by Pam Weaver
She expected him to demand that she get out but to her surprise, Reg lowered himself back down in the chair with a smile. ‘Well, my dear,’ he sneered. ‘I don’t know what you have in mind, but I would think very carefully before you start making any wild accusations. You may not have enjoyed listening to our robust lovemaking, but what a man and his wife get up to in the privacy of their own bedroom is nobody else’s business but theirs.’
‘It doesn’t give you the right to force her.’
‘I think you will find, that in the eyes of the law, I have every right,’ he said silkily. ‘Dottie is my wife.’
‘You make me sick,’ Sylvie retorted.
‘But I believe in the sanctity of marriage,’ he went on piously. ‘Now, if I were to go outside of the bounds of my marriage, that would be a different kettle of fish, so to speak.’
He was staring at her in such a strange way, Sylvie could feel her colour rising. ‘And what’s that supposed to mean?’ she snapped.
‘If I were to have a little fling…’ Reg said quietly. ‘Just a bit of fun, you understand …’
Sylvie went cold all over. He knew about Bruce! Had Dottie told him? No, no she would never betray a trust. But how else did he know? She stubbed out her cigarette and picked up her gloves. ‘I don’t have to listen to all this …’
‘And if someone, say an old friend, discovered what I was doing,’ said Reg leaning into her face, ‘it might be a real problem, if say, my spouse was hoping to be a Member of Parliament one day.’
‘I haven’t the faintest idea what you are talking about,’ she said haughtily.
Reg leaned forward, his eyes glittering. ‘It never did take much to get your knickers off, did it, Sylvie?’
‘You are despicable,’ she snapped, her lip curling with disgust.
‘Now, now, my dear.’
Sylvie picked up her cigarette case and slipped it into her bag. ‘Is this an attempt to blackmail me?’
‘Perish the thought,’ he said brightly. ‘I was just supposing, that’s all. A friendly warning to be careful what you say outside these four walls.’
‘I don’t give a stuff about you, Reg Cox,’ Sylvie snapped. ‘My friend is missing and I’m going to find her.’
‘I wonder if Robin would be so cavalier about his marriage?’ Reg mused.
As she turned to leave the room, her arm brushed against the dresser and the papers he’d thrown so carelessly on the top cascaded to the floor. As Reg bent to pick them up, Sylvie felt the blood drain from her head but she said nothing. As he opened the door to let her out, she willed her legs to move effortlessly and refused to even look at him.
‘Thanks for coming, Sylvie,’ he called after her. ‘As soon as I hear something, I’ll give you a call.’
Climbing into her car, her hand was trembling as she turned the key in the ignition. Bastard, bastard! What a hateful little prick he was. Tears were welling up in her eyes. He thought he had her over a barrel. He reckoned that she wouldn’t dare to say anything because if she told the police about her fears, he would tell Robin about Bruce. Well, that was a risk she would have to take. She dare not risk her affair coming out into the open, but how could she turn her back on her dearest friend? Something bad had happened to Dottie, she knew it. Those papers she’d knocked to the floor told her Reg had been going over his life policies and you only do that when you are positive that someone is dead.
Dottie moaned as the feelings came back again. Were they real or just a dream? The first time it felt as if it was real, but everything kept repeating itself.
It began with torchlight as the door had been eased open. Dottie felt a stream of cold air and a beam of light was played on her face. She had screwed up her eyes and tried to turn her head away.
‘No, Ada!’ a man’s voice had yelled. ‘For God’s sake, don’t switch on the light. You’ll blow us all to kingdom come. Open the window and get some air in here.’
Dottie had heard the sound of someone drawing back the curtains.
‘It’s all right, dear.’ The man’s voice was close to her head.
The woman screamed. ‘The window, it’s nailed shut!’
There was a rushing sound in her ears and the man’s voice faded away but there was no mistaking the urgency. ‘Quick, get them out of here.’
