The Elephant Girl (Choc Lit)

by Gyland, Henriette

  She flicked the light switch again and, hidden by the darkness, went to peer outside. Everything seemed normal. Then, in the sparse light from the street lamps, her eyes were drawn to a car parked opposite the house. It was a dark car, nothing special about it, and inside it she could just about make out the silhouette of a person and the intermittent glow from what might be a lit cigarette. It had probably nothing to do with her, but after meeting Jason’s father earlier and finding out about his tenuous connection to her family, and that he wasn’t pleased she was living in his son’s house, she couldn’t prevent the little hairs on the nape of her neck from standing on end. Her body was telling her what her mind refused to accept.

  Had Jason’s father sent someone to spy on her?

  A sudden paranoia hit her. Sweetman had told her where to find Fay. Sweetman worked for Aggie, the co-founder of the company headed by Letitia who might be having a fling with her uncle, who in turn did business with Jason’s father. And Jason owned the halfway house where Fay, and now also Helen, had ended up. Whatever was happening here, Helen couldn’t see through it.

  For most of her life she’d tried to blend in and just be an anonymous face in the crowd, and succeeding pretty well except for the times when her epilepsy had brought unwanted attention. Now, everyone’s eyes seemed to be focused on her, and it both alarmed and irritated the hell out of her.

  She shut the window and drew the curtains roughly. Whoever was out there, for whatever reason, could just sod off. For the moment she had plenty of other things to worry about.

  She kicked off her boots and shrugged out of the velvet dress, recalling Jason’s hands on her as she did so. Her skin tingled where she’d felt the press of his fingers, as if he had scorched her through the fabric.

  What had possessed her to push him away like that? She wanted him, and he wanted her, that was obvious. But how much did he want her? Was he prepared to take on all of her; the body afflicted by epilepsy, the soul damaged by years of bitterness and self-imposed isolation, both elements the cause and the curse of her whole being? No one in their right mind would, surely, and she wouldn’t blame them.

  She liked Jason. She didn’t want him just physically, however gorgeous he was, and before she took that leap of faith, she had to make sure he didn’t want her just physically either.

  Enough. I can’t think about this right now.

  Sighing, she pushed the thought aside and slipped on a night T-shirt. With the bed covers tucked around her in the still-cold room, she was about to switch off the bedside light when she remembered the knives in Arseni’s study. She’d believed him when he said there were four. That wasn’t it.

  She fetched the list Sweetman had given her and returned to bed, where she forced herself to read through it. She had so few memories of her mother, and if she could only picture some of the items in their house or even her mother holding something, anything, then maybe she could get those lost years back.

  But she drew a blank. Nothing stood out, it was just things, with no memory attached to them at all. She’d expected it to be a slightly painful exercise, even when she read it for the second time. What she got instead was a gut-wrenching nothingness.

  Wishing Jason was next to her, she curled up on the bed with her face buried in the pillow, and lived through the loss of her mother for the hundredth time.

  Chapter Fifteen

  From the top of the basement stairs Jason heard her close the door above. There was a certain finality to it, and he cursed himself for having so many scruples.

  He wanted to go to bed with her, and she didn’t seem repulsed by the idea, so why hadn’t he pushed her harder?

  Because his kind of trouble was the last thing she needed.

  Everything about her screamed vulnerability, and there was too much she wasn’t prepared to share. What had happened was probably for the best, because the more interested he was in her, the more his father would be too, and he had to spare her that.

  Which meant controlling his urge to sleep with her. And that was bloody difficult.

  Hearing movement on the top floor, he realised Lee was up there, lurking, watching, minding his own business, as usual, and everyone else’s. He wondered if Lee fancied her too. It wouldn’t surprise him. Helen’s unique blend of independence and fragility could turn the head of any red-blooded man, but now Jason thought about it, he couldn’t remember ever seeing Lee with a girl. Lee had never talked about girls, not that he talked much, and he even seemed afraid of women, Charlie in particular.

  Perhaps Lee saw a kindred spirit in Helen, someone else who liked to hide in the shadows, and was trying to protect her. The thought of a mugger as her knight in shining armour made Jason smile.

