An Old Score

by Edie Baylis

  Heath took the proffered chair, whilst Helen seated herself in a plush leather desk chair, her elbows resting on the glass-topped desk. She pulled a leather-covered notebook towards her and opened it to a clean page, gold Parker pen in hand.

  ‘Ok, Mr Harding. If you’d like to tell me about your situation? Do you have a property to sell?’

  Suddenly, Heath realised he hadn’t given this situation much thought. Oh well, he’d have to rely on his trusty gift of the gab. ‘Property? No. I’m, well... we’re... myself and my business partner, are looking for something more of an investment, rather than a straightforward home move.’

  Helen frowned. ‘Business investment? In that case you might be more interested in our developer opportunities...’ She opened a desk drawer. ‘Let me see if I can find the particulars for...’

  ‘I’m not interested in property development,’ Heath interrupted. ‘I need a property to suit my business. I’m a music producer and need somewhere large, offering spacious accommodation, but also something that contains more than enough room for a recording studio – preferably several.’

  If Helen’s eyes could have displayed pound signs, Heath was sure they would have been huge. He really did have to take his hat off to himself in his ad-libbing ability being second to none.

  ‘Music producer? How fascinating,’ Helen gushed. ‘In that case The Gables will be ideal. It’s in a lovely semi-rural location between here and Marlow and...’

  ‘I’d like to view it,’ Heath said.

  ‘When did you have in mind?’

  Heath smiled apologetically. ‘I know it’s short notice, but as I’m in the area I was hoping to see it this afternoon?’

  ‘Today?’ Helen exclaimed.

  ‘I’ve got a meeting I must dash to shortly before returning to London, but if you could make some time free after 12, that would be perfect.’

  ‘Gosh,’ Helen said. ‘Let me see... I’ve got a lot of viewings and meetings today myself, but I’ll just check my diary.’

  Heath watched Helen pull a red A4 hardback from another drawer and make a big show of flicking through the pages. It was all complete bullshit. He did crap like this to make himself look important in front of clients too. Helen had every intention of showing him the property today and he knew it. He could see a mile off that she was desperate for his commission. Don’t bullshit a bullshitter.

  ‘I suppose if I can juggle my schedule I could try and return next week. It just seemed too good of an opportunity not to see if there was a chance of a viewing whilst I was here,’ he pushed.

  ‘I’m sure I can delegate some of my appointments for this afternoon,’ Helen smiled, tapping her manicured nails on the diary. ‘Give me one moment.’

  Not breaking eye contact with Heath, Helen picked up her desk phone and stabbed in numbers. ‘Joanne? Yes, could you take my 2 and 3 o’clock appointments?’ She covered the mouthpiece. ‘Would 2 be convenient?’

  ‘That would be fine,’ Heath replied. Gotcha.

  Smiling, Helen turned back to the phone. ‘Yes, today... the 2 and 3 o’clocks? Great. Thank you.’ Replacing the handset, she looked at Heath. ‘2 o’clock it is. Now, can I get you a drink? Coffee? Tea? I can tell you a bit more about th...’

  Heath stood up. ‘Thank you, but no. I must get to my meeting. A new artist’s signing today,’ he lied.

  Helen handed Heath a sheaf of glossy paperwork. ‘Take a copy of the particulars with you in case you get chance to have a read through before the viewing.’

  ‘Wonderful. Great to meet you, Ms Shepherd.’ Heath shook Helen’s hand once again.

  ‘Call me Helen. I’ll look forward to seeing you later on today.’

  Heath left the estate agents, knowing that everyone was watching him get into the pristine Lexus borrowed from his father’s forecourt that he’d purposefully parked outside.

  Now he’d got a couple of hours to work out what would be the best way to go about this.

  Firing the engine, he drove away, desperate to have a pint or three, but decided against it. It stood a good chance that he'd end up getting involved and have more than a couple. He couldn’t afford to bugger up his chance to do some digging whilst feigning interest in an overpriced bunch of stables, or whatever the hell it was he was allegedly interested in buying.

