He'd taken an important visitor out to the stables. The man wanted to try out one of Neal's horses. She'd been on the middle landing looking out of a window and saw quite clearly that the horse her husband brought out was a notoriously evil-tempered one, due to be sold. Even as she frowned, her husband slipped a hand casually beneath the animal's saddle before helping the visitor to mount. The horse had come back alone, foaming at the mouth, eyes rolling wildly, and Neal had shot it there and then in the stable yard.
A search party went out and found the visitor lying with a broken neck beneath an avenue of trees. When everyone was fussing round the body , Naomi had slipped away to the stable block and drawn back the tarpaulin sheet covering the dead horse. On its back—right where the saddle had been—she found tiny holes flecked with blood . The poor creature had been driven mad by pain and Naomi knew how it had been done.
That night she started to write things down, and it was that very incident that she'd hurled in her husband's face over four years ago when he'd suggested a divorce. She was safe but it was cold comfort when she was a wife in name only, and the years dragged by in a fog of drink and broken dreams.
Lost in her thoughts, she didn't hear her door open. It wasn't until Bishop was actually in the room that she saw him and gave a small cry of fright. 'You startled me! What on earth do you mean by… ? What do you want? My husband isn't here.'
'Your husband's never here,' he said cruelly.
Naomi shivered. She hated the man . 'What do you want?' she repeated.
'I saw your light was on and wondered if you needed something to help you sleep.'
'No thank you. I only have to press my bell and the nurse is here in minutes,' she added quickly.
Bishop smiled and Naomi felt her stomach tighten with fear. 'I think not, Mrs. Gueras. It's been disconnected.'
She stabbed frantically at the bell push and waited. No door opened across the corridor. The nurse slept on.
'Like I said, I thought you'd need help sleeping. Here, take some of these,' and he held out his hand. She took the bottle and glanced at the label. 'Secanol? I'm not taking those; I've been drinking all day.'
'You'd certainly sleep, wouldn't you!" 'I'd never wake up.'
'That's right, Naomi. You'd never wake up.'
She looked at him in silence. So that was why he was there. To remove her. Another obstacle to Neal's desires was to be killed. But he couldn't do that; it was too dangerous. She tried to moisten her suddenly dry lips. 'You're making a mistake, Bishop. You might think this is what my husband wants but you're wrong. I've got papers… '
'Not any more.'
'He can't afford a murder inquiry, none of you can. The police are only waiting for an excuse to look into his affairs.'
'I'm doing what he asked. He wants you dead, and what your husband wants he gets.'
'You can't make me take them,' she gabbled, pulling the duvet up round her chin as though that could protect her.
'I think I can. Alternatively I could force them down your throat, but that might leave a mark and marks wouldn't fit in with the verdict we want. You'll have to take them yourself , along with a little more scotch, I think.' With gloved hands he picked up the bottle on her bedside table.
Naomi closed her mouth tightly and shook her head.
'Then I'll just have to persuade you,' he said softly, and placed a large cardboard box on her bed. A box that held things which scrabbled against the sides. Things that wanted to get out.
'What is it?' Her eyes were wide with fear but he knew that she still hadn't guessed.
'There's more than one there, Naomi.'
'What are they?' She was whispering now, as though afraid of enraging them.
'Don't worry, some people keep them as pets. You wouldn't,' he continued pleasantly. 'You wouldn't go near them or any of their relations. Can't you guess? Are you too drunk even to make a guess?' 'Get out!' She was almost pleading now. 'Get out and I won't mention this to anyone. If you don't, I'm going to start screaming.' 'Listen to the wind.' His voice seemed to caress her and his eyes gleamed. She'd never seen him so animated. 'No one will hear, Naomi. No one will come and help you. Now, take the tablets and wash them down with a little drink. It shouldn't be difficult, you've done it often enough before.' 'No!'
'I can't say I'm sorry. It would be a pity to bring these little creatures to see you and then keep them shut up. Shall we open the box? as they used to say on television. Shall we see what I've brought you?'
Naomi didn't move. She was so petrified that she couldn't even nod her head.
