Changing Lara

by Anna Jacobs

  He looked at her wearily.

  ‘What did the latest specialist say, Ross?’

  ‘Same as the one before him: I appear to have chronic fatigue syndrome, also known as ME. It’s a syndrome, not a single-cause illness and there’s no easy treatment. He wanted me to take anti-depressants. I refused.’

  ‘Is this because of the divorce, of you being stressed out?’

  ‘The specialist said that stress makes things worse. Ha! As if I hadn’t noticed that.’

  ‘And the prognosis?’

  ‘No one knows for certain with ME. Some people recover; some don’t.’

  ‘Well, now that you’ve sorted out your financial details, you can get your decree absolute and be rid of her for ever. Then you can have a good, long rest.’

  ‘She may appeal, though the arbitrator said she wasn’t likely to win.’

  ‘There you are then. Get rid of her, have a rest and don’t take on any more projects for a while.’

  ‘What? Sit around and do nothing all day? I’d go mad.’ He hesitated, then added, ‘The strange thing is, I didn’t believe in this chronic fatigue syndrome stuff until it hit me. I considered it psychological. Snap out of it, I used to think when I saw people on TV talking about it. Stop wallowing. Mind over matter. Ha!’

  He tried to laugh at himself, but didn’t manage a convincing sound. Why couldn’t he have come down with a more straightforward illness, something you could tackle and win? Or not win, but at least you’d know where you stood.

  Fiona frowned. ‘I heard about a guy who treats it differently, with a nutritional approach. I think he calls it orthomolecular medicine. He cured a friend of mine who’d suffered for years with it.’

  Ross held up one hand. ‘No, thanks. I’ve seen enough real doctors to last me the rest of my life. If they didn’t know how to cure it, no quack will.’

  ‘This guy trained as a GP – what does that take? Seven or eight years, isn’t it? He might know a thing or two, even if it only improves matters. Worth a try, surely?’

  When Ross only shook his head, she shrugged and started to leave, turning at the door to say in her usual quiet way, ‘Let me know if you change your mind. I’ve got his phone number. This isn’t a time to put on your stubborn hat.’

  ‘I’ve had enough of doctors.’

  He let her show herself out and went for a stroll round the rather neglected kitchen garden, intending to do a little hoeing and weeding, which usually calmed him down. But he got tired and went back inside within the half hour, feeling utterly boneless and weary, needing to rest.

  As he sat down in his favourite armchair, he asked himself yet again what he would do if he didn’t get better. He still hadn’t found an answer to that. All he knew was, he didn’t intend to bounce about from one medical snake-oil salesman to another. He’d seen the specialists his GP had recommended and that was it.

  His first wife had tried various quacks in sheer desperation as her cancer progressed. It hadn’t helped. Poor Diana. She hadn’t deserved to die so young.

  He leant back in the armchair, fell asleep and woke with cramp in one leg.

  There were various indoor jobs that needed doing. He really ought to start on them. You had to keep up with things in an old house. This one was Grade II listed, the oldest part having been built in the early eighteenth century. It wasn’t all that big, just a comfortable home with four bedrooms, two small bathrooms squeezed into corners when the house was modernised, plus attics and a few outhouses.

  But the structure and fittings needed regular maintenance and he usually did the minor jobs himself to save money. He had to get better, had to.

  Surely once this divorce was over and done with, the lack of stress would be reflected in his health?

  In the meantime, he had his great aunt’s house to dispose of, not to mention the contents. She’d owned more ornaments and tea sets than a china shop, plus mirrors, glassware, gleaming old furniture that made you want to stroke it – you name it. He’d had a quick check and none of it looked to be of very great value, so he’d got a quote from a company which specialised in clearing out the houses of people who’d died.

  They’d agreed with his analysis of the house’s contents: nothing really valuable. But the amount they’d offered had been so low, Ross had rejected it instinctively. He could do better himself by selling things piece by piece on the Internet. If he could work up the energy to organise it, that was.