  Getting some time with the woman in the first place had been surprisingly easy and down to pure luck more than anything else. His appointment could easily have ended up being with that sour-faced Botox woman and as well as not being particularly pleasant to look at, spending his time with her was totally pointless.

  But what now?

  His forehead furrowed. Opening the window to let a little more air into the confined space.

  Short of luring Helen Shepherd to a secluded place, then when she least expected it, threaten her and/or rough her up until she’d given him the details of where this valuable stuff was stashed, there was only two real ways to do this: either suss her out a bit longer or go in headfirst, explain the situation and give her an in?

  Fifteen

  TEAGAN BUSIED HERSELF cleaning the kitchen. She wiped her hand across her forehead, removing suds which had splashed from the washing up bowl. Having had little sleep, her head pounded and she wished she had some paracetamol to take the edge off it.

  Filling a glass with water she gulped at the liquid, grateful for the coolness. This morning, like last night, she’d resisted the urge to text Joe. She’d written plenty, her fingers alternating between accusations to begging. Each one she’d deleted.

  Dulcie’s words about Joe not being the one stuck in her mind and was the only thing stopping her from acting on the uncontrollable need to contact him. But that was all they’d been. Words. And they certainly didn’t stop any of it from hurting more than a blunt knife sawing against an open wound.

  Thankfully, she’d been too busy to have spare time to think about Joe too much today, but every so often he forced his way into her brain regardless of how much she kept herself occupied. Tiredness wasn’t helping. Last night Dulcie had had another one of her walkabouts and Teagan had found herself having to coax Dulcie out of that room again. It had taken an age to get her stable enough to return to her proper bedroom.

  Dulcie definitely had spates of confusing the past from the present and the more she learnt the more it seemed likely that all her tales were fabricated.

  Suddenly hearing voices, Teagan quickly dried her hands on a tea towel and hurried along the hallway. Her heart sank. She couldn’t hear very well, but the brusque tone sounded like it may be Robert. She paused halfway, unwilling to interrupt a conversation between mother and son. There was something she found uncomfortable about that man and found herself mistrusting him being left alone with the lady that she was growing more fond of by the day, so she had no choice for her own peace of mind to make sure Dulcie was ok.

  Taking a deep breath, Teagan entered the room. ‘Is everything alr...’ Stopping stock still, she blinked in surprise. ‘Joe? What are you doing here?’

  ‘THIS REALLY IS A SUPERB PLACE.’ Heath smiled brightly at Helen as he walked from the huge open plan lounge into the state of the art refitted kitchen.

  ‘Indeed it is,’ Helen agreed, but despite her best efforts, her voice sounded decidedly flat, even to her own ears. Two more phone calls she’d received today from clients informing her that they’d decided not to proceed with Shepherd, Percival and Proctor for their upcoming sales. That was now eight this week...

  Her lips formed a tight line. None of the clients had directly said it was anything to do with those clips of her mother doing the rounds, but it was obvious. At least to her. She really couldn’t wait much longer. Her mother needed to go before she ruined anything else. Wrecking her reputation was not part of the side-effects of her plan. And it certainly did the opposite of getting the business thriving again.

  Part of her regretted delegating her other appointments to Joanne. She could have easily put off those two until tomorrow
, but she couldn’t put this one off. Mr Harding was the type – one of those pretentious young things with too much money for their own good, to do anything other than purchase something like a property on a whim and she strongly suspected he’d put an offer in for The Gables off the back of the viewing. There was no way she would pass up that amount of easily-earned commission for minimal work.

  Heath kept his smile fixed in place, but it hadn’t escaped his notice that in the space between leaving the estate agents this morning and meeting her again this afternoon, something had occurred to knock Helen Shepherd off kilter. He hoped it wasn’t anything to do with him. Had she been digging around and discovered Darren Harding, Music Producer, did not actually exist? But if she had, surely she wouldn’t be here?

