Till the Dust Settles

by Pat Young

  ‘Sorry. Talking too much has always been a fault of mine.’

  Couldn’t be better.

  As if to prove her point, the girl kept chattering. ‘Do you think you’ll be here again tomorrow? Because if you are, I could bring the handkerchief with me. I won’t forget it next time and I could give it to you then. My granny always said, “neither a borrower nor a lender be”, so I’m honour bound to return it.’

  He shook his head and was delighted to see her look a little disappointed. Of course he could be here tomorrow, but he was a great believer in striking hot iron and he had every intention of using this situation to his advantage.

  ‘Not tomorrow, I’m afraid. But hey, listen, it’s just an old hankie. There’s no need for you to bother returning it. I have others. Forget about it.’

  She looked crestfallen. He said nothing, waiting to see how she’d react.

  ‘No really, I’d like to. Maybe I’ll just stick it in my pocket, in case I ever bump into you again.’ She lifted her top, revealing a few inches of pale, skinny abdomen as she pointed out a miniscule pocket in the leggings. She laughed and said, ‘It might be a bit crushed once it’s been squashed in there, but at least you’ll get it back.’

  He laid his hand gently on her shoulder, noticing how birdlike she was. Had Charlotte ever been this skinny? ‘Listen, do you have to be somewhere? You want to go grab a coffee?’

  As if realising he’d overstepped some mark, he removed his hand and said, ‘Sorry, that was dumb. Of course you need to be somewhere.’

  ‘The only place I need to be right now is in the shower, but once I’ve freshened up I could meet you for a coffee.’ She paused, unsure of herself. ‘If you have time, that is?’

  He looked at his watch, making it seem like he was a busy man trying to come to a decision about something. ‘You know what,’ he said suddenly, ‘I can make time. I mean how long does it take to drink a latte?’

  They laughed again and parted on the church steps with a plan to meet up later in a coffee shop he knew. He was surprised to hear she didn’t know the place because he’d deliberately chosen one near Charlotte’s apartment. It all added to the intrigue and the challenge, but he knew that, given the opportunity, he’d soon work out what was going on.

  He watched her cute little ass run off down the street and called his driver to tell him he wouldn’t be needing the car for the next hour or so.

  The coffee smelled real good, but he settled himself with a glass of water. While he waited for her to show up, he considered what might be his best approach. Having heard how chatty she could be, he was pretty confident he could just let her talk. Eventually she’d tell him all he needed to know. Depending on what she revealed, he’d either disappear from her life or stick around and cause her a whole lot of trouble.

  He was beginning to think she wasn’t coming when she rushed in, breathless, pink and quite adorable. This was no Charlotte. She was as soft and warm as ice-maiden Charlotte had been diamond hard. He gave himself a little mental warning not to get too fond of this girl. Whoever she was, she had no place in his life.

  They got a couple of lattes, hers a predictable skinny. She began to rummage in her bag. ‘Damn,’ she said, then looked up at him in apology. ‘Sorry, I could have sworn I’d put it in here.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘Your handkerchief. Isn’t that why we’re meeting? So I can return it?’

  ‘Don’t worry about it. I have plenty more.’ He produced one from his pocket, so clean and white it almost sparkled, like an ad for washing powder.

  She took it from him and examined the corner. ‘They’re beautiful. This looks hand-embroidered but I can’t work out the monogram.’

  He looked at her, knowing his face was showing his incomprehension. ‘Sorry?’ he said, genuinely confused.

  ‘Your initials? R and A? Yet the monogram on the hankies show a double s and an m.’

  He guffawed like a fool, relief making his laugh far louder than usual. A woman at the next table gave him a disparaging look, but he ignored her rude stare and concentrated on telling a credible lie. ‘Yes. Well, there’s an explanation for that. These handkerchiefs belonged to my grandfather, Steven Mulholland. My grandmother did the embroidery, apparently. We found stockpiles of them in a closet when she died. My mother believes Gramma kept making them for years after Gramps died. I didn’t have the heart to see them thrown away.’

