A roll of J-cloths lying close to the gas ring caught. Within seconds, one flame became more, the greediest reaching out to lick its tongue around the nearby roll of kitchen paper on its stand. Some wooden spoons in a small crock on the worktop were the next to go.
At about the same time that Hamish was falling asleep beside Katie, Bob was hammering his sex into his wife from behind.
Out of the ordinary for the sound sleeper she was, at around 11.20pm, one of Francesca’s neighbours woke up. She sat up in bed and listened. She got out of bed and tiptoed to the bedroom window. She opened the curtain a chink, unlatched the window and peered out at the darkness. To the left she saw an orange glow and a large rat scuttle away down the lane.
Following a good Saturday night out with some pals at the Chinese restaurant in the small town of Broxton, Nick and Sally Baker had been asleep for over an hour when a sound like a swarm of angry bees woke them at around quarter past midnight.
Nick silenced the pager and jumped out of bed. He threw on some clothes, snatched up the pager again and left the room before Sally had time to ask. Pocketing the pager, he raced the quarter mile on foot to the station. He knew from experience that it was quicker than taking the car and finding a parking space for it.
He grabbed his helmet and boots from the locker, acknowledged the driver and was the first to climb up into the rear seats. Three other men and one woman, still securing their outfits, came running to join him. In moments the vast vehicle drove slowly out of its garage, majestic as its siren climbed loud octaves before screaming on. Blue lights on its top, side and headlights flashing, it turned right and began to pick up speed.
It was a clear road and they reached the village in less than ten minutes, but by the time they got to the address, they could see there was little hope. Roaring, the roof had already caught. This was going to be no easy task to control. Straightaway, they called the Cambridge Fire Station for backup. Their main anxiety was the considerable danger of other houses catching.
In those vital minutes before the brigade had reached the fire, the woman who had first seen the fire from her bedroom along with others who had seen the blaze along the lane, had run out in their dressing gowns to see if they could help.
Two men and a woman had managed to get as near to the front door as they could. But hot clouds of smoke were escaping from the cracks around it. Before they had attempted to get in, flames had streamed out of an open window upstairs, flared upwards and caught the roof. The place had gone up so fast it was terrifying to watch. Onlookers had gasped with horror and backed away as it had burned with fury, the intensity of the heat and smoke filling the air and choking their lungs.
Their powerlessness had angered and upset them and in the short time it took the fire brigade to arrive, the hope of saving occupants was lost.
All the firefighters could do was attempt to douse the flames and be glad the neighbouring cottages and houses had not been affected apart from some singeing and dirtying from the dark smoke.
In the end it took five teams several hours to control the blaze.
The exhausted Nick, who doubled as the local electrician, muttered to himself in anger, “If only people would spray these old roofs with fire retardant.”
It took them until 6am to finally put the fire out. All that remained of Smith’s Cottage was a shell, the old brick chimneystack standing alone among its broken walls.
It was then that the firemen brought out a body bag.
14
5–6 August
Eliza felt more refreshed in the morning than she had for some time. Dialling a call on her landline, she was also making the second pot of coffee of the morning. After a few rings a woman answered. In unemotional language, she said, “Sorry. The service requested is not available. Thank you for calling. Please hang up.”
After trying again but receiving the same recording, Eliza tried another number. The response told her that number was not available either. Puzzled, Eliza tried it once more.
Annie implemented the obligatory knock agreed to when she and her daughter had become such close neighbours. Without waiting for a “come in”, she walked through the back door into the kitchen. She sat down on a kitchen chair and waited for her daughter’s attention. Although her daughter didn’t notice, by looking closely at her expression, you might have seen that Annie seemed anxious.
“Was that Francesca you were trying?”
“It was, as it happens.” The sarcasm and irritation were not lost on her mother.
“Well, I’m so sorry to disturb you, sweetheart, but Rose has told me some very bad news that I thought you should know as soon as possible.”
“What’s happened?”
“Sit down, darling. Sit down.”
Eliza sat on a chair next to her mother. A sense of panic beginning to take hold, she studied her mother’s face, but years of court performances ensured it revealed nothing.
In a small saucepan, the milk heated on the warm plate of the Aga. It grew hot and formed a skin.
“Tell me, Mum.”
Annie put her hand on her daughter’s arm and cleared her throat. “It seems that Smith’s Cottage caught fire last night.”
Eliza stared at her. Annie allowed the fact to sink in.
“Was Francesca there?”
“She was.”
“Oh God. Oh God. Tell me she’s okay?”
Annie slowly shook her head. Eliza looked at her in disbelief. Going pale, she said, “She’s in hospital?”
The thin white skin developed and stretched until it became an air-filled bubble that grew and shuddered when the fluid below rose up like a tiny tsunami to burst its way over the top of saucepan. But neither woman noticed.
Annie grabbed her daughter’s hand and held it tight. She fixed her eyes on her face and said with unhurried but gentle purpose, “She didn’t make it, Eliza. She died in the fire.” She quickly stood up, stepped behind her daughter’s chair, encircled her arms around her child’s body and held her firm while Eliza absorbed then broke.
