A Dish Served Cold
by Diney Costeloe
Published as an ebook by Amolibros at Smashwords 2014
Contents
About this Book
About the Author
Notices
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
About this Book
When Pam Smith finally plucks up the courage to escape from her loveless and abusive marriage, she sets in train a course of events that will not only irrevocably change her life, but disrupt the lives of her ex-husband, shady antiques dealer, Roger, and his shrewish daughter, Karen.
Terrified that Roger will try and find her and force her to come back, Pam takes refuge with an old school friend, taking care to leave no trail behind her. A stroke of good fortune decides Pam that she must disappear for good, vanish without a trace, but as she is to discover, that is not as easy as it sounds, especially when she’s reported missing by a friend and the police become involved.
About the Author
Diney Costeloe, the daughter of a London publisher, and encouraged by her father, has written stories and poems all her life. Trained as a primary school teacher, she has worked in the East End of London and in the private sector. To date she has published ten romantic novels under the name of Diney Delancey, several short stories in magazines and on the radio and many articles and poems. She has also written four further books under the name of Diney Costeloe, Dartmouth Circle, The Ashgrove and its sequel Death’s Dark Vale, and Evil on the Wind.
Notices
Published by Amolibros at Smashwords 2014
Copyright © Diney Costeloe 2014 | http://www.castlehavenbooks.co.uk
Published electronically by Amolibros 2014 | Amolibros, Loundshay Manor Cottage, Preston Bowyer, Milverton, Somerset, TA4 1QF | http://www.amolibros.com | [email protected]
The right of Diney Costeloe to be identified as the author of the work has been asserted herein in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988
All rights reserved. This book is sold subject to the condition that it shall not, by way of trade or otherwise, be lent, resold, hired out or otherwise circulated without the publisher’s prior consent in any form of binding or cover other than that in which it is published and without a similar condition including this condition being imposed on the subsequent purchaser
All the characters in this book are fictitious and any resemblance to actual people, living or dead, is purely imaginary
This book production has been managed by Amolibros | http://www.amolibros.com
Chapter 1
What finally pushed Pam Smith over the edge was the day she came home and found Roger in the marital bed with a blonde young enough to be his daughter. She had guessed that Roger had affairs, after all their sex life had degenerated into the occasional perfunctory encounter, when Roger exerted himself for just long enough for his own satisfaction with no regard to Pam, and Pam lay back waiting for it to be over so she could turn away and go to sleep.
For years her marriage had been a wasteland of verbal abuse and mental torment, with the occasional physical attack thrown in. Until now she had put up with it, resigned to how things were and too scared to escape, with no money and nowhere to go. Until now. Now when she found him in bed, her bed, heaving and grunting with a girl little older than his daughter, her step-daughter, Karen, something inside Pam snapped. For a moment she stared at them as they continued their energetic writhing, unaware that she was there, then she picked up a jar of cold cream from her dressing table and hurled it with all her might at the mirror on the wardrobe door. The mirror exploded into shards with an ear-splitting crash, and the activity on the bed ceased, as the girl screamed, and Roger jerked himself away with an explosive “What the fuck…?”
Pam fastened her eyes on the girl who returned her gaze with wide-eyed astonishment. “Get out of here,” Pam hissed. “Get out of my bed and out of my house.”
The girl turned to Roger and began to giggle. “Oh Rog,” she sniggered, “Mummy’s come home! You said she was away for the night!”
Without any apparent embarrassment, the girl extracted herself from the tangle of bedclothes and stepped out onto the floor. Stark naked, she picked her way carefully past the needles of broken mirror and padded serenely round the room gathering up the scattered items of her clothing before walking calmly past Pam, out on to the landing.
“I’ll dress in the bathroom,” she announced, as she disappeared.
“How dare you?” Pam directed blazing eyes at her husband who stunned by her sudden appearance still sat in the debris of the bed. There he was, a man in his fifties, with thinning, sandy-grey hair and spiteful, watery blue eyes. His naked body was pale and rather flabby and he looked more than a little ridiculous. Suddenly, wonderfully, Pam wasn’t afraid of him anymore. Fear, until now a constant in her life, evaporated and all the misery, anger and resentment that had been her marriage, crystallised into an intense and bitter hatred. She felt suddenly strong, and her strength came from this icy hatred that now consumed her.
Stunned by the way she had spoken to him, spoken as she had never done before, Roger stared at her. Pam went on, “I’m going to leave you, Roger. I shall never live with you again. You disgust me. That girl’s Karen’s age. You are contemptible.”
“Don’t be ridiculous, Pamela,” Roger, gathering his dignity a little, sounded more like his usual, bullying self. “Where on earth would you go?”
“Anywhere,” retorted Pam. “Anywhere where I won’t have to see you, or your spoilt cow of a daughter ever again.”
