The House Sitter

by Jill Barry

  Bethan waited in the shadows until she heard the sound of Ray’s voice. To her relief, the outside light had come on so she could plainly make out the ladder she knew he’d wedged securely. Waiting for her to make her ascent. She kicked off her shoes. She could hear Ruth’s voice now. Mocking. Strident. Accusatory. Ray’s response was a rumble by contrast. But he’d silenced Ruth. He had her attention. He commanded attention wherever he went and this skill had arguably never been more important than now.

  Bethan climbed the ladder without hesitation but slowly, keeping her eyes fixed on the balcony. She gripped the wrought ironwork as soon as her head was above the level of the top rail. Moved up another step. Grimaced as the iron rung bit her instep. She swung one nylon-clad leg over the balcony rail. Brought the second leg over so she stood within reach of the door. She stretched out her hand. Turned the handle. Please let it not be bolted.

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Slowly she pushed. The door swung forward. The bedside lamp bathed the room in a soft, rosy glow.

  Bethan could smell luxury. Despite the situation she marvelled at the way scent spoke a message. She saw Suzanne Deacon, lying on her side in bed, blonde head facing away from the balcony.

  “Mrs Deacon? Please don’t be afraid.” Bethan kept her voice low. “It’s me, Bethan Harley.”

  No response. Bethan tiptoed over to the door and waited until she heard Ruth’s voice. Praying she wasn’t locked in, Bethan gently depressed the handle, relief swamping her as the voices from below became audible. The house sitter must have opened the front door, keeping it on the safety chain, to speak to Ray.

  She heard Ruth laugh.

  “There’s an old country saying, Mr Kirby. Mind your beeswax.”

  “I take your point and I appreciate your loyalty to your friends, Ms Morgan. Or may I call you Ruth?”

  Bethan wondered how susceptible Ruth Morgan would prove to be.

  “You may call me whatever you like, Mr Kirby. What possible gain could be achieved by my letting you in?”

  “We could have a nice, civilised discussion. I enjoyed your company when we walked up the hill together that time. You’re an educated woman stuck in a backwater. I told you that, didn’t I?”

  “You thought I might like to do a bit of office work for you.”

  “Ouch. I’m sorry if I sounded patronising because it certainly wasn’t what I intended. You’re obviously a cultured person. I’m amazed you get on so well with the Deacons.”

  “What do you mean by that?”

  “Oh, come on, Ruth. I wouldn’t mind betting Mrs Deacon and you are poles apart when it comes to your musical tastes and the books you read.”

  Ruth didn’t answer.

  “I caught a glimpse of her CD collection, mostly schmaltzy stuff and songs from the shows,” said Ray. “Don’t get me wrong. My partner sings a lot of material your friend would enjoy. I imagine your personal CD collection doesn’t include Barry Manilow or Tom Jones. No offence to Messrs Manilow and Jones, but tell me if I’m not right.”

  “I enjoy Chopin. Sibelius. Debussy.”

  “Just as I thought. I told you I couldn’t understand how someone like you could become buried in a place like this.”

  “A place you seem hell bent on moving into.”

  “Touché. But it’s different for me. I’ll still need to spend time in London.”

  “And, of course you have a partner to share your rural idyll. You have money. Power. Companionship.”

  Bethan stood at the top of the staircase, holding her breath. This was the critical part of the operation. She held her mobile phone in her hand, ready to ring for help. If – a very big if – Ruth Morgan let Ray into the house and pulled a knife, or worse; a scream from Bethan should distract her enough for Ray to overpower her. They could keep the house sitter company while Suzanne Deacon continued sleeping sweetly in the master bedroom. That’s what Ray had envisaged. She prayed that scenario wouldn’t happen. Or if it did, that the strategy worked.

  Bethan heard Ray begin to explain how he mightn’t be moving in as part of a couple after all. Playing the sympathy card. Morgan didn’t comment.

  “Do you play chess?” Ray asked.

  “Of course, but very rarely nowadays.”

  “Do the Deacons play?”

  “No. I did try and teach Suzanne but those two are more into Scrabble.”

