by Lynda Renham
Ben looked at the boat.
‘I’ve got fuck all to lose,’ he said, pushing his woollen hat onto his head. ‘Owen’s loaded. What’s a few hundred quid to him?’
Adam watched Ben march to his old pickup truck. He had some nerve he thought. It would be good if Owen did pay up. He’d have a drink and wait. Ben shouldn’t be that long.
*
The gates to Manstead Manor were always open. Ben reached them and brought his truck to a sharp halt. He had his doubts about approaching Owen now that he was here. Hadn’t he threatened to shoot his head off if he ever stepped on his land again? That fuck Galbreith would get away with murder if someone didn’t stop him. He shouldn’t be allowed to use those guns. He really should have reported it to the police, but he knew what would happen if he did. Owen would accuse him of trespassing on his land and assaulting his niece. The stupid bugger always stood by Ewan. He’d live to regret that one day.
He’d do things properly. He could be polite when needed.
He drove through the gates and slowly along the drive, parking the pickup outside the main doors. He climbed from the truck expecting a bullet to whizz by his head any minute. From the corner of his eye he saw Galbreith at the back of the house. He had a saddle in his good hand. He eyed Ben and then walked towards the stables. Ben took a deep breath and headed for the doors. He pulled the bell and waited.
‘I’ve come to see Mr Owen. Is he home?’ Ben said bluntly to Molly.
‘If you’d like to wait,’ she said, stepping aside so he could enter.
‘Tell him it’s Ben Mitchell.’
‘I know who you are,’ said Molly.
Ben had never been inside Manstead Manor. He looked around the grand hall and at the huge Christmas tree that stood in the centre and sniffed. He lifted his head to look at the painted ceiling.
‘Jesus,’ he muttered, the sight taking his breath away.
Ben knew that Rose Owen had inherited the house from her titled family. Ben bit his lip and wondered if he should ask to speak with her. He decided Owen himself was the best bet. He’d made a fortune over the years with his property lettings as well as his corrupt business dealings. It was all wrong, rich landlords and crooked business deals when people like him had to sweat just to keep their head above water.
A door to the right opened and Libby strolled into the hall in her riding gear. He nodded at her and she smiled. Then her expression changed to one of horror. She’d recognised him. She turned and rushed from the hallway. To tell her uncle, no doubt, thought Ben. Molly came back and beckoned him to follow her. He was briskly led into a reception room where Edward Owen sat behind a heavy oak desk.
‘Thank you Molly,’ he said.
‘To what do I owe this visit?’ Edward said without rising from his chair.
Ben glanced around the room. Christmas cards hung elegantly from the fireplace. A roaring open fire and a perfectly decorated Christmas tree in the corner completed the festive ambience.
‘Galbreith shot my boat to bits,’ he said.
Edward‘s face remained impassive.
‘I’m not sure what that has got to do with me,’ he said dismissively, glancing down at some papers.
‘He used one of your rifles is what it’s got to do with you. It’s criminal damage,’ said Ben sharply.
Edward looked up.
‘You have proof, do you?’
‘There’s not many around these parts that can hit a target like Ewan Galbreith.’
Edward stood up and walked to a drinks cabinet.
‘Can I offer you anything?’ Edward asked.
Ben nodded.
‘Yeah, you can offer me five hundred in cash so I can repair the damage to my boat.’
Edward smiled.
‘Am I right in recalling that you trespassed on my land not long ago? And if I remember rightly, you not only beat up a valuable member of staff, whose two arms I very much needed, but you also assaulted my niece.’
‘He shouldn’t be allowed use of those guns when he’s not on your land. The police might be interested to know how he wanders around the village carrying one of your guns.’
‘Are you threatening me?’
‘Galbreith was fucking my wife,’ Ben snarled.
Edward smirked and stepped towards Ben. Looking him in the eye he said,
‘It’s a man’s weakness if he can’t satisfy his wife. Ewan did you a favour.’
