by Jill Barry
Bethan decided not to probe in that direction. “Dare I ask if this crush you mention happens to be focused on someone she met on the cruise?”
“The gentleman in question is a musician, a saxophonist to be precise. He joined the ship’s orchestra for this last trip and seems to have found the right harmonies extraordinarily quickly.”
“You must have always been aware of the risk. Having a beautiful partner who’s so much on show. I’m sure you mentioned something to me.” Bethan’s voice tailed away. Where was this leading? The big man didn’t strike her as the type to need an agony aunt.
“Yeah. I’ve always maintained, if someone swept her off her feet, I’d have to accept it. Odd how I envisaged, if it happened at all, it’d be a fling with a passenger. Silly really, as there aren’t usually too many straight, single males taking the kind of cruises Claudia works. The customers mostly consist of Baby Boomers celebrating retirement or significant anniversaries.”
“I’m sorry,” said Bethan softly. “Just at the time when you probably least expected it.”
“That’s life. Ironic really, Claudia having decided not to work any more cruises after the next one. Who knows, now? Maybe I shouldn’t have imagined I could have it all.”
“Getting back to basics, I think a woman that sort of age is no less prone to experiencing a crush than a woman in any other age group.”
“You think this might burn itself out?”
“It’s possible.”
“Has it ever happened to you? Or is that question way too personal?”
No flattering banter about her not being old enough yet to know, but cutting straight to the chase. She met his gaze. “It has happened to me, yes.”
He stared at her. Swore softly under his breath as his mobile phone demanded his attention. Bethan drained her teacup and decided to make a move.
Ray checked his message. “I should respond to this.”
“I must get dressed and continue my run.”
“No cab?”
“No cab.”
“Then write down your address for me and I’ll arrange for a driver to pick you up at seven.” He pulled a pack of post-it notes and a pen from his towelling gown pocket.
“Very organised, but are you quite certain you can put up with my company again this evening?”
“One hundred percent, ma’am.”
His smile transformed his face. His eyes drew her to him. She had to clench her fists to stop herself leaning over and kissing him. Stupid. Stupid. It’s just a little crush. The words of the song taunted her. Ray loved Claudia. And Poppy’s dad was still Bethan’s husband.
“I’m not sure those two consultants would be the right people for this place anyway,” said Eddie.
He and Suzanne had moved into the conservatory and were sitting, watching the birds squabble and flutter around the feeding table. He’d freshened his glass and topped up his wife’s wine.
“Why on earth not?”
“Think about it, Suze. Bethan said they were lovely, cultured people whose family was scattered all over the world. They shouldn’t be contemplating a move to mid Wales. It’s just not practical.”
“It’s not like it’s the Outer Hebrides. Driving from here to London isn’t that big an ordeal.”
Eddie shrugged. “A couple like that, coming up to retirement, surely need somewhere with easy access to theatre and cinema and restaurants. Isn’t that what we’re after?”
“Amongst other things. I’m still mortified at the thought of the stench Mrs Harley described. I do wish I could apologise to the Saranis personally.”
“Well, you can’t, so don’t worry about it.”
“But what on earth was Ruth thinking of, not checking the cloakroom?”
“I can’t help thinking there’s something odd been going on.”
“And that young couple. Did Ruth meet them too?”
“Apparently not. But Bethan had a feeling, budget wise, they were out of their league.”
“I still think Mr and Mrs Hunt would have been ideal.”
“For the love of God, Suzanne, can’t you give it a rest?” He rubbed his eyes. “That’s irrelevant now, isn’t it? Ray Kirby has come back and offered the asking price and we’ve accepted.”
“You’ve accepted, you mean.”
He groaned. “What am I supposed to do? Ring Bethan and say we’ve changed our minds? Do you really want to stay in this little rut? Not too long ago you were moaning about the way Ruth was sneering at you. Criticising one thing and another. One minute you want out of here, the next, you’re running down to hers for girly gossip, then coming home in tears. The lord only knows what Bethan and Kirby must have thought.”
