‘Yes, he did some work for me, too.’ Rose met Barry’s eyes but he said nothing. He had no idea about her thoughts on the attacks, that she was wondering if Daphne’s husband might be responsible. Now Dave Fox came into the equation. Eva gave the impression that there was something wrong and Dave Fox knew Rod Hill. One attack near here, the other in Hayle, spitting distance from St Erth where Dave and Eva lived. Now I really am being ridiculous, she thought, hoping she wasn’t blushing.
Daphne showed them around the house which was roomy and decorated in keeping with the period in which it was built. It had not been spoilt. Modernisation had been restricted to the bathroom and kitchen. There were three bedrooms. Rose wondered who might conceivably sleep in the other two. Not friends from the past, they had made that much clear. Their grown-up children? Neither Rod nor Daphne had mentioned them and there were no family photographs in evidence. How sad that they had had to uproot themselves on the say so of a teenage girl. Unless, of course, she was telling the truth.
They refused the offer of another drink. Rose was hungry and Barry had to get the car home.
‘What did you make of him?’
‘He seemed very nice to me. It’s hard to tell from one meeting though,’ Rose answered non-committally.
‘Poor bugger,’ was all Barry had to say.
He dropped Rose at home. She had refused his offer of a curry. She needed an hour or so alone.
The light on the answering-machine was flashing. Rose depressed the button to listen to the messages. ‘Hi, it’s me. Gwen Chandler came to see me again today. She doesn’t know what to do about Lucy. She still won’t talk to anyone. Got any ideas? You’re usually full of them.’ It was Laura.
Rose frowned as she tried to imagine what the girl had felt during her ordeal. I hope she’ll be able to get over it in time, I hope she’s strong enough. Rose knew that many weren’t, that the scar would last a lifetime. She would ring Laura back in the morning.
‘Rose, Dad here. Can you ring me? It’s about half seven Thursday evening. It doesn’t matter how late it is, please ring when you get home. I’ll be in from about ten.’
Rose stiffened. It was always her mother who rang then put her father on the line. But it was more than that, there had been desperation in her father’s voice. She glanced at her watch. It wasn’t nine yet. She picked up the phone anyway. There was no answer, apart from her mother’s voice requesting her to leave a message. ‘It’s nearly nine, Dad. I’m at home now. I’ll try again later but if you get in early please ring me.’ She tried his mobile phone number but a computerised voice told it wasn’t switched on. She could leave a message. Rose repeated her earlier one.
Her hunger had disappeared. She paced the sitting-room. Not even the view helped that evening. Later, she poured a glass of wine which she didn’t really want but opening the bottle gave her something to do. She lit a cigarette and watched the smoke curl to the ceiling. She felt helpless. By ten-to-ten the phone still hadn’t rung. She tried her parents’ number once more but the answering-machine was still activated.
Finally, at quarter past ten she got through. ‘Dad, what is it?’
There was a few seconds silence before he replied. ‘It’s your mother, Rose. She’s in hospital.’ It didn’t sound like his voice at all.
‘Oh, God. Is she all right?’ Rose felt the panic rise.
‘They say she’s stable now. It’s her heart, Rose. We had no idea. I mean, she didn’t have any symptoms, she just collapsed.’
‘I’ll come up. If I leave now …’
‘No, leave it until the morning. She needs rest at the moment. I stayed until they asked me to leave.’
‘But what about you? Are you all right?’
‘I think so. It was the shock. Anyway, June Potter’s here. She offered to stay the night but I said it wasn’t necessary. I’ll be better off on my own tonight.’
June was a neighbour. Her parents had got on well with her ever since they had moved to the area. Rose realised there were few nights during her parents’ marriage that had been spent apart. ‘I’ll set off first thing in the morning, Dad. I’ll ring you before I get there.’
‘I’ll be at the hospital. Why don’t you meet me there.’
