by Angela Dyson
“Precisely what your own worries have been. I hope you didn’t start feeling sorry for him?”
“Not for a second. His self-pity was… well not just sickening but embarrassing.”
I could well imagine. “And so how did you get rid of him?”
She was proud of herself now. “I went to the front door, opened it, and said that I’d had quite enough and insisted that he leave. And after a few moments when it was obvious that I meant what I said, he did. And that’s why when the buzzer went literally five minutes later I thought he’d come back for another round. And tomorrow morning I’ve got to tell Mr. Garstein all about it.”
I nodded. “The senior partner? And you told Simon that you’d already done that. Clever.”
She stretched and yawned. “Yeah I thought that would be wiser. God I feel knackered. All this drama really is exhausting. But tell me what’s been going on. Why are you dressed up? Where have you been?”
I kept it short and to the point. I too was feeling drained.
As I got up to leave I asked the one question that still puzzled me. “What I don’t get Laura is what you ever saw in him.”
“It’s weird but I don’t really know. I think I just wanted him to be the right guy because this felt for me to be the right time.”
“And now?”
“Oh no,” Laura called as she waved me goodbye. “I’m well and truly off men for the time being.”
CHAPTER TWENTY
As I let myself into the car an insistent and fretful wind tugged at my hair. There was about to be another downpour. I drove with care, conscious of the two glasses of wine I’d had on an empty stomach. As I passed along Parkside I could see how the wind had whipped itself up into a fit of temper and was lashing out at the chestnut trees that lined the common on its eastern side. And even with the car windows tightly shut I could hear great rolls of thunder in the distance, growling a deep percussive bass as the rain came down in torrents. There wasn’t a parking space immediately outside the house and so by the time I’d legged the fifty metres or so from the car, I was wet through. I could see from afar a first rapier gleam of lightning flicker into quivering life and illuminating the inky blackness of a starless sky.
As I fumbled for my keys I felt glad to be safely home and out of the rapidly gathering storm. Peeling off my sodden jacket and draping it over the stair banister I headed for the kitchen. The mop and bucket were still where I’d left them propped up against the open door of the walk-in larder, but that I decided could certainly wait until the morning.
What I needed now was food. I reached for cheese and tomatoes out of the fridge, switched on the grill which is old and part of the ancient oven that takes ages to heat up, and took a pitta bread out of the freezer. Rubbing at my wet hair with a tea towel, I sniffed at a bottle of Merlot that had been open for a couple of days and poured myself a glass.
I was just taking my first sip when there was a knock at the front door. I put down the glass in surprise and looked at my watch. It was after midnight. Who could be calling so late? Perhaps it was Flan making her way back along the Ridgeway from one of the local History Society’s Dos that she attends at the Wimbledon Museum? Maybe she’d seen my light on and thought she’d take shelter from the storm. Well I was always glad to see her. I’d order her a taxi and whilst she waited we could have a drink and I would fill her in on the day’s events. I went out into the hall and opened the door.
“It’s a ghastly night to be…” The words died on my lips. Not Flan but Simon Napier. A rain sodden Simon Napier. There he stood, all six foot of him, solid and immense on my doorstep and scowling at me with a look of intense malevolence. I gulped. “What are you doing here?”
“I just thought that we could have a little chat.” His tone was light, even social, but the way his steely grey eyes bored into mine was chilling.
My mind somersaulted through the possibilities of how on earth he could have found out where I lived. “Um,” I stuttered. “Now is not a good time.”
He laughed derisively and took a heavy step across the threshold pushing me back into the house with his body.
“Now Gemma that’s not very nice, is it? Not very friendly, and after all, we’ve got so much to talk about.”
My initial reaction of shock turned swiftly to one of anger. Who the fuck did he think he was forcing his way into my home? “Look I’ve just told you Simon…” I began.
“You and I are going to have a talk whether you like it or not.”
