The Corrigan legacy

by Anna Jacobs

  When he arrived, they both stared at the keys in bewilderment because the sets were identical. He tried to open the doors with his keys, but they wouldn't go into the holes. 'The locks must have been changed. I can't understand why, though. We definitely didn't authorize this and when someone checked the house only two weeks ago, she had no trouble getting in, so it's quite recent.'

  She knew then who'd done this and a shiver ran down her spine. Des, of course. Who else could it be? And who else had keys to these new locks? She didn't feel comfortable about moving in now, which was just what he'd intended, of course. 'It can only be my ex, trying to make trouble for me.'

  The estate agent stared at her in shock. 'Surely not?'

  'I'm afraid so. He can be very - spiteful.'

  Even when the locksmith came and put in new and very secure locks, unease was still skittering up and down her spine about staying here alone. Damn you, Des!

  By the time the locksmith had finished, it was dark and she was ravenously hungry, so she drove into the village to buy some food at the minimart, enough to tide her over for a day or two.

  'Staying in Blackfold, are you?' the lady behind the counter asked.

  'Yes. I'm May Horrocks' niece.'

  'Ah, you'll be living at the old Gatehouse, then. Nice place, that. Lovely outbuildings too. There was a man wanted to buy the outbuildings and land at the back and do a barn conversion on them, only your aunt would never sell. Nice fellow, he was, became quite friendly with her.'

  It was amazing how much the woman knew, Judith thought, and would no doubt be spreading the word about her arrival.

  When she got back, she found the gates closed, which worried her. Had Des sent someone else to hassle her? She opened them, looking round her all the time, but could see no sign of anyone. Still filled with trepidation, she drove her car into the driveway, hesitated, then left the gates open in case she had to drive away quickly.

  The front door opened easily with the new key and she hastily carried the shopping inside. Suddenly the fact that the house had three storeys worried her and she knew she'd have to have a security system installed if she was to sleep soundly at night.

  Heart pounding she made her way up to the attics and searched the whole house from top to bottom, leaving no cupboard, no wardrobe out. There was no one there, of course, no sign of disturbances, but she'd needed to be sure of that. When she got down to the kitchen she felt more comfortable.

  She looked out of the window and for a moment thought she saw a glimmer of light down at the end of the garden, but decided she must have been mistaken because when she blinked and looked again, there was only darkness. After eating a sandwich, she opened a bottle of Chardonnay and poured herself a glass, then spent a pleasant hour reading the novel she'd bought at the minimart. Eventually a gigantic yawn interrupted her reading and when she looked at her watch, it was nearly eleven o'clock.

  As she was about to switch on the light in her bedroom she caught sight of what looked like a light further down the garden, and this time it didn't go away when she blinked. She walked across to the window without putting her own light on and stared out. Surely that was - yes, the big shed at the end of her garden was definitely lit up! Was Des playing some other nasty trick on her? She got her mobile out to call for the police, then anger surged through her. Whatever it was, whoever it was, she was going to deal with it herself. Des was not going to spook her.

  Besides, of one thing she could be certain. He didn't intend to kill or physically hurt her. He'd far rather keep her alive and make her suffer. But just to be sure she was able to defend herself, she went downstairs and picked up the living-room poker, a solid piece of iron with a brass handle. Then she went into the kitchen, switched off the light and opened the outside door quietly. Step by careful step she crept down the garden towards the shed.

  That evening Mitch picked up the phone and listened for a moment, before calling to his grandmother, 'It's Dad, for you.'

  She came out of the kitchen pulling a face and thrust a spoon into Mitch's hand, whispering, 'Keep stirring the sauce.'

  Des's voice boomed in her ear. 'Well, Ma-in-law, I've just concluded a rather nifty deal and since I no longer have a wife to celebrate with, I'd like to take you and my son out for dinner.'

  'Oh, dear! I've already cooked something and we're just about to eat.'

  'Save it for another time. I'll be round to pick you up in half an hour.'

