‘Or better, I should think! I mean, look at it—it’s a tip.’
Elly was right. She’d been too concerned with Julie to take in the mess of clothes on the bed and pile of papers on what looked like a Georgian chest of drawers.
‘Mummy’s always yelling at Daddy: he’s got a perfectly good office next door and he’s always leaving things here. And he shouldn’t bring this stuff home either, she says. The place for work papers is work. It’d serve him right if we threw everything in the bin.’
‘I’m sure it would. But it wouldn’t get my eyes made up.’
‘Here.’ Elly thrust a bottle of Christian Dior cleanser at her. ‘You get that off and I’ll start on Mummy’s clothes.’ Elly grabbed a couple of coat hangers and picked up a jacket and shirt. ‘No, this one’s ready for the washing machine. And this one of Daddy’s…’
Poor Elly—half child, half premature adult woman.
‘If you leave them at the top of the stairs I’ll take them down when I go. Now, these eyes of mine. What do we use?’
‘You won’t forget the washing, will you?’ Elly murmured as Kate popped her into bed. ‘And there’s knickers and socks and things. Daddy’s such a pig.’
‘I don’t like picking over your parents’ things,’ Kate said truthfully.
‘But they were so pleased when you did all that ironing. And imagine coming home and finding our rooms perfect and their own like that! If you don’t promise, I shall get up and do it myself.’
‘And if you try blackmail, young lady, you won’t find me baby-sitting for you again. Is that clear? Now, don’t spoil a lovely evening by being a pain.’
By way of answer, Elly thrust out her arms. Kate hugged her. And then, of course, she kissed her.
Papers first. She’d hold a coat hanger in her hand, just in case the Vernons came back unexpectedly, but she must check those papers properly. She riffled through. Some extremely fancy ones, complete with watermarks and official looking seals. Pity she couldn’t read Spanish. And some in Portuguese, equally impressive. Well, that was perhaps how Iberian lawyers preferred their paperwork to look. Dared she steal one? Here, with a pile of rumpled clothes and a duvet sliding blowsily to the floor, it felt like stealing. Furtively, she took one of each and folded them tightly into her bra. Clutching the rest, Kate tried the office door. With the excuse of putting them out of harm’s way, she couldn’t not. But it was locked—a Yale and a Chubb. Relieved, but irked, too, because that must mean he had something to hide, she stood on the landing, hands on hips, listening for the children and considering. OK, what would Kate Potter do? Tidy the living room, of course.
It was such a mess that Kate spent twenty minutes tidying and vacuuming it before she even started on the kitchen. How did civilised people manage to be such pigs stubbing out fags on food plates, grinding crisps and other nibbles into the carpet? What should she do about the bug? Her head told her to leave it where it was. But whatever Vernon might or might not be doing, she couldn’t bear to incriminate Julie. She unstuck it and shoved it in her pocket. Whoever was listening would hear her loading the dishwasher for a start. No, she’d no qualms about using it. It was the common-sense approach the Vernons would expect. As for the washing, there wasn’t quite a load, even with the garments Elly had dumped. But before she stowed them in the machine, she checked the pockets. Nothing.
Now, what about that bedroom? She rather thought Kate Potter would hang clothes up, but not put them in wardrobes. She tiptoed upstairs, listening outside the children’s doors. Yes, they sounded deeply asleep. When she’d finished, she’d check again. She attacked the bedroom, looking for something, anything, that might be useful; but she made sure she had a coat hanger to hand, just in case. No, nothing in any of the drawers. What about—?
The floorboards outside creaked.
Breathing deeply, she said sharply, ‘Elly? Get back to bed at once!’
Silence.
She scurried out on to the landing, still clutching the coat hanger.
But it wasn’t Elly on the landing. It was Gregorie.
Chapter 23
Don’t shriek; Don’t wake the children. Don’t lose self-control. Don’t even take a deep breath. Above all, don’t let on you know his name.
‘Who are you? What do you want?’ she breathed.
‘Oh, you know what I want. And you don’t need to know my name. Get back in there.’