  She seemed to buy it. ‘Oh, that’s so sweet. I thought it was vintage linen. What was his middle name?’

  He blurted a name, regretting it immediately.

  ‘Nice names,’ she said, then added, ‘but I also like Rick.’

  ‘What’s yours?’ he countered, hoping to catch her off guard.

  ‘Lucie. Charlotte!’

  ‘Lucie-Charlotte? That’s pretty.’

  ‘No, I thought you meant my middle name. It’s Lucie. Please, just call me Charlotte. Everyone does.’

  That pretty blush was back again, this time going down her neck and inside her blouse. It reminded him of the one Charlotte had worn the night he’d ripped the button off in his haste to get his mouth on her breast.

  ‘Okay, Charlotte. What do you do?’

  ‘I guess you’d say I’m between jobs.’

  He leaned back in his chair and crossed his legs, aiming for a relaxed, non-threatening look. ‘Right, and what line of business are you in?’

  ‘Oh, this and that.’

  He nodded, as if this and that was a recognised profession, and gave himself some time to think. He could offer her a job, get his PA to create some menial position for her, but that might become problematic if he had to get rid of her later on. Plus, if he let her into the workplace, she’d be bound to find out more about him than was wise. Like his name, for example. Better to wait and see if she took the bait he planned to dangle in front of her pretty little nose.

  Time to try a different tack. ‘How long have you lived in the city?’

  ‘Pretty much most of my life, one way or another.’

  Was he imagining things or was this girl prevaricating as much as himself? This could take longer than he’d expected if she kept it up.

  ‘Isn’t that a hint of a Scottish accent I hear?’

  ‘Yes, I meant most of my adult life. I came to the States when I was eighteen.’

  ‘That’s right. You said.’

  ‘I did?’

  ‘That day in the hospital.’

  ‘Oh yes. The day my mum died.’

  ‘Did you manage to get her insurance issues sorted out?’

  ‘Yes, it’s all good.’

  When he was sure she wasn’t going to elaborate, he said, in his gentlest voice, ‘Would I be right in guessing you’re alone in the world now?’

  ‘If I stay here, I am.’ She compressed her lips as if she were struggling to keep her composure. He leaned over and patted her hand. ‘We’re in the same boat.’ She didn’t move her hand away.

  ‘No children?’ she asked.

  ‘No. My wife’s illness made that impossible, I’m sad to say. You?’

  She shook her head. ‘Me neither. No children. No spouse. No siblings.’

  He squeezed her hand and said, ‘Oh, poor you. But I bet you’ve got loads of friends.’

  Again she shook her head. ‘I lost touch with everyone a while back. Oh, listen to me! How pathetic do I sound?’

  Knowing he was taking a risk he took her hand in his and said, ‘Well, Charlotte. You could always make new friends.’

  ‘I could use one right now.’

  ‘So could I, as it happens. I’ve become a bit of a recluse since my wife died, to tell you the truth.’

  He looked down at the table, hoping to give the impression of a guy too shy to ask. He took a sip of his coffee and glanced at her face. ‘Tell me, Charlotte,’ he said, ‘how would you feel about having some dinner with me? Not a date or anything, just two new friends meeting up to share a meal. I find dinner just about the hardest time of day. W
e could grab some pizza, whatever you like.’

  She hesitated for the longest time. ‘Thanks, but I’m not sure.’

  ‘Oh, sorry, have I offended you?’ Before she could answer, he babbled on, as if he’d expected her to turn him down and was letting her off the hook. ‘Is it inconvenient? It’s too short notice, isn’t it? Sorry, I shouldn’t have asked. It’s just, I’ve so enjoyed …’ He let his voice peter out, as if he’d lost his nerve.

  She laughed, a charming sound, more a girlish giggle than adult laughter. ‘I’d love to. Why not?’

  When they parted for the second time that day, he could hardly believe his luck. He’d anticipated a real problem in getting close to this girl, but she was making it easy. All he had to do now was find out who she was. And why, in heaven’s name, she was complicating his life by pretending to be Charlotte Gillespie.

