by Millie Vigor
FIFTEEN
When the man who held you prisoner was possessed of demons – for what else could you call them? – and when his demons had tempers that were unpredictable, it was very frightening. In fact, it was a desperate situation as any one of those demons could surface at any time. Curtis was such a man and Ginny’s life had now become a game of snakes and ladders. She had to learn how to recognize and make use of whatever person came forward. She didn’t know how many there were inside him. Angel had said there were more than the ones she’d met, but that it was Mikhail who was dangerous. And it was Mikhail that Ginny was afraid of. His violent outbursts terrorised her and her need to escape had become paramount. She had to get out of her prison and into the rest of the house to look for means of escape.
Curtis made sure that he was always between her and the door when he brought her meals, or books, or just called. Her attempts to escape had ended in disaster and she wasn’t keen on repeat performances. Any hope she might have that a gallant white knight would come and batter down Curtis’s front door to rescue her she abandoned as soon as it arose. There were no knights in shining armour and probably never had been. If no one was going to come to her aid she would have to save herself, but how was she going to do that? Somehow she had to persuade Curtis that, if only for an hour or two, she could be trusted to be let out of the cellar. Even if he never left her side she would at least be able to memorize the layout of the house.
She had to convince him that she was happy that he was looking after her, that it was right to be here with him, that she appreciated what he was doing and, most of all, for allowing her to concentrate on her writing. It would be a slow progress; she couldn’t spring it on him all at once because it would take him no more than the blink of an eye to know what she was doing. It was not something to be hurried, it would take time. She gave a rueful laugh. She had plenty of that.
But would he fall for it? And would he take her up the stairs and into that lovely room with all the books? Could she do it? Could she persuade him that she genuinely believed that he was right in what he was doing?
Her first chance to begin the game came next morning when Curtis brought her breakfast. He had made scrambled eggs on toast with a slice of crisply fried bacon on top.
‘You’re such a good cook, Curtis,’ she said. ‘This looks delicious.’
‘It’s most important that you eat properly,’ said Curtis.
‘I’m afraid I’m a beans on toast sort of chef myself,’ said Ginny. ‘When I’m working I forget about food till I’m hungry and then it’s anything that doesn’t take more than ten minutes to make.’ Nothing was further from the truth, she loved cooking, but he wasn’t to know that. ‘I do appreciate what you do for me.’
‘Thank you, Virginia. I’m glad you’re settling in.’
‘It’s so peaceful here, the perfect place for a writer. But I could do with a change of scene now and then, and a chance to spend a bit more time with you.’
He looked at her and gave the hint of a smile, didn’t answer but said, ‘I’ve got to go now or I’ll be late for work.’
As the door closed behind him, Ginny balled her hands into fists and shook them above her head. She wanted to cheer; she’d taken the first step in her plan to win him over and he hadn’t repulsed her.
What was it going to be like when she did get out? Would she miss Curtis when she was back in her own house? And what would happen to him? If the police found her first, he would be arrested and accused of abducting and imprisoning her. He would be taken to court, sentenced and sent to prison. But it wasn’t Curtis who had hit her, threatened her and put her in fear of her life, it was Mikhail. OK, he was part of Curtis, but it was Curtis who would suffer from Mikhail’s actions and it didn’t seem fair. And then there were Peewee and Angel, too. Was Angel the key to it all? Would Angel tell her who the ‘others’ were and would she meet them too? What a Pandora’s box it was. Dare she try to open it? Why not, there were too many questions that needed answers. But what would happen to Curtis? He needed help, not punishment. Getting out and going back to her old life suddenly palled and she was torn between thoughts of escape and wanting to see Curtis get rid of the demons that tormented him.
A sky filled with menacing grey clouds made the cellar dark. The day seemed reluctant to wake and by 10 a.m. Ginny knew that what daylight there was wouldn’t stay long. It would be a dull day and by teatime, a curtain of night would be drawn across the window and it would be fully dark again. It was not the sort of day to despair of her situation; she needed something to occupy her mind, for there were several hours to fill. The answer to that was in her hands. She plugged in the laptop and sat down to write.
