The House Across the Street

by Lesley Pearse

  Then Miss Frogatt left Katy alone in the office, not even explaining whether she was to stay or go. After some twenty minutes Katy got a bit scared, and thought perhaps she’d been forgotten or, worse still, that they had expected her to leave.

  She was just about to get up when Miss Frogatt came back, and this time her smile was a real one. ‘Well, Miss Speed, I’ve just had a word with Mr Marshfield in the Bexhill practice and although he was surprised you were seeking a new position, he gave you a glowing reference. He said he would be very sorry to lose you.’

  ‘I didn’t tell them I was thinking of moving to London,’ Katy said, a bit panicked that she hadn’t prepared anyone.

  ‘I’m sorry if I’ve embarrassed you,’ Miss Frogatt replied, not looking sorry at all, only rather pleased with herself. ‘But I discovered some time ago that one always gets a more truthful reference by putting people on the spot. A written one can often be a work of fiction.’

  There was nothing Katy could say in response. In fact, she’d typed up references for people in the past, and sometimes she barely recognized the person being described.

  ‘I’ve been told they will let you off with two weeks’ notice,’ Miss Frogatt went on. ‘So if you would like the job, you can start on Monday, February 22nd. Is that alright with you?’

  ‘It’s wonderful,’ Katy said, without thinking, then blushed scarlet. ‘I mean, yes, thank you.’

  ‘Just pop into the last office before reception on your way out and see Mrs Greenwood. She will take down a few more particulars and explain about your wages and working hours. I shall look forward to seeing you on the twenty-second.’

  Jilly was waiting outside as Katy came out.

  ‘Well?’ she asked, tucking her hand through her friend’s arm. ‘I’m frozen, so let’s go quickly to somewhere warm.’

  ‘I start on February 22nd, I can hardly believe it!’ Katy said as they walked quickly away. ‘I’ll be paid seventy-five pounds a month. I never expected so much.’

  ‘Well, everyone says we get rubbish wages at home. Now did you see anyone you thought might be a friend there? Any nice men?’

  ‘All the women I saw were much older than me, but I saw a bloke who appealed. I’d say he was just a few years older than me, with dark hair, smart suit, nice dark eyes. He smiled at me as I was leaving. But it didn’t strike me as the kind of place you’d chat or lark about. It was very quiet, so I’ll have to watch myself.’

  Later, in a small coffee bar in the Strand, Katy told Jilly about Mr Frey, the senior partner. Mrs Greenwood had taken her in to meet him before she left the chambers.

  ‘He was a bit scary, with a big hooked nose and a deep plummy voice. He shook my hand so firmly I nearly cried out. But he said Miss Frogatt believed I would be an asset to the chambers, so I guess I’d better make sure I am.’

  The girls spent the rest of the day calling in at flat-letting agencies and putting their names down. It was very disheartening to find a flat with two bedrooms would be at least twenty-five pounds a week, so they thought they would share a bedroom.

  ‘That is until we meet some dreamboat and want to be alone with him,’ Jilly said, arching her eyebrow suggestively.

  ‘Would you do it?’ Katy asked.

  They often discussed whether they would go ‘all the way’, but although Jilly said she might with the right man, Katy was too scared. She knew logically that her mother had brainwashed her into believing that every man in the world was so desperate for sex he’d do and say anything to get it. Clearly it wasn’t true of all men, but all the ones she’d met at dances were like octopuses, their hands everywhere. She had the idea that she’d know the man of her dreams when he came along, because he wouldn’t try forcing her into anything but would just wait till the time was right.

  That evening the girls went out to Chelsea. They had heard the King’s Road was really exciting, with lovely shops and bars. Their source hadn’t exaggerated; compared with Bexhill on a cold February night it was like landing in Las Vegas. Throngs of people shuffled along the pavements just as the girls were doing, admiring the brightly lit displays in shop windows, happy to be a part of it all. All the many cafés, restaurants and bars were packed with young people, and music wafted out from every door.

  ‘I never expected anything like this,’ Katy said in awe. ‘I wish we could live here. It looks so much fun.’

  They stopped to look in a letting agent’s window, and as they read the cards displayed they realized it would be far beyond their reach.

