by Jill Barry
“I’m fine. You’ve been a great help, lovey. Thank you for telling me. Now, I’ll get on with our supper.”
Bethan boiled water for pasta, her brain replaying what she’d heard. When Poppy reported seeing the woman she’d collided with, throwing herself across the road in her eagerness to get away, light had dawned. If Ruth really was masquerading as Delyth, obviously she was, in her everyday life, faking a problem with her mobility, a form of cover that could, if necessary, become an alibi. She would be adding a different dimension to her alter ego in the form of agility. Her real self couldn’t go dashing across busy roads or hurrying across uneven terrain. Her alter ego could.
Ruth Morgan didn’t appear to use cosmetics. She certainly didn’t apply nail polish and Bethan hadn’t noticed any particular fragrance around her unless you counted a whiff of sensible toilet soap. Delyth exuded elegance as well as fragrance. Again, Bethan recalled a drift of sophisticated scent when she passed the knot of people outside the estate agency the other morning. Poppy had commented on Delyth’s bronze nail polish. Yes! The pieces of the jigsaw were beginning to fall into place.
“Ray Kirby.”
“It’s Bethan Harley here, Mr Kirby.”
“What’s up, Bethan? Not trouble at t’mill, I hope? And it’s Ray, remember?”
Bethan ignored the tremors induced on hearing that rich, deep drawl. His voice sounded much more intimate down the phone line. She tucked her legs beneath her. Settled into the sofa corner. “If you can spare a few minutes, I’d like to tell you something that happened today.”
He didn’t interrupt while she related the morning sighting of Delyth. How her daughter had encountered what surely must be the same person, outside the second-hand bookshop, also in a hurry. A person so desperate to cross the road, she’d risked being mown down in full view of a dismayed Poppy amongst others.
“I see,” Ray said at last.
“The woman my daughter bumped into has to be the one I’ve now seen on two occasions. That hand to throat gesture is the give away.”
“Let’s be absolutely clear about this. You’re certain it’s the same hand movement you’ve seen Ruth Morgan make?”
Bethan didn’t have to think. She nodded, as though Ray could see her. “Yes. I’ve seen Ruth and Delyth each make an identical gesture. The day I did the viewing for those two consultants, I particularly noticed Ms Morgan making it. I didn’t like her attitude regarding my arriving with prospective purchasers. She was on the defensive because of the putrid smell in the downstairs loo. The movement was slow. Unhurried. Likewise, that throat clearing which sounded to me like a nervous habit.”
“I think I mentioned having seen her do the same thing? It was when she and I were walking up the hill from the village. Before she drew my attention to her arthritic knee.”
“I remember you saying something. Did she seem edgy?”
“What struck me was her negative attitude about her friends’ decision to sell up. She must have known I’d fallen for the house but she didn’t seem too enthusiastic that the vendors might be making an easy sale.”
“That would tally with my impression.”
“She faltered while we were walking and she mentioned how difficult it was keeping up with me, because her knee troubled her.”
“To gain sympathy, d’you reckon?”
“No. I think she wanted an excuse to get away from me and take the dog home.”
“Which she patently did not do!”
“Correct. I still don’t really know why she was creeping around the undergrowth leaving the Labrador tied up. I made it clear I could handle rough terrain and didn’t need a nursemaid. Regarding this so say alter ego, you can’t discount the possibility of Morgan having a sister in the area. That nervous habit might be a family tic.”
“Agreed. But if that’s the case, it doesn’t explain why this Delyth acted as she did. She would have no idea who I was. That first time I saw her outside the Llanbrenin office, she very pointedly looked the other way, as if trying to avoid locking gazes with me.”
“And you saw her shift in a way she couldn’t have done if she had a gammy leg?”
“That’s right.”
“So, let’s assume that was indeed Ruth Morgan in disguise. Are you quite sure she had no idea who you were, that first time?”
“I’m absolutely certain. She wasn’t around when I visited the Deacons to carry out a valuation. But, when I left our office, dressed as I was, she might well have jumped to a conclusion and kept her head down, in case I was an employee.”
