Taken at the Flood

by K. J. Rabane

  She was tired. I felt her relax and her breathing deepen. My anger increased, I could not look at her without thinking about what she’d done to my life. If we had never met, Evelyn and I could have continued to live at River House, our child playing contentedly in the garden. My business would have prospered beyond my wildest dreams, devoid of a saboteur whose venomous body writhed in sleep at my side.

  It’s easy to say now that I should have left her, reported my suspicions to the police, or at least given her a chance to explain but rationality wasn’t an option. Images crowded inside my head one after another, dreadful, heart-breaking pictures of the lives I’d lost. At that moment, my brain could take no more, something snapped. I unclenched my fists and wrapped my fingers tightly around her throat. Her ice blue eyes flew open, terror and confusion contorting her beautiful features. She struggled to breathe and as she struggled, I tightened my grip until every breath left her body and she lay motionless at my side.

  Afterwards, I sat at the bottom of the bed, relief that I’d been able to go through with it, flooding my body. Sensation returned and with it clarity of mind. I dressed in an old pair of blue jeans and a black hooded parka, removed an oversized plastic cover from one of Leo’s ball gowns and slid her body inside, zipping up the opening so she was completely encased in the cool silver-grey plastic. I refused to think of the pale lifeless form inside as my beautiful wife. The odd part, of it all, was I didn’t feel as if I’d lost my mind - I felt completely sane. She’d taken the life of my wife and child - I felt no guilt - a life for a life.

  Somehow, I managed to carry her down to the utility room at the back of the kitchen. A surge of adrenaline had given my body the strength it lacked. She was a light as a goose down quilt. Nevertheless, I felt my heart pounding and the blood rushing to my face as I laid her on the concrete floor. I’d taken the precaution of putting Tinker in the kennels for a while. He missed Mrs Bates and I wanted to be free from the responsibility of caring from him.

  There was a light breeze blowing up from the river as I removed the spade from the potting shed and walked towards the woods bordering the river path. It was dark – there was no moonlight that night and I had to rely on the beam from my torch to guide me. The ground was soft but even so it took me the best part of two hours to dig a hole deep enough to cover the body; I no longer thought of it as Leonora.

  When I was satisfied, I carried the grey plastic cover and its contents across the lawn and into the woods. To my right I heard the gentle lapping of the river against its banks and an owl hooting high above my head. Taking care not to disturb the earth on either side, I lowered the body into the hole and covered it with earth, twigs, and leaves, until I was sure no one would notice the ground had been newly dug. But I decided I would plant saplings there at the earliest opportunity just to make sure.

  When I’d finished, I removed my clothes and placed them in the washing machine/dryer knowing that by morning all trace of my night’s activity would be gone. Then I showered and went through Leo’s suitcase removing her clothes one by one. The items she’d taken with her to Italy, together with the new clothes she’d bought there, I placed in the central heating furnace in the basement. Next, I removed the luggage labels from her cases, put them in the loft space with the rest of our luggage, and went into my study to write the letter. It took me about an hour and a half to copy Leo’s handwriting successfully. Dawn was breaking as I signed her name.

  I couldn’t eat but had to force down a cup of hot sweet tea and a biscuit whilst I waited for the hands of the clock to reach ten o’clock when I thought it would be reasonable to visit Henry and Josie.

  At the bottom of the garden, I joined the river path and kept my eyes on the gently flowing water. I couldn’t look into the woods to my left for fear of losing the remaining contents of my stomach. The events of the previous night seemed more real in the first light of day as I struggled to wipe them from my mind.

  My feet slowed when I saw the house. I wanted to run; anything to put off the task I knew I must perform. Taking a deep breath and ruffling my hair into an untidy mop, I rushed up the garden towards the conservatory where Henry was reading the morning paper.

  “Good Lord, what on earth’s the matter? You look as if you’ve just seen a ghost.” Henry’s paper slid from his lap as Josie arrived carrying a pot of coffee. She took one look at my face, placed the coffee pot on the table in front of Henry and took my arm. She guided me like a blind man towards a chair and waited until I felt I could speak.

