Julie let go of his arm. ‘I suppose you’re right.’ She sighed. Depression flooded through her in a wave of sadness that left her with a hollow sensation in the pit of her stomach. At least Harry had his Rosie. She had nothing, only a memory. She would have given anything to have had a child to care for, even one like Rosie. Suddenly she was in desperate need of her usual fix of coffee. ‘I’ll see you later, Harry.’
‘You won’t tell her, will you?’ Harry muttered behind her.
Julie turned her head, ‘No, I won’t tell her, Harry. Your secret’s safe with me.’
‘You be careful, Julie. You may think she’s your friend, but if she gets anything on you, she’ll use it. Don’t you be telling her any of your secrets.’
‘I’ll remember that,’ Julie said. She had no intention of allowing Nicole to know any of her secrets, but she could not tell Harry that.
The heels of Julie’s shoes clattered with a comforting noise as she walked along the flagstones of the empty corridor. A sudden creak startled her and she glanced over her shoulder expecting to see Harry, but no one was there. She shrugged and hurried on, although she could not help wondering what mysteries the other doors in the corridor hid. She suspected they were mostly store cupboards or maintenance areas, although one of them probably led to the sub-basement which was not accessible to the sales and store staff.
The door at the end of the corridor swung shut after she pushed through it and emerged onto the mid-landing of the staff staircase. At the bottom of the stairs was the food hall and restaurant; while the coffee shop was upstairs on the store’s ground floor.
Julie went downstairs because she knew the coffee shop would not be ready for business yet. Betty, who saw to the restaurant, would have the kettle boiling and the coffee pot on, and she desperately needed the cup of coffee she had been promising herself.
‘Hi, Betty,’ she greeted the cook-cum-restaurant manager. ‘D’you have a paper cup of coffee for our visitor while you make me one of your lovely special coffees.’
‘Here you are,’ she passed the paper cup to Julie. ‘Mind it’s hot.’
‘Ta,’ Julie said, turning back the way she’d just come. ‘Won’t be a mo.’
‘You shouldn’t encourage him, you know,’ she heard Betty shout to her retreating back.
‘I know,’ she said, ‘but I can’t see the poor blighter freeze to death, now can I?’ Julie didn’t wait for Betty’s response.
When she reached the outer door she hooked it back so she could get in again. ‘Here,’ she said, ‘That’ll heat you up before you have to move on.’
The blanket heaved and a thin, blue-veined hand emerged. ‘Ta, Miss. You’ve a good heart.’ He grasped the cup.
‘I brought you this as well,’ Julie dropped a packet of sandwiches in the direction of his lap. She had taken them from one of the shelves in the food hall. They would never be missed.
The tramp lifted his head and, although she could not see his face, she looked into his eyes which were of the palest shade of blue she had ever seen. There was no expression in them and they reminded her of glacier ice. They were the eyes of someone who had given up and had nothing left to live for.
She shivered. He always made her feel cold, as if she was sharing the cold that was within him. Turning, she almost ran back into the store, not relaxing until the door slammed behind her.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
The wind increased during the night keeping the worst of the frost at bay. It blew through the trees in the orchard making the branches shake and rustle while the swaying bushes joined in the chorus. It swooped and gusted and whistled round the house, rattling the roof slates and window frames. A far off shed door clattered open and shut, with ever-increasing thuds and bangs.
Nicole slept badly, waking several times throughout the night, imagining some hidden menace within the depths of the shadows. Every creak and rustle was an intruder. She could not rid herself of the feeling she’d had the evening before that she was being watched. Even now she could still see that shape at the window, the one that had seemed more solid than a shadow.
And yet, Scott had investigated and said there was nothing. But there was something outside, she knew there was. Scott just couldn’t see it.
When she was a child she had been afraid of the dark. Afraid of the ghosts and goblins lurking in cupboards and dark places. Afraid of the shifting shadows that moved in the night. Afraid of her uncle who visited her bedroom when her parents were asleep. And more afraid to tell anyone about it, particularly Scott.
