DEADLY DECEPTIONS

by Bill WENHAM

  “Bon Appetit, then, and thank you so much for coming,” Rachel replied.

  Middleton said, “My pleasure,” and glanced at her as he picked up his knife and fork. He’d thought that she was a very beautiful woman when he had first seen her in the police station, but here, in her own environment, she looked absolutely stunning.

  Her tearoom had only six small tables which could accommodate up to six people at each. Tonight he and Rachel were the only diners since she had closed the tearoom for the evening. She had turned it into the most romantic of settings by illuminating the whole room with only two candles.

  One was beside the kitchen door, which she had closed, shutting out the light from within. The other candle, a larger cylindrical one, was on their own table with a small vase of red roses across from it. The rest of the dining room was left in semi darkness.

  The table, with its single candle, was like being all alone in a world of their own. Rachel was well aware of the effect the candlelight would have on her lustrous red hair and smooth clear skin. As expected, it brought a youthful looking bloom to her already beautiful features.

  Middleton thought that she looked absolutely radiant, with the flame from the table candle sending dancing golden highlights through her mane of rich, red hair. In the candlelight, her skin looked as soft as a baby’s.

  He could hardly keep his eyes off her long enough to eat. As the meal and conversation continued, he found himself completely enchanted by this lovely woman. Then he realized that he was supposed to be enchanted. It had been planned that way.

  What seemed so amazing to him, unless it was all an act, was that she seemed to be equally attracted to him as well.

  With the meal over and as the candle burned lower in its glass container, they asked each other questions about their respective backgrounds and both gave frank and honest answers to them.

  Middleton told her about his marriage and how his wife, whom he had loved dearly, had died instantly in a terrible motorway car crash. He said, blushing furiously, that he’d never been interested in another woman since then and until he’d come to Little Carrington and had met her.

  She smiled at him and told him of her own marriage and divorce.

  “I was very young and impressionable and he was a very good looking man. But hardly the basis for lifetime of marriage and living together, though, was it? It was over in just over a year and thankfully, unlike many other girls who’d done much the same kind of thing, I wasn’t pregnant.”

  She poured each of them another glass from the bottle of champagne that he’d opened for her earlier.

  “Champagne, Rachel? Are we celebrating something?” he’d asked.

  She had shaken her head and smiled.

  “Perhaps, Paul. I’m hoping that this evening may mark a new beginning for me and fresh starts are always worth celebrating.”

  Her comment had set the scene for the rest of the evening.

  After they had both taken a sip of their champagne, she put her glass down and took his hand in hers. He put his own glass back down on the table as well.

  “I never married again, Paul, and I never wanted to. But, as you know from my fling with Andy Rudge, I’ve been no angel either. My husband and I parted, not as friends but not as enemies either and he never once hit me,” she said.

  “And Rudge did?” Middleton said tightly.

  She nodded and squeezed his hand.

  “It was stupid thing to do with him and I soon realized it but I am a woman, Paul, and with a woman’s needs.” She squeezed his hand harder. “But I can honestly say that I have never met another man yet that I was more instantly attracted to than you.”

  Middleton squeezed her hand back. Whether what she was saying was true or not, he had no idea. He just didn’t know her well enough to be sure. He sincerely hoped it was true because he had, at this very moment, just found out that he very much wanted it to be.

  Rachel released his hand and they both took another sip from their glasses. As they looked at each other across the table, Middleton said, “I feel the same way, Rachel. Tonight you’ve made me feel like a teenager again. I’ve already told you that I loved my poor wife dearly and I never wanted to ever forget her for a moment. Because of that, I have immersed myself in my police work and I have never either looked for, or encouraged, any other female companionship of a serious nature.”

  He paused and took another sip from his glass.

  “But tonight, you’ve made me realize that I’m alive, and that she, much as I regret it and miss her, will never come back and that the life of a hermit is perhaps not the best way for a man to exist, is it?” he said softly and took her hand back in his.

  She smiled at him and tilted her head quizzically to one side as she looked at him. Middleton didn’t think he had seen anything more beautiful in his entire life.

  “Paul, I can tell you that the life of a hermit doesn’t appeal too much to a woman either and I’m pretty sure you know where this kind of conversation is leading us. Is that what you want?” she said softly.

  Middleton said, surprised at the huskiness in his own voice, “Yes, Rachel, it is – and you?”

  “Yes, Paul, me too,” she said and leaned across the table to blow out the candle between them. It left that burned, waxy smell lingering in the air as she straightened up gracefully, walked around the table and pulled Middleton to his feet. In the light from just the one remaining candle, she put her arms around his neck, pressed her body firmly to his and kissed him passionately. He returned the kiss with equal passion as though a long pent up dam had burst.

  After a moment or two, she pulled back and asked, “Are you really sure, Paul?”

  “I certainly am now,” he grinned and kissed her again.

  Her teeth gleamed white in the light from the one candle as she smiled and said, “Then why are we wasting our time standing here chatting?”

  She took his hand, led him through the kitchen and up the back stairs to her bedroom. Middleton looked back at the last candle and thought that it would burn itself out safely by morning. Ahead of him he could see the glow from yet more candlelight.

