Search for a Shadow

by Search for a Shadow (retail) (epub)

  It was all that American’s fault, he told himself, unreasonably. If he hadn’t come on the scene, Rosemary would have come home to him; of that, he was more and more certain. Damn the man with his flattering tongue and pushy ways, forcing himself into Rosemary’s life where he had no business to be. He knew he was being unfair and a little childish, but it helped. Having someone to blame for his disappointment eased the pain, just a little.

  * * *

  Larry phoned almost daily now, but did not commit himself to a meeting. From the small front bedroom where she worked, Rosemary saw the postman stepping out of the van with a parcel one morning. He waved at her as he crossed the footbridge and she presumed it was for her. On the rare days Larry did not phone her, he wrote a letter, so a parcel was a possibility, she thought with excitement. She ran down and opened the door but the parcel was for Gethyn.

  She was surprised. He never seemed to receive any post apart from official letters. There was no reply when the postman knocked on his door, so she took it, put it on one side and went on with her typing.

  When she was eating her lunch, through the shared wall she heard the sound of Gethyn poking his fire and, picking up the parcel, she went around to give it to him.

  ‘Rosemary. Thanks.’ He seemed a bit flustered and put the parcel into a cupboard without examining it. ‘Will you come in and have a cup of tea?’ he asked. ‘You’re so busy, we never have a chance for a chat.’

  ‘Well,’ she hesitated. There was a chapter to finish if she were to keep to her schedule.

  ‘Please, Rosemary.’

  ‘Thanks, I could do with a breather. This chapter isn’t going very well.’

  ‘You work too hard.’

  While he made tea Rosemary looked around the room. She hadn’t been inside the house for years and was startled at how little it had changed. Nineteen-fifties! she thought to herself as she looked at the faded, heavily patterned wallpaper, faded and in places, torn.

  There were photographs everywhere, mostly of people she did not recognise. There were family groups and pictures of children taken on beaches, in gardens and in the room in which she now sat. She smiled as she recognised herself as a child in one or two groups, taken, presumably, on one of her holidays with Gran, who also figured in the gallery of memories. Memories, she mused, belonging to Gethyn’s mother. She wondered how long it would take before he took them down. Many were faded and yellow and looked as if they had been there as long as the house!

  It was the house of an old woman. She felt a surge of pity for Gethyn, having to cope alone after having his mother to look after everything for so long. He hadn’t left home as a teenager like so many people did today, he had stayed to look after her and he was lost because of it. At twenty-seven, he was living like a middle-aged man, in a house that was almost a museum piece.

  But how could he not care about the place where he spent so much time? It was a house that was in urgent need of some loving care. How could Gethyn live in such discomfort and with a lack of anything beautiful? Couldn’t he see how shabby it all was?

  He came out of the kitchen with an enamel tray on which he had set biscuits and tea and one of the cakes regularly supplied by Mrs Priestley.

  ‘The old place could do with a face-lift, couldn’t it?’ he embarrassed her by saying.

  ‘I suppose I’m lucky, earning enough to keep things nice,’ she excused, ashamed of her silent critisism of him. ‘It takes time and money, to do even basic decoration today, and I know it isn’t easy for you, not working.’

  ‘Time I’ve plenty of, but not much money.’

  ‘Perhaps if you sorted out your mother’s things it would give you a bit more room. I’ll help if you like,’ she offered.

  ‘Would you?’ His brown eyes glowed as he looked at her. Then he looked swiftly away, down at the dusty carpet. ‘That would be great. Perhaps later on, when you aren’t so busy.’

  ‘You tell me when you’re ready to do it and I’ll find the time, I promise.’

  He stared at her, she felt his gaze upon her, so piercing she began to feel like a specimen in a jar of formaldehyde. Yet, when she looked at him, his eyes darted away from making contact to stare at the walls and the ranks and ranks of photographs. She finished her tea, made her excuses and hurried home. She sighed with relief to be back in her own, clean, orderly house, away from the sadness and emptiness of Gethyn’s existence.