  “So that exquisite, carved jade set in the front room is ornamental rather than recreational? What a shame.”

  Bethan’s shoulders relaxed at the sound of Ruth’s chuckle. Was this working? Would the woman invite Ray inside for a game? Confide in him even? The house sitter appeared to be enjoying the conversation. Bethan took a step backwards. The ring tone of her phone chimed.

  Downstairs, all was quiet. Bethan felt as though her stockinged feet were stuck in a quagmire. Too late, she switched off her mobile.

  Ruth Morgan didn’t move. “Very clever, Mrs Harley,” she called. “I take it you took the scenic route to gain entry. Why don’t you deal with your call and come down and join us?”

  “Ruth. I apologise for asking, but are you armed?”

  “Not in the way you mean, Mr Kirby.”

  “Nor am I. No one wants or needs to call the police. Do you know where Mr Deacon is?”

  “I have no idea. I suggested he find himself a hotel for the night. He’s probably drowning his sorrows in some bar by now.”

  Bethan collected her wits and crossed the landing to the master bedroom, its door still half open. She closed it behind her and turned the key, looking around wildly for a suitable chair to barricade the two of them in. On the bed, Suzanne Deacon stirred. Flung an arm across the pillow and murmured something incomprehensible.

  Bethan called her daughter back. “Poppy, I’m not at home.”

  “I know, Mum. Dad is, though. He rang to ask if it was okay for him to use his key. He’s coming to Callum’s to collect me tomorrow morning. How cool is that?”

  “It’s lovely, darling. I’m going to ring your father now.”

  “Mum, are you okay? Where are you?”

  “I’m fine. I have to ring off now, Poppy. Take care. Speak soon.”

  Bethan punched in her home number. Heard it ring out. Wondered what was happening downstairs.

  Her husband picked up the call. “Hi, Bethan.”

  “Tim. Listen to me. This is important. I’m with a client and we have a deranged woman in the house.”

  “What’s the address? I’ll call the police.”

  “Please Tim, not yet. My client’s trying to talk the woman round but we could use some back up. Can you come to Three Roads? You know the lay by on the left?”

  Bethan closed the call as she heard a soft knock on the balcony door. To her relief, it was Ray. She crossed the room and unlocked the door.

  “And all because the lady loves Milk Tray.” He turned the ornate brass key to lock the door again. “Unless you’re too young to remember the advert.”

  “Sorry. That was my daughter telling me her father has turned up. I’ve asked Tim to get over here in case we need another pair of hands.”

  Ray shrugged. “Your call, Bethan. Morgan says she’s unarmed but I don’t want to knock her out or strong-arm her into submission unless it’s really necessary.”

  “Perhaps I should go down and speak to her?”

  “And if she tries to strangle you?”

  “I don’t think she will. She’s desperately unhappy and as confused as Mrs Deacon but in a different kind of way. We don’t want to light her fuse by crowding her.” Bethan glanced at Suzanne. “Mrs D’s still asleep. You can hover on the landing and watch what happens.”

  “All right but take care. She said she wasn’t armed but she’ll have had time to fetch a knife. Did you see that rack of blades in the kitchen? Sheesh.”

  “I did, but somehow I don’t feel threatened.”

  “I bloody well hope you’re right.” He pulled a black shoe from each jacket pocket. “You
might need these.”

  They left the room. Bethan approached the top of the stairs. “Ms Morgan?” She tried again. “Ruth?”

  There was no reply. Bethan moved down a step. Then another. Halfway, she called again and still received no response. Could this be a trick? As she stood in the hallway, she heard a knock at the front door and it was much too soon for her husband to have arrived.

  “Mr Deacon,” she said, reaching for the door chain, pulling back the bolt to allow her client entry into his own home.

  A stranger stood on the step. “I’m sorry to intrude,” he said. “I know you’re not Mrs Deacon but I’m looking for Ruth Morgan.”

  “She doesn’t live here. I mean, of course Mrs Deacon does, but Ms Morgan was here just now.” Bethan looked around helplessly. “You’d better come in.”

  Ray came down the stairs as she secured the door. “How long since you saw Ruth, sir?”

