He saw the light of hope in her eyes and, as always, he didn’t crush it. ‘I’ve already told you, Mandy, if and when I’m ready to think about another negotiator, I’ll bear you in mind.’ The time would have to be right, though, he thought soberly. In this work there were peaks and troughs, and the market wasn’t predictable. The old adage was still true: it didn’t pay to run before you could walk.
As Mandy returned to her work at the outer desk, Jack Arnold swung open Dave’s office door. For a while he stood there, arms folded, long, thin legs casually crossed, and a look on his face that said, ‘I’m after something but I’m not sure I dare ask.’
‘What is it this time?’ Dave was used to his little ways.
‘Aw, now, it’s nothing for you to worry about.’ His soft Irish voice sang across the room. ‘Just a wee favour, that’s all.’
‘A favour, eh?’ These days Dave regarded his friend and colleague with increasing respect. He looked at him now, and was impressed. Jack was meticulously dressed in dark suit and blue shirt, and wearing a tie, which in the old days was unheard of. Dave had known Jack since they were at school together. Two years ago, when he was down on his uppers after a particularly nasty divorce, Dave had given him a job at the estate agency. Jack had taken to it like a duck to water, and now he was earning the highest commission of all. It was well earned. Jack had an instinct for pairing the right buyer with the right property; his manner was charming and nothing was too much trouble. As a result, his sales portfolio was bulging, his bank balance was growing, and his confidence was at an all-time high.
Unfortunately, Jack still had a knack for choosing the wrong women. He’d walked twice down the aisle and each time it had been a disaster. The women took him for what he had, they broke his heart, then moved on to their next conquest. Jack never learned. Desperate to settle down and raise a family, he spent his life chasing women, yet wouldn’t know a good one if he fell over her.
‘All right, Jack.’ Smiling to himself, Dave stood up, walked across the room and took his long coat from the peg. ‘Who is she this time?’
Jack’s face fell open with astonishment, his blue Irish eyes twinkling. ‘Sure I never said it was a woman.’
‘Are you saying it’s not?’
He shuffled uncomfortably. ‘No, I’m not saying that either.’
‘So, who is she?’ Dave had been through the same routine a hundred times with Jack. ‘Come on, Jack, I haven’t got time to play games. I’m meeting Libby in ten minutes.’ Throwing on his coat, he strode across the room and stood face to face with Jack. ‘Let’s see now,’ he mused, trying hard not to smile, ‘you want the evening off, and you’ll work two weekends to make up. There is a woman, but it’s nothing romantic. She’s just an old friend who’s feeling lonely, and you believe that, as a friend, you should take her out and cheer her up.’ He grinned. ‘How am I doing?’
Jack laughed out loud. ‘You’re a mind-reader, sure yer are, and you’re right. She is just an old friend, and I do owe her a favour.’ He took the opportunity to remind Dave, ‘And you owe me one, Dave, me laddo. Sure, haven’t I just made my first six-figure sale? And doesn’t that make me star of the month?’ His chest swelled with pride.
Dave shook his head. ‘Sorry to disappoint you, Jack, but I’ve just heard from Harman’s solicitor.’ He waited a moment to allow Jack to think on that. ‘The sale’s gone through, and the cheque’s on its way.’ Mimicking Jack’s Irish accent he chuckled, ‘Now then, me laddo, wouldn’t yer say that makes me star of the month?’ He always enjoyed their banter. Right now, the look on Jack’s face was worth a fortune.
‘You don’t count,’ Jack retaliated. ‘You’re the boss.’
Dave laughed. ‘All right. But mind you juggle your workload to cover all eventualities.’
‘Trust me.’ He did a happy little jig on the spot. ‘I’ve got an appointment with a client this afternoon, so I’ll see yer tomorrow, yer old bugger.’
‘Jack?’
‘What?’
‘Mind she doesn’t have you for breakfast. Remember what happened last time?’ He’d lost count of the scrapes Jack had got himself into.
Tapping the side of his nose, Jack quipped, ‘No fear o’ that. I’m a wiser man than I was before, sure I am.’