‘But that’s Mr Vernon’s room,’ she said, trying to talk and act Kate Potter while all the time thinking Kate Power. Even Kate Potter would call the police if she were raped. Blow her cover? Ruin everything? Solution: mustn’t get raped.
What if she did scream now? What if she woke Elly, told her to phone her parents?
What if Gregorie were so sick he’d make the child watch? Maybe rape her too? No. The children came first. She’d protect them at all costs.
So what if he did rape her? They said no one noticed a slice off a cut loaf.
No one was going to rape her. Even if she had to use Kate Power’s self-defence skills.
‘Didn’t you hear? Get in there.’
‘Shhh. The children! I told you, I’ve no right in there. It’s Mrs Vernon’s room.’
Yes, he dropped his voice. ‘You said it was his. What were you doing in his room, bitch?’
‘It’s his and her room, stupid. That’s what married couples do. They share a bedroom.’ She closed the door firmly behind her. Its click was disconcertingly loud.
He snatched at her wrist. ‘You know what happens to naughty schoolgirls, don’t you?’ he hissed.
‘Shhh!’
‘Don’t you tell me to hush!’ But he’d dropped his voice again. ‘Take your knickers down and bend over.’
‘Not here. The children. I don’t want them woken up.’
‘You’d better get downstairs, then.’
Kate obeyed. Her hands found the bug in her pocket. Back at Headquarters was all this just being recorded for future use? Or were a couple of her colleagues having kittens wondering how on earth to intervene without blowing the undercover operation?
Enough speculation. She had to get out of this. And protect the Vernons.
Spin it out. Julie looked too ill to be out late, whatever she’d said. Give her time to arrive. Give her police mates time to work something out.
‘Look, Mr—Whateveryournameis—I’m a friend of Mr and Mrs Vernon. Mrs Vernon didn’t like it when you goosed me. I tell them what you’ve been trying to do, you get the sack.’ What a shame she was trying to keep quiet: she didn’t sound emphatic enough.
‘I might if he employed me. As it is, I employ him. And it doesn’t take a genius to work out what’d happen to this family if Mr Vernon lost his job. I don’t see Mrs V being able to go out and earn a decent buck, do you?’ He laughed unpleasantly. ‘So it’s up to you, sweetie.’
‘So I let you rape me, or you sack him? You absolute bastard.’
‘I love it when you talk dirty. Anyway, if you let me, you consent, so it isn’t rape, is it?’
So he was ready to waste time quibbling: she might be able to use that.
‘Would you like a drink? There’s some left,’ she ventured as they reached the hall: she must have sounded like a perfect hostess, not a potential victim. Still, she was obeying every word of the textbooks—trying to establish a relationship, trying to make him see she was a human being.
‘OK. Something decent. But don’t try anything, mind. You do a runner, you’ll suffer. And the kids.’
So why should such a dapper, handsome man resort to this? He could pull any bird he wanted, she’d have thought. And his physical attractions were usually matched by his social skills. If he could sell time-share, surely he could sell himself.
She plundered the first bottle she found in the fridge. One of Rod’s favourites—the bastard wasn’t worth it. But she wasn’t going to argue. One glass or two? Remind him you’re a person. Two, then…
She put the glasses on the coffee table.
Bending at the knees she poured, letting the bottle hover over the second glass. He dashed it to the carpet. It bounced, rolling towards the TV.
‘Afterwards. If you’re good. Bend over the table.’
A thin wail floated downstairs.
‘That’s Peter! I must go and check!’
‘Over the table!’ He undid his flies.
‘I shall get the sack if I don’t see to him!’ She risked a sob.
He smiled. ‘Vernon will get-the sack if you do.’
The wails got louder.
‘Look,’ she pleaded, ‘let me just go to him. As soon as he’s settled… He’ll wake his sister,’ she added urgently.
‘Ah, that cheeky little bitch. Make sure you shut him up. Fast.’
Peter’s wails got steadily louder. Any moment he’d be coming down the stairs. She took them two at a time.
Elly had beaten her to it ‘You should have come! You should have come!’ she screamed. ‘Where were you?’
Hell, they’d have Gregorie rampaging up here if they weren’t careful.
