Stranger at the Wedding

by Jack G. Hills

  “Shush… It doesn’t matter and I’ll deal with the receptionist later. Right now though, why don’t you slip into something more comfortable?” He said sitting down on the edge of the bed.

  “But I’ve brought nothing with me.” She said as her finger played sensuously over her bottom lip.

  “Well nothing sounds very comfortable from where I’m sitting.”

  ~~~~~

  The man had been surprised to see the gates open but took advantage of his good fortune and drove his car straight up the gravelled driveway and parked right outside the Fitzgerald’s front door.

  The concierge at the Atlantic View Hotel had reliably informed him that Mrs Fitzgerald was at home but it had been a bonus to learn that Henri Bouchet was also to be found there, staying as a guest of the Fitzgeralds.

  “Really?” He’d said sounding a little too surprised for the concierge’s liking. “And Mrs Bouchet? Is she staying with them as well?”

  “Of course. Mr Fitzgerald thought it would be easier for them than living at the restaurant with all its steps.”

  “That’s very generous of him I’m sure and all very cosy.” The regional representative from the Bristol and Bath Insurance Company said contemptuously. His firm had finally received the report from the local Caribbean police about Henri Bouchet’s accident and after already paying out a substantial amount in medical fees for the cost of the air ambulance, they’d been less than satisfied with some of the findings… especially in view of the very large life insurance policy that Mrs Bouchet had taken out on her husband just prior to their holiday and the fact that Henri had subsequently given Helen Fitzgerald and not his wife, as his point of contact.

  Both those facts had set the hackles bristling on insurance man’s neck and after thirty-five years in the insurance business, his sixth sense rarely let him down.

  “And where did you say I could find Mrs Fitzgerald and Mr Bouchet?” He asked the concierge.

  “As I said earlier, at home.” The concierge knew that such privileged information was sacrosanct and not to be freely bandied about to just anybody. Realising he’d met a potential brick wall, the insurance man took out a crisp twenty pound note and tucked it under the corner of the brochure that was laying on the counter in front of the concierge.

  “Add another and I’ll write down the address sir.” The concierge said with a pleasant smile. After all if he didn’t tell the man, someone else almost certainly would.

  The insurance investigator pressed the impressive looking door bell and waited for the dreaded sound of a large dog barking. People like the Fitzgeralds always had a big salivating hound patrolling either the grounds or the house. Nervously he looked around and checked that his car was still where he’d left it. Feeling more confident and just a little safer, he rang the bell again and again he was greeted with nothing but a graveyard silence.

  He stood back from the door and looked up at the front façade of the house and then to either side. The man hadn’t been an investigator for the company for the past ten years merely to be fobbed off by the silence of an unanswered door or a muted dog. Everything about the case told him that it whiffed like a mackerel pushed down the back of a hot radiator. Sometimes when doors and telephones went unanswered, the only course of action left open to him was the good old fashioned direct approach… he could be fobbed off for only so long.

  Certain that he was being ignored and with a final glance at the front of the house, he decided that the rear of the property might offer more hope. Each time he passed one of the large picture windows, his professional curiosity made him stop and stare inside… but each time he drew a blank and found the rooms devoid of all signs of life.

  Down the side, between the house and the four car garage and standing resolute like a set of battlements was a high, thick wall, which had at its centre, the fortification’s portcullis in the guise of a heavy steel gate.

  The whole look was designed to intimidate and prevent access to the rear of the property and as the man stood in front of it, he feared the architect and builders had succeeded in their plans. So it was with a certain amount of trepidation that he felt the gate give way, as he pushed down on the handle and watched it swing ponderously open.

  The hair on the insurance man’s neck danced a nervous jig, as he felt like a fly who’d just put a first tentative foot on a spider’s sticky, deadly web. First the main gates were open, then there’d been no salivating hound and now an unlocked gate… all should have told him to turn round and wait for another day. None of it made sense, but as suddenly as the thought came it vanished with a resigned shrug of his shoulders.

  Nothing involving insurance fraud investigations was ever normal and usually it never made sense… but that’s why he loved the job so much… well that and catching people who thought they could beat the system. In his world there was no better feeling than being one step ahead of the fraudsters or being there at the end, watching their faces when they were finally confronted with the evidence of their crimes.

  At the rear of the property, the gardens ran away from the house and dropped down through well-manicured terraces until the ground found its final level around the swimming pool and bar area. Wherever the Fitzgeralds had obtained their money, they appeared to have all the trappings of wealth and luxury that he would associate with a rich and lavish lifestyle and although he wasn’t directly investigating them, the fact that such people were very close with the Bouchets had set his insurance mind racing.

  In his experience there were only four ways to get this sort of money, an inheritance, a lottery win, hard work or criminality… and his investigation had so far shown it wasn’t either of the first two, more likely the third with the jury still out on the fourth.

  Standing on the edge of the terrace, like a mariner looking out over the prow of his ship, he scanned the garden and pool terrace but saw nothing. The walls, which created the gardens and surrounded the pool formed shadows and blind spots but even with his surfeit of paranoia and experience, he saw no reason why the owners or their guests would be hiding like sneak thieves. The simple and indisputable fact, he concluded, was that Mrs Fitzgerald and Mr Bouchet were not at home.

  He was just about to give up for the day and return to the small bed and breakfast where he’d taken a room for the duration of his short stay, when out of the corner of his eye he caught a movement on the hillside that ran up away from the house and into a copse of trees. With his hand shielding his eyes, he followed the outline of the hiker until she had finally disappeared into the woods.

  The woman, for he was sure it had been a woman’s gait, was indistinctive in everything but the colour of her clothes and her dress only struck him as strange, because it blended so well with the surrounding fields and trees. Out of natural curiosity, he stood and watched the spot for a few moments more and when he was certain that she wasn’t about to reappear, he turned round and headed back to the front.

  Rather than wasting more time fruitlessly searching for the target of his investigation or sitting alone in his lodgings listening to the inane chatter his lonely landlady, he decided that his time would be better spent having a drink in some of the town’s watering holes. Even after so many years in the job, it never ceased to amaze him just how much dirt he could dig up sat in a tap room, café or even a posh hotel’s over-priced bar.

  If there were any secrets to be found or skeletons to unearth, he was sure he’d find them chatting to locals over a pint, rather than out at the Fitzgerald’s house, which disappointedly had proved to be a complete dead end.

