‘Something’s come up which I need to talk to you about,’ I said. ‘Can I come in?’
At first he seemed quite prepared to discuss whatever it was on the doorstep, but when I said I was sure he didn’t want to run the risk of catching an even deeper chill by standing around outside he looked at me suspiciously, as if checking for sarcasm, and let me in. I was treated to a display of his usual ungracious manner, as he muttered under his breath about incompetents who needed their hands holding all the time and couldn’t leave a man in peace for as much as a day. I had more important matters to discuss, so I didn’t give into the temptation to score a cheap point by saying that I’d rather have root-canal work, whatever that is, it sounds horrible, than hold his hand. His little sitting room, full of heavy furniture of a style that had long gone out of fashion, rightly never to return, was one of the most dismal rooms I’d ever seen. Either his interior-design skills were on a par with his sexual attractiveness, or he’d gone to one of those house-clearance junk shops and done his furnishing for the minimum possible. He was probably putting all that money he was saving into a fund to buy cottages from old ladies for a fraction of what they were worth.
‘What’s this about?’ he demanded, sitting down on an elderly sofa with a greasy mark along the back at head level. My chair had one too, and I perched myself as close to the edge as possible without actually sitting on the floor. Martin must have been a member of that male school of thought that only believes in washing socks when they get too stiff to put on, I wrinkled my nose and wished I could suggest we sat outside in the garden.
‘There’s a query about the planning application for Rosewood Cottage,’ I said, watching him closely.
He was already so pale that it wasn’t possible to see if he lost any more colour, and if he was shocked he recovered with admirable speed, putting his nose up in his usual supercilious fashion. ‘That’s absolutely nothing to do with you, Susie, and I’ve warned you enough times about mucking around with my clients. Maybe you ought to think whether you want to start looking for another job. Since I strongly doubt you’ll find anyone who’ll want to employ someone of your poor skills, I advise you to start doing what you’re told.’
I might have been more impressed with this speech if it had been delivered by someone properly dressed, and not in a tired dressing-gown, who didn’t have to stop speaking to noisily blow his nose before he could go on.
Martin rose to his feet, gesturing towards the door and looking at me expectantly with an increasingly annoyed expression. I gathered that I’d been given my marching orders and had failed to respond properly. As he started to splutter I smiled affably and said, ‘Fine, if you want I’ll go and have a word with Stephen. I’m sure he’ll be very interested to hear how you assured Mrs Murray she wouldn’t get planning permission, even though Frances told you she would, and how you’re putting up some of the purchase money yourself.’
He froze into immobility. ‘You bitch!’ he exclaimed, advancing towards me, fists bunched at his sides, his angry face an unattractive shade of red. With a little pang of fear, I remembered that he worked out in an attempt to rectify what nature hadn’t given him. Maybe it hadn’t been quite so clever to come here on my own with the intention of provoking him into telling all. I might be taller, but my muscles have got the tensile strength of a squeegee mop. And, unlike with Luke, I wouldn’t have the advantage of surprise. With an effort I stopped myself shrinking backwards as he stood over me and looked upwards with a questioning expression, praying it wasn’t revealing the sheer funk raging away inside me, which was rapidly passing through the colour spectrum, from pale blue to the deepest indigo. My assumed calmness seemed to work for he took a deep breath and said, ‘You’re just guessing.’
‘About Rosewood Cottage?’ I asked. ‘I know a lot - certainly enough to convince Stephen. It’ll be you, not me, who’ll be down the jobshop.’ He took a step forward, hands lifting slightly. Had I gone too far? I cleared my throat and, gathering what little courage I had left, added, ‘Unless…’ leaving the word hanging on the air.
He stared at me and my heart fell into my sandals. He wasn’t going to take the bait, I thought in fear, bracing myself for retaliation. Then he scratched his chin slowly. ‘So you want a share of the action?’ To my relief he stepped back, rocking back on his heels and looking down at me. He thought for a moment. ‘I’m not sure I can do that. Luke’s putting up most of the money, though I get an equal share of the profits, because it’s my expertise that’s got us the place,’ he said, his voice inviting me to share his pride in having been so clever. ‘I doubt he’s going to agree to you having any part of it. He’s not very keen on you just now.’