Ben pushed his hands into his pocket to stop himself from punching Edward Owen.
‘He’s dangerous with those guns of yours. He’ll kill somebody.’
‘Best not to get in his way then.’
‘I can’t work, thanks to him. It’s Christmas.’
‘I can see our Christmas tree,’ said Edward blandly.
‘Fuck you,’ snarled Ben, turning to the door.
‘I’ll give you three hundred and that’s it,’ said Edward as Ben put his hand on the door handle.
‘You’re paying me off?’
‘I’m being generous. Take it or leave it, but that settles the matter. I’ll throw in a pheasant for your Christmas Day dinner. Your wife will like that.’
‘Five hundred,’ bartered Ben.
‘Two hundred.’
‘You said three, you cheating bastard.’
‘You argued about it.’
Ben wished he had a shotgun. The bastards always had the upper hand. He waited while Edward unlocked a drawer in the desk and removed a wad of notes. He counted out two hundred and handed them to Ben.
‘Cash, as you requested. There’s no way to trace that back to me. If you tell anyone I gave it to you I’ll deny it.’
Ben snatched the notes before Edward could change his mind.
‘Don’t set foot on my property again.’
Ben shrugged and opened the door. The woman was waiting outside, and she led him back to the hall and opened the main doors. Shots rang out above his head as he climbed into the pickup. Ewan was never happier than when he was killing things, Ben thought. He sat and counted the money. He wasn’t going to be swindled. If it was short of a fiver he was going back. It was all there. He folded the notes and shoved them into his pocket. It was a start. He started the engine and accelerated out of Manstead, his tyres scattering the gravel.
‘Two hundred quid,’ he muttered. ‘The bastard could afford a lot more than that.’
He’d fix the boat and then he’d get his own back.
Chapter Thirty-One
Present day
Ewan was early. He preferred it that way. It gave him time to make his checks. You didn’t spend fifteen years in the clink without learning a few things. It was a rough area. That didn’t bother him. He could handle himself. Always could. He was good with his fists. He looked at the map and stepped cautiously into the alleyway. He pulled up his hood and walked slowly. The third door on the right, said the map. It was covered in coarse graffiti and Ewan wrinkled his nose before knocking.
There was the sound of footsteps on stairs and then a voice said,
‘Yeah?’
‘It’s Ewan Galbreith. Leon is expecting me.’
There was the sound of bolts being shot back and the door squeaked open. A smartly dressed black man smiled widely at Ewan and slapped him on the back.
‘Hey wazzup?’
He high-fived Ewan.
‘I need your expertise,’ said Ewan.
‘Sure, I owe you one. Come on up.’
Ewan followed Leon up a dark stairwell and into a flat. It was nicely decorated with white leather couches draped in brown fur blankets. One corner of the room was filled with computer equipment.
‘Impressive,’ said Ewan.
‘You’re talking about my toys right, and not the sofas?’ laughed Leon, exposing a row of even white teeth.
Ewan nodded.
‘I need you to hack into an email account.’
‘Is that all?’ smiled Leon. ‘And who’s account do I have the pleasure of hacking?’
&
nbsp; *
Libby
I hurry from the shower to answer my phone. I smile. It’s Carol. She has received the handbag.
‘Hi Carol,’ I say cheerfully.
I feel more relaxed. I know Ewan can’t reach me on this number.
‘Libby,’ she says softly, and seems to hesitate.
‘Is everything okay?’ I ask.
My stomach does a little churn but I’ve no idea why.
‘Thank you for the lovely handbag but I really can’t accept such an expensive gift.’
‘Don’t be silly, of course you can. It’s my pleasure and …’
‘I’m going to have to pull out of our agreement. I can’t sign the contracts. I’m so sorry Libby.’
‘I don’t understand Carol. Why? I thought we had agreed …’
‘The email you sent Libby,’ she says interrupting. ‘It has caused a lot of upset.’
