The House Sitter

by Jill Barry

  But Ruth Morgan had erected a barrier of hostility. Bethan suspected, even if she’d been the kind of sales negotiator who looked like she worked in a library or health food shop, Ms Morgan would have behaved towards her in exactly the same manner.

  Over and over again, she reran the sequence of events in her head. So far, the house sitter’s plausible explanations covered everything Bethan found to question. Stripping away the excuses and examining the hard facts, Ruth Morgan could well be masterminding a campaign to prevent The Sugar House from selling but Bethan couldn’t yet figure out how she’d engineered one or two of the stunts.

  If Bethan mentioned this situation to her husband, what would he say? Bethan closed her eyes and told herself to focus upon not showing tolerance in any way. Her husband would insist she dared not assume Ruth Morgan was all right really, that she wasn’t evil but merely misunderstood. Tim would be logical. He’d ask how a woman nursing an arthritic knee could scramble through undergrowth and perch on a steep bank, ready to hurl a missile. How would that same woman, on a different occasion, cover difficult terrain so speedily that she arrived in time to approach Ray Kirby as he stood, poised above a dangerous drop into unwelcoming waters? Ray had made a jokey comment to that effect.

  So maybe Ruth Morgan didn’t suffer from mobility problems. If she was faking an ailment, who would dare challenge her? And if Bethan’s suspicions were accurate, and the woman had disguised herself on one occasion, why shouldn’t she adopt the same or even a different disguise, to sabotage potential purchasers? Three Roads didn’t attract too many tourists at this time of year – at any time of year, to be honest.

  Good point, Tim would say. And the dead field mouse? How would Ms Morgan contrive that incident, given it was probably in position before Mr and Mrs Deacon set off house hunting?

  Bethan ticked off items on her fingers. She knew Ruth Morgan had a cat. Eddie Deacon had reported their friend would be spending each night at The Sugar House for the dog’s sake. Ruth was a frequent visitor. What if her cat had brought a small dead creature in through the cat flap and Ruth experienced a light bulb moment? She could easily have wrapped up the vermin and carried it in her bag, placing it into that conch shell when visiting the cloakroom.

  Bethan shuddered. Nursing that morning’s second cup of strong takeaway coffee, her thoughts drifted back to Ray Kirby. How was she going to feel when she met him with his glamorous partner in tow? Animal magnetism. That’s what that man had. In shed loads. The ease with which the term sprang to mind bothered Bethan. Someone else’s man was so not on her agenda. Why didn’t she type Vocalist Claudia Kelsey into her search engine and really depress herself?

  Her fingers took on a will of their own and clicked on the internet icon. But what did it matter to her whether Ray Kirby’s singer partner was a pretty blonde or a dark, exotic siren? The phone shrilled. Bethan jumped and reached out to pick up her extension.

  “Bethan? I’m having one of those mornings. Would you be able to meet a couple at The Old Mill and show them around?”

  “Do you mean, like now?”

  Her colleague sighed down the line. “If possible, please. I can’t go myself. We’re one staff member down today. You know how it is.”

  “I’ll need to call in for the key on the way, won’t I? You do mean The Old Mill just outside Llanbrenin?”

  “That’s the one.”

  “See you in twenty minutes or so.”

  All thoughts of Claudia Kelsey banished from her mind, Bethan called up the property on the company website and refreshed her knowledge. She didn’t personally know this house, though she was aware that it has generated much interest but no offers. It’d be a coup to pull off a sale.

  Bethan made good time and drove into a space close to the riverside car park entrance. When she arrived at the BCB office halfway down the high street, her colleague had the house key ready.

  Moments later, she was through the agency door and back in the high street. There weren’t many shoppers about but the sight of one particular person, down at the car park end of the street, caused Bethan to catch her breath. Could it really be? Barely able to believe her eyes, she was gazing at the woman whose image had left an indelible mark upon her memory.

  “That’s her!” Bethan froze. Had she really spoken aloud?

  It must have been impossible for the woman she knew as Delyth to hear, given she was out of earshot, standing on the opposite side of the road, peering in a shop window. Yet, as if sensing someone watched her, the tall, elegant woman looked Bethan’s way. Turning abruptly, she headed into the nearby coffee shop.