  * * *

  The following day, Larry arrived at the library and invited her out for lunch. He looked tired and the bruises on his face were still visible.

  ‘Larry! I never know when you’ll appear,’ she laughed.

  ‘It’s a fleeting visit I’m afraid,’ he said. ‘But if you’re free at the weekend perhaps you’d come to London with me.’

  ‘I’d love to, but you look tired, wouldn’t you prefer to have a quiet weekend at the cottage?’

  ‘I love it here, you know that, but I think I’d prefer to be somewhere livelier, somewhere where we can find something to do in the evenings. A city is where I feel at home, not a peaceful village, no matter how beautiful. Please, won’t you come with me?’

  ‘You’ve never complained before about the way we spend our evenings,’ she whispered.

  ‘Wanton woman!’ he whispered back.

  ‘I shouldn’t, I’ll get behind with my work.’

  From his pocket he took out the folder of Her Majesty’s Theatre and from it took out two tickets for Phantom of the Opera. ‘There, will that persuade you if my charms fail?’ She hugged him, ignoring the surprised glances from some of the silent browsers.

  ‘I’ll ask Megan if she’ll take my shift on Monday morning,’ she said. ‘Fortunately, I have Saturday free. I’ll have to work very hard next week though, I am anxious to finish my story and get it to my agent before the end of August.’

  ‘I’ll be busy myself next week. I think I’m on the trail of the missing members of my family at last,’ he said. ‘I need to go to St Catherine’s House for some birth certificates, then I’ll be almost there.’

  ‘Is the mystery of the Red House solved?’ she asked.

  ‘Yes,’ he groaned. ‘Goddammit, the whole area’s been replaced by a housing estate!’

  Larry waited until Rosemary had finished for the day and they went for a cup of coffee before driving home. In a small tea-shop, they were about to sit down when Larry rose suddenly and pulled her out through the door.

  ‘Larry! What is it?’ she demanded, a bit ruffled by the peremptory change of plan.

  ‘I didn’t think it looked all that hygienic,’ he said, hurrying her across the road to the cars.

  ‘Nonsense! I’ve eaten there often and—’ She turned to glance back and saw quite clearly, standing in the doorway, the man who had punched him in the face at the top of Constitution Hill in Aberystwyth.

  ‘Come on, Rose Mary, I’ve a better idea. We’ll go home, then try a pub for a meal. Better than tea-cakes,’ he teased. ‘What in hell are tea-cakes anyway?’

  ‘Larry, isn’t that the man who hit you?’ He pretended to look back, then shook his head.

  ‘Nothing like him. The man who hit me was taller, and not so dark.’

  ‘But I’m sure—’

  ‘You drive ahead and I’ll follow. We’ll use my car for the journey to the station on our trip to London. I’m sure looking forward to seeing a city again. All this quiet, it’s bad for my nerves!’ Joking and chattering as if nothing had happened, he led her to the car, took her key and opened the door for her, then went to his own, parked close by.

  When she drove out of the car park, still bemused and startled by the cavalier way he had ushered her out from the tea-shop, she saw the man standing near the entrance, watching them go. She saw him clearly and knew without doubt that she had been right, he was the one who had struck Larry. But why did Larry deny it? He might have been unsure about the man, it all happened with such speed and a blow to the face makes it impossible to remember precisely what happen
s. But he had been so certain it was not the man, surely he would have at least have doubts?

  She considered the possibility that he had recognised him, and that was the reason he had rushed her out, before the man could hit him again. But why not tell her? And, back to the same question, why would a stranger want to hit him?

  She was serious-faced when she got out of her car and crossed the footbridge with Larry beside her.

  ‘Is something wrong? Have I ruined your day by depriving you of a buttered bun?’ he joked.

  ‘Larry, it was the man who hit you, wasn’t it? And you recognised him. That was why we left in such a rush, before he could hit you again? Why?’

