‘So you’re going to see him,’ Laura said after Emma had explained about the letter.
‘I’ve got no choice, Laura,’ Emma insisted. ‘If I’m going to show some gumption, I’ve got to stand up to him. And he can’t hurt me where he is, don’t forget.’
Laura winced. She knew how evil some of these predators could be, and that was what she thought of Emma’s ex. ‘Would you like me to come with you?’ she asked.
Emma shook her head. ‘Thank you, but no; this is something I must do myself.’
Laura sighed heavily. ‘Oh, Emma, I do worry about you. Please let me come.’
‘No.’ It was emphatic.
‘How are you going to get there?’
‘I’ll catch a bus. I only have to go to Winchester.’
‘Well how about letting me meet you at the prison gates?’ Laura tried. ‘I’ll drive you home.’
Emma laughed. ‘No, thanks. People will think you’re picking up an ex-prisoner.’
Laura laughed. ‘OK, sweetie, I’ll let you forge your own destiny. But good luck anyway.’
Emma turned her phone off and slipped it into her handbag. Laura was one hurdle she had to cross and she had negotiated that safely. Now she had to tackle the bank and ask for a credit card; then the bus to Winchester.
‘Why?’
It was a simple question worthy of a straightforward answer, but Emma’s husband didn’t look as though he felt inclined to answer. Emma could see that he had put on weight since she had last seen him, but it didn’t detract from his overall appearance. He still carried himself with an ease that embraced his six-foot frame, and his countenance simply enhanced his outward charisma. Any woman would have been happy to be seen in his company, and Emma knew from suffocating experience that he had used that magnetism to full effect. It was what she had fallen for, and she could still remember painfully the first time he had shown his dark side. The apologies had tumbled from his lips in such a way that Emma felt then as though she had driven him to it: it was her fault. Many times she had tried to placate him, to love him harder than she thought possible, but as the beatings increased, so the apologies decreased. Until the day he cut her throat.
The painful memories had all come flooding back to her the moment she saw him, and the old fears surfaced until she wished she hadn’t come. Before he took his seat on the opposite side of the table, Emma felt the urge to run away and never see him again. But she was there for a reason and had to push her fears back and face the psychopath who had tried to murder her.
Johnson shrugged. ‘Why not?’
‘That’s not an answer, Ian, and you know it.’ She cast her eyes down to avoid looking directly at him. Then remembered the promise she had made to refuse to be intimidated by him. She raised her head again. ‘You will have to answer in court.’
Johnson reached out across the table and touched Emma’s hand.
‘No contact!’ The prison guard’s voice boomed out across the room. Johnson pulled his hand away.
‘Emma, listen to me.’ His voice was soft and pleading. ‘We can start again. There’s no reason why we should separate.’
Emma was horrified. ‘You tried to kill me,’ she blurted out. ‘Or had you forgotten?’
He shook his head from side to side. ‘I think about it every night: what happened, the way I treated you. I know it was an accident although it didn’t look that way.’ He looked at her with pleading in his blue eyes. He lifted his hand. ‘I know, I know: you never believed it was an accident.’
‘Neither did the judge,’ Emma reminded him tartly.
‘But there was no substantiating evidence,’ he remarked. ‘Other-wise I would have gone down for a lot longer.’
‘I wish you had.’
He looked saddened. ‘Oh, Emma, please. I still love you. I know we can make it work.’
‘No, Ian,’ she snapped back at him. ‘I want a divorce. Our marriage is finished. I want out.’
He sat upright and leaned back in his chair. He eyed her curiously for a brief moment. Then he moved forward. ‘You’ve got a fella, haven’t you?’ He pointed a finger at her and a smile broadened on his face. ‘That’s it: you’ve got a man in your life.’
Emma felt a blush creeping up her neck. She tried desperately to keep it down. Her hand automatically went to the scar on her neck and she thought of Max. She wished he was here with her.
