The House Sitter

by Jill Barry

  Poppy was watching her curiously. The ping of the toaster rescued Bethan from her erotic and totally unprofessional fantasy. Reaching up, she took a jar of creamy Welsh honey from the shelf.

  “Callum seems a nice boy. But it’s early days and he’s a year older than you. Have some lunch here by all means but maybe you could tell him you’re not sure when I’ll be back. Spell it out to him I could walk in any moment.”

  “Gross, Mum! What’s that all about?”

  But Bethan felt she’d hit the right note with her too gorgeous for her own good daughter.

  Ruth Morgan reached into the bottom drawer of the dark wood desk and took out a notebook that she placed on the leather-bound blotting paper holder before her. If she tugged the yellowing, ink-smudged paper gently away from one corner, she could see the original pristine white of the sheet set in position by her late aunt, years before.

  Ruth read her notes through once again. She’d recorded everything connected to the sale of the Deacons’ property, including her thoughts. The information ran from the moment she set eyes on the sale board to the morning she moved in ready to house sit for her friends. The next section described actions taken while in residence, visits made, telephone conversations with the Harley woman, culminating with the return of Suzanne and Eddie and the gauche way in which they’d paid her off.

  Having made these notes using the Pitman shorthand she’d successfully studied in college years before, Ruth needed to read slowly. But the symbols upon the pages reported everything as clearly as if she’d handwritten the words. Each curve, stroke, hook or tiny circle, whether thinly or thickly inscribed, was meticulously crafted, to contribute to the story of a woman on a mission.

  She scanned what she’d written, frowning as she stumbled over one less than perfect outline. Relaxed again as soon as she realised she’d written the word ‘metallic.’ Delyth possessed only three bottles of expensive nail varnish in her cream leather vanity case. One was in a tasteful shade of peach. Another reminded Delyth of milky coffee. The third and most recent one gleamed like beaten bronze. All had either been purchased online, or bought surreptitiously while Suzanne Deacon was having her hair styled by Paul or Josh, or whoever was judged worthy of cutting and blow-drying or sometimes colouring the well-regarded client’s pampered locks.

  Ruth blinked, taken by surprise at what she noticed next. For a moment her vision blurred. Her head swam. She closed her eyes, supported herself, hands palm down on the desk. Sucking in air. Holding it for moments before huffing it out again. When she felt the dizziness fading, she reopened her eyes and examined the nail of one little finger. How could she have been so slapdash?

  She rose. Stalked towards the bathroom and reached for the bottle of acetone pushed to the back of her medicine cupboard. Swiftly she dealt with the telltale streak at one side of her fingernail. No one could have noticed it, surely? The last time Delyth made an appearance in Knightly, the Harley woman had been hanging around but fortunately hadn’t been allowed to get too close for comfort. The owner of the second-hand bookshop had barely seemed to register the tall woman dressed in subtle shades.

  The only other close contact had been the old dear pushing her walking frame out of the lift into Delyth’s path as she waited impatiently to enter. That had been a lucky escape. Even that gormless teenage girl intent on her mobile phone and not on where she was walking, hadn’t stopped Delyth in her tracks for long.

  Suzanne would have been sure to comment, had she noticed the offending finger nail. Certain to enquire what had made Ruth start paying attention to such a frivolity at this stage of her life. She’d maybe ask whether Ruth had renewed her relationship with her former tennis partner in Llanbrenin Wells. She’d ask because she could never quite comprehend why Ruth didn’t actively seek someone with whom she could share the rest of her life.

  Suzanne’s existence centred upon a man. Doubtless it had always been the case, as the stick of candyfloss blonde progressed from being Daddy’s adored princess to some spotty youth’s pawed-over girlfriend. Finally, the blonde had achieved the top prize by acquiring a fiancé in the form of Edward Deacon, son of a hotelier, but as revealed by Suzanne in a careless moment, not quite the excellent catch her daddy would have envisaged for his darling daughter.

