by B. A. Paris
“Leo, are you there? You’d better not be hiding behind the door to scare me!” I try to make my voice jokey but inside I’m shaking at the thought he might jump out at me.
I give the door a shove and it smashes back against the wall with a bang. The noise ricochets through the house, a gun being fired over and over again. Stupidly, I’ve managed to scare myself even more.
I hurry back through to the bedroom, coming to a momentary stop when I see that the framed photograph I keep on the chest of drawers, of me and Leo in Harlestone, has been laid face down. Pathetic! I think, as I go downstairs, the drumming of my feet igniting my anger at the stupid game he’s playing. He must have gone down to the kitchen as soon as he saw me walking across the square.
Gone completely, it seems, because there’s no sign of him anywhere. I can’t believe he actually left by the French windows and sneaked around the side of the house as I was going through the front door to avoid seeing me. But didn’t you want to avoid him? a voice asks. If you had known he was coming, you would have waited in a café until he’d left.
The voice calms my anger. It’s sobering to think that Leo doesn’t want to see me any more than I want to see him.
* * *
By 7:20 everyone has arrived. Tamsin and Connor are the last; they had trouble getting the girls to bed before the babysitter arrived, Tamsin explains, giving me a kiss.
“Until I tanned their wee hides,” Connor growls.
I look nervously at him, wary of the scowl on his face.
Tamsin smiles. “Don’t worry, he’s joking.”
Connor leaves to go and talk to Will and Tim and I find myself thinking about Lorna. When I took the flowers around earlier, it was Edward who came to the door. I hoped he would invite me in, but he kept me on the doorstep, telling me that she was having a nap. Which means I’m still no nearer to knowing what she whispered, or if she whispered.
I mentioned in my text message to Tamsin and Maria that Leo wouldn’t be here tonight, so there are no awkward questions. Eve and Maria are in deep conversation and I leave Tamsin to join them while I get her and Connor drinks. I don’t usually make snap judgments but there’s something about Connor that makes me wary. I’m surprised that he and Tamsin are a couple. She’s beautiful, fragile, while there’s something almost brutish about him. He’s a big man, muscle, not fat. It’s easy to imagine him overpowering someone.
“You seem miles away.” Connor’s eyes find mine and I realize he saw me watching him. I search for something to say.
“I was just wondering why you didn’t ask for a whiskey, given that your job revolves around it.”
“That’s why I don’t drink it socially. I love whiskey, but I drink too much of it for work purposes. Does Leo like whiskey?”
“Not really. He’s more a G&T man.”
I give him the beer he asked for and take a glass of wine to Tamsin.
“Lovely,” she says, taking it gratefully.
“I’ll just go and say hello to Connor, otherwise he’ll think I’m ignoring him,” Maria says.
Tamsin waits until she leaves. “I was telling Eve earlier about bumping into you this morning, and our subsequent chat,” she says.
Her choice of words jars slightly. It’s as if she wants me to know that she’s told Eve I know about Connor and Nina.
“I hope you also told her about the two slices of cake we demolished.”
She grins. “That too.”
I look around for my glass, which I’d put down to go and answer the door. It’s on the table and I go to fetch it because the more time I spend with Eve and Tamsin, the more confused I feel. There always seems to be an undercurrent of something I can’t quite explain.
Still, it’s a fun evening. Connor and Will are the perfect foil for each other. Will tells jokes and stories with a nervous energy and Connor’s interventions are witty and ironic. He’s also surprisingly laid-back. Tim is quieter, and perfectly lovely, jumping up to help me fetch and clear plates, totally at home in my kitchen, which must be the same as theirs, because he doesn’t have to ask where anything is. It’s not possible that any of them murdered Nina, I think, and again feel ashamed that I could have thought that one of them might have. Connor catches my eye and looks steadily back at me, as if he’s read my mind and knows that my motive for inviting them tonight wasn’t just to be neighborly. For some reason—maybe for that reason—I feel slightly afraid of him.
“Tamsin said that you found out about Nina from a journalist,” he says, and the conversations that had been going on around us comes to a sudden halt.
“That’s right. I’d rather have heard it from Leo, then it wouldn’t have been such a shock when the reporter asked me what it was like living in a house where a murder had taken place,” I say.
“Why didn’t Leo tell you?” Connor’s eyes are the same tawny color, I notice, as his hair. If he were an animal, he would be a lion.
“Because he knew that if he did, I wouldn’t want to live here and he really wanted this house. So, in a way, he did the right thing, because once I knew, it was too late to leave.”
“Why?” He’s curious, not aggressive.
“Because I already felt invested in my life here. And I don’t like to give up easily.”
“That’s good to know,” he says, raising his glass toward me.
“Well, we’re glad you’re still here, aren’t we, Will?” Eve says.
“Definitely. I can’t think of anyone better to replace Nina and Oliver than you and Leo.”
There it is again, the slightly awkward phrasing, this time from Will. Or is it just me being overly sensitive?
“By the way, did you ever discover who the man was, the one who gate-crashed your party, pretending to be me?” Tim asks.
