Stillwater

by Maynard Sims

  “Mirri! I’ve made coffee.” Beth put her ear to the bedroom door, listening for movement, but heard nothing. Let her sleep, she thought. She didn’t hear her friend turn in the evening before, but then Beth had been so tired herself she’d fallen asleep seconds after her head hit the pillow.

  Yesterday had been tense: the meeting with Franklin, falling out with James, the silent drive home from Cambridge and the visit from Miranda that could best be described as edgy. Beth understood where her friend was coming from. Miranda had been there for her after the accident when the cocktail of painkillers she was on, combined with her despair over her paralysis, sent her plummeting into something close to a nervous breakdown. If she were an outsider looking in on her life, she might be tempted to draw the same conclusions as her friend. It seemed crazy and unreasonable, but Beth was in no doubt that what was happening at Stillwater had its roots in something real and tragic.

  She heard a car pull up outside, followed quickly by the ring of her doorbell.

  “James?” she said, as she opened the door.

  James Bartlett stood in the doorway, a grim expression etching tight lines on his face.

  “Hello, Beth,” he said. “Where’s Miranda?”

  “Miranda?” Beth said, confusion clouding her eyes. “In bed. Why?”

  “The police are at the lake. There’s been an accident.”

  “Accident? What kind of accident?”

  “A car’s come off the road. A red Audi R8. That’s the car Miranda drives isn’t it?”

  “Yes, it is. But Miranda’s parked out…” She was looking past him at the lane. There was no sign of Miranda’s car. “Oh my God!” She spun away from him, and wheeled herself to the bedroom door, yanking it open, and staring incredulously at the empty bed. “But that’s impossible,” she said. The bed hadn’t been slept in.

  “She called me last night,” James said. He’d followed her into the house, and was standing behind her, peering into the empty room. “Late, after ten.”

  “Why would she phone you?” Beth said, trying to digest the barrage of information.

  “She was worried about you.”

  “Show me where,” Beth said. “The accident. Show me where it happened.”

  James drove, Beth sitting in the passenger seat, chewing at the skin beneath her thumbnail. “The police were sealing off the area when I came through. I was lucky they let me pass.”

  “But why would she be out here?” Beth said. “She was staying the night. The spare bed was made up and everything.”

  “I don’t know, Beth. We were talking and then suddenly she rang off. I was concerned, that’s why I decided to come over before work.”

  “Before…what’s the time?”

  “A little after eight. Had she been drinking?”

  “Yes. We both had. I went to bed early. Mirri was staying up to watch a film. This is crazy, James. Why would she be driving at that time of night?”

  The police had blocked the lane with a large red and white POLICE ACCIDENT sign. A uniformed officer was standing in front of it, gesturing for them to turn around and go back the way they had come. Beyond him Beth could see a yellow and white ambulance and a large truck fitted with a crane. A heavy-duty chain was fixed to the crane, the other end of it attached to a mangled red Audi. Inch by inch they were hauling it from the wood.

  “Oh my…” Beth bit her fist, hoping the pain of her teeth sinking into her flesh would banish the horror show she was witnessing.

  James switched off the engine, getting out of the car and walking across to talk to the policeman. A few seconds later he returned to the car, leaving the officer speaking into his radio.

  “They want us to wait here,” James said. “Someone’s coming to talk to us.”

  They waited for ten minutes before another police car edged along the lane. A different uniformed officer got out and rapped on their window.

  “You think you might know the lady who was driving?” he said.

  “Miranda,” Beth said. “Miranda Stiles. She was staying with me. Is she all right? Is she hurt?” she said, then gave a small sob as she saw two men carrying a stretcher from the crash site. On the stretcher was a black plastic body bag. “Oh, no,” she said.

  “There was one fatality,” the officer said. “It doesn’t look like any other vehicle was involved. Do you live nearby?”

  “Yes. Stillwater. Along the lane,” James said.