“Bethan this, Bethan that. You’re obsessed with that woman. I wish you wouldn’t drink gin. It always makes you belligerent.”
“Ah, you want to control my alcohol intake now, do you?”
“I’m only reminding you that red wine suits you better. You always say it mellows you.”
He got to his feet. “I’m going out. While I’m gone, I suggest you do some serious thinking.”
“Are you taking the dog?”
“No. I need some male company, Suze. Watch my lips! When I come back, I need to know what you really think about moving. Not what I think. Not what Penny and Declan think. And especially not what that bloody harpy down the road thinks!”
She stared up at him. “But where are you going?”
“To the golf club.”
A green woodpecker alighting on a tree branch above the feeding table snagged his attention. “It’s beautiful here, of course it is, but maybe one can overdose on fantastic scenery when there’s not much else to concentrate on. I fancy a change, Suzanne. I want to feel alive. And to be honest, I can’t stand the thought of even just one more winter in Three Roads. If you truly don’t feel the same, we’re going to have to make other arrangements. Face up to it.”
He left her alone. At her feet, the dog opened her eyes and looked up at her mistress.
“I’m such a failure, Sparkles. I’m not sure now what I want and that’s a fact.”
Eddie grabbed a jacket from the utility room. Sparkles, who’d followed him, waited patiently.
“Not this time, old girl. Sorry.” He ruffled her ears, guided her gently back into the kitchen and closed the connecting door. He left, banging the backdoor behind him, something he hadn’t done in years, except if the wind intervened. He did sometimes take the dog down the track and around the village, but on this occasion he needed to get out from under. Something had gone very wrong. He didn’t understand why he couldn’t seem to please his wife, whichever way he played it. Maybe all this indecision meant she was heading for a nervous breakdown? That would put a different complexion on things. Matters might have to go on hold.
He got into his car and closed his eyes, gathering his thoughts, recalling something one of the forestry men had said to him a while back. It was far easier to buy into this area than it was to sell up and escape. In fact, the man’s comment had been blunter than that. Easy to get in but effing hard to get out! Now Eddie had a buyer lined up and amazingly this hadn’t taken long to achieve, despite his original fear that the series of viewings and almost viewings might be jinxed.
Ray Kirby personified the ideal successor to take over The Sugar House. Someone younger might have feared the novelty would wear off, but Kirby sought tranquil surroundings. He seemed in good health, active enough to enjoy good walking country. He worked from home and didn’t seem bothered about the village’s adequate rather than super fast Broadband speed. He possessed a partner so wouldn’t suffer from loneliness.
He certainly wouldn’t tolerate Ruth, or anyone else for that matter, interfering in his life. He probably wouldn’t join in the meagre programme of community activities but that wasn’t Eddie’s problem. Suzanne was Eddie’s problem. These days his wife changed her mind more frequently than her expensive silk knickers.
He sat up straight. Start
ed the engine. There were a couple of guys at the golf club who might well listen to his troubles over a drink in the bar, but how could he voice his feelings when they were so confused? One of his mother’s favourite sayings when faced with a dilemma had been, ‘if in doubt, don’t.’ Upon reaching adulthood he decided that kind of attitude never got anyone anywhere. Risk-taking sometimes paid off. Having made the decision to put their house on the market, shouldn’t they persevere? Bethan Harley said Kirby wanted the sale to go through with minimum delay.
Bethan. She’d be sympathetic. She’d probably seen this kind of thing before. He liked her and he trusted her, even though no one was supposed to put their faith in an estate agent. Reading between the lines, he’d soon twigged she didn’t have much time for Ruth. More importantly, Bethan was present when Suzanne returned from her visit to Ruth’s and had seen the kind of behaviour currently worrying the life out of him.
It all boiled down to the fact that Suzanne had been blowing hot and blowing cold. She’d perked up while they were away. They hadn’t tried to find a property right on their daughter’s doorstep as the little family would relocate, even if only a few miles, when Declan left the Army and began his new venture. Eddie was prepared to go along with his wife’s preferred choice of new home.