  She saw the smile fade, his shoulders droop and he admitted quietly, ‘Yes, it was he. But please, Rosemary, trust me. It’s a lot to ask, I know that, but I promise you, one day soon you’ll have the full story, but I can’t say anything just yet.’ It was unsatisfactory, but when he pleaded with her, looking into her eyes, love for her showing clearly in their depths, she nodded and promised to wait.

  It was easy enough to promise, but not as simple to put aside all her questions. All through the evening, she had to keep forcing her mind back from the many unexplained little quirks, many of them, she was certain, nothing more than simple misunderstandings. But there were problems looming, threatening their relationship, she could see that.

  * * *

  They left early, in the Citroen, and stopped on the way to Aberystwyth railway station in a small village, where Larry spent a while searching through the graveyard, deciphering the names on the almost obliterated stone lettering.

  They were both quiet during the train journey after an initial perusal of the London map to plan their days. At Euston they continued their journey on the underground to the same hotel they had stayed at before. They bathed and rested before setting out for the theatre and supper.

  Later that night, their love-making was sweet, tender and she knew that whatever problems he had, his love for her was real. No one could pretend to be the way he was with her. Yet the realisation that they were deeply in love kept her awake for long into the night. How could there be love without trust? How could he love her and not disclose what was worrying him?

  The time when he would be leaving was drawing nearer by the minute, although he had not given a date on which he would depart. And the undeclared problems seemed to be coming more and more into their relationship, looming larger and larger and threatening to ruin everything they had. Neither fact could be ignored, not if they were to have any future. She was sure that a future together was what they both wanted. She clung desperately to that thought and slept.

  They returned to Wales in a glow of contentment. Rosemary had committed herself to trusting Larry, telling herself that when the time was right he would explain everything and they would be together.

  Larry stayed one night then he went off in the Citroen, explaining that he once again had to travel to chase some information. Before he left, he showed her his family tree and she saw recently added information; names, dates and places, and the gaps he was hoping to fill.

  While Larry was away, Rosemary and Megan often walked on the hills, sometimes borrowing a friend’s dog and spending the day out, eating at a country pub.

  Megan greeted her one day by saying, ‘He didn’t stay away from you long this time, did he?’

  ‘What d’you mean?’ Rosemary frowned.

  ‘That American of yours. I saw his car parked in Aberdovey, yesterday, and there he was, sitting in a cafe, talking to a man of about fifty; laughing they were as if they were old friends.’

  ‘What was he like?’ Rosemary asked.

  ‘Big chap he was, fairish hair flopping about like a dish-mop. Know him, do you?’

  ‘Oh, yes,’ Rosemary said. ‘I know him. Friendly were they?’

  ‘Yes, for sure! Laughing and slapping each other’s back, in the daft way men do.’

  Rosemary turned and tried to concentrate on her work. Yet another twist to the confusion that surrounded Larry. Not only was he seen in Aberdovey when he had told her he would be in Cardiff, the man he was talking to in such a friendly manner was almost certainly the man who had attacked him in the cafe on top of Constitution Hill.

  6

  There was no sign of Larry during the next few days. Every minute of each hour, Rosemary expected him to appear. Megan was certain it had been Larry whom she had seen, and the car which he said he had hired but which she suspected he in fact owned, was unusual in the area. Then something else occurred to worry her.

  She drove home from work one evening, rather late, having taken the shift that finished when the library closed at eight o’clock. She was tired and, seeing the parking space empty, apart from the old Capri owned by Richard Lloyd, with no sign of the Citroen, she dejectedly walked across the footbridge and prepared herself mentally for another lonely evening.

  She unlocked the door and for a moment thought he was there, there was that indefinable difference to which she was now attuned; the house felt different, inhabited, yet there was no answer to her call. Something else was different, a smell, there was an unpleasant odour pervading the house; what was it? Her memory reached out to it but failed to name the source, yet it was one she knew.

