With a little swish of her head, the other girl turned to Luke with an exaggerated shudder. ‘Sorry I’m late: the traffic’s terrible and I’m freezing. Let’s get inside where it’s nice and cosy.’
So this was the friend Luke was bringing to the wedding? Kirsty found herself experiencing a dose of good, old-fashioned jealousy as she hurried swiftly past her into the cold night air.
As she drove home from Luke’s, her mind was in turmoil. The more she thought about Simon, the angrier she got. She knew that some people revelled in sending nude selfies to their partners or friends – some of her own friends had even done it – but it wasn’t something she’d give a moment’s consideration to, and to think that Simon had filmed her without her knowledge…
She frowned as a terrible thought struck her. How had he done it? Had there been a video set up somewhere, or could there have been someone else in the room filming them? It was a vile thought, but for some reason she couldn’t get it out of her head. Was that because subconsciously she remembered something? Had that person maybe even taken part himself? She felt sick as she remembered what Simon had said. Something about there being a lot more action to come after they’d got their energy back.
Stop it. She was just tormenting herself.
But it convinced her more than ever that, though it might not be the first time she’d conveniently forgotten what she’d got up to when she was drunk, it would definitely be the last.
She so needed to get hold of those computers.
But first off, she needed to speak to Robbie, and to hell with his broken nights.
When Lizzie picked up the phone, however, she seemed surprised that Kirsty should think he was at home.
‘He’s out with a client tonight. Didn’t he tell you?’
‘Uh no,’ she said, remembering how Rob had specifically told her he was going home because he was so tired. ‘We didn’t see much of each other in the office today. I assumed he’d be home with you.’
‘Well, you can probably get him on his mobile if you really need to speak to him. Can I help? Or pass on a message?’
‘No, don’t worry. It’s not urgent. I’ll call him or catch up with him tomorrow in the office.’
‘I was going to call you, actually. We’ve got Simon coming round for supper tomorrow night. Only casual, but I wondered if you’d come over and make up the numbers? I know he’s not your favourite person – and to tell the truth he’s not mine either – but apparently he and Robbie have important things to discuss, and I thought you and I could have a catch-up.’
Kirsty could hardly believe her good fortune as it hit her what that meant.
‘Oh, that’s a shame – I would have done but I’m meeting up with some friends tomorrow night. Maybe another time?’
‘Sure. It was just a thought.’ Lizzie laughed. ‘With any luck they’ll lock themselves away in the study after supper and I’ll be left to my own devices.’
Kirsty disconnected the hands-free. Was it her they needed to talk about? It made her think twice about trying Rob’s mobile now to find out where he was and tell him about what had gone on tonight. She looked at the clock on the dashboard. Nine-thirty. Half an hour since she’d left Luke’s. What would he and Eleanor be doing? Eating? She hadn’t smelt anything cooking when she’d been in the flat. But they could have ordered a takeaway or gone out – or maybe even now, they were limbs a-tangled in bed?
She couldn’t go there. On impulse, she called her cousin. ‘Hey, Rach, what are you up to?’
‘A few last-minute wedding things – nothing major. Why?’
‘Oh, just feeling at a bit of a loose end. I wondered if you fancy coming for a drink? I could pick you up?’
‘Let’s do it,’ her cousin responded with flattering alacrity. ‘I’m getting bogged down with all this stuff, I could do with a break.’
‘Great, I’ll see you in about twenty minutes. I’ll buy you a drink and you can come prepared to work – I need a positive strategy for getting over Luke and who better to turn to than my cousin the therapist?’
She disconnected the phone, feeling more positive already.
If Luke had moved on, then so could she.
CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE
Harry ate the last forkful of spaghetti Bolognese in the small but cosy kitchen, and sat back with an appreciative sigh as he smiled at Claire across the table.
‘Thanks for that. I was hungry after all. Sorry if I’ve eaten your rations for the week.’
Claire stood up and smiled as he grabbed a piece of garlic bread and did a quick final wipe of his pasta bowl.
‘Couldn’t afford to feed you too often, that’s for sure,’ she said, clearing the bowls away. ‘How are you feeling now?’
He picked up his glass and side plate and followed her over to the dishwasher. ‘Calmer. You’re right. Mum’s not a monster. I just need to stick to my guns. I’ll take the morning off and make the necessary phone calls. I’m sure we can get things set up quite quickly.’
‘She may have calmed down by the time you get back, and perhaps you’ve given her something to think about. Let’s hope so anyway.’
‘I don’t think she’ll change her mind readily: I think she’s frightened of dealing with it. But if I can show her that we’ll get support where we need it–’
‘It could be quite drawn-out: you do realise that?’
‘I know. I’m not looking forward to it.’
‘Your gran wouldn’t be the first, you know – to do what she’s done.’
She turned to look at him as she said it.
‘Stash the pills, you mean?’
Claire nodded.
Harry sucked in his breath. ‘I’ll be honest with you, if things get much worse and she still wants it–’
‘Don’t say anything.’
‘Sorry. You’re right. Again. You’re the only person I’ve told about it. Apart from my parents now.’
