and she had to stay in control, she could not afford to relax her guard for one minute.

  She made a sandwich and tried to eat, but could not. Instead of coffee, she mixed a sachet of instant soup, and smiled faintly as she wondered what Maggie would say.

  That was better, it slid down her constricted throat. She sipped it slowly, and longed for a shower, but to undress was to make herself too vulnerable. Then the telephone shrilled, and she spilled the remains of the soup down her shirt as she jumped convulsively.

  For a moment she stared at it. The answerphone was blinking at her, but she hadn't thought to check her messages. She'd better answer. She was supposed to be telephoning friends in any case, and this might be one of them.

  Gingerly she picked up the receiver and almost collapsed with relief when she hear Jane, her boss, ask how she was. 'Has the bug been defeated?' Jane asked.

  Recalling the excuse Simon had phoned in to her office on Monday morning, Linda muttered a reply. He'd done it without consulting her because, he said, she'd been fast asleep. Linda frowned at the reminder of his presumption, and then longed for him to be there with her.

  'I'll be in tomorrow,' she managed to say.

  'Are you sure? You sound odd,' Jane said. 'Take another day or two if you don't feel up to it. Business is slow at the moment, we can cope without you.'

  'I'll see how I feel. Thanks,' Linda replied.

  Jane soon broke the connection, and Linda listened to her messages. One was a from a friend, miffed because she hadn't been at the local pub as they'd agreed for a drink on Sunday morning. She'd have to ring her. One was from her mother asking where Bill was, because he hadn't turned up for lunch on Sunday.

  'But then, why I should ever depend on him I don't know,' her mother added.

  Why hadn't he gone? Linda began to worry. Her brother was not one to refuse a free meal, and her mother's Sunday lunches were legendary. But the police had reassured her he was being watched, protected. He must be all right. Then there were several calls where the callers had hung up without leaving a message. Were they from Pete? She wished she had one of those machines that recorded details such as the times of calls, and numbers, but that didn't help now.

  The final call was from another friend, and she'd given the date and time, nine o'clock on Monday morning. So the other calls, if they had been from Pete, could have been coming in during the night, after she and Simon had escaped from the horsebox, after Pete had escaped from the police trap.

  There were no more, but that proved nothing. If he was indeed watching the flat, or had someone doing this for him, as the police suspected, they'd know she wasn't there.

  Restlessly she prowled round the flat. It was a glorious summer day, and normally, home during the afternoon, she'd have been outside in her small patch of garden, weeding the flower beds or just enjoying the sun. But she dared not open the doors and go outside. She was the bait in the trap, and the police wanted to catch Pete as he approached. Outside she would be too exposed.

  The afternoon wore on. Linda was too tense to concentrate on anything, too afraid of giving way to seek the consolation of human voices over the telephone. She switched on the TV, but decided it might mask noises, and she needed to be able to hear all that went on, be prepared for Pete if he came. Then, nervous of the silence, she put on a CD and turned it as low as it would go.

  Every few minutes she wandered into the bedroom and peered out of the window from behind the curtains. There was nothing to see, just the occasional pedestrian's head visible from her semi-basement, or a car or van passing by. Which of these, she wondered, contained her police guards?

  She decided to change her shirt, splashed by the soup. She'd meant to do it straight away, and then listening to the messages on her answerphone had distracted her, and she'd forgotten. She pulled it over her head, and at that precise moment the front door bell rang.

  Frantic, terrified, Linda seized the clean tee-shirt she'd dragged out of the drawer and struggled into it.

  'I'm coming,' she called as the bell pealed once more, but before she reached the hallway she froze. The door was opening, and footsteps sounded on the tiles.

  'You can't hide, Linda. I know you're there, and I've come to get you.'

  *

  Pete slammed the door behind him, and Linda shrank back into the bedroom. Why hadn't the police caught him before he got in? Wide-eyed, she watched as he came towards her. He had one hand in his pocket, and she eyed the ominous bulge. It must be a weapon.

  'Why did you betray me, Linda?' he asked in a cool, uninflected voice. 'We could have been so good together. I'd have looked after you. I'd have given you anything you wanted. The silver alone in that collection would keep us in luxury for a year, and the paintings would have fetched much more. And I have other stuff, gathered before I met you. I've been preparing for years.'

  'Where are they?' Linda asked.

  If she could keep him talking for long enough there was a chance the police would come.

  Pete smiled, an unpleasant grimace. 'Oh, you don't trick me like that.'

  'Why did you ever think I'd agree to it?'

  'Your cousin said you would. And Bill didn't seem averse to a spot of quick profit. It was your misfortune you had foolish scruples about robbing your new boyfriend.'

  'Simon's not - ' she began, but Pete laughed again.