  Putting down the food she had bought ready for her meal, she flicked on the television. A coldness spilt down her spine: the chair had been moved!

  It was always in the same position, the perfect place for watching the television and for listening to her stereo. She examined the carpet, which confirmed her intuition. The compressed pile showed where it had once stood, the four marks of the legs deep and unmistakable. Someone had been here, sitting in her chair.

  There was something else. A book thrown onto the floor, a guide book on New York, bought while she had been holidaying there. The smell was stronger now. She stood up and then saw, on the floor behind the settee, a vase that had fallen. From it spilled flowers, dead flowers. She recognised the vase and the flowers as some she had placed on Gethyn’s mother’s grave a few days before. They were the reason for the smell, the flowers were dead, their stems slimed with decay and spread on the carpet as if the vase had been placed on the floor and knocked over.

  It was Larry! It must have been him. He was perhaps hiding, having parked the car somewhere different to tease her.

  But although the relief flowed through her momentarily, she knew she was deluding herself. Larry wouldn’t frighten her like this. His humour was always gentle, he had never shown any tendency to use malice or cruelty in the name of fun.

  She felt a desire to run, her muscles tightened, preparing her for flight. The centre of her back felt vulnerable, exposed, but she forced herself to look further. She thought of Gethyn but she couldn’t ask him to come in and search, he’d think her mad, and, if she went from the house, however briefly, whoever it was might get away. For a moment that seemed very desirable, but she knew she would never sleep in the house again if she did not search it now.

  Could she be mistaken? Hardly, with the evidence staring her in the face. The flowers had been in the churchyard and now they were here, in her living room, making it smell like a funeral parlour from some nightmare. She hadn’t become oversensitive, there was a mystery attaching itself to her; overheard conversations, now someone entering her home and leaving horrible calling cards.

  Whatever it was, the problem was hers to deal with. Although she could not imagine how or why, it definitely included Larry. It had begun at the time he had entered her life.

  For that reason alone she knew she must get to the root of it.

  The small front room into which she went first was sparsely furnished and it took only a glance to see it was empty. There was little there that could reveal the interference of an uninvited visitor, but she moved the furniture, examined the carpet just the same, all the time listening for any sound that would reveal the presence of an intruder. Nothing revealed any disturbance.

  From
the Victorian fireplace she picked up a heavy, brass-headed poker and began to make her way up the carpeted stairs.

  She climbed slowly and cautiously, craning her neck to look upwards to the shadowy landing above her. No sound except her own breathing. No shadows moving except her own. The house was silent but not with the quiet of undisturbed tranquility, more, she thought with a shiver, a pause, a holding of breath before something happened.

  Her study seemed undisturbed, but there was a sensation of it being inhabited by something other than her desk and her books and papers. She looked at the top sheet. So far as she could remember, it was as she had left it. The final chapter in note-form, was piled to the left of her typewriter. The telephone! Was it a little more to the right?

  No, she was inventing now.

  Her heart beating painfully, filled with the longing to run away and fetch Gethyn, she pushed her feet forward and opened the door of her bedroom. It was empty, but there, on her freshly made up bed, clearly to be seen, was the shape of someone having stretched full length upon it, the man-sized indentation touching her pillow and reaching almost to the foot.

  She felt sick and she tore at the bedding, removing everything until the mattress was bare. She threw sheets and pillows down the stairs; it would all have to be destroyed. She couldn’t even consider using it again after it had been contaminated by the touch of someone unknown.

  Sobs escaping, she struggled to push it all into black rubbish sacks and dragged it outside the door with a shudder of horror. The dead flowers followed, their smell lingering long after they had been placed in the dustbin. She sat down trembling and wondered what to do.

  For tonight, at least, she needed to get out of the house. She thought of Gethyn, then Huw. She needed to talk. But it was Larry she needed. After ringing Megan and arranging to spend the night with her, she dialled one of the numbers Larry had given her. She didn’t have much hope of reaching him and she almost replaced the receiver before anyone answered.