I smothered a laugh and forbore to say the feeling was entirely returned. ‘For the moment you can just give me some information.’
‘What sort of information?’ he asked warily.
‘How can you be so sure the development’s going ahead? You might be left with an expensive speculation on your hands if Luke can’t persuade Rose to get Jeremy to sell.’
He shrugged theatrically. I looked away, his dressing-gown had fallen open a little, showing a lot more of his chest than I cared to see. ‘Luke’s never failed yet.’
‘I think he just has,’ I said. ‘Rose isn’t too impressed with him any more.’
Martin sniffed, whether from superciliousness or cold was hard to tell. Either way it wasn’t pleasant. ‘Thanks to you and your big mouth. But it doesn’t matter, Nigel’s taken it in hand now.’
‘Nigel? I said blankly. ‘What’s he got to do with this?’
‘Nigel’s behind Champion of course,’ said Martin impatiently. ‘You know, Champion Developments, the company that’s going to build the new estate.’ His eyes narrowed. ‘You didn’t know, did you?’
He stared at me with such animosity that I began to think of those films in which the heroine discovers too much and the baddies begin to look meaningfully at bits of rope and the railway tracks conveniently outside the window. I wondered if I should start gabbling a list of all the people I’d just happened to inform I was coming here, but instead I said vaguely, ‘It’d slipped my mind.’
As a face-saving exercise it got me precisely nowhere. Martin reverted to his normal manner when faced by me, that of the master in the presence of a simpleton. For once I didn’t mind. It was preferable to the aggression that had preceded it. He laughed shortly. ‘I don’t suppose it matters you knowing, there’s nothing you can do about it now, even if you do go running to Jeremy Ashton. Nigel’s fixed it, says the sale’s definitely going ahead.’
‘What do you mean?’ I asked, a cold shiver of apprehension running down my spine. I didn’t fancy the idea of Nigel ‘fixing’ anything. ‘What’s he fixed? And how?’
Martin shrugged again. It was no more pleasing to the eye second time around. ‘Dunno. All I know is Luke told me not to worry about the little hitch he had, it’s all sewn up.’
Had Luke disclosed everything about his ‘little hitch’ or was he claiming he’d walked into a door? I wondered with a flash of amusement and then started to berate myself for being an utterly unobservant idiot. Of course I’d heard the name of the company behind the development before, I’d even seen ‘Champion’ in Martin’s files and had passed straight over it because I was only looking for property details. I badly needed time to think, but I wasn’t going to get it. I also wouldn’t have minded resting my tense muscles by sitting back, but in this chair I wasn’t going to be able to do that either unless I went off for some inoculations the moment I left.
‘Let’s see if I’ve got this right,’ I said. ‘Nigel knew Jeremy was lukewarm about selling, so he set Luke on to Rose, to get her to persuade Jeremy it was a good idea.’ Martin nodded. ‘And since even Luke could hardly move in on a newly married woman the day she came back from honeymoon I was targeted as the way in?’ I could guess the rest of it well enough, but I’d like to know if Luke’s keenness on me was entirely a put-up job. It�
��d help me decide whether to black his other eye if I ever saw him again.
Martin’s lip curled. ‘You don’t think Luke was ever interested in you, do you? He only asked you out because Nigel told him to. It was pathetic seeing you fawning over him, thinking he fancied you. Some chance. He prefers his women to displace less bath-water.’
Ouch. ‘At least I take baths!’ I snapped, sniffing pointedly.
He stiffened. ‘I warned Nigel and Luke that you were the sort of nosy little cow who pokes her nose in where it isn’t wanted, but they wouldn’t listen. And look what’s happened. The whole deal nearly fell apart because of you. They should have stuck to the original plan and let me be the one to go in and soften up Rose.’
‘You?’ I asked incredulously.
At that he lost his temper. He sprang up and started pacing around the room, mouthing abuse at me. I was afraid for a moment he might lay his filthy hands on me, but he kept a safe distance. Then I realised he was so angry he’d lost all sense of discretion, and I began to concentrate on what he was saying, trying to commit it all to memory and wishing I’d thought to slip one of those little tape recorders in my handbag.