  'Had you met him before Saturday? You were certainly very close very quickly. I didn't know you were such a quick worker, Linda, you didn't encourage me so fast. But then, he already has the money, doesn't he? He doesn't have to work for it like us poor devils.'

  'If you call theft and abducting people work, you're mad!' Linda exclaimed, anger at his words overcoming her trepidation.

  'Never mind the insults. You're coming with me now, and we'll see how much lover-boy
is prepared to pay to get you free.'

  Where were the police? Linda prayed they would be waiting outside, but then she realised that was unlikely. Pete might be doing all sorts of things to her inside the flat, even killing her, and they'd promised to protect her. Perhaps it would be safer to get outside as soon as possible, and pray they would be there, or at least someone would be there who might help her.

  She moved towards the door, but Pete thrust her back and she fell onto the bed.

  'Oh, no. We have unfinished business, and it will be finished right here.'

  Slowly he drew his hand out of his pocket, and Linda blinked, biting back the scream in her throat. In his hand he held a small, but wicked-looking revolver. Mesmerised, she stared at it. Where were the police?

  As Pete raised his hand there was a noise from the living room, and he swung round, pointing the gun towards the door. Then all hell seemed to break loose. Linda heard the front door being kicked in, a shot which shattered her dressing table mirror, and more breaking glass as the window to the side of her was kicked in and a body hurtled through.

  'On the floor, quick!'

  She almost sobbed with relief. It was Simon, and he grabbed her arm and bundled her unceremoniously onto the floor where they were shielded by the bed. Pete was shooting wildly, first into the sitting room, then towards the front door, and once a bullet pinged into the skirting board just by her head.

  After a minute there was silence, and then Pete began to curse. Simon raised his head cautiously, and then rose to his feet. Linda wanted to pull him back, but she guessed all the bullets in the revolver had been used, and there was a chance to overpower Pete before he could reload. She peered over the side of the bed to see Pete frantically dragging something out of his pocket, but before he could reload Simon had launched himself round the end of the bed, rugby-tackling Pete and bringing him crashing to the floor.

  Pete howled with rage, and wriggled furiously, while Simon struggled to hang on to him. What had happened to the police, Linda wondered. Had they been shot? Then, afraid Pete was getting free of Simon's hold, she looked round for a weapon. The only remotely heavy thing was her old hair dryer. She yanked it from the socket and scrambled across the bed, bringing it down with a satisfying clunk onto Pete's head. He grunted with pain, and Simon was able to get a better grip, imprisoning the arm which still held the revolver tight against Pete's body. Linda hit Pete again, and then, to her immense relief, a large policeman scrambled through the window and made use of a pair of handcuffs.

  *

  One of the policemen, the one who had entered through the garden and sitting room, had been shot in the leg, but was comfortable in hospital. The one who had come in by the front door had retreated in the face of gunfire, and followed Simon through the window instead. Three more piled in within seconds and whisked their wounded colleague and Pete away. The Inspector remained.

  Linda was contemplating her many broken windows rather ruefully, and then she turned to Simon and began to laugh.

  'You look a fright,' she said. 'But thanks for coming so effectively.'

  Simon was looking at his long grey, balding wig, which had suffered badly during the brief tussle with Pete. He still had the make-up on his face, giving him dozens of wrinkles, and bits of his straggling grey beard had come unstuck and were clinging to the disreputable old sweater, filthy and full of holes, that he still wore. He had on baggy trousers, tied below the knee with string, and incongruously, new but dirty trainers.

  'I need a good scrub,' he said.

  The Inspector glared at him. 'You disobeyed orders to keep away.'

  'It was perhaps as well,' Simon replied coolly. 'If you thought I was going to leave Linda here, unprotected, you had another think coming. I'm able to disguise myself as a medieval knight, and it was no problem to act like a sozzled old man sleeping off the drink on a convenient piece of grass. Where were your chaps when Jackson barged his way in?'

  'They were coming, but they had to approach with caution so as not to alarm him,' Inspector Stone said, rather defensive. 'However, in the end you did no harm, so we'll forget about it.'

  'I should think you will! Did you get the other one, the fellow who was skulking around outside?'

  'Yes. We're not so incompetent as you think, Mr Cottrell, and for your information he's singing loudly. We'll most probably have your stolen goods in our possession by this evening. Now, Miss Slater, you can't stay here. I've ordered the windows to be boarded up if a glazier can't be found to replace the glass today, but you ought not to be alone. Can you go and stay with your parents for the time being?'

  'She'll stay with me,' Simon announced. 'Have you contacted her brother?'

  'Yes. He'd gone to stay with a friend when he received threats from Jackson. We've interviewed him, but he knew even less than you, Miss Slater. He'd apparently met Jackson in a pub only the day before he introduced him to you. So I can contact you at The Old Grange?'