  She stared at the buzzing phone, then slammed it down and went back into the kitchen. 'Oh, he's such an infuriating man! Sorry, Mitch. I tried to fend him off but he's insisting on taking us out to dinner. Says it's to celebrate some business deal.'

  'That's a new one. Since when does Dad need us to do his celebrating with? I've told him I can't afford late nights. Doesn't he ever think of anyone else?'

  She spread her hands helplessly. 'I'll ring back and suggest he eats here with us. I can get out a bottle of wine.'

  Mitch hesitated, then shook his head. 'No, don't. You know how he loves lavish meals in restaurants. It'll put him in a bad mood.'

  'Let it.'

  'I'd rather not. He can get a bit shitty if you stop him doing something he's set his mind on.'

  She stared at him. 'Are you by any chance frightened of your father, Mitch?'

  He was tracing patterns on the vinyl flooring with his toe. 'Not exactly - well, I wasn't before, but since he thumped Mum, I've realized how strong he is physically. You should have seen the expression on his face when he hit her, Gran. Sheer fury. And you and I both saw what he'd done to that door at the hotel. So I'd rather not cross him just now. I'm not as strong as he is and well, I'm dependent on him. I'll need financing for university next year.'

  Which made her thoughtful, because she too was dependent on Des and would live a very meagre life without his help. She'd told Judith that didn't matter, but it did really. When you were over sixty, you valued your comforts and being able to afford outings with friends. So if she could keep Des happy without betraying her daughter, she would. But if push came to shove, it was Judith who mattered most - and Mitch.

  With a sigh she switched off the cooker and began to put the food away, planning what to wear. If Judith rang to say she'd arrived safely, as she'd promised to do, she'd find only the answer phone.

  That evening Des was so expansive and talkative that Hilary began to wonder if he was taking some sort of drug. He hardly glanced at her but he looked at Mitch a lot, and gloatingly too. He also seemed to be nursing some secret amusement. What was he up to now?

  But he didn't raise any objections when they insisted they had to get home early so that Mitch wouldn't be too tired to study the next day.

  'Ambitious little sod, aren't you?' he said to his son, his speech just the tiniest bit slurred because he'd drunk most of the bottle of expensive wine he'd ordered, plus a double cognac afterwards.

  'I want to get a good degree, Dad. That sort of thing matters these days.'

  'Yeah, well, you go for it, lad. I'll put up the money for the university fees. And she's out of the picture now, so you'll not be messed around any more.'

  Mitch and his grandmother both went to peer out of the dining-room window as Des sauntered back to the car. The chauffeur hopped out smartly and opened the door, then it purred off down the street.

  Hilary gave her grandson a hug. 'Well, that wasn't too bad. Look, there's a message on the answer phone.' She pressed the button and her daughter's voice echoed round the room. Mitch came across to listen with her.

  When the message finished, they stared at one another.

  'That's why he was so smug tonight,' Mitch said bitterly. 'What a rotten trick to play. Poor Mum. And whatever Dad says, I'm definitely going up to see her in the summer holidays.'

  'Don't tell your father that. We'll work something out together, fool him.'

  He looked at her and sighed. 'I suppose we'd better. I'll feel a coward, though.'

  'At your age you've no power and no
money, so it's the sensible thing to do, the only thing really.' And she would have to tread just as carefully - up to certain limits. She wondered if Des would push against those limits or whether he really was as fond of her as he pretended.

  'Drive me to Pearton Gardens,' Des told his chauffeur.

  'Yes, sir.'

  'Then you can go off duty. I'll take a taxi home later.' He leaned back, looking forward to seeing Tiff.

  She was sitting watching television in the luxufy "flat he paid for, dressed in one of the expensive negligees he'd bought. Blond and slim, exactly twenty years younger than him, and fun without being clingy. He'd never met a woman whose company he enjoyed more. He kept careful checks on her, of course, but she'd never strayed since he began supporting her, not once.

  'Des, darling! I didn't know you were coming tonight.' She held out her hand.