  “It’s only a matter of days. But I’ve been ringing her over the last 48 hours and getting no reply. She never goes away because of that pesky cat so I thought I’d drive over and check on her. There are no lights on in her cottage, and she didn’t come to the door. It dawned on me she could be round here. I remembered the way because I came to a drinks party here years ago, not long after Ruth became friendly with Mr and Mrs Deacon.”

  “Good man.” Ray strode forward and shook hands. “I’m Ray Kirby, prospective purchaser of this house.” He waved towards Bethan. “This is Bethan Harley, my estate agent.”

  “Huw Blayney. I apologise for interrupting but I’m very concerned about Ruth. She spends far too much time on her own and, between you and me, I think her friends often impose upon her generosity.”

  Bethan and Ray exchanged glances.

  “I’ll see if I can find her while you explain to Mr Blayney what’s been going on.” Bethan took the first few steps towards the kitchen, calling Ruth’s name.

  She heard the low rumble of Ray’s voice explaining the situation to Ruth’s friend. She pushed open the kitchen door and felt for the switch. Instantly the overhead lighting came on. No Ruth. Bethan called again, despite her assertion to Ray, unable to resist the urge to swivel her body and check the woman wasn’t poised ready to spring.

  The light was on in the utility room. Bethan jumped as the dog barked a welcome. She’d temporarily forgotten about Sparkles. She noticed the bolt on the back door was pulled back. Tried the handle and found the door unlocked.

  She returned to the hallway, Sparkles padding behind her. Both men looked at her questioningly.

  “There’s no sign of her. She must be out there somewhere and so is Mr Deacon.”

  No one said a word. From outside, the sound of crunching gravel sent Bethan flying to open the door. Ray stuck out a brawny arm. “You two stay out of range.”

  He unlatched the safety chain so he could speak through the gap. “Who’s there?”

  “It’s Tim Harley,” said a pleasant male voice. “I believe my wife’s here.”

  Bethan walked forward. “Hello, Tim.”

  Ray looked at her and released the safety chain. “Would you believe all this if it happened in a movie?”

  Bethan saw him observing the stilted greeting she exchanged with her husband. The dutiful kiss. Swiftly she introduced Kirby.

  “What can I do to help?” Tim looked straight at Ray.

  Ray gave a brief run down on the evening’s events. “Time to call the cavalry, I reckon.”

  Tim nodded. “Meanwhile, we three can start searching the area.”

  “Oh, I say,” said Huw. “Surely that’s not necessary? Ruth must have gone home, don’t you think? She’s very loyal. Very protective.” He took off his spectacles and stuck them in his top pocket. “Think how upset and frightened she must have been to have barricaded herself and Mrs Deacon in the house.”

  “Mr Blayney, with respect, we’re dealing with a woman whose actions have been less than rational over the last weeks. Ms Morgan should be approached with care. She left via the kitchen and might have armed herself with a knife.”

  “I’ll call the emergency services.” Bethan moved to the hall table.

  “Police and Ambulance, Bethan. Someone should take a look at Mrs Deacon to make sure she’s sleeping off a pill and not something more sinister.”

  As if someone had punched the air out of him, Huw Blayney sank into a chair beside Bethan, his face crumpled, his hands clasped in front of him.

  She shot him a sympathetic glance. “I’ll make you a hot drink in a moment.”

  “I’ll be all right.”

  Ray looked at Tim. “How about you and me head for Rock Cottage wherever that may be?”

  “I can show you the way,” said Huw.

  “I don’t want Bethan left here on her own.”

  Bethan was waiting for the operator to respond but couldn’t fail to notice the appraising look her husband sent Ray Kirby.

  She put the phone down. “They’ll come straight here.”

  “Ray and I are going to try Rock Cottage, Bethan. Can you direct us?”

  “Drive past the lay by and keep going until you see a grassy triangle opposite a derelict church. Ruth’s cottage faces on to that grassy strip. Be careful.”

  “I’ll drive if you like,” said Tim.

  “Keep us posted,” said Huw. The dog had settled at his feet. He reached down to stroke her head.