  He walked up and down until the cramp had gone, thought about going over to his aunt’s house to start making a detailed list of the contents, but couldn’t drum up the energy.

  He’d think about it tomorrow. Make some plans. Definitely.

  Switching on the television, he sat in front of it for most of the evening, grabbing a bowl of cereal when he realised he hadn’t eaten lunch.

  As he went up to bed, he couldn’t say what he’d watched, but the sound of voices had been comforting in a weird sort of way.

  Nonie Jayne picked up the slip of paper from the tray the lad was holding out and shut the door of her room on him. She was paying enough for this hotel without tipping anyone till she left.

  The paper simply said: The Arbour restaurant 7 p.m.

  She wasn’t going. Definitely not. She went and poured herself a fizzy water from the mini-bar in her room, then switched on the television. There was the usual load of rubbish being shown. She’d go mad staying in this place on her own for another evening.

  She turned her head to stare at the piece of paper and sighed.

  Should she?

  It wasn’t till she was dressed that she accepted that she was going to meet Gil.

  The taxi arrived at the restaurant at five past seven, as she’d planned. She got out, paid the driver and said, ‘Can you wait a minute? I’m supposed to be meeting someone here, but if he’s not arrived, I’m going back to the hotel.’

  ‘OK.’

  But Gil was there and the restaurant seemed a classy place, so she hesitated only briefly, then waved the taxi away and walked across the room.

  A waiter came and held the chair as she sat down opposite Gil.

  ‘I’m glad you came, Nonie. What would you like to drink?’

  She looked round the room before she answered him. ‘A fizzy water. And my name’s Nonie Jayne. I never shorten it.’

  ‘Nonie Jayne, then. Quite a mouthful.’

  ‘I like it.’

  ‘Is that why you chose it?’

  She sucked in her breath. How could he know that she’d picked out this name for herself? He couldn’t know. Of course he couldn’t.

  ‘You’re on edge. Perhaps we shouldn’t talk business tonight, just get to know one another better.’

  ‘I’m here to talk business. If you meant what you said, that is, about getting me what that rat owes me.’

  ‘I did. But it’s not the sort of thing we should discuss here.’

  ‘You’re not coming back to my room! I don’t pay in kind.’

  ‘Nor do I need to force women into my bed. I chose to help you because you are, quite simply, the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen – and it doesn’t seem fair that you can’t get what is due to you from your ex.’

  ‘That’s … an interesting reason. If you mean it.’

  ‘We’ll discuss it later, eh?’

  The waiter came up then and Nonie Jayne ordered a starter of prawns and salad. ‘That’s instead of a main course,’ she told the waiter.

  As they chatted, she found herself warming to Gil. He was very good at poking fun at the world.

  To her surprise, she enjoyed the evening.

  But she didn’t invite Gil into her hotel room, nor did she let him see that she was disappointed when he didn’t suggest even escorting her back to the hotel, just saw her into a taxi outside the restaurant, saying, ‘I’ll be in touch, Nonie Jayne.’

  She shrugged. ‘Thank you for the meal.’

  She didn’t think he’d meant it when he said he’d help her get som
e things from Ross. Or had he?

  Oh, who knew anything? She was getting more and more frustrated with her situation. She ought to cut her losses and go looking for another old fool to charm out of his money.

  Chapter Five

  Eventually Lara put the phone in her handbag and stood up, trying to pull herself together. But her thoughts were in a tangle. Surely she’d made a mistake? Oh, she must have done … mustn’t she? John Crichton wasn’t the sort to steal from his clients.

  What sort of person did steal from clients, though? You’d have to be very personable to win people’s trust so that you could steal their money, wouldn’t you? And John was very personable, a real father figure. She’d always thought that reassuring.

  It took a while for her to realise that she hadn’t checked her own bank accounts. It must be the jetlag making her so stupid. In theory, he didn’t have access to them, but he knew her account numbers, so she’d feel a lot better if she checked.

