‘Who lived here?’ she asked.
‘An elderly lady,’ the estate agent told her.
And her cats, Naomi added silently.
‘And, yes, it does need work. We said that in our details.’
‘New kitchen and bathroom for a start,’ Alec said.
‘Well, yes, but once it’s done … she was a very elderly lady. Had to go into a home and then she died.’
So, what happened to the cats, Naomi thought.
‘And now the family want a quick sale, so hence the good price.’
‘Not so good once you take account of all the work that would have to be done,’ Alec objected. ‘New kitchen, new bathroom and we’d have to install an en suite and the windows look like they haven’t been painted in decades …’
‘I’m sure they would be open to offers,’ the estate agent said firmly. ‘It’s still a very good buy …’
Naomi tuned them out and listened to the sad little house. She could hear how large the rooms were and almost catch the sounds of the ghosts that had once loved this place. It could be lovely, she thought, but it was not for them. She wondered what was.
They returned to their car and, without bothering to ask her, Alec phoned and cancelled their next booked viewing.
‘It’s not working, is it?’ he said.
‘Not really. No. Maybe we should just go back home? Try and make it ours again.’
‘Do you think we could?’
She hesitated and then shook her head. ‘No. You know what’s strange, Alec?’
‘What?’
‘The one place I keep thinking about, thinking maybe I could settle there was that little cottage down in Somerset.’
She could feel Alec’s disbelieving stare. ‘I’d have thought that was one place you’d never want to go back to. Naomi, I nearly lost you there. I couldn’t …’
‘Alec.’ She laid a hand on his arm, stroking the smooth fabric of his shirt. ‘I know it isn’t logical, but you know, I won that one. I scored a victory. It turned out all right. Since then, not much has. You know?’
She could almost hear the wheels turning as he processed that and tried to work it out. Alec started the car, signalled and pulled slowly away.
‘That last place stank of cats,’ she said.
‘Yes, I noticed. The bowls and litter tray were still in the kitchen, four bowls so presumably four cats. And there was a book on the living room chair. It had been left open and there was a pair of glasses next to it and a cup on the table and hair brushes on the dressing table. It was as if she’d just walked out.’
‘I think she died there,’ Naomi confirmed. ‘Despite what the agent said. People don’t like to think about that, do they? Even though it’s inevitable if a house has any age to it.’ And if the death had been a violent one …
‘Alec, accept that cash offer for the house. I don’t think we’ll better it, not even if we wait.’
‘You could be right,’ he said. ‘OK, love, I’ll give them a call tonight. Want to do the Molly thing, now?’
‘We may as well,’ she agreed. ‘Then let’s do something fun. Go and see a film, find a park and feed the ducks. Anything really.’
He reached out, briefly, and clasped her hand. These sudden depressive moods had hit her recently and he could understand why. He felt the same. It was as though nothing would ever feel settled or safe ever again.
Molly opened the door to them and for a moment Alec thought she wasn’t going to let them in.
‘Back so soon?’ she said. ‘Two visits inside a week. Be careful, Alec, I might get used to it.’
She bent, then, to greet Napoleon. ‘Hello, dog. You are a fine fellow, aren’t you? Never had a dog since I was a girl. We did far too much travelling about, but there was this old brown mutt I had as a child, followed me everywhere.’
‘Can we come in, Aunt Molly?’
‘Well, I suppose you can, yes. Kitchen all right for you, is it? Or are we going to get all fancy-pantsy and go into the drawing room?’
‘Just as you like, Molly,’ Alec said. He gripped Naomi’s hand, wishing he’d taken her back to the hotel. They followed Molly into the kitchen and sat down at the table while Molly first fussed with the kettle and then opened the kitchen drawer and set the glasses and bottle on the kitchen table. ‘I’ll get another glass,’ she said. ‘And I expect the dog will want some water.’
Naomi thanked her and Molly hmmd rather than harrumphed, which, Alec thought, was a good sign, of sorts.