However, she had not been bothered by a fear of the dark for a long time, not since her marriage anyway. That was why she was convinced someone had been outside, in the garden, spying on her.
Last night Scott had laughed and accused her of being paranoid after he’d looked for what he had implied was an imaginary intruder, so she was not going to wake him up now and risk his ridicule again. Instead, she buried her head beneath the duvet and snuggled close to his back, knowing that as long as he was beside her she was protected.
The slamming of the front door jolted her out of a disturbed dream where she was fleeing down a dark street, chased by something shadowy and featureless. The fear lingered and gripped her, and she was relieved to see greyish daylight filtering into the bedroom. She realized the door must have been slammed by Marika, their daily maid, and not some fearsome creature from her nightmare.
The bedside clock indicated it was too early to get up, but her back ached from tossing and turning, and she was cold because Scott had pulled the duvet over himself leaving her exposed. Grasping the end of the quilt she tugged, but Scott grunted, pulling it back until once more she lay uncovered. She aimed a punch at the middle of his back, but then thought better of it, not wanting to be on the receiving end of his wrath. Scott was never at his best first thing in the morning.
‘Selfish bastard,’ she muttered, swinging her feet over the side of the bed.
Padding to the bathroom she showered quickly. It was a task rather than a pleasure and, after pulling on her clothes, she went through to the kitchen.
The maid looked up from where she was crouched in front of the dishwasher.
‘You up early this morning?’ Marika’s Polish accent was not so pronounced as it had been when she came to work for them two years ago. ‘You want I make you some breakfast?’
Nicole shuddered at the thought of food. It was too early.
‘No, Marika, I’ll just have a cup of coffee.’
She sat on one of the kitchen chairs, placed her elbows on the table and cupped her chin in her hands while she watched Marika manipulate the percolator.
‘You all right, Mrs Ralston? You not look well.’
‘I didn’t sleep too well, Marika. I’ll be fine after some coffee.’
Steam rose, bringing with it the strong aroma of Nicole’s favourite blend as the maid poured the black liquid into a cup. She brought cream from the fridge, but Nicole shook her head. ‘I think I need it black this morning, Marika. It’ll help me wake up.’
The maid compressed her lips. ‘You be better going back to bed and sleeping it off. You no good at work like this.’
Nicole’s mouth twisted into a wry smile. ‘You’re probably right, Marika, but I can’t. This is Mr Drake’s day at the store and he doesn’t make allowances for illness or anything else.’
Marika snorted. ‘Illness, is that what it is?’
‘It’s not a hangover,’ Nicole snapped, feeling the heat of her anger flood her body. Marika was starting to become too familiar, but she could not afford to lose her, for then there would be only herself and Scott. ‘I’m sorry, Marika, I’m just on edge because I couldn’t sleep.’
Marika shrugged her shoulders. ‘Mr Ralston, he like some coffee?’
‘No, let him sleep. He’ll get up when he’s ready, but you can tell him I’ve gone into work early.’ Nicole gulped the last of her coffee and stood up. ‘Oh, by the way,’ she said, as if she had only just tho
ught of it, ‘you didn’t notice if there was anyone skulking about outside, I suppose?’
‘I no see anyone.’ Marika lifted Nicole’s cup and turned to the dishwasher. ‘You think someone out there?’ She looked out of the window.
‘No, no of course not. It was just that I thought we had an intruder last night. It doesn’t matter.’
‘What I do if intruder come back?’ Marika frowned.
‘Tell Scott, if he’s still here, or call the police, of course.’
‘Of course,’ Marika muttered.
Ralph, the big ginger tomcat was sitting on the bonnet of Scott’s BMW again. Nicole stopped to tickle him behind his ears and he purred in appreciation, a loud, rumbling noise as if Ralph had an engine tucked inside him.