“He wasn’t really pretending to be you, I don’t think. He just used the fact that I thought he was you to get into the house. But no, I haven’t managed to find out who he was. I’d completely forgotten about him, to be honest.”
“It’s strange nobody saw him,” Tamsin muses.
“I don’t think he stayed around long enough.”
“Then what was the point of him coming along?”
I take a sip of wine to steady my nerves. “Your guess is as good as mine,” I tell her.
She exchanges a smile with Eve that I don’t much like. Thankfully, Connor launches into a joke and everyone relaxes into the evening again.
* * *
I don’t know if it’s the effect of there being so many people in the house, but later, when I close the door behind them, the silence seems heavier than usual. I stack the dishwasher, unnerved by the memory of Leo’s clandestine visit. Why did he come? Was it to fetch something from the locked filing cabinet, something that he didn’t want me to see? Is that why he left in such a hurry?
I delay going to bed, annoyed that Leo’s secret visit has managed to destroy the relative peace of mind I’d managed to cultivate over the past few days. My dreams are a mix of him and Nina, and when I half-wake in the middle of the night, it’s Leo I sense standing at the foot of my bed, not her. I go back to sleep but suddenly find myself sitting bolt upright in the bed, trying frantically to catch on to something that had occurred to me as I slept, something to do with what Ginny had said about Leo having had an affair with Nina. And then I realize—the woman who had come to Harlestone, supposedly wanting to know what it was like to live in the village, had had long blond hair.
TWENTY-EIGHT
I don’t want to disturb Leo’s weekend with Ginny and Mark but I’m desperate to speak to him about Nina Maxwell. My mind tells me that he couldn’t have known her but my heart wonders if that was why he wanted this house so much. The thought that he didn’t just know her, but had had an affair with her, won’t go away and a chill goes down my spine when I remember what Thomas said, about a murderer returning to the scene of the crime. I chase the thought quickly; Leo might have concealed the murder from me but he’s not a murderer.
&nb
sp; I don’t want to disturb him at work either so I wait until the end of the afternoon to send him a text.
I need to speak to you, when is a good time?
Now, he replies, and my phone starts ringing.
His eagerness is unsettling. I’m not ready, I wanted to get my thoughts in order first.
“How are you?” he asks.
“Fine. Did you have a good weekend?”
“Yes, it was good to be with Ginny and Mark. What about you, how are you getting on staying in the house by yourself?”
“I feel fine here now.”
“Right.”
There isn’t anything particular in his voice but I don’t like that a tiny part of him might be thinking that I got over my squeamishness a bit too quickly.
“Sometimes, something bad happens and then something worse comes along—like someone you trust lying to you—and the first thing doesn’t seem so bad after all,” I say.
He sighs. “What did you want to speak to me about?”
“Nina.”
“Your sister?”
Is he doing it on purpose? “No, Nina Maxwell. Did you know her?”
“No.” He sounds puzzled.
“OK, so did you ever meet her?”
“Isn’t that the same thing?”
“The woman you were talking to in Harlestone one day, the blond woman who supposedly asked you what it was like to live in the village. Was it Nina?”
“What? No. Why would you think it was Nina Maxwell?”
“Did you have an affair with her?”
“Who?”
“Nina.”
“Are you serious?” Now he’s angry. “For God’s sake, Alice, where has this come from? You really think that I had an affair with Nina Maxwell? I didn’t even know her!”
“Then who was the woman who came to Harlestone? And don’t tell me she was someone who wanted to know what it was like to live in the village.”
“All right.” There’s a pause. “She was one of the clients I told you about, who were harassing me.”
“Why was she harassing you?”
His voice becomes cold. “I’m not going to explain my business dealings over the phone. Anyway, I’m glad you called. I need to get something from my study—is it all right if I come over?”
“What, tonight?”
“Yes, now.”
“Aren’t you in Birmingham?”
“No, I had to be in London today.”
“All right.”
“I’ll see you in half an hour.”
He cuts the call and I stand with my cell phone in my hand, thinking over the conversation we just had. There was something off about his request to come over. He tried to make it sound as if it had been in his plans all along, but it came across as a spur-of-the-moment decision, brought on by my mention of Nina. Besides, if he needed to come over, he would have called me to ask, not waited until I called him. Worry gnaws away at me. What if he had known Nina?
* * *
It’s only a week since I last saw Leo, but he looks like someone I used to know, not because he hasn’t shaved for a couple of days but because of the awkwardness between us. He’s taken off his jacket and left it in the hall, as if he’s expecting to stay for a while. It makes me feel that I should offer him a drink but I don’t really want to.
“Hi,” he says.
“Hi.”
He waits and when I don’t say anything more, he shrugs. “I’ll go and get what I need, then.”
“OK.”
He returns to the hall, and I hear him rustling in his jacket. Moving quietly to the door, I see him go upstairs, two steps at a time, his wallet in his hand. A moment later, there’s the familiar screech of one of the drawers in the filing cabinet being pulled open. So, he keeps the key to the cabinet in his wallet.