Rose wrote down the name and directions. She was shaking. Naturally she knew they could not live for ever but she had never realistically faced the possibility of either of them dying. It had been different with David: his illness had lingered over several years. This time there had been no warning. She’s not dead, Rose reminded herself, and treatment these days has improved tremendously – many people survive a heart attack.
She went to bed but sleep eluded her. It would be daft to set off too early, she would not be permitted to see her mother until a reasonable time. Knowing that Barry was an early riser she rang him early the next morning to tell him the news. ‘Can you let Laura know? I don’t want her worrying about me. Oh, and Doreen, too.’
‘Of course. Give your parents my best, won’t you.’ He hesitated. ‘What about Jack?’
‘No. He’s busy. I’ll let him know myself when I get there.’
It had been a beautiful dawn. Orange streaks had pushed away the night sky and spread over the bay. Now the sun had risen fully and as Rose took her hastily packed overnight bag out to the car she could already feel its warmth.
The drive seemed endless. She wanted to stop and telephone her father but knew that he couldn’t have his mobile on in the hospital. I just want to see her, to make sure she’s all right, Rose thought.
She stopped for fuel and coffee, resenting the wasted time but knowing that a break was essential, and finally reached her destination. Having found a parking space she negotiated the labyrinth of corridors and lifts until she reached the ward. ‘I’m Evelyn Forbes’s daughter,’ she told the sister on duty.
The sister did not smile. Rose’s legs felt weak. ‘You father’s with her, second bed on the left.’
‘Thank you.’ Rose wanted to ask questions but a tearful couple were sitting in the office. They seemed to be recipients of worse news than her own.
‘She’s asleep,’ Arthur whispered even though there was enough bustle going on around them.
Rose kissed him and sat in the chair by the bedside. She took her mother’s hand. It was warm and limp. Her face was pale and she was hooked up to several monitors. At least she wasn’t in intensive care, that had to mean something.
‘They’ve told me she’ll be on medication for the rest of her life.’ Arthur looked near to tears. He had never seen his wife so vulnerable. ‘If it works, it doesn’t matter.’
They didn’t talk much, just being there was enough. When Evelyn woke she smiled with pleasure to see Rose. ‘You needn’t have come, darling, I’ll be fine soon.’ But her voice was weak and she soon fell asleep again.
They stayed all day. Neither took a break to go to the canteen but the nurses provided coffee and tea from the ward kitchen. ‘We ought to eat and get some sleep,’ Rose suggested. ‘We won’t be able to help her if we’re not fit.’
Rose followed her father’s car to the house. The Cotswold stone glowed honey-coloured in the evening sunshine. Surrounding the house was the beautiful garden. The flowers were flourishing and honeysuckle filled the balmy air with its scent. The evidence of their hard work made Rose want to cry.
Arthur poured them both a drink. They sat on the rustic bench beneath the sitting-room window not knowing what to say. There was only one topic on both of their minds.
‘We really must eat,’ Rose said, knowing it would be difficult. She had not felt hungry since before she had heard the news.
‘Yes. And then we’ll take a stroll down to the pub. Everyone wants to know how she is.’
Rose cooked some pasta and used a jar of ready-made sauce to go with it. They ate in the large, sunny kitchen which had always been her mother’s domain, then did the washing-up between them.
The Coach and Horses was a ten minute stroll away. People were s
itting outside on the combined benches and tables. Arthur greeted a couple of them. ‘She’s stable,’ he said in answer to their questions. Rose realised his suggestion to come to the pub had been more for his own benefit than for hers or his friends’. He had needed his daughter with him to face those questions.
By the end of the evening Rose had become reacquainted with several people she had met on previous visits, including a fellow artist. The last time she had been to see her parents he had asked her out. His invitation had been refused. ‘He’s divorced,’ her mother had told her. But Rose hadn’t been interested.
He was there again that evening but, knowing the circumstances, kept the conversation general. ‘If you’re here tomorrow night perhaps I could take you both to dinner,’ Tony Boyd said as they were leaving.
‘It’s very kind of you. Maybe Rose will accept your invitation but I don’t feel I’d be very good company at the moment.’
