Propping him against the pillow, she fussed and fretted. ‘Comfortable now, are you?’ she asked. ‘Don’t go slipping down the bed, will you, eh?’ A crooked smile creased her worn features. ‘Sometimes I wonder if you’re more trouble than you’re worth.’
The smile gave way to a frown. ‘Now then, let me see.’ Returning the hairbrush to the suitcase, she took out a sheaf of papers, her voice a thin wail as she accused, ‘You thought it was all forgotten, didn’t you? After all this time, you thought you had got away with it.’ Shaking the papers under his nose, she taunted, ‘Well, you reckoned without me, old man! Because I won’t ever let you forget. It’s all here, written down and kept safe in Julianne’s suitcase.’
Shoving the papers back, she brought the lid down and turned the lock. ‘There’s nothing missing. It’s all here, in her own beautiful hand, in every little detail. All the terrible, wicked things you did.’
He peeked at her, and in that peculiar way he had, one eyebrow went up and the side of his mouth gently twitched, as if he was trying to smile.
But this time she didn’t lose her temper. Instead she laughed out loud. ‘You can look at me any way you like, old man,’ she told him. ‘And you can wonder too. I want you to wonder. I want you to worry until your head feels as if it might explode.’ Her voice quietened and her eyes grew dull. ‘As long as you never forget,’ she murmured. ‘That’s why I’m here, to make certain you never forget.’
Before she let herself out of his room, she leaned over him, her face close, her gaze melting into those confused, frightened eyes. ‘When I’m done with you, and we’re both in hell, don’t think it ends there, old man, because it won’t.’ Her voice invaded his senses. ‘When the time comes, this suitcase will be in the hands of the newspapers. It’s all arranged. I’ve left no stone unturned.’ She chuckled gleefully. ‘They have to know, don’t they? People have a right to know. The newspapers will see to that. When they print the truth, the whole world will know your shame!’
She fell back, breathless and spent. ‘I can’t even bear to be near you,’ she rasped, ‘but I gave my promise, and I’m bound by it.’ Agony shaped her words. ‘Day and night, every hour I must keep watch. Making sure you never forget. Keeping the other one away.’ A deep, shivering sigh shook her whole body. ‘It’s good to see you suffer, old man. To know that she’s suffering too.’
As the door closed behind her, the echo of her voice sent him back over the years, to when he was young. His dark, troubled gaze shifted to the door. He hadn’t forgotten.
‘Julianne.’
Oh, but that was a lifetime ago.
In her room, Ida checked that the suitcase was locked. ‘Silly old fool,’ she chuckled. ‘Just like his son. All these years I’ve kept the evidence here, right under his nose, and he never knew.’
She was still chuckling when, without warning, a blow struck her from behind. Like a felled ox she crumpled to the ground. There was no groan, no sound of any kind. For a long moment the room was cloaked in a deadly silence. She lay twisted on the carpet, seemingly lifeless, her fingers clutching the handle of the suitcase as though it meant more to her than life itself.
The intruder stared down at her, bright, hateful eyes boring into her face, taking time to witness her helplessness. Satisfied now, the eyes crinkled into a smile. There was a small sound, like a laugh, yet not like anything human, and the hands reached down, prising her fingers from the suitcase. Then, sighing deeply, like someone in despair, the intruder went away, suitcase in hand.
When first she opened her eyes, Ida couldn’t remember. She tried to sit up but the pain was crippling. Rolling over, she stared round the room, at the open wardrobe. Suddenly she knew, and the knowledge gave her the strength of ten men.
Some distance away, in her pretty rose cottage, Eileen was just settling down to her tea. The scones were baked and warm on the table, and she had just finished making herself a cheese and pickle sandwich. The kettle was on the boil and, after a busy day – all morning at the Fellowes’ house, then another two hours behind the post office counter – she was starving hungry. On top of that, her feet felt like two hot potatoes.
When the phone rang, she was in the middle of pouring boiling water into the teapot. Cursing under her breath, she quickly finished the task, put the lid on the teapot and covered it with the cosy.