  ‘It doesn’t matter,’ Jilly said. ‘We can always visit here – and meanwhile, let’s get a drink and find some blokes to flirt with.’

  Much later that evening, going home on the tube, they couldn’t stop giggling, partly because they were tiddly, but also because of the two men who had plied them with drink. Jeremy and Martin were snooty, upper-crust types who imagined they were doing the poor little country girls a favour just speaking to them. No doubt they thought if they plied them with enough drink they’d get them into bed later, too. However, the girls played up to them, making out they were totally naive and in awe of them. Then, when the men had gone to the bar to get more drink, they slipped out of the pub and ran along to Sloane Square to get the tube home.

  ‘They thought far too much of themselves,’ Katy giggled. ‘And they both had BO and weren’t even good-looking. As Rob would say, “I wouldn’t piss on them if they were on fire.” ’

  ‘I bet they were savage they bought us so many drinks,’ Jilly said gleefully. ‘I should’ve told them they’d need chloroform to get us into bed.’

  ‘What a brilliant evening, though,’ Katy said. ‘I wish we could live in Chelsea, it really felt everything was happening there. Hammersmith doesn’t feel that way.’

  ‘No, it doesn’t. But don’t say that to my aunt and uncle, they’d be hurt. Maybe we should try some other areas?’

  ‘We’ll do that tomorrow,’ Katy said. ‘But now we’d better try and look sober for when we get home.’

  4

  ‘I’m dreading going home,’ Katy admitted as she and Jilly came out of Bexhill Station.

  It was Saturday afternoon, a week since they’d left for London, and although she had phoned home twice whilst they were away, her mother would not engage in any conversation. She didn’t even respond when Katy told her she’d got a really good job. She also claimed Albert was out, when Katy was fairly sure he was just in his shed and could be called from the kitchen.

  ‘Well, you’ve only got two weeks of it,’ Jilly said, putting her arm around her friend’s shoulders comfortingly. ‘And I’ll still be around for the first week. Shame we didn’t find a flat, but I’ll carry on looking when I go back.’

  ‘Your auntie and uncle are so kind saying we can stay there,’ Katy said. ‘They made me see just how odd my mum is. And I suppose it is more sensible to look for a place once we’re there.’

  They had looked at more than ten flats in the week, and all of them were awful. One had the bath in the kitchen with a board over the top of it. Some of the others had shared bathrooms with other tenants, and all the flats were grubby, with shabby furniture, dirty carpets and stained beds. When they answered advertisements in the evening paper, those flats had already gone. Yet despite the disappointment of not finding a flat, they’d had a wonderful time in London and couldn’t wait to get back there.

  After arranging to meet up with Jilly in the coming week, Katy picked up her case and made her way home to Collington Avenue with a heavy heart.

  ‘So you’re back, then?’ Hilda said as Katy came in through the back door, straight into the kitchen. She was sitting at the kitchen table polishing some brass and looked at her daughter with a sour expression.

  ‘It appears that way,’ Katy said. ‘I did say I’d be home today.’

  ‘Don’t use sarcasm on me,’ her mother snapped.

  ‘Well, how about you act a little more welcoming?’ Katy retorted. ‘Honestly, Mum, you are so na
sty sometimes. Is it any wonder I want to move away? Where’s Dad? I want to tell him about my new job.’

  ‘Then you’d better go to the police station. He’s been arrested!’

  Katy nearly laughed, assuming it was a joke. But, of course, her mother never made jokes. And who would joke about something like that?

  ‘Arrested!’ she exclaimed. ‘Whatever for? Mum, you are scaring me. What is this about?’

  ‘He’s been arrested for murder. He killed Mrs Reynolds and her daughter.’

  Katy’s legs buckled under her, and she had to grab the back of a chair for support.

  ‘My dad would never kill anyone,’ she said, and her voice came out thin and shaky. ‘Who said he did?’

  Hilda shrugged her thin shoulders and pursed her lips. ‘They must have evidence; they just came and took him away soon after he came in from work yesterday.’

  ‘But he was asleep when the fire broke out, as we all were.’

  ‘That’s what I told the police. But something woke me, so maybe it was Albert getting back into bed.’