I’ve been thinking a lot about Curtis. I have to find out what it is that makes him behave as though he’s someone else. It’s like he’s making fun of me, playing the fool and acting silly. Is it a ploy to distract me so that I won’t complain? But when he took on the persona of that little boy he really was upset. What was that all about? I don’t understand it. Was it Curtis or was it just some figment of his imagination? He seemed to be very disturbed about something that happened when he was a child. I wonder if he’ll show himself again. And then there’s Angel. Why would Curtis choose to be a girl or woman? Come to that, does he have any choice, or do they choose him? It’s all very odd. Angel is the one I’d like to see again, she might tell me what’s going on and I do need to know. I do wish I was able to search the Internet, maybe I could find out. It might help if I had a dictionary or a Pears Cyclopaedia.
I haven’t got a calendar so I don’t really know what day it is. But now that I’ve got the laptop I have the date and time on it. We are already into November and Christmas is only a few weeks away, I should be getting ready to go home to my mum and dad and they’ll be wondering why I haven’t been in touch. I wonder how they are getting on and if they are coping with not knowing where I am. Dad would have phoned to ask when they could expect me and what day I wanted him to pick me up at the airport. Mum will be desperate for news of me and this is when I ought to have a sister, someone to comfort her as well as Dad. I wonder if anyone else has missed me.
I’ve already begun to put the idea into Curtis’s head that I’m beginning to like being here. It’s not really what I want (but he does) so I have to because if I don’t and keep on fighting him, he’s never going to let me out. I can’t risk making him angry because he doesn’t seem to be able to control his temper and if he gets really mad, I hate to think it, but he might kill me. I feel like the fly in that poem by Mary Howitt. ‘“Will you walk into my parlour”, said the Spider to the Fly’. And that’s just what I did. He didn’t have to abduct me, he just invited me in and I, like a fool, walked up the steps to the house and into it. ‘The way into my parlour is up a winding stair.’ Will I be like the fly, grabbed by the spider ‘and ne’er come out again?’ Oh no, I can’t let that happen. But I have become so dependent on him, it’s scary. Did I ever think that I would let a man wash my smalls? No, never. I would far rather do them myself. And even if I was married … oh God … I was going to say to him … no, don’t even think of it, I still wouldn’t want him to do my washing. But he’s so capable and such a marvellous cook, it’s a wonder he isn’t married. Some of the meals he makes are better than many of the restaurants I’ve been to. He seems to be so good at so many things, I’ve never heard anyone moving about in the house in the daytime so he obviously doesn’t employ a cleaner, yet the house, or what I saw of it, is spotless. Does he do that too?
I wonder if the police are looking for me. Surely I’ve been missing long enough now for someone to have notified them that I’m not at home and that I should be. My mum and dad will be wondering why I don’t answer the phone.
And at the library, Hazel will want to know why I haven’t been in to return the books I borrowed. If the police have been called in, I wonder if they’ve been to the library and questioned Hazel and Curtis. Hazel won’t be able to tell them an
ything but I wonder how Curtis will react; will he flounder and give himself away? No, he’ll bluff his way out of it because if they’ve already been there and if they suspected him, I would not still be here. But are they asking questions at all?
Is Nancy saying that I’ve done it before, and I didn’t tell anyone I was going or where, so my being away is nothing to worry about because I’ll come home like I did before? She would be right because that’s what I did and because of that I’ve done myself no favours. It’s not funny being shut away and deprived of contact with other people. I used to think it would be the answer to everything, that there’d be no casual callers who’d think because I worked at home I could stop and entertain them for hours on end. I work, for goodness’ sake, and if I don’t keep at it I don’t get paid.
And now I’m doing nothing at all but writing this blasted journal in the hope that if I do get out I have some proof of what happened. If I get out… .
‘Damn, damn, damn,’ shouted Ginny as she slammed the lid of the laptop down. ‘It’s not IF I GET OUT, it’s WHEN!’
