by K. J. Rabane
As the house came in sight, I heard Evelyn’s words, ‘Leo is so clever, she knows so much about Lucas’s work, knows the names of medical conditions and what drugs should be taken for them.’
I pushed open the back door and reached my study dazed and uncomprehending. The drone of the vacuum cleaner sounded from somewhere above my head as Mrs Bates set about cleaning the bedrooms but I sat staring out of the window trying to make sense of it all.
At some stage, there was a knock on my study door. I heard Mrs Bates speaking and struggled to return to the present. “I’m off to visit Emily for the evening, Mr Hope. There’s a chicken casserole in the oven for you both and I’ve laid the table in the dining room.”
Emily was the old lady who was now living in Leo’s old house and she and Mrs Bates had become friends. I think I answered her but she was out of the door and down the river path before I’d registered the fact that she’d spoken.
I remained staring out of the window until I heard Leo’s car draw up outside. I watched as she unloaded carrier bags from the boot, her blonde hair rippling in the breeze. I sighed with regret, that slurs and innuendos should have tainted my love, all of which would be impossible to prove one way or the other; it was unbelievable. I had to try and ignore it. But it was easier said than done.
“Abe I’m home,” she called from the hallway. I went to meet her having decided if I was to get at the truth then I must appear as if nothing had happened that afternoon.
Throughout the evening, I behaved as if I’d never heard Josie’s accusations. Leo appeared not to notice anything was wrong, although what did I know of my second wife? Was she merely biding her time, waiting to move on to pastures new when the time was right? Thoughts, which would never have crossed my mind, flitted like fireflies dancing in the night, just out of reach but managing to leave an impression.
However, the day’s events left me with little appetite for lovemaking, even after feeling her naked body cuddling up to mine seductively and the caress of her sweet breath on my neck. It was fortunate that Leonora put my lack of interest down to the fact I was worrying about my business problems and slipping her hand into mine, whispered, “Try not to worry, darling; I’m sure you’ll find the culprit soon. Relax: things always look better in the morning.”
Leonora’s comforting words did little to reassure me, as ‘things’ did not look better in the morning. I slept fitfully and when I did manage to fall asleep, it was to dream of Evelyn. She was trying to tell me something, her mouth opening and closing as I tried in vain to understand what she was saying. When I awoke, it was to the sound of Mrs Bates calling after Leo as she started out on an early morning walk with Tinker. “Mrs Hope, here’s the stale bread you wanted to feed the ducks.”
She was trying to make amends for her dislike of Leo but the tone of her voice spoke volumes.
I stood under the shower, wishing the water could wash away yesterday and erase it from my mind. I wanted my wife to be innocent; I wanted them to see her through my eyes. To me she was clever, bright, intelligent, funny Leo, the woman who had enthralled and filled me with curiosity from the first moment I saw her all those years ago. But even that memory was sullied. Once again the question of why she’d denied visiting Venice raised its head.
There was nothing for it, as the jets of water hit my body, I concluded I would hire a private detective. I had to find out what my wife was up to and if she was as innocent as I’d hoped.
To begin with I resolved that the next time Leo decided to visit her aunt in Tuscany then I would not suggest I join her, as I had done previously. But this time I would employ a professional to do the job for me. If her visit turned out to be entirely innocent then I could put the rest of my fears into perspective and deal with them one by one. In view of my suspicions regarding the sabotage of my company’s products, I had no alternative. She had to be above reproach and that meant I required proof she wasn’t lying to me. I would not mention what I proposed to anyone, including Alan Henderson.
The offices of Brockwell and Hansen were in a side street off Russell Square. A brass plaque on the wall to one side of a red-painted wooden door, read Brockwell and Hansen Investigators. I pressed the button on the intercom, introduced myself and heard the click of the door release. A glass-panelled door, leading off a hallway, the floor of which was covered by large black and white marble floor tiles, opened into a reception area and sitting behind a desk was a small middle-aged woman. She wore her grey hair in a French pleat, tendrils escaping and curling around her face like wire wool. She smiled encouragingly as I approached the desk. “Go right in, Mr Hope, they are expecting you.”
Pointing to a door behind her with the end of a ballpoint pen she turned quickly, as the telephone on her desk began to ring insistently.
Messrs Brockwell and Hansen were, at first sight, as alike as the proverbial two peas. Both wore navy pinstriped suits, metal-framed glasses and sat behind identical leather topped desks. I could have been forgiven for imagining I was in the offices of a well-respected firm of solicitors or accountants so business-like were they.
“Mr Hope, do sit down.”
They spoke the words simultaneously, like Tweedle Dum and Tweedle Dee. The fantasy didn’t stop there. I began to feel as if I was entering a dream. What was I doing here in the first place? The temptation to turn and run hovered at the edge of my consciousness. If I lingered, spilling my doubts like scattering birdseed, I would give voice to my fear and somehow make it a reality.
Tweedle Dum cleared his throat. “Take your time, Mr Hope. We often find our clients are reticent at this first juncture. Maybe you would like to collect your thoughts over a cup of coffee?” His hand strayed towards the telephone.
