by Mick Bose
I turn the tap off, clutch the sides of the sink, and hunch my shoulders over it. On any other day Jeremy would engulf me in a hug by now. But tonight he is cold and distant. When he speaks, he looks ahead, at the ground, as if his words are meant for someone else.
“We need to call the police. This is crazy.”
I nod in resignation. Given my brief encounters with them, I’m not looking forward to it, but at least it will put things into perspective for them. It might even make it believable. They might stop thinking I am this weird, evil woman around whom strange things keep happening.
Jeremy is still not looking at me, but he’s speaking to me. “I have a dinner tomorrow night at the golf club. It’s for everyone at work, to celebrate the recent success we have.”
Now he does look at me, and I don’t miss the reproach in his eyes. “I’d like you to come with me. All the partners and their wives, husbands, are coming. So is Timothy Burton-Smyth, with his wife.”
The implication hits me like a spear. Not only am I unleashing a murderous ex-boyfriend on him, I could also screw up his career by fighting with the wife of his senior partner at the law firm.
I’m starting to resent Jeremy’s attitude. I am going through a lot more stress than he is over this, and part of me thinks he is just not getting that. When it comes to Molly, I know I am not going to give an inch of ground to that supercilious woman. The thought actually strengthens me, fortifying my defences.
“You know that his wife is trying to get Molly out of the gym squad of school?”
Jeremy is aware of how passionate Molly is about her gymnastics, and he takes her to training sessions at the weekends. His eyes widen.
“She’s doing what?”
He is aware of the bullying allegations as well so I bring him up to date. The frown on his face deepens as he hears.
“That is ridiculous. How can she think our Molly is a bully? You haven’t seen any signs, have you?”
“Nope. Molly is behaving her usual way.”
Jeremy is deep in thought. He sighs at the end, giving up on whatever mental dead end he has reached. “Whatever. She can’t do that, but tomorrow night is not about any of this.”
He looks up at me, and his reproachful look has changed. I recognise the expression on his face. It’s when he wants to say sorry, but there’s too much in the way, stopping him. An obstacle course of worries. I hate to say it, but it’s come between us. I feel the same way, too.
“Will you come?” he asks, his face betraying the feeling that he’s not sure about my response.
“If you need me to, yes. We don’t have to spend too much time there, right?”
“Right.”
CHAPTER 31
I spend most of the morning getting a hair appointment at short notice with Paul Rogers, my regular hairstylist, where I will also get my eyebrows done. I have told Eva and Suzy, and Eva has been able to get hold of a babysitter for me. Luckily, my black evening dress that I want to wear came back from the dry-cleaner a fortnight ago.
I am borrowing black heels from Suzy and I am over at her house to pick them up. When she opens the door I see more lights on inside, and a floral pattern has been pasted across the wall, something for baby Margaret, I think. A smell of fresh flowers mingled with coffee wafts out, and Suzy has Maggie, as she calls her, on her shoulder, being burped after a feed. The place has lost the dreary drabness I saw last time and seems like a new house almost.
“It’s at the private function room of Mandarin Oriental.” I say, taking the box of shoes from her.
“The big hotel in Knightsbridge?” Suzy says, agape.
“Yes,” I say, trying to smile, wishing I felt more upbeat about this. Whatever I try, I’m not relishing the prospect of sitting opposite Joanne, wearing a fake smile on my face. I’m doing it for Jeremy, and he appreciates that, which makes the whole charade tolerable.
“Sure you’re going to have a great time. Take photos.”
“Guess who’s on the guest list.”
“Who?”
“Joanne Burton-Smyth.”
I explain her husband’s relationship to Jeremy. Suzy asks, “And what does Jeremy think about it?”
“Well, he’s stressed about…” I stop, not knowing whether to tell Suzy about Clive. But she is fast becoming the only other person apart from Eva in whom I can confide.
“About what?” Suzy asks. “Is everything OK with you guys?”