‘Sorry,’ Alec apologized softly as Molly went through to the other room to fetch a suitable glass.
‘What for? I know what she’s like. I’m not exactly unprepared.’
Molly returned and set the glass down, poured three large measures and pushed Naomi’s glass towards her. ‘It’s by your right hand,’ she said ‘You like brandy.’
It wasn’t really a question.
Naomi raised her glass, Molly seemed to be hesitating about something. Naomi knew all about her usual toast but guessed it was something Molly would be unsure about sharing with a relative stranger. She chose words that were close enough in meaning to Molly’s little ritual. ‘To absent friends,’ she said. She sensed Molly relax, just a little.
‘Absent friends,’ Molly agreed ‘The whole damned lot of them.’
Naomi sipped her drink. It was very fine brandy. It deserved far better than exile in a kitchen drawer. She was about to ask what it was when Molly interrupted with, ‘So, to what do I owe the pleasure this time?’
Alec drew a deep breath. ‘I went to see the investigating officers.’
‘Detective Barnes and “call me Delia”.’ Molly laughed. ‘You said you might. What of it?’
‘What of it? Well, for a start, they think you’ve been lying to them, Molly.’
‘I don’t lie,’ she said flatly.
‘I don’t believe you.’
The silence that followed Alec’s statement was leaden. Naomi heard the kettle boil and then click to off, but Molly made no move to deal with it. Instead, she heard the older woman refill her own glass and then top up Naomi’s, even though it had barely been touched. Naomi lifted her glass and cradled it in her hands, out of Molly’s reach. She sipped again, feeling the warmth of the spirit spread through her body, relaxing her to the bones.
‘I don’t tell lies,’ Molly repeated. ‘I said something foolish. People do. And do it more the older they get, I suppose.’
‘You recognized him.’
‘A momentary aberration. He reminded me of someone I knew a long time ago. The mind plays tricks, Alec, sometimes very painful ones.’
‘He’s killed before,’ Naomi said. She took another sip of the spirit. ‘Twice, at least.’
‘No, my dear. The gun he carried was used to kill at least twice before. That does not necessarily mean that the young man who chose to end his life on my landing, took the shot. I’m told you can rent a weapon and five rounds by the week if you know who to ask.’
‘Five rounds?’
‘Well, I agree it’s excessive. If you can’t get the job done in one, you should probably find another, more suitable occupation. But five rounds is standard, I believe. I always wondered if you got a refund for any unused.’
‘Molly!’ It wasn’t like Alec to be sharp, at least not outside of the interview room. Naomi was startled; Molly just chuckled delightedly.
‘Oh, are we playing good cop, bad cop? Really, Alec, isn’t that a little bit of a cliché?’
Naomi could feel his frustration. She wondered what was really going on here and it occurred to her that Molly, like so many before that Naomi had encountered in a professional capacity, really did want to tell. That whatever it was she was hiding was weighing heavily, but that the thought of just coming out with it was … well was impossible. She needed that permission, that coercion, so that admission would not be her responsibility.
But she didn’t think that Molly would be quick to give in. She tried a different tack. �
��What makes you think the dead man hadn’t killed the other two?’ she asked.
‘I didn’t say that was what I thought.’
‘No,’ Naomi agreed. ‘I just got the impression you’d thought that.’
There was another silence while Molly considered this, but it was not so leaden this time. She heard the bottle raised and poured again, and moved her own glass well away.
‘He stood in my garden,’ Molly said. ‘Just stood there, like some little kid who’d been sent to stand outside when the party was going on inside. He looked …’ She seemed to scrabble around for the right word. ‘Lost,’ she said. ‘No, just puzzled. It was as if …’ She shook herself and the moment seemed to pass. ‘I’m an old woman,’ she said. ‘What could I possibly know about such things?’
‘Molly, please,’ Alec said. ‘This is important. Other people could be at risk. You could be at risk.’