  Bethan watched Ray unlock the door. “If she’s not there, you could try The Devil’s Pool.”

  “Why would she go there when it’s dark?”

  Bethan shook her head. “A hunch? Anything is possible tonight, but I very much hope I’m wrong.”

  “Lock yourselves in again. Make a pot of coffee.”

  “Women’s work?”

  Ray grinned. “Of major importance.”

  Tim squeezed her elbow as he slipped past. Reassurance? Or something else?

  Bethan locked the door behind the two men. This held all the signs of being a long night. And it hadn’t slipped her mind that Eddie Deacon must still be out there somewhere.

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Ruth strode along the track and started to climb the hill. She would find Eddie. He hadn’t driven off in his car so he must be out here somewhere. She would talk to him. Make him see sense. Tell him how Suzanne had asked her to convince him to change his mind. The Harley woman and Ray Kirby would clear off soon. Suzanne would probably sleep until morning.

  Eddie wouldn’t thank those two for being in the way if they were still there when he returned but they were arrogant and interfering enough to hang around like a bad smell. She laughed aloud at her own joke.

  It was good to imagine walking through the front door with Eddie. This time she’d be in the right and her persecutors in the wrong. Once he confirmed he’d changed his mind about selling up, those two would be sidelined, as they deserved.

  Ruth hugged her arms around herself. She’d grabbed one of Suzanne’s many jackets from the utility room but the garment didn’t offer the warmth of Ruth’s choice of weatherproof clothing. Suzanne was a fair-weather walker and Eddie almost as bad.

  She climbed on. Up the hill, facing the non-existent traffic and keeping a steady pace. She wondered why Eddie hadn’t taken the car. Probably he’d realised he was over the limit. At the top of the hill she turned off the main road and followed the forestry track, fingering the torch jammed into the jacket pocket just as the moon slipped out from behind banked cloud. Convenient. The ground wasn’t too slippery though it would be, down at the pool.

  She could hear the sound of the waterfall now. She’d reach her destination soon. As to why Eddie Deacon would choose to walk down here and stay after twilight didn’t occur to her. She’d made up her mind how the story would end and all she needed was his co-operation.

  She saw the inert shape lying on scrubby ground between track and pool. “Eddie?” She hurried forward. Sank to her knees beside him.

  “Eddie, can you hear me?” She touched her
fingers to his throat and found a pulse. It still beat. He hadn’t had a heart attack and quit the world.

  She didn’t know whether to be relieved or frustrated. She had no way of getting him home. Her mobile phone was in the pocket of her own jacket back at The Sugar House. Stupid man. Why did he have to keep on impeding progress?

  Ruth moved Eddie so he lay in the recovery position. On the point of removing her jacket and covering him, she hesitated. Who’d know if she rolled him closer to the edge? Wouldn’t that be a fitting end to all this? She thought of the benefits gained. The grieving widow would need company, someone reliable to make sure she ate properly, someone to drive her around. She would need a housekeeper companion. Suzanne would never have the confidence to tackle moving on her own. Ruth had met Penny only once and that was before she married and had her children. The poor, bereft daughter would be so, so relieved when Ruth offered to move into The Sugar House and look after her widowed mother.

  Lost in her fantasy world, all she was aware of was the constant rush of the nearby waterfall. Still she hesitated.

  “Can you hear me, Eddie? I’m going to move you. If you can wake up, we’ll walk back together.”

  Still he made no response.

  “Eddie?” She tugged at his arm. Pinched his cheek.

  Ruth looked around. The moon still withstood the gathering clouds. She’d tried to wake him and he hadn’t responded. So be it. Who was there to know how precisely Mr Deacon met his end? He’d made this decision for her.

  She placed both hands together in some kind of silent prayer before stooping and rolling Eddie’s inert form a little closer to the bank. This had to be the kindest way. She wouldn’t even need to use the sharp blade grabbed from the kitchen and tucked inside Suzanne’s fleecy gilet.

  Deliberately wounding him would put her in prison, wouldn’t it? A simple fall into the rushing waters would be deemed a tragic accident. At the post mortem, any damage to the body would be pronounced consistent with its bumping against the steep cliff side.