  Heath dismissed the idea as quickly as it had formed. It wasn’t anything to do with him, but something had irked her and this could be his opportunity to do some digging. ‘Are you alright, Mrs Shepherd?’

  ‘What? Oh yes. Yes, I’m fine. Let’s move through to the second reception room, shall we? As you may have seen from the particulars, there’s actually four reception rooms. Along with its location and the land accompanying this property, I’m certain you would have no issue obtaining planning permission to build additional extensions to the main dwelling, or even a detached building if you wished. I was thinking of a separate studio complex?’ Helen looked around pointedly as if outlining the vast size of the rooms.

  Heath nodded, making positive noises like he was considering the potential and the scope it offered. Realistically he was pissed off that he could fit his entire flat into one corner of any of the rooms he’d seen so far, but that would change. Oh, that would so change once he’s got his mitts on this money and the woman standing in front of him was the key to getting his hands on it.

  When Helen’s mobile rang, Heath watched her snatch the phone from her shoulder bag and eye it irritably. She turned to him briefly. ‘I’m so sorry, I’m going to have to take this call.’

  Heath held his hand up. ‘Not a problem. You carry on. I’ll wander through here.’ Walking through a door into what seemed to be a combined utility and pantry area, yet still twice the size of his lounge, he hovered out of sight of Helen, yet remained within hearing distance.

  ‘What is it, Robert? Is it important? I’m with a client at the moment.’ Helen’s voice was spiky, strained. ‘Well, I’m not sure what to suggest. It’s mother’s choice and there’s not a lot we can do about that. If she wants Teagan there, then we’ll have to put up with it. Look, I really have to go... I’ll pop over after work tonight if I can.’

  Heath’s ears pricked up and he strained his hearing further. Robert? Was that his father’s brother? And she said mother? That would be Dulcie Adams...

  Hearing Helen end the call, Heath dashed across the other side of the massive utility room into the next room - a large square back hallway and pretended to admire the landscaped garden through the double doors.

  ‘Sorry about that.’ Helen joined Heath in the back hall. ‘I don’t usually take calls when I’m with clients.’ She waved her hand dismissively. ‘My mother is suffering with dementia and she does the most ridiculous things. She’s hired a home help that my brother doesn’t like and... Oh, what am I saying? I’m sure you don’t want to know about any of this.’

  Heath smiled. ‘Don’t worry. I can imagine how stressful, not to mention upsetting it must be for you.’ Yep, things were far from rosy. As well as Helen’s financial issues, the old dear was going loony? And she was going round her mother’s tonight, was she? And the carer was called Teagan?

  He wondered if the girl was local. Teagan was a fairly unusual name, so there couldn’t be too many people with that name in Maidenhead. If he could follow Helen to the mother’s house and perhaps spot a glimpse of this Teagan person, then not only would he have Dulcie Adams’ address, but would also be able to narrow down the age range of Teagan, whoever she was, for when he did a Facebook search.

  Heath smiled. His dad would have to wait a bit longer than planned for that beer on his way back. It looked like he may be later than planned leaving Maidenhead tonight.

  Sixteen

  JAMES HADN’T PURPOSEFULLY been digging around his wife’s things. As far he was aware Helen didn’t have anything in the garage. It had been his domain for years purely to house his collection of tools and odds and sods. That was why he’d noticed the box the second he’d seen it. He wouldn’t have noticed it at all had he not moved the workbench and three toolboxes out of the way whilst looking for a box of heads for his sander.

  James frowned. He could see that the box he’d uncovered was too big to be his sandpaper, but he did have a habit of buying additional things that he didn’t need and then storing them in here, only to forget about them. He’d presumed this was what had happened here because he couldn’t for the life of him remember what he’d bought that could have come in that box. That was the only reason he’d looked and how he wished he hadn’t.