  “Gotcha!” Bethan ran down the pavement, gaining black looks from early shoppers.

  Heart racing, eyes fixed on the café entrance; she waited for the lights to change and the green man to bless the pedestrian crossing. There was too much traffic to risk dashing to the opposite pavement but when she burst inside the café and scanned the tables, she didn’t see Delyth.

  An assistant recognised her. “Hi, Mrs Harley. Are you meeting someone?”

  “No, but I think someone I know just came in.” Bethan’s heart was still thumping and booming. Her mouth drying. She sucked in air.

  “I was in the kitchen, but you might try upstairs. You know we’ve extra seating up there now?”

  “Thanks, Elin. I’ll dash up and check. I could have been mistaken.”

  As Bethan ran upstairs, her bag strap slid from her shoulder. She grabbed it, without breaking her stride. If she came face to face with the woman whom she suspected of being Ruth Morgan, how would she deal with her? She had an appointment to keep, her career to consider. But wasn’t this all about her job, too? She daren’t pass on this opportunity. If her suspicions proved accurate, Morgan would be up the creek minus the proverbial paddle.

  On the upper level, her gaze fell upon three women sitting in the window. A raft of coffee cups, tablets and notebooks littering the table pointed to some sort of meeting. A smartly dressed man who might have been a sales representative, sat at a corner table, speaking on his mobile phone and flicking through the pages of a glossy catalogue. Bethan looked around in frustration before the reasoning part of her brain clicked into action.

  She turned on her heel. Backtracked to the landing. Pushed open the access door to the toilets. Left for gentlemen. Right for ladies. Through the door painted with the garish pink female figure were two cubicles. Both were occupied. A walking frame stood nearby. She checked her watch. Bit her lip. She hated arriving late for a viewing. It was unprofessional. What’s more, she’d made a total balls-up of catching Delyth.

  The door to one of the cubicles opened to reveal an elderly woman with curly grey hair and Harry Potter spectacles.

  She smiled at Bethan. “Would you mind pushing my walker over to me, please?”

  Bethan reached for the frame. “I wonder, have you seen a tall lady with darkish auburn hair? Dressed elegantly.”

  The elderly woman nodded. “That sounds like the person I saw when I left the lift.” She gave a disapproving sniff. “Awful woman could barely wait for me to get out before she shot in and pushed the down button. Shocking manners.”

  “The lift!” Bethan rushed away, doubtless leaving the elderly lady bemoaning her rudeness too. She clattered downstairs, looked around without much conviction and left, to scan the high street in both directions.

  Not a hope in hell of finding her now. Bethan couldn’t believe her bad luck. Cursing her own stupidity, telling herself she was only here because her job had taken her to Llanbrenin for an unscheduled viewing, she headed for the car park, her mind still fretting at the enigma. If she’d actually observed Ruth Morgan in disguise and Ruth had seen Bethan, wouldn’t that explain the elegant woman’s behaviour? People did call into catering establishments for the sole purpose of using the washrooms, but could anyone have reached the upper floor and vanished from view with quite so much speed?

  Bethan got into her car. Smacked her palm on the steering wheel. Wha
t now? She started the engine. Her first priority must be to tackle the job in hand, but how she wished she could come face to face with the mysterious Delyth.

  Chapter Seventeen

  What now? Ruth, or rather Delyth, had sought refuge in a second-hand bookshop approached by an alleyway off the high street. She’d climbed the narrow stairway to the first floor and crouched at the far end, examining higgledy-piggledy piles of travel guides predating online holiday websites and social media links. Surely that bothersome woman wouldn’t think of looking in here for her? Had Mrs Smart Arse Harley nothing better to do than follow a wild goose chase?

  Ruth, convinced Bethan Harley couldn’t possibly have penetrated her disguise, moved across to the window, holding an open book before her. She needed to remain positive. Confident. She could keep an eye on the alleyway and listen for the shop bell at the same time. Just in case the BCB sales negotiator was carrying out a check of all possible hiding places in the vicinity.