But she’d got herself in a stew over returning to Three Roads. She’d expressed concerns about Ruth, acted like a kid afraid to face going back out into the playground. When she calmed down again, he’d been relieved. Yet the way she reported her telephone conversation from the Wiltshire hotel with their friend and house sitter, had amazed him. She’d sounded calm and confident. Back home again, she seemed to crumble. Why hadn’t he put his foot down and prevented her from jumping to Ruth’s command and going to Rock Cottage? What kind of a husband was he?
He drove slowly down the track. If only he could pack Suzanne back in the car and drive her to their daughter’s. But he couldn’t do that to Penny. Her mother’s current state was far too fragile for his liking. Perhaps he should arrange a GP appointment. That was more like it. Perhaps he should calm down and treat Suzanne’s agitated state as he would a cold virus or sprained ankle. It needed the right treatment and time to rest. He wouldn’t share his concerns with anyone but would let the property sale wheels go on turning. He needed to stay positive.
Hopefully, his wife would have gone upstairs for a rest. She’d niggled at him over his drinking. Well, maybe she’d had a little too much wine. It was quite possible she and Ruth had drunk sherry or wine together earlier. Come to think of it, hadn’t this crazy notion of Ruth, Suzanne and him ending up as a triumvirate begun on an evening when Suzanne admitted to bashing the booze with Ruth? She’d probably have put up her hand for a double helping of cold sago pudding, the amount she must have taken on board.
Eddie already felt much better. Calmer. This had been a good idea. Getting out. Taking a breather. It wasn’t at all a bad afternoon. Maybe he’d been right in the first place when he wondered if Suzanne should get medical help. A little sedative would do her no harm. He’d ring the GP surgery first thing on Monday.
Ruth ate her solitary lunch of wholemeal bread and canned tuna in sunflower oil. She had Radio 4 for company and half-listened to callers phoning in to state their views on education, television reality shows, and the recent sale to the Japanese of an obscure, obscenely expensive oil painting. Her mind couldn’t stop dissecting recent events at The Sugar House.
She cast her mind back to the day when she walked up the hill with Ray Kirby. Not too much later at Pwll-y-Diafol, the Harley woman had turned up like one of those strident female police officers in a television drama, thus preventing the natural progression envisaged by Ruth. It hadn’t seemed in the least wrong to make her way stealthily through the woodland and check up on the confident house seeker who considered himself immune to risk.
So, hard-nosed Mr Kirby had turned up again to take a second look at the house he’d so set his heart on? Unfortunately, he’d chosen to visit on the day after the Deacons’ return. She wondered what had prevented the couple from bubbling over with news of a second viewing by the big man from London. They must surely have had advance warning, unless Eddie forgot to inform the Harley woman of their return and she’d turned up again, key in hand.
Suzanne had blurted out the information in the end; although too late for Ruth to arrange some kind of mishap. But Suzanne, with her innate fragility bolstered by Eddie’s pandering to her every whim, would hopefully, by now, have scotched any offer made by Kirby. Sometimes people needed to accept they couldn’t necessarily have tumble into their hot little hands something they desired with such intensity.
Dylan shot through the cat flap like a pantomime imp and dropped a dead field mouse at her feet. Ruth took a sizeable chunk of tuna and put it on the floor in front of her cat. He sniffed. His tongue shot out. He wolfed the fish. She rose, found a rubber glove and flung the corpse in the compost bin beside the back door.
No need now for tricks and disguises. She stood alone against the opposition: Eddie and Suzanne, the Harley woman and Ray Kirby. The demise of any one of these four could seriously affect the dynamics of the situation around The Sugar House. The Harley woman was a minion and more than likely a tart. She had that hungry, searching look, doubtless motivated by money. She wore rings but Ruth felt sure they counted for nothing. Was she sleeping with Ray Kirby? Or had he brought his glamorous partner with him today?
Ruth seethed. The words that had so impressed her when she studied Milton’s Paradise Lost at school fell like scattering confetti into her consciousness. Impotence. The night hag. The Portress of Hell gate had replied, ‘Hast thou forgot me, then; and do I seem now in thine eye so foul?’
