Still Waters

by Linda Kavanagh

  It was difficult to see anything in the gloom, but as her eyes adjusted she spotted the outline of Fred Heartley’s red car in the distance. She didn’t need to go any nearer – all she needed to do now was surface, climb out, and tell the police what she’d seen.

  Sitting on the edge of the bank, Ivy felt almost euphoric, although she knew her actions would bring sorrow to others, especially her dear friend Peggy. Her sister-in-law was only just coming to terms with Danny’s drowning, and soon she’d have to cope with another death in the family.

  Ivy quickly dried herself off, slipped on her tracksuit again and bundled her wet clothes into her sports bag. She decided to go home first, tell her parents what she’d seen, then ask her father to accompany her to the police station. That would make it all seem more natural. Everything in her rebelled against being so calculating, especially when it involved her own parents, but it was necessary for this last piece of the jigsaw to fit properly.

  Back at the house, her mother received the news with equanimity. “You know, I have a bad feeling about this, Ivy,” Eleanor announced. “That car – were you able to see the colour?”

  “No, Mum, it was too dark.”

  “Hmmm. You know, I wouldn’t be surprised if it turned out to be Fred Heartley’s red Ford. I’ve never subscribed to the notion that Joe went to Australia. He was too nice a boy to leave his parents worrying like that. Of course, I always encouraged Julia to believe he’d be back, but I’ve had my suspicions –”

  Her father laughed. “Your mother’s a great conspiracy theorist – I’m surprised she hasn’t suggested that the Bermuda Triangle is down there too.”

  Ivy shrugged her shoulders. “Maybe it’s just an old wreck that someone dumped there, but I need to let the police know anyway.”

  An hour later, having been driven by her father to the police station in Allcott, Ivy stepped up to the public window and tapped on the glass. She had her story well prepared, and up to a point, it was true. It was just twenty years out of date.

  Fifteen minutes later, as she left the police station with her father, Ivy experienced a sense of peace she hadn’t known for a long time. She’d done what she had to do, and she’d remain in the village until the car was recovered and the bodies identified.

  “Let’s go home, Dad,” Ivy said, linking arms with her father as they walked to his car. “Right now, I could do with a strong cup of tea.”

  Her father grimaced. “Personally, I’d prefer a whiskey – I wonder if your mother could be right?”

  Chapter 66

  When the crane pulled Fred Heartley’s red Ford out of the lake with the two bodies inside, which were identified as Joe and Rosa, Eleanor was so stunned that she forgot to claim credit for her earlier prescience.

  “But all those photographs and letters that Hannah said were from Rosa – where did they come from?” Eleanor had whispered, her eyes like saucers.

  “I suspect she wrote those letters herself,” Ivy said softly. “She wouldn’t have wanted people thinking that Rosa hadn’t kept in touch with her – but of course, we now know where Rosa was all that time.”

  Ivy hated herself for implying that Hannah had deceived them. But she didn’t feel she’d any choice since her own future and Joseph’s were at stake. Only her mother, father and Joan actually knew about the letters and photos, and they’d all accept that Hannah had created them to bolster her own ego, and keep quiet out of respect for her memory.

  Eleanor looked puzzled. “So all that malarkey about Rosa owning a house in Hampstead – that wasn’t true, either?”

  Ivy was unsure what to say. “No, I’m afraid not, Mum,” she said at last.

  Luckily, Eleanor had decided to return to the subject of the photos. “But your father and I actually saw pictures of Rosa, on those foreign trips of hers –”

  “Hannah probably had them done professionally,” Ivy lied. “Maybe she needed them for herself as much as anyone else. Anyway, since they’ve all been lost in the burglary, Mum, I think it’s best if we forget we ever saw them. Otherwise, we’ll look foolish if we keep harping on about something that no longer exists, won’t we?”

  “But how –”

  Looking at her mother’s tear-stained face, Ivy felt awful.

  Ivy’s father joined them in the kitchen. “Ivy’s right, love. If Hannah felt the need to deceive us, it’s not for us to tell anyone else.”