Roger rose up in fury from the heap of bedclothes. “How dare you speak to me like that,” he bellowed, his flabbiness quivering with rage.
Pam gave a snort of laughter. “You’re pathetic,” she said, contemptuously.
“Pathetic, I am? You’ll see!” he roared. “I’ll find you, wherever you hide. I’ll find you and I’ll make you sorry!” He launched himself at her across the room, his roar turning to a bellow of pain as his bare foot slammed down on a shard of the broken mirror.
One look at the savage expression on his face reminded Pam why she had always been so careful not to anger him, adrenaline kicked in and she made a dash for the small bedroom along the landing. It had been converted into an office and there was a lock on the door to protect the computer and other equipment from casual burglary. Reaching this refuge, Pam slammed the door behind her and turned the key.
Roger’s roars of rage soon died away. He would simply wait for her to come out and deal with her then. It had happened before. As she leant against the locked door panting, all Pam’s bravado drained out of her and she began to shake, waiting for him to bang on the door, uttering the usual threats, but for the moment he did not. She heard the front door close with a bang and crossing quickly to the window, she saw the blond girl walking out into the February dusk. Pam saw her quite clearly as she passed under a street lamp; she was dressed now, of course, in skin tight jeans, high-heeled boots and a short-cropped leather jacke
t, and she walked with the swaying hips of a girl confident in her own sexuality. Moments later Pam heard more noises from inside the house, Roger’s feet on the stairs and a second bang of the front door. Back at the window, Pam saw him, still dragging on a jacket, setting off down the road in the direction the girl had taken.
Pam couldn’t believe her luck. He had gone. He would be back again, of course, but in the meantime she had time to get out of the house, to escape. She had little idea where she would go, but go she would, and quickly, before he came back…or she lost her nerve and changed her mind. Her overnight case was already packed. She had been going to spend a rare night of freedom with her friend, Marilyn, in London, but while she was on the train her friend had called her mobile and cried off.
“I’m so sorry, Pam,” Marilyn had cried, “but my mum has been rushed into hospital and I’ve got to go to Norwich.”
So, Pam had come home again…and caught Roger.
She wondered now how much money she had in her purse. About fifty pounds, that was all. It would have to be enough until she could get to a hole in the wall. She glanced round the little office where she did all Roger’s paper work. How would he manage without her? He was clueless about computers. He’d have to find someone else…the thought flitted through her mind and she gave a bleak smile. He’d actually have to pay someone!
As she moved towards the door her eye lit upon the safe. It was bolted to the floor in the built in wardrobe. Roger usually kept some cash in there in case he needed it for something unexpected. She would take whatever was there and have her wages at last. With a quick glance out of the window to make sure he was not coming back to the house, she knelt by the cupboard door and spun the combination. Her hands were shaking so badly it took her three goes to get it right, but at last the lock clicked and she was able to swing the door open. Inside there were three shelves, stacked with bundles of papers, files and, at the back of the top shelf, a cash box. The cash box was locked and there was no sign of keys, so she took it as it was. It didn’t feel very heavy, there was no chink of coins, but something thumped when she shook it, so there might be some folding money inside. As she pulled it out another envelope, with the words ‘birth certs’ scrawled across it, fell out. She picked it up. If she were never coming back to the house she would need her birth certificate. There were three in the envelope, hers, Roger’s and Karen’s. She pulled out her own and then stuffing Roger’s and Karen’s back into the envelope, she replaced it in the safe, pushed the door closed and spun the combination. Another hasty glance out of the window showed her no irate Roger coming along the street, so grasping her new courage firmly round her, Pam unlocked the office door and ventured out.
She took a quick look into her own bedroom again. The broken mirror was still sprayed over the floor, and there were a few blood stains where Roger must have trodden with his bleeding foot. The tumbled heap of bedclothes smelled of sex and Pam turned abruptly away. Nothing would make her enter that room again, not even to collect her own possessions. Roger would have to send them on after her somewhere. If he refused, too bad, she was never coming into this house again.
Before she went down stairs she closed the office door and turned the key, slipping it into her pocket. Roger might just think she was still hiding in there when he came home, which would give her a little longer to make her escape.
Her small suitcase was standing where she’d left it in the hall. Opening it quickly, Pam stashed the cash box and the birth certificate inside, then grabbing her handbag she let herself out of the kitchen door. She had a spare key and so leaving the normal key hanging on its hook on the dresser, she locked the door again from the outside, stuffing her own key into her pocket. She could hear music blasting from next door’s kitchen, and hoped her nosy neighbour, Margaret Hillier, wouldn’t choose that moment to look out of the window. She knew Margaret had overheard Roger bellowing at her on more than one occasion, and Pam avoided her whenever possible, hating the look of pity she saw in the woman’s eyes. She certainly didn’t want Margaret to see her sneaking away into the night, carrying one small suitcase. However, neither did she want to meet Roger returning along Cardiff Road…so it had to be the garden gate.