“No, thank you. I won’t delay you further. I’m ready,” I replied
Without preamble I explained the reason for my visit succinctly and when I’d finished opened my briefcase and removed the photograph of my wife. It was a close-up, the blue eyes and pale blonde hair clearly visible as she smiled into the camera.
My confidence began to ebb. They passed the photograph between them, inspecting it in detail. Martin Brockwell whistled softly through his teeth and I found myself waiting for Ian Hansen’s response as if they were unable to operate independently of each other. It was obvious, that after looking at the photograph, they concluded I was a jealous husband intent on catching out an errant wife. So be it, I thought, it suited my purpose admirably.
Finally, I told them about Leonora’s visits to Italy. “When the situation arises, I’ll let you know the departure time of my wife’s flight and wait to hear from you when you have news,” I said, closing my briefcase.
We reached an agreement as to the cost of their services and they both rose to shake my hand, the movement synchronised to the second. However, it was when they stood up that I received the first of many shocks they would produce during the time they were employed by me.
Martin Brockwell was tall, he towered over me and I am six foot two. His partner by contrast was a much smaller man barely five foot five inches tall. I tried unsuccessfully to disguise my humour at the disparity in their heights, which had not been discernible whilst they were seated.
“Eileen, see Mr Hope out will you, dear?” they chorused behind me as I turned towards the door the corners of my mouth twitching uncontrollably.
It was during the first week of September when Leo announced she was to visit her aunt again. I agreed but did not suggest I go with her this time. She looked a little disconcerted by my lack of interest but didn’t comment, assuring me she would miss me every moment she was away and promising not to stay longer than the proposed two week visit this time.
Later, watching her disappear through the door of the departure lounge at Heathrow, I felt my insides churn. My disloyalty did not sit easily upon my shoulders, even though Messrs Brockwell and Hansen had assured me of their discretion. I felt uncomfortable with my duplicity.
I walked back towards a book
stall and bought a newspaper as a short man wearing corduroy trousers and a cream linen jacket hurried past me in the direction of the departure lounge clutching an artist’s easel folded under one arm and a leather flight bag under the other. I doubt if I would have recognised the figure of Ian Hansen, if it had not been for his diminutive stature and the purposeful glint in eyes, magnified behind metal-framed glasses.
At the end of the first week of Leo’s visit to her aunt, I received a message from Martin Brockwell. He said he had some paperwork at the office that he would like me to see.
I drove through the lunch hour traffic and parked in a side street a block away from his office. My heart was pounding uncomfortably against my ribs as I anticipated the result of his investigation. Part of me wanted to return to my car and forget I’d ever doubted my wife but somehow my feet propelled me towards the red painted front door and deposited me in Martin Brockwell’s office.
The paperwork turned out to be a photo-fax from his colleague in Tuscany. The grainy print was clear enough for me to recognise Leo wrapped in the arms of another man. I desperately tried to appear calm, thanked Mr Brockwell for contacting me and asked him to let me know if there were further developments. It was all in a day’s work to the investigator. He’d seen it all a hundred or more times; beautiful, unfaithful wife cheating on wealthy older husband with a much younger man.
Outside, the rain chilled my cheeks and dampened my spirits. By the time I’d reached my car my cheeks were wet with tears of anger mingling with the raindrops sliding down the collar of my shirt and dripping towards my heart. I drove through the city streets oblivious of my surroundings and let myself into our apartment with a sinking feeling of despair. After pouring a stiff measure of whiskey into a glass, I stood at the window and watched the rain turn from a shower into a torrent. I felt wretched and foolish. It was a sobering fact to think that my neighbour and my housekeeper had been able to see what I could not. My beautiful Leo was a liar and a cheat at the best and at worst had more than likely hastened Lucas’ s premature death. The rest I could not bear to think about.
Removing the grainy fax from my jacket pocket, I took a closer look. It was bad enough to look at my wife standing on tiptoe to kiss the cheek of another man, his arm resting about her shoulders. It was quite another thing to realise I recognised the man the in the picture.
Tomorrow, I decided. I would go down to River House and compare the fax with the photograph standing in a silver frame on my desk. I was apprehensive about confirming my fears, as I knew what that would mean.
Chapter 27
The following day dawned bright and clear but as I drove towards River House grey clouds hung ominously on the horizon and by the time I’d reached Kings Datchet it was raining heavily.
Mrs Bates was out when I arrived. In the kitchen, Tinker lay asleep in his basket in front of the Aga. He opened one eye as I entered the room only to close it moments later, followed by a grunt and a snore. Searching in the fridge, I removed a can of beer, which I attacked with the urgency of a man stranded in the desert. My arid wilderness was of my own making and I had no one to blame but myself for the way things had turned out. If I’d not spent so much time on Softcell I might have been more attuned to events that were playing out in front of me and could have given Evelyn the support she needed. If I’d not been so blinded by Leonora’s beauty then maybe I would have seen through her earlier. ‘If only’s’ mounted up like bricks in a wall. I wanted them to come crashing down into a pile of useless rubble but with each thought, the wall became stronger and more impenetrable.
Whilst I was driving down from the city, the urgency to see the photograph in my study to confirm my suspicions was uppermost in my mind, but once I was within feet of my destination, I wanted to delay the inevitable.