  I wasn’t acting. I had genuinely lost my voice. My heart wanted my lips to blurt out, I’ve killed her, I’ve killed my beautiful Leonora, but thankfully my brain ignored it as I mumbled, “She’s left me.” I held out the letter. “I found this when I awoke. It came in this morning’s post.”

  Josie and Henry looked at me aghast, their faces full of sympathy and understanding. Then Josie read the letter I handed to her,

  My dear Abe,

  I’m sorry I have to let you know by letter but haven’t got the strength to tell you in person. I’m leaving you. I wish things could have been different and I did try to make a go of our marriage. The truth is, on one of my Italian visits, I met an old friend and we became lovers. I realise there is no way I could make a sham out of our marriage. It wouldn’t be fair to you. I hope you’ll try to forgive me. Please don’t attempt to find me. I’ll not be coming back to River House. Do as you wish with my clothes and jewellery. I’m sure there are some worthwhile charities that could benefit. I took all I needed with me on my last visit.

  Leonora

  Henry coughed and muttered something about, if there was anything he could do to help I only had to ask, and Josie took me in her arms and patted my back like a baby.

  “Where is she now? The letter doesn’t say?” Henry asked.

  “I don’t know, the envelope was posted in Rome but I couldn’t bring her back, even if I tried. You can see that. She doesn’t want to be found. Well not by me anyway.”

  I shivered and Henry coughed.

  Then, I said I was devastated and would like to spend some time alone for a while. I told them I’d be speaking to Mrs Bates and asking her not to return to River House until I contacted her again. They nodded, their sympathy plain to see, and, as I walked back along the river path, I could feel their compassion flowing behind me like an unstoppable tide.

  The day after I buried Leonora, I rang the offices of Brockwell and Hansen, spoke to their secretary and arranged an appointment for two o’clock that afternoon.

  The reception area was deserted when I arrived so I waited until the door to the inner office opened and Martin Brockwell emerged carrying a thick manila folder under his arm, followed by the redoubtable Eileen. “Ah, do go in, sir,” she said, sliding past me to her seat behind her desk.

  The room was as it had been before, except that the blinds covering the windows were open this time, and I could see into Russell Square. Ian Hansen was speaking on the telephone and indicated a chair in front of him. I sat down and waited. When he’d finished, he replaced the receiver, and frowned. “Sorry to keep you, Mr Hope, tricky problem to deal with, I’m afraid.”

  “Hazards of your profession I should think, Mr Hansen,” I said, taking a seat. He nodded absentmindedly, opened a ring file, which lay on the desk in front of him, and removed a large brown envelope.

  “Here are the photographs I took during my stay in Tuscany,” he said, sliding the envelope across the desk towards me. “I must say I was surprised when my colleague instructed me that surveillance was to be terminated after only seven days. I’d planned to make further enquiries on your behalf during the second week of you wife’s stay. You see I have very little to show you except these.”

  I glanced briefly at the photographs. Leo walking through cobbled streets, a large tower in the background, her arm linked with that of the witness at our wedding, Leo, laughing with him as they drank wine at a kerbside table. Another in a café drinking frothy co
ffees from large mugs, their heads together, lost in deep conversation. I’d seen enough.

  “There was no need to delay your stay further Mr Hansen, the evidence was clear enough when you forwarded the photo-fax of them together, at the beginning of the week. I recognised the man in the photograph immediately. The same sad sordid story, no doubt, you’ve heard a thousand times before.”

  He sighed as I handed him the brown envelope. “Destroy these if you will, please.” I reached into my inside pocket and removed the letter. “I received this from my wife yesterday.” I reached across and handed him the letter I’d written.

  He read it through to the end and sighed again, “I see, well that is rather what we expected, did we not? I’ll carry out your instructions to the letter, sir and as it appears our business is terminated, I’ll direct Eileen to make out an invoice immediately.”