We were? I didn’t think so. I made a move to usher him out, but he suddenly thrust past me and kicked the door behind us with a slam.
“No! My boyfriend is here and he won’t…”
Simon tut-tutted at the transparency of the lie. “Now now Gemma! There weren’t any lights on when you came in. We both know that there’s no one here. And there’s no need to look so worried. As I said I just want to talk to you.”
Why when I first opened the door and saw it was him hadn’t I just slammed it in his face? I didn’t want him in my house, especially at this time of the night but something in me had baulked at making a scene. I now understood exactly what Laura had meant about an innate sense of social convention having crippled her ability to follow through on her instinct. Well I wasn’t Laura. I could live with a breach of good manners. I hadn’t invited him in and he wasn’t a guest. I wanted him the fuck out of my house.
“Simon,” I concentrated on keeping my voice level. “It’s late. I’m quite happy to talk about anything you want, but not here and not now.”
I might as well have saved my breath. He took a purposeful stride and went on into the kitchen. I followed him uncertainly and watched as he look a long look around.
“Very nice. Quaint these old cottages. Located in the heart of Wimbledon Village and offering spacious accommodation with all the charm of a bygone era.” His voice had taken on a sneering parody of Estate Agency Speak. “Equidistant from the station and…” He looked at the bottle of Merlot on the table. “Aren’t you even going to offer me a drink?”
“No, I’m not.”
“Well I’ll just have to help myself, then won’t I?” Reaching for the bottle, he lifted it to his lips and drank down greedily. He stood in front of the dresser and I took a position opposite him with my back to the fridge. We looked at one another across the width of the old pine table. He was wearing one of his pin-stripe suits, a white shirt with the top two buttons undone, and a pale-yellow silk tie at half-mast. His wet hair was plastered to his dripping face.
“I expect you’re wondering why I’m here Gemma? That’s if Gemma is your real name.” His tone was bitter, “Which I very much doubt.”
I didn’t answer. I was trying to steady my breathing and think my way out of the situation. It’s important to keep calm I told myself. Don’t let him see that you’re rattled. There’s no threat here, nothing to be afraid of because he says he just wants to talk to me. But how had he found me? It had to be that Laura, when they’d had their confrontation, had given away more of the truth than she’d thought. Or more than she’d told me. I batted away the treacherous notion. And as a result, somehow or another Simon had found out where I lived.
“Don’t want to tell me huh?” I was brought sharply back to the moment. “I saw you going into that bitch Laura’s flat and…” He registered the flash of surprise in my eyes and he laughed mirthlessly. “Oh yes. I’d just been thrown out on my ear by that patronising cow spouting bollocks about ethics and professionalism and so there I was sitting in my car and thinking about how I could get back at the stupid whore when who do I see but you.”
When I didn’t answer he said, “You were in there a fucking long time.”
He took another deep swig from the wine bottle and wiped his lips with the back of his hand. Something animalistic about the gesture made me shudder. My heart was thudding wildly. Steady I tol
d myself. You can handle him.
“Having a nice gossip about me, were you?” he asked. “Told her a load more lies about me did you?” His voice dropped to an insinuating note. “Or were you two getting cosy? Perhaps that’s what you’re both into?” The look he swept over my body made my skin crawl. “Invite me round next time. I like a bit of girl on girl.”
“Get out!” I yelled.
He smirked and lounged back against the dresser with his weight on his heels and his crotch pushed forward. “Oh I’m not going anywhere and I must say that I’m very surprised that a well-brought-up girl like you hasn’t asked me to sit down by now. Where are your manners?”
“Fuck off Simon,” I flashed back.
“So where were we? Ah yes I’m waiting outside. I watch you come out and get into that crappy old car of yours and then I follow you back here. It wasn’t difficult,” he sneered derisively. “You drive like an old woman.”
I winced. I’d been so proud of my new-found tracking and surveillance skills and yet I was the one who’d been tailed.
He began again. “So let’s start with who you really are.”
