by Neale, Kitty
‘How did your client meeting go last night, Ruth?’ Adam asked, keeping his voice light and friendly. He was keen to know the details but even keener that she didn’t pick up on the urgency behind his question.
‘Very successful,’ said Ruth, pleased with herself and not afraid to show it. ‘He’s got one definite visitor for me, who’s keen to stay for even longer than I thought. And there’s another distinct possibility. He also says he’ll be sure to put any other custom my way.’
‘You certainly have a way with the older gentlemen,’ Adam commented, memories of Mr Casson flaring in his mind.
‘Not so old, as it happens,’ said Ruth, raising an eyebrow. ‘Do you have a problem with that? You use the talents you’re given, that’s what I’ve always been taught. And it pays the bills, which, if you happen to have forgotten, is what you wanted me to do. So, if it’s all right with you, I’m off to view some flats for these new customers. Where’s that Robert? He’s usually in by now.’
‘No idea,’ snapped Adam, his irritation surfacing. ‘I’m not his boss. But I dare say he’ll be in shortly. Strikes me as very conscientious, does our Robert. Even boring, one could say.’
‘Don’t be ridiculous, Adam,’ Ruth shot back. Then she remembered that she had to keep on the right side of him and forced her temper down. ‘I’m not interested in how exciting he is, just how good he is at managing properties. So I’d better go and get him some to manage.’ She flashed her brilliant smile and was gone.
God, that woman was too much, seethed Adam. How long was he going to put up with this? She thought all she had to do was flirt with a few lonely hotel owners and the world would fall at her feet.
He was so engrossed in his thoughts that he didn’t notice someone enter the office, and almost jumped when the young man said, ‘Mr Mortimer?’
‘Yes?’ Adam managed to gasp, while taking in the figure before him – not the classy sort of customer Ruth would want on her books, that was for sure.
‘Joe Young,’ said the young man, keeping both hands in the pockets of his stained donkey jacket. He tried again. ‘Denis Young’s nephew. He said you wanted to see me. Denis Young? Does building and plumbing?’
‘Of course, of course.’ Adam got to his feet. ‘Yes, Denis is a great help to us. Splendid guy. Couldn’t manage without him.’
‘Right,’ said Joe, looking around at the new mahogany panelling and immaculate furnishings. ‘Nice place you got here. Uncle Denis didn’t say what it was like so I didn’t know.’
‘We offer only the best,’ said Adam breezily, thinking that a compliment from this young man was hardly worth acknowledging. ‘Now, your uncle told me you were a useful man to have around. What are your particular skills?’
‘I do plumbing, if that’s what you’re after,’ said Joe shortly. ‘And other bits and bobs. Replace glass, fix a ceiling, put up a shelf.’ He narrowed his eyes. ‘Is that what you want?’
‘Plumbing, most certainly,’ said Adam. He thought for a moment. ‘And did your uncle say you came from Croydon? Is that where you used to work?’
‘I can get you references from there, if my uncle’s word isn’t good enough,’ said Joe casually, though there was a steeliness to his expression that suggested he wouldn’t think much of the idea. ‘Croydon and all over South London, as it happens.’
‘No, no, I trust Denis completely,’ Adam assured him. ‘Good to have someone so versatile on board. Is there anything else you used to do … all over South London?’
‘I’ve done a bit of this and a bit of that,’ the young man said. He had a definite air of somebody who could take care of himself in any situation. ‘Security, for one. And … what you might call insurance.’
‘Security,’ Adam echoed. ‘And … insurance. An unusual combination, Joe. You don’t mind if I call you Joe?’
‘It’s my name,’ said Joe blandly. ‘And as for unusual, it’s not everyone who can do it. Not everyone who has the head for it, if you get my meaning. Not everyone who has … the particular skills.’
Adam looked around, trying to see if Robert was in yet. But there was no coat or scarf on the hat-stand, no noise from the other part of the office or the kitchenette they shared. He smiled slowly. ‘I think I get your meaning, Joe,’ he said. The possibilities opened up before him as the young man’s implication became clear. ‘Yes, I like the sound of that very much. Plumbing to start with – we have a case of blocked pipes. But after that I might have cause to make use of your … particular skills.’
