Change of Season

by Anna Jacobs

  ‘It isn’t a line.’ He looked at her warily.

  She leant her head back and stared up at the ceiling for a moment. ‘He does think I’m stupid,’ she told it, then looked at him again. ‘She’s called Marian Hulme and she’s just out from England in her first tenured position. She’s tall, with dyed blonde hair. And she calls you William, dear.’

  He went white. ‘How did you find out?’

  ‘I can always tell when you’re being unfaithful, so I did a bit of snooping, not to mention checking the credit card accounts. You’ve been wining and dining rather a lot lately. And you shouldn’t chat to people in stairwells. I heard everything you said to her yesterday when I was on my way to your office, William dear.’

  He stared down at the floor.

  ‘This time, I’m not going to forgive you. Instead, I’m working on the principle of goose and gander, as in sauce for.’

  He jerked upright. ‘Liz, surely—’

  ‘Surely what?’

  ‘You don’t mean that.’

  ‘I do, actually. I’ve booked myself a holiday. In Hong Kong. Eighteen lovely days. And while I’m there, I’m going to keep my eyes open for a likely new gander – preferably one a little younger than you and with more hair on his head.’ She heard the air whistle into Bill’s mouth and felt grim satisfaction at hitting him in his weak spot. Heaven alone knew why it mattered so much to him that he was going bald, but it did.

  ‘Don’t do that, Liz. I’ll – I’ll end it at once, and—’

  ‘Oh, but I shall do it. Go to Hong Kong, anyway. I’ll have an affair, too, if I can find someone I fancy. And every time you start screwing around from now on, I’m going to take a lover as well. I’m told I’m quite attractive still – even if you don’t find me so – and I doubt I’ll have too much difficulty getting someone to sleep with me.’

  ‘Liz—’

  ‘I leave in two days for Hong Kong.’

  His glance was very level. ‘I don’t believe you about the lover, but if you want a holiday, well, that’s all right with me. I’ll make sure everything is well and truly over by the time you return.’

  ‘It’d bloody better be.’ She smiled then and delivered her coup de grâce. ‘Hope you’re feeling in a domesticated mood, because you won’t be able to eat in restaurants while I’m away. I’m afraid I’ve cleaned out our account.’

  ‘All of it?’

  ‘Yup!’

  ‘You’ve got a nasty streak under all that sparkle, Liz. How the hell am I going to manage without money till you get back?’

  ‘I don’t actually care.’

  She slept in the spare bedroom till she left. And missed cuddling him like hell. But she wasn’t going to admit that.

  As Rosalind sat waiting for deliverance by an English roadside, in America her son put his last coin into a slot machine and reached for the paper cup of coffee. His hand was shaking. Hell, they had certainly pinned one on last night. What had been in that last pill he’d popped? He blinked and risked a sip of the dirty-looking liquid. Oh, for one of his mother’s wonderful coffees! That thought made him snort with laughter.

  ‘What’s so funny, man?’ Wayne appeared next to him.

  ‘I was just thinking of Mum’s coffee. It’s the best in the whole world.’ Tim took another sip. Well, at least this stuff was warm. ‘What are we going to do now? I’m skint. And you’re nearly out of money, too.’

  ‘We’ll have to earn some more.’

  ‘We don’t have a work permit.’

  ‘You don’t need a permit for what I’ve got in mind.’

  ‘I don’t think I want to—’

  Wayne grabbed him by the front of his jacket. ‘I’m getting just a little tired of you and your scruples. If you’re not happy here, go back home to your darling mummy. Otherwise, stop moaning and feeling sorry for yourself. We could have earned ourselves some good money working with those guys last night, but oh no, you had to put your foot in it, didn’t you?’

  ‘The fat one was a full-on drug dealer and he wanted us to push for him.’

  ‘So what? Everyone’s into something nowadays, so why not take advantage of that? You’ve been doing stuff since you were fourteen, so you’re a fine one to talk. Yeah.’ He let that sink in, then added, ‘Now, either you’re with me or you can manage on your own. Make up your bloody mind.’ Only then did he let go of his friend’s jacket, laughing as hot coffee spilt down it.