I struggle to understand what’s happening. What email? I haven’t sent her an email.
‘I don’t know what email we’re talking about.’
She sighs.
‘The email you sent to the development committee. It arrived this morning. Joel Walter’s daughter saw the photo you attached and, she’s only six …’
The room spins around me.
‘I don’t understand …’
‘I’m so sorry but we really can’t get involved in that kind of gruesome publicity. It will pull away completely from what we’re trying to achieve. It’s not all about you, Libby, and we won’t be pressured in this way.’
‘But …’
‘I’ll have the bag returned to you.’
I go to speak but she has hung up. I try to get my breathing under control, but it comes in gasps. I pull my laptop towards me and with shaking hands click into my outlook account. I hit the sent items and stare at the email I’d apparently sent last night. It was sent to all my business contacts.
‘Oh God,’ I groan, clicking into it.
Dear Colleague
I have decided to make some changes in our marketing strategy. You’ve heard the axiom, ‘there’s no such thing as bad publicity’, well, I believe we have a great resource to put me into the public eye again. Recently, the man who was convicted of murdering my aunt and uncle has been released from prison and is on the loose in London. He wants to destroy me and my business, which makes my personal story of interest again. You, as my partners, are part of this. For those who don’t know my story, I have attached the newspaper clip of my aunt and uncle’s murder. I have also attached photos of their bodies, which, as part of your contact with me, I would expect you to share on social media. As partners I am asking you to fight with me against the injustice that this murderer is on the loose. The message should be that ‘out of tragedy one woman prospers.’ If you want to continue as partners then I insist on your loyalty - this is not negotiable.
Regards
Libby Warren
(Previously Libby Owen).
I drop my head into my hands. I feel defeated. Every one of by business contacts has received the email. They now all know I am Libby Owen. Tears rain down my cheeks. That bastard, that fucking bastard has hacked into my account. I pull it towards me again and frantically check my sent items again. That was the most recent. My inbox is filling up with the responses to it. I don’t need to read them to know what they say. If he’s hacked into this account what else has he hacked into. It can’t be Ewan; his skill isn’t computers. I grab my phone and punch in Fran’s number. It rings for too long and panic begins to well up in me. Finally she answers.
‘You took a long time,’ I say accusingly.
‘Libby, you sound frantic, what’s the matter?’
‘He’s hacked into my email account. You’ve got to do something. I don’t know what kind of email he’ll send next. Please Fran. He’s emailed all the contacts in my business address book. I’ve lost nearly all my contracts. He’s trying to destroy me. I don’t know what he’s going to do next. I’m getting a security guard, he starts today; but I can’t stop Ewan Galbreith hacking my email account.’
‘Have you closed the account?’ says Fran her voice urgent.
‘No… I …’
‘Do it now, right now, while I’m on the phone to you.’
With trembling hands I click back into my outlook account and gasp. There’s a new email. The sender is ‘Every Breath’
‘Oh God, he’s emailed me,’ I say.
‘Open it.’
I click into the email and a photograph pops onto the screen. It’s Ewan. It’s an old photo. He’s smiling.
My heart somersaults. He looks handsome, self-assured. The message attached reads ‘Hello Libby. How time passes.’
‘It’s a photo of him and a message. Do I still delete the account?’
‘Shit. We don’t want to lose that email.’
I wait for her to tell me what to do and as I wait I watch in horror as a window pops onto the screen and then disappears before my eyes. The music player flashes onto the screen and then the PC starts to play Every Breath you Take through the tinny speaker.
‘Shit.’
‘Libby, what’s happening?’
‘Everything’s opening up and then just disappearing in front of me. My photos have now gone and now my documents are disappearing.’
‘Fuck,’ groans Fran. ‘Can you close it?’
I try to close the page, but I can’t move the mouse.
‘The cursor is moving on its own,’ I say with a little sob.
‘That email must have had a virus. Switch off the laptop. I’m sending Scotland Yard over.’