  ~~~~~

  Dearest Martha,

  I just wanted to write and let you know that I will be leaving the Wolvercote Clinic in a few days and moving down to Cornwall, as Dr Atkinson thinks she can do no more for me. Well she didn’t quite put it like that but I know that’s what she meant.

  I was relieved and grateful that your father had told her he would be happy to see me come back and whilst the idea of returni
ng immediately to Cromarty is overwhelming, I feel I owe it to myself but especially you, to try one last time to remember something of my past … well at least enough to satisfy my desire to have no ruinous secrets from you.

  Dr Atkinson seems to know more than she is willing to tell me right now about Padstow and what might have happened to me but whilst I respect her professional opinion, I find it difficult to accept. Right now I need all the help I can get.

  Obviously, I’ve got a few things to sort out here first and I’ll need to explain to my therapy partner why I’m leaving so suddenly. Actually I feel guilty abandoning Ingrid like this, as she’s been so helpful and it’s the second time that I’ve abandoned my partner. You may remember Samantha from the Ambleside Clinic, we parted in such a disagreeable way and since she’s been locked away in the secure unit I haven’t heard from her or the clinic to say how she’s getting on. So I feel bad that they both helped me in some small way, and yet all I’ve done to repay their kindness, is to run away.

  Now I know what you are probably thinking, but the fact that both partners have been girls has absolutely nothing to do with me! We don’t choose our partners, the clinics do that for us, so please don’t worry on that score because the one thing that I’ve learnt from being away from you is how much I miss you and want to be with you again. I made myself a promise that when I come back home, I’ll never leave you again.

  Anyway I must go, as there seems to be so much to do before I leave. Don’t write until I contact you again with the address in Cornwall, as the letter may get lost in transit somewhere and I couldn’t bear to think that you thought I didn’t care by not replying immediately.