  He took the last few stairs down and closed the door to his own room behind him. Tossing his keys on his bedside table, he thought about his father’s reaction when he’d mentioned the company Helen worked for. If he got involved with her, chances were he’d find himself slap-bang in the centre of his father’s world despite all his attempts at keeping out of it.

  Perhaps he ought to ask her to leave the house, under the pretext that they were getting too close for the whole flatmate scenario, but where would she go then? He could see now what Charlie had meant when she used the word ‘trouble’. Helen was hot, in more ways than one, and he was bound to get his fingers burnt, but perhaps he was trouble for her as well.

  Especially now that his father had become part of the equation.

  Monday after work Helen decided to see Aggie. It was dark by the time she got there, and Mrs Sanders took ages answering the door.

  ‘I’d like to see my grandmother.’

  ‘What, now?’

  ‘Yes, and? Do you have set visiting hours? She’s not in a home yet.’

  Mrs Sanders’s lip curled with dislike. ‘Mrs Ransome needs her rest, but now that you’re here, you’d better come in, I suppose. Though I can’t say if she’ll be pleased to see you.’

  In the back parlour Aggie was in bed with the cellular blanket across her legs, accompanied only by the light from a bedside lamp.

  ‘She’s asleep.’ Mrs Sanders tried to block Helen from moving towards the bed.

  ‘Then I’ll wake her.’ Side-stepping the nurse, Helen took Aggie’s hand. It was heavy and swollen, yet the skin felt paper thin as if it had reached bursting point and couldn’t hold the expanding flesh in place for much longer.

  Aggie opened her eyes. ‘Oh, it’s you, girl. Thought you could fit me into your busy schedule, did you?’

  ‘That’s right.’ Helen let go of her hand, then on impulse pressed a kiss to her forehead.

  A vigilant gleam entered Aggie’s eyes which hadn’t been dulled by her diabetes. ‘Are you going sentimental on me, child?’

  ‘Is that a problem?’

  ‘Not at all.’ Aggie glanced at Mrs Sanders who was still hovering determinedly. ‘Thank you. That’ll be all.’

  Scowling, the nurse left, closing the door behind her with enough force to make her aggravation known, yet not quite hard enough to cost her her job.

  Aggie sighed. ‘Such a temper.’

  ‘Why don’t you get someone nicer?’

  ‘Oh, I haven’t the energy. Anyway Mrs Sanders is very efficient. It can’t be much fun for her being cooped up here with me.’ Her fat face cracked into a wicked grin. ‘You know, she puts me to bed early so she can watch EastEnders or another one of those horrid, tedious soaps.’

  ‘Some people love them.’

  ‘Then they haven’t the sense they were born with!’ Aggie waved a hand at her. ‘Don’t just stand there, girl. Pull up a chair. And switch on some lights. It’s too dark in here.’

  Helen switched on all the lamps in the room, and Aggie added another command.

  ‘And the curtains. Mrs Sanders closes them too early. It drives me positively insane.’

  ‘Do you want the door open as well? It’s a bit stuffy in here.’

  ‘Please.’

  Immed
iately the air, crisp and fragrant with dewy roses and dampened earth, restored Helen’s spirits. Aggie seemed to feel the same.

  ‘Who would’ve thought Kensington could smell so sweet?’

  ‘Not as sweet as Goa.’

  Aggie opened her eyes. ‘Do you miss it?’

  ‘A bit. Strangely, I felt like I belonged there.’

  ‘Nothing strange about that. We all need to feel we belong somewhere. Why not Goa?’

  Then why did you reject me? Helen caught the words in time and just shrugged.

  ‘So what’s the reason for your visit today?’

  ‘To see you.’

  ‘You’re not very adept at lying, my dear.’

  Helen grimaced. When other people saw right through you, it didn’t give you a chance to prepare what you wanted to say. ‘I have some questions.’

  ‘Hah!’

  ‘You left a folder with Sweetman for me to read. Why didn’t you give it to me yourself?’

  Aggie sent her an unfathomable look, then made a dismissive gesture. ‘I’m getting old. Thought I might forget where I’d put it if I kept it here. It was safer with Sweetman. He may not seem particularly organised, but he is.’