  ‘I’m an idiot!’ she muttered as she got out her laptop and set it up on the kitchen surface. Then she hit the side of her head with one hand because she still wasn’t thinking straight. She hadn’t got a service provider here. She’d have to use her phone and was old enough to have a few problems with her eyes and small screens. She probably needed reading and computer glasses.

  There was a knock on the front door before she could do anything and she opened it to see Molly holding out a bouquet of flowers.

  Her smile faded as she looked at Lara. ‘Have you had some bad news?’

  She nodded, swallowed hard and felt the world spin round, so clutched the door frame.

  ‘I’ll just put these flowers on the surface.’ Molly did that quickly, then came back. ‘You’d better sit down for a few moments, Lara.’

  ‘On what?’ The room no longer looked bright and spacious, but empty, seeming to echo her worries back at her and offer no comfort.

  ‘Do you want to come across to the sales office?’

  Lara could see that there was a car parked outside it. ‘No, thanks. I don’t want to face other people yet. What I need is to get online and check my bank account. It may have been – hacked. Only, how do I do that?’

  ‘Why not come up to the caravan? You can sit down there and be as private as you like. You can use the hotel’s server from there.’ She nodded to the laptop.

  ‘Would you mind?’

  ‘Not at all. I’ll give you the visitors’ password and the caravan’s close enough to the modem in the sales office for everything to connect. I used to work in the caravan sometimes when I first came here. There’s a table you can use as a desk. And if you need to print anything out, you can come next door into the sales office and do it there.’

  Lara’s thoughts seemed slow and muddy. ‘You’re very kind. I will come up to the caravan to do that, if you don’t mind.’

  ‘Of course we don’t mind. It’s a service we provide for our customers.’

  When they got there, Molly hesitated. ‘I’m a good listener if you need some moral support.’

  Lara didn’t usually pour her heart out, but this situation was potentially so horrendous, she desperately needed someone else’s input. ‘Are you sure you don’t mind? I’d really appreciate a second opinion on my situation.’

  Molly came in and sat down. ‘Go on.’

  ‘I think my accountant may have run off with all my savings and superannuation money. His office has been closed down, his phone number is no longer in use and his email address bounces.’

  ‘That does sound suspicious. I’m so sorry!’

  Lara gestured to the laptop. ‘I need to check that my personal bank accounts are all right.’

  ‘Do you want me to wait?’

  ‘Please.’ Lara gestured to the seat opposite before opening her laptop.

  Molly waited quietly as she got online and tried her main account. It was untouched, with her redundancy payment sitting in it, waiting for some of it to be added to her superannuation account, or so she’d planned. Thank goodness she hadn’t had time to transfer the money to John! It wasn’t much to live on, compared to her savings, but it was something.

  Had all her years of hard work gone for nothing? She shuddered and covered her eyes with one hand for a moment, fighting for control. ‘What do I do?’

  Molly’s voice was gentle. ‘I think the first thing will be to report this to the police. It’s quite a major fraud, don’t you think?’

  ‘Oh yes. I should have thought of that. Only I can’t seem to think clearly.’

  ‘Shock. Look, one thing I can do to help is let you have the caravan without charging you till you’ve sorted something out and can buy furniture and equipment for your house.’

  ‘I couldn’t take advantage of you like that!’

  ‘Why not? The caravan is just sitting here doing nothing.’

  ‘Well then, thank you.’

  ‘And didn’t you say you’d booked a room at the hotel? I can cancel that for you.’

  ‘Please.’ The less she had to spend on accommodation the better … now.

  ‘What about your family? Do you want to contact them?’

  Should she ring Joel and Darcie? Lara wondered. No, not yet. What could they do that she couldn’t? And anyway, she hated the thought of telling people she’d been robbed, felt such a credulous fool.

  Besides, her children would tell their father and Guy would be very scornful, she was sure.

  She turned to Molly. ‘All payments have been made on the house, haven’t they?’

  ‘Yes. That happened a while ago.’