I said nothing.
“Not going to tell me are you? Well it shouldn’t be too difficult to find out.” He scanned the room and then swinging behind him gave a grunt of satisfaction as he caught sight of a sheaf of papers on a corner of the dresser. Topmost was my credit card bill. He pounced upon it and scrutinised the figures. “Dear oh dear. Someone’s been treating herself. Right let’s see the name…” He turned his attention to the top of the page. “Ms C. Pennhaligan,” he read aloud. “Now what does the C stand for I wonder? Claire? Cathy?” He raised an ironic eyebrow but the menace in his voice was unmistakable. “Oh I’ve got it. Cunt. That fits.”
“If you don’t get out right now,” I croaked, “I’ll call the police.”
“Oh I don’t think so,” Simon said and then turning casually to examine the contents of the dresser shelves behind him, he picked up a white china teacup ringed with violets that was part of a set that Grandma P. had owned. He examined it dispassionately and remarked, “Don’t like this. Not my style at all.”
Idly he played with the cup juggling it from hand to hand catching it like a ball and pretending to drop it. I made an abortive movement forward, but he waved me back. Then slowly and deliberately he allowed the cup to slip through his fingers and crash to the floor where it shattered into a dozen little pieces. I couldn’t suppress a cry of outrage.
“Oh sorry,” he said but there wasn’t an ounce of apology in his tone. “Careless of me. Oh and by the way there’ll be no police. I can’t see a phone in here which means that it has to be in the next room or upstairs. And I’m not at all convinced you’ll be able to get to it. Not till we’re through.”
I felt the hairs prickle on the back of my neck and a trickle of sweat run down between my breasts, but I made a concerted effort to subdue my mounting panic. I needed to get control of this situation. And fast.
“Look Simon.” My attempt at being calm and reasonable sounded hollow even to my own ears. “There’s nothing to be gained by this, by you being here. So I want you to leave. Now.”
His gaze was frigid. “What you want doesn’t concern me in the slightest. It’s what I want that matters. And I want answers.” He banged his fist down heavily on the table and the violence of the movement made me jump. “Who set you up to this?” he hurled the question. “Who are you working for?”
“No one,” I faltered.
“I’m beginning to lose my patience Miss C. Pennhaligan.” He snarled and reaching again for the bottle drained it in three long swallows. As he drank I could see a dribble of red wine make its way down on to his crumpled white shirt. It looked like a droplet of blood.
“Honestly Simon I…”
“Don’t fuck with me,” he shouted and there was real fury in his eyes.
I tried again but it was clear that the impulse that had driven him here in the first place was now intensifying. I was starting to feel really afraid of this man.
“I’m telling you the truth,” I returned shrilly. “I don’t work for anybody. I…”
“Lying bitch,” he yelled and a dab of spittle appeared at the corner of his mouth as he pressed on. “That offer you made on the Alwyn Road place wasn’t genuine was it?”
“No it wasn’t,” I admitted resignedly and raised my eyes reluctantly to meet his. What else could I have said? Desperately I tried to come up with some story that would placate him, at least for now and as my mind groped for ideas I became gradually conscious of a channel of heat coming from behind me, somewhere off to the right. I didn’t have time to compute it. Simon was back on the offensive.
“I bet you were feeling pretty pleased with yourself. Thought that you’d made a real fool out of me didn’t you? Well,” he spat. “I had my doubts about you from the word go. Turning up out of nowhere and interested in the house when there was no legitimate way you could have known about it.”
“Legitimate!” I shouted forgetting my fear now in blind indignation. “That’s rich coming from a crook like you. That house wasn’t ever on the open market. It was just a moneymaking scam for…”
I broke off as he stepped away from the dresser and lurched menacingly across at me. Panic threatened. My perspective of him had dramatically altered. I had known him to be vain and greedy but had believed his display of pride masked some deep-rooted male insecurity that could be dispelled only in the most ostentatious form of arrogance. I had dismissed Simon as essentially harmless. I realised now that I had got that very wrong indeed.