‘Go on. Get out.’ Since Jack had started taking life a little more seriously, it was a pleasure working with him. Now and then he would slip back into his old ways, but that was in his own time. As long as it didn’t interfere with work, there was no harm done.
While Jack drove off, Dave stood for a moment outside his new offices. Originally the building had been a baker’s shop and tearooms. Situated in the High Street of Woburn Sands, it was in a prime position. When he and Libby had first come to live in the nearby village, the baker’s shop was being offered for sale. Dave saw the potential and snapped it up at a bargain price. He then did a deal with a local builder to refit and refurbish the place, and now it was one of the smartest properties on the street. Moreover, it had already grown in value to cover not only the purchase price but the cost of a new front and all the interior work. It was the start of Dave’s new venture, and he had never looked back.
Pride shining in his face, he glanced up at the sign above the window: DAVE WALTERS – ESTATE AGENCY AND VALUERS.
Climbing into his Jaguar, he did up his seatbelt, his mind content but by no means complacent. ‘You’ve been given a second chance and you’re a lucky man, Dave Walters,’ he murmured. ‘Don’t ever forget that.’
Libby had already ordered by the time he arrived. ‘Quiche and salad for me,’ she told him, ‘chicken pie and boiled potatoes for you.’
The waitress had seen him come in. ‘What would you like to drink, sir?’
‘I’d like a beer, but I’m driving so I’ll have a black coffee instead, with a jug of hot milk.’ He used to drink coffee thick, black and strong, but that was before Libby weaned him off it. He didn’t mind though. In fact he felt better for it. ‘Tea for my wife, I think?’ He glanced at Libby and she nodded.
‘What kind of a morning have you had, sweetheart?’ Leaning over the table he kissed her full on the mouth. She tasted good. One of Libby’s finest assets was her skin; silky-soft and warm, it was, like a newborn babe’s.
Libby was tempted to launch into the series of disasters that had marred the day. Instead, she shook her head decisively. ‘Believe me, you don’t want to know.’
The waitress brought the tray of drinks and set it down before them. With a nod and a smile she hurried away, leaving Libby pouring the tea. ‘What about you, Dave?’ she wanted to know. ‘Did you make the sale?’
His face gave her the answer before he did. ‘Not only did I sell that particular property, but I offloaded the old factory in Bedford as well.’ Taking hold of her hand, he lowered his voice to a whisper. ‘The market is really picking up, sweetheart. This morning’s turnover alone was over a quarter of a million.’
Libby was delighted. ‘A third for the taxman, a third for the business, and a third for you.’ He had explained that much to her often enough.
‘Not this time,’ he said. ‘We still have a few outstanding debts to clear. Once they’re off our backs, we can start taking a more generous slice of the profits.’
She feigned misery. ‘Oh God! So, I can’t have a new car after all?’
‘Give me a year, then you can have the car of your dreams. Until then, I’m afraid it’s your trusty old Escort.’
Lunch arrived, and for a while they said little. It wasn’t too long, however, before Dave became suspicious. ‘What’s all this about a new car anyway? I thought you told me you never wanted to part with that old Escort. If I remember rightly, you said you could never get rid of it – “I’ve grown too sentimental about it to let it go.” That’s what you said.’
‘It’s the Escort that wants to let me go,’ she told him. Going on to detail the horrors of the morning, including the loss of her scarf, she concluded, ‘So you see, I’m in
the market for a new car, and to hell with sentiment.’
Dave promised to buy her another car if the Escort was beyond repair. ‘But it won’t be a new one, sweetheart. We can’t stretch to that just yet.’
‘Fair enough.’ She knew the score.
‘I’ll buy you a new scarf instead,’ he promised.
‘I don’t want another scarf, Dave.’ Libby was adamant. ‘I want that one. You bought me that soon after we first met. It’s very special to me.’ When they had been apart for all those awful months, the scarf had brought back so many memories. She recalled how Jamie had had an old piece of rag when he was a baby. Wherever he went, the rag went; he even took it to bed with him. The district nurse called it a ‘comfort rag’. Jamie clung to it for three years and then one day he didn’t need it any more. The silk scarf was Libby’s ‘comfort rag’ and she wanted it back.
