Luke Adams Boxset 1

by Dawson, H A

  Whilst it was possible, Megan sensed there was another reason for Saskia’s murder, something that would not come to the forefront of her mind. Earlier, she had sat quietly, breathed deeply, and concentrated on images of Saskia, searching for a trigger to the past. She had focused on Ron's home, her artwork, and even Verity, but nothing happened. Luke had told her he believed that he had found everything there was to find within the depths of Megan's mind and said that the rest of the information was either too hazy to interpret or blocked for a reason.

  It was infuriating. She slipped back into the present and started to sketch, and drew an outline of a hospital ward, this time focusing entirely on the soldier. There would be visitors: a pregnant wife, a young son, and his mother. A surgeon would be talking to the two women, while the little boy peered with bewilderment on his face at his father’s broken body. He would find it incomprehensible that his hero, someone he considered immortal, had only just avoided death.

  Megan dropped her pencil alongside the others and reached for her glass of orange juice. Taking a sip, she leaned into her chair and looked at Ben, who was tapping on his laptop keyboard at the sofa. Sensing her concentrated stare, their eyes locked.

  'The truth behind Frank Fox's death has never come out,' she said.

  'Oh?'

  'Yes, I rang Luke. He told me that the death was recorded as heart failure and was connected to the other health problems he had.'

  'Did anyone suspect anything at the time?'

  'No reason to. And even if they had, Jane would have put them off. She wouldn't have wanted Verity and Saskia to go to court.'

  Ben closed his laptop and clasping it under his arm strode to the dining table. 'But Verity and Saskia were still ostracized.'

  'Yes. Jane had nothing to do with either of them after Frank's death. I have a feeling it affected Saskia deeper than it did Verity.'

  'I wonder what she told the other kids.'

  She shook her head. 'No idea. I'm surprised that it's stayed secret for this long.'

  'The family must have known.'

  'I wonder why Ron kept quiet.'

  He lifted a pencil and rotated it between his fingers. 'I suppose he wouldn't have wanted Saskia's name tarnished.'

  'Do you think he loved her as much as everyone claims?'

  'Yes, why not?'

  'It just seems a bit strange given that we don’t think Saskia loved him.'

  'But she wanted to. Many cultures have arranged marriages, and over time, they learn to love. Saskia may have done so given time. She seemed an admirable person.'

  She chuckled. 'Admirable?'

  'Yes, I think so. She had done what she could for her family and wanted a bit of something for herself. No harm in that.'

  'But it was at the expense of her relationship with her sister.'

  'It would have corrected itself in time.'

  'I'm surprised that you think that way. I would have thought the fact Saskia married for money would have horrified you.'

  'It does a bit, but I can understand why she did it.'

  She hesitated. 'Going back to Ron . . . he had a hold over Saskia and Verity. Could he have blackmailed them?'

  'How . . . and why?'

  'I don't know. I have a strange suspicion . . . something I can't place. He could have treated them as he’d liked and he could have got away with it. The threat of exposing their secret would always be hanging over them.'

  'Hmm. I don't think Luke has anything on Ron, although I suppose it could be true. Do you think Saskia's relationship with him was strained?'

  'No, that's just it, I don't.' Megan ran her finger around the rim of her glass. 'I don't think that Saskia's guilt got the better of her and that she wanted to admit to what she had done. Although that's what the letters imply.'

  'So where does Ron fit in?'

  Megan shook her head.

  They sat, both pensive, both gazing at nothing in particular. Then the spell broke and his eyes wandered to her sketchbook. Feeling uncomfortable, she moved her arm to cover the drawing. It was work-in-progress and something she liked to keep private.

  'Can I see that?'

  'It's not finished.'

  'It doesn't matter. From what I’ve just seen it looks good.'

  'It's not.'

  Relenting to his desperation, she passed it across.

  He studied the incomplete drawing and then flicked back to the previous page. 'You're a natural. This is excellent.'