  Ruth knew so much about the Deacons. Much more than they knew about her. She preferred it that way. So did Delyth. Neither of these two women could handle being thwarted in any way. This cooling off which Ruth had noticed, particularly on Suzanne’s part, needed dealing with. She walked out into the cottage’s tiny hallway and picked up the telephone. A few words of warning from a friend should find their mark, unless she was totally misjudging the situation.

  She didn’t believe that was the case. Ruth had perfected the art of seeking out vulnerability. She had the Deacons’ landline number on speed dial. Seeds of doubt might lie dormant for a while but how easily might they blossom, given encouragement.

  Suzanne’s voice sounded hesitant when she answered Ruth’s call.

  “Good morning, Suzanne.” Ruth smiled as she spoke, kept her voice light and friendly.

  “Oh, it’s you, Ruth. I hope you’ve recovered from your funny turn.”

  “I have, thank you.”

  “So, did you leave something behind?”

  Ruth narrowed her eyes. “I haven’t noticed anything missing. No, I was wondering whether you’d like to walk round for a chat so we can catch up.”

  “Um, Eddie might want an early lunch. I think there’s probably rugby on television.”

  Ruth brimmed with glee. There was no rugby match on the TV schedule. Suzanne should have mentioned golf or racing. No matter.

  “Perfect! Can you not leave him some of that quiche I made for you? Come on your own and we can have a lovely gossip. Maybe a glass of wine, just the two of us. I’m longing to hear all about your trip.”

  She waited for Suzanne to break the silence. Compressed her lips, sensing a quandary.

  “It’s very kind of you, Ruth. But I really should begin sorting through books and other bits today. Start clearing the decks while we’re waiting to sell the house. We do intend to downsize.”

  Ruth kept her voice relaxed. “You know I’ll happily give you a hand, any time you like. But to be quite honest, there’s something bothering me and I wouldn’t be doing my job as your closest friend if I didn’t confide in you.”

  Ruth sensed Suzanne was intrigued. Struggling to keep her distance.

  “Can you not tell me over the phone?”

  A little catching of breath. An almost sob from Ruth. “My dear, I really do think this would be better said to your face.”

  “I hope it’s nothing too dreadful. Are you all right?”

  “Health wise, yes. But there is something you need to know – something for your ears only. I’m sorry to sound mysterious but I’ll expect you in a half hour or so. Your favourite treacle tart will be out of the oven by then. And if Eddie’s watching the pundits talking before the rugby match kicks off, he’ll barely notice you’re not there.”

  Ruth felt a tremor of anticipation fizzle through her body as she put down the phone. Suzanne would be speculating as to what was going on. She’d conjecture as to whether this was a female only confidence or something to do with the community hall and the committee upon which both she and Ruth served. She’d merely tell her husband she was going to Ruth’s for a chat.

  Bethan heard nothing from Ray so assumed he must be on his way from London without hold ups delaying him. She pulled up in the Deacons’ driveway and reversed her car, easing it side on to the hedge, leaving plenty of room for him to manoeuvre his Range Rover beside the couple’s BMW. She would have to expect a different Ray Kirby today. He would have morphed into one half of a couple, intent on watching his other half’s reaction, hoping for her to approve his choice of a home for their future together.

  In this kind of situation, her personal safety was far from Bethan’s mind until she opened her side wind
ow. The magnificent shrubs and thick evergreens surrounding the garden would provide a haven for someone wishing to slip like a shadow into the foliage. There might even be an opening in the hedge, enabling entry to the garden from the neighbouring field. Had the Deacons ever checked this might be a possibility? Bethan wasn’t normally a nervous kind of person but this jittery thought gave her an anxious frisson. She recalled the dark shape moving closer to Ray as he concentrated on his camera at the waterfall that day – so much had happened since then.

  A bird flew from the shrubbery and shot past her windscreen, making her jump. Bethan told herself to stop such stupidity. Told herself to text the office mobile and confirm her arrival.

  She looked at her watch. Several minutes remained until noon. All seemed quiet. She’d wait until the appointed time before ringing the doorbell. The Deacons were probably in the conservatory, unaware of her presence. The sudden advent of golden autumn weather would draw them to sit at the rear of the house and enjoy the sunshine. She knew the couple would be totally prepared to show off the property on which they’d lavished such loving attention.