  “I’d never do that!” Eleanor said indignantly. “I’m just finding it hard to understand why she needed to deceive us. I mean, I thought we were her friends –”

  “I’d say it was precisely because you were such good friends that she couldn’t bear for you to pity her,” Ivy said. “You’ve always had your daughter visiting regularly – Hannah didn’t.”

  Eleanor nodded, managing a tearful smile. “Yes, it must be awful not to have regular contact with a child you love so much,” she’d whispered. “If you didn’t visit regularly, Ivy, and if Owen didn’t phone at least once a month, I might find myself pretending to the neighbours, too …”

  The funerals of Rosa Dalton and Joe Heartley took place together on a dull grey morning in Willow Haven. Everyone in the village attended the church service and followed the cortege to the cemetery, where both graves were festooned with wreaths, bouquets and cards bearing messages of condolence.

  Rosa, who’d been identified by the gold pendant Hannah had given her, was interred in her mother’s grave, while Joe Heartley joined his parents in theirs. There was a space in the Heartley grave for Danny too, if his body was ever found. Of course Ivy now felt certain that was never going to happen.

  As she stood before the Heartley grave, she felt overwhelmed by emotion, remembering Fred’s dying words when he’d still hoped that Joe was alive and would return home one day. She’d gone to the funeral parlour the night before, and asked to place Fred’s letter in the coffin with his son. She’d also added a crayon drawing done by Joseph at the age of six. The page was a riot of colour, and Ivy felt that it was fitting that Joe should take something of his son with him on the road to eternity. Now, as Joe’s coffin was lowered into the ground, Ivy’s tears flowed freely. You’re home at last, Joe, she whispered.

  Joseph hadn’t attended the funerals because he was under pressure to finish a paper for university. Anyway, Ivy felt there wasn’t any need for him to be there – he was still coming to terms with his own grief and besides, he’d never met the man he believed to be his uncle.

  Clara Bellingham and her new husband Bill were there, Clara’s face wet with tears. “There’s been so much sadness lately, hasn’t there, Ivy?” she whispered. “I can’t believe that Danny is gone – you must be devastated.”

  Ivy nodded, feeling a fraud.

  Clara grasped her wrist. “You’ll come to visit us before you leave Willow Haven, won’t you?”

  “How about tomorrow evening about eight?” Ivy suggested.

  Clara turned to Bill and they both nodded.

  “I can’t believe Rosa’s gone,” Clara’s voice caught in a sob, “and that she’s been dead for years. And to think we assumed she was off living it up in exotic hot-spots, when all the time –” She turned to Ivy with a tearful expression. “She was so full of life, wasn’t she?”

  Ivy nodded, hoping that Clara wouldn’t remember being told about the congratulations card she herself had received from Rosa. Perhaps, when she visited them tomorrow, she’d tell them the same lie she’d told her parents, about how Hannah had created a make-believe world to help her feel close to her absentee daughter. They’d understand and keep quiet – besides, nothing could hurt Hannah now.

  “So how was your honeymoon?” she asked, trying to lighten the atmosphere a little.

  “Wonderful!” said Clara, glancing shyly at Bill.

  “Yes, we had a great time in the Canaries,” Bill said, “but it was a shock to come back to such tragic news – first poor Danny, then Rosa and Joe.”

  As Ivy nodded sadly, preparing to move away
, Clara tugged at her sleeve. “Ivy, you’re not going to believe this – I’m pregnant already!”

  Ivy scooped her old friend into her arms. “Congratulations, Clara – how wonderful! That’s just what this area needs – the sound of children’s laughter!”

  As the graveside services ended, people began leaving the cemetery. Most of them were heading to the hotel where tea and sandwiches were being provided.

  Eleanor appeared, linking arms with her daughter. “If you hadn’t dived in to find your lost compact, Joe and Rosa might never have been found,” she said.

  “But the bodies would have been discovered when the Council started draining the lake,” Ivy pointed out.

  “Oh, didn’t you hear?” Eleanor said, pleased to know something her daughter didn’t. “The Council has finally voted against draining it – the project has proved far too expensive.”

  Arching her eyebrows, Ivy smiled to herself. Not so long ago, that news would have been music to her ears. Now it didn’t matter any more.

