by Susan Lewis
He took a breath that shook on a sob, and for a moment she could see how hard he was struggling. Whatever he was about to tell her was clearly causing him such immense anguish that putting it into words was almost too much to bear. In the end he spoke coherently, his voice low as he said, ‘It was at one of the parties there was so much talk about. I can tell you which one if you like, but as what happened after had nothing to do with the hosts, or anyone else who was there, I’d rather keep them out of it.’
Knowing that would have to be a decision for later, Andee simply waited for him to continue.
‘My name wasn’t on the guest list,’ he told her, ‘because I went along at the last minute with a friend whose partner couldn’t make it. The friend left early but I stayed. Jessica was singing that night and I know this is going to sound clichéd, delusional, maybe even sick given the difference in our ages, but I felt a connection with her even before we spoke. I found her mesmerising; I couldn’t take my eyes off her, and the whole time she sang she seemed to be singing to me. I didn’t ask anyone to introduce us when she’d finished; I simply went up and introduced myself. She said she knew who I was because her parents lived in Kesterly-on-Sea. We didn’t talk for long, she said she had to leave, so I asked if I could see her again and to my amazement she said yes.’
It was a measure of his modesty, Andee was thinking, that he’d find a young girl’s attraction to him surprising, for he was, and always had been, an exceptionally attractive man. He was also very rich.
‘She knew I was married, of course,’ he continued, ‘so she understood the need for discretion. Even so, I was aware I was taking a risk; girls of her age can rarely keep things to themselves, but over time it turned out that she could. I’d go as far as to say that the secrecy of our relationship was something that excited her.’ He swallowed drily. ‘It was after our first couple of meetings, at a hotel in Knightsbridge where I took two rooms to disguise the fact we were together, that I decided to rent a place. We needed somewhere to go where we could spend as much time as we wanted to, and where we wouldn’t be seen by other hotel guests, or staff. So I contacted a rental agent I knew about who finds places for people who don’t want to be on the record, mostly foreigners who want to keep a low profile in London for whatever reason, and everything went through without me having to meet anyone, or formally state a source of funding. Jessica fell in love with the house the minute she saw it, and she never seemed to mind that we couldn’t invite anyone round, or go out together in public. She said she was happy for us to spend whatever time we could just the two of us, not sharing it with anyone else, or even thinking about them.’ He paused for a moment, lowering his eyes as he dealt with another build-up of emotion.
‘None of it would have happened if things had been right between me and Gina,’ he continued hoarsely, ‘but that sounds as though I’m trying to blame her, and nothing about this was anyone’s fault but mine. Gina couldn’t help what happened to her after the cancer, I knew she felt terrible about it, and she tried so many ways to put it right, but nothing ever seemed to work. It got to a point where I was afraid to touch her in case she recoiled, and she felt so bad about always rejecting me that our marriage was in danger of collapse. It was an attempt to keep us together that made Gina offer to turn a blind eye if I wanted to have an affair, on the proviso I didn’t allow it to get serious. At the time I had no intention of carrying it through, I loved Gina, I still do, but then I met Jessica and . . . And I realised how much I’d been missing that part of my life. Please don’t think I’m only talking about sex, although I won’t deny it was a big part of our relationship, I’m talking about the fun and laughter that goes with that sort of togetherness, the joy of discovering what gives someone else pleasure, feeling so close to them that it’s as though you’re inside their skin. Young as she was, that’s how it was for me with Jessica, and I believe it was the same for her.’
Trying to remain detached as she watched him struggle for control, Andee allowed several moments to pass before saying, ‘Would I be right in thinking that the house was in Holland Park?’