‘You’re safe now,’ said the soothing voice close to her ear. Not the man this time but a woman and Dottie realized she was actually in a bed. She tried to make sense of it all. How had she got from the room where Reg had left her to this one? She remembered being manhandled at one point. Someone had hold of her shoulders and someone else her feet. The rocking movement as they carried her turned her stomach. She had heaved and vomited. It tasted of gas and hit the floor with a light splashing sound. She remembered the sound of opening doors and then the cold air hit her and she knew she was outside. Somewhere in the distance, she could hear the sea. She remembered taking in great gulps of fresh air which was so sweet but it made her head hurt.
But she wasn’t outside now, she was in the warm and in bed. There was something over her mouth. She lifted her hand and pulled it away. ‘Patsy …’ she moaned. ‘Have you got Patsy?’
The woman’s voice came close again. ‘Keep the mask on, dear. It’s oxygen. It’ll help you breathe.’
She must be in hospital, but how had she got here? When she’d heard the sea, she’d tried to sit up but someone pushed her down and placed a blanket over her. ‘Stay there a minute, duck,’ the man had said kindly. ‘The ambulance is coming.’
She had difficulty in keeping her eyes open. They felt puffy and when she did manage to force her lids up, everything looked foggy. Someone wiped her face with a cloth and she heaved again. When she rolled back she had a terrible cramp in her stomach, a pain which gripped her like a vice. She had held herself around her middle murmuring, ‘Help me … Oh please, help me.’
Things began to fade again. She forced herself back to the present day and tried to remember. What was next? A bell. She had heard the sound of a bell getting louder and louder.
‘The ambulance is here,’ the man had said and Dottie had felt the relief flooding over her like giant waves. She had tried to focus her eyes on him. He was old. Who was he? Did she know him? Oh yes, he was the man she’d seen in the garden next door.
The next time she opened her eyes, a man in a uniform was holding her wrist. ‘I’m just taking your pulse, love.’
Where was Patsy?
The pain in her stomach came back. She groaned as it gripped every muscle.
‘What’s your name, dear?’
Dottie had tried to moisten her lips with her swollen tongue. What was her name …? She tried to think. What was her name? She must have one: everybody had a name. It was on the tip of her tongue but she was hanged if she could remember what it was and, oh no, the pain was coming back again.
‘My baby …’ Dottie had moaned.
‘My colleague is seeing to her,’ the ambulance man had said. ‘Don’t worry, we’ll get the both of you to hospital as soon as we can.’
A moment later, Dottie felt herself being lifted then the ambulance lurched as the men jumped out. It lurched again as they came back in with another stretcher.
Patsy … Dottie tried to sit up. Was she all right? As soon as she’d smelled the gas, she’d tried to get her out but Patsy didn’t want to move. She was so heavy and then when she got to the door it was locked. She couldn’t open it. She tried and tried to turn off the gas tap but it was too badly damaged. Someone had bashed it with something. As she had struggled to remember what had happened, a picture of Reg, his pockets full of squawking chickens, and brandishing a huge hammer floated before her eyes.
The woman had stuck her head into the ambulance and shouted, ‘You stupid cow!’ Dottie’s head had thumped and a wave of sickness had swept over her.
The woman’s face was distorted with anger. ‘You might want to do away with yourself,’ she’d screamed at Dottie. ‘But there was
no need to try and take the kiddie with you!’
‘I didn’t,’ Dottie croaked. ‘Oh please, please help her.’
But instead of helping Patsy, the person beside her bed slowly turned into Reg. Dottie’s mouth tasted disgusting and everything was getting swimmy again. Reg was wringing Patsy’s neck.
‘No, no …’ Dottie felt so cold and clammy and she knew she was going to be sick. Reg had the tramp under his arm. With a cry of anguish Dottie flailed her arms in a vain attempt to stop him wringing his neck too. She came to for a moment and found herself back in the bed. Not the one in the bungalow. Everything around her was white and clean. ‘Thank God,’ she thought. ‘I really am in hospital.’
‘We’d better give her another shot, nurse,’ said an unfamiliar male voice.
A second or two later, Dottie felt herself being gently held down. ‘A sharp prick,’ said the nurse, and everything went in on itself again.