  Even if Mrs Harley had no idea her quarry was Ruth in disguise, she might still be after sweet-talking Delyth, eager to question her knowledge of lurid local history. That couldn’t be allowed to happen.

  Despite the trickle of sweat running between her breasts, despite the nagging fear of discovery digging its claws into her jugular, Ruth couldn’t resist smiling. Having reacted with such speed and quick thinking, she must merit the prize, must deserve a reward for evading confrontation. Her breathing steadied. She didn’t take her eyes off the alleyway below. She heard no pinging shop doorbell. No murmur of voices as a question was posed.

  Ten minutes later, she contemplated her next move, still mentally cursing Bethan. After taking the trouble to ring the Briggs, Caldwell and Balls office to leave a polite message, Ruth felt she’d been handed an unexpected gift and been gratified to discover the sales negotiator’s base for the day. Mrs Harley had surprised and irritated her by turning up in the town where she shouldn’t have been that morning.

  Ruth congratulated herself on visiting the key cutter as soon as she’d changed into her Delyth outfit and thrown her rucksack back in the car. Today’s visit had ensured possession of her own, undeniably precious, spare key to The Sugar House. She’d tucked it inside a pocket of her shoulder bag, convinced it would prove useful at some time in the future. In any case, surely it was her right to have her own key to the Deacons’ property? Her lips set in a thin line as she reflected upon Eddie and Suzanne’s negligence in not having handed her one in the first place. They so sorely lacked in many attributes Ruth would prefer them to possess.

  These next few minutes could prove very tricky, if indeed she still risked discovery. Once out of the bookshop, she might walk straight into Bethan Harley. Who knew if her suspicious adversary still hung around this end of the high street, waiting to confront her? But Ruth believed she could still pull this off, as long as they didn’t meet face to face. She debated the possibility of hurrying to her car and driving away without changing her clothing. She’d have to turn off the main road, follow the forestry track and park up somewhere, making sure no one else was around. She wouldn’t take long to remove her wig and scramble out of her top layers and into Ruth’s sensible quilted jacket, dark trousers and boots. If a forestry vehicle happened to come along, she would give a friendly wave because if the driver came from the village, he’d recognise her car and might stop to check she hadn’t broken down.

  A drift of Delyth’s perfume assailed Ruth’s nostrils, reminding her how much trouble she’d taken to assume her alter ego. All her careful preparation could be destroyed. It would be impossible to conceal her true identity from the Harley woman when in close proximity. Her adversary might even whip out her camera. These days, everyone carried those fancy phones that took pictures.

  Ruth groaned. The bookstore owner had been on the telephone when she arrived. She’d used the shop now and then over the years and he’d certainly recognise Ruth. But would he recognise Delyth? Suddenly her confidence was wavering. She would buy a book and test her gentle local accent and her disguise upon someone with whom she had a slight acquaintance. If she passed this challenge, she’d have confidence to walk from the store and proceed to the car park. A sudden adrenalin surge boosted Ruth’s courage as the elegantly attired Delyth walked down the stairs to pay for her purchase.

  The bookstore owner greeted her cheerfully, took her five-pound note and produced change.

  “No, I don’t need a bag, thank you,” she said in Delyth’s lilting tones.

  She said goodbye. She left the bookstore. She set off towards the car park. She kept her head down. She had no reason to meet anybody’s gaze. The schoolgirl coming around the corner also had her head down, checking her phone as she progressed. The two collided.

  “Oh, I’m so sorry.” The girl’s gaze took in the tall, stylishly dressed woman she’d almost bowled over.

  “Why don’t you watch where you’re going?”

  “I said I was sorry.” The girl’s cheeks reddened. “Um, are you like hurt or anything?”

  Ruth cleared her throat. She watched the teenager’s gaze focus on her fingers as her hand moved instinctively to stroke her throat. She frowned at her. “I’m not hurt. I’m in a hurry.”

  Ruth, diving for the pedestrian crossing, heard the leggy young girl gasp as a motorist braked hard to avoid mowing down a pedestrian. Once safely on the opposite pavement, Ruth hastened to her car.

