Marie lit a cigarette. ‘Go back to the beginning,’ she ordered him.
‘You mean, when we first met?’
‘No, you bloody idiot!’ Marie said harshly. ‘I’m not interested in the whole of your nasty little affair. Just go back to the beginning of your visit to the Middleton Spa.’
Paul Taylor bowed his head. ‘It was Lydia who arranged it. She said we needed some time away in order to talk things through, and I agreed because I didn’t want a scene.’
‘You didn’t want a scene?’ I said. ‘Lydia said that was what she was afraid of.’
‘Why should I have made a scene?’ Paul protested. ‘I was the one who was dropping her.’
‘I don’t believe you,’ I said. ‘Lydia told me she was dropping you because she felt guilty about having betrayed her husband – but why would you want to drop her?’
‘I wanted to end it because I’d realised I was in love with someone else,’ Paul said.
‘Who?’ I asked.
A look of total astonishment which I’ll swear he couldn’t have faked filled Paul’s face.
‘Don’t you know?’ he asked.
‘No, I don’t,’ I told him.
And then – in a flash – all the odd facts and unexplained events which had been floating around my head came together, and I did know.
‘Oh God, no!’ I moaned.
‘When exactly did you make your first visit to the spa?’ Marie asked crisply.
‘It was two days before the crash. That’s when I told her I was finishing with her.’
‘How did she take it?’
‘She was hysterical. She said she was going to kill herself.’
‘What did you do?’
‘I left.’
‘You didn’t think there was a chance she might kill herself?’
‘Not for a second. Lydia is as hard as nails. There’s nothing soft or vulnerable about her – and that’s why I could never make myself love her, however hard I tried.’
‘You went back to the spa the next day – the day before the crash,’ Marie said. ‘Why?’
‘She phoned me and said that if I’d just do one little thing for her, she’d let me go without any more trouble.’
‘And did she say that one little thing was to pretend to be her for the night?’ Marie asked.
‘Not on the phone – she didn’t explain it until we were up in her room and she’d showed me the tape recorder.’
‘Did she tell you why she wanted you to pretend to be her?’
‘No.’
‘And you didn’t ask her?’
‘I did ask her, yes, but all she’d say was that it was very important and she’d explain everything when she returned. I suppose the truth is that I wanted her off my back so badly that I’d have agreed to almost anything she asked – however crazy it seemed to me. Anyway, she took my car and left just after dinner, before the gates were closed.’
‘And did she explain everything to you when she got back?’ Marie asked.
‘Oh yes,’ Paul said, shaking his head in horror.
‘So tell us about it.’
‘She said beforehand she couldn’t return until about ten o’clock next morning, when she’d be able to slip in unnoticed in the middle of the traffic which was coming in to use the spa facilities. So until she got back she said I was to put a “Do not disturb” notice on the door and stay in the room.’
‘And what did she do when she returned?’
‘She turned on the news channel on the television.’
Marie nodded, as if that had been what she’d expected him to say.
‘Did she explain why she’d developed this sudden interest in the news?’
‘No, she just said that I should just shut up and watch. So that’s what we did – sitting side by side. There was some international news first – a report on an earthquake somewhere, I think – and then the report on the crash in South Wales. There were pictures of the car. It looked a bloody mess. The police hadn’t released the names of the victims at that point, but they did say there’d been five people in the car, and three of them were dead. Lydia said, “Good, John’s bound to have been one of the fatalities, because he’ll have been the driver.” I didn’t know what she was talking about, so she explained it to me. She told me how she’d got into the garage, what she’d done to the hydraulics, and how she’d cut through the brake cable. “Most people would have made a mess of it,” she said, “but I knew just how far to cut so it would give way at the right time.” You should have seen her eyes. They were mad – completely mad!’
‘What happened next?’ Marie asked.
‘I still couldn’t accept it. I told her she couldn’t seriously expect me to believe that she’d deliberately set out to kill five people. She said that of course she hadn’t – that the only one she’d been interested in killing was John. She hadn’t even known there’d be five people in the car – there certainly shouldn’t have been.’ Paul Taylor shuddered. ‘As if her not knowing there’d be five of them made it better – as if she was only responsible for the death of the man she wanted to kill.’
‘Go on,’ Maria told him.
‘She said John’s death made her a very rich woman, and that now she’d got her hands on the money I’d want to stay with her. I told her she was insane, and that I was going to the police. And her eyes turned colder than I’d ever have believed anybody’s could be. “You’d better not do that,” she said. She looked down at handbag, which was on her knee. “I’ve got a gun in here”.’
“Had she?’ Marie asked.
‘Yes, she had.’
‘And did she point it at you?’
‘No, I think she thought she’d done enough by letting me know she had it. But there were other things she did threaten me with.’
‘Like what?’
‘She pointed out that after what I’d done for her the previous night the police were bound to suspect I was involved in the murders. And even if they didn’t, I still wouldn’t be safe because a rich woman like her could easily ensure that I had a nasty accident.’
‘Did you believe her?’ Marie said.