“Yes,” I sigh. “It’s just my ex-boyfriend. He’s a psycho.” I tell her in brief about my recent troubles. Suzy’s expression becomes more and more shocked.
“My God. This guy sounds like a total psycho, like you said. Have you told the cops?”
“I’m thinking about it. But that won’t stop him. You know how the cops have been with me. If I tell them, they’ll probably think I’m making it up again.”
“But you have to do something. Do you have a photo of him or something? Maybe I can keep an eye out.”
She does have a point. I wonder if I have any old photos in the attic. Most are destroyed, I didn’t want to leave any trace of Clive in my life. My old phones have been chucked away, too. But I do have an old laptop that I uploaded most of my photos onto.
“I will have a look,” I tell her. “And let you know.” For now, I describe Clive to her. She listens attentively.
Suzy says, “Maybe a night out is just what you need. Sure you’ll enjoy yourself.”
“I will, apart from having to meet Joanne again.”
“Well,” Suzy grins. “You’re younger, better-looking and that dress will turn every man’s head tonight.”
I roll my eyes and grin. “Thanks, Suzy, but that’s way over the top.”
*****
Evening arrives, and I can’t say I don’t feel a tinge of excitement and anticipation as I get ready. I have been looking at the photos of Mandarin Oriental on Google and boy, does it look plush. I really hope the evening goes well and without any mishap. I don’t want any shenanigans, but if Joanne kicks off about the kids, then I’m not going to keep quiet. I doubt she will, however.
Jeremy pokes his head in. He looks handsome in his dinner jacket, and he is patting down his necktie. “Looking gorgeous, gorgeous.” He smiles.
Things still aren’t right between us, but I know both of us will keep the act up for tonight, and sort things out after. He’s just come back from work and we haven’t had a chance to talk.
It’s 6.30 and the babysitter arrives. I can hear Jeremy speaking to her as I add the finishing touches to my outfit. She’s Jenny, an A level student whom that both myself and Eva have used in the past. I run down the stairs to greet her. Molly is chatting to her already and showing her the jigsaw puzzle that she’s made. Jenny is at Crofton High, and she wants to study medicine, so both Eva and myself think she’ll be a good influence on the girls. It’s sweet that Molly kind of looks up to Jenny already.
I give her instructions about sleep time, and how to lock up the front and back. She has my number already, and Eva’s as well in case of an emergency.
Our Uber has arrived, and after a flurry of kisses, both of us leave Molly and lock the door. Jenny has a key and is under strict instructions not to open for anyone unless it’s us. I have checked and rechecked all the windows upstairs. I’ve also spent some time from the upstairs bedroom windows, lights off, staring out at the black, foreboding expanse of the park. Straining my eyes, searching in the shadows of the trees, for any shape that detaches itself from the morass of darkness.
I saw nothing. No moving bodies, save the wildly swinging branches of the trees, buffeted by winds. No lights. I don’t know what I will do if these things suddenly appear. Call the police maybe. Part of me has thought long and hard about taking Molly up to Yorkshire and leaving her there for a few days while I sort out the situation with Clive. But I don’t want to let Molly out of my sight. It’s hard enough going for an evening out, unable to keep my eyes on her.
When the doors of th
e cab shut, I say to the driver, “Can we drive around this block once please?”
He shrugs. Jeremy looks at me questioningly.
“Just to make sure,” I say lamely.
“Make sure of what, Em? There’s no one hiding in the bushes?” His voice is low so the driver can’t hear, but I can sense the exasperation behind it.
I’m looking out the window at the park entrance as the car drives past it. The turnstiles at the entrance are barely visible, but there’s no one standing there. In this cold and windy night there shouldn’t be any park visitors. The rest of the street is empty, triangular halos of yellow light illuminating the street at regular intervals.
Jeremy says, “Em, you have to stop this.”
I turn towards him, unhappy that I have to defend myself. “You saw him staring at our house last night,” I hiss.
“And before I could ask him anything, he had gone. That man could’ve been there for any reason.”
“So you think I’m making up everything I said?”