  52

  Lucie felt as excited as a teenager with a first boyfriend. This would be their third date, not counting the coffee they’d had together. They didn’t call them dates. They called them ‘friendship nights’. He said dating felt disloyal to his wife, whom he referred to as ‘the love of my life’. It was a bit too soon, he said. She knew he appreciated her understanding. And she had nothing to complain about. Their arrangement suited her.

  She’d been determined not to get involved with Rick. One coffee, she’d told herself that first day. Return his hankie and bye. But he’d made her laugh. And she had cheered him up, he said. He’d made her feel witty and clever, as if they were helping each other get through the horror of bereavement.

  When he talked about the heartbreak of losing his wife, Lucie found herself comparing him to Curtis. According to Dylan, Curtis had received the news of her death with barely a tear. He’d been so caught up in his own misery. But Rick was bereft. It was clear to see.

  She’d wondered once or twice if he’d think her cold-hearted. She’d been bereaved more recently than Rick. Sometimes Lucie doubted her ability to love. Then she’d remind herself that she hadn’t seen her mum for years. There was no bond between them anymore. Why would she be distraught at her loss?

  It suited her very well that Rick was a long way short of getting over his wife. She was not even close to getting over Curtis. For entirely different reasons, of course. She was in no hurry to find herself another man. Never would be too soon if all they were all like Curtis.

  But she knew that wasn’t the case. Rick was the living proof. And so was Dylan. The day she’d called back to apologise for hanging up on him, he’d been lovely. And when she’d thanked him for hiding the skillet, he said, ‘I’d do anything to keep you from harm, Lucie. Please don’t ever forget that.’

  She’d told him of her decision to stay away from Curtis for good. She didn’t mention the fact that she was looking into ways of getting some money to Curtis to help him have some quality of life. It would have sounded too much like a pay-off, a salve for her guilty conscience.

  The truth was, Lucie would send the cash but Charlotte would be the philanthropist. She wouldn’t ever know how generous she’d been.

  Lucie’s longer-term plan was still to try to find a job. Anything that would allow her to save up enough money for a fare home. For some reason she couldn’t quite understand, it was important she pay for the ticket herself. Finding work had proved to be more of a challenge than she’d expected. For every job in New York there seemed to be a queue of applicants and, of course, without proof of identity, never mind qualifications, Lucie was no better than an illegal immigrant. Even the lowliest underpaid jobs were out of her reach without proper paperwork.

  Rick had suggested he might have something for her, if she could wait a week or two till he sorted out some little details. Lucie still wasn’t too sure what Rick did for a living, but it was definitely finance and business-related and seemed fairly high powered. It certainly paid well, judging by his generosity on their ‘friendship nights’.

  ‘Let me spoil you a little,’ he’d said the first time. ‘It’s been a long time since I bought a lady a drink.’

  She didn’t tell Rick it had been a long time since anyone had bought this lady a drink, unless you would call a can of cheap beer a drink.

  Dylan had called yesterday with some very good news. Curtis had moved into custom-made accommodation and surprise, surprise, he had not moved in alone. Apparently he’d taken along a cute, blonde nurse who had looked after him in hospital. He was likely to need twenty-four-hour care and it was easier to have his nurse stay on the premises. Lucie wondered where he was getting the money but decided not to ask. The prospect that she herself might have ended up as his full-time caregiver was too awful to contemplate. Good luck to them, she’d said to Dylan.

  He was doing well. He’d got a promotion at work and was seeing someone. He would not give her any details, claiming it was far too soon to get excited, although his mum was apparently checking out wedding outfits in her Sears catalogue.

  Were it not for the constant worry of being exposed as a fraud, Lucie thought she might almost dare to feel happy at times. If she weren’t so lonely. Some days she felt as trapped in her new life as in her old one. It was crazy to compare the two. She might be lonely living Charlotte’s life but at least she was safe from harm. No violent man was ever going to hurt her in this beautiful apartment. When she went to bed she could rest easy. No drunken husband would be pawing at her in her sleep. Living up here on the fortieth floor, where the only sound to be heard was the air con or the refrigerator, Lucie often felt like she wasn’t living in the real world at all.