In his wallet. Why not in the drawer of his desk, or on top of the filing cabinet, where it would be easily accessible? Are his client files really so important that he doesn’t want anyone, including me, to be able to get to them? Or is he hiding something there, something that the little key, taped to the underside of his drawer, would open?
A few minutes later, he runs down the stairs, fumbles with his jacket, then comes into the kitchen, a couple of files under his arm.
“Did you forget to take them when you came over on Saturday?” I ask.
He puts them down on the table. “What do you mean?”
“The files. Why didn’t you take them with you when you were here on Saturday?”
“I was with Ginny and Mark on Saturday.”
“Yes, but you came here first, I saw you in the study. And then, as soon as you saw me crossing the square you left.”
He shakes his head. “Not me.”
“I saw you, Leo!”
“Alice, it wasn’t me, I swear.”
“Where were you when you called me?”
“At Ginny and Mark’s, in my bedroom.” He frowns. “Are you saying you saw someone in the house?”
I think back to the blur of a face I’d seen at the window. I don’t want to believe that I scared myself into thinking there was someone in the house when it was only the late-September sunshine casting its glow on the upstairs window.
“I thought I saw someone in your study, but maybe I was mistaken.”
“Did you check the house?”
“Yes, and everything was fine.” I decide not to mention the faint smell of aftershave in the bedroom. He’s only been gone a week, it’s not surprising that there are still traces of him. And maybe I knocked the photo of us over when I was vacuuming, and hadn’t noticed. “But if you could check the windows, I’d be grateful.”
“Sure.”
He starts to head off and I feel mean not offering him a drink.
“Would you like a glass of wine?”
He retraces his footsteps. “Thanks.”
I take a couple of glasses from the cupboard, find a bottle of red wine, open it, pour it.
“Thanks.” He takes a sip. “I hope you were joking when you asked me if I had an affair with Nina. I didn’t know her, I promise.”
“It’s all right, I believe you.”
He pulls out a chair and sits down. “The woman who came to Harlestone—she was a journalist. She wanted to interview me about my job for an article she was writing. I’d already refused twice by phone so she thought she’d accost me in person.”
“Wouldn’t it have been easier to accost you at your London flat rather than travel all the way to Harlestone? How did she know you’d be there, anyway? How did she get my address?”
He takes another sip of wine. “I have no idea.”
“I’m not being funny, but your job has never struck me as particularly exciting, at least not exciting enough to devote column inches to.”
“Certain aspects of it are. Risk management is a hot topic at the moment.”
I nod, because maybe it is.
I ask him about his weekend with Ginny and Mark and he asks about mine with the neighbors. Stupidly, I tell him that because of the face I thought I saw at the window, I found it hard to sleep.
“You shouldn’t be here on your own, Alice.”
“I’m fine.”
He toys with his glass. “I’d like to come back.”
“I need more time.”
“How much more?” He leans forward, finds my eyes. “I love you, Alice. I want to be with you, not stuck in a dingy flat in Birmingham.”
“You don’t have to be in a dingy flat.”
“That’s not the point.”
“It is. It’s as if you’re trying to make yourself as miserable as possible.”
“I am miserable!” When I don’t say anything, he sighs. “Do you want me to check the upstairs windows as well?”
“Yes, please.”
He drains the rest of his wine. “I’ll do them first.”
I follow him into the hall, my arm brushing against his jacket as I stand at the bottom of the stairs. I pause, then m
ake a split decision.
“I’ll wait here in case you need anything,” I say. “A screwdriver or something.”
“OK.”
I wait until he’s disappeared up the stairs and into the guest bedroom, then wait a few minutes more.
“Is everything all right?” I call, my hand already in his jacket.
“So far. I just need to check our bedroom.”
There are three windows in the bedroom, plus the one in the en-suite, which should give me enough time. I take out his wallet, open it, leaf through it quickly. At first, I think the key isn’t there but then I find it, tucked in one of the two smaller slots at the front, normally reserved for stamps. I slip it into my pocket.
“All OK?” I call, pushing his wallet back into place.
“All good.” My heart misses a beat—his voice is close, too close. I look up and see him standing at the top of the stairs. Can he see my hand inside his jacket? He starts coming down and I take a quick step back.
“By the way,” I say, looking for something to distract him from the guilt I’m sure is showing on my face. “Did you know there’s a gap in the fence between ours and Will’s? Oliver used to lend Will his lawnmower and they used the gap to get back and forth between the gardens. There’s one on the other side too, apparently, because Oliver used to cut Edward’s grass for him.”
“No, I didn’t know. But it’s a good idea to have them there.” He pauses. “Do you think I should be offering to cut Edward’s grass?”
“Eve said that Geoff does it now.”
While I worry that he might need to open the filing cabinet again before he leaves—because if he can’t find the key, he’ll guess that I’ve taken it—he checks the downstairs windows.
“What time is your train back to Birmingham?” I ask, needing him to leave.
“I have to be in London again tomorrow, so I’m staying with Ginny and Mark tonight.”
“They must be waiting for you to have dinner.”