He didn’t appear surprised that she knew, seemed in a way hardly to be listening. ‘Yes, you would,’ he said. ‘It wasn’t large, but it was ours and we spent as much time there as we could. I told her she could live there if she wanted to, but she insisted it would be best if she carried on with her plans to share with her friends when she returned to uni after the summer. That way no one would wonder where she was getting the money from to rent somewhere in one of the most expensive parts of town – and besides she didn’t want to feel obliged to invite her friends to her home when it was our special place.’ He swallowed hard, pressed his fingers to his temples and forced himself to continue. ‘I wanted to help her financially, with tuition fees and the rest of it so she wouldn’t start out life in debt, and she was willing to let that happen provided I didn’t think it was the reason she was with me. Whether or not it was I suppose we’ll never know for certain, but I truly believe that her feelings for me were as strong as mine were for her.’ As he lost his words Andee could see how desperately he wanted that to be true, and because she knew him so well she didn’t doubt that it was. He was, and always had been, very easy to love. ‘I used to fantasise about leaving Gina for her,’ he confessed, ‘about being able to live our lives openly, I even used to imagine marrying her and starting a new family . . . I never told her that, I didn’t want to frighten her. She was so young, with her whole life ahead of her . . .’ He broke off as harsh, despairing tears overwhelmed him.
Andee waited quietly, sensing he didn’t want her to touch him, but feeling as sorry for him as she always did for someone who had no clear understanding of how things had turned out the way they had. ‘So what happened to her?’ she asked gently.
His eyes closed as he shrank from the need to continue, until finally he managed to accept it.
‘She was going home to Kesterly that day for the summer,’ he said shakily. ‘We’d already arranged a secret rendezvous place on the moor so we could keep seeing one another. I could see how intrigued and excited she was by the idea of clandestine meetings in a remote place in the outdoors. She wanted . . . She wanted to make love in the open air . . .’ He broke off as his voice was swallowed by another surge of grief.
‘When I rang her,’ he finally continued, ‘she was already on her way to Paddington. I told her I had a surprise for her that I’d like her to have before she left. So we arranged to meet at the house. There was a private garage at the back where you could enter, close the door behind you and go into the house without going outside again. It was the way we always went, so it was where I waited for her. And when she saw her surprise . . .’
Jessica’s hands flew to her face. ‘Oh my God, oh my God, oh my God,’ she murmured, unable to believe it. Her eyes went to Charles, fearfully, expectantly, delightedly, as though checking to make sure she wasn’t seeing things.
He was smiling and holding out the key for her to take.
‘Is it mine?’ she asked, seeming almost afraid to look at the brand-new Mini again in case she was wrong.
‘Of course,’ he replied, knowing he’d treasure this precious moment for ever. Nothing, but nothing gave him as much pleasure as making someone happy, especially her. ‘Your dream car, I believe?’
Suddenly she was shrugging off her heavy backpack and running towards him, leaping into his arms and wrapping her entire self around him.
Laughing, he held her tight as she showered him with kisses.
‘I didn’t mean for you to get me one, you know that, don’t you?’ she insisted, clasping his face in her hands to gaze earnestly into his eyes.
‘But I did,’ he twinkled, and he couldn’t remember ever feeling so happy as they embraced again and again until the car was forgotten, and they went into the house to celebrate its arrival.
‘I’m going to call her Milly,’ she declared, when they eventually returned to the garage. ‘Milly the Mini.
She’s so beautiful. I want to drive her right away.’ Her eyes came mischievously to his. ‘Can I?’ she dared him.
Having expected it, he said, ‘Of course. She’s yours so you can take her anywhere you like.’
‘But what about insurance?’
‘It’s in my name with you as an additional driver. I had to do it that way to get it here, but we’ll change it when you’re ready.’
Running a hand over the gleaming paintwork as though smoothing an exotic cat, she said, ‘How am I going to explain it to my parents?’
‘Well, I was thinking you might say you’d saved up the fees from your gigs,’ he suggested, not sure whether that would work or not.
Her eyes narrowed as they came to his. ‘It would have to make me extremely well paid,’ she pointed out.
‘Some of those people are extremely rich, and nothing less than extravagant with tips, especially when drunk.’
