Staverton

by Caidan Trubel

  It was Lawrence.

  Chapter 23

  He didn’t approach the bed, but just stared into the bedroom. I could feel my heart beating, my muscles tensed, and I struggled to keep my breathing steady.

  Then he turned and left.

  I tried to make myself relax, but I couldn’t.

  It was natural for him to be worried for his daughter and want to check on her. If it was anyone except Lawrence, I might have found that reassuring, but when he did it, I found it creepy. Menacing.

  I couldn’t stay still any longer. I needed to get up and do something.

  I rummaged through my hold-all, looking for fresh clothes, trying not to wake Caroline. I pulled on my clothes, tied my hair back in a ponytail, slipped on my tennis shoes and headed down the hall, to the bathroom.

  It was quiet and didn’t seem like anyone else was up yet. But I knew Lawrence was awake, walking around. Somewhere.

  I cleaned my teeth, splashed water on my face and started to feel a little better. On my way out, I crept past Michael. He was asleep, one arm flung back over the arm rest and his neck tilted at an uncomfortable angle. I considered waking him, sitting beside him on the sofa and touching his cheek, then decided against it.

  Outside, the air was fresh and clean, invigorating. I followed the trail down the cliff path. Instead of walking down to the beach, I sat on the grass, near the cliff’s edge, and stared out at the sea. The sunlight hit the waves as they rolled in to the beach.

  The sea was calm today. I had expected turmoil, a cauldron of foam, a reflection of what happened last night, or at least a reflection of how I felt, but the gentle waves, barely rippled against the rocks. The sea could be deceptive, perhaps there was a riptide under that calm surface.

  It was beautiful here, but I was looking forward to going home to Scotland. I smiled as it struck me this was the first time I’d thought of Freddie’s place as home. Home, where I felt safe and secure.

  I plucked a blade of grass and ran it through my fingers. I remembered meeting Gwen on the beach and how encouraging she’d been when I told her my plans to set up my own gallery. I tried to forget how annoyed I’d been with Gwen’s flirting. It seemed wrong to think about that now. But her role as a femme fatale had killed her. Crime of passion, that’s what I’d overheard one of the police officers say.

  I tightened the band around my ponytail and wondered how much evidence they had against Malcolm. If the evidence was overwhelming, I’d be able to leave here sooner because the police probably wouldn’t need to talk to me again. But I couldn’t help remembering how nice Malcolm had been to me. How he’d tried to cheer me up when I’d been seasick, and how he’d tried to warn me off that sleazebag, Dean.

  I touched the bump on my head, winced. If there was any justice, Dean would have crashed and wrecked his car last night. It was the least he deserved after attacking me then speeding away when he was drunk.

  The breeze picked up, I shivered and decided to walk along the trail a bit further, to warm myself. I walked for five minutes, following the path to the woodland area at the edge of the property.

  I hesitated for a moment, weighing up the options. It was out of the sun, but it was also out of the freezing wind, which was cutting through my jumper. I’d go into the woods, but just a little way in. I walked on, entering the woods, crunching along the trail.

  It was perfectly safe, and I’d walked here before, even jogged the whole length of the trail, but today I felt on edge, which wasn’t much of a surprise. I pushed my hands deep into my pockets and quickened my pace.

  It smelled damp and musty. As I walked deeper into the woods, rotting leaves made the trail slippery, and the trees thickened blocking out the light. I stepped over a thick branch that had fallen across the trail. Funny, I thought, I was pretty sure that wasn’t there the last time I walked through the woods.

  I stopped. Had I taken a wrong turn? I turned to face the way I had come and saw a reassuring crescent of sunlight in the distance. I’d better go back. I didn’t want to get lost, especially not today.

  As I turned, a small brownish creature crashed out of the ferns. I staggered back, tripping on the root of a tree. I landed on my backside with a thud.

  It was only a pheasant, wings flapping and making a racket.

  I shooed it away, clapping my hands, “Go on, clear off. You almost gave me a heart attack.”

  The bird disappeared into the undergrowth.