Forty
‘As a matter of fact, we do have someone fitting that description,’ the ward sister told John. ‘Is she a patient of yours? She’s in a state of deep shock. We had to sedate her. She still hasn’t told us her name.’
John felt a mixture of relief and concern. ‘What happened to her?’
‘She’d tried to kill herself.’
‘Kill herself!’ He couldn’t disguise his shock.
‘She was admitted late Monday night.’
John frowned. She’d been here two days.
A nurse burst out of a side room and rushed towards them at breakneck speed with a trolley. John stepped neatly out of her way.
‘Walk, Nurse,’ the sister said sharply. ‘Walk.’
‘Yes, Sister. Sorry, Sister.’
‘The police want to interview her once she’s well enough,’ the Sister continued as she walked on in front of him. ‘In my humble opinion they should do something to change the law. When someone is distressed enough to attempt suicide, the last thing they want is to end up in jail.’
‘The woman I’m looking for had a child with her.’ John’s throat was thight and his voice sounded strangled. He coughed into his hand. ‘Is she here in this hospital too?’
The sister stopped walking and turned around.
‘A little girl,’ John continued. ‘About eight, dark curly hair, brown eyes, light brown skin, very pretty.’
‘In that case, Dr Landers,’ she said quietly. ‘I think you must prepare yourself for another shock …’
Dottie was lying flat in the bed with her eyes closed. Her hair was down. It lay like burnished bronze clouds all over the pillow. He’d often wondered what it would look like out of that bun of hers, but even in his wildest dreams he’d never expected it to be so beautiful. It was as much as he could do not to reach out and caress one of her curls between his fingers, but he was aware that the sister was still right behind him and still watching. Dottie looked so small, so fragile. Her skin was pale, like parchment, her hands limp by her side. Thank God she was alive … It was as much as John could do to control his emotions.
‘I think I would like to sit here with her for bit.’ He drew up a chair. Several times his mouth formed a word. ‘Hello?’ ‘Mrs Cox’ ‘Dorothy’ but he couldn’t bring himself to speak.
‘You said she was a patient?’ the sister said.
John cleared his throat noisily. ‘Actually, Sister, you said that. Mrs Cox … Dottie … is a friend.’
‘Oh, I’m sorry,’ said the sister. She seemed slightly embarrassed. ‘I think I’d better tell her doctor you are here,’ she said, bustling out of the room.
As he touched her hand, his heart ached for her. My poor Dottie … what you’ve been through. He leaned forward. ‘Dottie … Dottie, it’s me. John.’
Dottie opened her eyes and her heart lurched. Oh John … you’ve come at last … She gave him the faintest of smiles but one look at his anxious expression and it all came flooding back. She didn’t want to think about it. Patsy … Patsy was in the same ambulance as her. She remembered that awful smell, the smell of rotten eggs, then someone banging the door and Patsy lying on the floor. What happened? Why couldn’t she get out?
John was talking softly to her. His voice was soothing but she couldn’t grasp what he was saying … no wonder. His body looked just the same but he had a chicken head. As she closed her eyes there was a rushing sound in her ears and Reg was standing at the end of the bed with a bag under one arm and a hammer in his hand. She could hear someone calling her name … ‘Dottie, Dottie …’ but when she tried to move she was afraid of treading on the chickens. The pain was back too. A gripping pain which left her breathless. Then Reg came towards her and she cried out, ‘No, Reg, no!’ but she could feel him tugging at her arms and pinning her down and everything fell away once more.
The pips went and John pressed button B. ‘PC Kipling?’
‘Yes?’
‘John Landers. I wonder if I could meet you for a chat. It’s about Mrs Cox and Patsy. I think there is far more to this than meets the eye.’
‘What makes you say that, sir?’
‘I’ve found Dottie. I’ve been with her all afternoon. She’s in hospital, very ill and somewhat confused. Patsy has been taken to the children’s hospital but I haven’t seen her yet.’ John heard the policeman take in his breath. ‘I shall be on my way back to the village shortly and I should appreciate it if I could be present when you tell Mr Cox.’