Chapter Eleven
Robert was as good as his word, and the next time he went to visit his friends in Wandsworth he asked Lorna along. Even Ruth was amenable to the idea, as she knew Lorna wouldn’t be away too long. Fortunately a schoolfriend had asked Penny round to play and to stay for tea, so there would be no interruptions to the business.‘Just as well,’ Ruth told Lorna as she was checking her handbag. ‘I’ve got to meet some woman who likes the look of one of the flats. She sounds like a right old whingebag but money is money.’
‘Nothing wrong about being careful where you live,’ Lorna smiled. At least she had no worries on that score now; she loved her room and was happier by the day as she got to know Margate better. She slung her bag over her shoulder. ‘See you this evening. Good luck with the flat.’
‘Yes, right, thanks,’ said Ruth absently, already thinking about something else as her friend made her way downstairs.
‘I’ll pick you up at five,’ said Robert as he dropped Lorna at her mother’s house in Battersea.
Lorna turned to wave as he drove off. The journey had flown by, as Robert was so easy to talk to. She’d been worried that once they were in the car alone there would be nothing to say, but the opposite had been true. Although he came across as quiet, once you got to know him he was a very interesting man, and the best listener she’d ever met. Sighing, Lorna wondered what would be in store for her once she stepped inside her mother’s door.
‘So, you made it here at a decent hour of the day this time,’ Myra greeted her. ‘Better come in, I suppose.’
‘Good to see you, Mum,’ Lorna said, although she wasn’t sure that was strictly true. ‘I’ll put the kettle on, you just sit down.’ She busied herself around the kitchen, watching her mother out of the corner of her eye.
‘Started that diet yet?’ Myra asked. ‘You really ought to try harder. No wonder Richard left you, you’ve really let yourself go.’ She shifted self-righteously on her wooden chair.
‘Thanks a lot, Mum!’ Lorna was seething. ‘Well, you certainly don’t need to diet. Are you sure you’re eating enough? Let’s have some biscuits with our tea. I brought some with me, they’re your favourites.’ She reached into her bag and brought out a packet.
‘You have one, if you must,’ said her mother. ‘I’m right off biscuits. Never did like them as much as you, and these days they just taste like sawdust.’
‘I don’t like the sound of that,’ Lorna said, anxious now. ‘Have you seen the doctor again?’ She popped a biscuit into her mouth, hoping that her mother would follow her example.
‘Ted made me go last week,’ Myra admitted. ‘Not sure it did any good. He’s given me some new pills, painkillers, they are. Appetite killers, more like. Ted says they make me sleep funny too. I wake up all fuzzy in the head, and that’s not like me.’
‘I should think not!’ Her mother had always been sharp-witted – too sharp for comfort most of the time. And it was most unlike her to repeat such a personal comment from Ted. ‘Have you been able to go out much?’
‘I haven’t felt much like going to bingo,’ confessed Myra. Lorna’s eyebrows rose in alarm. ‘Don’t take on so, I’ve still done the shopping and the housework. I’m not at death’s door yet, you know.’
‘Well now I’m here I can do some of that for you,’ Lorna said firmly, draining her cup. ‘You might have been overdoing it. It takes a while to adjust to new pills. How about I put a wash on and then go to the shops? Have you got a list?�
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Lorna looked around the familiar kitchen, with its small dining table pushed up against the window. It had always felt rather cramped but it was usually immaculate, every cup and saucer in place, all the Formica surfaces gleaming. Now there was a dullness to it, and plates and pans were piled around at random.
‘It’s over there,’ said Myra, pointing to a scrap of paper covered in tea stains. God, thought Lorna, this was awful. How had her mother slipped so far so quickly?
But she couldn’t show how worried she was. With a cheerful air she picked up her handbag once more and reached behind the door to where she knew her mother hung her shopping bag. It wasn’t there.
Looking around, she noticed its bright orange handle poking out from a drawer. ‘Changed where you keep it, have you?’ she asked lightly.
‘Oh, Ted must have put it there,’ said her mother. ‘He popped to the corner shop for me a few times.’