Edging my way around Tinker’s basket, I opened the back door. The earlier rain had eased and the bushes in the shrubbery were coated with a fine layer of drizzle. Cobwebs clung to branches like a bride’s veil, gossamer threads of raindrops gleaming in the afternoon air.
I walked towards the river. The level of the water was low, a summer of minimal rainfall having had its effect. I remembered the time Evelyn and I had first seen the house; it was springtime and the river had been high enough for us to dangle our toes beneath its surface. An image of Evelyn laughing up at me as she dried her feet on the grass made me gasp. What was I waiting for? I strode up the garden and entered the kitchen, determination in every stride. This time Tinker raised his head and sniffed the air. He sensed something of the emotion I was feeling, padded out of his basket, and rubbed against my legs in sympathy. I patted his head. “Don’t worry boy, go back to sleep,” I murmured then took the stairs two at a time.
The room smelled of disuse. I opened the blinds and saw the dappled surface of the river winding its way along the bottom of the garden. Turning to face my fate, I walked to Leo’s side of the bed and picked up the photograph. There was no mistake.
I felt the twin emotions of anger and sadness sweep over me by turns as I looked at the image of Leo and I standing with our witnesses inside the register office on the Palazzo Cavalli. The registrar’s clerk had taken the photo; Leo thought it would make a nice picture, the four of us, a constant memory. Anger surfaced as I remembered her suggesting that I ask the young man with the shock of fair hair, falling over his forehead, if he would be our witness. My anger dissolved and was replaced by sadness as I realised the fax I held in my hand was the catalyst that would end our marriage.
Downstairs in my study, I opened my desk drawer and removed the brandy bottle. I hadn’t touched it for months but I was in need of more than the means to see me through the night, I needed something to see me through the rest of my life, a panacea for all ills.
I had to find out more about the woman who had so effectively conned her way into my life. How could I have been such a fool? She’d mesmerised me with her eyes and, besotted idiot that I was, I’d fallen completely under her spell.
I filled my glass once more and knew the time had come to open up some old wounds. Perhaps Evelyn’s death would lead me into the future. Crossing the hallway as quietly as I could, without disturbing Tinker, I opened the door to the basement. The steps leading down were carpeted. It was one of the things that had reduced Evelyn to a fit of the giggles, when we’d first moved in. ‘Who in their right mind would put carpet on basement steps?’ she’d asked. But I had to admit there was something comforting in feeling the softness underfoot, especially as the effects of drinking on an empty stomach had made my feet unsteady.
The room was warm, central heating pipes above my head giving enough heat to make the atmosphere comfortable. I switched on the light and the neon strip illuminated the shelves packed with containers. On the bottom shelf stood the plastic storage box containing Evelyn’s personal belongings. I’d been unable to face opening her handbag at the time of her death and had placed it in the container together with her diary, watch and jewellery.
I opened the lid and carried the box over to a table in the corner of the room then removed the leather handbag tipping the contents out on to the table. A long forgotten scent of Evelyn seeped into my nostrils and I closed my eyes conjuring up her image as if she were in the room with me. When I had the courage to open them, I saw a leather purse containing some coins and a few notes, resting on the table. There was also a credit card wallet in the same brown leather, a lipstick, mobile phone and a small bottle containing tablets with the name Cervotab written in bold print on the chemist’s label. I picked up the bottle and saw in faded typewritten print Mrs E Hope. Closing my fist tightly around the bottle, I felt a shaft of pain shoot down my left arm and a heavy feeling in the middle of my chest and gasped, the pain was so intense. Struggling to catch my breath I felt air entering my lungs and the pain gradually fading. Slipping the bottle into my jacket pocket, I picked up Evelyn’s diary, replaced the handbag and its contents in the storage box and left the room. As I climbed the basement stai
rs, I felt a twinge of pain in my arm that radiated towards the centre of my chest.
Carrying the diary into my study, I put my feet up on the couch and opened the yellowed pages. Evelyn’s perfume lingered on the paper and again I felt her presence as if she were standing in the room alongside me. Turning the pages I stopped at the day when Leo had first come into our lives, the day of the Dangerfield’s party, and started to read.
Chapter 28
We met the most amazing person today; her name is Leonora Bennett. She is beautiful and witty, I know my darling husband could not take his eyes off her and I noticed Henry had fallen under her spell too; the only person who was not impressed was Josie!
I heard Mrs Bates open the back door and Tinker’s welcoming bark so closed the diary, slipping it into my desk drawer beneath some papers. There would be time enough to continue with my search through Evelyn’s journal later, when I was alone.
“I’m taking a walk, Mrs Bates; I’ll be back in an hour or two,” I called to her from the hallway.
“Right, Mr Hope, see you later,” she replied, pushing Tinker away with her foot.
Josie was clearing debris from the bottom of the garden as I approached. She raised her hand in greeting. “I’ve been so worried about you. I haven’t seen you since I told you about Evelyn’s pills. I think it was quite wrong of me. I haven’t been able to tell Henry yet. I’m still waiting to pluck up the courage. I know he would, most definitely, not approve.”