Camellia

by Lesley Pearse

  'Do we go right into Bath?' she asked. They had just flashed past a signpost but she couldn't read it.

  'No, we turn off before there,' he said, glancing round at her. 'It's a shame it's so dark and wet. It's very pretty around here, but of course you must know it.'

  'Only Bath itself and around Oaklands,' she said. 'You should go to Oaklands yourself one day. It's set on a hill overlooking a wonderful valley with the river running through it. I loved it there.'

  Edward made no comment, not even to ask why she left if she liked it so much. But then he hadn't asked her anything about herself.

  'Did I tell you that Helena's house is on the river,' he said some minutes later. 'I'm staying there for the time being until I can find her a good housekeeper. It's a rather isolated spot, especially in this sort of weather, and the house is in need of modernisation. But you'll see for yourself soon, we're nearly there.'

  With that he turned off the main road and into a narrow lane, overhung with trees. There were a few groups of cottages here and there, but mostly the lane seemed to be winding through farm land, up and down, twisting and turning like a switchback. At one point they met another car and Edward had to reverse back into a wider part to let it through. They went on for another five minutes or so, the road going steeply downward before finally turning off into a bumpy, rutted track.

  Mel felt uneasy. She could see no lights anywhere. The wind was howling, rain was battering down and the lane was pitch dark, overhung with bushes.

  'Only a few yards of this,' Edward said cheerfully and almost immediately turned onto a gravel drive. 'Well, here we are at last.'

  'It looks a bit spooky,' Mel blurted out, then giggled at how childish she had sounded. From what she could see of the house with only one dim light hanging in the stone porch, it actually looked very pretty, with pointed eaves and lattice windows. It just wasn't what she expected.

  'You wait till you see it in daylight,' Edward said with far more enthusiasm than he'd shown for anything else so far. 'It's a beautiful old house and an idyllic spot. The garden is a bit neglected but we've got plans in hand for that.'

  As she opened the car door, the wind snatched at her. She grabbed her overnight bag and raincoat from the back seat and ran to the porch for shelter.

  'Where's Helena's car?' she asked as Edward scurried through the rain towards her.

  'She hasn't got around to getting one yet,' he said, putting a key in the lock. 'She gets ferried to and from the film set every day. She's got her eyes on a Mercedes though.'

  The fusty smell that wafted out as Edward opened the heavy, old oak door, set Mel's nerves jangling again.

  'Oh dear, don't say she's been delayed,' Edward exclaimed at the dark hall in front of them. 'She said she'd be back well before seven.'

  He switched on a light. The hall was entirely in keeping with the quaintness of the outside of the house but it was very shabby. The floor was uneven flag stones, with just one badly worn rug to soften it. The staircase was solid oak, with an ornate carved newel post, but again the runners on the stairs were almost threadbare and the brass stair rods were tarnished as if they hadn't been polished for years. A large grandfather clock in the hall had stopped at quarter past three. Even the small oil paintings of horses in heavy gold frames looked slightly menacing.

  But it was predominantly the smell that worried her. Mel recognised it as lack of use. The smell of windows kept firmly shut, unaired beds, old people. 'It's very cold,' she said, pulling her raincoat round her shoulders.

  'I'm so sorry about this,' Edward tutted and switched on an electric radiator. 'Not very welcoming for you, is it? But don't worry, she's bound to be back at any minute.' He went on ahead down the passage and opened a door.

  Mel followed him, pulling her coat more firmly round her shoulders.

  The room was in darkness. As Edward moved across to switch on a table lamp she had an irrational urge to turn and run for the front door.

  Even when light flooded the room and she saw a copy of Vogue and a used teacup on a low table, a small voice inside her head told her that no one had been in this room for days. In one sense the room was entirely perfect. Deep comfortable settees either side of a huge fireplace, antique highly polished small tables and a thick traditional red patterned carpet. From the dark wooden beams to the brass poker and coal scuttle, the glass-fronted china cabinet full of figurines and the roll-top desk everything was just so, without a speck of dust. Yet it seemed all wrong.