  It could have been worse. At least there hadn’t been any witnesses. I tried to wipe the dirt from the back of my jeans. If my nerves were so on edge that even birds made me jump, I’d be better off back at the summerhouse. Even being stuck indoors with Lawrence was better than that.

  I jogged all the way back. My mind and ears played tricks on me. Convinced I could hear footsteps other than my own, twice I turned to make sure no one was running after me.

  When I reached the edge of the woods, I paused and bent double, to catch my breath. I started to walk back towards the house and caught sight of a group of people near the entrance of the summerhouse. Probably more police, with more questions.

  I considered heading back to the cliff path to avoid them. I was warm enough now, after my run. I could sit there for another half an hour or so, enough time for them to ask their questions and leave. I’d almost turned when I glimpsed a familiar figure.

  I smiled, ran along the path and flung myself into Freddie’s arms.

  “You came.” That was all I could say.

  “Of course I did. I told you I would.” He held my shoulders at arms length, then drew me in for a long hug. “I’ve just been speaking to Detective Alcott. He says you can come back with me now.”

  I pulled away from Freddie, turned and noticed the people standing around us. Detective Inspector Alcott stood there scowling.

  “So I can go? No more questions? I can go back to Scotland, today?”

  Detective Inspector Alcott sniffed. “We’ve got your statement, and I’ve got your address. We know where you are if we have questions.” He made it sound like a threat.

  Michael stood there too, with his arms folded. “You’d better come in, Lucy, and get packed. Can I offer you a drink, Freddie?”

  “That’s good of you.”

  Michael led the way into the summerhouse. Freddie looked out of place. It wasn’t only his size – Michael was almost as tall as Freddie. Everything in the summerhouse looked delicate and fragile and emphasised Freddie’s bulk. He dwarfed the ornate chair he sat on, the chair’s spindly legs looked as if they might not hold out. He held his teacup by wrapping his hand around it, ignoring the heat, because his fingers were too thick to use the handle.

  Angela told Freddie what a wonderful guest I had been and how sorry she was my visit ended in such a tragedy. She never actually used the word murder. She said tragedy, unfortunate occurrence, sad event, but never murder.

  I excused myself from the room to go and get my things together. Despite the horrible morning, I felt laughter bubble up in my chest when Freddie shot me a panicked look. Angela clearly petrified him.

  Michael caught up with me before I entered the bedroom.

  “You’re leaving?”

  I nodded.

  “I don’t blame you.” He closed his eyes for a moment, then exhaled, and gave me a half smile.

  I wanted to say so many things, but it wasn’t the right time or the right place. “I better go and pack.”

  As I moved towards the bedroom I had shared with Caroline, Michael put a hand on my arm. “After he left last night, Dean crashed on the cliff road.”

  “Is he...”

  “He’ll live, but he’s got a broken leg, and he’ll be charged with driving under the influence.”

  I wrapped my arms around myself. So much had happened last night. I didn’t really know how I felt. Dean was a creep, but I was glad the accident hadn’t been more serious.

  “How are you doing?” Michael asked, his eyes soft with concern.

&
nbsp; I wasn’t sure how to answer. “I’m okay, I guess.”

  “I’ll give you my e-mail address,” he said. “You never know, maybe one day we’ll get to that exhibition.”

  I smiled and pulled my mobile phone out of the pocket of my jeans. “Can you type it in there?”

  He entered his e-mail address and said, “Caroline will be sorry you’re going.”

  I looked at the closed bedroom door. “She’ll understand.”

  He handed me back the phone and stepped closer to me, lifting his hand to my chin and tilting my head so I met his gaze.

  His skin was warm against mine, and there was something in the way he looked at me, a longing in his eyes, that made me swallow nervously.

  He raised his other hand and lightly ran one finger along my jawline.

  Then he leaned so close I could feel his breath against my neck. His lips gently grazed my cheek, and he whispered, “Take care of yourself.”

  The warmth of his touch lingered on my skin.

  “You, too.”