  I waited in the outer office while Eileen typed furiously on an electronic keypad, settled the account in full, turned to Mr Hansen, who’d come into the outer office to shake my hand and said, “Thank you. Your discretion in this matter is appreciated.”

  “Our watchword is discretion, Mr Hope. Discretion in all things!” he replied, tapping the side of his nose with his finger as he showed me to the door.

  That night I began writing this journal. As usual, I lay awake waiting for sleep to come. At four o’clock, I sat up and walked downstairs to my study. In the top drawer of my desk, I found what I was looking for. A loose-leaf notebook secured by a circular ring binder. Taking a pen from the stack on my desk, I carried them both back to my bedroom and began to write it all down until sleep at last overcame me.

  At the end of the month, I visited the clinic for my appointment with Mr Edward Bentley. I sat in the consulting room and felt an uneasy stirring in the pit of my stomach as I waited for the cardiologist’s opinion.

  “I’ve evaluated the results of your tests, including today’s X Ray’s, Mr Hope. The news is not quite as bad as I had, at first, feared. None of the coronary arteries appear to be blocked, which means that for the moment by-pass surgery is not an option. However, your arteries are in a poor state for a man of your age. There is a degree of narrowing, usually associated with someone in his sixties, so it is therefore imperative you change your lifestyle and change it drastically if you are to avoid surgery in the future.”

  The clock on the wall ticked loudly as I listened to his voice telling me if I continued to work at a pace which caused stress to build up, I would experience repeated angina attacks and I must avoid placing myself in stressful situations, as often as possible. I wondered if burying your wife in the shrubbery came into that category and felt hysterical laughter bubbling inside like a geyser about to erupt.

  When he’d finished, he showed me to an office at the end of a corridor, where he said a dietician would provide me with a healthy eating plan and shook my hand as he emphasised, “Angina is a warning, Mr Hope and one which you would be foolish to ignore.”

  I left the clinic clutching a repeat prescription and diet sheet, determined I would take a break from work, forget the past week, and relax.

  The following week, I drank to find oblivion. The second week Mrs Bates returned, released Tinker from the kennels, admonished me for getting into a state about ‘that trollope’ as she had taken to calling Leonora and set about baking enough food to feed the five thousand. Leaving the whiskey untouched, I ate enough to keep Mrs Bates happy and read a stack of trashy novels I’d never had time to complete.

  The lawn at River House was white with frost. The sun’s weak rays filtering through grey clouds turning the woodland, where Leonora lay, into a wonderland. Cobwebs glittered as they clung to bare branches and twigs swayed in the breeze shaking sugar-like particles of frost on to the frozen earth beneath.

  I was staring out of the conservatory window, trying to block the image of my beautiful treacherous Leo from my mind, but my eyes kept returning to the woods and the patch of earth where she lay. It seemed that whilst I was at River House I’d never be free of her but somehow I couldn’t face leaving. As I watched a robin hopping on the frozen earth, I became aware of a car drawing up on the gravel drive outside and of Mrs Bates letting someone into the house. I remained seated, lost in thought.

  “Hello, enjoying your break from the office?”

  It was Alan. He stopped in front of my chair admiring the view for a moment and then sat down opposite me, his back to the woods. I smiled; at least what passed as a smile these days. It was actually little more than a stretching of the skin at the side of my mouth.

  “It’s good to see you. Not bad news?” I said, beginning to fear that his visit was not just to find out how I was coping with my wife leaving me.

  “On the contrary, I’m the bearer of good news.” His face stretched into a broad grin. “I had to come and tell you in person. We’ve found our saboteur!”

  Chapter 30

  I felt as if a weight was pressing down on my chest; the colour drained from my face and I gasped. I was dreading hearing what Alan had to say. “Quite a shock eh?” he said, lying back in his chair.

  “Who?” My voice was barely audible.

  “Chip Thornley.”