  ‘Why did you give it to me?’

  ‘I thought you might like all the facts. Didn’t think you’d ever had a chance to read the whole story before.’

  ‘Oh, come on! You collected those clippings years ago. Why would you do such a morbid thing?’

  Aggie was quiet for a moment. ‘I’ve often wondered if perhaps Fay might have been innocent.’

  ‘How could she be? She was there. I saw her.’

  ‘Yes, but what did you see exactly?’

  Helen shuddered at the memory of that horrific scene.

  ‘No one ever came forward, you know,’ Aggie continued. ‘There must’ve been other witnesses besides a five-year-old girl. It was early morning, yes, but this is London. There are always people about. Dog-walkers, commuters, rubbish men.’

  ‘It was on the Common,’ said Helen. ‘It’s like an island among the traffic.’ She shared Aggie’s doubts, but Fay doing it was the only thing which made sense to her.

  Who else had been there? She racked her brain, but found only disjointed images. She’d told Detective Wilcox about the dog, but someone must have been there with it. Why hadn’t he or she come forward? Had they left before her mother was murdered?

  She’d had a seizure in the car, but wasn’t sure if she remembered it because she’d been told about it, or whether she truly remembered. How long had she been out? Seconds? Minutes?

  The loss of her mother was such a personal issue that she couldn’t see it strictly in logical terms, and she had to separate her emotions out if she was to think clearly. If you murdered someone, and there was a witness, what would you do with the witness?

  The level-headed answer would be to get rid of the witness. The expression on Fay’s face, shocked, distraught, apologetic, was etched on her mind, and no matter how many times she ran through the scenario, she couldn’t picture Fay harming a child.

  Who else, then, would kill only the victim and not the witness? Had they not noticed her on the back seat, or were they disturbed before they could finish?

  A shiver ran down her spine, and she shuddered again. ‘Who else could it have been?’

  ‘In our line of work we make a few enemies,’ said Aggie.

  ‘What kind of enemies?’ The image of Jason’s father raising his glass to her jumped into her head.

  ‘Business rivals. Disgruntled buyers or sellers, perhaps. An auction house only sells the work after it’s been valued, and although we make every effort to check the provenance of what we sell, it’s not always easy. Sometimes there are disputes.’

  ‘Provenance?’

  ‘The paperwork detailing ownership and source of a work. That sort of thing.’

  ‘Are you saying things aren’t as they should be at the company?’

  ‘Of course they are,’ Aggie snapped. ‘But it’s tricky. And then there was that uncle of yours. I never liked him. Couldn’t bear his smarmy ways.’

  ‘Was that why you kept me away from him, from my only living relative, because of his “smarmy” ways?’

  ‘No, I …’ Aggie shook her head, slowly as if it was too much of an effort. ‘It was the way he looked at Mimi, his sick brother’s wife. And at you, too, as if he wanted to eat both of you. He was questioned by the police, you know. It didn’t sit well with me. I … well, I made a choice. But maybe I made a mistake.’

  ‘Only one?’ Helen made no attempt at hiding the sarcasm. Just then she noticed Aggie’s ghostly pallor and that her lips were cracked. ‘Are you comfortable? You look like you might be thirsty.’

  ‘Parched, actually.’

  Helen poured her a glass of water from a jug on the bedside table, and Aggie drank it down with heavy gulps. ‘The blanket,’ she said when she’d finished.

  ‘You want me to pull it up a bit? I can close the back door as well, if you like. You mustn’t get cold.’

  ‘The blanket will do for now. The air is doing me good.’ Aggie winked, and her face wobbled. ‘But do remember to close it before you go otherwise I’ll get in trouble with my jailer.’

  ‘And we can’t have that.’ Helen pulled up the blanket and patted Aggie’s hand. Perhaps this wasn’t the time to talk about her mother’s belongings. Then she looked at Aggie who lay with her eyes closed, and thought she may never get another opportunity. ‘Aggie, why was everything sold?’

  Her grandmother opened her eyes and sent her a puzzled look. ‘What?’