“No, I didn’t say that.”
The back of a cab seems an odd place to have an argument. But we are having one, and part of me knows that he has a point. I’ve never been fond of the night. Too much darkness where eyes can hide, watching me. Daylight shows what I’m familiar with, and that familiarity brings me comfort. Night is alien, strange, another world where shadows hide forms that are invisible.
I freak out easily at night. I don’t like the sounds I hear when I lie in bed, awake. Jeremy’s gentle, and sometimes not so gentle, snoring, and Molly’s soft breathing is fine. But there’s always other sounds.
My nerves are raw and exposed, and I feel jumpy. I clench my fists into my lap. This is not how I wanted the evening to start.
“I called the police,” Jeremy says. “Today, from work.”
I’m sitting away from him, closer to my window. We are driving over Putney Bridge, and lights twinkle on the rippling waters of the Thames.
“What did they say?” I appreciate that he is taking this seriously.
“They took a statement off me, and said they would be in touch.”
“You told them everything?”
He looks over at me. “Yes. Everything you told me. Isn’t that what you wanted?”
“Yes,” I say in a small voice. I hark back to my last interview with Ingram, outside Steve Ponting’s burnt art gallery. I told her I didn’t know who might be impersonating my husband. Now that story will have to change.
The cops already think I might have something to do with the abduction of Suzy’s baby. That much was obvious when they grilled me afterwards.
Now they are certain to dig deeper, see what else I’m hiding. The windows of the taxi seem to constrict, and I can feel the space getting smaller, suffocating me. I’m in a prison of my own making, but I don’t have the keys to get out.
CHAPTER 32
When we arrive, I am more than happy to get out of the cab. The cold night breeze brings the scent of rain and diesel fumes, but it’s refreshing. There’s a line of cabs parking up, and Jeremy opens the door for me, and I take his hand and step out.
There’s a red carpet under an awning, with white marble steps leading up to the hotel. As I look up at the huge red-brick building, I momentarily forget all my worries. Right opposite the swanky department store Harvey Nichols, the Mandarin Oriental seems to take up an entire block. The first two floors are white, but the rest of the building is red-brick, lit up brilliantly, and they dazzle my eyes.
Jeremy takes my hand and we go up the stairs as liveried doormen salute and open the door for us. The huge doors swing open and…wow. We step into a gilded, baroque-style reception where the walls are brown marble, with columns etched into them. The floor is patterned black and white marble, and so is the staircase. Chandeliers hang down low from the ceiling. I feel like I have stepped back in history and arrived at some French palace. Women in white wigs and men in tights will appear any minute, fanning their faces with Chinese fans.
We go up the stairs to the reception where a bank of men and women wearing expensive suits face us. We are directed to a private function room. The chintz and gold-plated alcoves, and tops of columns, are eye-catching, as are the huge flower arrangements in vases the size of my kitchen table.
Jeremy’s firm must be doing well to hire out this place. I tell him that and he grins.
“Don’t forget we are part of a larger group. They have offices all over the south-west. There’s going to be quite a few people here tonight.”
“Oh good.” I relax, safer in the knowledge that in a crowd I might be able to avoid Joanne if necessary. But I don’t know anyone, and while I don’t want to be stuck to Jeremy all night, it seems I have little choice.
The private function room has a partition. In the first section, which is big enough to hold a hundred people, men with dinner jackets and women in fine dresses mingle with flutes of Prosecco. I feel a little self-aware with my Topshop knee-length black dress. But it hugs my figure well, and with the black heels I am almost as tall as Jeremy.
A waiter comes around and we get our drinks. The doors at the middle of the room are tall and wide and through them I can catch a glimpse of the dining area with tables arranged. Jeremy meets someone he knows and introduces me.
I smile vacantly, and say, “Hello” to the man and his wife. They are both older than us.
The woman, whose long, cream dress and stunning diamond necklace are gorgeous, says to me, “You look stunning, Mrs Mansell.”
“Thank you,” I say politely. “You do as well.”