'I'll take your silence for assent. Out you come, my fine fellow.' And with his left hand he deftly loosened the lid of the box and just managed to catch one striped, furry tarantula spider as it began to climb on to the duvet.
'No!' Terror tightened her throat so that the scream was little more than a whisper and her eyes were bulging with fear. 'Please, Bishop, put it back. I… '
With his free hand he placed the tablets next to her. 'Swallow one,' he said harshly. 'Now!'
She shook her head and watched in anguish as he lifted the tarantula above her head, hesitated for one fleeting second and then dropped it on to the back of her nightdress.
All her life she'd had a phobia about spiders, even money spiders. Now she could feel the tarantula scampering up to her shoulders and then saw its legs as it began descending down her right arm.
Bishop watched her gibbering and moaning and his expression hardened. He'd expected her to crumble quicker. Louise—stupid as ever—had over-estimated how drunk her mother was. 'Take the bloody tablets!' he snarled.
Naomi, scrambling round the bed with her nightdress riding above her flaccid, blue-veined thighs, was begging and pleading like a tiny child, but she still found the courage to knock the bottle of tablets to the floor.
Bishop, worried that the wind might drop and the nurse hear the moans and cries coming from Naomi, lost patience. He picked up the box and tipped all the contents on to the terrified woman's head. Five more huge, remorseless spiders dropped around her. One got caught up in her hair net and she flung her head from side to side, trying desperately to remove it.
They were all over her now. Wandering up her legs, marching over her bare feet—to Naomi it seemed like an army of them. Even when she rolled on top of one and squashed it, it seemed to her terrified brain that even more appeared to take its place.
With a despairing cry she lunged for the edge of the bed, hoping that she could make the floor and leave most of them behind on the bed, but Bishop put one hand contemptuously in the middle of her flabby breasts and watched her topple backwards, hearing her beginning to wheeze asthmatically.
When she fell, he picked up one of the tarantulas and dropped it into the middle of her face. It was then that the pain started. In her confusion she thought she'd been bitten and tried to shake her left arm free but the pain continued to spread like a red hot poker down into her hand and right up to her shoulder.
She groaned aloud and then felt a slight discomfort in her chest. A discomfort that swelled and surged until she screamed with the agony, her hands flying to the centre of the pain. The wind screamed with her, the two sounds indistinguishable.
Mouth agape, she began gasping for breath. It was an effort to keep her lungs functioning and she was shaking from head to foot with the shock of the pain. The tarantulas were meaningless now. There was only the pain in her chest.
'Help me!' she gasped, not to Bishop who was standing at the foot of the bed studying her as though she were an interesting specimen in a laboratory, but to everyone else in the house. Her nurse, her children, her housekeeper, anyone who might hear. 'Please, somebody help!' But her breathless gasps had no force and no one came. Suddenly, for one blissful moment, the pain seemed to ebb away and she gazed at Bishop, still motionless at the foot of the bed. What now? she thought, trying to still the shaking of her body as he moved towards the bed, but he was only gathering up the spiders and putting them ca
refully back in the cardboard box. She continued to watch as he picked up the pills, put them into his pocket and at the same time carefully replaced the bottle of whisky from which he'd urged her to drink.
She thought it strange that he seemed to have given up. Then, without any warning, the pain exploded again and her entire body arched as though from an electric shock. A terrible moan issued from her mouth and finally, with shocking abruptness, it was over.
Bishop's eyes swept the room. It had turned out even better than he could have hoped but he had to double check. Everything must look right. The state of the bed didn't matter, in fact everyone would feel guilty that she'd been thrashing around with an asthma attack while they slept soundly.
Finally, when he was absolutely certain that there was no sign he'd ever been there, he took one last look at the dead woman. Her eyes were wide with terror and shock, her mouth twisted in one last, hideous grimace, and her mouth was slack with a trickle of saliva running down her chin.