  As her parents fell into conversation with a group of neighbours, Ivy found herself embraced by her sister-in-law, Peggy. The two women hugged each other tightly, their tears flowing freely.

  “First Danny, now Joe!” Peggy sobbed. “Oh Ivy, it’s just all so horrible! Poor Joe – he never even left Willow Haven!”

  “I’m so sorry!” said Ivy, now weeping too, but Peggy would never know that Ivy was also apologising for all the deception she’d practised in the past. If she’d been honest all those years ago, Peggy would have done her weeping for Joe long ago.

  “Why on earth were Joe and Rosa together in Dad’s car?” Peggy asked at last. “Joe didn’t even like her. And he disappeared weeks before Rosa supposedly left for London –”

  Peggy looked tearfully at her sister-in-law. “What do you think could have happened?”

  Ivy’s heart was thumping painfully. “Maybe he was bringing your dad’s car back to Willow Haven? He might have bumped into Rosa as she was leaving, and offered her a lift. I don’t suppose we’ll ever know what happened.”

  And I hope you never do, Ivy thought to herself. She longed to tell Peggy that she herself had been leaving Willow Haven with Joe. And she desperately wished her sister-in-law could know how much she’d loved Joe back then.

  As Ned approached and slipped a protective arm around his wife, Ivy promised to follow him and Peggy to the hotel. But first, there was someone she needed to speak to.

  Hannah’s sister Joan now stood alone at the grave that held her sister and niece, and she cut a forlorn figure as Ivy approached her.

  “I can’t believe they’re both gone,” Joan whispered. “And I don’t understand why Hannah lied to me all these years – she told me she met Rosa regularly in London!”

  “I think she was afraid people would believe Rosa couldn’t be bothered to visit her,” Ivy said sadly. “Of course, we now know that was far from the truth.”

  “Hannah was always talking about some big house that Rosa had in Hampstead – I suppose that wasn’t true, either?”

  Shamefaced, Ivy lowered her head. “I’m afraid not, Joan,” she replied. “I think it was just another story that helped Hannah to feel close to her daughter.”

  Looking at Joan’s tear-stained face, Ivy felt a stab of guilt for the cover-up she was engaged in. But Joan would experience far greater grief if she knew her niece had been murdered. Better to let her think it was just a ghastly accident, as the police clearly did. Ivy was relieved that the police hadn’t uncovered any evidence of foul play, and the injuries Rosa had sustained had been attributed to the impact of the crash.

  Joan turned to Ivy, her eyes red-rimmed. “You’ve had your share of loss too, Ivy. It’s never easy losing the people you love, is it? I still can’t bear to look at Hannah’s house. Since the burglary, it doesn’t feel like a home any more. Now I understand how Rosa felt about this place – I doubt if I’ll ever come back to Willow Haven again.”

  “Why don’t you come to South Africa for a holiday?” Ivy said impulsively. It was the least she could do for this lonely woman who had no family left. It could never replace her loss, but a holiday in the sun might help to lift her spirits a little.

  Joan looked at her uncertainly. “W-what do you mean?”

  Ivy leaned forward confidentially. “I’ve left Bright Lights and I’m moving to South Africa,” she whispered. “Please come out for Owen’s wedding next spring – your fare will be my treat.”

  “You’re leaving Bright Lights?” Initially Joan looked stunned, but then she recovered. “I suppose I’m not really surprised, Ivy. You’ve been through so much yourself.”

  Ivy hugged her. “Please come – I promise to make it the holiday of a lifetime!”

  Joan nodded through her tears. “I can hardly turn down an offer like that, can I? Thanks, Ivy!”

  “Come on, let’s go for a drink at the hotel,” Ivy said, hiding her own tears as she led Joan down the tree-lined avenue and out of the cemetery.

  The newspapers attributed Ivy’s departure from Bright Lights to the recent tragic death of her husband Danny Heartley, managing director of the Betterbuys supermarket chain, and Ivy saw no reason to enlighten them. Besides, it was important for Joseph to believe that she was mourning his father’s death. In a way, she was in mourning for Danny – he’d been her husband for half of her life, and she’d grown to love the man she’d believed him to be. Since realising he’d probably faked his death, her confused feelings had vacillated between anger and grief, followed by guilt at allowing Rosa’s murder to be covered up. But what use would the truth serve? It would ruin too many lives.