I feel someone brush past behind me and turn to apologise. The woman says sorry as well and suddenly I am face to face with Joanne Burton-Smyth. She is dressed to the nines. Her hair is done up in a bob at the back. The V-neck red dress must have cost an arm and a leg, and it does make her bulges obvious. Recognition turns to surprise, then to pursed-lipped politeness. She knew I was coming, obviously.
“Hello, Emma,” she says in a flat, civil tone. I am surprised that she even speaks to me. I wouldn’t have, if she didn’t.
“Hello, Joanne,” I say, in the same cold, frosty voice as hers.
She twitches her lips and moves on, and I breathe out. She joins a group that her husband is speaking to and I look away to stand next to Jeremy, shielding myself from them. The waiter passes me by and, although I don’t see his face, something about his posture looks familiar. He walks around, offering drinks, and then disappears through the double doors that are the entrance to the bar.
I excuse myself to go to the loo and check my phone. No calls which is good news. I text Jenny and she calls me back. Molly is fine and we have a brief chat, and I kiss her goodnight. I step out of the loos to find the place more crowded than before. Music is louder, Katy Perry soft pop floats down from invisible speakers in the ceiling.
I have another glass of Prosecco. It’s helping with my nerves as usual, but I need to be careful I don’t have too much. Dinner is announced, and we move towards the partition doors in the middle. The tables are covered in white cloth, with bows tied around the chairs with silk. We sit down at our table and I glance at the cards with names on them. The Burton-Smyths are seated at our table. I flop on my seat and take a pull on my Prosecco. Of course they would be. Tim is friends with Jeremy.
Jeremy touches my arm and I am introduced to yet more people I will never see again. I flash the same smile and have banal conversation about the weather and how nice the place is. From the corner of my eye, I see the waiter I had seen before. This time, I can see his profile as he hurries from one table to another.
My heart lurches and I can’t breathe. That short-cropped blond hair, those muscular shoulders, I would recognise them anywhere. He actually glances to the side and I know it’s Clive. He is so fit for his age, he mixes easily with the other waiters who are young. I don’t know if he catches my eye, but I get the impression he is rushing past my table because he doesn’t want me to identify him.
/>
I excuse myself and stand up. My hands are freezing cold, and it’s hard to swallow. I drain the Prosecco glass and walk quickly in the direction he went. People are standing around their tables, chatting and I dodge past them. There are sets of doors in the far wall, with round looking holes like you see in restaurant kitchen doors.
I leave the main floor and head for the doors. Waiters are rushing past me, and some of them give me a quick, puzzled glance. I’m not sure which door Clive has gone through. There are three of them. They keep getting banged open as waiters move in and out.
I feel self-conscious as the only guest out here. But there’s no time for that. Palpitations are running against my ribs, the drum roll of my heart loud in my ears. Clive being here can’t be an accident. He must be watching us 24/7. The thought makes me want to vomit.
I stride with purpose to the door nearest to me, and stand up on tiptoe to look through the round glass panel. It’s busy inside, with rows of white-hatted chefs putting plates of food on stainless steel shelves. Waiters come up to them with pieces of paper, match them, then take the food away. I crane my neck from side to side, but I can’t see Clive.
“Excuse me, ma’am,” a voice says behind me.
I turn to find a young female waiter looking at me strangely. “Do you need any help, ma’am?”
“No. I just thought I recognised one of the waiters.” I decide to be honest with her. I need some help to track Clive down.
She looks flustered. “Who do you mean?”
“An older man. Short, blond hair. Muscular build. In his forties.”
The girl narrows her eyes and I can see she’s trying to think. I look at the table behind me. Everyone is sitting down now. Our table is close to the left edge of where I’m standing, and I can see Jeremy looking around. He’s searching for me, and any minute now his eyes will fall on me standing here.
I look at the girl in desperation. “Can I go inside?”
“No, ma’am, I’m sorry but you’re not allowed. Wait here, and I will get the catering manager.”