That was it. There was definitely something very wrong – her mother would never, ever have let Ted do something like that in the normal run of things, and Ted wouldn’t have been seen dead doing women’s work – which included everything to do with the house. Wondering what she should do about this worrying development, Lorna made her way down the road, as she had done every day for all those years until she’d married Richard. There, she’d said his name to herself. She’d tried so hard not to react to her mother’s cruel comment, but deep down the wounds were still smarting, even though she knew that putting on a few pounds wasn’t the reason he’d left. It had been much, much worse than that.
Although her childhood home hadn’t changed for many years, the same could not be said of the neighbouring streets. Where was the old butcher’s? Or the ironmonger’s? They appeared to have changed hands and become a newsagent’s and a clothes shop – not the sort of things she’d wear, by the looks of it. Maybe she would be better off going a little further and heading for the market. There always used to be a bargain to be had there.
‘Oh hello, Lorna!’
Lorna stopped abruptly, brought out of her anxious thoughts by the sight of one of her mother’s neighbours. What on earth was her name? Mrs Jackson … no, Mrs Jameson, that was it.
‘Hello, Mrs Jameson,’ she said, relieved to have remembered it right. ‘How are you?’
‘Not bad at all,’ beamed the woman. ‘Haven’t seen you around these parts for a while. Back from Spain, I hear?’
‘That’s right,’ Lorna replied, her smile fixed. ‘Couldn’t take the heat after all.’
‘I see,’ said the woman, re-buttoning what Lorna thought was a horrible coat. And was that a knowing gleam in her eye? ‘I saw your Richard’s aunty the other day down the market, and she didn’t say anything about the weather. Or should I say your ex, Richard?’
‘That’s right,’ said Lorna, her face rigid now. God, what had Richard told his family?
‘And I understand your mother’s not been well,’ the woman went on mercilessly. ‘Saw her the other day too – shadow of her former self, she is. I always used to say, if you want something sorted out, go to Myra, but the other day she wasn’t making much sense at all. Almost rambling, she was. It’s a shame when people go downhill like that.’ Mrs Jameson stopped, finally aware of the effect her words were having. ‘Oh, I’m sorry to go on, love. Didn’t mean to worry you. Give my best to your mother, won’t you?’
Lorna nodded briefly, too stunned to speak. What on earth had her mother let slip? It must be those painkillers – she didn’t seem to be able to keep quiet about anything any more. All the pain of losing Richard came flooding back, now with the added anxiety that either he or her mother had revealed her shameful secret. ‘Please, please don’t let anyone else find out,’ she muttered despairingly. Tears were threatening, and she couldn’t face the market now. What if they all knew? What if they were all nudging each other behind her back, whispering that she was a freak? It was unbearable.
Maybe that new newsagent’s would have some basic groceries. That would have to do. Grasping the orange handle of her mother’s bag, Lorna hurried across the street, all the happiness of this morning’s car journey utterly gone.
‘I just don’t believe it!’ Ruth threw her gorgeous black coat onto her desk in furious frustration. God, what a morning she’d had.
‘Something wrong?’ asked Adam suavely, appearing around the cabinets that semi-divided their office. ‘Clients can be such a nuisance, can’t they?’
Ruth was tempted to turn on him for making such a stupid remark but just managed to stop herself. Still, she might as well vent her temper on someone.
‘Not only was that woman the most nit-picking old bag, but there was something wrong with the lock of the flat. So when we got there we couldn’t get in. I don’t get it. It was fine yesterday when I inspected the place. But today, I could not get the key to work.’
‘Really?’ Adam looked concerned. ‘What did you do?’
‘Had to call out a bloody emergency locksmith, that’s what,’ Ruth snarled. ‘Do you know how much they cost? It’s almost more than that property is worth! It’s outrageous! How am I ever meant to turn a profit when this goes on?’
‘That can be a problem, yes,’ Adam soothed. ‘Of course, if you’ve built up local tradesman contacts, it’s a different kettle of fish. But all that takes time.’
‘Thanks a lot,’ growled Ruth. ‘Bit late now. And even worse, when he got there, he said that the lock could have been tampered with. Since yesterday! Who’d have done such a thing? It’s only a one-bedroom flat, for God’s sake!’