Using special infrared equipment designed to trace the origins or “hotspot” of the blaze, after searching through the remains of Smith’s Cottage, the fire service announced that the fire came from a gas cooker that had been left on. They could even tell that a pan of food had been the culprit. But to be sure the fire was not started deliberately, they took bits of debris from the scene for analysis.
Everyone in the village was in shock. A second unnatural death within two months had shaken it to its foundations. People who lived close by and saw the fire were traumatised. And for days to come, the villagers spoke of nothing else.
On the way back from seeing Pam the previous evening, Annie had seen something that had disturbed her. It bothered her so much that she paid a visit to the Parkside Police to report what she had seen.
While Louise’s death was dreadful, it had been of her own choosing and she had not been particularly involved with the village, preferring to keep herself apart. On the other hand, Francesca’s death was a terrible accident. To choke to death in such appalling circumstances must have been terrifying for the poor young woman who had been popular with everyone who knew her. She had always been cheerful and smiling and had made people laugh. “Sunny” was how some described her, and it had suited her well. People had revelled in the fact that they had a television star living in their midst and they would really miss her. For a short time, the press descended on the village asking questions and taking photographs.
15
Mid to late August
The two deaths were the talk of the village. Some people jumped to the conclusion that they were somehow linked. But others asked why or how they could be? Speculation was rampant and ludicrous stories started to circulate. Louise and Francesca Bianchi had been having a lesbian affair, being the most popular.
Annie Berkeley had a strong feeling that the theory about the deaths being linked held water. She wondered about all the members of her daugh
ter’s group of friends and, since her years in court had convinced her that there was naught so strange as folk, her naturally analytic mind asked her to consider various possibilities as to whether both deaths had in fact been murder. She also believed the motives to have been related to sex. She racked her brains and drew her own conclusions.
Like many other women in Heronsford, but more so because of what had happened to her garden, Rose became quite paranoid. She decided there was a local serial killer and told Annie B. as much. Competent as Rose was, she was subject to reacting to situations without thinking things through.
Annie calmed her over her worst fears and assured her she didn’t believe either she or Rose were on the agenda of any murderer, local or not. This only went some way to allaying Rose’s gravest worries. After Louise Ryan had died, Rose had walked to and fro to Sparepenny Place to clean and help out with Sinead, but now she stopped walking on her own anywhere and would only go out in her car. Other women were doing the same thing. Everyone had become wary.
The Armstrongs and the Nicholsons were invited to the McKenzie’s for a dinner one evening. The mood was sober and their conversation was dominated by Francesca’s death.
Everyone had their opinion. Near to tears, Eliza who had seen Francesca enter her cottage in a drunken state, said she believed it was a simple accident.
“If only I’d insisted she came back to the farm for the night. She really wasn’t in a fit state to leave on her own. I blame myself.”
Sitting next to her, Bob put his arm round her shoulders and pulled her toward him. He kissed her cheek.
“Of course it wasn’t your fault, sweet girl. Francesca was a grown up, responsible for herself.”
Then Stella chipped in. “I should have suggested she came home when I left a little earlier than the others. She was quite pissed by then, but apparently, she drank even more after I’d left. I just didn’t think to do so.”
Sitting next to her, in a reassuring gesture, Hamish rubbed a hand gently on her back. “It wasn’t your fault either, Stell. Don’t even dream that it was.”
Because they were all now beginning to be suspicious of one another, few could say what they really thought.
But in the black and white way that was Bob’s, he was utterly convinced that Patrick had something to do with both deaths. While they all liked Patrick, they could see that Bob had a point.
Walking home with her husband that evening, Katie Nicholson welled up with misery and anger. Now she felt sure that Hamish was having an affair with Stella. What made it even worse was how beautiful Stella was. She had to watch them pretending to avoid one another when they were so obviously involved.
She stopped suddenly in the middle of the lane and screamed at Hamish, “How could you, you cheating bastard?” She dropped her handbag on the road and set about pummelling his chest and throwing wild punches at him.
Astonished by the ferocity of this attack, Hamish backed away and caught hold of her forearms. He held her tightly and away from him. “What are you talking about, Katie? Whatever is the matter? What do you mean, cheating? Explain yourself!”
“Do you think I’m a complete fool? I know you’re having an affair with Stella. It’s so, so obvious!”
“An affair with Stella? You’re joking, Katie. Tell me you’re joking.”
She tried to wriggle free from his grasp with no luck. “I can read between the lines, you know. I saw the way you kissed her goodbye and the way you were looking at each other and feigning indifference. I saw you patting her back. You clearly can’t keep your hands off the woman. You must think I’m a complete bloody fool, Hamish.”
“As it just so happens, in this instance, that’s exactly what I do think. Wherever you got that idea from, God knows, Katie. You drink far too much, and your brain gets addled. I would no more go near Stella than jump off the top of Mount Everest. Besides, Bob would kill any man who did.”