‘Well, I already knew because Jean’s talked about it with me, too. I think she sees me as being tougher than you in that respect. I’m not sure whether that’s a compliment or not.’ She half-smiled, reaching out for the cafetière and throwing some coffee into it. Harry watched as she did it, wondering just how much he could say.
‘What are your thoughts on euthanasia? Do you have a view?’
Claire considered the question.
‘I probably think about it more than most, doing my job,’ she said finally. ‘And if I’m honest, more and more I’m coming round to the belief that where people are genuinely at the end of their lives and in pain, or suffering from some terrible disease, they should be entitled to have some say in how they want things to end. The difficulty is allowing it while still protecting the more vulnerable people from being manipulated.’
‘Yes, and that’s the problem, isn’t it?’
‘Only for some people, though. Take your gran, for example. She’s made it perfectly clear what she wants and she’s not being manipulated by anyone. In fact everyone’s trying to dissuade her from doing it. But really, if she wants to end things a week or two early when her life is clearly over, why should anyone be forcing her to suffer unnecessarily? I’ve seen both sides of the argument in practice, and it’s changed me from being very anti-euthanasia to being more understanding of the realities of it. We can’t prevent death – we’re not going to change anything by making people hang on in there – so why not help them accept it in the way they want? For most of the clients I’ve talked to over the years, it’s about the quality of their lives and how they want to be remembered by those they leave behind. I can understand that.’
‘And so can I. But I’m a policeman and it would be going against everything I stood for if I was to–’
‘God, I’m not saying you should do it, Harry. I’m just saying that I’m coming round to the idea of the law being changed, to allow people to have more say in what they want – as long as factors are in place to protect the more vulnerable.’
‘But that�
�s the difficult part, isn’t it? It’s hard to know that.’
‘Yes, it is. And if that proof isn’t there, then it shouldn’t be allowed.’
She looked at him steadily for a moment, then smiled and shrugged her shoulders. ‘How did we get onto this? It’s all too grim. Do you want milk in your coffee?’
He nodded and she turned her back on him to fill his mug.
He looked at her straight back and shapely figure, and realised that somewhere along the line she’d slipped under his skin without him even being aware of it. Without giving himself time to think about it, he moved over to the worktop, taking hold of her arms and gently turning her to face him.
‘Thanks,’ he said simply.
He loved how the pink tinged her cheeks. ‘I haven’t done much – just fed you, and given you some space to calm down in. You’ll handle it fine, but you know if there’s any way I can help…?’
She was looking up at him calmly and he suddenly wanted to see her as she’d looked when they’d kissed the other night – a bit dishevelled, less calm and controlled than she was looking now. He slid his arms around her waist and drew her to him, and when she made no move to push him away, he lowered his mouth.
It was as good as it had been the first time, and they both enjoyed the moment as they tentatively explored each other’s mouths. He eased her back against the worktop, enjoying the feel of her body pressing against his. Her skin beneath her jumper was soft and his hands were gentle as he caressed the warmth of it. When they slid round to cup her breast she murmured softly against his lips, but her hand came up to still his.
He stopped straight away. ‘Sorry,’ he muttered. Christ, he felt like a fifteen-year-old.
She drew back from him with a rueful smile. ‘Don’t apologise. There’s nothing I’d like more than to whisk you upstairs and finish this, but …’ She shook her head. ‘If we do that I want it to be for the right reasons, not because you’re feeling grateful to me.’
He blinked at her, then shook his head, smiling. ‘What I’m feeling at the moment’s got nothing to do with gratitude!’
She gave him a little poke. ‘You know what I mean. You’re in a state at the moment, about your gran and everything and it’s understandable – but I don’t want it to be a quick fling because you’re in need of comfort and a bit of emotional release.’
The fact that she could be right didn’t make it any easier pulling back from her. He felt as if he wanted to hold onto her warmth forever. He buried his head in her shoulder and held her for a long moment. Then he planted a kiss on the side of her neck, breathed her in one more time, and pulled away.
‘I’m not going to take you on now over it. But I do like you, Claire, and I know I’d feel the same whatever the circumstances.’
She grinned. ‘Well, that’s good to know. You’re not too bad yourself. Come on, let’s see what’s on TV – chill out for a bit before you head home.’
She led the way into the lounge, looking at him as she put the tray on the coffee table. ‘You know, maybe you just need to reassure your mum that the pair of you really can organise things together, so that she doesn’t feel overwhelmed by it all? It must have been quite a shock for her, coming back and finding Jean like that.’
Harry grimaced. ‘Even a United Nations peacekeeper would have problems negotiating a settlement with my mother.’ He grinned as she laughed. ‘But just for you, I’ll try.’
They tucked up together on the settee and for a while Harry was able to forget about work, forget about his grandmother and the problems at home. It felt good sitting here watching the television with Claire. She seemed to fit just right in the crook of his arm, her glossy head resting contentedly against his chest. He felt like he could have sat there all night, except that then his overactive imagination took over and he found himself wondering what her bedroom looked like – how it might feel to wake up in the morning with her beside him.