I press the off button, but nothing happens. I sit frozen in front of my laptop, helpless to do anything as I watch everything disappear until finally there is just Ewan’s photo on the screen. I stare into his eyes and then it’s gone.
Chapter Thirty-Two
Fifteen years earlier
Patrick swaggered towards her. His brown hair was pulled up into a ponytail. He took a deep drag of his roll-up and then threw it to the ground.
‘You’re late,’ Libby said.
‘The kids, you know how it is. Then again, you’re just one yourself aren’t you darling?’
She hated it when he referred to her as a kid. She was almost eighteen. But, compared to Patrick she was a kid. He stroked her bum and she felt the excitement build up in her loins. Ever since Ewan had kissed her at the party she’d been bursting for relief.
‘I’ve only got an hour. I’ve got the kids in a bit. She’s going out with the girls.’
Libby bit back her retort. She didn’t want to ruin things. An hour was enough and it would be worth it. Patrick always made it worth it. Her time with him was exciting. The deceit and the sordidness of it made it all the more appealing to her. If her uncle ever discovered she was shagging a 27-year-old married gypsy, he’d have a stroke. The fact they did it just a few feet from where his wife was in her caravan excited them. Libby would orgasm several times knowing she could catch them anytime. She loved the filth Patrick spewed into her ear, the way he made her beg for release. His fingers would toy with her and she’d imagine they were Ewan’s fingers and she’d come so quickly that it took Patrick by surprise. Tonight was no different.
‘God, you’re hot tonight,’ Patrick said.
The throbbing music from the pier reached her ears and she wondered if Ewan was in the pub or on the pier with his friends. Patrick rolled off her and lit a cigarette.
‘Christ Libs, you wear me out, you know that.’
Libby pulled her hair up and straightened her clothes.
‘It will be New Year soon,’ she said.
‘Not for a while,’ he laughed.
‘We should celebrate together,’ she said excitedly.
‘I’ll be with Lil and the girls.’
She pouted.
‘We can celebrate after New Year then,’ she said kissing his rough cheek and then stroking it. He caught her hand in his and said,
‘We may be moving on in the New Year.’
‘Moving on?’ she said, shocked. ‘Moving on where?’
He sighed.
‘Back home to Australia.’
‘Australia?’ she echoed, pulling her hand out of his. ‘You can’t go to Australia.’
‘I’m a gypo, Libby, we don’t stay put for long. Besides my visa runs out soon.’
‘When does it run out?’
‘In a few weeks.’
She sighed. She’d talk him out of it. There was time. She’d convince him to leave his stupid wife and she could go to Australia with him.
‘How can you afford to go to Australia?’ she asked scathingly.
He shook his head at her.
‘We’ll manage.’
‘I love you,’ she said.
She wasn’t sure if she did, but it was nice saying it.
‘Love you too chick,’ he smiled, sliding his hand down her blouse.
‘It’s cold,’ she said.
‘Yeah, you should get back to that roaring fire of yours.’
She slapped his hand.
‘Don’t mock me.’
‘As if,’ he laughed.
They got up from the ground and Libby pulled her coat around her. It was funny how she didn’t feel the cold when they were doing it. She didn’t seem to feel anything except wonderful sensations.
‘See you babe’ said Patrick.
‘When?’ asked Libby.
‘I’ll send you a text. It won’t be long,’ he winked.
Libby smiled and watched him walk away. She decided to get some chips. Maybe she’d see Ewan at the chip shop.
Chapter Thirty-Three
Present day
Libby
I arrive twenty minutes late for my lunch date with Donna. I look terrible. My hair is greasy and I’d dragged it back with a hairband. There wasn’t time to put on make-up and my eyes are still swollen from crying. Donna waves from her table. She’s smiling, and I sigh with relief. Ewan hasn’t got to her yet then. I’ve time to warn her. Her expression changes on seeing me and she hugs me.