‘That does sound unlikely, I agree,’ he said cautiously. ‘Margate isn’t really like that. London, yes. But not round here.’
‘Seems like we’ve got our very own homegrown vandals.’ Ruth was not impressed. She’d come here to avoid all the trouble that always went on in the capital, and now it was following her.
‘That’s too bad.’ Adam decided to push things further. ‘So did the old woman walk off in disgust? I wouldn’t blame her – it isn’t nice to move into a property that’s been targeted like that. Still, it sounds as if she’d have been a difficult tenant and who needs them, eh?’
‘Well, we do, obviously,’ snapped Ruth. ‘Difficult or not, as long as they pay the rent, I don’t care. Anyway, I talked her round. I persuaded her that the locksmith was only saying that to cover the fact he couldn’t mend it quickly and was obviously incompetent. I reassured her we’d use somebody else in the future and that she’d be perfectly safe there. Indeed, now that the flat has a brand new up-to-date lock on it, it’ll be the safest place in Margate. She liked that idea very much. So she agreed to take it.’ Her eyes flashed in triumph.
Adam took a breath. Maybe he’d underestimated Ruth’s ability to think clearly in a crisis. ‘That’s excellent,’ he managed. ‘Well done, reacting like that under pressure. Not everyone could have done that.’
Ruth sighed, collapsing into her chair and stretching her long boot-clad legs along her desk. ‘Well, it seemed like the obvious thing to say,’ she replied. ‘And, who knows, it might have even been true.’ She gave him one of her radiant smiles. ‘Anyway, it’s good to know you have the local contacts. So next time, if there is such a thing, I can call your tame locksmith and get things sorted out faster and cheaper.’ She paused and turned up the smile another notch. ‘Can’t I?’
‘Of course,’ beamed Adam, cursing his own big mouth. Now he’d have to come up with something else. Still, Joe Young seemed to be a man of many and varied abilities, and he was sure they could find another way of exposing Ruth’s inexperience. ‘Yes, anything you need, you only have to ask.’
Chapter Twelve
The high winds blew themselves out and the rain fell less often as spring began to arrive. Overcast days gave way to sunshine, scudding white clouds against the blue sky. The sea changed from slate grey to turquoise and the first buds appeared on the trees.
It was hard to be unhappy on such days, thought Lorna, but she seem
ed to be managing it all the same. Even though nobody else had said anything on her latest trips to Battersea, she couldn’t shake off the fear that her secret was about to be revealed. Her mother seemed no better, although not actually any worse. She was still too thin, and liable to let slip the most private information at any moment, but maybe the pills were at least stabilising her. Ted appeared to be coping, and Lorna now steeled herself to go to the big supermarket whenever she visited. That way she knew there was food in the house, even if her mother didn’t want to eat much of it.
The added agony of Richard’s relatives being nearby made things even more painful, making it harder for Lorna to forget him and the terrible end to a marriage she had been certain was for ever. Now the shock of it had worn off and she had settled in Margate, she was left to face the fact that it was well and truly over and the divorce was going through. Even when she had seen the papers for the first time, some inner part of her had held on to the hope that he would change his mind. Now she knew that would not happen.
Robert’s presence was an increasing comfort to her, not to mention the useful lifts to London, but she could not allow herself to think of it as anything more. True, her instincts told her he might be interested in her. But it was impossible to believe it. Myra’s comment had hit home; she ate too much, didn’t make enough of an effort with herself, and worst of all was her painful, shameful secret. So Lorna ruthlessly stopped herself from hoping for a new relationship. Robert was so kind. He’d never mentioned a girlfriend, past or present, but she was sure he wouldn’t be single for long. Those understanding eyes and his gentle manner would attract women in droves, so he would soon find somebody more glamorous, more outgoing than her – somebody who was normal.
It came as a surprise to find a letter on the doormat addressed to her. It didn’t look as if it was from the solicitors or the bank – and they were the only people who ever wrote to her, she thought grimly. Collapsing on a kitchen chair after taking Penny to school, she reached for a biscuit and opened the envelope. The handwriting looked familiar.