  Tim shuddered at the thought of walking away from Wayne. America – well, the part they were visiting – scared him silly and he wished desperately he’d never left Australia. Even home was better than this nightmare existence. But he wasn’t going to crawl back to his father with his tail between his legs. No way.

  ‘I said I was in, didn’t I? And you owe me a coffee now, you stupid bastard. You spilt most of mine and that was my last coin.’

  Wayne’s face slowly relaxed. ‘All right, then. One coffee coming up. Now, here’s what we do …’

  It was nearly three hours before another car drew up beside Rosalind, by which time she was chilled to the marrow and bursting for a pee. She had sunk into a dull lethargy, enduring because there was nothing else she could do.

  A man wearing a cap with the hire company logo on it got out and she opened the door to speak to him. A flurry of light rain whispered across them, then trailed away into mere dampness, but judging by the dark clouds more was on the way.

  ‘Mrs Stevenson?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘John Trevithin. I’ve got another car here for you. A tow truck will be along in a few minutes to take me and this naughty girl back.’ He slapped the car with an affection Rosalind in no way shared.

  ‘Well, I hope you fix the problem before you hire the car out again. I’ve been sitting here for three hours in the freezing cold!’

  ‘Yes. Sorry. There’s a motorway services place just along the road. Go and get yourself a meal and a hot drink. You’ll feel a lot better then.’ He handed her a voucher. ‘Compliments of the company.’

  She looked at her watch. Half past four. ‘I had intended to get down to Dorset before dark.’

  ‘You’ll never make it. Might as well take a break first. Do you good. Not a nice introduction to England, eh, Mrs Stevenson? Never mind. Things can only get better from now on. Enjoy your holiday.’

  He didn’t look much older than her son, but she felt old today – old, cold and fed up to the bloody teeth. Lips pressed tightly together she started up the car and left him standing there, grinning and waving at her like an idiot. But she did stop at the services to use the ladies’, then grab a cup of coffee and a sandwich. Muddy coffee and a pallid sandwich with wilted salad and stringy beef stuck between two layers of anonymous white bread. She left half of it.

  It was an effort to push herself up again from the small plastic table. She was exhausted and jet lag was making her whole system scream for sleep. But she didn’t want to find a motel, just get this endless travelling over and done with, and take possession of her new home.

  It grew dark well before she reached Dorset, but she found a petrol station which sold basic foods and bought enough to last her until the following morning. She grabbed another coffee while she was at it and this time it was proper coffee, freshly brewed. By the time she left, she was feeling slightly more cheerful. Nearly there now.

  She turned onto the Wareham−Swanage road, driving through the darkness with a sense of triumph. According to her directions, Burraford Destan was on the right just past Wareham. If she missed the first turn, there was another soon after it. Yes, there was the sign.

  She followed the last of the instructions, which she had to admit were excellent, and found Number 10, Sexton Close. She had to stop the car and get out to open the big wrought-iron gates, whose rusty hinges seemed unwilling to move. ‘You ought to be here today, Paul Stevenson,’ she muttered as she struggled with them. ‘For once in your damned high-powered life you ought to be with me.’

  The gates gave
way at last to her desperate shoving and she got into the car, rolling forward slowly round the circular driveway to the front door. She gaped at the house in the beam of the headlights. It really was beautiful, built of some sort of pale grey stone. Even the roof was grey, not covered in tiles but what looked like big slabs of stone.

  A steep gable on the right side of the house looked like something from a small-town Disney movie, and all round the edges of the circular drive were daffodils, scores of them, lit up by the powerful headlights of the car. Her spirits began to lift, though she’d have felt better if there had been lights showing in the windows – and would have felt safer, too.

  When she got out, she left the engine running and the headlights on. Outside that charmed circle of light everything looked dark and sinister, but she reminded herself of the self-defence course she’d taken. She’d got a commendation for it, too, though she’d never had to use the skills.