“So, you do fancy her! There you’ve admitted it. You can protest all you like but I know what I saw, and I know you’re having an affair.”
Hamish was shouting now. “I admitted nothing because there is nothing to admit! Stella is beautiful but that doesn’t mean I fancy her. In fact, I don’t at all. She’s so not my type.”
“Discussing your types now then? Don’t think you have fooled me, Hamish. Because you haven’t.”
“Sweetheart, can we please calm down and talk about this tomorrow when we’re both sober? I swear to you on my grandfather’s grave, I am not having an affair with Stella. Nor has it ever been something I have contemplated. You have to believe me, Katie. We have talked about your issues with jealousy before and this is another bout that has probably been brought on by the dreadful events in the village. It has made everyone feel unsettled and worried. Here, take my hand and let’s go home.”
Crying all the way, she allowed him to lead her back to Wood Farm. When they got home, Hamish was grateful to find the children had gone to bed. He half carried their drunken mother upstairs, undressed and helped her into bed. He then undressed himself and got in beside her. He held her until she fell asleep. The side of Katie that had showed itself this evening was horrible. He had seen it before, but never as bad as this. She had behaved like some crazed banshee. He lay awake, sleep refusing to come to him.
16
21 September
The Met Office issued the weather alert at 6am on 21 September. A storm was expected to roll in from the Atlantic bringing gusts of up to 80mph. Forecasters warned of danger to life from flying debris, while power cuts, damage to buildings, road closures and transport cancellations were also predicted.
On the day of Francesca’s funeral, Eliza, Jay, Katie and Hamish left their children under the far from watchful eye of a girl from the village. Bob had been unable to make it due to McKenzie’s annual general meeting, but Stella, Patrick and Sinead joined them, and Annie too, in spite of her pain. They decided to beat the storm by travelling up to London by train. They took cabs from the station, which dropped them across the road from the church.
They battled against the gale to cross Fulham Road. A sudden gust from behind turned inside out the large umbrella with which Patrick was sheltering Stella. Under the watchful stony gazes of St Peter and St Paul flanking the sides of a wide arch, they joined the throngs of people walking gratefully out of the storm through a pair of big wrought-iron gates under a tall five-storey brick tower. Above them in the middle of a four-lancet window, Christ the Redeemer blessed them. They passed down a long colonnade of ten carved pillars into the nave of Our Lady of Dolours.
They found pews about halfway down the church and sat down. There were service sheets on the shelves of the back of the pews in front of them. The church was already filling up with people. A large choir sang Monteverdi’s Vespers, filling the building with a solemn and reverent atmosphere that affected people to hush and walk slowly to their pews with their heads bent.
Clad in black, both wearing hats, she with a veil over her face, Fredo and Maria Bianchi sat in the front pew on the right-hand side of the church. Their heads bowed, their bodies bent, even from the rear they emanated intense grief. To their left in the centre of the transept, covered in a white pall, the casket was topped with wreaths and a spray of white lilies, a large white church candle burning in front of it. The irony of this did not miss Eliza but she kept it to herself.
Beside the coffin, a small table bore a vase of red, blue, yellow, mauve and white flowers next to a large silver framed photograph of Francesca’s smiling face. A wooden crucifix draped with a silver rosary necklace stood beside the picture along with a group of white candles, a leather-bound Bible, a doll and a snow globe enclosing a winter scene.
From the high vaulted, blue painted ceiling, Christ looked down from a crucifix with an expression of despair.
The church was packed. Francesca had had a lot of friends in theatre and television and her large family had come over from Italy to support her parents. The service included h
ymns, readings from old friends and Holy Communion, during which those who wanted could go up to the altar while the rest stayed in their pews listening to Verdi’s “Libera Me” from his Requiem, sung by a soloist and the choir.
It was a long but moving funeral and the Heronsford friends were downcast by the tragedy of the event. After the final commendation when the priest sprinkled holy water on the coffin, a recorded version of “On Eagle’s Wings” filled the big church. All those who had been struggling to contain their sorrow simply let go for the emotion of it. Of the men, only Hamish managed to hold it together while Patrick sobbed, and Jay quietly let a few tears roll.
As they left the church, the many who had attended piled back out onto Fulham Road where the wind was stronger than ever. The Heronsford friends had all previously agreed to avoid the post-funeral luncheon that was to take place at Fredo’s restaurant. It was going to be full of old London friends and Italians, so they didn’t feel they would be missed. They did wait outside the church to shake the hands of Francesca’s stricken parents, who were grateful to see them and told Sinead how much her daughter had loved her.
To honour their dear friend, they had agreed to have lunch in another restaurant in Kensington, where they planned to toast her and be happy for her sake. But as they made their way there, tension ran through the group. They all wished they had gone straight home and that they hadn’t made this arrangement for lunch, but none knew how to voice it. Hamish seemed especially uneasy, which was not missed by his wife or Annie.
The Decoy Page 10