A Country Affair

by Rebecca Shaw

  “I’ll tell him tomorrow.”

  “Tomorrow, my girl, either Mia or I will take you to work and bring you home. Scott can’t always be about when you need him. You’re a good chap for seeing to Kate tonight, Scott, and I want to thank you man to man for looking after her.” Gerry stood up and shook Scott’s hand.

  “There’s no need for that, Dad. I can manage.”

  “Till we know the facts you’ll do as I say. Tell them your car’s in need of serious repair and they can’t find the parts. Anything but have you traveling about on your own. You agree with me, don’t you, Scott?” Gerry gave him a meaningful look and Scott took the hint.

  “I most certainly do. If there’s an evening like tonight, Kate could ring you and I’d bring her home and save you the journey. My hours are unpredictable, so I can’t promise . . .”

  “You’re being ridiculous, Dad; Adam wouldn’t hurt a fly. We all know that. I’m perfectly capable of seeing myself home. I won’t be carried about like a child.”

  “You will.”

  “I won’t.”

  “You will, Kate, because I say so. It was bad enough that night you had to run away from him. Heaven alone knows what he might do next.”

  Scott’s ears pricked up at Gerry’s words, but Mia shook her head at him and he said nothing except, “The train set?”

  Gerry jumped to his feet, eager to show off the pride of his life, and they disappeared upstairs. Kate and Mia knew that would be the last they’d see of them for at least two hours.

  “I NEED to have a word with Mr. Price, Joy, this morning. His first appointment is at ten. Do you think he might see me before then?”

  “You’re not wanting a reference, are you? You’re not leaving?”

  “No, I’m not, but I do need a word about something. Can I tell you all about it later?”

  “Of course. I’ll give him a buzz right now and schedule you.”

  “Thanks.”

  Mungo came downstairs at nine o’clock to find Kate in the accounts office entering the previous day’s veterinary calls in the computer. He closed the door behind him and sat down on her spare chair. “Well, now, Kate, I understand you need a word with me.”

  Kate dreaded having to tell him. In her small office his aura was striking, and she felt him to be too big for the available space, but she had to inform him clearly and concisely without any silly girlish panic. So she began at the beginning and told him about their estrangement, and how Adam had obviously got into the practice building at some stage. Out of her handbag she took the printout she’d done and handed it to him to read.

  “If he hadn’t trespassed, I would never have told you, because obviously it’s a personal matter, but he has and my dad said I must.”

  Mungo read it and commented, “It couldn’t be someone here having a joke?”

  “I don’t think so. He uses the expression ‘my girl,’ which is a favorite of his. I’m sure it was him and of course he was here to meet me like he said he would, but Scott followed my car home for safety’s sake and Adam lost us at the road works.”

  “Mm. I’m most concerned about this for your sake. It’s not at all pleasant. There’s also theft or destruction to be thought of. If someone is very determined to get at the drugs, nothing we can do will stop them, besides which there’s the operating equipment and such. We’ve a lot of money invested here, you know. Do you think he’s likely to do it again?”

  “He’s behaving so out of character I really don’t know what he’ll do next.” Some of the horror of it overcame her and tears came into her eyes. “It’s making me feel dreadful; it’s like being stalked.”

  “It is being stalked, make no mistake. Have you spoken to him about it?”

  Kate shook her head.

  “No, perhaps that’s wise. You don’t happen to have a photograph of him, do you?”

  “A photograph? For the police, you mean?”

  “Not yet. Have you met Johnnie?”

  “Johnnie? No.”

  “He cleans for us. Most often he cleans at night, but sometimes he takes a turn and has to come very early in the morning instead and get it all done before we open up. Johnnie King his name is. He’s deaf and it will make it much easier to explain what we suspect if I can show him a photograph. This Adam must have come in while he’s been here, you see, and he must be told not to let him in.”

  “How can you explain if he’s deaf?”

  “He lip-reads and I use sign language too. Known him for years. He’s a great chap. He does a good job, doesn’t he?”

  “He does. It’s always immaculate.”

