The House Sitter

by Jill Barry

  “It makes me suspect Ruth Morgan might have got at them.”

  “Threatened them, you mean?”

  “I didn’t say that. Instinct tells me that isn’t her style. I meant she could easily have fed them bogus information, hoping to put them off making an offer. In the same way that the mysterious stranger called Delyth took the trouble to visit a teashop with a couple she picked up in the high street so she could spin them the gruesome story of a local myth that might even have no foundation. I haven’t got around to checking yet.”

  He grinned. “This really does get better and better.” He threw up his hands. “Sorry, Bethan, but concentrating on that couple you showed around, how would Ms Morgan have known where to find them?”

  “They were staying in the Queensbridge Hotel. Morgan knew that because Mr Sarani commented on the quality of its food. I heard him mention how much he was looking forward to his dinner that evening. She couldn’t have failed to take that on board because she was in the kitchen at the time.”

  “So, our friend the delightful house sitter could have turned up, accidentally on purpose. Is that what you’re saying?”

  “That’s exactly what I’m saying. Mr and Mrs Sarani could well have welcomed the chance of a chat with someone having insider knowledge of the area, especially as they’d already met her. Morgan could easily have drip-fed them negative ideas. Where else would they have got the idea that Mrs Deacon’s mental health is less than robust?”

  “Wouldn’t they assume the house sale was an urgent matter, knowing the couple plan to move closer to their daughter? Wouldn’t doctors, more than most people, understand how some people suffer more stress than others, when obliged to up sticks?”

  “You’d think so, wouldn’t you? I wouldn’t mind betting the possibility of mental fragility was mentioned. That phrase can imply such a lot.”

  “Including lack of confidence about moving at the Deacons’ stage of life?”

  “Precisely,” said Bethan. “I know for a fact that Eddie Deacon’s anxious to get his wife back to civilisation, as he puts it. But his wife’s, let’s call it, nervous disposition is a plausible reason to describe to possible purchasers if I’m correct and Ms Morgan is actively hindering the sale.”

  Ray put down his coffee cup and folded his hands behind his neck. “If you’re incorrect, it’s obvious there’s a hell of a lot to explain. Can’t help thinking Mr Deacon doesn’t know when he’s well off though. Even in dreich weather, mid Wales has bowled me over.”

  “Okay,” said Bethan. “You and he are at opposite ends of the spectrum. It’s fortunate for me, and for the firm, that The Sugar House fits the criteria you have in mind. But the urge to live closer to family members as people reach their sixties and beyond is a popular reason for selling up. Moving on.”

  She rested her elbows on the desk. Clasped her hands beneath her chin. “I’m becoming more and more aware of how much Ruth Morgan enjoys being close to Mr and Mrs Deacon. It’s not only a friendship thing. It’s also, I think, about need. The woman acts as though they’re her personal property and she has the right to make decisions on their behalf. I remember how you likened her to a hen with her chicks.”

  Ray gave a low whistle. “Yep, can’t argue with that. Also, she did appear very negative when talking about the village.”

  “Her aversion to me’s pretty obvious and goes far beyond lack of co-operation. I don’t think it’s a case of her disliking my signature perfume. I’m a threat simply because I’m trying to sell The Sugar House. Similarly, my clients are a threat because they might buy it.”

  Ray nodded. “Strikes me, our Ms Morgan has her feet under the table in more ways than one. Do you reckon she’s got designs on the old man? How about she’s planning to bump off his wife and become the next Mrs Deacon?”

  Bethan stared back at him. “Oh. My. God. Are you serious? You are, aren’t you?”

  Ray wasn’t yet ready to voice his suspicions about Ruth Morgan’s past. He shrugged. “Think about it. If he became a widower, he’d be in shock. The status quo might strike him as more appealing than setting off on his own. We know neither of his kids is living close by. So, initially, who’s the one person he’d turn to?”

  He raised his eyebrows but Bethan stared back at him, her face expressionless.

  “The only person he trusts to let loose in his house, that’s who. And that person might try to persuade him to stay put and let her look after him. Maybe she’s convinced herself Mr Deacon’s desire to move will fade if he suddenly turns into a lonely widower. She’s not unattractive, you know. That spiky kind of zip appeals to some guys.”