Running into the hall, she grabbed up the phone. ‘Eileen speaking.’ Her gaze strayed to the kitchen table where her tea was set out and looking inviting. Her stomach rumbled so much she was certain they could hear it on the other end of the line. At first there was no answer. ‘Hello. Who is this?’ Anxiety coloured her voice. There had been so many mystery calls in this area lately.
Alone in her room, Ida struggled to speak. ‘Ei… leen…’ Gripped with pain, she forced herself to go on. ‘Come quick… it’s… Ida…’
In no time at all, Eileen had rushed to the house, dressed Ida’s wound and checked the old man was safe in his bed. He was, though he seemed unusually agitated. ‘He probably senses something wrong,’ she told Ida, ‘but he’s all right. You’re not to worry about him.’
After that, and in spite of Ida’s protests, she called the police.
Ida saw them arrive. ‘I don’t want them here,’ she grumbled, ‘poking and prying.’ But that wasn’t the only reason she didn’t want the police involved. There were other things here that the outside world must never suspect.
Frantic at the loss of her precious suitcase, she wondered about the identity of the thief. She had her own ideas, but they could wait. For now, she wanted her suitcase back. That was all. Nothing else mattered.
Dave remained hidden on the slip road. He waited until the police car was out of sight, then he drove out, on to the main road and away. ‘That was a close thing,’ he muttered. Then he turned the radio on and filled his mind with music.
9
Libby looked at him across the breakfast table. His head was down, his hands pushed into his hair; staring at the table, he hadn’t heard a word she’d said.
‘Dave!’
He jerked his head up, the beginnings of a grin on his mouth. ‘Sorry, sweetheart. What did you say?’
Out of patience, she glared at him. ‘What the devil’s wrong with you?’ she snapped. ‘You’ve been edgy all weekend, and now you’re miles away again. It’s getting impossible to hold a conversation with you.’ Scraping her chair back, she stormed out of the kitchen. ‘Oh, forget it! I’d better get the children to school.’ With that she slammed out of the house, to the car where the children were already waiting.
‘What’s the matter, Mummy?’ Daisy had heard the arguments over the weekend and it worried her.
‘Nothing,’ Libby lied. ‘We’re late, that’s all.’ She started the engine, slammed the gear into first and drove off like someone demented.
At the junction she almost went through a red light; a car came hurtling from the other direction, with the driver shaking his fist and mouthing bad language at her. It was a sobering experience. After that she slowed down and was able to think more clearly.
In spite of his denials, she knew something bad was troubling Dave. Either he had another woman, in which case she would show him the door however much it hurt her and the kids, or there was something else on his mind. Something so worrying that he couldn’t even talk to her about it.
She wondered if Jack might know and, with that in mind, she decided to take an hour off this morning, if May agreed.
‘You take as long as you like,’ May told her later. ‘If he’s got another woman, you need to know, and if he hasn’t you need to know that as well.’ Always a philosopher was May.
Smiling to herself, Libby dialled the agency number.
‘I’ll do that if you’re worried about being recognised,’ May offered.
Libby told her it was all right because so far she and the new secretary had not exchanged words. ‘She won’t know me from Adam,’ she said confidently.
All th
e same, when someone answered at the other end, she tried to disguise her voice. ‘I’d like to speak to Jack Arnold, please.’
‘Of course. Who shall I say is calling?’
Libby thought the new secretary had an intriguing voice. ‘It’s a private matter.’ Turning, she winked at May, who put her thumb up in a triumphant gesture.
When Jack came on the line, Libby waited a second or two in case the secretary might still be listening. ‘Jack, don’t say a word,’ she pleaded, ‘it’s Libby. I need to see you, and I don’t want Dave to know.’
There was a brief silence on the other end while Jack recovered from the shock. ‘I’m sure I could manage that, sir,’ he answered authoritatively. ‘If you’ll just give me the address.’
‘Boots coffee shop in Milton Keynes,’ she said. ‘It’s tucked away upstairs, so I think we’ll be safe enough there.’
‘I’m sure I’ll find it, sir,’ came the reply. ‘What time were you thinking of?’
‘Half an hour?’