Pam walked resolutely down the garden and opened the gate into the alleyway that ran behind the houses. There was no call from over the fence, and as soon as she’d shut the gate Pam hurried along the path between the gardens and emerged into the comparative safety of the next road. She had no idea where she was going, but she was determined it should be somewhere where Roger would not think of looking for her; somewhere large and anonymous, where no one would know her.
Her first thought was to go to Marilyn, in London, but then remembered that Marilyn had rushed off to Norwich to be with her mother. So, where else could she go?
The main thing was to get out of Bristol, and with this in mind she caught a bus for Temple Meads station. When she got there she found that there was no train to London for three quarters of an hour, but there was one to Birmingham in five minutes. She dared not wait. Birmingham it was. Pam didn’t care where she went, as long as she went.
Those five minutes seemed an eternity. At any moment Roger might come roaring into the station and create a scene, demanding that she go back home with him. The fact that he couldn’t possibly know where she was, didn’t lessen her fear. He had ruled every aspect of her life for the past eighteen years and he had said he would find her; inside she knew that if he did, she might actually go back.
It was with immense relief that she saw the big inter-city train sliding into the station. Once safely aboard, she kept her face turned from the window until the train jerked forward and pulled clear of the platform.
She’d done it! She’d finally done it. After eighteen years, living with Roger, she had broken free, and never again, she swore to herself, would she allow him, or any other man, to dominate her.
As the train sped north she considered her options. Roger might work out which train she’d caught and try and follow her. She needed to disappear completely while she decided what to do. She needed their separation to be a legal one as she had almost no money of her own. When they had married, Roger had sold the house where Pam had lived, nursing her invalid mother until her death. He had invested the money for her, or so he had said. She had trusted him then, there had been no reason not to. Where that money was now she had no idea, but she was pretty sure that it had vanished into Roger’s antiques business. She had never seen it again, and on the few occasions she had dared to ask about it, Roger had raged at her that she didn’t need money of her own. He was her husband, it was his job to support her and he would give her money as and when she needed it.
“After all,” he’d say, “you’re not contributing to the family budget in any other way, are you?”
The fact that she was helping to bring up his young daughter, Karen, was dismissed as irrelevant, and over the years, Karen, taking her cue from her father came to regard her step-mother with the same contempt.
So, Pam thought now, I must find myself a solicitor, a good one who can sort out a divorce and get me a reasonable settlement without me ever having to see Roger, or Karen again.
By the time Pam got off the train in Birmingham she had decided what to do next. She had a childhood friend, Sylvia Durston, who lived just outside Belcaster. Over the years Sylvia had often asked her to come for a visit, but because of Roger and Karen, Pam had never been able to go and gradually the invitations had stopped coming. Maybe she could go there now. Roger had never met Sylvia, he probably didn’t even remember she existed. Surely she would be safe there.
Pam pulled out her diary for the number and her mobile to make the call, only to find that her mobile’s battery was flat. She looked round the station concourse and found a solitary phone box. Feeding change into the phone she dialled, wondering as she did so if the number she’d always kept for Sylvia was still the right one. What would she do if Sylvia didn’t answer.
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p; The phone was answered after a couple of rings, and she heard the still-familiar voice.
“Sylvia Durston.”
“Sylvia? It’s Pam. Pam Smith,” adding as there was a moment of silence, “Pam Ford that was.”
“Pam?” Sylvia sounded incredulous. “How lovely to hear from you! How are you?”
“I’m fine,” Pam said. The money was ticking away very fast. “Look Sylvia, sorry to ring you out of the blue, but, well to be honest, I need somewhere to go, just for a few days and I wondered if I could come to you.”
A note of desperation had crept into Pam’s voice and Sylvia heard it.
“Of course you can,” she said at once. “Where are you?”
“Birmingham.”
“Birmingham? Whatever are you doing there? No, never mind, don’t tell me now. Are you driving?”
“No, on the train.”
“OK. Well, just let me know when you’ll be with me and I’ll pick you up at Belcaster station.”
“I don’t know the train times,” Pam said, “but I’ll find out and ring you back. Sorry, my money’s gone.” The line went dead, but Pam didn’t mind. She knew, now, where she was going.
Pam consulted a station timetable and found there was one more train to Belcaster that night, leaving in twenty minutes. She bought a newspaper to get more change and phoned Sylvia back.
“I’m sorry it’ll be so late,” she said, “the train gets in at half ten.”
“No problem,” Sylvia assured her, “I’ll be there to meet you.”
As she put the phone down the relief of having found somewhere to go washed over Pam. Surely Roger would lose her trail now, even if he managed to trace her as far as Birmingham. She hurried across to the ticket office and bought a single to Belcaster. She would not be coming back.
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