‘Be a dear,’ said Frederic as I was about to leave, ‘give Mrs Spokes her insulin injection if Vanessa hasn't been and tell the others I'll get a nurse to them tomorrow.’
‘First or last for Mrs Spokes?’ I asked.
‘Last. Vanessa does her about five thirty usually. Ring me if you don't find her because I'll have to arrange cover. You do have a current nurse's UKKC card, I hope.’
‘I don't have it with me. It's in my purse in the car.’ Being on the Nurse Register and paying regular dues had its benefits.
‘Don't worry, I can always check,’ he said with a smile that bordered on this side of threatening. I looked at my watch. It was nearly five. Growing dark outside. And I felt exhausted.
I emerged from Tissot's office to find Dr Hiding waiting outside in the corridor, so near to the office door I wondered if he'd been listening. He could have been handsome with his regular features and thick dark hair, but he wasn't. His heavy rimmed glasses and habit of wearing cardigans gave the impression of an academic loosed from some dusty library. It was his eyes that spoilt his looks; those two grey orbs, the colour of mould on a dead mouse, peered at me.
‘Ah! Miss Kinsella,’ he said with satisfaction as he gave my shoulder a pat. ‘How are you? I hear my patient Vanessa Wootten has engaged you —’
‘I can't stop, Dr Hiding, but I would like to meet for a chat some time.’
His hand still rested on my shoulder and I gave a little shrug of irritation. He didn't seem to notice.
‘Any time, my dear, any time. God willing.’
He made my flesh creep but I forced a smile. I used to feel that way about Hubert but in comparison to Hiding he seemed both normal and wholesome.
I found the first house on the list quite easily, and the second. Both patients complained bitterly that their nurse hadn't turned up but I promised them a visit the next day and was rewarded by offers of tea. I would have loved one but Mrs Spokes's insulin was due and by now I just wanted to find Vanessa and go home, have a hot bath and a large Scotch, preferably at the same time.
The third house I didn't find so easily. I had to ask directions twice and by the time I did find it I was shivering, miserable and my blood sugar and caffeine levels must have been at an all-time low. The man who answered the door looked in a similar condition. Of medium height, he had a slight stoop, was unshaven and his hair, thin and wispy on top, grew long and uneven into the back of his neck. I supposed he was in his sixties. He wore a wellcreased lilac sweatshirt and faded jeans and the worn, anxious, defeated expression of the full-time carer. And it was obvious that I was a disappointment.
‘Oh dear,’ he said. ‘I was expecting the nurse.’
‘Do you need help? I am a qualified nurse.’
‘It's Benjamin. He needs turning and changing. He's dying, you see. I would be most grateful …’
I introduced myself.
‘I'm William Beige,’ he said, and he stretched out the word Beige, so that at first I hardly recognised it. ‘It's not AIDS.’
‘Oh good,’ I answered, which was totally inappropriate but I couldn't think of anything else to say.
He led me along a dark hallway to a multicoloured beaded curtain which clacked back into place as we walked through. The room beyond the curtain was large but cluttered. In one corner a standard lamp glowed, casting its light on to the bed alongside it. Old newspapers, junk mail and a couple of cats lay haphazardly between lumpen brown furniture. Dingy antimacassars covered the three-piece. I guessed this had been the family home; the Edwardian atmosphere had not been recreated, it seemed original.
As I approached the bed William Beige kept close beside me. ‘He had a stroke,’ he whispered. ‘Four years ago. He can't speak. I used to understand what he wanted but two weeks ago he became semi-conscious … he's dying now, isn't he?’
He wanted me to deny it but I couldn't. Benjamin lay towards me, twig-like wrists poking from beneath frayed pyjama sleeves and from his lop-sided mouth saliva had trickled down his chin and lay glistening like the track of a snail at the base of his neck.
‘Show me where Nurse Wootten keeps everything and then I can manage on my own if you'd like to have a rest – you do look very tired.’
William declined. ‘It won't be for much longer, will it?’ he said, as his eyes filled with tears.