  My hands were shaking as I opened the door and slipped through into the bedroom, touching my cheek with my fingertips. My skin tingled all over.

  Caroline lay on the bed, staring up at the ceiling. She turned and looked at me when I entered. “The walls are thin.”

  I flushed. “Sorry.”

  “Very touching farewell scene.” Caroline said, turning to prop herself up on her elbow. “Did you come here to visit me, or did you only come because you had a crush on my brother?”

  “Don’t do this now, Caroline. I have to go, and I don’t want to leave with us arguing.”

  Caroline didn’t answer.

  “Come on, I like Michael, sure, but you’re my friend. My best friend.”

  Caroline rubbed her face and pushed her hair back. “I’m sorry. Sorry, I’m an idiot. Everything is so messed up.” Caroline climbed out of bed. “I’ll help you pack, do you have anything left at the house.”

  “No, it’s all here.” I said, stuffing my clothes into my bag, not caring that they were creased. “Listen, I’m sorry to leave you like this, with all this going on.”

  Caroline shrugged. “It’s all over now, anyway.”

  I carried my case through to the open plan living area, and Angela walked over and air-kissed me on both cheeks. The smell of Chanel No.5 flooded over me.

  Freddie blushed furiously when Angela kissed him too.

  Angela, Caroline, Jake and Michael waved us off and kept waving as we rolled along the gravel driveway in Freddie’s old truck. Lawrence was nowhere to be seen. I kept my gaze fixed on the dashboard as the truck crunched over the gravel. I didn’t even look back for one last glimpse of the grand house as we left. Instead, I tried to picture Freddie’s little whitewashed cottage and how Bert would wag his tail and jump up to greet us when we got back.

  Chapter 24

  After arriving at Freddie’s cottage, I called Caroline straightaway to find out any news, but Caroline couldn’t tell me much except Malcolm had been formally charged for Gwen’s murder. Caroline sounded subdued on the phone, and I felt guilty. It must be hard for her to be at Staverton, to be constantly reminded of Gwen’s murder.

  Freddie did his best to cheer me up and take my mind off what had happened at Staverton. He told me the best thing I could do now, was focus on my future. There was nothing I could do to help Gwen. I needed to try and put that horrible night behind me. Of course, that was easier said than done.

  I waited three days before e-mailing Michael. I didn’t want to look too desperate, but I thought about it constantly, planning what I’d write.

  I could use my phone to send the e-mail to Michael, which was lucky as Freddie didn’t have internet access. The idea of living without an internet connection was incomprehensible to me.

  Despite, all my planning and preparation, when I sat down to type, I couldn’t get started. Even choosing an opening seemed beyond me. Did I use “Dear Michael” or just “Hello,” or even “Ciao,” seeing as Michael was off to Italy soon?

  For God’s sake. Did it really matter?

  I put my craziness down to the solitude. I’d been back in Scotland for three days and had seen no one but Freddie and Bert. Bess promised me some shifts at The Anchor next week, so that would at least mean a bit of social interaction. Even if most of The Anchor’s patrons were over fifty.

  I typed, “Hello.” It was a start at least. I could tell Michael how bored I was, how isolated it was up here, but then he’d think I was a moaning bore. I could ask after his family, but I didn’t want to mention Gwen. I wanted to stop thinking about her.

  Hello Michael,

  How are you? And your family?

  Everything is great here, although I’ve only been here for three days and it feels like forever (no TV, no computer, no people!). I’ve decided to do some more shifts at The Anchor. Bess is lovely. She puts up with me putting the glasses on the wrong shelves, and even occasionally throwing drinks over customers, so she isn’t a hard task master.

  Do you remember when I told you about Bess? That I thought she and Freddie might have a thing going on?

  Well, I’m convinced there is something between them. Not that they’ll admit it. I think I might have to do a bit of matchmaking this summer. Unless, of course, they are already carrying on in secret. Perhaps they think I’m a prude, and I won’t approve!

  I hope you enjoy the rest of your holiday, especially Italy (yes, I am jealous!), and you never know, perhaps one day we will get to go to an art exhibition together.