  Gradually over time, her feelings for Danny had mellowed. She owed him a debt of gratitude for being her rock for twenty years, but most of all, for giving Joseph a father. In a way, she would always love him for that. And although he’d never again be part of her life, she was glad to think that he was out there, and she wished him well. They’d both made mistakes and, in forgiving Danny, she would also be forgiving herself. Perhaps it was time to set aside the guilt they both shared, especially now that each of them was embracing a new and very different future. It was time to let go.

  Ivy also made it clear to the press that she wouldn’t be playing any active role in Betterbuys. “My son Joseph will eventually take over the day-to-day running of the company,” she told reporters, “and Betterbuys will be maintaining the traditions that have made the company such a great success.”

  As she wheeled her suitcases into busy Port Elizabeth airport, Ivy looked anxiously at all the faces as people milled around her. Suddenly, she was filled with uncertainty and fear. Would he be there, or had she read too much into his offer of support?

  For a moment, she felt scared. Had she travelled six thousand miles, only to be disappointed? What if he didn’t really want her? Or if he only wanted a holiday romance, or maybe not even that? Had she somehow misread the signs?

  Then suddenly, he was there, a big grin on his tanned handsome face.

  “Ivy – oh Ivy, you’re here!”

  “Brian!”

  Although they were surrounded by hundreds of people, it was as though there was no one else there except the two of them. As he rushed towards her, his broad smile held so much promise, and in his blue eyes she could already see her future. And this time, it would be a future without lies or subterfuge.

  “At last!” she whispered fervently as she fell into his arms.

  Interview with

  LINDA KAVANAGH

  Why do you personally choose to write in the suspense genre?

  Probably because they’re the kind of novels I enjoy reading myself. I like a book that keeps me gripped – personally, I’ll abandon any that fail to keep me interested. Therefore, I try to ensure that my readers are kept interested with a few twists and turns as each novel progresses!

  Where do you find your inspiration? Purely from imagination or from real-life incidents you may experience or hear of?
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  It’s probably a mixture of both – I’d say 90% imagination, but sometimes an idea is triggered by a news item or someone else’s experience. Anyway, our imaginations are the accumulation of all the ideas, feelings and experiences we’ve stored over the course of our lives, and it’s this shared humanity that gives a story its edge. Regardless of where we live or what language we speak, we all share the same feelings, worries, hopes and dreams. And sometimes we like them packaged into an entertaining read!

  Do you find it disturbs you to write about very dark themes, such as those in Still Waters? Or are you able to disassociate yourself from what you write?

  I have cried over the fate of some of my characters as I wrote particular scenes, and believe me, it’s not easy to type when there are tears running down your face! It is actually quite difficult to write about bad things happening to good people. Some chapters have left me exhausted and emotionally drained, but I keep reminding myself that eventually I’ll get to the happy ending (for some characters anyway!). After a difficult chapter, I give myself a few days off, and go out socialising to recuperate!

  As a writer, do you need to have some degree of direct experience of the passions you write about? For example, are you drawing from your own experience (or that of those close to you) when you tackle such themes as bullying, revenge or being a victim?

  Fortunately I’ve never experienced any of the above. I’ve had my fair share of ups and downs in life, but I don’t believe you need to experience something firsthand to write well about it. Passions and feelings are universal, and my feelings are no different than anyone else’s. So I just mentally put myself in my characters’ shoes.

  Your writing seems to have gradually become darker over the years. Is this anything to do with a change in your own world view?

  Life is tough for most people, and few of us can avoid the pain of loss, illness and heartbreak. Of course, life is also tempered from time to time with joy and success. It’s when the balance alters and one person’s joy is achieved at the expense of another’s – that is where the novelist steps in! Regarding my worldview, it hasn’t changed since my teens – I still hate how humans exploit each other, the creatures of the earth, and the planet itself for short-term personal gain. In my opinion, while most humans are kind and decent, sadly the baddies will always win because they are prepared to go further in pursuit of their aims.