There was no answer to such a question. I put an arm around him and although I was sure he wanted to cry the tears dried in his eyes and he sniffed and patted my shoulder and said, ‘We've been together a long time.’
Together we washed and changed Benjamin, turned, creamed and padded him. Then, painfully slowly, he managed to swallow a few sips of water from a spoon.
‘He looks better now,’ said William when we eventually finished.
But he didn't. He just looked more comfortable and cared for.
‘I have to go now,’ I said. ‘Do you have a night nurse to visit?’
William Beige nodded, ‘It was very kind of you to help. Please stay for a drink.’
I was about to decline but he said, ‘Please. I hate drinking alone.’
So I stayed and drank two sherries. Midway through the first I mentioned Vanessa.
‘Lovely girl. She's been so kind to both of us. Is she sick? She always seems so worried and nervy. I expect she has her problems, though. We all do, don't we?’
I nodded. He'd had four years of problems. Four years!
‘Has she ever mentioned being followed?’ I asked.
William shook his head. ‘Not as such,’ he said thoughtfully. ‘But … well, she did always peep out of the windows before she left … as if … as if someone might be there.’
As I left I asked where Shakespeare Road was.
‘Mrs Spokes's place?’
I nodded.
‘Next road on your left. Now, she might be able to help you. She knows everything. What she doesn't know she embroiders. I think the nurses use her house as an unofficial office. They leave messages for each other.’
‘Thanks, Mr Beige. I'll leave my car outside your house for the time being.’
He smiled and waved and went back to his lonely vigil.
The two large sherries on an empty stomach had bucked me up quite well but the temporary euphoria faded as I realised how cold it had become. It was so cold that I ran to Shakespeare Road. It wasn't far enough for me to get warm and I stood shivering on the doorstep of number six praying for Mrs Spokes to let me in to the warmth of her house.
It was a road a little similar to Percival although here the houses had front gardens and privet hedges. Number six had a weedy garden and a brown front door but the red shaded light that glowed behind the curtained front window seemed to offer a certain cheeriness.
Mrs Spokes took a long time to answer and as she walked towards the front door I could hear why. She walked with a limp, the pronounced sound of a leg being dragged along.
‘You're …’ she stopped, surprised.
I was surprised too, for Mrs Spokes seemed to have been caught in a time warp – just past the Second World War. Her hair was still brown but she wore it in a roll, the size of a plump sausage around her neck like a half collar. A hair clip held what would have been a fringe in place, and the whole creation was further secured by a hair-net. Her eyebrows had been roughly pencilled in black and thick powder tracked along her wrinkles to the smudged red lipstick on her lips. Her full-length, cross-over, floral apron was worn on top of a short-sleeved cotton dress, also with flowers.
‘Who are you?’ she asked suspiciously.
I told her and thought how easily I had been allowed into the three other homes. Not one had asked for proof of identification.
‘Come on in, then,’ she said. ‘Better bloody late than never.’ I wasn't sure if she meant me or the insulin.
‘Where's Vanessa?’ she asked as I followed slowly behind her to the room I presumed was the kitchen. ‘She off sick again?’
‘She's just delayed,’ I said.
&
nbsp; ‘Huh!’ answered Mrs Spokes angrily.
The room we entered was the back room with a small kitchen attached. A table, covered with a fringed maroon cloth and a piece of embossed white plastic, was laid for one, with a knife, fork, sauce bottle, cup and saucer and the Sun newspaper. There were two straight-backed armchairs and a large black and white TV that was on, but with the volume turned down. A gas fire roared at full therm, making the room quite hot enough for a cotton dress. There were no pictures on the wall, or mirrors, or knickknacks.
‘Sit down, then,’ said Mrs Spokes, pointing to the dining-table chair in front of the knife and fork.
I hesitated. ‘Your insulin?’
‘I've waited this bloody long I can wait a bit longer. You're not in a rush, are you?’
‘Well I …’
‘Fry-up be okay? I've got some lovely smoked bacon.’
I protested that I hadn't come to eat her food.
‘I cook for all the nurses. Who else have I got to cook for? You just sit there and read the paper. It'll only take a minute.’