  “Really?” Bethan shuddered.

  He grinned. “I prefer someone more approachable.”

  Bethan avoided his gaze.

  “But the woman’s a powerhouse,” he said. “There’s a lot of repressed energy simmering. She could be near the edge.”

  “I couldn’t possibly comment. I find her obnoxious. . . but let’s not go there. I need to concentrate on facts and the way forward. I have to protect my clients’ welfare, which means yours and that of any other prospective purchasers.” Bethan narrowed her eyes. “I can’t believe we’re talking like this. You’re probably wondering whether I’ve mislaid my marbles.”

  “Nah. As for the dreaded house sitter, I guess the jury’s still out. But fact is often stranger than fiction.” He looked at the flamboyant timepiece on his wrist. “I’d better shift myself and leave you to get on with your day.” He reached for his wallet and took out a business card.

  “I know my details are on your database but don’t hesitate to ring me outside office hours if necessary. I know a lot of people, if push comes to shove and you need a little, shall we say, support.” He handed over the card. “Bethan, don’t fret. No bizarre old biddy’s going to put me off your clients’ house. The one to make the decision is my partner.”

  Bethan nodded.

  “If Claudia decides the village is too remote for her or The Sugar House lacks the wow factor, I’m afraid that’ll be it. But I have faith in her taste and I’d be surprised if she didn’t fall in love with the place.”

  Bethan nodded again. Too many bitten lips didn’t chime with her normally sunny personality. The Deacons would be back before long and Eddie Deacon would expect a full progress update. Who would he blame for the downstairs cloakroom fiasco? Ruth Morgan would doubtless put forward Sparkles, even though to push the tiny corpse inside the shell so snugly had to be beyond the old dog’s ability. Yet, without tangible proof to back up Bethan’s suspicions, where did she go from here?

  Chapter Sixteen

  “I don’t know where we go from here, Eddie, and that’s a fact.”

  Suzanne plumped herself down on a crimson chesterfield and stared through the hotel lounge window as if seeking inspiration from the stone cherubs gazing back at her.

  “We’re fine at the moment, thanks.” Eddie nodded at the hovering waiter and settled himself opposite his wife.

  He leaned forward and reached for her hands. “It’s no bad position to be in, Suze. Think about it. We put our house on the market. We leave a trusted house sitter and estate agent to look after things while we swan off to view properties. Now we find each of us has fallen in love with a different house. That’s progress, not something to agonise over, surely?”

  “You don’t seem to appreciate how close that beautiful bungalow I like is from Penny’s place. The house on the coast is ten miles away and, in my opinion, the garden’s unsuitable.”

  Eddie sighed. “Try not to let proximity to the family be your main criteria. You know Penny and Dec will be looking for somewhere bigger as soon as he comes back to the UK for good.”

  “I understand that, but they’re still looking to stay in Salisbury or close by. Unless you know differently.”

  “I think it’ll depend on where they find suitable to start a new practice.”

  “So, why are you rushing me into choosing a new home?”

&
nbsp; “I’m not rushing you, Suze. We haven’t sold our house yet and even when we do, we can find somewhere to rent if we still haven’t made up our minds.”

  She nodded. “All right, but it mightn’t be as easy to sell The Sugar House as you seem to think.”

  “We both know it could take months. We might even have to wait until spring before someone offers. If you could put the house down in Wiltshire, it’d be worth mega bucks. But even at the price Bethan Harley suggested, we all know it’s still a terrific bargain. You mark my words.”

  “I hope you’re right, Eddie. But I also hope we can move out of Wales and into a new home without renting somewhere first. To me that sounds too much like hassle.”

  “Moving house is never a picnic, my sweet, that’s why I want to make things as easy for you as possible. You know Penny said you could stay with them and let me manage things at Three Roads ready for the actual moving day. It’s easier for her to put up just one person.”

  “I imagine Ruth would enjoy having you to herself.”

  “Sorry?”

  “Have you not noticed her attitude towards you?”