‘Listen carefully, Elly.’ She took the child’s face between her hands and held it firmly. ‘As carefully as when your mother tells you, do you understand?’ She let her go.
Huge eyed, the child nodded, gripping Peter’s hand. He buried his face in her shoulder, still weeping. And then, slowly, reached for Kate’s hand.
‘Go into your mum and dad’s bedroom and phone—’
‘But I’ve got a mobile. In case Mummy’s not very well and is going to be late picking us up from school.’
‘Excellent. Pop and get it, then come back here, quick as you can.’
It took her seconds.
‘Good girl. Now, as soon as I leave you, I want you to phone your mother and tell her there’s a burglar downstairs!’ She clapped her spare hand over Elly’s mouth. ‘Tell her very calmly and sensibly you want her to come home. Understand?’
Elly nodded. As Kate removed her hand, she said, ‘But you’re lying, aren’t you? It’s that awful husband of yours. Is he trying to hurt you?’
Kate squeezed her hand. ‘Spot on. Which is why I want your parents, not the police. Now, I want you to be very, very quiet. And when I’ve gone, the two of you must push something heavy in front of the door. You mustn’t open it till you hear your Mummy or Daddy telling you to. Not me—Mummy or Daddy, remember?’ She kissed them both, and slipped away, closing the door.
Gregorie was admiring himself in a full-length mirror when she returned, so absorbed in playing with himself that he didn’t notice her. Well, he could do that as long as he wanted. She slipped back to open the front door. Ajar, it might even attract Neighbourhood Watch attention.
Half of her still wanted simply to run. There’d be a sympathetic neighbour somewhere. And leave the children? No way. She must get back in there and trust to her wits.
He was still jerking himself off. Not urgently. As if he was simply giving himself maximum pleasure.
‘Where the fuck are you, bitch?’ he called, over his shoulder, still posing like Narcissus.
‘Just coming.’
He laughed. ‘So am I. Lucky bitch—come and see what you’re getting.’
What planet was he on, for God’s sake? Or, more to the point, what drugs?
Giggling, she sat in the furthest corner of the sofa. ‘You don’t need to rape anyone, surely. Gorgeous stud like you. Girls’d be falling over themselves to get at you.’
He turned. ‘Come on, then, fall over!’
‘Oh, it’d be ever so nice if you’d—well, you must have a lovely body, too.’
‘You want to see my body? First bit of sense you’ve shown.’ Slowly, sensually as a stripper, he undid his shirt.
‘Ooh, look at those pecs! My old man, he’d die for those.’
‘You married?’ He paused between buttons, looking at her appraisingly.
‘Well, sort of…common law. That’s what they call it, isn’t it? But things aren’t very good at the moment,’ she sighed. ‘That’s why Mr and Mrs Vernon are being so kind to me. Plus, they needed a baby-sitter,’ she added.
He finished his shirt and, swishing it across his penis, dropped it at her feet. As if automatically, she got up and folded it neatly. Jesus, what had happened to the bloody Vernons?
He pulled his trousers wide. ‘There; Your old man’s cock like that?’
She allowed herself to wrinkle her nose, as if it were a serious question expecting a serious answer. And, just as she put her head on one side, deep in consideration, she heard a car arrive.
By now Gregorie’s trousers were round his ankles. He hadn’t had the forethought to remove his shoes first.
To do him justice, he kept both his head and his hard-on when the Vernons ran into the room. ‘Looks like we shall have to postpone this pleasure for another day.’ A drop of semen ballooned and quivered.
Kate gathered a swaying Julie and supported her as she sank on to the sofa. Vernon was rigid—with anger? With fear?
‘This gentleman was just leaving,’ Kate said. Damn, much more Power than Potter. ‘Weren’t you?’ She passed him his neatly folded shirt. ‘But you’d better return Mr Vernon’s key, hadn’t you’ She held out an open palm, Sergeant—nearly Inspector—Power taking booty from a stupid scrote.
Gregorie fumbled in his-trousers pocket. ‘See you again, sister. One nice cunt you’ve got there.’ He twirled the key into her hand and left.