  Love Lucy

  I pressed the send button and told myself I wouldn’t check my e-mails until tomorrow. I wouldn’t be one of those desperate women who had to check every five minutes.

  Ten minutes later, I caved in and checked my e-mail. Nothing. I looked across the room at Bert. “Right, Bert. We better get out of here and go for a walk before I go crazy.”

  I checked my e-mail later that night. I’d curled up in bed, proud of myself for resisting the temptation to check earlier. All through dinner, I kept glancing over at my phone, so much that even Freddie noticed and asked if I was expecting a call. But that wasn’t the point. The point was I hadn’t checked.

  I had two e-mails. One was from a supermarket home delivery service – as if they would deliver out here. And the other was from Michael. I clicked it open.

  Lucy,

  Greetings from Italy! I decided to come out here early, and I’m glad I did. It’s amazing. Great food, great wine, and the art is out of this world. You’d love it.

  Glad to hear you’re enjoying Scotland, even if it is a bit quiet. Not long and you’ll be at university, then your social life will improve.

  And, yes, one day we’ll get to that exhibition.

  Michael

  I read the e-mail three times. He replied quickly. That was a good sign, wasn’t it? Okay, so he didn’t sign off with love, but he was a guy, what did I expect? I pushed the duvet back, sat up and typed out a reply, with the words “one day” whirling around in my mind.

  As the summer passed, I continued to send e-mails to Michael, and usually he replied. I wrote about my job at The Anchor, drawing caricatures of the customers, exaggerating and trying to make my life sound fun and more interesting than it really was.

  When he replied, Michael’s e-mails were full of descriptions of the sights and sounds in Rome and Venice, and to me, they were incredibly romantic. At least they were until he mentioned Sylvia.

  Sylvia, an amazing Italian girl, who it seemed was able to sing soprano, speak five languages and paint incredible watercolours. Probably all while standing on her head.

  I didn’t reply for two days after he mentioned Sylvia.

  In the end though, I thought it was a bit pathetic to ignore him. He hadn’t promised me anything. We were friends. And there was always the chance that one day... Well, there was no harm in dreaming.

  Chapter 25

  I didn’t often get out of bed before Freddie, but on
the twenty-sixth of August I was up, dressed and staring out of the kitchen window before Freddie had woken up.

  I glanced at my watch. It wasn’t even seven yet. I heard Freddie’s bedroom door open, then the bathroom door, then the blast of the shower. I moved across to put the coffee on.

  Outside it was grey and dreary. It had rained the night before, and the grey, swollen clouds promised more to come. The track leading up to the cottage was thick with mud, and I worried the postman’s van might not make it up the hill.

  When Freddie wandered through to the kitchen, in his dressing gown, with a towel around his shoulders, he did a double take.

  “What are you doing up so early?”

  “Couldn’t sleep. Coffee’s on the side.”

  “Thanks.” Freddie poured the fresh coffee into his mug and breathed in the steam. “What time’s your shift at The Anchor?”

  “The usual, I start at eleven.”

  “No double shift, today?”

  “Not today.” I looked past Freddie, out of the window, down the track.

  Freddie turned. “So that’s why you’re up so early. You’re waiting on the post.”

  “It’s too early yet, but I thought the van might have a bit of trouble getting up the hill.”

  Freddie set down his coffee. “Roger, has delivered our post for years, in much worse weather than today. Stop worrying.”

  Easy for him to say. I sighed and carried my coffee across to the table and sat down.

  “I’m making porridge, you want anything?”

  I shook my head. “Couldn’t eat anything. Too nervous.”

  “You’ll be fine.”

  An hour later, Freddie put on his raincoat and opened the front door. In the distance, a rumble of an engine sounded.

  I threw down the magazine I had been flicking through and joined Freddie at the door, craning my neck to see down the track. “Is it the postman?”

  We both waited by the door until we saw the top of the red van heading towards us. Freddie grinned, “Looks like he made it up the hill.”