Martin was striding around with his back to the window facing on to the village street. I stood up, thinking it was time to make my exit before he calmed down enough to realise exactly how much he’d told me about Nigel’s financial difficulties or worked out how I knew so much about his financial involvement with the scheme for Rosewood Cottage, when I saw a familiar dark-blue BMW slowing down in the road outside. Oh boy! Was I in trouble. Real trouble.
Martin ground to a halt as the doorbell went. I smiled at him, trying to look completely unconcerned. ‘You do seem to have a lot of visitors,’ I remarked. ‘Will whoever it is want to come in, do you think? There are still a couple of things I’d like to go over with you.’
He looked at me with loathing. ‘Stay there, out of sight.’
I nodded obediently. As soon as he was out of the room I slipped my shoes off and shot off through the door at the back of the room that led to the kitchen. As I’d hoped, there was a door to the garden, and it wasn’t in direct line of sight of the front door either. I peered down the passageway cautiously. Martin had his back to me, and I tiptoed gingerly over a none too clean floor and tried the door handle. For a moment I thought my heart would stop in fear. It seemed to be locked and I couldn’t see a key. It opened on the second tug to a background crescendo of male voices, one of them sounding distinctly displeased.
I put my shoes on, walked around the side of the house, and nipped out of the side gate to the pavement, stopping to say a loud and cheery, ‘Good afternoon, it’s a good drying day, isn’t it?’ to a middle-aged woman taking down washing in the next-door garden. She nodded at me through a mouthful of pegs. Luke spun around so quickly at the sound of my voice he almost fell off the doorstep. I walked as fast as I could to my car without actually breaking into a panic-stricken run. ‘Susie! I want to talk to you,’ he called, bounding towards me.
‘Afraid I haven’t got time,’ I said cheerily, hoping the quaver in my voice wasn’t audible, as I unlocked the door and got in.
He put his hand on the door frame, holding it open. I eyed it wondering if I had the guts to slam the door and see if he took his hand away before his fingers got mangled. Regretfully, I decided I didn’t, but I still started the car up, letting the engine run while he bent down to eyeball me. His black eye was healing up nicely, though I can’t say the yellow bruises were a particularly good colour for him. I leant forward slightly, hoping to block his view of my tote bag lying in the back, its bin-fodder contents half spilled out over the seat. A corner of a page stuck up in the air, with ‘ampion’ clearly visible. If he saw that he’d know at once I’d got at Martin’s files, I thought fearfully, and despite the presence of the woman with the washing, who’d given up all pretence of folding sheets and was watching us with naked curiosity, he’d have no hesitation in hauling me out of the car and carrying me back to the house in a fireman’s lift.
I licked dry lips. ‘If you want to make a public scene, go ahead,’ I said affably, looking at the woman, ‘but I don’t think Martin’ll thank you.’
He glanced over his shoulder, indecision written all over his face, then to my infinite relief he straightened up and slammed the door. ‘Stay out of my business, Susie!’ he growled.
‘Nothing would give me greater pleasure,’ I replied truthfully and made my escape.
I was quivering so much from reaction that I had to pull into a lay-by and have a cup of tea from one of those mobile stalls that serve lorry drivers. It was so strong it probably left stains on the teeth and came ready sweetened but it was just what I needed. After I’d had a second cup and a discussion with the woman behind the urn about whether you really used to get a better class of lorry driver twenty years ago I was calm enough to sort through my bag and fish out the stuff about Champion.
How could I have missed this? I thought crossly. My only defence was that I hadn’t been looking for it, and frankly that didn’t go very far in the history of brilliant excuses. My mouth pursed in a silent whistle when I saw how much profit Martin estimated Nigel was going to make from the development, and this was an area in which I knew I could trust his judgement. This made Martin and Luke’s tacky little scam look like pocket money in comparison. Nigel must have been having kittens when he realised Jeremy wasn’t necessarily going to sell, especially if he really had the sort of cash-flow problems Martin had been spouting on about. So it wasn’t surprising he’d called in his troubleshooter and instructed him to use his charm in whatever way he could to get a result - and quickly. And now the charm offensive had failed? I shivered as I folded the papers and put them in my handbag, wondering what Nigel’s next steps were.