  'Yes, for the foreseeable future,' Simon replied.

  Linda's heart gave a jump. Apart from not wanting to have to answer their questions and listen to her parents' endless demands to tell them why all this had happened, and how, she was glad Simon was not abandoning her. She would have at least a few more days with him. They might have time to talk of normal things, and she would find out more about him. Such as whether he had a serious girlfriend, she thought.

  'I'll come and report to you later tonight then. Where's your car?'

  'In the multi-storey car park in the middle of town. Linda can pack a bag and if she doesn't mind accompanying an old layabout I'll carry it for her.'

  'We'll spare her that. I can give you a lift.'

  A couple of hours later, clean and relaxed after a soak in the bath, Linda was wondering what to wear for dinner. She'd packed in a hurry, mainly jeans and shirts, but she had thought to include a couple of skirts and the lacy blouse she'd worn before. She decided the blue skirt would be best, and was just spraying on perfume when Simon knocked at her door and entered.

  He was wearing black trousers and a red silk shirt, and restored to his normal handsome self. Her heart, which seemed to be behaving very erratically today, gave a sudden flip.

  'That feels better,' he said, grinning and lounging on her bed. 'I had to smell the part as well as look it, and it's amazingly difficult to acquire a really disgusting niff in a hurry.'

  'Yes, I was rather glad you had an open-topped car to drive home in,' Linda said, smiling. 'How did you obtain the pong? It doesn't come in bottles, like perfume.'

  'Apart from telling you I visited the stables and the town rubbish dump on my way back to you, you don't want to know. Those things will all be burnt, and thank goodness the covers on my car seats are detachable and can be cleaned.'

  Linda stood up. 'I was so very glad to see you, pong and all,' she said shyly. 'I really thought the police had messed it all up and he was going to shoot me.'

  Simon's eyes darkened. 'I wouldn't have let him. Are you ready? Maggie said dinner was promptly at eight, and I never keep Maggie waiting. But I want time for a drink first.'

  He took her hand and led her down the stairs, but not into the breakfast room as on the previous night. 'Maggie thought that as this was a celebration, we should use the formal dining room,' he said, 'so we'll have our drink in the library next door. The drawing room is too empty, it's too big a reminder of what we might have lost.'

  'Have the police found your things then?'

  'Yes, they rang to say that as far as they could see everything was still in the horsebox, they hadn't even unpacked it. I have to go and identify it in the morning.'

  She hadn't been in the library before. It hadn't been open to visitors touring the house. It was a large room, two big tables with chairs around them, computers on each, bookshelves on every available wall, and a group of shabby leather chairs grouped round the fireplace. By one chair was a wine cooler, and a bottle of champagne waited, glasses beside it.

  Simon indi
cated she sit, and opened the champagne, poured two glasses, and came to hand her one then sit in the chair opposite.

  'Here's to a successful conclusion.'

  Linda drank, and didn't know what else to say. She looked round the room for inspiration.

  'Is this where you began to be interested in history?' she asked. 'Was your father a historian?'

  'Not in the professional sense, though he researched the family history back to the sixteenth century. But for the next year I'll be working here a good deal. I'm not sure if I'll be living at the Grange, though. I might get myself a house in the village. Or even in the town.'

  'Why? I thought your college was somewhere in the West country?'

  'It is, but I'm taking a year off, a sabbatical. The man I went to see in London was a publisher. He's interested in a book I mean to write, about the crusades. Of course, I shall have to do quite a bit of travelling, following the routes the crusaders took, visiting all their castles, as well as sitting here writing it.'

  'That will be interesting,' Linda said, but her hopes that she and Simon might see more of one another once her flat was in a fit state for her to return to it took a dive. He'd be close at hand, not in his distant college, but only for some of the time.

  'It would be more interesting if I had company,' he said, and rose to come across and take her glass from her. Carefully he set both glasses down on the table, and then sat on the arm of her chair. 'Did Pete mean much to you?' he asked. 'Was it serious, before you discovered he was a crook?'

  She shook her head. 'I liked him, he was good company, and once or twice I thought it might become more serious, but I'm not heartbroken, if that's what you're asking.'

  'Good. Linda, I don't want to rush things. You've had a very stressful few days, and lots of shocks, but when I kissed you, something happened to me. I meant it just for comfort, but it turned into a raging need for you, and frightened me. I'd never felt that before. I want to get to know you better, spend as much time with you as I can, and if in time you can feel the same about me, maybe we can have a future together. I'm not asking for an answer, I know it's much too soon, but will you humour me?'

  Linda was bemused. He couldn't be saying this. She shook her head to clear the mists away, and Simon sighed, and rose to his feet.