When Dottie opened her eyes again, John was asleep in the chair beside the bed. Dottie watched the rise and fall of his chest for some time. His hand was on top of hers and as she stirred, so did he.
‘Dottie …’ he said, sitting up.
Her eyes were filling with tears again. Why was she so emotional all the time? What was she going to say to him? He’d entrusted her with Patsy and she’d let him down. She’d tried to shut it out since she came here. She wouldn’t even tell them her name, but she’d have to face it now. She’d have to find out …
‘I’m sorry about Patsy …’ She croaked.
He took her hand and squeezed it gently.
She tried to lick her lips but they felt as big as bricks. Sensing her need, he picked up a glass of water at her bedside and raised her head with his hand. The water tasted strange. Metallic. Everything still tasted of gas; but at least the liquid was cold and she could feel it trickling down her parched throat. He eased her head back down onto the pillow. ‘I – I don’t remember what happened.’
‘It’s better if you get some rest now. We’ll talk about it later.’
There was something in her arm. She moved it slightly and then realised she was attached to a blood drip. Why were they giving her blood?
She smiled at John. ‘Reg took me to see a bungalow.’
‘Reg was with you?’
A picture of a dark and stuffy room filled with gas came into her mind. Her eyes grew wider. ‘They got Patsy and me out, but I didn’t even think about Reg. Is he all right?’ She tried to sit up, pulling at the sheets with light fluttery movements.
‘Stay calm,’ John said, his hand firmly against her shoulder. ‘Don’t get so agitated. Reg is fine. He’s back home.’
‘Back home?’ Dottie fell back against the pillow and closed her eyes. Her befuddled brain was trying to understand.
‘Don’t talk about it now,’ he said gently. ‘Give yourself a little chance to recover.’
‘But I need to know what happened.’
There was a long pause and then he said, ‘They tell me you tried to commit suicide with Patsy.’
‘What? But that’s not true!’ cried Dottie, her fingers screwing the sheets into a tight ball. ‘I promise you on my mother’s life it’s not true. I don’t want to die. Not now.’ Her voice trailed and she turned her head away despairingly. ‘Why would they think I would try to do a thing like that? I couldn’t. I wouldn’t.’
‘It’s all right,’ said John, gripping her hand.
Dottie looked back at him, her eyes swimming with tears. ‘Everyb
ody keeps telling me it’s all right but they won’t tell me anything. I know Patsy came with me in the ambulance, but I haven’t seen her yet. Where is she? Please take me to her, John.’
‘Dottie … you must try and stay calm.’
Her hand flew to her mouth. Patsy was dead, wasn’t she? That was why no one was telling her. She’d guessed she was very poorly when they put her in the ambulance but no matter how many times she’d asked, no one would actually tell her. A heaviness settled on her chest, a crushing ache that seemed to suck the life from her. She opened her mouth and at the same time her throat closed, yet somewhere in the room, she could hear a heart-rending howl, a cry that sounded like a wounded animal. It seemed to go on and on until she heard the sister running.
The portly gent pressed a coin into Reg’s hand and gave him a curt nod. Reg touched the edge of his cap and thanked him. Tight-fisted git. He must have a bob or two if he could afford to travel first class and the case he’d just lugged out to the waiting taxi weighed a bloomin’ ton, yet judging by the size of the coin as he turned it over in his hand, he had only given him a measly tanner for a tip. Reg hurried back onto the platform and slammed the train door.
‘Is this the Portsmouth train?’
Don’t people ever read the bloody boards, he thought acidly. He spent long enough writing out all the names of the stations. Irritated, Reg turned in the direction of the voice, intending to be rude, but he was pleasantly surprised by the owner, an attractive blonde, no more than twenty-five, with an hourglass figure and an alluring expression who was gazing up at him expectantly.
‘It certainly is, Miss,’ said Reg, pausing to open the door again.
She didn’t acknowledge him again but as he closed the door, he was left standing in a waft of expensive perfume. One day when he’d got the money from the sale of the cottage he’d get himself a woman like that.