‘Oh, come on, Libby. It’s just an old scarf. I’m sure we can find one almost identical.’
Ignoring his protest, Libby explained how she had already backtracked her moves since last wearing it. ‘I had it on when we went to the inn. I don’t remember having it in the taxi home, so I think I must have left it at the restaurant.’
Conceding defeat, Dave paid the bill and ushered her out. ‘All right. I’ll take a run out to the inn when I’ve concluded my business tonight. OK?’
‘Not OK.’ Linking her arm through his, she went with him to the car park. ‘I’m not letting you go out there tonight when you’re working late anyway.’
‘I don’t mind.’ Easing the car on to the main road, he headed for Woburn.
‘No, I don’t want you to do that. Like you say, it’s only an old scarf. You can buy me a new one.’
‘You’ve soon changed your tune. Only a minute ago you were saying how it was special.’
‘It doesn’t matter,’ she lied. ‘It’s time I had a new scarf anyway.’
At the shop, he would have gone in to phone the garage where her car was being repaired but she sent him on his way. ‘I’m quite capable of doing that myself,’ she protested, but kissed him all the same. ‘Don’t worry. I won’t let them run rings round me. I can be a tiger when I’m put out.’
‘Don’t I know it.’
She waved him off, then went inside. Locating the number of the garage, she dialled the number and waited, thinking how hard Dave was having to work. Until all their debts were cleared, they both had to work and earn. In her heart she hoped that, at the end of the day, it would all be worthwhile. ‘Who knows?’ she mused, a naughty smile lifting the curve of her mouth. ‘I might even be awake when he gets home.’ She felt incredibly happy.
A minute later she was shouting down the phone, ‘What do you mean, I can’t have my car back until tomorrow? I need it today!’
There was a short, impatient exchange of words, before she slammed down the phone.
She was still bristling with temper when May hobbled in. Red-faced and breathless, she threw herself into the nearest chair. ‘I should never have got out of bed this morning!’ she cried. ‘I missed one train and the next was cancelled. My heel got caught in a grating when some lunatic in a car made me run for my life, and now I think I’ve broken my ankle. Honestly, gal, I don’t know what the bleedin’ world’s coming to, I really don’t.’
Trying her damnedest not to laugh, Libby went to put the kettle on. ‘What a day!’ she exclaimed, allowing herself the smallest chuckle. ‘And it’s not over yet.’
It was gone midnight when Dave got home. ‘Are you asleep, sweetheart?’ Sliding into bed, he kissed her softly on the forehead.
‘Mmm.’ She had been drifting in and out of sleep since eleven o’clock. Now, though, with his hard, cool body against hers, she was fully awake. ‘I thought you were never coming home.’ Wrapping herself round him, she ran her hands down his torso, her voice the softest whisper. ‘I’ve been lonely.’
Astonished that she was stark naked under the sheets, he was instantly roused. ‘How lonely?’
Her answer was to fondle his hardening member.
It was all the encouragement he needed. With the tenderness of a man in love, he trickled his fingers down her body, letting them linger in the curves and crevices of her soft, warm skin. Easing her legs open he followed the shape of her inner thighs. He kissed and caressed her, bringing her to fever pitch, and then, with a rush of brute force, he entered her.
The mating was over all too soon, but the joining of hearts stayed long after he drew away from her.
Satisfied and content, she lay in his arms and for a while he held her there. After a time, when his arms began to ache and he saw that she was fast asleep, he eased over to his own side of the bed.
It had been a hard day and yet, tired though he was, sleep eluded him. He closed his eyes. He opened them. He stared at the ceiling and prayed for sleep. For a while he thought he might go down and get a beer, but dismissed the idea – that would wake Libby.
The sound began like a distant tapping at first. Soon it was raining with a vengeance. His gaze shifted to the window. Through the chink in the curtains he could see the rain pounding against the windowpane; relentless, invasive.
Like the rain itself, the image began faintly, a dark, vague thing in the shadows. She filled his mind. The young woman who had been standing beside the road. That sad, bedraggled figure who had mysteriously disappeared. Strange no one else had seen her.