  Bethan took a plastic bag of supermarket stir-fry from the refrigerator crisper drawer, ripped it across and dumped the contents on her chopping board. She planned to add chestnut mushrooms, carrots, plus a chunk of white cabbage languishing in the vegetable rack. She heard the front door bang, heralding Poppy’s arrival in the kitchen. Bethan picked up her wine glass and took a sip, briefly closing her eyes as she did so.

  “Good day today, Mum? Not?” Poppy gave her mother a quick hug around the shoulders and opened the fridge to take out a bottle of fizzy mineral water. She slid on to a stool at the breakfast bar and perched, glass and bottle in front of her.

  “Not the best day I’ve ever had but I may have helped sell a property not too far from here.”

  “Nice one. Anywhere I’d know?”

  “It’s the Old Mill.”

  “That’s the pretty pink house not far from where Grace lives. Her mum says the deceptively spacious description is spot on.” Poppy grinned.

  “The description fits.” Bethan couldn’t help sounding defensive. “Kettle’s not long boiled if you want a cuppa.”

  “You’ve had a hot drink and now you’re on the wine? How long have you been back?”

  “Ages. I finished work on time for once. And I’m not ‘on the wine’ as you put it. I’m merely enjoying a glass of Chardonnay. So, how did your study session with Callum go?”

  “Good.” Poppy slid off the stool and fished a teabag from the strawberry-shaped container beside the kettle. “Butter mint flavour? Will I like it?”

  Bethan began chopping raw carrot into batons. “I should say so.”

  “Cool.” Poppy swung around. “Ooh, I almost forgot. I think I might have bumped into your creepy lady in town today.”

  Bethan frowned. “In Llanbrenin? What were you doing out of school?”

  “It’s not a prison, Mum. I only went out to buy Grace and me a sandwich while she was in the library. We seriously fancied hummus and red pepper from the deli.”

  “So, what makes you think you saw someone you only know about from my description?” Carefully, Bethan scooped up sticks of carrot and placed them in a glass bowl with the other vegetables.

  Poppy came to stand next to her. She lifted up the bowl and gazed at the medley of bright colours. “Looking good, Mum. So, what sauce are we having?”

  “Packet mix, I’m afraid. You can choose.”

  Poppy doused her butter mint teabag with boiled water and retreated to the breakfast bar. “No worries. Whatever’s in the cupboard will be fine.”

  Bethan wondered whether the pi
nk cloud of love upon which her daughter currently floated, accounted for the sunny mood. She persevered. “This woman you mentioned? I take it we’re talking about the one known as Delyth.”

  “Yeah, I wouldn’t have given her a second look, except I used the quick way from school to the high street. This woman came rushing out of the second-hand bookshop like a whirlwind. We collided and I apologised but she was sooooo rude to me.” Poppy rolled her eyes once more and shook her head.

  “Why so?”

  “Like it was all my fault we’d bumped into one another.”

  “What made you think it was Delyth?”

  Poppy sniffed her butter mint tea. “Mmmm – yes, it’s yummy. Because, Mum, I asked her if she was okay and guess what?”

  Bethan picked up her wine glass. “I’ve no idea, Poppy.”

  “I think you will have. She cleared her throat and moved her hand upwards to her neck, exactly the way you described to me the other day. Like this – see?”

  Bethan froze as her daughter demonstrated the gesture. “That’s her. Oh my god, that’s her!”

  “Whoever it was, she raced across the road before the pedestrian light turned green. I thought she’d copped it but luckily the car coming past managed to stop in time.”

  “Did she say anything else?”

  “No way. She did a runner. Off down the slope to the car park.”

  “Can you tell me how she was dressed?”

  “Layers. Beige, maybe a kind of porridge colour. Coffee. She was carrying a big brown leather shoulder bag.” Poppy wrinkled her forehead. “Her nails were painted. It was a shiny conker shade. Cool. I always notice people’s nails like you notice scent, Mum. And this woman looked just like your description.” Poppy stared at Bethan. “Mum, your face looks kind of ashen. The Delyth person didn’t try and kill me. Maybe she has bad stuff going on in her life. Chill, why don’t you?”