Death, he reflected to himself , was rarely flattering to the victim and Naomi hadn't been an attractive sight alive. Smiling at the thought, he moved swiftly and silently down the back stairs and into his own annexe. Once there he killed the spiders, wrapped them in a pedal bin liner and put them in the dustbin. He flushed the Secanol down the lavatory and made himself a cup of tea before going to bed and sleeping the sleep of the innocent. After all, he'd only been carrying out orders, and there was always satisfaction in a job well done.
When their plane touched down at Heathrow, Lisa realised that Neal had been right. She felt both physically and mentally stronger, and their time together in Paris had increased her feelings for him.
They'd stayed at L'Hotel, their room furnished entirely with antiques including an antique cupboard that concealed a fridge kept constantly filled with champagne. Their bed was a huge four-poster with green drapes and their bathroom had mirrors fitted all round the walls and even on the ceiling. The cuisine was excellent but occasionally they'd eaten out, wandering down small back streets that Neal seemed to know. Here the food was less lavishly presented but still superbly cooked, putting London's smaller restaurants to shame.
Then there had been the usual tourist attractions. The Eiffel Tower, the Louvre, even a trip to the Palace of Versailles where she'd marvelled at the ornate glory of the Sun King's reign. She'd also shopped in the Rue Faubourg St Honore, buying three tailored suits in sharp bright colours, their style and finish the epitome of French chic.
Now, with her head resting on Neal's shoulder, she was still thinking about it all. Even though the nights didn't quite match the days, Neal had assured her he didn't mind. He understood her fear of losing control, promising her that in time it would come right, but once or twice she'd caught a look of thoughtful assessment in his eyes that made her wonder whether he was quite as content as he claimed. 'Happy?' he asked, handing her the travelling bag from the set of Louis Vuitton luggage he'd bought her while in Paris. 'Very happy. I feel like a new woman!'
He smiled kindly. 'It was good. I've been to Paris so often I'd ceased looking at it properly. You made me see it through new eyes.' After customs they walked hand-in-hand to the entrance lobby and were talking intently when Bishop suddenly stepped in front of them.
Lisa glanced at his expression and wondered if he ever smiled.
'I'm sorry to intrude, Mr. Gueras,' he murmured, looking anything but sorry. 'I've got some very bad news for you.' She shrank closer to Neal's side. All she could think of was Jessica. I should never have left her, she thought wildly, and clutched hold of Neal's arm.
'Can't it wait?' he asked mildly. 'I'd like to get Lisa home.' 'I'm afraid not. It's about your wife.'
Lisa's grip loosened and she stood up straight, her heart thudding. 'What about her?' Neal sounded as irritated as Lisa felt.
'She's dead.'
'No!' Her hand flew to her mouth in horror as she stared at Neal. His face was blank with shock and he blinked rapidly once or twice. 'Dead? But how? What happened and when?'
'She was found dead in bed. Heart attack, the doctor thinks. They say there'll have to be an autopsy.'
'I didn't know there was anything wrong with her heart.' Neal's bewilderment was genuine.
'I don't think anyone did.'
'How are the girls?' asked Lisa. Bishop glanced at her insolently. 'Not too well. They were particularly upset that their father hadn't left any details as to where he could be contacted.' 'I'm so sorry,' whispered Lisa.
Neal squeezed her hand. 'I'll have to get someone else to take you home, darling. I think I ought to go straight to Beckett Lodge with Bishop.'
'Of course, don't worry about me. Poor Rebekah, she's still young enough to need her mother.'
'She hasn't had a proper one for the past seven years. I don't suppose she'll fall apart,' muttered Neal. 'Bishop, ring Mike and get him to bring a car here for Lisa. We'll leave straight away.'
Giving her a brief kiss on the cheek he strode out of the terminal, his face pale beneath its tan. She waited until both men were out of sight before sinking down on a chair, her legs trembling with delayed reaction.
She knew that heart attacks could happen at any time, and that logically it was probably Naomi's long history of alcohol abuse that had brought it about, but it was dreadful to think that she and Neal had spent so many hours making love while his wife was dying alone and probably in agony. She almost felt as if she'd caused the death herself.
'Come on, sunshine! I've been looking everywhere for you.' Looking up into Mike's smiling face she wondered exactly how long she'd been sitting there, feeling sick with guilt.