  All my love

  Donald XXX

  ~~~~~

  “You’re leaving!” Ingrid asked rather disconsolately, as they sat on the bench in the Botanical Garden.

  He’d thought the trip into town might be the only way he could explain to Ingrid how he felt and what he had to do. All his other attempts to talk with her about the incident in her bedroom and tell her that it had categorically all been some great big mistake had ended in abject failure. For each time his courage had evaporated before he’d spoken a single word, until in the end he’d only made the situation ten times worse, as Ingrid had always assumed that his schoolboy shyness was brought about as a result of his desire to get her back into bed.

  Like an episode of Top Gear, Donald had mentally replayed over and over again, what had happened in her bedroom… not in any lurid, voyeuristic way but more in a way that made him conclude that the man who had cavorted around with Ingrid, had been someone entirely different… it was like someone else had taken over his body and his mind.

  He didn’t want to blame his condition for what had happened or condone his actions by claiming that he hadn’t really known what he was doing… because he had known. He’d known that Ingrid would be alone in her bedroom, he’d known that what was going through his head when he saw her naked was a betrayal of their friendship, he’d known that given the least bit of encouragement she’d jump into bed with him… he’d known all that and still he’d gone there.

  But the really terrible part, the part that had tied his tongue in knots and sealed his lips, was the fact that he’d savoured every minute of their time together and he also knew that given a second chance, he’d do it again… oh he’d regret it again, but that wouldn’t stop him and that lack of self-control he’d found worryingly difficult to come to terms with.

  So really the news about Padstow had come as a blessed relief in the end, as it had offered him a way out and would put temptation well and truly out of his reach. But that in itself had created another dilemma… how was he going to tell Ingrid without upsetting her or getting cold feet?

  In the end, he’d inadvertently let slip the idea of their trip into Oxford the previous evening, when he declared to Ingrid that he had something important to tell her… something that he couldn’t divulge whilst they were inside the clinic. Then once the cat was out of the bag, he had little option but to explain in part what he’d got planned for the following day.

  Unfortunately, Donald’s inexperience at dealing with feelings of love, meant he inadvertently sent out the wrong message to Ingrid, who immediately decided that her friend was about to declare his undying love and propose.

  A feeling that was exacerbated the following morning, when they met outside the clinic’s front entrance…

  “Snap!” Ingrid shrieked with delight, as she spotted the diamond stud in Donald’s ear and flashed her own as a sign that they shared a special bond.

  Donald for his part had felt a little self-conscious when he’d earlier stood in front of his mirror and pushed the stud into his lobe. Wearing a piece of jewellery seemed to contradict who he really was, but since he didn’t know who he was, he’d tried to ignore the feeling… after all, the day out was all about Ingrid, not his own insecurities.

  He was relieved that they’d both had the same idea… and hoped that Ingrid had finally accepted the fact that they were just good friends.

  They’d got off the bus at the usual stop in St Giles and walked down the High Street without so much as a word or a glance passing between them. Donald didn’t want to make a mess of what he had to tell Ingrid before they’d reached the seclusion of the Botanic Gardens, and Ingrid because she didn’t want to rush Donald into making his proposal…

  Occasionally, in amongst the scrum of tourists and shoppers, their bodies accidentally collided causing waves of electrically charged emotions to pulse through her body, then just at the point where she hoped that Donald might make his move and search out her hand with his own, the crowds had thinned and they’d drifted apart.

  Donald hoped that the soothing, calm ambience of the Botanic Gardens, would provide the perfect backdrop in which to drop his bombshell, as ever since their first trip to Oxford, whenever they’d visited the gardens, Donald had noticed a change in Ingrid’s demeanour, as her senses had been assailed by the scents and sounds of the flora and fauna and she’d become as one with nature.

  As they turned into the gardens through the large stone arch, Ingrid’s excitement welled up into a crescendo of anticipation, as she fantasised over how Donald was going to propose and how she would respond… he’d kept her waiting, now it would be her turn to be enigmatic and mysterious… on the other hand she could just jump up and down and scream… YES, YES, YES!

  Walking around the gardens, and lost in her own world, Ingrid had grown giddily impatient and unable to contain her excitement a moment longer, her fingers tentatively and sensitively sought Donald’s hand, and when she felt his hand clasp around her own, Ingrid thought she’d never been happier. For Donald, he thought that holding Ingrid’s hand was the least he could do, considering what he was about to tell her.

  So like a pair of star-crossed lovers, they’d continued to walk in silence around the neatly trimmed gardens and with each step they took, Ingrid’s tiny fingers gently caressed Donald’s hand, until he could stand the torment no longer. Stopping suddenly on the grass path, his hand broke free from Ingrid’s loving grasp and sat down on the wooden bench that had been offset into the adjacent herbaceous border. Unsure what had happened or why, Ingrid glanced at her forlorn hand and then at Donald.

  Free of the connection and with his mind clear of everything except his obligation to his friend, Donald finally felt ready to explain himself… to excuse himself and beg for Ingrid’s forgiveness.

  The look on Donald’s face, which naturally accompanied his clarity of mind, sent a shiver of dread down Ingrid’s back and shattered her dreams of love and their future life together.

  Turning her back on Donald, Ingrid toyed with the idea of running away and ending her pain with some dramatic demonstration of her love… she could jump into the Cherwell or throw herself under one of the tourist buses… perhaps she’d hurl herself from the top of the Carfax Tower, screaming Donald’s name as she plummeted to the pavement below.

 
As Donald sat and tried to find the courage to explain himself to Ingrid, he became mesmerised by the brass plaque on the back of the seat, which was a loving memorial to a couple long since dead and he couldn’t help but wonder if he and Martha would ever reach such a stage in their lives, where they’d loved each other for so long that they felt the need to leave some permanent memory of their existence and love, for the generations that followed.

  Perhaps a bench overlooking the Firth would be appropriate so that others could sit and watch the birds and the seals and maybe wonder just who Martha and Donald were that had loved each other so much…

  “You can’t! You can’t leave…I won’t let you.” Ingrid stammered out her reply upon hearing Donald’s announcement. “I thought when you said it was to be a special day, that you wanted to… you know tell me how much you loved me or that you’d realised after the other day that it was me you wanted to be with and not Martha… I just thought you couldn’t say all that whilst we were under the watchful eye of old frosty knickers.”

  Donald’s bemused look did little to calm Ingrid’s bubbling and seething emotions.

  “Dr Atkinson! …everyone calls her that. Well everyone except you obviously!” Ingrid raged, as she stood up and paced like a caged tigress around the path in front of the bench.

  “No Ingrid that’s not why I suggested we came into town… Christ don’t you ever think of anything other than that.” Donald exploded, as his face burst into a bright red glow. “Look it’s because I like you so much that I just couldn’t leave without saying goodbye. Dr Atkinson said she’d tell you after I’d left, but I couldn’t do that…I love you too much for that, but not in the way you want me to love you… sorry.”