  “Exactly. I admire him. He gets on with his life, earns a living, doesn’t expect preferential treatment and cares for his father in the bargain.” Mungo took her hand. “Has your dad had a word with this Adam?”

  “No.”

  “I think he should. I shall tell Joy; leave it to me. Don’t tell the others; best not for now.” He got up to go. “Oh! Photograph?”

  “Tomorrow, will that do? Scott knows, though, because he was with me last night when I was leaving, like I said.”

  “I’ll tell Scott to keep mum. Take great care of yourself, Kate. These situations can escalate in no time at all.” He patted her hand, gave her one of his radiant smiles and made to go, saying before he closed the door, “Joy will murder me if anything happens to you. She thinks very highly of you.”

  AT home, Mia spent the morning painting. This one was for an exhibition she’d been invited to put on in the major library in the town. Small potatoes, really, in the scheme of things but important to her. It was of Kate as a little girl. She’d used her facial features several times and the results had always sold well. She could put her in any century and somehow she always fitted the bill. This time the neckline of her dress was that of an early nineteenth-century girl about seven years old. People often assumed that her paintings were of real people because they looked so full of character, so taken from life. Mia liked it best when she wasn’t working to order from photographs because it meant she could use her imagination; photos were so limiting artistically.

  Thinking about photos brought to mind the one Kate had chosen to take to the practice that morning. Of Adam on the harbor at West Bay with Kate. “Cut yourself off that photo before you give it to Mr. Price,” Mia had said in the car on the way. “I don’t want you on it with him. How could he be doing this to you? He must have gone mad.”

  So Kate had cut herself off with some nail scissors out of Mia’s bag and Mia had wished it was as easy to get rid of Adam for real. He was tenacious, certainly, and obsessive. Two characteristics Mia hadn’t much of a fancy for. No one seemed to be alarmed by the fact that he appeared to have so much time for wandering about during the day. So why did he? No job, that’s what. Obviously. Being so self-obsessed, he couldn’t tolerate such a letdown. He hadn’t got the promotion and he’d been sacked, and there was no way he would admit it, especially in front of Scott. Mia frowned. She’d find out. Yes, she would. She’d ring his office and ask to speak to him. That would give her the answer. If a receptionist said, “I’ll put you through,” she’d put the receiver down quickly, but if he had been sacked, they’d also give her the answer. Either way she would know.

  The excitement of her little scheme made her hand jerk and a streak of the red she’d been using for Kate’s lips ran across her face and made it look as though Kate had been knifed from lip to ear. Mia was horrified. What had she done? Was this a sign of what was to come? She quickly picked up one of her tiny blades and scraped the blood-red away before it began to dry. Once her portrait had been put to rights, Mia put down her brush.

  She poured herself a drink of water and sipped it to make sure her voice wouldn’t be croaky when she spoke. Mia practiced out loud what she would say. “Could you put me through to Mr. Pentecost, please? Adam Pentecost.” Or “I want to speak to Adam Pentecost, please.” Or “I’m replying to Mr. Pentecost’s call.” If they asked who it was, she’d
give a false name; call herself Betty Lomax. That was it. Right. Here we go. Before she dialed the number, she questioned which answer she wanted. Did she want “Yes, I’ll put you through” or “I’m sorry, Mr. Pentecost no longer works here?” Preferably the former because then perhaps he would seem less of a danger; if it was the latter, then . . . “Could I speak to Mr. Pentecost, please?”

  “Mr. Pentecost? I’m sorry, no one of that name works here anymore.”

  “But he must; he suggested I ring.”

  “I’m sorry, he left last month.”

  “Can you tell me where he works now, then?”

  “Sorry, I’m not able to divulge any personal details.”

  “It must have been sudden; it’s only a matter of a few weeks since he suggested I ring him. Such a very nice man, he seemed.” Mia let a kind of throwing-myself-on-your-mercy tone enter her voice, a tone inviting confidences, and it worked.

  “Truth to tell, he was dismissed. Instantly. A kind of ‘thank you but no thank you’ and he left that afternoon. Worked here since leaving school. He’d fully expected to be promoted but instead . . . well . . . curtains. Terrible shock.”

