“I’m sorry, Mr Harrison. I must confess, as soon as you told me about Ashley, I realised the mistake, but I was just too curious. You see, nothing much exciting happens around here, apart from Bridge and the odd charity appearance. So, of course, when a handsome celebrity such as you arrives on my doorstep, telling me you wanted to talk about Ashley. Well, I couldn’t resist. Please forgive me,” she said.
Rupert smiled politely. He felt hurt, angry. “No, it’s okay. It’s my fault, really, for not checking the facts before rushing over here.”
Mrs Marshall smiled like a proud mother. “If it’s any consolation, I’m sure I would have been delighted to learn that that beautiful woman I saw you with was my girl, and you her fiancé.”
Rupert smiled warmly. “Thank you.” He sighed. “Well, I guess I have already wasted enough of your time. I’d better be on my way.”
“Oh no, please, won’t you stay and finish your tea?”
Rupert considered this and smiled, “Well, I wouldn’t want to intrude.”
“It would be my pleasure,” Mrs Marshall smiled.
“Of course.”
They drank their tea in silence and then the idea popped into Rupert’s head, he dismissed it but it returned.
Before he knew it, he was speaking, “Mrs Marshall, would it be possible to see a recent picture of your daughter?”
She shrugged, “Well, I suppose so. Although I don’t have any very recent pictures, just a few she sent a couple of years back.”
“That would be fine,” Rupert said.
He was finding it difficult to accept that this had all been some cruel coincidence.
Then he heard Mrs Marshall ask, “Would you like to see her room?” When she noticed the surprise on his face, she added with a smile, “They always say that in the movies, don’t they?”
Rupert smiled, “Sure.”
When Mrs Marshall turned on the light, it illuminated a spacious room with maroon coloured walls adorned with posters of book covers.
The bed wore a black quilt with gold pentagram style symbols all over it. A heap of teddy bears sat on the floor nearby, and shelves loaded with paperback books ran the length of one wall.
“She liked to read, especially after her father’s death,” Mrs Marshall offered.
Rupert smiled. “May I?” he asked, gesturing into the room.
“Of course.”
Rupert walked over to the bookshelf to find an array of supernatural and horror novels. He recognised most of the authors; they were published by Harrison.
He looked up.
The woman smiled, warmly, “One of the reasons why your name meant something to me.”
He walked passed an arched window that ensured that this Ashley awoke every morning to a majestic view of the river.
“When’s the last time you saw your daughter, Mrs Marshall?”
She pondered the question. “I wouldn’t know exactly, but it has been quite a few years now.”
“You must miss her.”
“I do. We may have rarely seen eye to eye, but she’s still my daughter.” She nodded at a heavy looking dresser, “The pictures are over there,” she said, as if she were afraid to approach them.
Rupert walked over to the dresser where everything seemed in place, as if the girl still lived here; hairbrush, perfume, makeup, all stood eagerly awaiting their use. Beside them was a selection of photo frames of all shapes and sizes.
Mrs Marshall joined Rupert and picked up a heart-shaped silver frame. In it, a young lady, with spiky blonde hair and a nose stud, pulled a fake smile for the camera; this was Ashley Marshall. She was stocky, wore cargo pants and a white T-shirt.
Rupert looked up; Mrs Marshall forced the smile of a mother who wasn’t exactly proud of, but grateful for, the daughter she did have.
He almost apologised to her, but didn’t know why. Maybe it was the way she had spoken to him downstairs, maybe it was the way she wished that his Ashley, the woman he loved, was her daughter.
It felt as if Mrs Marshall had had nothing but hurt from this stranger whose picture he was holding.
He replaced it amongst the other photo frames and picked up another; a little girl in a lilac dress, playing somewhere outside by the trees.
“Ten years old.” Mrs Marshall offered. “She was an angel then.”
Some of the other pictures were taken a few years later. A class photo, one of Ashley riding a bike with her father in the background, another of her staring at the camera with a sulky look on her face, and one with her arm around another girl.
“She looks very happy,” Rupert said.
“She was,” Mrs Marshall replied, thoughtfully, “until she lost her father, then everything changed.”
“I’m sorry.”
“You don’t have to be sorry,” she said with a motherly smile, “From what I hear, you have had your own share of unhappiness.”
They shared an empathetic look, then Rupert sighed and said, “I’d better get going.”
“Of course. I’ll see you out.”
They walked down the stairs in silence until they reached the front door. Mrs Marshall opened it and a bitter cold wind licked at them both.
“They’ve forecast snow,” she said, looking out into the early stages of night.
“That would explain the cold,” Rupert said and then added, gratefully, “Thank you for seeing me today.”
She smiled her motherly smile, “Thank you for coming over, it was a true pleasure to meet you. I’m only sorry you didn’t find what you were looking for.
“Me too,” Rupert said. “Please take care of yourself.”
“You too.”
Mrs Marshall watched Rupert climb behind the wheel of his car and pull the door shut.
He took a few moments to gather his thoughts. What exactly had just happened here? What had happened was that the investigator he had hired had failed him, and made Rupert look like a complete fool!