  “Well, perhaps we can continue this there? Andrew Lawrence, by the way,” the officer said. “I’ll wait for you to turn around and I’ll follow you back.”

  Half an hour later they were sitting in Stillwater’s lounge as Police Constable Andrew Lawrence added to his already copious notes.

  “Is this going to take much longer?” James said. “Ms. Alvarini is finding this very upsetting.” He squeezed Beth’s hand, but she didn’t respond. She sat in her wheelchair, staring into space, her whole body numb, her thoughts in lockdown.

  Mirri, dead.

  She was finding the concept hard to absorb.

  Lawrence looked up at them. “I’m sorry. I just want to be sure I have all the details correct. It will save a visit from someone else at a later date to go through them again.”

  “Shouldn’t you be getting to work?” Beth said in a monotone to James. “You’re going to be late.”

  “I’m late already. I’ll just phone them and tell them I won’t be in. I can’t leave you like this.”

  Beth shook her head. “No. You must go in. I’ll be fine.”

  James frowned, took out his phone and rang the office, walking across to the back door, opening it and stepping outside.

  “Ms. Alvarini,” Lawrence said to her, “you said you and Ms. Stiles had been drinking. Would you describe her as being inebriated?”

  Beth looked at him bleakly. “Not when I went to bed.”

  “But she may have continued after that?”

  “It’s possible. I don’t know.”

  “Why do you think she was driving down the lane so late? Was she heading home?”

  Beth shook her head. “No. Her bags are still in the bedroom. She was going to stay for a few days. I don’t know why she was out so late. It’s beyond me.”

  Lawrence snapped his notebook shut. “There will be an inquest. You’ll be called.”

  Beth nodded. “I understand.”

  “Thank you for all your help.”

  “Are we done?”

  Lawrence smiled. “Yes, we’re done. I’m sorry for your loss.”

  James came back inside pocketing his phone. He showed the officer out, then went to the kettle and switched it on.

  Beth sat there cradling her mug of coffee. “I should never have got her involved in this,” she said.

  “Beth, this wasn’t your fault.”

  “Then why do I feel that it was?” she said.

  He said nothing.

  “She didn’t believe me, James. Mirri, who knew me better than anyone, didn’t believe me. She thought I was having another breakdown.”

  “Another…”

  She shook her head. “It doesn’t matter. Nothing matters any more. Find me somewhere else to live, James. I can’t go on with this anymore.”

  He looked at her steadily. “It will take a little time,” he said.

  “I don’t care.”

  “Listen, I have to go into the office. Edward Falmer wants to speak with me.”

  “Oh, James, I’m sorry. I’ve really messed things up for you.”

  He held up his hand to stop her. “It may not have anything to do with Bernard Franklin and what happened yesterday. He just says that he needs to speak to me urgently. Will you be all right here on your own?”

  “I’ll be fine. Actually, I need some time on my own. I need to think about what’s going to happen
next. Mirri has a sister. I’ll have to call her to tell her what’s happened. I don’t think they were close, but it’s still going to be a shock.”

  “If you’re sure,” James said. “I’ll get back here as soon as I can. While I’m at the office I’ll get the ball rolling in finding you somewhere else to live.”

  She nodded and gave him a wan smile.

  As the door closed behind him a sob broke in her throat and she started to cry.

  On the high street James took a deep breath and pushed open Falmer’s front door. Debbie was at her desk fielding a phone call. She looked up as James entered and pointed to the door of Edward Falmer’s private office. “He’s waiting for you,” she mouthed, and went back to her phone call.

  James tapped on the door of the office, and went inside.

  Edward Falmer looked up from the sheaf of property details, and waved him into a seat on the opposite side of the desk. “Thank you for getting here so soon. It can’t have been pleasant. Very sad to lose a client like Ms. Stiles in such tragic circumstances. It must have been a shock to Ms. Alvarini. How’s she taking it?”