“I’m playing devil’s advocate here but why would she fear being recognised if she was in disguise anyway?”
“Perhaps she planned on pulling a similar trick while using a different type of disguise. But eyes are a give away. So are gestures a person makes without even noticing what they’re doing. That sounds plausible, don’t you think?”
His voice sounded warm. Amused. Affectionate even. “I’m impressed. That would indeed be a credible reason.”
“It’s difficult, trying to get into the mind of someone who I suspect of such appalling cunning.”
“You’re doing fine, Bethan. Here’s another one for you. Ready?”
“Try me.”
She noted the slight pause. Closed her eyes. All the better to picture him.
“Right. So, today, you think you see the same woman, once more trying to avoid eye contact. Next thing, she dives into a café. You follow. You hurry up the stairs only to find the bird already flown. If she’s so cunning, why would she risk getting cornered in the first place?”
“I can’t answer that. Maybe she acted on impulse, dashed through the first door she saw and realised, if I had suspicions, the obvious thing would be for me to follow her inside and confront her.”
“OK. She rushed up the stairs ahead of you. Saw the old lady leave the elevator. Took a chance you were already heading up the stairs and judged it safe to use the elevator to get down again while you were stuck on the top floor. Gutsy.”
“You sound as if you approve.”
“Kind of. Morgan either gets off on being a female James Bond or she’s seriously deranged.” His laugh rumbled down the phone line. “It’s all right, Bethan, don’t worry. I am taking you seriously. And now you explain your daughter’s experience, it does seem the elusive Delyth and the house sitter from hell are one and the same person.”
“But how can I prove anything? Dressing up isn’t a crime. I can’t pin one single thing on Ruth Morgan, can I?”
“Hey, we need to think about all this. Can you leave it with me, please, sweetheart?”
When Bethan put down the phone, the endearment stayed with her. Whispering inside her head. Normally she’d have bristled. Felt patronised. But Ray had said he and she needed to think about all this, as if they were partners. Was he trying to reassure her? Living up to his macho image? If so, maybe she wasn’t sending the right signals. If Ray Kirby thought she feared Ruth Morgan, he was mistaken. And sooner or later, she’d find a way to prove it. As for the affectionate term, maybe he used it to save having to remember which woman he was talking to at the time.
Chapter Eighteen
Eddie Deacon dropped his mobile phone on the satin bed cover. “She didn’t pick up.”
“Why didn’t you leave a message?”
“I’d prefer to speak to her so she knows we’re coming home tomorrow. In case she forgets to check the answer phone.”
“Whatever you say, Eddie. I’m sorry I overreacted about going back. It is still our home, after all. It’s only recently I’ve begun feeling unsettled.”
Eddie walked across to where his wife sat in a chintz-covered easy chair beside the window. “It’s my fault. I realise now how much I’ve railroaded you into all this.” He kissed her on the lips.
Suzanne reached out to squeeze his hand. “It’s probably a good thing we found out exactly what Ruth had in mind regarding her future.”
“True, but irrespective o
f that nonsense, we both feel it’s time to move on.”
“Absolutely. Especially as Penny’s told us Declan’s new practice is 99% certain to be in the Salisbury area.”
“That’s a definite bonus, even if we still can’t agree which house we like best.” He yawned and stretched. “I think I’ll take a shower before dinner.”
“I’ll try our number again in a bit. See if I have better luck than you. If I know Ruth, she’ll be looking for a glass or three of your Merchant’s Choice red wine before too long.”
“Meeoww!”
Suzanne chuckled. “I’m right though, aren’t I?”
“It’s good to see you feeling calmer again.”
She watched her husband shuck off his clothes and shrug on the complimentary towelling gown. He looked in pretty good shape for a man his age. Had he been totally faithful to her throughout the years of their marriage? Probably not. But no way had she ever accused him of infidelity. Nor would she, now or ever, fret about random indiscretions he might or might not have enjoyed in the past. At this stage of their lives, Eddie appeared content. These last few days, she’d co-operated when he declared the time had come to turn back the clock and reclaim something missing from their relationship. She’d almost enjoyed the resumption of their intimate relationship. Almost.