He felt angry, very angry because he had been instrumental in resurrecting painful memories for a complete stranger. In fact, now that he sat in the freezing cold of his car, the reality of what he had just done sunk in. What the hell had possessed him to walk into that woman’s house, march into that little girl’s room and then start looking through her things…
…That is when it occurred to him; the pictures.
He leapt out of the car and back up the steps where the door had been closed once more. He rapped on it urgently until Mrs Marshall reappeared.
Rupert gave her no time to think, he said, “The pictures!”
“I’m sorry?”
“The pictures, Mrs Marshall, may I see them again?”
“Why, of course,” she said utterly bemused. She stood aside, and Rupert darted up the stairs and into Ashley’s bedroom. He rushed over to the dresser, picked up the photo of Ashley and her friend and studied it; it was a faded colour picture, taken many years before judging by the clothes the two girls were wearing. Both must have been in their early teens, and were leaning on each other as they smiled at the camera.
Rupert studied the faces; Ashley with the straggly blonde hair and her friend, the one with the unforgettable pixie nose and dark hair. The picture was taken from a distance and was blurry, making it difficult to make out eye colour, but that face looked too familiar to him.
Mrs Marshall appeared in the doorway. Rupert turned to her and asked, without taking his eyes off the photo, “Where is she now?”
“I told you, somewhere in Australia.”
Rupert shook his head. “No, not Ashley, her.” He pointed at the other girl, “Ashley’s friend.”
Mrs Marshall frowned and took the photo from him, “I don’t know.”
“Do you remember her name?” He asked.
“Well, of course, I remember her name; it’s Tracey, Tracey Skelton. She was Ashley’s best friend. They were inseparable as children. They even used to read to each other.”
“Harrison books?” Rupert asked.
&n
bsp; Mrs Marshall frowned again, “I suppose so, yes.”
“Tracey,” Rupert whispered, running his finger down the image of the girl.
“What is this all about?”
“What else can you tell me about this girl?”
“What else do you want to know?”
“Where does she live?”
“Mr Harrison…”
“…Please,” Rupert supplicated, “it’s very important.”
She observed him, carefully. “Well, she used to live on a farm just outside of Fordwich until the incident.”
Rupert looked up. “What incident?”
Mrs Marshall was about to speak but caught herself. “I’m sorry, it was such a long time ago, I really can’t recall.”
“Please,” he urged.
She thought about this and he saw a struggle behind her eyes, he could tell that the woman knew something, but couldn’t decide whether or not to tell him about it.
Eventually, she said with deep sadness, “All I can tell you is that when they took that little girl away, it broke Ashley’s heart.”
“What happened, Mrs Marshall? What happened to Tracey?” Rupert prompted.
The woman hesitated as tears brimmed in her eyes, then, suddenly, she shook her head decisively. “No, I’m sorry; I really can’t tell you any more.”
“Mrs Marshall…”
“…No, I can’t,” she said firmly.
Rupert was about to press the issue, but his experience as a negotiator told him that this meeting was over. He handed the photo back to her and smiled.
“Thank you anyway. You’ve been a great help.”
She nodded, stoically.
At the front door, they were greeted by snowflakes dancing in the porch light against a backdrop of darkness.
“Thank you for everything, Mrs Marshall,” Rupert said, warmly.
“I’m sorry I couldn’t help you anymore,” she offered.
Rupert smiled and left.
As he pulled the car door open, she called to him, “Mr Harrison?”
He turned around and looked up to see her standing on the doorstep as a gale tugged at her silky silver hair. “Say hello to Tracey, won’t you, please.”
Rupert smiled and got into his car once more.
He picked up his mobile phone and dialled Open Eyes Investigations Ltd.
A woman answered, and told him that Graham wouldn’t be in until later in the evening. Rupert asked her to take a message, told her he had an urgent job, and that he needed Graham to investigate. He said, he wanted the same again, only this time the name was Skelton, Tracey Skelton, of Fordwich.
He was about to hang up, but then added, “Oh, and please tell him that this time, I’d like the premium service.”
He disconnected the call, started the car and drove off, into the falling snow.
59 Foxberry Hall
The drive to Foxberry Hall was long.
To Rachel, it felt as if they had been driving for hours. They were heading southwest of London, as the snow fell, heavily, in front of the car’s headlights.
“How much further is it?” she asked.
“Any second now,” Jason said, intently studying the road.
“I don’t fancy the idea of getting snowed in here. It’s falling really heavily,” Rachel said, peering through the windscreen.
“Don’t worry. There’s plenty of space if we need to stay over.”
“Stay over…”
“…Here it is,” he interrupted, steering the BMW left, off the main road and onto a private drive, where it stopped in front of two large iron gates.
The golden words, ‘Foxberry Hall’, glinted in the headlights. Above them, a close circuit camera whirred as it turned to focus on them.
Jason buzzed down his window and held up an identity card. Instantly, there was a click and the gates hummed open.
“Ooh, very swish,” Rachel marvelled as Jason piloted the car through the gates.
They rode up the ghostly drive of snow covered trees, until they reached a large forecourt that resembled an outdoor showroom of luxury automobiles.