‘By your own logic, that’s not likely,’ she said. ‘Alec, if he’d been sent to kill me then he failed. Dramatically. If you are right and he killed those other people, then he is no longer a risk to others, is he? If it was someone else, then nothing I can tell you will help, will it?’
‘And what if he was sent for you? If someone else comes?’
‘Then I’ll be dead and you’ll have your answer, won’t you? Alec, I told that policeman and I told that Delia woman, I won’t be frightened out of my home and I’ve lived far too long to be intimidated by what might be. None of us know how long we have. Sometimes we cheat death when others beside us don’t. Sometimes death decides it really is time to turn our card and comes to find us, no matter how we try to stack the deck. One thing I’ve learnt, Alec, is that death is everywhere. I’ve spent my life with him breathing on my back; sometimes you just have to turn around and face the inevitable.’
Naomi frowned. Then, on impulse, she held out her glass in Molly’s direction. Molly laughed harshly and filled both their glasses.
‘Are you at least going to pretend to sample yours, Alec? A toast isn’t a toast unless the spirit touches the lips.’
Reluctantly, Alec raised his glass.
‘To the lost ones,’ Molly said.
‘Are they finding their way home, Molly?’ Alec asked.
‘Maybe they are,’ she said. ‘And if that’s the case there is nothing to be done.’
They left half an hour later. Half an hour during which Molly had turned the tables and interrogated them on their future plans and where they planned to settle down. She made it plain that all other conversation was closed, and every time Naomi or Alec attempted to steer it back, she eluded them. Eventually, even Alec’s patience thinned and Naomi took his hand and told him it was time to go.
Molly watched through the window as they drove away down the cul-de-sac. As Alec’s car turned on to the main road, Molly slumped down on to the old armchair set beside the window. It had been Edward’s favourite seat, bought in a second-hand store in Brighton only a few years into their marriage; it had been in and out of storage all their married lives, and finally come home properly when they had. One of the few, tangible constants in a life that had been full of intangibles; negotiations, cautious friendships and uneasy domiciles.
Oh, but she would not have missed any of it. Not for worlds of security.
But she missed the man she had shared it all with. Missed him even more acutely every single day.
‘Oh, Edward,’ Molly breathed. ‘I need your wisdom, now. This is all beyond me.’
The phone conversation had been brief and disappointing. Nothing in the locker answered the description.
‘One box with documents in, and a couple of photo albums, but nothing like you said there’d be.’
There was a silence from the other end of the conversation that spoke volumes about dissatisfaction and a degree of scepticism.
‘There wasn’t much in the locker. Some bits of furniture, a few old books and …’
‘Books? You went through them all?’
‘Well …’
‘But you brought the papers with you, I hope.’
It was not a question.
‘Yes, I’ve got them in the car.’
‘Then I’ll send someone out to collect. But I’m disappointed, Colin, I truly am. I hope you realize that.’
The conversation ended and Colin let out a deep breath and then looked across at the passenger seat. His companion shook his head. ‘Not a good man to cross,’ he said. ‘So what now?’
‘We deliver the box and get ourselves lost for a while,’ Colin said heavily. ‘And we hope that security bloke lives. Did you have to hit him that hard?’
‘Why do you care? Shouldn’t have been there, should he.’
‘Start to finish it was just stupid,’ Colin said angrily.
‘Going to tell him that, are you?’
Colin said nothing. He just started the car and pulled out from the side road where they’d been parked up and back into the traffic.
NINE
June 1961.
‘What the hell!’
Adam jerked the steering wheel around, his body swerving, reflexively, even before the car slewed across the road.
Had he missed the man? Not by more than inches if he had.
Adam was leaping from the driving seat even as his hand reached to cut the engine.
My God, I’ve hit him!
The man had fallen. Front wheels of the car poised over his left hand as though he’d reached out to stop it and been pushed aside.