‘I see now,’ he said slowly. ‘You want me to let you go because you’ve shacked up with someone else. I think they call that adultery where I come from.’ He tapped the tip of his finger on the table. ‘Shouldn’t be too difficult to prove it. I can always get witnesses.’
Emma wanted to scream at him because she could see the way his evil mind was working. Adultery was second nature to him, but he was quite happy to use it as a weapon against her, even though she was not culpable. She had no idea where he would get his so-called witnesses from, but she guessed he had friends outside who would be willing to perjure themselves in court. And now she feared for Max. Although she hadn’t heard from him for a while, she knew that this kind of scandal, true or not, would only frighten him off. Even now, her husband was wielding his own kind of subliminal violence against her, and she knew it would destroy her. She began to shake as much in rage as in fear. She pushed her chair back and got to her feet. It scraped noisily on the floor. People looked round, seeing the angry expression on Emma’s face. But they couldn’t see the tears gathering in her eyes.
Without any forethought or reason for doing it other than wanting to strike back, Emma leaned over the table. ‘You bastard,’ she said bitterly and spat in his face. Then she stormed out of the room.
He watched her go and wiped the spittle from his cheek. He smiled and made up his mind that she was never going to get away with that. Even if she won the divorce, he would bide his time and finish her.
EIGHT
Clanford Hall, 1974
Kate stood by the graveside looking at the headstone, lost in thought. The wind whipped in, nipping at her exposed ankles. Beside her were the twins, Paul and Michael, and Kate’s daughter, Victoria. The boys looked about as solemn as they could manage, bearing in mind it was their father’s grave and he had died eight years ago. Victoria fidgeted, as always. She tugged at Kate’s hand.
‘Why do we always have to come here on my birthday, Mummy?’ she asked irritably.
Kate didn’t take her eyes off the headstone and the small posy of flowers she had laid against it.
‘Your father held you in his arms just before he died. It was the day you were born.’ She glanced down at her daughter. ‘Eight years ago.’ She sighed deeply and tried not to shed tears for all their sakes; time for that in private. ‘It helps us all to remember.’ She looked at each of them in turn. ‘We must never forget him.’
Kennett’s death had triggered a slow decline in the fortunes of Clanford Hall. Paul had inherited the estate as the eldest of the twins, and what little money Kennett had was shared equally among the three children. Because Paul was only six years old when his father died, the estate was automatically held in trust for him until he came of age on his twenty-first birthday. The estate’s solicitor, Jules Copping of Copping & Copping, had managed to install himself as a trustee, much to Kate’s disgust. She had never liked the man and didn’t trust him. But there was nothing she could do: if she had wanted to challenge his position it would have cost the earth and she could only do that with Paul’s blessing, and Paul was too young to agree under the law. And just because Kate didn’t approve, she wouldn’t have got her way. She wished fervently at times that she could be shot of him and his self-serving ways.
The appropriation of the land by the highways commission for the new trunk road had been enacted without any consideration for Kate’s efforts at running the estate, possibly because she was not the legal owner and for the fact that she was a woman. She could see Copping’s hand in it all and she had often reached boiling point when attempts to make him see sense were
rebutted with his smarmy manner. She was convinced he was getting something out of the appropriation but had no way of proving it.
As a result of the land grab, as Kate called it, the estate lost a great deal of its dairy farm. This meant the tenant farmer had to struggle to make the farm viable until he came to Kate one day and handed the tenancy back. He had suffered as a result of the reduction of his herd and the effects of Ted Heath’s Conservative government policy on the removal of free milk to junior schools a couple of years earlier. As a consequence, the herd was sold off and the sheep flock increased. It still meant someone was needed to manage the flock, but Kate was able to get by for a while with the help of a local shepherd.