‘You’ll get chased, Ralphy boy, if Scott catches you there.’
Nicole knew how much Scott hated paw prints on his cars, but then, if he couldn’t be bothered to garage the damn thing when he came home, it served him right.
Nicole kissed Ralph on top of his furry head before she walked round the corner of the house towards the two double garages which she had often considered labelling his and hers. The door slid up without a sound when she pressed the button of her remote control, and she stood for a moment considering before she threw her briefcase and handbag into the low-slung electric-blue sports car. She needed the ego boost this morning and the Porsche Boxster would give that to her. It was the car that infuriated other drivers, particularly men, when they saw a woman driver. She was in the mood to annoy men this morning.
The hum of the tyres on the tarmacadam road had a soothing effect on Nicole and she relaxed, enjoying the wind whipping at the scarf she’d bound round her hair and the envious glances of other drivers. A lorry driver honked his horn as he drove close to the rear of her car, but she just grinned, pointed one finger skywards and pressed the accelerator to leave him trailing far behind her.
The wind caught her throat bringing tears to her eyes, but she drove faster and faster enjoying the adrenalin rush the speed gave her. It was like everything else in her life, the more risk there was, the greater the thrill.
The huge Michelin wind turbines came into view, their blades rotating lazily in the breeze, and she was forced to slow down as she caught up with the tail of traffic leading into the city centre.
The slow moving vehicles failed to dampen her pleasure after the exhilarating drive. Despite this, there was an element of relief when she pulled into the car park and manoeuvred the Porsche into her usual space, underneath the overhanging carriageway of the approach road to the Tay Bridge.
Still intoxicated by the drive, she was almost at the store before she remembered she had forgotten to close the Boxster’s hood. ‘Bugger it,’ she muttered, but carried on walking. She would get a staff member to go and put the hood up later. Maybe she would get Julie to do it. After all Julie owed her big time for getting her the job.
The main doors to the department store were not yet open so Nicole was forced to enter the store by the rear entrance. She usually avoided this way in if she could, because the dirt and untidiness, the rubbish skips, and above all that bloody tramp who had taken up residence at the back of the store never failed to disgust her.
She clenched her teeth as she passed the tramp and, although she avoided looking at him, she could feel his eyes following her. Something would have to be done about him. He would have to be removed.
The key to the back door had slipped to the bottom of her bag and she leaned against the door as she rummaged for it. She could have rung the bell, but she did not because she wanted to catch that lazy bastard of a security guard skiving off when he should be working. He was old and past it, and if she’d had her way he would have been out on his arse a long time ago.
A gust of wind rippled down the alley sending bits of paper dancing in the air and rustling at the rubbish in the skips. For a moment Nicole thought she sensed a movement towards her, but when she glanced at the tramp he was still in the same place. Grasping the key she slid it into the lock, turned it and swung the door open until it was wide enough to let her enter. She slipped inside and quickly closed it again.
The electric bulbs in the corridor were too high up to provide much more than dim lighting, one of them hissed, spurted and flickered, sending odd shadows bouncing into the recesses. Nicole tutted her disapproval, although she was used to this, and had no intention of improving the lighting in a part of the store the customers never saw.
Light spilled out through the open door of the room the security guard used when he was doing duty at this entrance, and she could hear the Radio Tay announcer giving the latest news update. Tiptoeing along the corridor until she came level with the door, she peered in.
‘Just as I thought,’ she snapped, ‘reading the newspaper when you should be working.’
Nothing infuriated Nicole more than someone not pulling their weight. She had worked hard and sacrificed a lot to get where she was and knew that every minute counted in the workplace. She was generous with staff who worked to her exacting standards, but had no time for those who did not. It was not the first time a business had failed because of the laxity of some of the staff.
‘I’m sorry Mrs Ralston, but there’s nothing else to do when I’m waiting for staff to arrive.’ Harry hastily folded the newspaper and pushed it across the table.