  Oh, for goodness’ sake, she thought, pull yourself together, Rosalind! You’re not some fragile little thing to be easily overpowered.

  The self-defence instructor had said you never turned your back on danger. Well, she’d just like to see him open this door without turning his back on the garden. ‘Come on, come on, you stupid thing!’ She fumbled with the lock and turned the key just as rain began hissing down again like a grey chiffon cloak between her and the car headlights.

  It took a lot of willpower to step forward into the blackness of the hall, even with the car keys poking out between her knuckles as a makeshift weapon. She found a switch and suddenly the place was flooded with light, then something started beeping and she keyed in the security number quickly.

  Weak with relief, she leant against the wall, reassured by the feel of something solid behind her as she studied her surroundings.

  It was a few seconds before she gathered enough courage to move forward and begin opening doors. On the left a spacious living room led into a small dining room with a very ugly modern table and chairs, all angles and discomfort. On the right was a smaller sitting room and behind it an office. Kitchen and conservatory were at the rear. She left lights on everywhere because it made her feel better, and put the kettle on while she was in the kitchen. Even instant coffee would be wonderful.

  Upstairs, according to the brochure on the house, were ‘four spacious bedrooms and two bathrooms’ with an ‘attic playroom or guest bedroom, plus small shower room’. Well, she’d investigate those when she’d got her luggage in.

  She made two quick dashes to the car and when she switched off the headlights and motor, she felt suddenly terrified that someone might be lurking in the bushes, so raced up the steps and slammed the front door shut behind her. Laughing shakily at herself, she shoved the bolt across.

  The kitchen was full of steam because the kettle hadn’t switched itself off. There wasn’t enough water left in it for a coffee, so she filled the damned thing again. Her teeth were chattering and she had never felt so cold in her whole life. She would not cry! She would not.

  But she did. She sipped her coffee with tears trickling down her face and plopping into the cup. Realistically she knew Paul couldn’t have refused to do his job, but emotionally she felt he’d let her down.

  She shivered. How cold it was! No wonder her parents had emigrated to Australia. Only then did it occur to her. She was an idiot. Miss Efficiency had said there was central heating. She fumbled for the instructions folder, which said: ‘Central heating is switched on from the central boiler, located in the mudroom.’ She frowned round. Mudroom? What the hell was one of those?

  Suddenly she noticed the door at the back of the casual meals area next to the kitchen. She’d dismissed it as a cupboard, but perhaps this was the mudroom. It was locked. No key in sight nearby. Back to Miss Efficiency’s instructions.

  KEYS, she read, the only entry under K. Capital letters, neatly positioned on the page. She could just imagine the immaculate Gail typing it on her computer keyboard, red nails flashing. ‘The keys are in the top drawer of the bureau in the sitting room to the right of the front door as you go in.’

  Great one! Where else would you keep keys? ‘Aha!’ Jangling the big bunch in her hand, she went back to the kitchen to try them out. ‘No labels on them, of course! Caught you there, Gail Johns! Not good enough. Off with your nails!’

  She decided that a mudroom was a utility room, a place for coats and shoes, judging by the hooks and racks. It also contained the controls for the heating system and she left it clucking quietly to itself before trailing wearily upstairs. The quilt in the master bedroom looked fluffy and inviting. Shivering, she crept under it without taking her clothes off. Within seconds she was fast asleep.

  Chapter Three

  In Australia, Louise waited until her gran was asleep then tiptoed downstairs. Honestly, who went to bed at ten o’clock these days? Some of the nightclubs didn’t even open their doors until then. She beamed in the darkness as she slipped quietly along the hallway. She was going clubbing tonight with Sandy, who was now settled in her own flat, the lucky tart.

  When the front door clicked softly shut behind her, she raised both fists in a silent victory salute, then got into her mother’s car. She’d told Gran she had permission to use it. Well, her mother might have said yes if she’d asked. It made sense, after all. But she hadn’t asked, because her mother might also have said no.