  Her stomach lurched at the sound of an approaching car. The black Range Rover nosed its way through the gates and the driver parked in the space left for him. Bethan occupied herself by picking up her folder and leather shoulder bag. She got out of her car and pressed the key lock. Even in the environs of any house she visited, she never left her vehicle unsecured.

  Feet crunched over the gravel towards her. Bethan looked up, bright smile in place, prepared to shake hands with Claudia Kelsey and her man.

  “Bethan. I hope I’m not late.”

  He surprised her by leaning forward to kiss her cheek. She caught a drift of sandalwood and some other indefinable scent. Her chest tightened. Where was his partner?

  “You’re not late, Ray. But I thought you were bringing Ms Kelsey?”

  He grimaced. Ran a big hand over his cropped hair. Bethan’s fingers tingled with the urge to do the same but she held her ground, waiting for his explanation.

  “You’re not the only one. It’s a long story but I’ll make an excuse to the Deacons and maybe you and I can talk later?”

  She swallowed. “Of course.” Her mind buzzed with what ifs. Did he mean he’d driven all this way just to tell the Deacons in person that he was no longer interested? Of course not. That wouldn’t be his style.

  Eddie came to the door just as Bethan was about to ring the bell a second time.

  “Here I am. Please come in, both of you. I was just topping up the dog’s water bowl. It’s too warm for her in the conservatory so I put her in the utility room for now.”

  Why was he gabbling? Bethan smiled at him. “You remember Mr Kirby?”

  “Of course.” Eddie closed the front door and held out his hand to the big man. “Good to see you again. Have you driven from London this morning?”

  “Good to see you too, Mr Deacon. Yes, the motorway wasn’t a problem but it was pleasing to cross the Severn Bridge and know my junction wasn’t far off.”

  Eddie peered around. “You’re on your own?”

  “I’m afraid so. My partner’s feeling unwell and couldn’t face the journey.”

  “I’m sorry to hear that.”

  “We could have rescheduled.” Bethan looked enquiringly at Ray.

  “Thank you but it’s not necessary. I want to check out a few things. Pending that, I shall make a decision without Claudia being here.”

  His face was impassive. Bethan knew better than to probe further but her thoughts churned, distracting her.

  “As it happens, my other half has deserted me too.” Eddie chuckled. “She sends her apologies but it seems our friend Ruth sounded somewhat distressed when she rang earlier.” He spread his hands in a gesture of bewilderment. “I had no say in the matter. It would have been churlish to put my foot down, don’t you think?”

  Bethan sucked in her breath. “You’re saying Mrs Deacon will be alone with Ms Morgan during our visit? At her cottage?”

  “Apparently. I don’t know where the fire is but Suzanne said there was something Ruth wanted to get off her chest. Beats me.”

  Bethan glanced at Ray. His face remained expressionless. “Mrs Deacon won’t mention anything about Mr Kirby coming for a second viewing?”

  “I passed your message on and I can’t see why she’d let it slip, Bethan. But if she does, surely that’s not a problem? Ruth wouldn’t come running over here when she has Suzanne in the house already.”

  Bethan locked gazes with Ray. “Of course not.” Something wasn’t quite right. “Where would you like to start, Mr Kirby?”

  “Upstairs, if that’s all right?”

  “Feel free,” said Eddie. “I meant to prepare coffee. Shall I do that now?”

  “That would be brilliant, Mr Deacon,” said Ray. “I’ll go on up, then.”

  “Would you prefer to be left on your own, Mr Kirby?” Bethan watched the big man hesitate at the bottom of the staircase.

  “I’d like to inspect the loft first. You may wish to stand guard.”

  “Shall I show you how the ladder works?” Eddie hovered in the kitchen doorway.

  “Don’t worry. I’ll yell for help if I can’t suss it out.”

  Ray winked at Bethan. The tiny gesture sent a slow wave of warmth throughout her body.

  “Come and keep me company, Mrs Harley.”