  ‘After my mother died, her things were sold at auction, by our own company, actually. Sweetman gave me a list. Who made that decision?’

  Aggie frowned. ‘I don’t quite recall. Letitia, I think. Or it might have been Ruth. Does it matter?’

  Helen let go of Aggie’s hand. ‘Of course it bloody matters!’

  ‘Don’t swear. It isn’t attractive in a lady.’

  ‘Whatever. I just want to know why my mother’s stuff was sold. Didn’t anyone think about me, about what I would like? It’s as though you all wanted to wipe out every trace of her as if she’d never existed. Like I never existed.’

  ‘Dear girl, don’t carry on so. No one wanted to wipe anyone away. It was the practical, sensible thing to do. And you received the money from the sale. It’s in trust, I think. Sweetman should have all the paperwork.’

  ‘I’ve already spoken to him. I don’t care about the money. I just want what belonged to her.’ Helen’s voice cracked. She knew she was acting childishly but couldn’t help it.

  ‘There wasn’t anything you would’ve wanted anyway.’

  ‘How do you know? There might have been some photos. I only have one of my parents.’

  ‘It was all grown-up stuff. Mimi wasn’t a great hoarder.’

  ‘What about my toys? My rabbit?’

  Aggie sent her a pitying look. ‘Heavens girl, this was twenty years ago. You had some toys with you when you … when you left. As for the rabbit, I’m sure it went to a good home. Maybe the pet shop took it back. Either way it’ll be long dead now.’

  ‘How can you be so sure? Maybe the aunts just boiled it.’

  Missing the point, Aggie snapped, ‘Of course they didn’t! Neither of them even like rabbit, especially Letitia. Oh, she was always the fussy one. Fussy with her food, with clothes, with men. That’s why she never married, you know. Because no one was ever good enough. I sometimes wonder if this striving for perfection was her way of compensating for the fact that she isn’t much to look at. I think she envied your mother.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘Because your mother was very beautiful. Both my girls resented that. When William and I got together, it never entered into our minds that there’d be so much dislike between our children. How they fought over the company, like toddlers squabbling over a toy. And when your mother died, Ruth, well, all the fight went out of her. She took a back seat, and L
etitia was left holding it all together. I suppose one might say she got her way as far as the company was concerned, but I suspect that if she’d had the chance, she’d have wanted things to be different. She works too hard.’

  ‘What do you mean “she got her way”?’ Helen asked, a sudden suspicion niggling.

  ‘She wanted to be in charge. To run it her way. Couldn’t stand it that your mother had different ideas.’

  A cold feeling stole over Helen and she clasped her hands tightly in her lap. She had to ask Aggie more about her aunts, to make sure they couldn’t have been involved, unlikely as it was.

  ‘About the company, well, it’s big business, right? A lot of money involved. Do you think Ruth or Letitia could’ve had something to do with what happened to my mother? So they could get their hands on her shares?’

  Aggie sent her a horrified look. ‘Good heavens, girl! What goes on in that head of yours? These are my daughters we’re talking about. They may have resented her a bit, but murder … well, you can rest assured that’s not what happened,’ she said firmly.

  ‘I just need to know, that’s all,’ said Helen. She didn’t particularly like either of her aunts, but welcomed Aggie’s vehement protest and allowed it to quash her short-lived suspicions. Arseni’s role in everything, that she wasn’t quite so sure about.

  Aggie suddenly remarked, ‘Like I said, there wasn’t anything worth keeping.’

  ‘Excuse me?’

  ‘Your mother’s things. You were asking about them.’

  ‘Well, yes, but …’ That was way back in the conversation. Her grandmother’s mind was obviously wandering.

  ‘There was nothing of any real value.’

  Why don’t you let me be the judge of that, thought Helen, and resentment flared up again.

  ‘Except she had some lovely antiques. And that Fabergé paper knife. Yes, that is a shame. I wonder what became of it.’

  Helen thought of what her uncle had said, that Mimi had owned the other two. She also remembered Wilcox’s explanation that Aggie had provided information on the knives. ‘What can you tell me about my mother’s knife?’