Only him.
Only him!
Libby stirred.
‘It’s all right,’ he murmured. ‘It’s only the rain.’ But it wasn’t only the rain, he thought. The room was so stifling, he could hardly breathe.
Suddenly he imagined he saw a shadow. There in the far corner of the room! But no, it couldn’t be. There was no one here but himself and Libby, and she was right beside him, fast asleep.
He closed his eyes and smiled. ‘Get some sleep, man,’ he murmured. ‘You’re beginning to imagine things.’ He looked again and the room was filled with moonlight. There on the window ledge was Libby’s scarf.
He shook his head and blinked. Nothing was there. It was only the light playing tricks.
He realised then. The rain had suddenly stopped. Just as it had on the night he saw the figure.
For a long time he lay still, his troubled gaze searching the shadows yet finding nothing untoward. After a while, sleep came over him like a dark, heavy blanket, smothering his senses. The weight on his eyelids became too much to bear and soon he was drifting into a restless sleep.
In his dreams she came to him. He was travelling along that same road. Lying beside him was Libby’s blue silk scarf. He looked for Libby, but she was gone. Yet he wasn’t alone. She was there. And he knew she would never leave. Not until she found what she was searching for.
3
It was Saturday, 21 November, a very important day on the Walters’ calendar: today was Daisy’s ninth birthday.
The first person to arrive was May Dexter. ‘Am I glad to see you,’ Libby told her. Since early morning she had been run ragged, putting the finishing touches on everything, checking she hadn’t forgotten anything vital. ‘Last night when I was lying in bed I ran through it all in my mind, you know the way you do?’
May didn’t know, because she’d never planned a party in her life. All the parties she’d ever been to were other people’s. ‘You can tell me all about it while I make the coffee,’ she suggested tactfully. ‘And for heaven’s sake, Libby, sit down before you fall down.’
Grateful for the time they had before the children poured through the door, Libby sank into a chair. ‘Would you believe, I forgot the candles for the cake?’ she groaned. ‘I’ve been weeks making the cake. I’ve iced it, dressed it with ribbons, and then, at the last minute, found I hadn’t bought any candles. I ask you, May, can you credit it? On top of that I’d forgotten to get a tin of strawberries for the trifle, and somehow or other I lost the wrapping for her present.’
Getting out the coffee cups, May gave her a symp
athetic look. ‘Sounds like you’ve had a harrowing morning, gal,’ she chuckled.
‘How is it some women are so well-organised they have time to manicure their nails and visit the hairdresser twice a week? Me, I’m always chasing my own tail. My nails are always either broken or chewed, and my hair has a mind of its own.’
‘I bet there isn’t one woman we know who could bake a cake and organise a party like you’ve done. Besides, you can’t be baking cakes and working in a draper’s shop if you have long painted nails. What’s more, you have natural, pretty hair, and you’re a lovely, unselfish person. Unlike some of these prima donnas, you know how to enjoy life, you know how to have a good laugh. That’s what matters most, my gal. Not looking like something that’s just stepped out of the front cover of a magazine.’
Libby felt better already. ‘You’re a real tonic,’ she said, and meant it.
‘I won’t have you keep putting yourself down.’ Pouring the boiling water over the coffee granules, May took the milk jug from the fridge and brought the items one by one to the table. ‘Any biscuits, gal?’ She did like a biscuit with her coffee. ‘Ginger nuts would go down a treat.’
‘Help yourself. You know where they are.’
In less time than it took to eat one, May had retrieved the ginger nuts from the cupboard and was soon dipping one into her coffee. ‘Everything’s all right now though, ain’t it?’ she asked in her broad Cockney accent. ‘The party, I mean.’
In answer, Libby went to the dresser and unveiled the prettiest of cakes; dressed with bright golden bows and nine white candles, it had the name Daisy written in pink through the centre. ‘What do you think?’ There had been a time when Libby would make a cake at the drop of a hat, but these days, what with work and everything, there never seemed to be any time. Today was special, though, and it was only right that she should bake Daisy’s birthday cake.
Seeker, The Page 5