Apparently dismissing the concern for the moment, she opened the driver’s door and slipped in behind the wheel. ‘Oh Charles,’ she sobbed and laughed as she inspected the instrument panels and adjusted the seat to suit her height, ‘I want to drive it home, today. Can we do that? Will you come with me?’ Getting out again, she wrapped her arms around him. ‘Please say you’ll come. I want you to be with me the first time I drive it.’
How could he refuse her? Was there anything he’d rather do than be with her? He’d never told her, yet, that he’d composed poems to her, love sonnets that he thought, self-consciously but hopefully, she might one day set to music. ‘We can put all your belongings in the boot, if you like,’ he suggested.
‘Yes, yes, and we can raid the fridge for a picnic to have at our special place on the moor,’ she added excitedly. ‘You need to show me where it is, remember, so why don’t we do it today?’
Andee could see how lost he was to the memory of that day, to the power of feeling he’d known for a girl less than half his age, and clearly still had.
‘I had a meeting to go to that afternoon,’ he went on quietly, not looking at Andee, still staring into the past, ‘but I rang my assistant and got her to reschedule.’ His eyes closed as he was swamped by the memory. ‘I said I was going to be in Kesterly for the next few days,’ he resumed, ‘and so Jess and I loaded up her car and set off on the journey west, going via the M3 so we could get to our rendezvous point on the moor more quickly. I don’t think I’d ever seen her so happy. She kept looking over at me and grinning, or she’d reach for my hand and kiss it. I suppose I’d been just as happy in my time, obviously I had, but on that day she was all that mattered.
‘We didn’t stop until we reached our nook, as she instantly dubbed it. The picnic didn’t happen right away, I guess you could say we were too hungry for each other. It was a sunny afternoon and we ended up staying far longer than we’d intended. I was having trouble persuading her to put her clothes back on, but I guess I didn’t try very hard.’ His eyes flickered as he seemed to sense this was the kind of detail Andee wouldn’t want. ‘If it had been possible we might have stayed there all night,’ he continued, ‘but she’d told her family to expect her home and the battery was dead on her phone so she couldn’t call them. Of course, she could have used mine, but they would have wondered about the number, so we returned to the car and set off for Kesterly. It was starting to get dark by then, and because we were late I directed her along the back roads of the estate . . .’ He stopped, took a breath and put a hand to his head. For a while he seemed unable to speak, or even breathe, and Andee could almost feel the depth of his suffering. ‘I’m not sure what we were laughing at as we went round Drayman’s curve,’ he said, his voice fractured by emotion, ‘I only remember that we were laughing then suddenly, out of nowhere, someone was standing in the road.’ He shook his head, as though still unable to believe it. ‘How could someone be standing in the road? It didn’t make any sense. It was so remote and dark. No one ever went there, but there was a woman, and she didn’t move, just stared like she was trapped in the headlights. As soon as we saw her Jessica screamed and spun the wheel, but it was too late, we’d already hit her, and I think instead of slamming on the brake she accelerated and the next thing we were flying off the edge of the road . . . There’s a barrier in place now, but there wasn’t then . . .’ He stopped, trying to catch his breath as the horror of it all overcame him. ‘I keep thinking of how quiet everything seemed as the car descended,’ he said, ‘and yet it couldn’t have been because I’m sure Jess was still screaming . . . I have no recollection of hitting the water, none at all. It’s as though minutes, maybe even days, except it wasn’t that long I know, just vanished from the world. I can only tell you that when I came round I was on the bank, half in and half out of the mud, and there was no sign of Jessica or the car. For one bizarre moment I thought she’d somehow driven on, but of course that couldn’t have happened. I knew the only place she could be was in the water, trapped in the car, but when I tried to get to her it was hopeless. The Mini was too far down and the swamp was trying to drag me in. I kept trying and trying until in the end I knew she couldn’t possibly have survived. Too much time had passed. If she hadn’t been killed outright then she’d have drowned by now. I didn’t know what to do, my phone was in the car, as was hers.’ He started to sob, the huge wrenching sounds of a man in terrible torment. ‘I left her there,’ he choked. ‘Oh God, oh God, I left her there.’