‘Oh God, yes!’ Paul said. ‘She killed three people without turning a hair. She wasn’t going to worry about having one more murdered.’ He gulped. ‘A second later the coldness melted away and she was stroking my hair. “We can’t get married right away,” she said. “But when a little time’s passed, it will be perfectly acceptable. And once we’re married, we’ll have a wonderful life. I’m a very important person in the village, you know. Everyone looks up to me.” He shook his head. ‘I think that’s really why she did it. Not so she could have me – although she did want me. Not for the money – though that was nice too. The main reason she killed John Conroy was in order to keep her position in the village.’
‘What did you say to her?’
‘I was half out of my mind with fear. If I’d told her I wasn’t going along with her scheme, she’d probably have killed me right there and then. So I said I was sorry I’d been acting strangely, and that it must just have been the shock. If only she’d told me beforehand, I said, I’d have been prepared. But now I could see how clever she’d been, and we would have a wonderful life together.’
‘And she bought it?’ Marie asked sceptically.
‘She must have done or – I swear to you – she’d never have let me walk out of there.’
‘What excuse did you give for leaving?’
‘I said it wouldn’t look good if I was there when the police arrived to tell her that her husband was dead, so I’d go straight back up to Cheshire and wait for her there.’
‘But in fact you went to the bank to draw out £20,000, and then you went to see Hugh Morgan?’
‘He was the only person I could think of – because Lydia was right, you see. I couldn’t go to the police could I?’
‘Maybe not then,’ Marie said. Her voice was more ragged and emotional than it had been earlier, and I understood for
the first time that she’d been making a tremendous effort to keep control of herself. ‘No, maybe not then.’
‘When else could I have gone?’ Paul asked miserably.
I think he realised he’d made a mistake the moment the words were out of his mouth – realised it even before Marie grabbed him by the lapels of his jacket and hauled him to his feet.
Though he was taller than she was, he somehow seemed to look weak and puny when contrasted with her towering rage.
‘When else could you have gone?’ she demanded. ‘You could have gone when she first put forward her crazy plan. It should have been obvious why she needed an alibi – even to you. You could have prevented a tragedy if only you hadn’t been so gutless!’
‘If I’d known—’ Paul protested.
In one effortless movement, Marie released his lapels and delivered two whip-crack open-handed slaps which sent him reeling back onto the sofa.
Paul put his arms up to protect his face, but Marie had already flung herself on him and was screaming, ‘Bastard! Bastard!’ and trying to claw his face away.
‘Marie!’ I shouted, but I don’t think she even heard me.
I grabbed her from behind, and pulled her clear. She struggled for perhaps a second or two, then went limp and started to cry. I guided her over to one of the decrepit chairs and gently lowered her into it. She buried her head in her hands and began to weep in earnest.
‘What is it, Marie?’ I asked softly. ‘Whatever made you lose control like that?’
‘I don’t want to talk about it,’ she said, between sobs. ‘I … don’t … want … to talk … about it.’
Chapter Twenty-Eight
It was almost incredible, as I watched the way that Marie handled the Bristol rush-hour traffic with such skill and expertise, to think that only an hour earlier she’d been a blubbering wreck, but when she spoke now her voice, still thick with the tears she’d shed, brought it all back.
‘What exactly is the deal that you’ve made with the police?’ she asked.
‘The Bristol police won’t announce they’ve got Paul Taylor in custody until tomorrow morning, and Owen Flint won’t arrest Lydia until I’m there to cushion Grandmother against the shock.’
‘And that’s why you’re going back to Cheshire, is it – to cushion your grandmother against the shock?’
‘Yes.’
‘But it’s not the only reason, is it, Rob?’
‘No,’ I agreed reluctantly.
‘So what other reason do you have?’
‘I want to talk to Lydia, too.’
‘But why, for God’s sake? What’s the point in putting yourself through all that when there’s no need to?’
‘There is a need to,’ I said. ‘I have to see for myself whether or not the woman who killed my father and brother really is a monster.’
‘Let me answer that question for you, right now,’ Marie said. ‘If she’d killed for love – or even money – then perhaps you could understand what makes her mind tick. But you heard what Paul’s told you. She killed to avoid a scandal! And that’s simply not human.’
‘I still have to see for myself,’ I said.
Marie sighed. ‘Yes, I suppose you do.’
We had arrived at Temple Meads station and Marie pulled up close to the main entrance.
‘Come back to Cheshire with me,’ I pleaded.
‘I can’t do that,’ she said. ‘Not in the shape I’m in.’
‘We’re both in bad shape,’ I argued – though I still had no idea why the encounter with Paul Taylor should have had such an effect on her. ‘Couldn’t we try to get through this thing together?’
‘I don’t work that way, Rob,’ Marie told me. ‘I have to sort things out on my own.’
‘If you really loved me, like you said you did—’
She raised a hand to cut me off. ‘Please, not now, Rob. It’s not the right time.’
‘It’s never the right time for you,’ I said angrily. ‘And it never will be the right time.’