I’ve hit him …
Where the hell was he bleeding from? Did he hit his head on the road when he fell?
‘Are you all right! No, no, don’t try to move. You can hear me, can’t you? Are you all right?’
The man on the ground turned his head slowly and managed a lip cracked half smile.
‘Not dead yet, am I?’
‘What? Oh, I see.’ Adam laughed breathily. ‘Yes, I mean no. No, you’re certainly not dead.’
For a moment the man closed his eyes, seemed to grow limp and passive. Then he moved his head slightly and stared at Adam.
‘Where?’ he managed. ‘Tell me where I am.’
Adam stared at him, taken aback by the unexpected question.
‘Er, Leopoldville,’ he managed. ‘Well, near as damn it. It’s about five miles that way.’ He gestured loosely up the way he had been headed. Then, ‘My God! What happened to you? I thought I’d hit you when you went down like that.’
Again, the man smiled, faintly, his lips cracking and bleeding with even such slight effort.
‘Argument …’ he whispered. ‘Argument … with a friend …’
‘Some friend!’
Adam frowned. It was clear he wouldn’t get his answers now, and the main thing was to get this man some help.
‘If I help you, can you stand?’ he asked.
‘Got this far, didn’t I.’
‘This far? Where …? No, never mind, let’s just get you into the car.’
Kneeling close beside the stranger, Adam slid an arm beneath his shoulders, apologizing rapidly and nervously as the man winced.
‘It’s all right,’ the man said. He leaned heavily against Adam, catching him a little off balance and causing him to stagger as, together, they pushed to their feet. The man groaned sharply at the sudden pressure on his right side. He clung convulsively to Adam’s arm, waiting for the worst of the pain to pass away.
‘I’ll be all right now.’ It was more of a gasp than separate words.
Bloodstained spittle clung to the stranger’s mouth. Adam eased him gently towards the car and hoped, fervently, that it came only from his cut and bleeding lips.
He pulled the passenger door, sharply, and lowered the man gently into the seat. It wasn’t easy, posting him in sideways, then swinging him around to get his legs inside.
He slammed the door, ran around to the driver’s side and slipped into the seat.
‘Just do me a favour, huh?’
The man tu
rned his head, questioning.
‘Don’t die on me on the way.’
Joseph Bern smiled and whispered softly. ‘I’ll try hard to cause you no more … inconvenience,’ he said. Then closed his eyes and seemed to sleep.
September 24th, Present Day
Evening. Only just past five and yet as dark as midnight. Thick cloud, most of it still raining, Adam drove as quickly and as safely as he could, but the journey had been a slow one.
Worcester an hour ago, gone to bed early and strangely empty, the foul weather having driven all but the most determined back inside. The last fraction of the journey was the most tiresome. The network of side roads confusing both him and the satnav. Twice he took the wrong turn. Twice had to backtrack and by the time he turned the car into the broad, overgrown driveway of the converted house, he was both very tired and very irritable.
He brought the car to a halt and stared up at the old house, it’s lighted windows, mostly semi-screened by heavy curtains or by broad, vertical blinds.
The hospice doors stood atop of five stone steps. A ramp had been added at the left-hand side. In the half-light that fell upon it from the windows, it seemed to have a temporary aspect, somehow unfinished. The original, heavy wooden door stood open. An inner glass door partitioned the hallway. Adam could glimpse movement, figures passing across the broad hallway and the hard edge of what must be the reception desk off to one side.
Adam sighed deeply and unfastened his seat belt and killed the engine.
Now he was here, he felt a strange uncertainty, born, he thought, of the long journey and the driving rain and the tiredness that came with it.
What did Joseph want with him after all this time?
He thought of that first day, the journey back to Leopoldville, Joseph slumped in the car beside him, opening his eyes just as they entered the first sprawling outskirts of the city.
‘What’s your name?’ Adam had asked him. ‘I thought I’d run you down and I don’t even know what to call you.’
Secrets Page 6