‘Yes, sir. Leave it with me.’ At that moment Dave called him into the back office, so he put the receiver down hastily. ‘That’s another viewing,’ Jack lied, thinking he was about to be questioned. ‘But I wouldn’t put much on it. As far as I can tell it’s some rundown place on the far side of…’ Realising Dave wasn’t even listening, he paused. ‘Dave?’
‘What?’
‘Why did you call me in here?’
Fumbling through the papers on his desk, Dave said without looking up, ‘It’s my drawer key. You haven’t seen it, have you? Only I can’t get into my drawer and there are some important papers I need to look at.’
‘Sorry. Not guilty.’ Shrugging his shoulders, Jack collected a folder from his desk, made his excuses and parted.
A moment later Dave found the key. But it wasn’t where he had left it.
When she saw Jack emerge from the escalator, Libby gave a sigh of relief. She waved to him and he hurried over. ‘I’ve only been here a few minutes myself,’ she said. ‘I took the liberty of getting you a pot of tea and a sandwich, if that’s all right.’
‘You’re a girl after my own heart, sure yer are,’ he laughed. Taking off his coat he laid it across the back of the chair. ‘Now then, me beauty, what’s bothering yer?’
Between tea and sandwiches, Libby told him. ‘I don’t know how to deal with it,’ she confessed. ‘We don’t seem to talk any more, and when I do manage to get him into a conversation, his mind is elsewhere.’ She blushed, but went on anyway. ‘We used to make love regularly, but not any more. We get in bed and he turns his back on me. I can’t get through to him, Jack, and I’m afraid.’ She lowered her voice to an almost inaudible whisper. ‘I don’t want our marriage to fall apart, Jack.’
‘Aw, come on now, Libby. You two are more in love than a newly married couple. How can it fall apart?’
‘It did once before.’
‘Yer joshing me!’ He looked shocked.
‘We kept it quiet for obvious reasons, but we went through a very bad patch.’ She leaned closer. ‘He was seeing another woman. At first I swore I’d never take him back, but I love him and, well, it wasn’t all his fault. I have to take some of the blame.’
Jack stared at her. ‘Dave was seeing another woman? I can’t believe it. Why, the man has eyes for nobody but you. Anyone can see he’s mad for yer.’
‘Don’t lie to me, Jack.’
‘I’m not lying. He’s head over heels in love with yer.’ The tiny glimmer of a smile lit his eyes. ‘Sure, it’s disgusting, so it is.’
‘Answer me truthfully, Jack. Is he cheating on me? And please, Jack, don’t cover for him.’
Jack took a drink of his tea, then, with slow deliberation, he put his cup on the saucer. ‘I swear to you, Libby, yer man has no time for any other woman. He loves yer like I’ve never seen a man love a woman before. Believe me, you and the young ’uns are his life.’
She believed him. ‘Well, if there’s no other woman, what’s wrong with him?’
Jack thought about that. ‘Now yer come to say, he is a bit absent-minded lately. Just now, he was frantically searching for his drawer key. I’ve never known him lose anything before. His desk is in a turmoil and, like yer say, yer can be talking to him and suddenly he’s not listening any more.’
‘Oh, Jack. Is he ill, do you think?’
Jack shook his head. ‘No, I don’t think he’s ill. But he knows something we don’t know, and I’ll tell yer what, me beauty. I mean to find out what it is.’
‘Follow him, Jack. Watch his every move. If he’s in some kind of trouble, I want to know.’
It was decided. At home, Libby would try by every means she knew how to find out what was playing on his mind. At work, Jack would do the same.
10
The two women walked up the path together. ‘I’ve worked here fifteen years,’ remarked the older one, a stout person with flyaway hair and a big round face. ‘I’ve brought my family up on the wages I’ve earned here, and I’ve made some good friends over the years, but I’m always glad to see the back of it. By! It’s a grim-looking place and no mistake.’ Shuddering, she averted her eyes from the building before them. ‘Never a day goes by when I don’t thank my lucky stars I’m shut inside for only ten hours a day. Not like them poor souls who, through no fault of their own, are bound to end their days here.’