  “She’s pretty shaken up. She wants me to find her another tenancy.”

  Falmer sat up in his seat. “Does she? Does she? Understandable I suppose.”

  James nodded. “I’ll go through the files when we’ve finished here.”

  “Yes,” Falmer said absently. “Yes, of course.” He fell silent.

  James watched him for a moment, trying to gauge his boss’s mood. He’d come to know Edward Falmer quite well in the years he’d worked for him, but he also knew that the old man could often surprise him. “You wanted to see me?”

  “Yes, James. I did.” He rose abruptly from the desk and walked to the doorway. He thrust his head into the main office. “Debbie, hold my calls until I tell you otherwise.” He shut the door and came back to the desk, resuming his seat. He looked across at James. “I had a strange phone call this morning. Coincidental, you could say.”

  James said nothing, but cocked his head to show interest.

  “Bernard Franklin called me just after I arrived this morning.”

  “Why did he call?” James said, fearing the worst.

  “That’s the damnedest thing. It came as a bolt from the blue. Took my breath away.”

  He adjusted the sheaf of property details on his desk, shuffling them into neat pile. “He wants us to put Stillwater on the market for him.”

  “He what?”

  “Exactly!” Falmer said, beaming a smile at him. “You know I’ve been banging on at him for years to sell the place, and now, just like that, he’s given me the go ahead to do it.”

  “Just like that?”

  “Just like that. I needn’t tell you that we need the business. The last quarter was nothing short of disastrous. The recession has played havoc with the housing market. Selling Stillwater could be the shot in the arm this company has been looking for. Stillwater and all its land is a developer’s dream. You could probably place four or five new builds there, and you wouldn’t even disturb the landscape that much.”

  “And you know a developer who’d be interested in taking it on?”

  “I know three,” Falmer said triumphantly. “And that’s before I start making phone calls. It’s a prime piece of real estate.”

  “Congratulations,” James said.

  “Of course there’s only one fly in the ointment as far as I can see. Ms. Alvarini. Her tenancy contract runs until the middle of next year. But now you say she’s looking to rent somewhere else.”

  “To be fair, she was in shock when she said it. She’d just lost her friend in a terrible accident.”

  “Yes, for sure, for sure,” Falmer said. “Terrible circumstances, and I’d hate to appear ghoulish. But sometimes fate works in mysterious ways.”

  “That’s all Franklin wanted?” James said.

  “Isn’t that enough?”

  “Yes, I’m sure it is. It’s just…”

  “Listen, I’ve given you a lot to think about. But I’ll add only this. If the sale goes ahead we’re going to be frantically busy, especially if I can negotiate the sale of the new builds. I’m getting no younger and I’ll have to share the workload. I’ve watched you become a fine estate agent over the years, and I’m willing to give you the opportunity to buy into the firm. Falmer and Bartlett. How does that sound?”

  James sat there, stunned. He’d gone there today, expecting to be fired for the run-in with Bernard Franklin yesterday. Instead he’d been offered a partnership in the firm, and a brand new life.

  “Fancy a drink?” Edward Falmer said. He opened the bottom drawer of his desk and produced a bottle of Glenlivet and two glasses. “I know it’s obscenely early,” Falmer said. “But what the hell. How often do we get the chance to celebrate?” He poured two fingers of the twelve-year-old malt into each glass, and pushed one across the desk to James. He raised his glass. “Falmer and Bartlett,” he said. “It has a nice ring to it.”

  James picked up his glass. “Skol,” he said.

  “And once we’ve finished here, you set about finding Ms. Alvarini somewhere else to live.”

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  Beth made herself a coffee and took it out to the veranda. Sitting in her wheelchair she lit a cigarette, drawing in the smoke hungrily, and exhaling through her nose. She felt numb. The thought that Miranda had gone and would no longer be there for her was an alien concept. Mirri was her best friend, her confidante, her moral compass. Life without her was going to be unbearable, but at the moment she was finding it impossible to absorb the depth of her loss. All she felt was an anger that was cancelling out every other feeling.