But, feeling the unease she did, regarding Ruth, she knew these next weeks and God forbid, possible months, might prove challenging. Sometimes, if she was feeling too wide-awake, she’d lie beside Eddie, who could sleep for Britain, going through her ‘what if’ list. No way could she bear her husband even to think about straying in that particular lady’s direction. Somehow, Ruth had rattled her. Had introduced a feeling of insecurity, slowly but slyly, over the last weeks. Why had she not noticed this sooner?
Suzanne reached for her expensive hand cream and squeezed the tube, allowing a small pool to ooze into the palm of one hand. She began massaging the lotion into the back of her hands, stroking the fingers as if pulling on a pair of gloves, while thoughts tumbled through her head. Soon she and Eddie would return to The Sugar House, maybe for not too long a stay, if all went well. She’d make sure she concentrated upon keeping him happy. This would tie in with the very necessary start of a cooling off period regarding Ruth. It was time for her to show she too had teeth and could use them when necessary. She’d need every ounce of her strength.
The fragrant lotion soon soaked into her skin. She inhaled the scent of vanilla and almonds. Reached for Eddie’s phone, smiling at the sound of him singing the big song from his favourite musical show. When she punched in her own telephone number, she heard it ring three times before the call was picked up.
Their house sitter had returned.
“Hello, Ruth,” said Suzanne, in cheerful mode. “All well, my dear? I’m ringing to let you know we’re driving home tomorrow morning. I’m sure you’ll be pleased to hear you’ll soon be relieved of your duties.”
From the bathroom, Suzanne could hear her husband warbling, Do You Hear the People Sing? The woman on the other end of the phone call appeared temporarily flummoxed by Suzanne’s announcement.
“Ruth? Can you hear me properly? I said we’re coming home tomorrow. Perhaps you’d like to get your things together and return to Rock Cottage after breakfast so the rest of the day’s yours.”
Bethan settled herself behind her desk in the Knightly office and fired up her laptop. She focused on an email received from Ray Kirby sent late the previous night. Either he’d quizzed his partner about her schedule after his conversation with Bethan, or Claudia Kelsey had contacted him with her news. The message heading read Proposed Viewing.
My partner’s due back in London tomorrow. I’d like to request a viewing of The Sugar House for Saturday noon. Is that OK? You do realise, if Claudia says the magic word, I shall make an offer? If your clients accept, you’ll no longer have to worry about the wicked witch of the woods. But in all fairness, I feel I must advise Claudia about recent events.
Best regards, RK
Bethan typed a brief response, confirming date and time and informing him she would meet him at the property. She also told him she’d no intention of informing the house sitter of the appointment, given the Deacons had awarded her carte blanche in the form of a spare front door key.
She sat back in her chair. How would she feel if she was Claudia? Returning to her lover after weeks of absence? Bethan felt her cheeks heat as too vivid a scenario tantalised her mind’s eye. She swallowed hard. Tried to concentrate. Tried to forget the intimate tone of Ray’s deep voice when they spoke on the phone. Tried to blank out that full upper lip blessed with a curve to make a woman yearn to trace its outline with one finger.
She tried to imagine hearing how a deranged neighbour was allegedly trying to interfere with the sale of Mr and Mrs Deacon’s home. How much would that influence the glamorous Claudia, especially when she knew how heavily Ray had fallen for the place?
She’d temporarily forgotten the farmer and his cavalier attitude to the right of way attached to The Sugar House. According to Eddie, Ruth Morgan had been delegated on two different occasions to coax the man to see sense. Her excitement mounting, Bethan recollected the morning she drove over to make sure she was around when Ray Kirby arrived for his viewing. How credible was it for the blocked driveway access to have been engineered by one Ruth Morgan and not Mr Sartin?