  Katy looked at her mother in horror. ‘You can’t believe that. What makes you say such a thing?’

  Hilda picked up a small brass jug and began polishing it vigorously. ‘I don’t know what to believe any more. I never imagined he would have an affair with another woman, but it looks as if that’s exactly what he’s been doing. So, you tell me why I should believe he didn’t kill her?’

  Katy felt sick and dizzy; it was as if she was being sucked into some kind of maelstrom, with nothing to hang on to, not even her own sanity. She sat down heavily and rested her head on her hands for a moment to stop the dizziness.

  ‘Mum, even if he had been having an affair with Mrs Reynolds, which I don’t believe for a second, he would never kill her. Especially by burning her house down. That was done by someone deranged. He’s gentle, kind and so very tolerant.’

  ‘The neighbours all thought John Christie was a good man,’ Hilda said. ‘But he killed young women and buried them in his house. And he let his poor, simple-minded lodger take the blame and be hanged.’

  ‘Dad is as far removed from Christie as you are from Marilyn Monroe,’ Katy bellowed, enraged that anyone could be that stupid. ‘I’m going down to the police station now to see him.’

  Katy ran the whole way to the police station, crying as she went. Although only five o’clock in the afternoon, it was already dark and bitingly cold and there were very few people about.

  At the counter in the police station she asked to see her father. The middle-aged, balding desk sergeant at first refused her. But when she started to cry again he said he’d see what he could do and disappeared out the back.

  Some twenty minutes passed before he came back. ‘Okay, miss, I’ve put him in an interview room. You can have a few minutes, that’s all.’

  Being led along passages, and then down some plain stone stairs with a terrible smell of damp, made her father’s predicament seem even worse. She saw a doorway covered with an iron grille that clearly led to the cells, straight ahead of her, but she was led off to the right and ushered into a very small, windowless room. All it held was two chairs, a tiny table – and her father.

  She had never seen him like this before. Unshaven, and with red-rimmed eyes full of anxiety. He looked older and beaten down.

  Katy rushed into his arms. ‘Oh, Daddy, how could they even think it was you?’

  He hugged her tightly for a moment and then nudged her on to one chair. He took the other chair and leaned across the table to wipe the tears from her eyes with his thumb. She caught hold of his hand tightly, fighting back more tears.

  ‘They found paraffin in my shed,’ he said. ‘The can was mine; I bought it once, when I ran out of petrol, so it had my fingerprints on it. But as God is my witness, I’ve never put any paraffin in it. Why would I? We don’t have any paraffin stoves. But they also found some material which they said was the same as whatever was used to start the fire. The only material I’ve ever had in my shed was rags: old pants and vests and bits of worn-out flannel sheets. They showed me the stuff they found. It was like curtain material; it wouldn’t have been any use for rags, as it wasn’t absorbent, and I’d never seen it before, anyway. So someone put it there to incriminate me.’ He paused for a moment, looking at Katy intently. ‘I was in bed asleep when it started. I got up five or ten minutes before your mother woke you and Rob, and in that time I rang 999.’

  ‘I believe you, Dad, I know you wouldn’t hurt anyone. But Mum thinks you were having an affair with Gloria Reynolds.’

  Her father shook his head. ‘So the police told me. I wasn’t, of course, but I am guilty of not telling your mother I became friends with her. I’m sure you can imagine why! Do you remember the fuss she made when I went over there to repair the cistern?’

  Katy nodded; she did remember. It was a couple of years ago, on a Sunday. Mrs Reynolds came over, distraught, because water was cascading down the wall from her bathroom. Albert grabbed his tools and went back with her, but when he returned home an hour later, Hilda was furious with him. She kept up a tirade for the rest of the day.

  ‘From that day on I often popped in to see her, because I liked her. She was warm, funny and kind and always so pleased to see me. She’d had a violent husband she’d run away from, and had to bring her children up on her own. We often talked about what hell it was living with someone whose moods were so unpredictable, you never knew when they were going to turn on you. I’d never admitted to anyone before what Hilda was like – after all, it made me look so weak. But I did to Gloria.’

  ‘Oh, Dad …’ Katy began to cry again. ‘I liked her, too; I can understand you confiding in her. But who do you think set the fire?’