  'I don't like it,' Mel said impulsively. French windows led out to the back garden and the blackness out there was scary. 'I don't want to stay here.'

  Edward looked round at her in surprise. 'Oh Camellia, I'm so sorry you're frightened.' He took a step towards her and put his hand gently on her shoulder. 'This is too bad of Helena, she should've been here to greet you. But don't worry. I'll light the fire and make us a drink. She'll be bursting in here any moment full of apologies.'

  The fire was already laid. Edward lit a gas poker and shoved it in under the wood and almost immediately bright flames shot up. Mel perched on the edge of the settee nearest to it.

  'That's better,' he said, and drew the thick tapestry curtains over the French windows. 'It will be cosy in no time at all. If Helena does go through with buying this house we'll have to make sure she gets central heating put in. I know we English are supposed to be a tough breed, but after living in a warm climate you notice the cold and the dampness.'

  Edward's solicitous remarks and the efforts he put into making everything more welcoming should have reassured her, but Mel still felt uncomfortable. The rain and wind outside were so loud. Where exactly was she? How close was the nearest house or shop?

  'Oh good, she's left a note,' Edward said jubilantly, picking up a sheet of bright blue paper from the desk in the alcove by the fireplace.

  'Dearest Edward,' he read aloud. 'Sorry but I think the meeting's going to take longer than I expected. Have a drink and just hang on. I'll be back as soon as I can. Whatever must you think of me! Love, H.'

  He handed it to Mel, with a glum smile. 'There must have been a change of plan after I left this morning. This sort of thing is always happening. The director gets a new idea, one of the producers changes his mind about a location. It's very annoying.'

  Mel felt less edgy then. Nick had often complained about the time he wasted in theatres and studios for very similar reasons and she felt soothed by seeing the letter. The handwriting and single initial was most definitely identical to that in her mother's letter.

  'I suppose it can't be helped,' Mel said, holding her hands out to the blaze.

  Edward looked at her, his expression one of resignation. 'I can't count the times Helena and I have arranged to do something and had to cancel at the last moment. Now about that drink? A gin and tonic perhaps, or we've got Scotch, wine, and I think rum.'

  'I'd rather have some tea.' She smiled at Edward. It wasn't his fault things had gone wrong. He was probably as bored at being stuck with her as she was with him and he was trying to be charming. 'I'm sorry if I was a bit hysterical just now. I suppose I'm just nervous.'

  'That's quite understandable,' he said and bent over to move the gas poker to another part of the fire. 'If I'd known Helena would be late I'd have taken you to a pub for a while. But have a real drink, it's been a long drive and it will help you relax.'

  Mel fancied a gin and tonic, but she thought it better to wait until Helena arrived. 'Not just now,' she said. 'I really would like tea.'

  'Okay,' he said getting up from the fire. 'It will take a minute or two, the kitchen is a little antiquated. I could rustle up a sandwich too if you'd like one?'

  'That would be nice,' Mel smiled. 'Shall I help?'

  'No, you stay here,' he said. 'It's cold in the kitchen.'

  Mel looked at her watch after Edward left the room. It was five past nine. She picked up the magazine from the table and flicked through it, but lost interest in a couple of seconds when she realis
ed it was last month's which she'd already read.

  It was getting warmer and she stood up to take off her raincoat, at the same time looking more closely at everything. The owners of the house must be very old. There was a collection of Victorian porcelain figurines in the china cabinet, some grim, dark oil paintings of stags and Highland cattle on the walls and dated parchment lampshades on the table lamps. If she were Helena she'd have packed them all away and replaced them with something jollier and more up-to-date. Flowers and pot plants would make the room more inviting too.

  Almost the second that thought popped into her head she realised why the room didn't seem quite right. There wasn't one item that wasn't in keeping with its style and period. Surely Helena would have brought a few of her own things in here, a couple of framed photographs, some cherished mementoes?

  But the lack of flowers was perhaps most remarkable. An actress used to receiving them would surely see them as essential. And wouldn't they be doubly important if a guest was expected?