I opened my mouth to protest again but she had already limped into the kitchen and soon I could hear the sound of sizzling bacon. And once the smell drifted my way protestation became impossible.
Within minutes the plate was put in front of me. Two rashers of bacon, fried egg, mushrooms, tomatoes and a slice of fried bread.
‘Well, get on with it,’ she said. ‘Before it gets cold.’
‘What about yours?’ I asked.
‘I'll have mine later. I don't eat in front of people.’
I was glad I didn't have that hang-up. The food tasted wonderful, especially washed down with hot sweet tea. And as I ate Mrs Spokes sat in her armchair watching the silent screen and talked and talked. First about her ‘aggreephobia' then about the other patients on the patch, about how she couldn't and wouldn't give herself the insulin injections and finally about Vanessa.
‘She's a daft little madam. She's been here many a time for a chat about her blokes. She can't seem to pick a good 'un. Once we had a right carry-on here. One of them came here to the house, banging on the door for her. I wouldn't let the bugger in and Vanessa did a runner over the back gate.’
‘When was that?’
‘'Bout two years ago now. I think that was the last she saw of him. Thank Gawd.’
‘Did she ever tell you she thought she was being followed?’
‘Course she did. Never stopped going on about it. I always keep an eye out for her, though.’
‘And have you ever seen him?’
Mrs Spokes shook her head. ‘He's too clever for that. He uses different cars. He's like a bleedin' ghost.’
It was after seven when I finally gave Mrs Spokes her insulin and made it clear that I really had to go.
‘Where's your coat?’ she said.
‘It's in my car.’
‘Where are you parked?’
‘Just round the corner. It's not far.’
‘At Bill and Ben's?’
I didn't catch on immediately. ‘Yes,’ I said.
‘How are they?’
I shrugged.
‘Here, you take this,’ said Mrs Spokes as she handed me a bottle green coat. ‘Go on, put it on.’
I desperately hoped no one I knew would see me in the coat but the night air was so cold I was grateful to be warm. I was just thanking her and waving good-bye when she said, ‘I've seen that car before.’
I spun round to see a black car moving slowly into a parking position opposite. At first I couldn't see the driver's face but then he looked directly across at me and gave me a slight nod.
His skin shone in the muted light of the streetlamps as though he were sweating. Then I realised it was merely the glow of Frederic Tissot's unnaturally brown skin.
Chapter Seven
‘Who is he?’ Mrs Spokes asked, so loudly that in the quiet of the night her voice seemed to carry like an echo.
‘It's Fred,’ he answered before I had a chance to open my mouth. ‘Don't be alarmed.’
‘What you doing round here?’ she yelled as Frederic started to cross the road to join us.
He answered as he got to the kerbside. ‘I've just come to give a message to Miss Kinsella, that's all. You go on back in the warm or you'll get cold.’
Reluctantly Mrs Spokes turned to go. ‘Right,’ she said, ‘I'm off. Don't forget to come in for a drink, though, Fred. You haven't been round here in weeks. I'm surprised you know what your staff are up to.’
We both watched silently as she limped with painful slowness into the house.
‘I've been everywhere looking for you,’ he said. ‘I thought you'd have finished here ages ago.’ As he spoke a mixture of sherry and garlic hit the back of my nose. I must have grimaced because he noticed.
‘Bill and Ben's,’ he explained. ‘I've been there over an hour. I thought Ben was near to death at one point but then he rallied. Bill collapsed weeping and I had to stay.’
‘Why were you looking for me?’
‘Mr Humberstone rang. He's got a message from the police for you and he was worried. What took you so long?’
‘Mrs Spokes,’ I answered.
‘Did you eat the lot?’ he asking, smiling and showing perfect white teeth.
‘I did. It was delicious.’
‘That's very good,’ he said. ‘She feels a great insult if people don't eat her food. With luck I'll be offered tea and toast.’
‘Bon appétit,’ I said, smiling, hoping my teeth looked as good as his.