Everything was falling into place. Eddie and Suzanne needed to acknowledge Ruth’s importance in their lives. She refused to allow them to cast her off like some fallen angel. She’d invested too much. Too often. Too carefully.
Whether Ray Kirby made an offer on the house or not, Ruth knew what she must do. Deep in her thoughts, she suddenly became aware of her ringing telephone but elected not to answer. It might be Eddie calling to ask for her help in calming Suzanne. Maybe for once she should play hard to get.
She needed to face certain facts. It was unlikely she’d cross Ray Kirby’s path. She’d lost her chance of his undergoing an unfortunate accident so must move on. He might even decide the house in the nowhere place that called itself a village, wasn’t for him after all. Mr Kirby could easily find some other vendor’s hands to fill with cash.
The sales negotiator wasn’t worth thinking about. Bethan Harley’s exasperating manner would be of no consequence once the sale board vanished. That left the key players. How much had Ruth been able to play on her impressionable friend’s mind? Perhaps she should have picked up that phone call after all.
When she crossed the room and entered the little hallway, she punched in 1471 and listened to the electronic voice. The number she heard belonged to her old friend Huw. She clicked her tongue. He surely couldn’t want another meeting so soon after the last one? It wasn’t worth pursuing. Not with all she had on her mind. Sometimes, people asked her why she didn’t make use of the answer phone service. Ruth’s theory was, if someone really wanted her, they’d ring back. And back again.
The thought of what might be happening between the Deacons pecked at her like a bird tearing at carrion. But she didn’t intend ringing them. The situation had become volatile and she needed to wait and let sown seeds germinate. Meantime, it wouldn’t hurt to take a stroll.
As she let herself out through her front door, she heard the telephone ring again. Ruth sighed. She’d ignore it. The urge to discover what was happening at the other end of the village burned too fiercely for her to withstand it any longer. Her fingers reached into her right-hand pocket and touched the replica key to the Deacons’ house that she had cut on her last trip to town. It might prove useful. Vital even.
She set off, adjusting her pace, feigning a
slight limp yet taking care not to overdo her pretended mobility problem. When she came within sight of the Deacons’ turning, she slowed her pace further so she stood right beside Phil Sartin’s gateway. She moved on to his bumpy bit of driveway and took refuge beside his fence, out of sight. If she climbed up on the bank, she should be able to see the back of Eddie’s car and if so, establish he was at home.
Ruth smiled to herself. The vehicle wasn’t in its usual place. Perhaps he’d left the lady of the house home alone.
Chapter Twenty-Three
She didn’t tiptoe. She didn’t skulk. She eased the newly cut key from her pocket and into the Yale keyhole. Satin-smooth. The safety lock had not been applied. Relieved, she pushed open the door and closed it again. Very quietly. In tune with a house holding its breath. The jewel colours of the asters she’d plucked so recently lit up the hall table. The kitchen door stood ajar. She held her breath, straining her ears, anticipating the click of claws on wooden floor. Nothing. The dog must either be shut in the utility room or outside in her play area. She took a deep breath, relishing the idea of materialising in Suzanne’s afternoon as if she’d walked through the wall.
First of all, she needed to bolt the front. Suzanne hadn’t put the safety chain in position and this blip was something Eddie often nagged her about. It might also mean she’d drunk too much wine at lunchtime and gone upstairs for a nap. Fortune smiled upon Ruth.
Keep a cool head. Go through and bolt the back door too, why don’t you? Check the dog’s whereabouts. Take the phone off the hook. It mustn’t ring and disturb Suzanne while you’re still on your way upstairs.
When she was ready, she climbed the stairs. Slowly. Once upon the landing, she cleared her throat. “Hello? Suzanne dear, are you up here?”
Her friend took a while to answer. Long enough for Ruth to tiptoe towards the door of the master bedroom and knock tentatively. “Don’t be alarmed. It’s only me, Ruth. May I come in?”
She heard the sound of rustling, as though Suzanne was resting on the bed.