As she watched him trying to deal with the horror and shame of his actions, Andee knew that there would never be any excusing what he’d done. Nothing in the world could ever justify allowing Jessica’s family to suffer and wonder and hope for two long years, when all the time Charles Stamfield had known their daughter was dead.
In the end, because she had to, she said, ‘Didn’t someone see you when you got to the Hall?’
He shook his head. ‘I don’t think so. I still have no recollection of that part of it. The truth is I didn’t remember any of it for several weeks. I realise now that I must have suffered a concussion in the crash, because for a long time I couldn’t even remember knowing her.’
‘But you must have realised, through the media, that she was missing. Didn’t that trigger something for you?’
‘I kept feeling that it should, but I had no idea how, and when they said that she had been last seen in the Holland Park area . . . I had no memory of the house at that time . . . I didn’t remember anything about the car, or what we’d meant to one another . . . It was as though that part of my memory had been wiped clean. It only started to come back later. Not all of it, only parts, until eventually I remembered enough to know what had happened to her, and even where she was.’
He began sobbing again, and though Andee wasn’t beyond feeling pity she was thinking of the election and wondering, with a cynicism she didn’t much like, if it had played a part in his amnesia. It wouldn’t have done him, or the Party, any good for him to have become embroiled in the case of a missing girl at such a crucial time.
‘I wanted to tell someone,’ he pressed on, ‘but so much time had gone by . . . I was sure no one would believe in my memory loss, they’d think I’d deliberately left her there and maybe . . . Maybe I had, because I remember thrashing about the swamp in the darkness, sobbing and begging her to forgive me, so I knew then where she was. It was only after that my mind went blank.’
Abruptly he got up from his chair and started to pace, his long limbs trembling, his anguish and shame as apparent as the tears on his cheeks. His memories, Andee realised, were as torturous as they deserved to be.
‘What about the person you hit?’ she finally ventured.
Several seconds passed before he seemed to connect with the question. ‘I think . . . I don’t know, but I think it’s who’s been blackmailing me.’
Puzzled by that, she said, ‘Have you never tried to find out who it was, if they even survived?’
‘I thought, if I showed an interest, the police would want to know why, and, if she’d survived, she’d
end up telling them what she’d seen.’
At a loss to see how this could have got any worse for him, she said, ‘But the lake, or swamp, from what I can gather, is on your estate. It wouldn’t be unusual for you to enquire about an accident that had happened on the road above it.’
He didn’t seem to have heard her; she couldn’t even be sure that he was still aware of her being in the room.
In the end she said, ‘Does Gina know any of this?’
He swallowed hard as he shook his head. ‘I think she knows I had an affair with someone,’ he replied, ‘but no more than that.’
Remembering that Gina had told her she knew who it was, Andee got to her feet. ‘I have to call the police,’ she said, wishing with all her heart it was to tell them that Jessica was somewhere with an Amish community. ‘I realise Bill might already have done it by now, but they’ll need to know everything you’ve just told me.’
He didn’t argue, he didn’t even seem to connect with the meaning of her words.
‘Then,’ she added, ‘I’m going into Kesterly to break the news to Blake Leonard.’
At that his eyes came to hers, and in that moment she could see quite clearly that he would never, in his entire life, get over this.
An hour later, after a lengthy conversation with Detective Inspector Gould, Andee was with Blake Leonard in the sitting room of his home in the old town. The walls were like a gallery of brilliant copies, with Jenny, Jessica and Matt featuring in famous portraits. As a family they’d obviously had fun with this over the years, and the photographs, mostly of the twins, showed how very close they all were. Andee was finding them difficult to look at without a lump forming in her throat.
Blake was perched on the edge of an armchair, staring at Andee as he struggled to take in the enormity of what she’d just told him. She could sense how desperately he wanted to reject it, to shut out the images she’d been careful not to make too graphic while at the same time giving him the truth, from Jessica’s affair with a much older and married man, to the gift of a car, to the crash that had led to her death.