Vernon was still standing open mouthed, so it was she who followed him out and locked the door. Suddenly weak, she leaned against it and burst into Potter tears.
It was Julie who got to her first.
‘No. I’m all right, honestly. Oh, Julie, go and tell the children it’s all over. And Mr Vernon. Please. I’ll be all right. No, just go!’
Scrubbing away the tears, she returned to the living room. If only she dared take the wineglass he’d been using and get it tested for DNA. She wouldn’t have been the first of Gregorie’s victims, she was sure of that. The MO—nicking someone’s keys and raping the baby-sitter must be on someone’s file. Then she grinned: that spot of semen must have fallen somewhere. And it had. She was mopping the floor in a very Potterish way when Vernon came back down.
‘What the hell’s been going on? You feed my children with some cock-and-bull story about a burglar and about your boyfriend, and all the time you’re fucking with one of my colleagues. When did you arrange that?’ He seemed ready to slap her. ‘Get out of my house.’
That was all she needed. But while Power could take control, Potter could only wring her hands. ‘It wasn’t like that. No, and you know me well enough to know it wasn’t. That’s why I told the children to phone you! That’s why I left the front door open. Oh, Mr Vernon. I love those kids. I wouldn’t let anyone hurt them.’
‘Something’s hurt Peter all right. He’s upstairs having the worst attack of asthma he’s had in months! Julie’s thinking of calling the doctor. Not that she doesn’t need him herself. Where the fuck d’you think you’re going?’
‘To tell him I’m all right. That my boyfriend’s gone away. And see if Mrs Vernon needs a hand getting ready for bed, poor lady.’ In the doorway she turned, arms akimbo. ‘Honestly, Mr Vernon, you could see she wasn’t well. Why d’you have to keep her up so late?’
‘Late? It’s only eleven! We were on our way—that’s how we got home so quickly. Not that it’s anything to do with you.’
Poor, silly man. Not angry, so far as she could tell. Scared witless, that’s what he was. She’d have to set him right. First things first, though. She ran up to the children.
Julie had insisted on coming downstairs, and now lay full-length on the sofa, drinking mineral water. Kate accepted not the whisky Julie had tried to press on her but a glass of the Beaune, which was as good as she’d thought it would be, and sank into an armchair nearby. Vernon was still pacing, settling occasionally on the sofa arm nearest Julie.
‘Seems to me,’ Kate began, ‘he must have picked
your pocket some time in the evening and come back here when everyone was speechifying. He’d already pinched my bum when he thought no one was looking.’
‘Except I was,’ Julie said.
‘Thing is, I didn’t know—I mean, some of the things you hear about men. Perverts. I was afraid—for Elly. And that’s why I played for time. If Peter hadn’t started calling for me, I don’t know what I’d have done.’
Julie started, spilling some of the water: ‘You mean—you’d have let him—let him—?
‘Not if I didn’t have to.’ She found she was crying again. Both Kates. Must be reaction. ‘All I could think about was them. And they saved me, bless them.’
‘You should have kicked him in the balls, Kate,’ Julie said, with a flash of what she might have been.
Kate looked at her glass. Should she risk it? Why not? ‘Thing is, Mr Vernon. He said if I didn’t—you know—let him…he’d sack you. Cos he’s your boss.’
‘The bugger!’
‘Only I didn’t know, did I? Or I’d have clouted him about the ears good and hard.’
Vernon looked at her hard. A question was forming she didn’t want him to ask, and she didn’t want to answer. Why hadn’t she dialled 999?
She made herself look at her watch, and haul herself to her feet. Much as she might regret leaving the Beaune—and the way she felt she could have downed the lot and asked for more—she had to get on her bike and drive through dark country lanes. Life and licence: that must be her motto.
‘Best be getting back. Mother-in-law’ll be getting worried. And—what’s it say in that film? “Tomorrow is another day”.’
Julie reached out a protesting hand. ‘You won’t be going in to work, surely? Gary, can’t she have the day off?’
‘It’s not up to Mr Vernon, see. It’s the agency that pays me. No work, no money. Simple as that. So, if you’ll excuse me, I’d best be off. No, don’t you get up.’
Hidden Power Page 22