Brett McIvor walked down the stairs and into the dining room of the Wheatsheaf pub. A pot of coffee and a rack of toast were already on his table. He sat down and poured coffee and as he did, the barmaid, who also worked in the kitchen, came in with his breakfast.
‘Will you be wanting dinner tonight?’ she asked.
‘Not tonight, I’ll be eating out,’ he said.
She put a plate in front of him and lifted the cover to reveal bacon, eggs and sausages.
‘You’re a bonnie cook,’ said Brett. ‘I’ll have to take you home with me.’
‘Not a chance, Mr McIvor. I was born and bred here and here’s where I’ll stay.’
‘My loss,’ said Brett.
While he ate, Brett mentally planned the way he was going to conduct his investigation of Ginny’s disappearance. He would tell Mrs Graham that he would leave it to the police, otherwise her husband would probably tell him to mind his own business. He poured more coffee and buttered more toast. He would let it be known that he was in the village for other reasons than looking for Ginny, that way his continued presence would not be questioned. So why was he here? A few moments’ thought gave him the idea that he could be interested in the architecture of old churches. That would give him an excuse to visit the library and talk to Curtis and Hazel. It would also give him a reason for being anywhere in Salisbury or the surrounding area. So, churches it would be and now would be the time to look for a book on the subject.
The library was a quiet oasis. Here there was no hustle and bustle of people anxious to do their shopping, keep appointments or whatever else. Here there was a leisured air of looking for and choosing something to read, so many books, so much choice. Unsure where to find what he wanted, Brett looked for a librarian to show him.
‘Can I help you, sir?’ The quiet voice came from behind him and Brett turned to see Curtis.
‘You can, actually,’ said Brett. ‘I’m interested in the architecture of old churches and wonder if you have anything on the ones in and around Salisbury?’
‘We do. Come with me and I’ll show you.’
As he followed Curtis, Brett noticed the confident way the man walked, saw the cut of his clothes. That suit never came off a ready to wear peg.
‘Here we are then.’ Curtis stopped and pointed at a collection of books on one of the shelves. ‘Plenty there for you to browse through. In fact, I’d recommend this one.’ Curtis took a book from the shelf and handed it to Brett. ‘You won’t go wrong with that.’ Instead of leaving Brett to it, Curtis paused, looked at him then said, ‘I hope you don’t mind my saying this, but I’m surprised at your choice of hobby. I would have thought a man like you would have chosen something physical, like rugby.’
‘I’ve played rugby, don’t need to read that up,’ said Brett. ‘I have to spend some time in the city so I thought I could get to know the place by looking at the churches. What do you do in your spare time?’
‘Oh, this and that.’ Curtis closed his eyes then blinked rapidly before going on, ‘I live alone you see, no companion so I don’t go far.’ He gave a sigh then clutched the books he was carrying to his chest. ‘You’re the gentleman that Mrs Graham told us had been working abroad, in South Africa, wasn’t it? How very interesting that must be.’ He gave a brief smile, lowered his head then looked up through dark eyelashes.
Ye Gods, thought Brett, he’s flirting with me. ‘Yes,’ he said, ‘Africa was very interesting.’
‘And are you going to go back there again or are you going to stay here?’
‘I might stay here,’ said Brett. ‘But it all depends what sort of contract my firm comes up with. What about you? Is this your dream job?’
‘I just love books,’ said Curtis, ‘books and the people who borrow them.’
‘A mixed lot, are they? Ah … did you know that girl who disappeared?’
‘What girl was that … oh … you mean Virginia.’ Curtis moved the books he was hugging, shifted them to hold under his arm. ‘Yes, I know her.’ He smiled and said, ‘But I’ve been talking long enough, I’d better do some work or Mrs Thomas will be after me. We’ll see you again, no doubt.’ He lowered his head, smiled, then looked up at Brett, turned abruptly and was gone.
Well, well, thought Brett. That was interesting. Why did he clam up when I mentioned Ginny? With the book Curtis had given him in hand, Brett took it to the desk to be stamped.
‘Can I have your card, please?’ The girl behind the desk smiled at him.