  'I don't think so.'

  'Oh come on. You have a wonderful way of portraying emotion.' He scanned the table. 'Are you working from a photograph?'

  'I prefer to work from memory. If I try too hard I don't work from the heart.'

  He stared at the hospital scene.

  She wanted him to turn away and stop his analysing, but at the same time, she wanted his praise.

  'I would like to see Saskia's work. She had a similar style, didn't she?'

  She nodded. 'Her drawings are good. At least the one I saw was. They are worth quite a bit too. After her disappearance, Ron handed some of them to the gallery. One sold for a few hundred pounds, and that was years ago.'

  'How do you know this?'

  'Luke told me.'

  'Wow. And to think, that you have Saskia's spirit . . . and talent.'

  She crossed her legs and folded her arms. 'Don't say that.'

  'Why not? It's true.'

  'I'm not Saskia. My memories come from my mother. She must have told me stories.'

  'I can understand that you don't want to-'

  ‘Saskia killed her father. I am not Saskia!'

  'She had good points too . . . she was hardworking and caring.'

  His words faded into oblivion. Burdened by memories of her wrongdoings, she shuffled to the kitchen with her empty glass. Her head hung low, her mind active, and her guilt present. Was this the way it had been for Saskia? How did she manage to cope with her remorse?

  She turned around to return to the living area, and since she was absorbed in her contemplations, she bounced into David’s frame.

  He smirked at her then spoke in little more than a whisper. 'If you want to touch me, just ask.'

  'Leave it, David.'

  He leaned closer. She backed off. His breath was warm on her face.

  'I have more pictures. Want to see?'

  'Oh grow up!'

  She pushed him aside and stepped to the sink. He was looking at her, no doubt imagining her naked body, and he was leering. His tongue slid across his upper lip, and he reached to his crotch. She wanted to shrink away and felt exposed and vulnerable and her skin crawled.

  She turned on the tap, and the water plunged into the mug. Determined to appear untroubled, she took a swig of cool refreshing water and stared at the white tiles with flecks of blue.

  He pressed himself into her back. 'I've some excellent photos. You'll like them. You might want to frame them.'

  'You do that,' she said, tussling free. 'I'm sure Ben would like to see.'

  She did not linger, and banged the glass onto the draining board and stomped into the living room. She plonked onto the sofa, and keeping a rigid posture chewed her lip and glared at the carpet. Out of her eye corner, she could tell Ben was looking at her. He seemed anxious and peered at David as he wandered by the doorway and headed upstairs. He must know something had just happened - her voice had been loud enough. He should have reacted. He was a damned coward.

  Fighting a desire to complain, she searched for a solution. It was clear that Ben was not going to assist, so she would have to tackle David herself. She could either be more assertive or disinterested. Bullies got bored, apparently. But how long would that take? Whether she squirmed or appeared impassive, David always seemed amused and delighted.

  His behaviour was perverted. What kind of upbringing had he received? Was it because he had been without a female influence in his life? Catching sight of Ben, she felt a surge of disappointment mingle with disgust. Ultimately, David’s beh
aviour was due to his upbringing. Ben should have raised him better.

  Drawn to the image of the little boy on the mantelpiece, her heart shuddered and caused her to reconsider her musings. Shutting her eyes, she craved the sensation of Joshua's small, warm body pressing into hers, and craved his small voice crying out her name. She remembered the agony of his persistent tears and screams, and she thought of her failing tolerance. She had reached for another glass of lager, her desire to dull the sounds, but worst of all, for a split-second, she had wished him away.

  Perhaps she was in no position to judge Ben after all.

  'What's wrong?'

  Megan jerked and stared at Ben, who stood by her side. 'Nothing's wrong.'

  'Did David upset you?'

  'No. He hasn't upset me.'