‘I can’t leave him on his own,’ Rose said, when Arthur went out to the toilet.
‘I understand. But if you change your mind I’ll be here at six-thirty. I know a couple of places where we wouldn’t have to book, even on a Saturday.’
Even though anxiety had exhausted them, neither Rose nor Arthur slept well that night. But they were more optimistic in the morning when they found Evelyn sitting up in bed, her glasses on, reading a book.
‘You go and meet Tony,’ Arthur said when they returned to the house at tea time. ‘I’m quite capable of knocking up a basic meal and it’ll do you good.’
‘No, I couldn’t …’
‘Don’t argue. Go and put your face on and have a good time. I’m going to have a quiet evening with a book.’
He looks so tired, Rose thought, and the reason she did as he suggested was because she suspected he needed some time to himself without having to make conversation.
‘I’m so glad you could make it,’ Tony said, smiling widely when she appeared. ‘I’ve got the car outside, hence this.’ He touched the bottle of low alcohol beer. ‘If you hadn’t come by eight it would’ve been a different matter.’
The restaurant Tony had chosen was attached to another pub six or seven miles away. The food was average but the service was good. As they ate they talked about their respective work. It was still quite early when they began the drive back. ‘Fancy a walk?’ Tony asked.
It was uncomfortably warm. Rose had forgotten how humid it could be away from the sea, especially now they were into July. ‘Yes, I do.’
‘Then we’ll stop in a minute, I know just the place.’ He pulled into a lay-by. They got out of the car and followed the sign for a footpath. There was nothing to see but countryside stretching way into the distance. ‘It’s so very English,’ Rose commented when they stopped at a style to look at the view. ‘Cows and sheep, fields and trees, and all so gentle, somehow.’
‘And peaceful. We seem to have the place to ourselves.’ He reached for Rose’s hand to help her over the steep stile. As she stepped down he pulled her to him and kissed her.
Rose gasped before responding. The kiss lasted a long time. Tony led her off the pathway pulled her gently to the ground and very slowly made love to her. And she, amazed at herself, let him.
Afterwards, almost as if she had had an out of body experience, as if she had been watching herself from a great distance, Rose sat up and carefully rearranged her clothes. There were twigs and dried grass in her hair. Her face was flushed and there were tears in her eyes. She did not know why she was crying; whether it was because she had behaved so unpredictably, or because she had been able to feel enjoyment when her mother was lying in a hospital bed or if it was out of a sense of betrayal to Jack. If she could ever face him again she would be able to forgive him for his brief fling with Anna.
‘Don’t have any regrets, Rose. I’ve wanted to do that since the first time I met you. I don’t want it to be the last time, either.’ He took her hands and pulled her to her feet.
At least he doesn’t look on me as a one night stand, she thought as she brushed stubborn leaves from her clothes.
‘May I have your telephone number?’
She gave it to him. It would not happen again. He was nice and kind and fairly good-looking but not a man she wished to have a long-term affair with. However, he lived near her parents and there might be a time when she needed him.
And before I see Jack I have to face my father, she thought as Tony drove her home.
It had been comfort she needed, not sex, she realised, that now. But the deed had been done, she would just have to live with it.
CHAPTER EIGHT
Trevor was at sea and was not due back for another five days. Laura had half promised one of her sons she would pay a short visit. It would be good to see her grandchildren again, although they would be coming to Cornwall in August. I’m getting old, she thought. It seems such an effort to travel to Wales just for a couple of nights. It was Sunday morning, the time she made her weekly telephone call to all three sons. A decision had to be reached. But what if Rose needed her? Barry had rung with the news but there had been no word from Rose herself. Wanting to know how Evelyn was she tried to contact Rose on her father’s number. No one was in so she left a message. She then spoke to her sons and their families and explained to Terry the reason for the postponement of her visit. She was trying to decide whether she felt like re-painting one of the bedrooms when the doorbell rang.
‘Jack. Good heavens. Long time, no see. Come in.’
He followed her into the kitchen, ducking his head beneath the low lintel.
