A Stranger's House

by Clare Chase

  ‘But I could see Daisy doing it,’ Steph said, ignoring my histrionics.

  ‘Why?’

  ‘Well, as I said to you earlier, what Daisy’s friend said about Luke pestering her is a fiction as far as I can see. I’ll bet Daisy put her up to it, to hit out at both of you at once. And I reckon that’s actually because Luke’s cutting her dead now. He’s been moping around over the loss of you. What if she wanted to send a poison pen, making you look like the author?’

  ‘To convince Luke I’m a bunny boiler and he’s better off without me?’

  ‘It’s a thought, isn’t it?’

  Nate tried not to be prejudiced against Paul Mathewson, but he was fighting a losing battle. The guy looked as though he’d stepped out of another age, dressed in that herringbone suit with the sort of quality lace-up shoes that have real leather soles and would probably last until he was in his dotage. It’d felt weird when he’d gone to answer the door, and then given Ruby a call. Like he was her dad, seeing her off on a date with a bloke he didn’t approve of. He’d stood there in the hall, fervently hoping their trip was a damp squib. Talk about dog in the manger. He’d purposely put down a marker the evening before, telling Ruby he didn’t do relationships. He’d had to, before his physical feelings took over and it was too late. But it was more than just physical. He could almost taste the closeness they could share. Dangerous. He’d put her safety at stake and his sanity too if he ended up losing her.

  A moment later he’d bumped back to reality. It wasn’t his choice to make anyway. In spite of the spark he kept imagining, it was clearly Paul Mathewson who’d caught her interest.

  ‘Make sure you’re back in time for tea,’ he couldn’t resist saying as Ruby walked down the house steps. She turned round and rolled her eyes.

  Sodding hell. He needed to do something about his ego. He’d known she was keen on Mathewson all along – they’d met up in town, and been out to the pub – and yet he’d still had this instinctive feeling that she and he had some kind of connection too. It had all been in his head. He thought back to that first day he’d met her, when Steph had come out to see him off, and – he now knew – Ruby had followed them and eavesdropped. Hmm. Well, two could play at that game. Picking up his door key, he let himself out of River House, and walked in the direction that would take him to where Paul Mathewson was most likely to be parked.

  Nate reached the road just in time to see Ruby sliding her long legs round and into the car. Mathewson was standing on her side of the vehicle and closed the door shut for her as though she was royalty. Perhaps he had old-fashioned gent appeal, though Nate hadn’t thought that would be her thing.

  He watched as the tutor neared the driver’s side door. Then suddenly he stopped, paused for a moment and went back to the rear of the car, where he opened the boot. That stupid boot … It was going to be a tight squeeze getting Ruby’s stuff in there. And then he saw Mathewson reach in and lift out one of those battered, brown I’m-an-academic style briefcases. He proceeded to cast his eyes around the street, so that Nate had to take a step further back to avoid being seen. When he risked looking again, Mathewson wasn’t holding the briefcase any more, and was opening the driver’s door. Weird.

  He watched them move off slowly, up the cramped lane, past all the nose-to-tail parked cars, and then walked round to look at the space they’d left behind.

  Nate saw the briefcase immediately. Mathewson had left it on the pavement, hard up against the low wall of one of the tiny front gardens in the street. Habitual caution made him hesitate. He’d spent a lot of time investigating Damien Newbold’s past, but none at all researching Paul Mathewson’s. But then Mathewson had had nothing to do with the hiring of the house-sitting service. He was being ridiculous. He walked over to the briefcase and manoeuvred it carefully, so that it lay flat on its side. Then he slid the catch to release its fastening.

  Nate let out the breath he hadn’t known he’d been holding. Essays. The case was full of student essays. Individual names were written or printed across the top of each one: Sophie Roberts, Libby Taylor, Marcus Bland. He flicked through them, one by one. It seemed there was nothing more to tell. He fastened the case again and put it back exactly where it had been. What did it mean? Nate could imagine Mathewson being embarrassed – maybe if he’d left the briefcase in there by accident, then suddenly remembered how it was taking up half the tiny boot space – space that Ruby would need. Leaving it in there would make him look poorly prepared, but dumping the case on the pavement didn’t seem like the solution of choice. He glanced around. There was a bush on the opposite side of the road. He could have put the case behind that, safely hidden, and come back to fetch it later, with no one any the wiser. Why leave it somewhere where it might be nicked, or damaged?