  He joined her on the couch, indulging her in her favourite programme, enjoying her rich chuckles. When it was over he began to kiss her.

  'Here or in bed?' she asked.

  He was getting too old for contortions on the sofa. That's what had gone wrong last time, he was sure. He'd twisted his spine. 'Bed, my pet. I like my comforts.'

  But he could feel his nerves growing taut as he followed Tiff along the corridor. She and his doctor were the only ones who knew about the difficulties he'd been having. Last time he'd used Viagra, and it had worked all too well, but he hated the damned stuff and anyway, it didn't wear off when you wanted it to. Tonight things would go fine, he was sure. He was relaxed and had a gorgeous woman to arouse him.

  She led the way into the bedroom and they helped one another out of their clothes.

  Ten minutes later he rolled off her and covered his face with one arm, ashamed that once again he'd been unable to finish what he started.

  She said nothing for a few moments, then reached for his hand and raised it to her lips. 'It's all right, Des.'

  He didn't turn to look at her. 'It damned well isn't! This is turning into a habit.'

  She squeezed his hand. 'Perhaps you'd better see a specialist, not just for those tablets, but for a good check-up? That's what your doctor wanted you to do last time, wasn't it?'

  He couldn't hold back a growl of anger at the thought of going back and telling a man he knew socially that he still couldn't maintain an erection.

  She pulled him round to face her. 'I'm not with you just for the money, Des, or for the sex. We'll sort this out together.'

  He lay scowling at her, then closed his eyes and sighed. 'You're a nice girl, Tiff.'

  'I'm thirty-eight. Hardly a girl.'

  'You won't tell anyone?'

  'Did you really need to ask that?'

  He pulled her into his arms and buried his face in the soft skin of her shoulder. 'No.'

  But he didn't dare try to make love to her again, and shortly afterwards he left.

  Seven

  A chill wind whines across the moors, clouds tease the moon, hoar frost whitens the grass. Winter has suddenly sneaked back for one last thrust of the icy dagger.

  Walking on the grass so as not to make a noise, Judith crept through the darkness towards the light, which was coming from the furthest part of the long brick shed. The intruder was making no attempt to hide his presence but what would anyone be doing there at this hour of the night? Surely there was nothing worth stealing?

  She was so angry about this second intrusion into her refuge that she kept going, muttering, 'Just you wait, Des Corrigan.' The light was coming from a small window in the stone-built shed, two dirty panes of cracked glass festooned by cobwebs. To her annoyance, they were too high for her to see through, so she crept up to the door and listened.

  Silence.

  Was it a trap? She didn't know, only that she wasn't going to cave in and leave her house. Nor would she crawl back to Des, whatever he did or said to her. Taking a firmer grip on the poker, she hefted it in her hand. If someone leaped out at her, they'd get more than they'd bargained for. She reached for the handle, sucked in a deep breath and flung the door open. It bounced back on its hinges, creaking loudly, and thumped against the wall, rebounding so that she had to push it back again.

  By the light of a single bare bulb hanging from the ceiling she saw a man slumped forward across a rickety table with his head on one arm. His other arm was flung out next to an empty whisky bottle. He moved his head, grunted and settled down again.

  She took a quick look round, puzzled. The place looked lived in, with odd pieces of furniture, even a computer and a bed. She hesitated. If she had any sense she'd back out, lock herself in the house and call for the police.

  She had no sense. She stayed.

  From the direction of the table came a gentle bubbling snore. There was no sound apart from that, no traffic noises, no sound of people's voices. They could have been alone in the universe. A minute or so later another snore followed the first and the man twitched, muttering something in his sleep. He was unshaven, his clothes crumpled, but he didn't look like a tramp. His shoes were new, even if they were muddy, and the leather jacket he was wearing was of good quality, showing few signs of wear and tear.

  Was she dreaming? What had this man been doing drinking himself senseless in her shed?

  She took another step forward, then a final movement brought her right next to him. On a sudden decision she shook his shoulder hard. 'Wake up!'

  'Go 'way.'