  The unease she'd felt as they came up the rutted lane came back twice as strongly. What kind of woman would send a total stranger to collect a young girl, and expect her to travel a hundred miles to an isolated cold house, then not be there to greet her?

  Edward came back in five minutes later with a tray in his hands. There was a plate of sandwiches, a fruit cake, a white bone china teapot with cups, saucers, milk and sugar.

  'That was quick,' Mel said.

  'Helena must have guessed you'd be hungry, she'd cut some sandwiches in readiness,' he said, looking faintly embarrassed. 'I hope you like ham.'

  They sat down, Edward in an armchair, Mel on the settee, the tray of tea between them on a coffee table.

  'Milk and sugar?' Edward asked as he poured the tea into the cups.

  'Just milk, no sugar,' she said and sat back a little more comfortably.

  The tea was too hot to do more than sip it. But it tasted a little peculiar.

  'Urn, that's hot,' she said, putting it down on the coffee table. Edward picked up the milk jug.

  'Perhaps I didn't put enough in,' he said. 'I don't take milk myself, so I never know how much to put in.'

  Under ordinary circumstances Mel would have found nothing odd about that remark. But she'd given him tea back in Fulham and he'd drunk it with milk. She was puzzled and glanced at Edward. He looked tense, a tightening around the mouth and the eyes and his hand shook as he put more milk in her cup.

  Mel tried the tea again, only another sip, but the odd taste was stronger still. Could he have put something in the milk?

  She thought her imagination was playing tricks on her. What would he gain by drugging her?

  'May I use the phone?' she asked. 'Con's bound to be a little worried. I ought to tell him where I am exactly.'

  Edward frowned. 'The phone's dead I'm afraid.' He didn't meet her eyes and got out of his chair to bend over to take the gas poker out of the fire. 'The lines round here are very old and it seems they went down in last night's high winds. The engineer will be here first thing in the morning.'

  Taken as one isolated incident, a phone being out of order wasn't important. But added to everything else she felt was strange here, alarm bells began to jangle. Would a sophisticated actress, used to living in some splendour, really choose to stay in such a damp cold house? Now she came to think about it, surely a woman in her position would be far more likely to arrange to meet someone for the first time on neutral territory, in a hotel or restaurant.

  Mel looked suspiciously at Edward and all the curious little things she'd observed about him during the evening, all came together. He was too smooth, too cagey, and, aside from Helena, he didn't like women. His long silences, the guarded, often curt way of speaking, his cold eyes, were all so creepy.

  'Edward, please don't take offence at this, but I'd like you to take me to a hotel,' she said, trying very hard not to show her panic. 'I'm not a bit happy being here, especially without a telephone. I'm sure Helena will be tired too when she gets back. We can meet up tomorrow when we're both fresh.'

  'Now that's ridiculous,' he replied and his eyes flashed with irritation. 'Helena will be upset if you aren't here when she gets back. Now just drink your tea and relax. It's tipping down out there too. You don't want to be rushing off somewhere else at this time of night.'

  She wanted to insist, but a sixth sense told her that she must keep calm and think this through before putting herself in an even more vulnerable position.

  'Just another half an hour then,' she said as compromise. 'But if she isn't back here then, I'll go.'

  'Oh, she'll be back within that time.'

  Mel felt there was a note of relief in his voice. It could of course mean that he was merely relieved she wasn't about to make a scene. On the other hand it could mean that half an hour was all the time he needed. She looked at the cup of tea in front of her, saw a couple of white flecks floating on the surface and she thought perhaps it might contain some kind of sleeping draught. She certainly wasn't going to risk drinking it.

  'I expect it's just the quiet here giving me the jitters,' she said with a tight little laugh. 'Con always recommends tea for calming you down.' She picked up the cup and pretended to drink some, then put it down and took a bite of her sandwich. 'Do you think I could have some salt on this?' she asked. 'I know salt isn't good for you, but I can't eat anything without it.'

  Edward frowned, but he got up and went out to the kitchen. Camellia looked around her quickly. There was a tall brass vase standing in the corner by the French doors, the moment he was out of ear-shot, she leapt up, rushed to it and tipped the tea in.