'I didn't know where to wait. Neal had to rush off.' 'I know. Is that your only case?'
'Neal took all the big ones with him.'
'Probably putting them away in Naomi's cupboards this very minute. Come on, let's get you home.'
'How dare you talk about him like that!' Mike turned to her in amazement. 'You make it sound as though he's already making plans to put me in her place. That's a vile lie. He was stunned by the news; for a moment I thought he was going to pass out.'
'Is that a fact? He should have been on the stage! Come on duchess.'
'Don't you like him?' she demanded once they were on their way. 'He's my employer, not a friend.'
'You're not a very loyal employee.'
Mike glanced in his driving mirror and saw how flushed she was. She looked very beautiful today. Pregnancy was suiting her, and probably she'd had a good time in Paris as well. He liked her and so he took a chance.
'Let's be honest about this. Naomi was a sick, unattractive and aging woman who couldn't be called a wife in any real sense of the word. You're fit, beautiful, young and, even more important, pregnant. Now do you truly believe that Neal Gueras is going to spend very long grieving over being a widower? Not on your life. After all, now he's free to marry you. Who's a lucky girl?'
She reached forward and slammed the partition shut. For the first time she hated Mike. Hated him because he'd made her realise something she hadn't considered with the shock of the announcement: Neal was free. In the past, when he'd become too possessive or dogmatic, she'd been able to remind him that he already had a wife and she was a relatively free agent. Now her safety net had gone.
She realised that she didn't want to marry him. Didn't want to become his wife. She didn't ever want to marry again; Toby had been enough. No, she definitely didn't want to belong to Neal—yet how could she refuse if he asked her to be his wife?
She was pregnant with his child, reliant upon both his emotional and financial support. What possible reason could she give for turning him down? And why did she want to? Why was she afraid of marriage when she'd just spent five glorious days in his company? She didn't know. She only knew that she was.
When they drew up outside the mews cottage she stayed in her seat, not wanting to leave the car. She dreaded hearing how Jessica had been or what everyday disasters had struck in her absence. She only
wanted to be left alone.
'Come on, princess, out you get!' Mike's voice was still cheerful as he opened the door.
'I was a duchess back at the airport!' she joked weakly.
'Sure, but you're the quickest social climber I know. In a few short months you've seen off Kay Masters and Naomi Gueras. That's no mean feat when you consider how long they'd both been around. You ought to patent your formula for success and sell it. You'd soon be a millionairess.'
She looked into his bright blue eyes, the intelligence that was usually masked by his smile for once plainly evident. 'I didn't want them out of the way,' she whispered. 'I never wanted this to happen.' 'I know that, but not many people will believe you so you'd better keep your feelings to yourself. Besides, you sound like an innocent victim and that's hardly the case, is it?'
'Isn't it?' All at once she was truly frightened.
He looked at her anxious expression, remembered the child she was carrying and gave a quick laugh. 'Of course not. Why, you're all set for the land of milk and honey from now on. Enjoy it, most girls would! Be seeing you.'
As he drove away she was touched by a fleeting moment of fear that his apparently encouraging remarks did nothing at all to dispel.
Chapter Seventeen
For over a week she stayed alone in the cottage. Jessica's behaviour had deteriorated even further since her absence but she left the nurse to cope as she waited constantly for the phone to ring. Janice brought in all the papers each morning and she read every single item of news about the death. Her own name featured prominently several times as Neal Gueras's 'constant companion' of the past few months, but she didn't mind that. She was looking for something more sinister, some hint that the death hadn't been quite as straightforward as Bishop had made it sound, but there was never any suggestion of foul play.
Finally there was the inquest. That was reported in the Evening Standard the same day, and on the front page there was a photo of a strained, unsmiling Neal arriving at the court room. The evidence was entirely innocuous. The deceased had died of a massive coronary brought on by the strain of a severe asthmatic attack. She'd suffered from an enlarged liver and hardening of the arteries more usually found in far older women. In other words, she'd been a physical wreck and her death would probably have occurred within the next two years in any case. The coroner commiserated with the widower and it was all over.
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