  Back inside River House, Nate’s mind was still focused on the problem. It didn’t make sense. He made himself a coffee and sat at the kitchen table, not seeing what was in front of him. After five minutes of making no headway, his thoughts drifted back to Ruby again. He had half a mind to follow her over to Saxwell and offer his Volvo’s boot space as spare capacity. Mine’s bigger than his … Hmm. Very mature. Perhaps not.

  For a while, Paul drove me in silence. It started to feel awkward, though I could understand it. I knew he’d be preoccupied with the tricky meeting he had to tackle that afternoon.

  ‘It’s a gorgeous car,’ I said, for want of any other topic of conversation.

  He looked at me and raised an ironic eyebrow. ‘Hell of a waste of cash really.’

  ‘Not if it gives you pleasure. It’s a real classic. I feel I ought to be wearing dark glasses and a headscarf. I’m not nearly Hollywood enough for it.’ I was wearing what Steph called my ‘Bolshie kit’ again, right down to my boots. I felt battle gear was essential for a return to Saxwell.

  Paul smiled, and there was a sadness in his eyes. ‘You set it off very nicely, in my opinion. And I’m a connoisseur.’

  I wasn’t sure if he meant of gawky women who always wear black jeans, or of classic cars. I presumed the latter.

  ‘Anyway,’ he went on, looking back at the road again, ‘it’s given me a lot of pleasure over the last few weeks, so maybe you’re right.’

  ‘Do you know the way?’ I asked as we reached the outskirts of the city.

  ‘I know I need to head east. After that, I’ll need your help.’

  ‘Sure.’

  The conversation flagged again, but as we turned onto the A14 near Stow cum Quy I remembered Imelda, talking about his brothers.

  ‘What are they like?’ I said to him, after drawing his mind back to the artist’s comments.

  He seemed to drag his attention from somewhere far away and I heard the smile in his wistful voice. ‘Tom’s a laugh. Life and soul of the party. He and Richard were the naughty ones when we were little. They used to play horrible pranks on visitors: licking icing off the top of my mother’s cakes before they were taken up to table, sticking worms in the guest bed, that kind of thing.’

  ‘Remind me not to come over when they’re around!’

  Paul laughed. ‘It was always noisy at home. I’m the youngest and they’d already banded together in their war on civilisation before I was old enough to take much notice. I was in awe of them; watching from the sidelines.’

  ‘Must have been a relief when your sister came along to keep you company.’

  Again, Paul seemed to have to drag his attention back. ‘Sorry?’

  ‘I was just saying about your sister. She must have altered the balance a bit. Oh heck, sorry, I should have said, it’s left here.’

  ‘Oh yes.’ He did a skilful last-minute manoeuvre round a lorry, back to the inside lane.

  Once we were safely on the road towards Saxwell, he added, ‘Yes, my sister gave me a good bit of moral support.’

  ‘Are you thinking about your meeting?’ I asked. Perhaps it was best to tackle it head on.

  He nodded.

  ‘Soon be over, and then you can relax
. It’s horrible, having to do things you’re dreading, but if it’s for a good cause then it’ll be worth it. It’s not everyone who volunteers to take on these roles; helping to put everything right when things have got out of kilter. I’m not sure I could do it.’

  I saw his shoulders relax. ‘Yes,’ he said. ‘You’re right.’ He flicked his eyes towards mine momentarily and smiled. ‘Thanks.’

  The first sign to Saxwell was coming up and I felt my stomach lurch, causing a wave of nervous nausea. I took a deep breath. ‘It’s actually best to wait and take the second turning. Brings you out nearer to our house. It’s in Orchard Lane.’

  ‘Okay.’ Paul cancelled the indicator and drove on.

  I tried to think of something else to say, but my old life, looming nearer and nearer, made me lose all focus on everything else. It was the thought of seeing all my old stuff, sitting comfortably in its usual surroundings, and knowing I could never pick up where I’d left off.