‘My card? Oh. I don’t have a library card.’
‘OK. If you fill in this application form I’ll give you one.’
Brett was handed a form and a pen. He was filling the form in when a voice said, ‘And how are you today?’ It was Nancy.
‘I’m well. And you?’
‘Never better. What’s this you’re reading?’ Nancy picked up the book Brett had chosen. ‘What on earth makes you interested in churches?’
‘You’re the second one who’s said that.’ Brett slid his application form across the desk. To Nancy he said, ‘Have you ever looked up at the vaulted roof of a church and wondered how it was built?’
‘No. I’ve never given it a thought.’
‘And do you know why church walls are buttressed?’
‘Haven’t got a clue.’
‘Well, there’s a reason, they aren’t there for decoration.’
‘But you’re not going to tell me, are you?’
‘No.’
‘Here’s your card, sir,’ said the girl. Brett took the card and put it in his wallet. ‘What are you going to do when you’ve got your books, Mrs Graham?’
‘I’ve already got them so I’ll have to go home and cook something for Bill’s tea,’ said Nancy. ‘Why?’
‘I wondered if you had time for a cup of something,’ said Brett. ‘I have time to kill and it’s better when there’s someone to talk to.’
‘I’d love to but I really haven’t got time.’
‘OK, let’s go then.’ Brett picked up his book and began to walk towards the door, Nancy beside him.
‘Was there something you wanted to ask me?’ said Nancy.
‘Yes. I want to know what you think of Curtis Brookes.’
‘Mm. I’m not surprised you asked me that. I think he’s definitely odd. But he seems to know every book in the library and where to put a hand on it. There aren’t many who can do that.’
‘That says he’s good at his job. Do you know if he’s got a girlfriend?’
‘I don’t think so. Actually, I wonder if he isn’t gay. But then sometimes he’s a hundred per cent butch. Like I said … he’s odd.’
‘Have the police turned up anything yet?’
‘If they have, Bill’s kept it from me.’ Nancy looked at the watch on her wrist. ‘Is that the time? I’ll have to get a move on.’ She grinned at Brett. ‘Keep looking for her, won’t you?’ And when Brett shook his head and waved his h
and in denial, she said, ‘I know you are. If I can help at all, I will. Bye now.’
Brett stopped, stood on the steps and looked around. The day was blessed by a winter sun. The winds that had blown litter up in the air to dance on its currents and had prowled through the streets to stir up dust clouds had gone away and, though the day was bright, it was cold, a clean cold, the sort that demands a brisk walk. There were still several hours of the day to fill, so instead of catching a bus, Brett decided to walk. As he was passing an outfitters shop, he remembered the spare clothes he had forgotten to buy so he went in. Purchases made, he strode along and as he went, mulled over the afternoon’s events.
He smiled at his encounter with Nancy and had to accept that she knew he was playing private detective and also that she was itching to join him in his search. He had no intention of letting her, for there was no way she would be able to keep it a secret from her husband and that was the last thing he wanted. His thoughts then turned to the three men that figured to some degree in Ginny’s life.
Though he and Ginny had grown up in the same village and gone to the same primary school, he had only renewed his acquaintance with her briefly before he had left for Africa. But the Ginny that Ashley described was not the one he thought he knew. Ashley was an angry man, though whether his anger was justified was hard to tell. Was he angry enough to have done the girl some harm or were the threats he made just sabre rattling?
Paul, the photographer, was yet to be encountered. He was certainly in the right place to be able to leave roses on Ginny’s doorstep. But then so was Ashley, though he didn’t seem to be the type to do that, but silent or seductive phone calls would come naturally to him. Ashley could not be put out of the frame just yet.
And then there was Curtis, an enigma, a puzzle to be solved. Expensively dressed and obviously well-educated, why was he working in a library? The salary he would get was surely not enough to pay for bespoke suits. And there was something else. First impressions had been that he was a normal heterosexual young man, but then there was the switch into homosexuality, the weak wrist, the soft voice, and that was not all. There had been something he said that had sounded odd; what it was Brett could not recall.