“And so what if it was?” he demanded. “It was all going very nicely until you and that interfering bitch Laura starting poking your noses in. Why couldn’t she mind her own fucking business? I was selling the houses wasn’t I? What difference did it make to her or that fucking firm she works for who I was selling them to?”
I should have kept quiet then. I shouldn’t have said another word. I knew that I was only antagonising him further but I just couldn’t stop myself. “But you weren’t getting the right money for the vendor, were you? You were lining your own pockets, getting enormous kickbacks from…” It was on the tip of my tongue to mention Chris, but I reined myself in at the last minute. “Whoever you were selling them to.”
“Ah,” he pounced on this. “So it must be Laura’s firm you’re working for! You’ve really set me up haven’t you? And now I’m about to lose my job all because of a fucking woman.”
The impetus of his anger moved him forwards around the table bringing him closer to where I stood. Measuring him with my eyes I saw a man as taut with tension as a tightly curled spring. A spring that was about to unravel. Something of my understanding must have transmitted itself to Simon as a consciousness flickered across his features. I witnessed a brief internal struggle where he weighed up whatever his own version of morality amounted to against the primitive need to strike out at what he believed was the perpetrator of his downfall. Opaqueness descended over his eyes and I knew then that a line had been crossed. This man was dangerous.
I knew that I’d never make it past him. He was blocking my exit to the hall. Leaning back as far as I could, I edged a step away from the fridge in the direction of the door to the garden. My brain worked feverishly. Had I unlocked the door when I first came in? I couldn’t remember. I didn’t think I had. But I couldn’t be sure. I felt derailed. I was losing my footing. I’d only ever before observed violence from afar. It was on a distant horizon. Something glimpsed but never experienced. In the comfortable security of my own world I had never yet looked it in the face. Now the landscape that I knew was shifting and I found myself ill-prepared to confront the new territory before me.
Both of us were watchful, both wanting to deduce from look or manner what the other would do next. Simon took another step towards me. I flinched and he laughed. He feigned
another step. The opaqueness had dispelled and there was now something even more unsettling in his eyes, a gleam of triumph as he scented my fear. Like a cat playing with a mouse he was enjoying the thrill of the hunt before lashing out.
He advanced again, took a step, a check back, and then another step. I inched away. I was pressed against the cooker now and suddenly I could feel a lick of heat upon my skin. I’d forgotten I’d turned the grill on. Simon appeared to have noticed nothing. Perhaps the effects of nearly a full bottle of red wine downed so quickly had deadened his senses. That and the magnitude of his anger. His focus was fully upon me. He was the hunter and I was the prey.
How had this got so out of hand? Why hadn’t I even considered the possibility that what I’d been doing had an inherent risk factor? I recognised now that until this point, my investigations into his affairs, into his life, had seemed like a game. I’d congratulated myself on my daring and nerve. I’d boldly and without scruple broken into his house and unlocked his secrets, perused the clues I’d discovered, and made what sense I could of the evidence. Now the game had come to an abrupt and terrifying finale. It was all too real. It was as if the energy I’d expended had been steadily escalating, gathering momentum to then turn traitor and work against me and ultimately to reach this climax.
Abruptly Simon made a stabbing movement towards me with his arm and laughed as he did so. He was alcohol and adrenalin fuelled. He’d discovered a new extreme sport, he had all the time in the world, and it felt good.
“Come on don’t be shy…”
His manner was coaxing and his arm snaked out to me again and this time close enough to make me recoil and cry out. Irrepressible tears started in my eyes, tears which he mistook for weakness. A look of derision lit up his face, his smile was both dismissive and salacious. But dimly I registered the fact that with this scorn came a relaxing of the threatening stance, a loosening of his body. His mouth was slack and his eyes were glazed. Oh Christ. He was getting turned on.