  Bethan followed in Ray Kirby’s wake. She had health and safety issues to bear in mind. Needed to subdue her curiosity as to Claudia Kelsey’s absence. More importantly, she needed to say the right things to Eddie regarding her cryptic announcement of the previous day. She tried not to question why Ruth Morgan’s presence seemed so marked, hanging like a pall, despite her being nowhere near the house.

  “It’s good to spend quality time with you, Suzanne. Yesterday, I was a little puzzled by the way you wanted me out of your house in such a hurry.”

  “I think both Eddie and I felt we’d imposed upon your generosity enough without keeping you hanging around any longer.”

  “You should know by now, I’m only too pleased to help. Do have another slice of treacle tart. Or try the quince jam with a scone.”

  “I’m fine, thanks.” Suzanne pushed her empty cup aside. “What did you want to discuss? I should get back.”

  “Oh dear, I don’t like doing this, I really don’t.” Ruth wrung her hands. Turned her head and gazed through the window.

  Suzanne frowned. “Has something happened while we’ve been away? Did you break something? Spill wine on a rug? If so, it’s not the end of the world.”

  “It’s nothing like that.” Ruth heaved a sigh. “I very much fear your husband may have wandering eyes.”

  “Sorry?”

  Ruth leaned forward, fixing her gaze upon Suzanne. “For a while now, I’ve been conscious of the way Eddie looks at me.” She cleared her throat. “Not on every occasion he sees me, of course, but enough times to make me feel slightly uncomfortable.”

  She raised her hand and stroked her throat.

  “Uncomfortable?” Suzanne frowned. “But everyone knows my husband’s a flirt. He can’t resist chatting up the ladies but he means no harm by it. Surely you realise that by now?”

  Ruth shifted in her seat and lowered her gaze as if afraid to meet her friend’s. “This isn’t quite the same. Oh, dear, this is difficult, Suzanne, but I’ve had the feeling for a while now that he’d quite like to proposition me.”

  “I see.”

  “I did wonder if your attitude towards me lately could have something to do with Eddie and me. That maybe you were afraid his friendship with me might develop into something else. Something more intimate.”

  Suzanne stood up, scraping the kitchen chair legs on the wooden floor as she did so. “I don’t have time for this. Nor do I intend discussing the details of my marriage with you.”

  “I’m trying to help you, my dear. In terms of weighing up your future, I wouldn’t want you to suspect me of tryi
ng to steal your husband.”

  Suzanne opened her mouth and shut it again. “I don’t think for one moment your suspicions are correct. I suggest you find some other male on which to focus your fantasies. What about that nice man you used to play tennis with? As for me needing help to weigh up my future, as you put it, please don’t trouble yourself.”

  Ruth continued to sit still, watching Suzanne. Without a doubt she’d rattled her composure. Suzanne would walk home now, seething over the innuendo, anger dissolving into anxiety as she cast her mind back to various occasions when maybe her husband and her friend had looked too cosy at the candle-lit dinner table when Suzanne returned with dessert or cheese board.

  There had been one occasion when Eddie had walked Ruth back to her cottage after an evening of wine sampling. Maybe Suzanne had wondered what on earth had taken him so long. He’d instigated a rather drunken fumble while still outside the back door. Ruth hadn’t in the least enjoyed this but it had served a purpose. Given her stored ammunition. Suzanne would have looked at the clock and wondered what was keeping him. Maybe that memory would come back to haunt her now.

  Suzanne placed both hands on the back of her chair as if waiting for a slight dizziness to pass. Ruth watched her with eyes narrowed. When Suzanne pulled on her soft purple fleece and picked up her handbag, Ruth rose. Slowly.

  “If he’s like that with me, someone who’s your friend and who knows how to handle him, what will he be like in a new environment? Think about it, Suzanne. Who knows you better than anyone else in the world? Those friends of yours you hanker after have never put in an appearance, have they? They’ve probably never given you a second thought since you left Sussex. You should stay at Three Roads. Take your house off the market.” She grabbed Suzanne’s arm.

  “You’re going to need support, my dear. I’m ready to give both of you that assistance. Think hard what a move would mean at your time of life. It’s not fair to burden your daughter with two aging parents when she has young children demanding her attention.”