Jason parked the BMW next to a Jaguar and killed the engine.
“Here we are,” he said with a smile.
Rachel looked out of the window and grinned. “I thought you said you weren’t into this snobby lifestyle.”
“I’m not,” Jason said with a wink, “it’s just business.”
“Yeah, yeah,” Rachel teased, as she stepped out of the warm car and into a cold breeze that snatched her breath, and made snowflakes dart here and there, like a panicked shoal of fish.
She pulled a shawl around her and was grateful that she had opted to wear a long dress. It was made of velour, crimson in colour. It accentuated every curve of her body, but provided limited protection against the elements.
“Oooh, it’s cold,” she shivered.
Jason put his arm around her and, together, they crunched through snow covered gravel towards the front door.
It was too dark to make out much of the building, but Rachel felt a sense of its enormity from the pair of giant concrete pillars that led to a spacious balcony, and a symmetrical row of large square windows. They ran the length of the building and disappeared into darkness.
Rachel hesitated at the front door.
Jason looked at her, “What’s wrong?”
“Nothing,” she said, forcing a smile.
He took her chin in his hand and looked at her inquisitively, letting her know that he knew something was on her mind.
She hesitated a few more seconds and then spoke, “It’s nothing, really. I just, well I just want this night to be a success for you. I don’t want to let you down.”
Jason chuckled and then said, affectionately, “I don’t think you could let me down even if you tried, Rach.” He kissed her on the mouth as snowflakes settled in their hair.
She smiled at him and took a deep breath, indicating she was ready for the night ahead.
Jason pulled on the bell rope and, moments later, the door opened, wafting a medley of classical music and the scent of perfume their way.
They entered and the door was shut and locked behind them.
60 The Call
Ashley gazed out of the window and watched how London had slowed to a crawl, as it negotiated the foreign substance that had blanketed the city in cotton wool whiteness.
She looked at the clock, it was getting late. She hadn’t heard from Rupert since the afternoon, and she wondered if he was one of the many trying to make his way home.
She dialled his mobile phone but, yet again, was immediately diverted to voicemail after just a couple of rings.
This time she began to leave a message, explaining that she hadn’t heard anything since her last message, and was starting to worry, and to please call as soon as…
…the doorbell interrupted her.
“….let me know you’re okay,” she said quickly. Then disconnected and hurried to the door.
She felt inexplicably nervous. It couldn’t be Rupert because he would have a key, which meant it must be somebody else known to her, for security to let them up without announcing them first.
She looked through the spy hole, smiled and then pulled the door open; it was Adam.
He looked unkempt as if he hadn’t groomed in days.
“Adam,” was all Ashley could say with surprise.
“I’m sorry to barge in on you like this…”
“…Oh no, don’t be silly. You’re not barging in at all. Please,” she stood aside, “come in. It’s good to see you.”
Ashley hadn’t seen Adam since Elisabeth’s funeral. He’d requested a leave of absence from her, but hadn’t returned any of her calls since. She was pleased to see that, albeit a bit worse for wear, he was okay.
He slipped his hands into the pockets of his jeans and surveyed the apartment, as if seeing it for the first time.
“How are you holding up?” she asked, affectionately.
&nbs
p; He turned to her and shrugged, “Oh, you know.”
Ashley felt for him. She couldn’t even begin to imagine how he must be feeling right now.
She spontaneously hugged him, tightly.
The embrace lasted a while and when it broke, he smiled at her and said, “Thanks, I needed that.”
She returned the smile, “Anytime. Please.”
She ushered him through to the lounge. “Can I get you something to drink? I’ve already got a pot of coffee on the go, or would you like something else?”
Adam nodded, “No, coffee is good, thanks.”
“I’ll be right back,” she said, and disappeared into to the kitchen, leaving him alone with his thoughts, one of which turned his stomach.
The dinner scene, here in this very penthouse. The images returned in shocking vivid detail, replaying like a stuttering projector image on the whiteboard of his mind.
And it hurt, sweet God it hurt.
All his dreams, all his hopes, destroyed. He blinked back tears and begged the visions for some respite, but they were unrelenting like a swarm of enraged bees, they returned to sting again and again.
“Adam?”
He refocused; Ashley was standing in front of him with a mug of steaming coffee in her hand. “Are you alright?” She asked.
He forced a smile, nodded and sat on the sofa.
Ashley sat opposite.
There was an awkward silence as cars honked loudly somewhere on the streets below.
Mercifully, Adam spoke, “Is Rupert still at the office?”
Ashley frowned, “I don’t really know. I can’t seem to get hold of him,” she said.
“Is he out of town?”
“I’m not sure. He isn’t answering his mobile. I’ve no idea where he is. And with this snow, I have to admit, I’m starting to get a bit worried.”
“I’m sure he’s just been caught up in traffic somewhere. It was hell trying to get over here. You know what the Brits are like, a bit of white stuff and they fall to pieces. He’s probably stuck in a jam somewhere.”
“I suppose so. It was coming down quite fast earlier,” she said, looking out of the window.
“Typical, isn’t it? We never get weather like this at Christmas.”
“No, we don’t,” Ashley smiled.
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