  He stared at the folder he’d pulled from the box – the one he’d flicked through which held the documents regarding the remortgage of their house. It was dated last year and this was the first thing he knew of it.

  Helen dealt with all the finances – she always had. She’d always earnt the lion’s share of the money and knew what she was doing where that sort of stuff was concerned, but surely remortgaging the house should have been discussed with him?

  He was well aware the mortgage had all but been paid off three years ago and now it was back up to the hilt, plus more!

  But what had really hurt was the additional paperwork in the folder showing the whole remortgage amount had been transferred into the bank account of Shepherd, Percival and Proctor and Helen had never said a word?

  Although she hadn’t come out and said it, James knew the company hadn’t been doing so well the last few years, but this? This in itself was bad enough, but nowhere near as bad as the rest...

  James stared into the box once more, his eyebrows furrowing. These definitely were nothing to do with him, so they had to be Helen’s.

  Sorrow washed over him. Why had she felt the need to hide this from him? If she was struggling so much, surely she could have come to him about it? He knew their marriage hadn’t been the best the last few years, but he hadn’t realised she thought so little of him; mistrusted him quite so much to not tell him she couldn’t cope.

  James picked up two of the empty bottles and stared at them miserably. Helen had never been one to allow anyone to know of her emotions, but these? It looked like he’d underestimated just how much the worry over her mother’s health was getting to her. Every single bottle of these were empty. Exactly how many pills was his wife taking?

  Crushing guilt overwhelmed him. All this time he’d been convinced Helen was cold and unemotional, when really she was crumbling inside so badly that she had to take all this medication to hide it?

  But why was she buying these over the internet? Was that even safe? Could she be that embarrassed over her inability to cope that she felt unable to seek help from her doctor?

  James pursed his lips. In retrospect it was the sort of thing Helen would do. So headstrong that she would feel unable to admit to anyone that she was struggling? There was no shame in it, he knew that, but knew Helen well enough to know that she wouldn’t see it that way. Oh, she’d die a death rather than admit any perceived weakness. Anyone would struggle with what she’d got on her plate and that wasn’t including the undeniable pressure she must be under as a partner at work - a company in financial jeopardy that she was holding up.

  James sighed. He must make a concerted effort to help her more or try and get her to open up. The chances of that were slimmer than an anorexic, but he’d got to do something.

  He stared at the bottles in his hands. This was heavy duty medication. Although nowhere near an expert on prescribed drugs, he’d heard of Fluoxetine. His colleague’s wife had been prescribed that a while ago for depressio
n and they’d had a conversation about it. Prozac, they called it. Apparently, it was quite the rage.

  And this one... Temazepam. He knew that to be an anti-anxiety medication. Anti-depressants and anti-anxiety drugs?

  He felt a lump forming in his throat. What a crap husband he must be for failing to spot just how distressed his wife was and her distrusting him so much that she felt the need to hide the evidence. Hide it so much that she hadn’t even put the empty bottles in the bin. Not that he made a habit of going through the dustbin, but being as he was the one who put the bins out every Tuesday, Helen must be convinced he could have spotted them.

  Chucking the bottles back in the box, James rummaged around more of the empties. What was this? This one’s labelling was different from the ones he’d seen so far.

  Benztropine? His forehead furrowed. Another anti-depressant? He’d have to find out. Perhaps he could have a word with one of the chemists next time he went into town?

  But how could he raise what he’d found with Helen? She’d go berserk to find he’d discovered her secret. She might pull away from him even more than she already had. But he couldn’t leave her to deal with these demons alone. Regardless of anything, Helen was his wife - for better, for worse – and he loved her.

  Placing the empty bottles and the folder back in the box, James put it back exactly where he’d found it and duly moved all of the kit back in front of it.

  What was important was that she didn’t feel he’d been spying on her. He’d find out exactly what he was dealing with here so he’d have a better idea on how to approach the problem.