Rejecting the baser images that began to form in his mind at the prospect of that, he forced himself to concentrate on the programme they were watching, and within a very short space of time his fatigue took over and he was dead to the world.
***
Kirsty swung through the gate into the drive and parked her car. A smile curved her lips. Meeting up with Rachael had been just what the doctor ordered and had only confirmed what she already knew. That she’d missed her cousin more than anyone else, after Luke. She’d toyed with the idea of telling her about what was going on with Simon and Rob, but it was all a bit close to home and she realised it could get her into hot water over the land issue – which she still hadn’t decided how to resolve yet. They’d had a good talk about Luke, though, and how Kirsty should best handle her “Lukexit”, as Rachael had termed it, and they’d even managed to have a laugh about stuff. Kirsty felt in better spirits than she had in quite a while.
She looked at her watch: it was nearly eleven, not that late. Would Eleanor be gone? She needed to phone Luke about the new development.
Well, it was urgent, wasn’t it?
In the middle of dialling his number, she chickened out and resorted to texting.
‘Heard from Lizzie tonight that Simon’s going round to theirs for supper tomorrow. That’s got to be our chance, hasn’t it? Are you free?’
His response came by return. Not too busily occupied, then.
‘Okay. Where shall we meet and what time?’
‘At his office, 7.45? Then we can go to his flat straight after.’
‘Okay.’
She managed to stop herself from texting back that she hoped he’d had a nice evening with Eleanor. Instead, stuffing her phone in her pocket, she opened the car door.
It happened so quickly she didn’t know what had hit her. One minute she was climbing out of the car and the next she’d been grabbed by the collar of her jacket and was being hauled by the scruff of her neck. The speed and efficiency with which a hand was clamped over her mouth and her arm was twisted up her back left her in no doubt that whoever it was had done this many times before, and meant business.
‘Keep quiet or I’ll break your arm,’ a voice snarled as she was hustled roughly towards the shrubbery that edged the path to the back garden.
Out of sight of the house, she was thrust against the trunk of a silver birch, one knee in her crutch, pinning her to the tree … a hard elbow ramming into her neck.
‘This is a warning …’ he jabbed the elbow viciously into her throat ‘… to keep your nose out of things and don’t go poking it into what don’t concern you. That’s how people end up dead. You getting the message?’
Kirsty nodded, her terrified eyes probing the dark, to get a view of the man’s face. But a hoody was drawn over his head, making it impossible to see him.
‘Who are you?’ she managed to gasp.
The elbow beneath her chin tightened into her neck. ‘What did I just say, little girl? You really expect me to answer that? You just make sure you do as I say, or I’ll be coming after you. And you won’t like that.’
His voice was a menacing growl, his face so close to hers she could feel his breath warm on her cheek, smell his aftershave. Aftershave! Whoever wore aftershave when they were attacking someone?
She twisted her head, trying to break free of his grasp, her eyes bulging with the effort to draw breath. One final exertion of pressure to show he meant business and the grasp on her throat was released as he thrust her hard into the bushes. She clawed wildly for support as she went down but all she heard was the snapping of twigs and branches, feeling them scratch at her face and hands as she crashed to the ground.
‘You mind your business – and no running to the cops. Otherwise – next time it’s curtains for you. Just like it was for your father.’
And with that, he was gone, running silently back down the drive. She heard a door slam, an engine start up – and the sound of a car speeding off down the road. Then silence.
Kirsty was shaking so much that for a moment she just la
y there in the undergrowth, feeling traumatised. Where had he come from? Had he been waiting for her when she got home? Had he followed her from the pub?
Just like it was for your father. The words spun in her head.
She was right in her suspicions. It had been no accident. Her father had been murdered.
She tried sitting up and within a short space of time was dragging herself to a standing position, glad to see that nothing seemed to be broken. Her hand moved to her neck where he’d grabbed her. It felt sore and swollen, as did most of her body, and she rubbed it agitatedly. She looked towards the house, instinctively seeking its warmth and comfort in the cold night. The light was on in the kitchen and through the window she could see her mother doing a last-minute clear-up before heading for bed, totally oblivious to what had just gone on outside in the garden.
Two minutes later she’d let herself quietly into the house and was upstairs in her shower room splashing warm water onto her face. She looked at herself in the mirror over the basin. Two haunted eyes stared back, but she was surprised to see that her face wasn’t the mass of scratches and marks she’d assumed it would be. She had two quite marked scratches down one side of her cheek – which were lightly bleeding – but apart from that, once she’d washed the muck off and got the twigs out of her hair, she looked relatively normal. Her hands were another matter, though, the palms scratched and bleeding where she’d clawed at the bushes trying to get a hold.
After she’d washed and cleaned herself up as best she could, she sat on her bed and tried to calm herself. There was no doubt in her mind now that she’d stumbled into something big – and her instinctive response was to do as her attacker had said and back off. Not only for her own safety, but also for her family’s. How could she knowingly expose any of them to this sort of danger?
THE JAGGED LINE A Thrilling, Psychological Crime Mystery (Harry Briscombe Book 2) Page 24