  The instant the words left her mouth she was incensed, and couldn't understand why she was defending him. She was just about to change her mind and tell Ben what had happened when she saw his look of relief. He was muttering something, telling her that he was grateful that she was giving him leeway, but she was too enraged with herself to listen to his empty words. She had missed her opportunity, missed the one and only time that Ben had admitted David could have done wrong. She was such an idiot.

  'I've an idea,' he said. ‘How about we visit Frank's grave? You could leave some flowers.'

  'That's a wonderful idea.'

  'If it’s ok, I'll go with you. I can do a bit of shopping at the supermarket close to the graveyard.'

  It was a good idea. It would give her day some purpose and prevent her from wallowing in self-pity. 'Let's do it.'

  Arm in arm, Megan and Ben stepped away from the house and headed towards the market square. The cries from the stallholders drew their attention, raising their interest. Deciding to look, they waited for a gap in the traffic, skipped across the road, and joined the gathering crowd.

  Ben wandered to the greengrocery stall while Megan proceeded to a flower stall. Having decided to purchase a small spray and something with a good mix of colours, she scanned the roses and carnations amongst others that she could not name, and she looked at the pre-prepared bundles at the rear. There were some bunches that combined the darker buds with whites - these seemed to be more appropriate for a male lover - and others that seemed a little too feminine and combined shades of pink with reds. Disheartened, she stepped along the front of the stall to the other side and was wondering what she should do when she spotted an appropriate mix. It had the right combination of colours and was the right size. She made her purchase and strode back to Ben.

  After a few moments, they’d seen all they had wanted to see, and started to the graveyard, passing a row of attractive stone houses with patterned brickwork and clean well-maintained exteriors. Most of the gardens were small with manicured lawns and narrow flower borders. One, though, was larger than the others were and had a trampoline in the garden. The screams of joy from the little girl were explicit. She threw herself into the air and landed on her backside, bursting into laughter.

  Megan grinned, 'I quite fancy a go at that myself.'

  'You're a big kid at heart?'

  'I am. They have all the fun.'

  'When we have our own, we'll get a trampoline and you can bounce on it until your heart's content.'

  She tensed. 'I didn’t think you wanted any more children?'

  'For sure. Don't you?'

  'I . . . I'm not sure I can.'

  'You never said.'

  She passed him a nervous look.

  'I thought you were on the pill.'

  She thrust her hands into her pockets and advanced ahead.

  'Megan?'

  Her heart was thumping so loud, she was sure Ben would be able to hear it. She should tell him the truth and let him know she could never be responsible for another human being again. Instead, yet regrets trapped her explanation.

  He waited for an answer.

  'You have David,' she said.

  'Yes, but I always wanted more. I thought you did too.'

  'I don't.'

  Puzzlement lined his face.

  She quickened her steps, unable to voice her explanation aloud, and tried to remove the discomfort from her mind. Yet the words circulated, wild and rampant. She was unfit to be a mother. It could never happen again; she wouldn’t allow it.

  He seemed to accept her silence and didn’t question her any further, and they continued their journey without conversation. Nevertheless, her gait stiffened, her breathing tightened, and she was unable to look him in the eye. She knew she should be telling him the truth, but it was too painful and shameful to consider.

  Sighting the graveyard was a relief. He kissed her goodbye and said he would return in about half an hour. Freed of her tension, she strode to Frank Fox's gravestone in a calmer state.

  As she placed the spray of flowers onto the grave, her guilt deepened. It was an inexplicable emotion; she did not know this man, yet at the same time felt a deep connection and visualised happy childhood memories. She sat on his lap, she ran to greet him, and she felt his warm breath lingering on her young face when he tucked her in bed.

  Weighted by sorrow, she crouched to the ground.

  'Dad's dead,’ Verity had said.

  Sickness rose to her throat. She looked at the inscription on the stone - 'a loving father and husband' – and she listened to the muffled cries of mourning. His death had been an avoidable loss to his family, a heartbreaking occasion.

  Footsteps sounded at her rear.