  He shook his head. “Can’t say I have. I’ve always considered her to be more your friend than mine.”

  “That’s what she intends you to think. But ever since we put the house on the market, it’s as if she sees me as an encumbrance. As if she’d like to see me out of her life but she’d very much like you still to be in it.”

  Eddie stared at her. “Are you serious?”

  “I’m deadly serious. Think of her initial reaction to our decision. Now that had to be an ‘if looks could kill’ situation.”

  “You’re over-reacting, Suze. Anyway, I take full blame for that blooper. I bungled it by not keeping an eye on things. I’m surprised the postman didn’t say anything, anyway. Our friendly Knocker likes a chat with her before he goes on for his morning cuppa with Mrs Frame.”

  “He could have been running late. Maybe Ruth would have been even more upset if she’d found out that way. It was interesting how she turned on us, well me especially, but backed off again.” Suzanne squared her shoulders. “I’m not ungrateful for all the help she’s given us over the years. She’s so good with the dog too. But we could manage without her if she was the one moving. I’m not so sure she feels the same way about us leaving.”

  “Can’t think why. She must have coped before we arrived.”

  “How can I put this? Ruth’s quite proprietorial, Eddie. And little by little, I can sense her trying to push herself between us.”

  “Oh, for flip’s sake! Even if she did try that, it’d never wash with me.” Eddie thrust away any fantasy he’d ever entertained of an illicit rendezvous with Ruth. There’d been a kiss. Once. He’d wondered afterwards but done nothing about it.

  “Listen, Suze. There’s nothing to keep us in Three Roads and the time’s ripe for a new stage in our lives. I’ve enjoyed our years in Wales but our needs are changing. A decade or so can make a huge difference once you hit sixty. Ruth’s younger than either of us. She knows more people in these parts than we ever will. Didn’t her aunt live at Rock Cottage for years?”

  “That’s not the first time you’ve said that.”

  “About Ruth’s aunt?”

  “About Ruth being a younger woman than I am.”

  “I believe I pointed out she was younger than either of us.”

  “You also said not too long ago, that she’d make someone a good wife.”

  Eddie stared at Suzanne. He had an awful feeling the heat suffusing his face displayed his discomfort. But surely his wife didn’t really imagine he had designs on another woman? On Ruth?

  He considered his next words carefully. “Maybe you’re reading things into the situation, darling. Living in a small community is bound to make us feel claustrophobic about certain matters. You don’t have any other female friends, apart from her. Not close ones, anyway.”

  “To be honest, I’m wondering just how much of a true friend she really is. I’m starting to realise the extent to which she’s been insinuating herself in my life.”

  “I know you’re not keen on driving nowadays. But you don’t have to feel obliged to ask her. I’ll always take you wherever you want to go. You know that.”

  “Thank you, Eddie, but it’s not only about chauffeuring me here and there. It’s her carping comments about my choice of clothes and the number of times I want my hair done. If I’m wearing something she admires, she puts on the ‘poor me’ act about not being fortunate enough to indulge her tastes like I can. She went on and on about that amethyst and turquoise necklace I bought in Knightly and it was obvious she was hoping I’d hand it over.”

  “Why haven’t you said something before?”

  “I wanted to make sure I wasn’t being hung-up over trivial incidents. But lately, and certainly since we put the house on the market, I’m convinced she’s jealous of me. I might as well come out with it, Eddie. I’m not sure I want to go back to the village. I’m not sure I want to call The Sugar House home any more.”

  Ruth anticipated hearing from Eddie and Suzanne at any time. The morning after her catastrophic visit to The Devil’s Pool she set off to Llanbrenin Wells with an important purchase in mind. She could have stopped off in Knightly but decided driving the extra distance to the larger town would be a safer option. Although, once she slipped into the ladies’ toilets and dressed in her alter ego Delyth’s attire, she believed no one who knew her would associate such an elegant auburn-haired lady with Ruth Morgan, whose usual denims and cords fitted days filled with gardening, preserve making and dog walking.