Eventually Copping hired an estate manager. Once again, Kate was furious at not being consulted properly until the new manager was more or less presented as a fait accompli. Kate had to admit that the old saying of a burden shared was a burden halved carried a lot of weight, as the new man slotted in to the Clanford regime. But soon it became clear that he had more than a work ethic in his work plan when Kate began taking an interest in accounting. It was a task that had always been undertaken by her husband, and continued after his death by a firm of accountants in Petersfield. Kate was happy with the arrangement, but when the estate began to suffer as a result of imposed changes, she found herself faced with bills that needed paying and precious little in the pot to cover them. She had been forced to sell the Morgan, but even though it was something of a classic car, the money soon evaporated. It was only because of a bitter row with her estate manager, or Copping’s lapdog, as Kate liked to call him, that he was forced to leave.
She dabbed her eyes and turned away from the grave, keeping hold of Victoria’s hand as they all traipsed back into the hall through the rear entrance. Although it wasn’t too cold outside, the change in temperature made it pleasantly warm inside. Kate went straight into the kitchen and gathered up the school lunch boxes that had been prepared by Emily, who was now the cook. Martha had retired a few years earlier.
As Kate handed each of them their lunch boxes, she noticed that Paul and Michael had changed shirts. She glared at them and stood there shaking her head.
‘Paul, why have you changed shirts with Michael?’
The two boys exchanged glances and tried not to laugh. It was obvious they were having difficulty keeping the smirk from their faces. Kate knew what they were up to. One of their games was to change shirts so that the schoolteachers would get confused over who was who. It was a childish prank that harmed no one but frustrated Kate immensely.
‘We haven’t changed shirts,’ Paul told her, trying desperately not to laugh.
‘Don’t lie to me, Paul.’
‘I’m Michael,’ he insisted.
Kate leaned in a little closer so that her face was opposite Paul’s. ‘I will always know the difference between you and your brother. Now go upstairs and change your shirts: blue for you, red for Michael.’ She clapped her hands together quickly and straightened. ‘Now, off you go!’
The two boys began laughing as they ran out of the kitchen and up the stairs to their room. Kate smiled once they were out of the way and then looked at Victoria. ‘Thank goodness you’re not a twin, Victoria; you would all tie me up in knots.’
Paul and Michael grabbed their bikes as soon as they returned home from school and after a quick kiss for Kate, they took themselves off on one of their usual pursuits around the estate. Because it was late afternoon, they were forbidden to leave the estate boundary, although on Saturday they more or less had free licence to roam and would spend much of their time in Petersfield.
Paul always cycled ahead of Michael. He wasn’t trying to prove something, but felt instinctively that because he was the eldest, he was the natural leader. Michael had no qualms about the assumed roles; he was quite happy to follow his elder brother’s lead. Paul’s adventurous instincts often took them into places that should have been avoided, and this day was no different. They turned off the estate road and onto the acreage often referred to as the ‘top meadow’. It was where the sheep would graze in the early part of the year before being moved to another pasture. Paul had his sights on the area where the earth-moving machinery had been assembled along the newly carved section of trunk road. It was a broad scar across the verdant green that was once part of Clanford Estate.
Michael followed, keeping a short distance behind until Paul stopped beside a large wooden hut. He propped his bike against the hut and went to the door. Michael watched fascinated, wondering what on earth his brother was up to.
Then suddenly Paul moved away and beckoned to Michael.
‘Find something strong: an iron bar or something,’ he ordered.
Michael frowned. ‘What for?’
Paul waved his hand dismissively. ‘Never mind, just look for something.’
Michael went through the motions while his brother searched in earnest. Suddenly, Paul yelled with joy and picked a piece of reinforcing bar from where it had been discarded. He ran back to the hut and immediately pushed the bar through the loop of the padlock that hung from the door.
Michael’s mouth fell open. ‘What are you doing?’
Paul just grunted as he strained to break the padlock. Then suddenly the lock parted and he fell backwards as the bar flew out of his hands. He roared as he scrambled to his feet.
‘Come on, Michael; let’s see what they’ve got inside.’ Before Michael could stop him, Paul had opened the door and had disappeared inside the hut.