  ‘Right just here,’ I said, ‘and then our road is first on your left.’ Our road.

  He made the turns.

  ‘It’s double yellow lines by the houses, but you could park anywhere along this side, here by the grass.’

  I got out and stood on the pavement. Scanning the homes in the road, I couldn’t see any faces, staring at me from the windows. Steph’s house opposite looked empty, but I knew she’d be in there somewhere, ready with tea and sympathy.

  Suddenly my mobile rang, sounding loud in the quiet street. Nate.

  ‘Everything okay?’

  ‘I’m afraid not,’ he said. ‘Just had Fi round again.’

  I swallowed, wondering what was coming.

  ‘Apparently Emily’s mother’s been found dead.’ He paused for a moment.

  ‘You mean killed?’ I asked, hearing the shake in my voice.

  ‘Yes. Same method. And Fi says she can’t find Emily.’

  I could feel my heart thudding hard against my ribcage and for a moment the world around me darkened, little flecks of light pricking my view.

  ‘Are you okay?’

  ‘Yes, thanks,’ I said, automatically. ‘Are you?’

  ‘Just wondering what’s coming next. Take care, all right?’ And he rang off.

  ‘What is it?’ Paul said, so I told him.

  There was a long pause. ‘That’s sickening.’

  ‘I don’t know when it’s going to end.’ I closed my eyes for a moment.

  Paul took a deep, uneven breath. ‘I can’t believe for a minute that Emily had anything to do with it. In any case, I doubt she’d be physically strong enough.’ He held his hand to his head for a second. ‘They’ll track her down soon enough and rule her out.’ He looked at me, and I nodded. I was shivering, despite the warmth of the day.

  ‘Do you mind if I nip into your place for a moment?’ Paul said. ‘I could do with using your bathroom, and collecting myself before I head off.’

  ‘Of course.’ He looked as shaky as I felt.

  The arrival of Fi at the door had thrown Nate off course. He’d been deep in thought about Paul Mathewson’s briefcase, and whether he should bring it inside, when the knock jolted him back to reality. Her news sent his mind into overdrive. Three people dead. And there Nate was, an ex-PI on the spot, and he hadn’t worked out who was responsible. Carry on much longer and there wouldn’t be any suspects left.

  In spite of the latest news, Paul Mathewson’s briefcase still niggled too. Experience told him to look twice at any oddity, however irrelevant it seemed. The papers inside mattered to those students, represented hours of work. Why would someone appointed to help them leave them in full view like that, so carelessly?

  Unless. Unless … Suddenly it hit him. Of course. Shit …

  His heart went into overdrive. He could call her, but the news would be too shocking. She’d give herself away. And then she’d be in immediate danger. If she wasn’t already.

  Nate was in the Volvo in under sixty seconds.

  As Paul put a steering wheel lock on the car I fished for my keys in my shoulder bag. They were meant to be in a little side pouch, but in my anxiety earlier I must have chucked them in carelessly. Eventually I rested the bag on the car bonnet and finally found them right at the bottom. Paul was waiting for me halfway up our garden path.

  When I put my key in the front door lock the feelings of nausea got worse. In a moment, the shock at the news of Saskia’s murder was compounded by trepidation over coming home. The door swung open and the familiar smell of boots and polish filled me with such a wrenching tug of homesickness that I had to turn away for a moment. Through the kitchen door I could see our oak table, battered, much the worse for wear, but loved and used.

  Paul put a hand on my shoulder. ‘Are you okay?’

  I nodded. ‘Downstairs loo’s just along the corridor here. Last door on the left before the back door.’

  ‘Thanks.’

  I went into the kitchen. Luke had put my post on the dresser and I picked up the heap. It all looked so conventional, and yet around me normal life was disintegrating. Suddenly, the will to be super-efficient left me. I found I was physically shaking and sank down on to a chair at the table. For a moment I focused only on the green marks Luke and I had carelessly made when we were drawing leaves onto white T-shirts for a silly fancy-dress party. I spread my post out in front of me. So odd to see my name next to an address where I’d never belong again. Bookman’s Cottage, Orchard Lane. I remembered how much I’d liked the house name when the estate agent had shown us the details. I’d tried to find out its history once we’d moved in. Who had the bookman been?