God! How his whining annoyed her. Always making excuses, always saying he was sorry. She would make him sorry all right before she was finished with him, lazy sod. ‘Nonsense,’ she snapped. ‘There’s always something to do. That alley’s a disgrace for a start.’
‘I’m not a cleaner,’ Harry mumbled, not meeting her eyes.
‘I don’t give a damn what you are or what you aren’t. And there’s that tramp. He’s always there. It takes the tone of the place down. Get him moved on and if I catch him there again I’ll hold you responsible.’
‘Yes, Mrs Ralston. I’ll do it right away.’
Nicole turned and marched down the corridor. She was ready for her coffee now.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
Harry waited until Nicole vanished through the door at the end of the corridor before bending down and rummaging under the table. Good job she had not noticed his shoes were off or she would have flayed him. She had already criticized his shirt and jacket this week – as if he could help it if they were slightly worn – so finding him without shoes would have suited her just fine. It would have given her an excuse to bawl him out again.
Finding his shoes he slipped his feet into them, grimacing slightly as the left one pressed on the corn on his little toe. Babs said he should go to the chiropodist, but where was he to find the extra money to do that? So instead he tried to poke the corn out with nail scissors and made it worse. He would be damned lucky if he didn’t end up with a poisoned toe.
The dizziness struck him again when he stood up, it always did if he had been bending down too long, although nowadays the time seemed to have shortened. Maybe if he didn’t have so many worries it would clear up, but that bloody Nicole Ralston did not help matters having it in for him the way she did. It wasn’t as if he had ever done anything to harm her or go against her, she just seemed to have a down on him. It had got so bad that guilt had become his normal reaction anytime she was near him, although he was sure he had nothing to feel guilty about. But it did not stop him jumping when she crept up behind him. As if that wasn’t enough, he had developed this twitch at the side of his eye which, he was positive, gave him a shifty expression. He could feel it twitching now simply because he was thinking about her.
He leaned against the table until the swimming sensation in his head settled down and the room stopped spinning. But he dare not stand too long for fear Nicole returned and found more fault with him. All it needed was for her to come back and check if he had moved that poor bugger of a tramp out of the alley. If he was still there, he dreaded to think how she would react, although he could guess.
As soo
n as he left the warmth of the guardroom for the draughty corridor a paroxysm of shivering engulfed him. He pulled his jacket tighter and, turning his collar up, limped to the back door. The sound of his shoes on the flagstones echoed eerily down the passage, joining with the far off rumble of water pipes from the basement and the sound of the light bulb fizzing overhead. A smell of perfume hung in the air, tantalising and teasing with its fragrance.
He wished he could buy perfume like that for Babs. She had a hard time looking after Rosie and she did not get many treats, but he knew it was probably far too expensive for his pocket even for a special gift at Christmas. Still, he supposed there were other things he should be thankful for. After all they had his pay every week and a roof over their heads, not like that poor homeless bugger camping out in the alley.
Harry hooked the door back, thinking that the fresh air would clear the smell of Nicole from the corridor before he went back inside. He stood for a moment looking at the ragged bundle sitting against the wall of the alley. At first glance it just looked like a heap of rubbish except for the tips of blue-tinged fingers hanging on to the edge of the rags, holding them close round the unseen body, so that hardly any skin was exposed to the air. Poor sod, he thought, it must be awful to sink to that state. After all he’s a human being just like the rest of us.
‘Come on, mate. The boss lady says I have to move you on.’
The bundle stirred, bleary, blue eyes stared up at him with a bleakness and desperation Harry hoped he would never see again. After the fraction of a moment the tramp tried to scramble to his feet while still grasping the blanket tightly round his head and body. Grunting, he almost collapsed against the wall, and Harry could hear the rasp of his breath as he struggled to pull himself up. Harry thought for a moment the tramp would not be able to push himself away from the wall without falling down again, but after swaying to and fro several times, the mountain of rags started to shuffle in the direction of the street.
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