  The pain in my chest slid down my arm like ice melting as Alan continued, “Our security boys have done a grand job. They’ve been working away at this for weeks and at last they’ve cracked it. They found that Microbites had recruited our Mr Charles Thornley during his time at University and that he’s been passing information to them ever since. I could kick myself for introducing you to him; I had no idea.”

  Alan hung his head. I couldn’t speak, my voice dried in my throat. The minutes ticked by Alan looking more and more uncomfortable. Finally, I said, “No one could have known. I didn’t doubt his sincerity, why should you?”

  Alan relaxed but the effort of talking had taken its toll, the pain was radiating across my chest as I fumbled in my pocket and slipped a tablet into my mouth. He seemed not to notice and expanded his story.

  “He was clever, I’ll grant you. He must have been waiting for an opportunity such as Gemini to come along. Do you know, he memorised the safe code by listening to the sound the digits made on the keypad when we opened the safe? He could hear it from his office, if the vents were open.”

  “What about the key?” I asked, not able to understand how he could have opened the safe without it.

  Alan shifted in his seat and his face reddened. “My fault again,” he admitted. “It happened so easily. One morning I arrived at the office early, before the night staff had left. I needed an prompt start to finish tying up some loose ends and I thought I’d have time to work in peace before the rest of the staff arrived with their problems for me to sort out.” He wiped his forehead with his handkerchief. “Anyway, someone had parked in my space and I had to drive to the office staff section and walk further than anticipated, so I was in a bad mood to start. Then the programme kept crashing and I was getting nowhere fast when Chip arrived. I threw him my keys without thinking and asked him to move my car for me. He was out of my office before I remembered the safe key was on my key ring. My only excuse is that I had no reason to doubt his loyalty to the company.”

  “How did he copy the key without arousing your suspicion?” I asked.

  “He must have been prepared for just such an eventuality. I suspect he carried some sort of clay device in his pocket, ready to take an impression of the key, if an opportunity arose, because he was gone no longer than it would have taken him to move my car and return to the office.”

  He looked out over the frozen landscape and sighed, “At least we know our future projects are safe.”

  “He’s gone, I presume?”

  “Once he suspected we were on to him, he was off like a rat up a drainpipe. On the next available flight to the States and the offices of Microbites, I should imagine.”

  He stood up, “I can see this is all a bit much for you to take in. I shouldn’t have come, not while you a
re still recovering from the news about Leo.”

  The pain was easing. “Nonsense, “I said. “I appreciate you holding the fort. It’s good to know I can always rely on you.” I was trying to appear normal. “I think this news calls for a celebratory drink. Come into the sitting room and I’ll open the Remy.”

  Pouring the golden liquid into the brandy balloons, Edward Bentley’s words going unheeded, the importance of our conversation hit me with full force. My hands began to shake uncontrollably as the realisation dawned that if Thornley was the culprit then Leonora was innocent of sabotage.

  After Alan left, I went into my study. I’d been so sure she was the one trying to destroy my company. Why else would she be looking in my safe on her return from Tuscany on that fateful night? I remembered her looking over her shoulder secretively as she entered my study. I supposed she must have seen me open my safe on countless occasions and had memorised the code. I’d never felt the need to be cautious where Leo was concerned; I’d trusted her without question.

  Crossing the floor to the safe, I tapped in the code and opened it. I hadn’t had reason to open it since before Leo had gone to Italy. In fact, I’d forgotten the significance of her action that night until now. The weeks following her death I’d spent trying to exist, attending appointments, finalising my contract with Brockwell and Hansen and generally operating on automatic pilot; now as I stood in front of the opened safe, I feared what I’d find.

  It lay on the shelf under a pile of computer discs, which were copies of partially completed programmes. I picked up the package, which was inside a paper bag with a clock face on the front surrounded by Italian script. Sliding it out of the bag, I saw a square box wrapped in silver paper with a gift tag attached by a thin silver thread. I carried it to my desk and laid it carefully on the highly polished surface then opened the gift tag and read;