  She turned and smiled. 'Hello, Larry. What are you doing here?'

  'I should ask you the same! I was walking to a friend's house. I thought it was you.'

  'I had to come. Saskia would have wanted me to.'

  'Do you know what happened?'

  She perched on a bench and gazed over to a hedge across the graveyard. ‘I was told he was ill . . . took an overdose of Senna.'

  'Senna? Are you sure?'

  'Yes.'

  She stared at the gravestone, pondering her scant memories and blanking out the intrusive sound of passing traffic. She felt sure there was more to learn about Saskia’s life, and whilst the thought of her having the memories in the depths of her mind was a terrifying thought, she remained curious.

  Larry interrupted her musings. 'Do you believe in reincarnation?

  She spun to face him. 'No, that's not it. My mother was from around here. She told me of stories before I was adopted.'

  He did not reply.

  ‘It’s not reincarnation.’

  He nodded. 'Remember how you said Verity was with Ron first? Well, I was thinking about that and I remembered that she moved in with Ron and Saskia for a while. I think it was just after Frank's death.'

  'Really?'

  'Yes. I was in the pub and I heard the lads talking. Verity still fancied Ron and used to walk around the house naked, right under Saskia's nose. I think that got her kicked out in the end.'

  'Good Lord! She never knew when to quit, did she?'

  'Apparently not.'

  'What else do you remember?'

  'Nothing . . . that’s all that has come to me.'

  ‘All they ever seemed to do was argue. Did I tell you that Verity tried to sabotage Saskia's wedding day?'

  He shook his head.

  'She made Saskia ill – I think to stop the ceremony. But whatever she’d administered affected her too late. She was at the altar when she got the runs.’

  'That's awful, although it sounds like something she’d do. I wouldn't put anything past that woman.'

  She did not reply.

  'I'd keep well out of the way if I were you.'

  A thirty-something man and a similarly aged woman strode into the graveyard and progressed to a gravestone a little distance away. They seemed relaxed, chatted easily, and showed no signs of bereavement or sorrow.

  'Did you enjoy the gallery?' Larry asked.

  'Yes, I did. Sorry for rushing out. Someone was following me. I had to find out who
it was.'

  'That's okay. Did you catch them?'

  'Yes. It was Verity. She was acting strangely . . . insisted on walking me home.'

  He stared inquisitively.

  'Don't worry. It was nothing.'

  'As long as you're sure.'

  'I am. I might be in danger, but I'm not going to stop living my life. I have things to do, people to see.'

  'I like your attitude. You're not easily intimidated.'

  She hesitated, thoughtful. 'I guess not.'

  'What did you think about Saskia's painting?'

  'It was impressive . . . life like.'

  'They have others . . . they rotate them. I'm sure if you asked they would get them out.'

  'It's okay. I’m not in any rush and I’m sure I'll get to see them eventually.'

  'Saskia had some others that the gallery doesn't have. Do you know where she hid them?'

  'Why would I know?'

  He leaned towards her, his body stiffening and his eyes darkening. 'You seem to know a lot about her.'

  Was he annoyed with her? Did he think she lied?

  She spoke in a perplexed tone. 'I don't know anything about any other paintings.'

  'I'm sure you do, just think.'

  Baffled, her eyes flitted around the graveyard and to the adjacent houses. As she did so, she caught sight of a moving figure and learned it was Ben. Relieved, she announced her departure, ignoring his strained expression, and trotted across to meet him. She flung her arms around his body and gave him a quick kiss.

  'What's that for?'

  'Because I love you.'

  'And I love you too.'

  Walking away, she passed Larry a quick glance. He remained in position, glowering and tense.

  Chapter 24

  The persistent sound of the ring tone played in Luke's ear, increasing his irritation and frustration. There was no doubt in his mind that Sarah was avoiding him, as he had rung so many times, both during work hours and at various points during the previous evening that her excuse, the one she had so often in the past regarding working could no longer be true.