  ‘I just needed to be absolutely sure. Thank goodness for that!’

  Now that Lara thought about it, she’d had to press John to attend to that. He’d wanted to delay payment till she was ready for the handover, had tried to persuade her that the money would gain interest if she kept it in the bank. Oh, thank goodness she’d expected to finish her project earlier and had wanted the house to be ready!

  She had to keep saying it aloud to take it in and accept that horrible truth. ‘So I have an unfurnished house, a little money but no income and no car except the one I hired.’

  ‘Did you leave any clothes or possessions in England?’

  ‘Yes, a few. How strange that I’d forgotten them. They’re in my daughter’s shed in packing boxes. There’s no furniture, though, just books, photos, odd ornaments and mementoes, as well as a few family antiques. Oh, and some sheets, towels and clothes.’

  ‘I see. Well, if you want to move into your house, we can lend you a bed and a few chairs, some odds and ends of crockery too. These were things left over when Euan and I got married last year and combined our goods and chattels. It’s only the shabbier things. We’ve not got round to taking them to the charity shop.’

  For some reason the word ‘charity’ hit Lara hard and she began weeping. How was she going to manage? Would she have to apply for unemployment benefits? How humiliating!

  Could she get a job back with the company? No. The memory of Morris’s vicious expression as he swore she’d never get another job with them was still all too clear. And if she applied, he’d spread the word not to employ her to other companies, she was sure.

  And anyway, the company had been shedding staff lately, not hiring.

  Where could she find work, though?

  There would be nothing at management level, she suspected, but you could live on a lot less money than that. But now wasn’t the time to consider her options. She sighed and looked at Molly. ‘Thank you. I’d better go and report it to the police before I do anything else.’

  ‘I’ll tell you where to go in Marlbury. It’s only a small police station but the people there will know what to do next.’

  Lara nodded and wiped away the tears. She had to stop weeping. It didn’t help.

  This wasn’t like her, anyway. She was usually in control of her emotions. In fact, that had been one of the things Guy often complained about. He didn’t like being married to an iron
woman.

  Molly patted her shoulder. ‘I’m sorry I can’t come with you. Euan has a meeting this afternoon for one of his other business interests and I need to be here to look after the sales office.’

  The other woman’s kind touch helped Lara straighten her spine. ‘I can manage. I was just – shocked.’

  ‘Who wouldn’t be?’

  The police station was small, with a young officer behind the counter. Lara took a deep breath and explained her situation.

  The woman blinked. ‘I’d better fetch the sergeant. I’ve never had to deal with anything this major, but he’ll know what to do.’

  Lara had expected a fatherly figure, but Sergeant Gorton was a smart fellow, younger than her. He looked strong and fit, would make a good hero in a TV series.

  He took her into a small office to one side, looked at her warily but, thank goodness, she no longer felt like weeping.

  After bringing in the female officer he asked her to tell them everything she could think of.

  When she’d finished he sat frowning down at his notes. ‘This is major fraud squad stuff, I think. If you’re right, it’s well over a million pounds that’s been taken. I wonder where this chap’s gone?’ He pushed his chair back and stood up. ‘Can you please wait here while I ring the inspector?’

  She nodded.

  It was a while before Gorton returned, frowning.

  ‘You’re the third person to complain about Crichton in the past couple of days. And it seems his secretary has vanished too. The officer in charge of the investigation is Donald Metcalf. He’s out following up a lead but he’ll get in touch with you later. Have you got somewhere to stay, enough money to manage on?’

  ‘Yes. For the time being, anyway.’

  ‘We, um, can’t guarantee to retrieve anything, I’m afraid.’

  She knew that, of course she did, but it hurt all over again nonetheless. Oh, how it hurt! She’d been so proud of being able to retire early, had worked and saved so hard.

  She gave the officer her address and phone number, then walked outside. The day was bright and sunny. She’d have preferred clouds or even rain, to match her bleak mood. The sunlight felt to be mocking her.