  All afternoon she’d been trying on different outfits from Charlotte’s wardrobe. She wanted to look especially good tonight. She had finally decided on a little black dress she’d first tried on hours ago. Since then she had luxuriated in the tub and spent ages fixing her hair and nails. She was pretty much ready to go, apart from putting on her make-up and slipping into the dress. She had picked out some black patent sandals earlier. They were pretty enough but she felt the dress, and Rick, deserved better. What she needed was a pair of sexy killer heels.

  Charlotte’s shoes were kept, tissue wrapped, in their original boxes. The end wall of the closet looked like an upmarket shoe shop. Lucie pulled down a Jimmy Choo box she had avoided earlier, thinking the shoes too expensive to borrow. But tonight felt, somehow, like a special occasion. She opened the lid and took out the matching dust bag with its iconic lettering. Lucie reached inside and removed a shoe. She raised it to her face and inhaled the smell of luxury. She placed the shoe reverently on the floor and slipped her foot inside. Her toe jammed on a wedge of tissue paper. Lucie prised it out and tried the shoe again. Still something was blocking her toes. Being careful not to spoil her freshly manicured nails, she inserted two fingers and caught hold of a little piece of plastic. It was an SD card from a camera. Was this where Charlotte kept all her photos and private stuff?

  Charlotte had clearly taken trouble to conceal the memory card, and Lucie was keen to know why. She checked the time on the bedside clock. She really should be putting on her make-up. Getting ready to leave in fifteen minutes. Not booting up a laptop to have a nosey at someone’s personal data.

  ‘Curiosity killed the cat,’ Granny would say if she could see her now.

  While she waited for the laptop to start, she mused on the idea of cats having nine lives. Granny had never been able to explain that one.

  Rick was constantly asking her questions and Lucie was struggling to come up with anything remotely interesting to say about herself. Being married to Curtis for the last seven years had not given her much that she could talk about. She had no vacations to recall, no family weddings to describe, no Thanksgiving dinners or special Christmas stories that she could share. Her life had been arid as a desert in July. She was beginning to feel uncomfortable each time Rick asked her anything about it. She could make stuff up, but the problem with fake memories was, they were hard to remember later. She was sure to be caught out.

&
nbsp; Maybe the contents of the memory card would round Charlotte out a bit, make her seem more like a real person. Anything would be better than nothing.

  To Lucie’s disappointment, the screen remained almost blank. No albums of Costa Rica vacations, photos from Adele and David’s wedding or memories of Christmas. All that appeared was a tiny folder icon named ‘Please Open Me’.

  Lucie checked the little clock in the corner of the screen. She couldn’t afford to spend too much time on this. She should leave it till morning.

  The trouble was, she was intrigued now. Desperate to find out why would Charlotte go to such lengths to hide something that said Please Open. Lucie was sorely tempted to take a quick look before she went out. Whatever was in the folder might prove fascinating enough to share with Rick. Might even make him laugh.

  She could dress and put on make-up in less than ten minutes if need be. Even if she were to turn up a little late, it would do no harm to keep Rick waiting.

  She double clicked on the little folder. And felt like Aladdin in a cave with no treasure. There was nothing inside but one single Word document. No photos, no videos, no scans. This was promising to be a complete waste of time. Expecting little, Lucie opened the document. What appeared on the screen looked like a letter.

  Dear Stranger,

  If you’re reading this, it’s because I’m dead.

  Lucie stopped and blew out hard. What the hell was this?

  She told herself it had to be some kind of a joke. She hoped it was, for the last thing she needed right now was any more drama.

  Lucie moved the cursor to the corner of the screen and closed the document. She took her fingers off the trackpad and rubbed them over her temples, as if she had a headache.

  Her old life suddenly seemed very simple and uncomplicated and for a second Lucie wished she could go back to it. She could deal with the occasional beating, and the poverty she’d got used to a while ago. But this? Just when she’d been beginning to enjoy life. It was too much.