Bethan had never met him, yet could imagine how easily Ms Morgan might manipulate the farmer to do what she asked. Especially if she played the sympathy card and stressed how Mrs Deacon needed a quiet life with her good friend close by to ease matters along. She might even have warned him how new people coming to live so close to his land might be much more intrusive than the current owners. Things were clicking into place.
Bethan contemplated the various events conspiring to make her suspect the motive of the woman who called herself the Deacons’ best friend. There had to be something linking these seemingly random happenings.
Bethan uttered a four-letter word she forbade her daughter to use. Realisation flooded her. How could she not have realised the common denominator? The encounter with Brad and Valerie Childs must have been pure chance but they’d been set up. The couple had been so much in the thrall of friendly Delyth with the gentle Welsh cadence to her voice, they refused even to set foot in Three Roads. No one would have known about Delyth’s intervention had not Bethan coaxed Mr and Mrs Childs to reveal the truth behind their aversion to the property that ticked their set of boxes.
When the Deacons received news of their first viewing, they must have told their friend, of course they must. Maybe they even informed her on purpose, so she wouldn’t call and interrupt. That knowledge offered Ruth time plus the perfect opportunity to plan a malicious, premeditated attack. In the unlikely event that someone from the village had spotted her accessing her vantage point above the road, they wouldn’t have given it a second thought. People would know such a keen cook and gardener might well comb the woodland for wild herbs, berries and the like.
What were friends and neighbours for, if not to share triumphs and woes? Ruth would have feigned disgust when she learnt of the mindless prank, presumably carried out by yobs and which caused Mr and Mrs Hunt to cross The Sugar House off their shopping list.
The big freeze towards Bethan had manifested when she rang to report she was bringing Mr and Mrs Sarani to view. Morgan had been unable to conceal her animosity. She’d stalled for extra time. But that dead field mouse must have been put in position before the Deacons left home. She’d taken a chance there would be further viewings while they were away and she was proved right. But, as had Ray Kirby, the Saranis accepted such things could happen – especially in the country and with a dog in the house. Since then, however, the two consultants appeared to have formed a perception that didn’t quite fit. Why?
Bethan still had Mr Sarani’s mobile telephone number saved in her own phone. What if she gave him a call on the pretext of touching base? Maybe the Sar
anis could provide another clue towards this sinister puzzle’s solution.
But wasn’t she being thoughtless? This was a working day when a busy consultant would be up to the proverbial eyebrows with patients and impossible demands on his time. Maybe she’d try him during the evening and hope to catch him at home. At worst he’d think she was desperate to achieve a sale. On the other hand, she might learn something to her advantage.
Jalil Sarani stretched out on the battered rust corduroy sofa he defended with his life when his wife threatened to book a skip because his sanctuary contrasted with her beloved decor. His noise-cancelling headphones acted like an umbilical cord connecting him with the sublime sounds of Rachmaninoff’s Piano Concerto Number 2. His wife occupied the armchair opposite, her feet in soft suede moccasins, propped upon a jewelled leather pouffe. Jalil suspected she was probably watching Coronation Street but, insulated against domestic disputes and lovers’ tiffs, Jalil closed his eyes and let the music wash over him, taking him far away from memories of another day of examining X rays, making diagnoses, breaking startling news: in all, doing what he was paid well to do.
His phone throbbed in his pocket. Jalil opened his eyes, paused the music and rose from the sofa. Zoyah glanced away from the TV screen. “Do you have to answer that?”
Jalil shot her a wry grin and left the room. In the hallway, he checked the caller’s identity and pressed the green button. “Jalil Sarani.”
“Mr Sarani, I’m so sorry to interrupt your evening.”
He smiled. “Mrs Harley. My wife and I must be a great disappointment.”
“Not at all. I’m not ringing with a sales spiel. But I would appreciate it if you’d allow me to ask a question or two.”
“No problem. So, what kind of questions?”
“I’m facing a rather delicate situation.”
“I’ll help if I can.” Jalil waited again.