  To continue with the romantic mood, another fat cylindrical candle was burning in a glass container beside Rachel’s bed. His visit to her bedroom had obviously been preplanned well before they had even started dinner.

  “Are you trying to seduce me, by any chance, Miss. Donnelly?” Middleton said with mock severity as they stood together in her bedroom.

  She gave him a quick kiss and said, “Not by any chance, Paul – by any means possible and I think it’s a little late now to be trying, don’t you? I was pretty damned sure I had succeeded quite a while back. Before dessert, actually, if you want to be precise about it,” she said, laughing.

  “Well, if you want to be that precise, Rachel, you are quite wrong,” he said.

  The smile left her face and before it could crumble, he said quickly, “You had me long before that. It was your damsel in distress routine that really got to me.”

  Her brilliant smile returned as she walked over to her beside and began to undress. She did it unhurriedly and he stood there in awe, as finally, completely naked she slid into her bed.

  He stood at the end of the bed looking a little uncertain. It had been a long time.

  Finally, he smiled and said, “Bristow told me not forget my pajamas.”

  “And did you?” Rachel asked, smiling also.

  “Did I what?”

  “Forget your pajamas.”

  “Yes.”

  “Good boy, Paul, because you won’t need them, I can assure you. And now, Sir Inspectalot, are you going to get your bloody armour off soon or does this damsel, who is still in distress by the way, have to wait here alone in here all night for you?”

  Middleton said, relaxing and playing along with her, “Indeed not, my dear Lady. Methinks t’would be most unfitting of a knight to leave a poor damsel such as yourself in such a dire predicament.”

 
She laughed delightedly.

  “Can it, Paul, and get in here before I decide to go back downstairs and drown my rejection sorrows in another bottle of bubbly,” she said, patting the place next to her in the bed invitingly.

  Her knight, now minus his shining armour, needed no further urging. Life had just changed dramatically for Detective Inspector Paul Middleton, and much later, he was still smiling contentedly as he fell asleep in Rachel Donnelly’s arms.

  She reached over and kissed him gently on the lips. She looked at him expectantly and when he didn’t move or respond, she said, “I don’t know if you can hear this, Paul, but I meant every word I said to you tonight.”

  A moment or two later, she too was asleep and was equally contented.

  Chapter Eighteen

  Allenby walked into his study and switched on the lights from the door.

  “Close the door,” a voice from behind the French window curtains said. Allenby was about to refuse when the curtains parted and a man holding a pistol stepped out from behind them. Allenby recognized the weapon as a German Luger automatic.

  He pushed the door closed behind him but didn’t lock it.

  “Do you know who I am?” the man asked.

  “No.” Allenby replied calmly. “Should I?”

  The man was dressed in black, from head to toe – black woolen hat, black shirt, black jeans, black socks and black trainers.

  “Then you don’t know why I’m here? I’m the one who called you and as I said on the phone, I know who you are. You are a bloody fraud masquerading as the Lord of the Manor here. A bloody German spy,” the intruder hissed at him angrily.

  There was the sound of glass crushing as he moved forward across the carpet to stand within four feet of Allenby. If he decided to shoot, it would be impossible for him to miss from that distance, Allenby thought.

  “Yes,” Allenby replied agreeably. “You are perfectly correct. I was a spy for Germany during the war and I admit it. Your side had their fair share of those too, or didn’t you know that.”

  The man confronting Allenby thought about the books in his private museum’s library.

  “Yes,” he said stiffly. “Of course I bloody well know we had spies, but I’m not here because you were a spy. I’m here because you are a bloody Nazi!”

  Allenby surprised his visitor by laughing at him.

  “A Nazi! Good Lord, man, do you really believe that all Germans under Hitler’s regime were Nazis? Surely you’re not that naïve? I was merely a soldier fighting for my country, but out of uniform,” he said.

  He stared defiantly at the man holding the gun on him.

  “Were you never a soldier? Did you never kill an enemy in defense of your country?” Allenby said.

  The man with the gun stared right back at him.

  “I was a soldier – in Korea, but I never stooped to torturing anyone.”

  His face contorted as he said, “Your people tortured my poor father mercilessly and left him hideously maimed for life – what was left of it. They had no sense of pity or honour whatsoever.”

  Allenby just raised him eyebrows.

  “My people?” he said. “Are you speaking of Germans collectively or of a specific group?”

  The man spoke through clenched teeth.

  “Your bloody Gestapo,” he hissed. “That’s who did it to him.”

  Allenby nodded.

  “Ah, yes, the Gestapo. Your father was also a spy then, was he, but for the British? Am I correct?”

  “He was, and your people tortured him badly enough to turn him into an physical freak and an absolute human wreck. He was…”

  “There you go again,” Allenby interrupted, totally ignoring the Luger being pointed at him, “saying my people. It was the Gestapo, so you tell me, who were responsible and that’s a different thing altogether. They were all no more than schoolyard bullies grown up, sadistic swine. Hitler and Himmler gave them ultimate power to achieve their objectives. They were allowed to be as vicious and merciless as their task required. Complete freedom of action, and something I sincerely hope never to witness ever again.”