  Then, at that moment, something that jarred touched the very edge of my memory. Just a tiny, warning note in amongst the white noise of a shocking day. Bookman’s Cottage. Had I mentioned the name to Paul as we drove over?

  Tiny, icy goosebumps raised themselves on my arms, without me being quite conscious of what my physical instincts were picking up on. I’d given him directions to Saxwell, and then told him we were on Orchard Lane, but I was increasingly certain I hadn’t told him what our house was called. And yet Paul had walked from where we’d parked, past the first house on the left, and straight up the front path of my old home.

  He’d known my address. Luke’s address.

  My mind seemed to slow as feelings of anxiety took over. If he knew …

  I got up from the table and went over to the dresser again. There was a pile of recently-opened post there too, which was the normal way of things. I snatched up the top few letters. Two different anonymous notes. One barely literate, referring to Luke as a ‘pedofile’, but the second … I scanned the computer-printed words.

  … you were sleeping with a seventeen-year-old girl, robbing her of her childhood whilst you and Ruby tried to create a child of your own.

  I felt my breath catch in my throat. The content that Luke had said was too personal to share with Steph. Not lurid, sexual details at all, but the knowledge that Luke and I had been trying for a baby. We’d agreed to keep it secret, so only I should have known. But, of course, I’d confided in Steph, and she’d gossiped about it to Nate. Only by the time I met him, I’d moved out of Saxwell. He knew I lived on Steph’s street, but probably not the house name.

  With Paul, it was another matter.

  I thought back to the day he’d taken me to his college rooms, when he’d found me in tears in town. I’d shown him Luke’s letter, with its beautiful copperplate letterhead; he must have started the hate mail after that. The address was so memorable, in its pretty, rural way, and Paul had held on to the information.

  But why had he done it? Because he felt sorry for me? Because he was falling for me? He had been pleasant when we’d got together, and solicitous too, but always as though he was holding something back.

  And suddenly my mind sped up, scanning everything that had happened, looking for connections and answers. But of course, there was a direct link between Luke and Daisy’s situation and Damien and Emily’s. Paul ha
d just been picking up the pieces for one sorry teenager who’d suffered at the hands of an older man, when I’d presented him with another example. The impact of the coincidence had sent him off the rails a bit, that was what it was. He must have felt there was misery all around him; misery he wanted to stop. That was why he’d sent the letters, and why he was low now. His decision to shift the focus of his work after the summer vacation showed he knew things had got out of control.

  But then something else registered. On the way to Saxwell, I’d mentioned Paul’s sister. When he was talking to me about his brothers it had almost seemed as though she’d been forgotten. ‘I was the youngest,’ Paul had said. And when I’d asked him about her, he’d taken ages to react. And Imelda had only asked for news of Paul’s brothers.

  I thought back. Paul had mentioned a sister when he was explaining his interest in Emily; he’d said she’d been through a similar affair with an older man. It had been just after I’d asked him if he always got so involved in his support work. Had I touched a raw nerve? Seemed too suspicious?

  What if he’d just invented the sister, to make his excessive interest in Emily seem more normal? And suddenly, taking a step back, his interest in her did seem excessive. Yet I was quite sure his feelings for her weren’t sexual. He’d been horrified at the idea of her having a crush on him; as though it was the worst possible thing that could happen.

  And then suddenly the truth came to me.

  My God, how had I been blind enough not to see it before? Now that I had the answer umpteen pieces of information suddenly slotted together to present a cohesive whole. Saskia’s reference to the pupils at the Philip Radley School: ‘I soon realised that those almost-adult students were very far from being grown-up.’ And then Imelda West’s words: ‘She left under a cloud. She could have caused a very great deal of trouble for a fine, old institution.’ And why had Saskia said she’d left the place? Something about ‘to look after my growing family’. Even Emily had told me: ‘She’d started work again – the PA to the headmaster of some school or other – but she got pregnant with me, and she had to leave.’