  ‘I’d say it was one of the husbands of the women she helped,’ he said thoughtfully. ‘Or maybe her ex-husband.’

  ‘What do you mean about women she helped?’

  ‘She helped them get away from violent husbands,’ he said.

  All at once, like a light being switched on, Katy realized that was who the women were; the women she had seen arriving in the black car. ‘They came with a plump older woman in a black Humber?’

  Her father nodded. ‘Yes. Well, I only saw her friend with the black car once, but Gloria told me she often brought women to her. They would stay for a couple of days while Gloria talked to them and helped them to begin a new life. She had to keep it secret, for obvious reasons; the husbands of those women were dangerous.’

  Katy realized that at any minute the sergeant would be back to ask her to leave. ‘Look, Daddy, we haven’t got long. What can I do to help?’

  ‘You can ring my solicitor and arrange to meet him, so you can give him a bit more background – especially what I’ve said about these women Gloria helped. Until last night I’d never met this criminal lawyer. His name is Michael Bonham; our company solicitor found him for me. He seems a good man. He’s hoping he can get me bail at court on Monday.’ He took a card from his pocket to give her. ‘Mr Bonham has put his home number on the back. Will you ring him and ask if you can see him tomorrow?’ He paused for a moment or two, as if considering what else he had to tell her. ‘If you could get a couple of clean shirts, shaving stuff and a change of underwear and bring it down here, that would be wonderful, Katy,’ he went on to say.

  The door opened and the sergeant was back. ‘Time’s up,’ he said.

  ‘I’ll come to the court on Monday,’ Katy said, going to her father to hug him.

  ‘No you won’t, that’s why I said to see Bonham tomorrow. Nothing much will happen at the court – it’s just applying for bail – so it’s better that you go to work.’

  Katy wanted to protest, but she knew by his tone of voice he meant what he said. He was trying to keep her out of this, perhaps afraid someone who knew her might see her at the court. She could argue that the whole of Bexhill would know he’d been charged with murder by Monday evening, once the local paper got hold of the story.
But she had to leave him with some hope her name wouldn’t be tainted, too.

  One last hug and biting back tears, she left. As he disappeared with a constable down to the cells, the gate was locked behind them. The sergeant gave her a nudge so she would go on up the stairs and back to reception, and Katy shuddered. If Dad didn’t get bail on Monday, how was he going to cope with prison? He was an outdoors kind of man who loved long walks, working in the garden – even when he worked in his shed, he left the door wide open. But more importantly, how could he cope with being labelled a murderer?

  She rang Michael Bonham from a telephone box before returning home. He was reassuring to speak to; his voice was very deep and he was patient with her when she stumbled over words.

  ‘I know my dad could never have set that fire,’ she said passionately. ‘He would never hurt any woman, even one he disliked. And he really liked Gloria Reynolds; they were friends. He’s a very honest man, you must believe that.’

  ‘I do believe that, Katy,’ he said. ‘I wouldn’t want to defend your father unless I believed he was speaking the truth. I suggest that we meet tomorrow, and you give me a bit more background information. You can probably give me a different perspective on Mrs Reynolds, too.’

  They arranged to meet at a coffee bar on the seafront at eleven the following morning.

  Katy went home then, feeling more alone than she had ever felt in her life before. She was tempted to go to Jilly’s and tell her all about it, but she knew that wasn’t a good idea, not yet. Rob should know, and she wished she could tell him, but she had no phone number for him. In the past he had always rung home on Sunday mornings. But he’d been so fed up when he left this time, he probably wouldn’t bother. She’d sit down and write straight after dinner.

  First she had to face her mother again, to try and convince her she was mistaken about her husband having an affair. But that was going to be hard; she knew of old that when Hilda was set against someone, nothing would change her mind.

  Katy left home on Sunday morning just before ten, taking with her the items her father had asked for. She’d written to Rob and posted the letter, begging him to phone as soon as he got it. Sadly, she hadn’t made any headway with her mother. Hilda was still stubbornly insisting that her husband was unfaithful. She didn’t even seem to understand the implications of being charged with murder; that he could get a life sentence, or maybe even be hanged, without her support. She said she wasn’t going to let him back in the house, even if he did get bail.