She looked down at her watch. ‘If you don’t go right away, you’ll miss your train.’
‘To hell with my train!’
‘Your grandmother needs you. And you’ve only got a few hours to get her used to the idea that her two sons and one of her grandsons were killed by a member of the family.’
I reached for the door handle. ‘So what will you do now?’ I asked. ‘Go back to Oxford?’
‘Perhaps. I haven’t made my mind up yet.’
‘And when will I see you again?’ I asked imploringly. ‘I really need to know.’
Marie shrugged her shoulders. ‘Soon.’
‘What does that mean?’
‘A couple of weeks. Maybe a little longer.’
‘And what if I need to contact you in the meantime?’
She lit a cigarette. ‘You won’t be able to.’
There was so much to say and yet, with Marie’s secrets like a huge barrier between us, there was nothing to say at all. I slammed the car door and watched her drive away.
And as I stood there I remembered the day, so many years ago now, when I had stood outside another railway station and watched my darling Jill go away – forever.
****
It was early evening as I walked up the High Street, and in the distance I could hear the birds singing their last serenade of the day. As I passed the neat Georgian houses of my childhood I tried to analyse my confused feelings as best I could. There was hatred, of course, for the woman who had killed my brother and my father. And there was bitterness, too. But above all, I thought, I was still plagued by a feeling of total incredulity – I simply still couldn’t believe that Lydia had killed for the reasons which logic and fact told me must have driven her.
As I turned onto Smithy Lane, I remembered the night John had tried to tell me the truth, and I’d been so wrapped up in my own misery that I hadn’t been listening. But would it have made any difference if I had heard his confession – would I have been able to alter the chain of events?
I didn’t think so. By then the chain had been so strongly forged that only a truly drastic occurrence – the death of either Paul or Lydia – could have broken one of its steely links.
I walked up the path to Lydia’s front door and knocked. It was the housekeeper who answered my knock.
‘I’d like to see my sister-in-law, please,’ I said.
The housekeeper sniffed. ‘I’ll see if Mrs Conroy is in.’
She retreated down the hallway, returning perhaps a minute later.
‘Follow me,’ she said.
She led me into the garden where I’d first met Bill Harper. Lydia was sitting at an expensive wrought-iron table, a cocktail in her hand. She was wearing a simple, yet chic, kingfisher blue dress, and around her neck there was a single row of expensive pearls. She looked every inch the part she had always wanted to play.
She did not get up to greet me.
‘The only reason I’ve agreed to see you at all is to tell you how displeased I am with you,’ she said coldly.
‘Displeased with me?’ I echoed
‘Certainly. The police have been through everything in my house – peering in my cupboards, running their big sweaty hands over my precious things. Well, I blame you and your grubby little chief inspector friend for that. And he, at least, will be made to pay for it. I’ve already rung the chief constable – who happens to be a personal friend of mine.’
‘And what did he say?’ I asked.
‘As a matter of fact he wasn’t available at the time I called, but I made his people promise me that he’ll ring back as soon as he can.’
‘He won’t ring you back, Lydia,’ I told her. ‘And the reason he won’t be returning your call is because he knows it’s all over for you.’
‘What do you mean – all over?’ Lydia demanded haughtily. ‘You’re not making any sense at all.’
‘I talked to Paul Taylor this afternoon.’
Her eyes, which up to that point ha
d only been angry and superior, suddenly hardened – and I got a sense of what Paul Taylor must have felt that morning of the crash.
‘So you talked to Paul, did you?’ she said. ‘And what did he have to say for himself?’
‘He said that while he stayed in your room at the health spa, you drove to Bristol and sabotaged the brakes on the BMW.’
She laughed. ‘The poor pathetic fool! Everyone knows I couldn’t tell one end of an engine from another.’
‘Yes, you’ve gone to great pains to establish that over the years,’ I said, ‘but I’ve been up to Lancashire, remember. I know about Linda Smith, who was an even better mechanic than her father.’
Lydia paled. I think that until that moment, she’d almost forgotten about my journey to her old home – even though she’d tried to kill me for making it.
And why should she have remembered it? What had happened there, had happened in a distant place which was connected with a past she had almost convinced herself had never existed. So maybe Linda Smith had planted a bomb – that had absolutely nothing at all to do with Lydia Hornby Smythe.
But now here I was, suggesting that it was Linda who was real, and Lydia who was the fake – and the idea terrified her.
‘Have you … have you told anyone in the village that I … that Linda … used to be a grease monkey?’ she asked.
‘No,’ I said, ‘but I’ve told the police.’
‘Do you mean that grubby little Welshman?’
‘Yes.’
‘That’s all right then,’ Lydia said dismissively. ‘He doesn’t count for anything round here.’
‘Did you really plan to marry Paul Taylor – or did you just say it to keep him quiet until you got the chance to kill him, too?’ I asked.
‘I should have shot him in that hotel room,’ Lydia said. ‘I should have shot him and claimed he was trying to rape me. People would have understood. I would have been a heroine.’
The Vital Chain Page 27