  “I’m sure it must have been. Thank you anyway for your help; you’re most kind.”

  “Not at all. Good morning.” And she was off, answering another call, no doubt.

  But Mia was left worrying. She put away her painting. It was no good trying to do such minutely delicate work when she was upset, because all she’d do was what she’d done already: make it look as though Kate had been attacked. She thought of herself as a perceptive person and sat in front of the Rayburn, considering what should be done next. He ought to be warned to leave her alone, but by whom? The police? Gerry? Scott with his beat-him-up attitude? But would Adam ever do something serious? Maybe it was all fantasy and quite harmless. But somehow it wasn’t harmless, was it? Not anymore, not after leaving a message on her computer. And he was guilty of deception of the highest order, giving the impression he’d been promoted. He couldn’t face up to the reality of being sacked. How cruel people were nowadays. What a blow to a man, or a woman come to that. Instant dismissal. But at least Adam hadn’t a wife and children, and a huge mortagage—he was footloose and fancy free. Oh no, he wasn’t! He was obsessed by Kate.

  She leaned back in her chair and thought about Kate; the nineteen years of caring more and more as each year went by. She’d been a handful always, on the go right from the moment she was on her feet. Into everything, talking in sentences long before most children did and so loving, her dear little Kate had been. So loving. Still was. Mia picked up her bag and took out the piece of the photograph Kate had cut off that morning in the car. The wind was blowing her hair and she was laughing. Mia had a sentimental moment while she sat there admiring and loving. If anything ever happened to her to stop the laughter, to spoil that lovely face, she’d . . . If she peered closely at it, she could see Adam’s hand, left behind on Kate’s shoulder. Angrily she hunted for the scissors in her bag and snipped off the hand. There. Nothing of Adam left. If only it would prove as easy in reality.

  “Hello!”

  “Gerry! Is that you?”

  “Who else!”

  He stood in the doorway. “Forgot my lunch.” He spotted the obvious distress on her face. “What’s up, Mia? What’s happened?”

  “Adam lost his job. He didn’t get the promotion.”

  “But he said . . .”

  “He didn’t actually, you know; it was Kate assuming he had and he let it ride because he couldn’t face up to the fact that he’d been sacked. A man like him with such an opinion of himself, and yet so scared of life he couldn’t abide change or spontaneity of any kind, wouldn’t be able to, would he? Such a blow to his ego, besides being a terrible shock. Now he has nothing to do but hang around after Kate.”

  “How do you know all this?”

  “I rang his firm. Asked to speak to him.”

  “Mia!”

  “I found out what we wanted to know, though, didn’t I?”

  Gerry picked up the photo of Kate from the table and studied it. “What can we do?”

  “I think you should go and see him. Kate mustn’t, but you could.”

  “Me?” Gerry didn’t see himself as a diplomat or, if he’d thought about it, as a James Bond either. “Me? What would I say?”

  “You’d think on your feet; you’re good at that. I won’t have something happen to Kate simply because we did nothing to help her. If he should get at her . . .” Mia wept, her shoulders shaking with her fear.

  Gerry put his arm round her. “Come on, Mia, it won’t come to that. Of course not. We’re getting things out of proportion.”

  Mia blew her nose loudly and choked out the words, “Go, please go and see him. Tell him. Please. I mean it.”

  To pacify her, he agreed to go. “But not right now. I’ll go after work, tonight.”

  “Thank you. I know you’ll say the right thing.” Mia took his hand in hers and squeezed it. “You know how much I love her.”

  “I do. I’ve always been grateful for that. More than grateful.”

  Mia cheered up after he said that and went into the kitchen to make Gerry his lunch. She called out, “I forgot about your lunch with taking Kate to work. Ham all right?”

  “Fine.” He’d call on Adam tonight.

  But instead, he went straight from their house to Adam’s. If the fellow was out of work, he’d likely be at home, wouldn’t he? There’d be no point in Adam’s hanging about waiting for Kate at this time of day and the sooner it was faced up to, the better, in his opinion.