  “Are you done?”

  “No, I’m not. I was never a Nazi, sir. I was merely a German patriot living in a very difficult time and….”

  “A difficulty all of your own making,” the man in front of him snapped. “You people started it all.”

  Allenby bowed his head momentarily in agreement.

  “I cannot argue that, but not all Germans were in favour of what was happening either in or to our country. In a regime such as Hitler’s and with the support of the Gestapo, to disobey would be akin to writing your own death warrant. Everyone in Germany knew that and acted accordingly.”

  The man gave a snorting laugh.

  “So you were all completely innocent then, just babes in arms who knew nothing at all of what was going on. Is that want you want me to believe,” he said harshly.

  Allenby shook his head.

  “Of course not. Some were no more innocent than you were in Korea. Did the Koreans attack England? Did they shell and bomb your cities? No, of course not, but you went there and fought against them anyway. Neither your country nor your people were ever in any physical danger from Korea, were they?”

  It was obvious that the man was getting very agitated. Allenby didn’t want to be shot by him and had to be careful not to provoke him into it. Instead, he said, “You are here to kill me, that much is very obvious, and I don’t even know who you are. I would think that courtesy and good manners alone should dictate that the victim should be told his executioner’s name. Don’t you agree?”

  The man, now red faced, glared angrily back at him as Allenby continued speaking.

  “You have come to this peaceful little corner of England, and if you are who I think you are, you’ve murdered three completely innocent people here for no reason at all. People who have never done you one iota of harm and neither have I, I might add. They were all nice people who had no idea that they were living alongside such a senseless and vicious killer.”

  “I am not senseless,” the man said angrily, but Allenby ignored him and continued.

  “People, that, knowing them, and I do, no doubt made you welcome in their midst, but you, if your getup tonight is any indication, slunk around in the dark, the anonymous killer of innocent people. And you, sir, have the gall to speak to me of honour.”

  Allenby’s face was now also livid and the man raised the pistol a little higher.

  “Since you will never leave this room alive, I can tell you that my name is Parker Prentiss and I come from a very long line of honourable people. So, Sir Alfred, unless you wish to die this very instant, I suggest you watch your tongue,” he snapped at Allenby angrily.

  The high colour started to fade from Allenby’s face as he struggled to get his own anger under control. He knew from past experience that an angry person will lack caution and would be at a serious disadvantage because of it. Somehow, if he was to survive this deadly encounter, he must figure a way to catch Prentiss off guard.

  Despite Prentiss’s warning, Allenby continued to speak calmly.

  “I was a spy, Mr. Prentiss, and I freely admit it. I passed the information I gathered back to my superiors in Germany. I did not, however, have a personal telephone line directly to my Fuhrer. I just passed the information, just as your own father did, and those that received it did whatever they considered to be appropriate with it.”

  He paused and stared at Prentiss defiantly.

  “You tell me that you’ve killed, sir, in war and, as I suspect, also here in this parish. Although you may not believe this, I have only killed once – the former Lord of the Manor here and even that wasn’t an act performed by me face to face. I merely arranged for him to have a fatal riding accident and at the time I considered it to be my duty as an act of war, not murder.

  So, I ask you, Mr. Prentiss, if someone was looking for a homicidal monster here in the community, which of us do you think it
would be?” Allenby asked.

  Prentiss stared at him. This wasn’t what he had expected at all and he was finding himself having trouble breathing. He had expected to overpower Allenby, a considerably older man, torture him and then finally shoot him. He had not expected to find himself embroiled in a debate about ethics and justification with him. To make matter worse, if it was indeed a debate, then he, Prentiss, was losing it very badly, but, he then reminded himself, it was also he who held the gun.

  Allenby surprised him again with his next comment.

  “I suppose that I have to ask you why you have chosen me in particular. I have admitted to you that I am German and also that I was never a Nazi.”

  Allenby paused for a moment.

  “Do you recall what happened in 1945, Mr. Prentiss?” he asked.

  “That’s a stupid question,” Prentiss replied. “Of course I recall it. The bloody war ended, that’s what happened.”

  “That’s true, but do you remember what else happened?”

  Prentiss shrugged. “I don’t know what the hell you’re referring to,” he said.

  Surprisingly, under the circumstances, Allenby smiled.

  “What happened, sir, was that a bloodied, war torn and very relieved world population celebrated peace, Mr. Prentiss. They all looked forward to rebuilding their lives, their cities and their countries and to letting bygones be bygones,” he said. “That’s what I did here, sir, and I was thankful to be able to do so. I was just like millions of other soldiers worldwide. I just wanted things to get back to normal.”

  Then he sneered at Prentiss contemptuously.

  “But not you, Mr. Prentiss. Oh, no, you wanted to continue with a personal vendetta. Personal to you only but directed at anyone who happened to still be alive from those war torn days. Someone conveniently handy, like me, for you to vent your spleen on. So it seems like, through the lack of any one else, that I have been selected as your sacrificial lamb, doesn’t it?”

  He gave another contemptuous glance at the gun in Prentiss’s hand. He noticed that the weapon was no longer as steady as it was and that, although the man was saying very little, he was breathing very heavily.