  Coming there to Stillwater had been a huge mistake. Initially it was Miranda’s idea, but one that Beth had embraced with a passion. Moving away from London, the life she experienced there, the people she knew there, and all the negative feelings that enwrapped her on a daily basis, seemed so appealing she hadn’t thought deeply about it. Carried away on a wave of optimism, and the buzzing excitement of a new, different life, she let herself run with the tide of change. Now she was paying the price.

  She flicked the ash from the end of her cigarette, blew on the tip until it started glowing red, and then ground the cigarette into the back of her hand.

  As the skin charred, tears sprang to her eyes, and pain surged through her, banishing the numbness and making her cry out. She dropped the cigarette to the floor, and held the burn to her mouth, sucking the raw, blistering skin. The pain was excruciating. It was no less than she deserved.

  A few moments later she was aware of the purr of a car’s engine, gradually growing louder, and watched as a black Bentley appeared at the head of the lane and trundled slowly toward the house. The car reached Stillwater and stopped. The driver’s door opened. A chauffeur wearing a gray livery stepped out, and went around to the rear door, pulling it open, allowing the passenger to climb out.

  Bernard Franklin climbed out of the car, and stood there in the late morning sun, peering up at the house. His gaze swept over her with barely a pause of acknowledgement before he stared at the upstairs windows, a look of rapt concentration in his eyes.

  The pain from the burn had settled to a steady throb. “Can I help you?” she called.

  The sound of her voice seemed to break his reverie. He blinked, and then turned his attention on her.

  He was dressed in a light brown sports jacket and cream chinos, and looked as if he’d just driven in from the golf links.

  “Ms. Alvarini,” he said, and approached the house. After two paces he glanced back at the chauffeur. “Wait here,” he said.

  Beth wheeled herself to the top of the ramp, and sat waiting for him.

  He looked up at her, his face neutral. “I think we need to talk,” he said.

  She looked at him steadily for a moment
or two, before nodding sharply, and pulling back from the top of the ramp.

  He looked down at the ramp disdainfully, and climbed the steps running at the side of it. Once he reached the veranda Beth spun around, and led the way into the house.

  “There’s something going on in the lane,” he said. “Police everywhere.”

  “Car accident,” Beth said flatly, not wishing to elaborate, hoping he didn’t ask her to.

  “Can’t say I’m surprised,” Franklin said. “People use the lane like a racetrack. It was only a matter of time before somebody paid the price.”

  Beth felt her hackles rise. “Why are you here, Mr. Franklin?” she said, once they were inside.

  He walked past her and looked around. “I want to know why you came to my house yesterday and made such an outrageous statement. It wounded me deeply. I was this close to phoning my lawyer.” He described an inch between his thumb and forefinger.

  “And yet you didn’t. Instead you’ve come here to see me.”

  “Yes,” he said. “To try to understand what led you to such a mistaken conclusion.”

  She held his gaze, but said nothing.

  “No explanation?” he said, went across to one of the chesterfields and sat, leaning forward in the seat and resting his elbows on his knees. His hands were clasped together, and he stared down at his thumbs. “The people who rented Stillwater before you left early, you know. Before the tenancy expired.”

  “I know,” Beth said.

  “They weren’t happy here.”

  “So I understand.”

  “He was okay, but she…well she was the hysterical type. Living in the countryside—the isolation, the quietness—doesn’t suit everybody, you know? Dolores, my wife, never settled here; could never get on with village life, even though she was from a semirural background herself. I think there’s something about the Suffolk villages that some people find oppressive. Dolores certainly did.”

  “So that was the reason she left you,” Beth said, the words weighted with skepticism.

  “Partly that,” he said, still staring at his thumbs. “There were other factors.”

  Beth waited for him to elaborate. Instead he lapsed into silence.