  As Edward came back with a salt cellar she was back on the settee apparently drinking the last dregs of her tea. He smiled at her. 'Would you like another cup? There's plenty more in the pot.'

  'Not just now,' she said, hoping her face wasn't as flushed as it felt. She took the sandwich apart and sprinkled it with salt.

  Edward began to tell her something about Rupert, Helena's co-star, but Mel was only listening with half an ear as she tried to reason things out. Why would he want to drug her? So he could take her somewhere she wouldn't normally go willingly? To keep her quiet for some other purpose?

  All at once she guessed the truth. He intended to kill her.

  Her first instinct was to run for the door, but she resisted it. For one thing he would catch her before she even got to the hall. It would also alert him that she had guessed his plan. He was far bigger and stronger than her and even if she managed to get beyond the door he'd be able to out run her. If she calmly played along with him, giving him every reason to think his plan was working, then she could outwit him.

  'Are you warm enough?' Edward's solicitous question startled her. She hadn't heard a word he'd been saying before that.

  She thought fast. 'A bit too warm now I think,' she said, faking a yawn. 'I'm getting sleepy.'

  He smiled at her. Mel thought it was smug, as if that were what he hoped to hear. She slipped off her shoes and moved to a more relaxed position on the settee, curling her legs up on it.

  'Tell me the story line in the film?' she asked. 'Is it a love story?'

  She leaned one elbow on the arm of the settee, looking right at him as he began to describe Helena falling in love with a man half her age. Edward was an outstandingly handsome man. She wondered what his background was and why he hadn't ever got decent parts in films and become famous himself. Could it be that he lived in Helena's shadow?

  By Mel's reckoning a strong sedative would make most people start to feel sleepy within fifteen minutes, faster still if they were already tired. As she looked at him she allowed her eyes to droop, then blinked and opened them again.

  Above the crackling fire and the wind outside, she could hear another sound, she listened carefully until she identified it. Then she remembered Edward had said the house was by a river.

  Suddenly everything fell into place.

  None of this was chance. It had
been planned meticulously. Helena hadn't wanted to find her because she cared about her old dancing partner's daughter. She was afraid that Bonny had passed some information to Mel.

  Edward was waiting for her to fall asleep then take her out there and drown her. He knew it would work because he'd done it before: to Bonny. The only difference was that Bonny was probably very drunk long before he slipped her the sedative.

  Mel thought back to those days prior to her mother's death. The late night phone calls, her excitement and even the mention of getting them both passports. Edward must have been that man she was in contact with. He was the one she went to London to meet.

  There wasn't time now to concern herself with what secrets Bonny knew that were serious enough to warrant murder. Mel had to escape before she met the same end. But how on earth was she going to do it?

  She let her eyes droop again, jerking her head up every now and then in exactly the same way she'd seen other people dropping off. Edward stopped speaking, almost in mid sentence. She sensed he was studying her.

  She took his silence as the final proof of his intentions. Any normal person would speak, offer her a cup of coffee or even suggest she went upstairs to bed.

  Where was Helena? Was she sitting in a hotel room somewhere close by waiting for the news that loyal, obedient Edward had finally severed the last link with her past? Or could he be acting on his own initiative out of some misguided desire to protect her?

  Some ten minutes later Mel had allowed herself to sink right down onto the settee, faking deep sleep. Edward had been silent all this time. She felt he was watching her, biding his time. She'd had time now to work out a plan of sorts. She didn't think he would attempt drowning her in his smart clothes. If she faked sleep well enough she thought he might leave her alone in the room to go and change. Then she could either slip out into the hall and out the front door, or if he was still downstairs, unlock the French windows and escape that way. She hoped it could be the front door, she didn't relish the thought of negotiating a river in the dark.

  Minutes seemed like hours as she lay there. It wasn't easy to feign sleep while being watched, and she was so frightened she was afraid he could hear her heart thumping. The wind was growing even stronger. She could hear the trees outside creaking with the force of it.