Rose was catching the last of the sun on a lounger by the edge of a small stone pool, which Jeremy assured me was perfect for swimming. It also looked disconcertingly cold. Certainly Rose’s minute gold bikini didn’t look as if it had ever been anywhere near water, so I gathered she shared my opinion.
‘Darling, could you go and sunbathe somewhere else tomorrow; say, the vegetable garden?’ asked Jeremy plaintively. ‘That way Roy might get around to doing the weeding there. He must have dead-headed this rosebed fifteen times this afternoon.’
She smiled from behind her dark glasses without opening her eyes until Dexter licked one of her bare feet. She sat up with a shriek and saw me. ‘Susie! I’m so glad to see you!’ She bounded up, hugging me. ‘Are you skiving off, you lazy thing? I was hoping you’d ring, but this is even better. Let’s go and have a drink, the sun must be over the yard-arm, or it will be once I’ve got my clothes on. I was getting cold anyway, so you arrived at a perfect time.’
She rattled on in a breathless, brittle staccato while she pulled on a tee shirt and white shorts that would have given Roy the gardener almost as much to look at as her bikini. A couple of days’ hard work lying motionless in the sun had given her skin a wonderful hen’s egg brown, no more. Rose might not care about the risks of skin cancer, but she was very aware that mahogany brown was passé. But even the glowing sun-kissed colour of her face couldn’t hide the shadows under her eyes or, now I was alerted to it, the tight strain around her jaw and mouth.
‘A drink’s a good idea,’ said Jeremy enthusiastically, ‘I certainly feel as if I could do with one.’
Her face fell. ‘Have you finished for the day?’ she asked. ‘If you’re busy you don’t have to feel you’ve got to stay and entertain Susie.’
‘I’m never too busy to talk to Susie,’ he said gallantly. I’d noticed before that Jeremy wasn’t always sensitive to hints. ‘I’ll meet you on the terrace with the bottle.’
‘Thanks,’ Rose called after him, then gripped my wrist. ‘I’ve got to talk to you. I don’t know what to do-’ Her eyes filled with tears. ‘But not now. Jeremy might hear, and he mustn’t find out.’ She sniffed loudly in an inelegant fashion. ‘You won’t go befo
re we’ve had a chance to be alone, will you? If Jeremy won’t go back to doing some honest toil you can always come up to my bedroom to discuss shades of eyeshadow. I can guarantee that’ll make him us in peace.’
I assured her I would as Jeremy appeared on the terrace above us, waving a bunch of glasses and a chilled bottle of white Burgundy. ‘You were saying on the way in about having discovered something interesting,’ he said idly as he poured out a glass of wine for each of us. Rose turned a horrified face towards me.
The telephone went inside the house and she jumped visibly and pushed her chair back. ‘I’ll answer that,’ she quavered.
‘No, you stay here, chat to Susie, I won’t be a moment,’ said Jeremy, pushing her back gently into her seat.
Rose looked after him, lower lip trembling slightly, then turned back to me and said with an almost palpable effort, ‘What’s the big news?’
‘Something I reckon you might already know,’ I said slowly. ‘Who’s behind your property development.’
The colour drained from her face. ‘Oh God!’ she moaned, clutching her glass so tightly that the tips of her fingers went white. ‘Please, Susie, don’t say anything to Jeremy until I’ve had a chance to speak to you alone. But it’s probably already too late, I bet that’s Hamish on the phone.’ She lit a cigarette, inhaling in jerky puffs. She wasn’t a particularly heavy smoker, being one of those people who like to hold a cigarette almost as much as smoke it, but since I’d been here she’d been virtually lighting one from another and smoking them right down to the filter. She cast a fearful glance towards the house. ‘I was praying that he wouldn’t get the confirmation until tomorrow, it would have given me a little more time to think of what to do, but—’
She ground to a halt, her face rigid with apprehension as Jeremy came towards us. ‘Sorry, darling,’ he called, ‘that was Matt. There’s a problem with the new tractor, he wants me to come and look at it now, see if we can fix it ourselves tonight.’
Seven Week Itch Page 30