Her companion had only been working here for the past month and was still learning the ropes. A small, pretty thing with short fair hair, her eyes roved over the building. ‘I think it’s got a grand look, and anyway, you can’t blame the building for what’s inside. It’s people that cause misery in this world, not bricks and mortar. Besides, where would these sorry creatures go if there weren’t places like Broadfields?’
The older woman regarded her with interest. ‘I hadn’t looked at it that way,’ she admitted. ‘Yes, I expect you’re right when all’s said and done. One way or another I suppose this place does keep the inmates safe from the outside world.’
‘They are patients, Maggie,’ the young woman reminded her. ‘Matron would blow her top if she heard you call them inmates.’
The older woman chuckled. ‘You don’t mince your words, do you, Sara?’ she said. ‘You young ’uns have more tongue than the cat licks its arse with.’
‘Sorry.’ She wasn’t though.
‘Aw, it’s all right. You’ve every right to your opinion, but I still think the poor buggers are more inmates than patients. I mean, some of them don’t have family to visit or take them out, do they? They don’t have anybody but us, and all we’ve got time for is to ask if they’ve had their bowels open, or pass the time of day while we change their beds or wheel them to the toilet. You can’t even do that with the ones who are bedridden or have lost their faculties.’
‘I know.’
Maggie shook her head and sighed. ‘It’s a cruel world. We all do our best but in the end it’s never enough. As for Matron not wanting us to call them inmates, all I can say is, some of them poor devils are shut away in there until the day they die, and if that’s not being an inmate, I don’t know what is.’ She brought her gaze to the building. ‘All the same, I do see what you mean,’ she conceded. ‘Now that I look at it, there is something about the place that makes you feel it’ll be here for ever.’
The grey stone building was two storeys high, with fluted chimneys and many long narrow windows. The main entrance was high and arched, with the original solid oak door. Outside, there were lawns and flowerbeds, and walkways flanked with tall, bulbous-headed lamps. Here and there, the path led into small, paved nooks, with flowerpots and a bench where the more fortunate ones could sit and chat with their loved ones. In the winter, like now, it was a dead place. When summer came, the flowers opened, the birds returned, and it was a colourful, lovely place.
Over the years there had been much renovation, and only recently every stone and artefact had been meticulously cleaned. But, deep down, under the skin, the essential chara
cter of the place had not changed. Built in Victorian times to house lunatics and grave offenders, Broadfields was still used for treating the mentally sick. These included both those who had broken down under the stress of modern living but would one day probably be able to resume their lives and those who, for whatever reason, had lost their way and seemed destined never to live a normal life outside the walls of the institution.
Matron was there as usual, tapping her watch and scowling. ‘Come along, there’s work to be done.’ She tutted and fussed, and when her bleeper sounded, she switched it off with a groan, turned on her heel and hurried away.
‘Same sweet mood as ever,’ Maggie laughed. ‘Why does she always act as if we’re late?’ She looked at the wall clock. ‘We’ve ten minutes yet.’
‘Time for a fag.’
‘Haven’t you given them things up yet? What happened to your New Year resolution?’
‘Went up in smoke.’
Maggie burst out laughing. ‘You little sod!’
In the staff room they changed into their auxiliary uniforms. Taking a newspaper out of her bag, Sara laid it down on the table. ‘There’s been another attack at that place near Ampthill.’
‘Oh?’ Maggie picked up the newspaper and began flicking through it. ‘I did hear something about it but I try not to listen. I’d rather not know about these things. Living on my own, it frightens me.’
Tying up her shoelaces, Sara went on regardless. ‘First the restaurant owner was murdered, and now his wife’s been attacked. Somebody tried to smash her skull in.’
‘Dreadful!’
‘That article says it might have been the same person who killed her husband.’
Her interest aroused, Maggie quickly scanned the article. ‘Good God!’
‘What’s wrong?’
Dropping into a seat, Maggie seemed shocked to the core. ‘I didn’t realise.’ She would have said more, but suddenly the door was flung open and there stood Matron. She didn’t say a word. She didn’t have to. Her face said it all.
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