  She’d look after it because she was a very careful driver, a natural, her instructor said when she’d passed her driving test first time, unlike Tim and Jenny. Mind you, with having to drive on P plates for the first year after passing her test and being underage, she didn’t dare drink and drive, but there were other things, less obvious things, that the breathalysers wouldn’t pick up – and they could be as much fun as alcohol.

  She drove away, turning up the stereo till the bass notes were thumping along her veins. Yeah! This is going to be a great night out!

  Audrey Worth lay for a moment in the darkness, wondering what had woken her. When she heard the car drive away, music pulsing loudly from it, she leapt out of bed and pulled back the edge of the curtain to see tail lights disappearing down the street and the spare parking bay outside her house empty.

  ‘The young minx! I don’t know why Rosalind lent her that car. It was asking for trouble. And trouble is what Louise will get from me when she comes home.’

  Only her granddaughter didn’t come home – well, not until six in the morning – by which time Audrey was nearly out of her mind with worry and seriously considering calling the police.

  And far from listening to the reprimand, Louise shouted back at her, then slammed out of the house again to go to uni without waiting to eat anything or change her clothes.

  ‘I’m not enjoying her company at all,’ Audrey told her friend John when he called in later that morning. ‘She’s very wilful.’

  ‘I’ve never understood why you agreed to have her in the first place.’

  ‘You don’t know my son-in-law. He’d persuade Eskimos to buy ice, that one would. Well, what can’t be cured must be endured, I suppose.’ But it was going to be a long six months, she could see that. Very long indeed.

  In the evening Audrey once more tried to talk to her granddaughter.

  Louise glared at her. ‘I told you I was out with my friends. What is this, a bloody nunnery?’

  Audrey tried to keep her temper. ‘Don’t swear in my house. We agreed when you came that you’d let me know where you were going and what time you’d be back – and that you wouldn’t stay out after midnight.’

  ‘Look, these days nothing starts happening till ten o’clock. Did you really expect me to walk out on my friends at midnight? They’d have laughed themselves silly.’

  ‘Yes, I did expect it. For someone who’s supposed to be studying, midnight is quite late enough. Anyway, it’s not safe out on your own. Young women disappear, get murdered.’

  Louise tried persuasion. ‘Honest, Gran, nothing starts till late. And I was pe
rfectly safe. That’s why I’ve got the car. We all went for an early breakfast together afterwards. We always do.’ An exaggeration. She’d never been allowed to stay out all night before. However soft her mother was, she had her sticking points.

  Audrey’s voice was chill and emphatic. ‘Both Rosalind and Paul agreed to my conditions and so did you. You can like it or lump it, but you’ll be back by midnight from now on, young lady. And if you’re in any doubt about that, we’ll ring your mother up and ask her opinion. Or your father.’

  Louise stamped upstairs. Honestly, you’d think someone who’d left school and started university would be treated like an adult. But no. She had to live with her grandmother instead of sharing a flat with a friend, and she had to be home by midnight. What was this, Cinderella revisited?

  Only – if she disobeyed and Gran did contact Mum, they’d find out about the car. Or they’d tell her father – and she didn’t want him coming the heavy. He could be a real bastard sometimes – with everyone except her mother, anyway – though he usually managed to get his own way with her, as well.

  Louise went over to stare out of the window, then realised something and swung round to stare at her bedroom. There were no clothes on the floor, only a large dustbin liner in the corner and the bag was half-full. Where had that come from? She went to investigate.

  A strong smell of cheesy socks, dirty knickers and sweaty T-shirts hit her nostrils as she opened it and she gasped in fury. Her clean things were in there, all mixed up with the dirty ones. She went back downstairs, dragging the bag with her.

  ‘Gran? What’s this?’

  ‘Oh, your washing. I put it all in the bag, dear. I could smell your socks from my room. This is a very small house, you know. I don’t intend to wash for you – you keep insisting you’re grown-up – so if you don’t put your things away, I’ll stuff everything into a bag.’ She had decided this in the middle of her wakeful night.