  Nor was this market day when more people drove in from the surrounding villages. Fleetingly she thought of Huw, her friend who lived a few miles away. But he shopped elsewhere and if he fancied a day out, he invariably drove to Abergavenny.

  Often, when Ruth called at the arts centre or joined the fishmonger’s queue on market days, she’d see a familiar face and maybe exchange a few words. The first time she adopted her Delyth persona, she’d not noticed anyone scrutinising her as if wondering if they’d met her before. She’d gloated over the realisation that her alter ego could face the world with impunity.

  She tossed her red rucksack on the car’s back seat, enjoying the knowledge that no one overlooked The Sugar House. She was on the verge of driving off, to check if her cat was at home and still speaking to her, when she thought of Bethan Harley. Given the chilly relationship between them, perhaps a courteous telephone call would be diplomatic. Ruth let herself back inside.

  After a few rings she heard the voice of Briggs, Caldwell and Balls’ admin assistant.

  “It’s Ruth Morgan, speaking from The Sugar House.”

  She waited for the woman to respond. “I’m ringing to say I shall be out this morning. Maybe you’ll be kind enough to let Mrs Harley know? If she has anyone wishing to view, she’s welcome to come over and let herself in.”

  “That’s very thoughtful, thanks, Ms Morgan. Bethan is working at our Knightly office today but I’ll pass your message on. As far as I know, we have no viewings scheduled for Mr and Mrs Deacon’s property.”

  Ruth closed the call. Better and better. If the Harley woman was in Knightly, Ruth could relax while walking around Llanbrenin Wells in Delyth guise. If by chance Mrs Harley harboured any suspicions about the woman who’d talked local history to Valerie and Brad the house hunters, the odds on her clapping eyes on Delyth today were virtually non-existent.

  Seated at her desk in the Knightly office, Bethan idly wondered what Tim might be doing. She and her husband found few opportunities to speak these days. His erratic hours and her peripatetic work style didn’t encourage it. For the first two years he worked offshore, she’d missed having him around but became used to his absences until he returned home after one particular stint of duty and she realised how much she’d been thriving in the land where distance should make the heart grow fonder.

  But it wasn’t only her. Tim had
confessed to seeing someone all the way up there in Aberdeen. Loneliness. A moment of madness. A chance meeting with a woman also dining alone in a restaurant, the affair fizzling out before it hardly began. Those were among the words he’d used to describe what she still considered his pathetic little fling. Bethan had been angry rather than devastated.

  It would have been better if he’d said nothing. But no, he’d turned her into the classic wronged wife. Adultery figured high on her forbidden list but no way would she ever shatter their daughter’s relationship with her dad by dwelling on it.

  They strived to keep their slowly unravelling relationship from their daughter, but Poppy had inherited her mother’s sensitivity to body language and atmosphere. Bethan knew the teenager understood what kept her parents together and what now tore them apart. Bethan knew she’d drunk too much white wine the night before but she remembered everything her daughter said. Realised how much she had to be thankful for. They’d be okay, she and Poppy, whatever happened between herself and Tim.

  But her husband’s announcement left Bethan in a wintry no man’s land. Tim told her he’d do anything to keep the family together and, deep down, Bethan didn’t want to draw a line beneath their relationship either. Yet. His confession had created a problem for her and she still felt the sting of rejection. But she realised that, apart from her daughter, her work was the main objective of her existence. How sad was that?

  Financially, the family had no worries. But when Poppy went off to university, which was what everyone expected, how would Bethan prevent herself from becoming too immersed in the world of estate agency? Would she think about dating? Could she cope with all that after almost two decades of marriage? The thought of meeting someone through a website daunted her without even investigating the possibility.

  She’d enjoyed her conversation with Ray Kirby. Apart from providing another opportunity to let off steam, Ray had taken on board her concerns and conjectures and made her feel her views were credible. Bethan enjoyed the company of men and was used to other women not warming to her. What was she supposed to do? She worked in a tough arena, aware how Briggs, Caldwell and Balls punched out of their league when competing against a couple of national agencies with branches in mid Wales. Nowadays some people looked to finding a house buyer online. As if the business wasn’t difficult enough already.