As I walked back to my car clutching Mrs Spokes's old green coat around me, I thought – what the hell am I doing? My client's gone missing, probably kidnapped, and I'm wandering the streets on unpaid nursing missions when I should have been looking for her. I should at least have rung the police and told them exactly how she disappeared. Now it seemed they were after me.
Driving towards Humberstones I began to think that eating the eggs and bacon had been a major sin. Perhaps, while I'd been tucking in to my fry-up, Vanessa was tied up somewhere, unfed, ill-treated. Even dead.
The High Street was deserted, a few bits of litter lifted from the ground as flurries of early March wind caught them and then dropped them again. The sky was black and clear and on such a night it would have been easy to think Longborough had been evacuated. Apart, that is, from the pubs. As I passed them and saw their cheerful bursts of light and heard wisps of laughter, I found them reassuring. The Swan, with its splendid thatch, attracted an older population than the Cock and Hen, mock Tudor, and second home for bikers and tall under-age drinkers. Both pubs, eventually, I supposed, provided business for Humberstones.
At first I thought Hubert had gone home because the whole of the ground floor was in darkness but then I looked up and noticed my office light was on. Hubert was obviously lying in wait for me.
‘You've got no consideration,’ he said, his face flushing an unattractive pink colour. ‘I've been hanging around here for hours. You've had enough time to … well you could at least have rung …’ He paused long enough to register the coat. ‘And why are you wearing old rags?’
‘I thought it was quite fetching.’
He ignored that. ‘The police rang. They want you to ring back. And Paul Oakby rang again. He says he'll be in the Swan tonight.’
I sank on to one of the office chairs in utter weariness. ‘This is all getting too much for me, Hubert. I couldn't find Vanessa and I had to see her patients. I'm beginning to get really worried. I seem to have let her down before I've even started.’
‘It was her fault, she ran off,’ said Hubert.
‘But did she? He could have sneaked in and got her.’
‘We would have heard if she'd made a fuss. I would have heard, anyway.’
‘Perhaps she couldn't make a fuss. Perhaps he held a knife to her throat.’
‘Stop being so dramatic,’ said Hubert irritably. ‘I'm hungry and I want a pint. I've had a bad day as well. Two interments and one cr
emation is no joke, you know. I've spent most of today with a glum face.’
‘Glumness suits you.’
‘That green coat suits you.’
I was tempted to throw it at him but I resisted the urge, took it off and put on my own black quilted one, which I kept meaning to replace because it made me look like a tea-cosy on legs. But it was obviously an improvement because Hubert managed a smile.
‘Come on then, Hubert,’ I said, ‘let's go and smell the barmaid's apron. I'll ring the police from the pub.’
The Swan was full of good cheer, tobacco fumes, the smell of beer and burning logs, and little red lamps that spread a cosy glow over heads and faces like some heavenly aura. I sat in an alcove well away from the crowded bar, rested my head on my hands and closed my eyes.
‘The place is full of big feet,’ said Hubert as he placed a brandy and lemonade in front of me and stood to have his first few sips of beer as though he couldn't wait until he sat down.
‘Big feet?’ I queried, thinking Hubert totally obsessed with the subject.
‘Fuzz. Bobbies. Police.’
‘Where?’ I said, turning my head to look at the male throng around the bar.
‘Everywhere.’
‘Did you see one with a small spotty face, looks about twelve?’
Hubert shook his head, while I carried on searching for a back view I recognised.
‘No need to ring them now,’ said Hubert. ‘They can give you the message personally.’
I shrank back in the chair and into the shadows. ‘Let's get out of here, Hubert. They might have a go at me about Vanessa not giving them a statement. I couldn't bear it.’
Hubert raised an eyebrow as if to say I must be joking and then said, ‘Drink up, Kate. I'm having at least two pints and I've ordered a bar snack and I'm not going to miss that. Anyway, it's not like you to be timid. Besides, they already know you're here.’
‘How?’
‘I told them.’
‘Why?’
‘They asked.’
‘Oh, very funny. Thanks, Hubert.’
‘There's no need to get cross. Someone was bound to recognise me in here. It is my local and I am quite well known.’
Deadly Admirer Page 6