Michael looked round instinctively, expecting someone to appear from nowhere and catch them. He followed him in. Paul was busy rummaging around the shelves of the hut, looking for anything he thought might be worth taking, when he came to a drawer which was locked.
‘Find a knife or screwdriver,’ he urged his brother with a flurry of hands and continued tugging at the drawer.
‘No, Paul, stop it!’ Michael suddenly felt scared. He knew what his brother was doing was wrong, and he wanted to get out of the hut and run away as fast as he could. But his loyalty to Paul overcame the urge for self-preservation and he stayed. Suddenly the drawer flew open and once again Paul was sitting on his backside whooping for joy. He got to his feet and searched through the drawer. Michael watched as Paul held up a small brown envelope. Michael could see a name written clearly on the envelope and a number beside it.
‘Someone’s wages,’ Paul declared triumphantly. ‘Must have been sick.’ He tore the envelope open and pulled out the notes, then emptied the coins into his hand. His eyes widened as he counted the money. He clenched one hand into a fist and shook it in triumph.
‘Twenty-five pounds, Michael!’ He looked at his brother and then at the money. ‘Wow, twenty-five quid.’
He shovelled the money into his pocket and looked towards the open door. ‘Come on, let’s go. We’ll share the money up when we get back.’
Before Michael could protest, Paul was out of the door and picking his bike up from the side of the hut.
‘Come on, Michael, hurry!’ he shouted.
Michael snapped out of his almost catatonic trance and came to life. He burst out of the hut and took off after his brother, who was already pedalling furiously across the meadow.
And as they rode away Paul was laughing hysterically.
Saturday, as always, was a good day. The two boys had divided the money between them and were now in Petersfield ready to spend some of their ill-gotten gains. Wisely perhaps, Paul had left the majority of his share behind and had persuaded Michael to do the same. But now it was time to wind down after the high of the previous day. Paul had found the whole episode so exciting that he wanted to brag to whoever crossed his path. But he had some sense and knew it would get him into hot water if he went around shooting his mouth off. Yet the adrenalin rush of having money in his pocket in large quantities was like a drug and he wanted more. All he needed to do was be patient and bide his time, and the opportunity would come again; he was sure of that. He had war
ned Michael too and said they had to be careful when spending their money. Michael thought it odd that his brother should refer to the stolen money as ‘theirs’.
Because of his own advice, Paul had resisted the temptation to show off his new-found wealth and consequently found the morning traipsing round the town centre a bit of a drag. The two boys bought a few extra items that they wouldn’t have been able to afford with the frugal sum Kate gave them for pocket money, and finally gave up acting like a couple of big shots. They picked up their bikes and cycled the five miles back to Clanford Hall.
It was Michael who saw the panda car first: a small Austin 1100 with its distinctive blue and white colouring and police logo on the front doors. His breath caught in his throat and he stopped cycling. Paul, who was yards in front as usual, didn’t see the car at first, and when he heard his brother’s strangulated cry, he immediately turned his head and stopped.
Michael was standing astride his bike, his mouth open, and was pointing towards the house. Paul turned and saw the car. He remained like that for a while, then got off his bike and walked back to Michael. He held his index finger close to Michael’s face.
‘Whatever you do, don’t admit anything. Right?’ Michael nodded and tried to say something. Paul could see he was scared. ‘Let me do the talking. And don’t worry; they may be here for something else.’ He went back to his bike and began cycling towards the house. They took their bicycles round the back and left them propped up against the wall. Then they hurried into the kitchen, which was always the case when they got back from riding, and stopped abruptly when they saw Kate sitting at the large kitchen table. Opposite her was the local police constable, PC Cooper.
Michael immediately started sweating. Paul remained ice cool. They said nothing; just stared.
Kate stood up. ‘PC Cooper has something he wants to ask you, and he expects the truth.’ She nodded towards the policeman.
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