‘Coffee?’
‘If you’re making it.’ He pulled out a chair and sat down.
Laura noticed how tired he looked and that the lines which curved from his nose to his lips had deepened as they did when he was worried. ‘It’s the murder, isn’t it?’
He nodded. ‘Laura, has Rose said anything to you?’
‘About what?’
‘About any of the girls?’
Laura turned away to hide her embarrassment. It was she who had confided in Rose. Presumably Jack wasn’t aware that she knew Gwen Chandler and therefore also knew the identity of the first girl to have been attacked. And she had passed this information on to Rose who had kept it to herself.
‘Laura?’ Jack was frowning. He saw by her face that she was trying to avoid answering him.
‘All right.’ She faced him, her hands on her narrow hips. ‘I happened to mention to Rose that Lucy’s mother came to see me. There wasn’t anything wrong in that, was there? I mean, Gwen wasn’t keeping it a secret and Rose always has a different perspective on things. I thought she might know how to get Lucy to talk to her mother, especially as she’s friendly with Joyce Jago, Lucy’s best friend’s mother.’
‘So that’s the reason she’s bloody well avoiding me. I wonder just how much Joyce Jago has confided in her. A damn sight more than in us you can bet.’
‘Calm down, Jack. Rose isn’t avoiding you.’
‘Oh, really? Then why isn’t she answering the phone or returning my calls? I’ve just been to the house and her car isn’t there. She doesn’t usually work on Sundays.’
‘The reason she’s not there is because her mother’s ill. She’s had a heart attack.’
‘Oh, God.’ He lowered his head. Certain that Rose had been meddling, even endangering herself, he had come to see if Laura knew where to find her. His anger evaporated. ‘How is she? Evelyn?’
‘I don’t know.’ She poured boiling water over the granules in two mugs and handed one to Jack. ‘She hasn’t been in touch. Barry let me know she’d gone up there early on Friday morning. He hasn’t heard anything since, either, and I didn’t get a reply from Arthur when I rang this morning.’
‘She didn’t let me know.’
He’s hurt, Laura thought, and I don’t blame him. I assumed Rose had asked Barry to ring him. ‘I expect she was too worried to think about it.’
‘Maybe.’
Laura spooned sug
ar into her coffee. Yes, Rose would be very worried, but was Jack right, did she know more than was good for her and was therefore avoiding contact?
‘I need to know, Laura, or I wouldn’t push it, has she talked to you about these girls?’
‘No. Honestly. I’ve told you what happened, there’s nothing more to it than that.’
‘All right. Will you let me know if she does get in touch?’
‘Of course I will.’
‘Thanks. I’m taking the rest of the day off. We’ve got some men down from Plymouth but so far they’ve made no more progress than us.’
Laura knew that the body of a seventeen-year-old girl had been found amongst the sand dunes. Because the girl had been murdered the name had been released to the press. Nichola Rolland’s parents had driven down from Liskeard to identify her. How must Lucy be feeling, knowing she was lucky to still be alive? She followed Jack to the front door which opened directly onto the narrow lane.
‘Got any plans for today?’ he asked.
Laura shrugged. ‘I was going to start some decorating. Trevor never has time for it. Somehow it seems a shame to waste this weather.’
‘Why don’t you join me for lunch then?’
‘No need to ask twice. I’ll get my bag.’
‘I haven’t got the car.’
‘That’s okay.’ Laura and Trevor, like many other locals, did not possess a car. She was used to going on foot or using the regular bus services.
Laura didn’t ask where they were going, she simply walked beside him knowing he needed company even if he didn’t need conversation. They were heading along the seafront. There were quite a lot of people sitting beneath the shelter of the curved sea wall enjoying the sunshine. The very low tide exposed clusters of rocks and the smooth soft sand which remained below the water when the level rose. The beach was a slope of pebbles which were rearranged with the force of a rough sea; sometimes shifted into large ridges, sometimes flung over Newlyn Green. Now only a smooth blue surface could be seen as if the sea was resting.
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