  His voice was husky and when he raised his head slightly his eyes were unfocused. Even as she watched he laid his head down and closed his eyes again. He was blind drunk! Had he consumed the whole bottle of whisky?

  Anger made her shake him harder and shout, 'Don't go to sleep!'

  'What?' He blinked at her, looking like all the mock drunks she'd ever seen in plays and films.

  'Who - are - you?'

  'Cal.'

  She didn't let him put his head down again. 'Get up and get out of here, Cal. This is my shed.'

  This time he seemed to consider what she was asking of him, she could see understanding dawn slowly, but then he shook his head. 'Can't.'

  'What do you mean, you can't?'

  It took a long time for the next words to emerge. 'Broke down.'

  Then she saw the motor cycle helmet on a chair beyond the table, the heavy leather gauntlets beneath it.

  'Even the Hog let me down,' he repeated, closing his eyes, an expression of pain on his face. 'Everything's gone wrong.'

  That didn't seem like a reason to empty a bottle of whisky, but as he muttered something indistinguishable and closed his eyes, she gave up and backed out, not allowing him a chance to jump her. But he didn't. He didn't even stir.

  When she'd closed the door she swung round quickly and set her back to it. But the garden was quiet, even the row of daffodils looking colourless in the darkness. And the wind was getting up, a damp, icy wind that promised rain. Fine spring weather this was! Shivering, she returned to the house, unlocked the back door and hesitated. He'd be cold in that shed.

  That wasn't her business.

  But what if he died of hypothermia?

  No, you didn't die of hypothermia in April. Did you? Anyway, it wasn't her business. She didn't know him from a bar of soap. He might be a dangerous lunatic or someone working for Des. But still . . . she watched her braatti cloud the air . . . it had got cold quickly, and the weather forecast said there was a possibility of snow on high ground.

  She couldn't leave him there.

  With a sigh she retraced her steps, shook the man until he was more or less awake, then hauled him to his feet. He seemed bewildered but docile, and when she tugged him forward, he stumbled along obediently beside her.

  "S'not fair, you know,' he said suddenly.

  'What's not fair?'

  'Taking my daughter away from me. It's just not fair.'

  He said nothing more, but she couldn't get what he'd said out of her mind. Was that why he'd been drinking? She knew how it hurt to lose a child because in one
sense Mitch had been taken away from her, though he'd have gone anyway in a few months. But she'd have fought like a wildcat if anyone had tried to take him away from her when he was little.

  Horrible things happened between divorced couples and children suffered from it. This man certainly didn't look like a habitual drunkard, because he was scrupulously clean, apart from not having shaved. But stubble on the chin was fashionable these days, wasn't it?

  She propped him against the house wall while she unlocked the back door, then guided him inside.

  'I'm cold,' he announced suddenly.

  In the light she could see that his face was white and when she tugged him forward again, she touched one of his hands and found it clammy. She wasn't cold because the exertion of getting a tall, drunken man into the house had warmed her up. One look at her companion and she decided not even to try the stairs, leading him into the sitting room instead, where she eased him down into an armchair and switched on the heater. He was clearly far too tall to sleep on the couch, so she dragged the cushions off it and laid them on the floor.

  He leaned his head back, closed his eyes and sighed. His expression was sad, even now, but there wasn't a hint of aggression about him. It was utterly stupid to have brought a complete stranger inside, but she didn't feel at all threatened by him. He simply didn't look aggressive.

  She went to find sheets and blankets for the makeshift bed. The blankets smelled a bit musty, but were of good wool, so would keep him warm. She made it up and tried to persuade him to lie down. The trouble was, he put his arms round her and pulled her down beside him. For a moment her body responded to his touch, just for one crazy moment. He made sounds of pleasure, nuzzled her neck then rested his head against her breast and fell instantly asleep.

  Smiling, she eased herself away from him. There was something very appealing about his face, which was narrow and elegant beneath dark hair lightly touched at the sides by silver. What had upset him so greatly that he'd had to drown his sorrows? Why had they taken his daughter away from him?