  He’d never been to Adam’s house, though Kate had pointed it out to him. The terrace of stone cottages stretched right from the riverbank to the council park—a quiet, secluded lane with desirable cottages, some smartened up and modernized, others as they’d been for a century and more.

  He found number fifteen and pulled up outside. It was so entirely clean, it was hard to believe that Mrs. Pentecost hadn’t been out since dawn scrubbing down the outside walls and polishing the windows. Not a spider’s web or a speck of dust anywhere; not a single patch of flaking paint. The net curtains lined up like soldiers on parade. In the window boxes were winter pansies, their faces turned to the autumn sunshine, planted with such precision he doubted they’d ever dare to die. There was something unnerving about the exactness of it all. Something almost . . . Gerry couldn’t find the right word but obsessive crept into his mind.

  He got out and went to rattle the brass knocker. At first he thought they weren’t in, but then he heard footsteps. The door opened a few inches and a face very like Adam’s came into view.

  “Yes?”

  “Good morning. I’m Gerry Howard. I’ve come to see Adam.”

  The door opened wider. “Oh, you’re Kate Howard’s father?”

  Gerry nodded.

  “He’s at work.”

  “He is?”

  The door opened wider still. “Come in. Come in. You can leave a message.”

  The chill of the house struck Gerry as soon as he walked in. Because it was a cottage entrance, the front door opened straight into the living room and it seemed he’d walked into an immaculately kept shrine. On every well-polished surface stood photographs of Adam in all stages of his life: the naked baby on the sheepskin rug, the toddler playing with his brightly painted wooden engine, the schoolboy in his too-big blazer, the teenager in athletic kit holding up a trophy, and in pride of place on the mantelpiece was Adam in cap and gown. Oh God! thought Gerry. If I hadn’t had Mia to keep me in check, I’d have had Kate all over our sitting room too. Mrs. Pentecost went to a drawer in a table under the window. “Here, write on this.” She didn’t have to root about in the drawer to find a piece of paper as Mia would have had to do, because all there was in the drawer was a writing pad and a pen.

  She handed them to him and waited.

  “I’ve nothing to write; I wanted to see him.”

  “But I said he isn�
�t here. He’s at work. He won’t be home until half past six at the earliest. That promotion he got is keeping him so busy, but then what can you expect when a young executive is climbing the ladder of success? They have to put in all the hours, haven’t they?”

  Had Mia got it wrong, then? “You must be proud of him.”

  “I am. It will be lovely when Kate and he marry and we all live together in the one house.”

  When what she’d said had registered, Gerry cringed with disgust at the future planned out for his Kate.

  “We went to look around one the other day, Adam and I. Bigger than this, of course, as suits an executive. I shall have company all day and someone to look after me then. I’m so looking forward to it. I’m not in good health, you see.”

  Gerry dared a stupid question: “Kate like it, did she?”

  “She’s going at the weekend with Adam. Just the two of them. You know what it’s like when you’re in love. You don’t want a doddery old mother with you, do you?” She smiled coyly, asking him to deny her dodderiness.

  Gerry got the distinct impression as he looked at her that she was no more decrepit than he himself. “I see. Kate hasn’t said.”

  “I think Adam’s keeping it as a surprise.”

  “It will certainly be that. Look, I’ll call back tonight if I may—catch Adam in then.”

  “I’ll tell him you’re coming. Oh, he won’t be in, though. It’s Tuesday, so he’ll be going tenpins bowling with Kate. He’ll be picking her up at your house.”

  Gerry began to think he might be going insane, but swept along by her self-delusion, he entered into her crazy charade. “Of course, I’d forgotten it’s Tuesday. I’ll see him tonight at our house, then. I was thinking it was Kate’s night for seeing her tutor.” As soon as the words were out of his mouth, he knew that was the last reason he should have given, because word for word it would be relayed to Adam and he’d know what Kate had decided.

  Gerry shook Mrs. Pentecost’s hand and levered himself out of the door. Standing on the pavement, he felt such a rush of relief to have escaped he was almost skipping. “Bye-bye, Mrs. Pentecost. Nice to have met you.”