by Rosie Clarke
‘I walked into a door …’ I began, but saw the disbelief in their faces. ‘I might as well tell you – Philip Matthews tried to rape me …’
‘My God!’ Jon went white. ‘Have you been to the police, Emma? Tell me, it’s important.’
‘No – and please, don’t make me,’ I pleaded. ‘I said tried … I fought him off. In fact I stabbed him with a pair of scissors. His face probably looks worse than mine. I scratched that with my nails.’
‘What happened exactly?’ Sol asked, eyes narrowed in anger. ‘I warned you about him, Emma. I told you not to trust him.’
‘Yes, you did – and I should have listened. If I had I might have been on my guard,’ I said. ‘As it is, I wasn’t expecting it … He changed my room to a suite on the top floor. The receptionist told me my husband had made the arrangements …’ I caught back a sob as the horror I had felt then swept over me once more. ‘I walked in thinking Jon was in the bathroom and took my clothes off. When he came out I was only wearing a thin robe …’
‘The devil!’ Sol growled. ‘I’ll kill him. I mean it. I’ll kill him.’
Jon took my arm and led me to the settee. He made me sit down, looking at me anxiously as he knelt at my feet and took my hands in his.
‘Take your time, darling,’ he said gently. His expression was one of concern, but his eyes were hard, angry, unlike the Jon I knew. ‘Tell us exactly what happened.’
‘I was going to ring down for my things to be moved. He laughed, said he thought it was amusing and that I would like what he’d done. When I told him he wasn’t my type and that I wasn’t going into partnership with him … he attacked me. He wasn’t like a normal man, Jon. The look in his eyes … the things he said, filthy, disgusting things. He made me feel sick. He hit me several times, punched me in the stomach … then tried to force me back on the bed. I scratched his face hard. It stunned him for a moment, and I grabbed some scissors he must have been using … I stabbed him in the arm. I was so angry I told him I would kill him. He said he would ruin me – and Sol …’
‘He might try,’ Sol muttered. ‘But he won’t live long enough …’
‘Don’t,’ I begged, tears squeezing from the corners of my eyes. ‘I’ve caused enough trouble as it is. I don’t want you to kill for my sake, Sol. I don’t want you to hang or go to prison.’
‘No, of course not,’ Jon said, giving Sol a quelling stare. ‘It was just an expression of anger, Emma. We shall have to talk about this, Sol. Decide what to do to protect Emma – but no talk of killing. It upsets her – and she’s upset enough as it is.’
‘I should think she is …’ Sol was still furious. I could see he would have liked to punch Philip Matthews in the face or perhaps take a horse whip to him, but murder was a different matter. ‘Sorry, Emma. I didn’t mean it of course – but I’ll sort him out. I’ll speak to Jack. He’ll know what to do …’
‘No, don’t tell Jack,’ I whispered, my throat closing as the tears gathered then spilled out in noisy sobs. ‘I’m sorry. I’m going upstairs. I want to be alone for a while. Please … forgive me.’
I ran from the room, past a startled Pam and on up the stairs. Once in my bedroom, I locked the door. I was feeling sick again, the nausea washing over me in waves. I went into the bathroom and turned on the taps. I had washed several times since Philip attacked me, but I didn’t think I would ever feel really clean again …
For almost a week I didn’t leave the house. Everyone was considerate of my feelings. No one mentioned the Paris incident, and Jon was especially gentle and caring. He talked about everything except what had happened in Paris, telling me he had found a house he liked, not in Cornwall but just outside Torquay in Devon.
‘When you’re feeling better I’ll take you to see it,’ he promised. ‘I’ve told the owners I’m interested, but I want you to have a look at it before I buy.’
‘Thank you.’ I smiled at him. ‘You are so thoughtful, Jon.’
‘That’s because I love you, Emma.’
When I was with Jon or Sol I didn’t feel too bad, but at night I often lay restless during that first week. I kept remembering Philip’s threats, and the look in his eyes. I believed he was just mad or evil enough to take some sort of revenge on me for stabbing him.
I realized now that Philip was the kind of man who actually hated women. He needed them, but he also needed to humiliate them, to prove he was superior. He was not likely to forgive a woman who had stabbed him and forced him to wander about the hotel in his dressing robe. He would also have found it embarrassing to explain to the management. No, I did not think he would simply forget and leave me in peace. He would do something.
I told Sol that I was worried.
‘Just what do you imagine he could do?’ Sol asked. ‘He might damage us a little by cancelling his last order, but there’s not much more he can do – anyway, I’ve had a word with Jack. He will sort Matthews out if he tries to harm you.’
‘Oh, I wish you hadn’t told Jack.’ I looked at him reproachfully. ‘I particularly asked you not to, Sol.’
‘Jack is a good friend,’ he replied, an odd expression in his eyes. ‘Forget about reprisals from Matthews, Emma. They aren’t going to happen.’
His words were reassuring, but I was still uneasy. Then, towards the end of that week, I had something else to think about.
I had been lying without sleeping for hours that night. It wasn’t just the incident in Paris. For some reason my mind kept going back to the time when my father died. The doctor had been satisfied that his death was due to natural causes, but I had suspected that it had at least been hastened by poison. I would never be entirely certain, but some months later my husband confessed to adding pills that contained small amounts of arsenic to Father’s medicine.
Why was I remembering that now? It was all so long ago. There was no reason it should be in my mind – except that I’d felt the same unease then as I did now.
Knowing I would never sleep, I got up, pulled on my dressing gown – not the one I had been wearing in Paris! – and went downstairs. I warmed some milk in the kitchen, then carried my cup into the sitting room. As I reached out to open the door, I heard a noise like glass rattling.
Jon was standing by the tray of decanters and glasses. He was trying to pour some brandy into a glass, but his hand was shaking so much that he dropped the glass.
‘Jon – what’s wrong, darling?’
I set my cup down on the table as he swung round to face me. He looked ashen, his eyes a little wild. For a moment he stared at me as if he did not know who I was.
‘Are you ill?’
I noticed that his jacket was slightly damp. I had heard the rain beating against my bedroom window earlier, when I lay sleepless: it had stopped now. Had he been out for a walk? He did that sometimes when he couldn’t sleep.
Jon took a deep breath, then forced a wry smile. ‘I’ve been having a panic attack, Emma. I’ve no idea why. It’s ages since I had one – a couple of years or more.’
‘Oh, Jon, I’m so sorry.’
I knew he’d been having what Sister Jones called the shakes.
‘A lot of the men have them every so often,’ she’d told me when I’d begun to visit Jon in hospital. ‘It’s not unusual after what they’ve been through, and we don’t really know why they happen. The best way to cope is to be understanding and not make too much fuss.’
I had thought Jon was over all that. He was facing up to his injuries and getting on with his life. The surgeons had helped him in so many ways, even restoring some mobility to his left hand, something that had seemed impossible at the beginning. It wasn’t easy for him to use it, but he could just about manage – except when he was suffering from nerves. He couldn’t drive, of course, and there were other small tasks that were too difficult for him, but he’d worked out how to do most things for himself. He had no trouble in dressing or tying his shoe laces, which was something I had thought he would never be able to do – but with practice a
nd determination he had managed. But now he couldn’t hold a glass or pour himself a drink.
I went to him, pouring his brandy and one for myself. He smiled as I joined him on the settee. He had managed to control the shaking now, and was obviously feeling better.
‘Couldn’t you sleep either, Emma?’
‘No …’ I sighed. ‘It’s not what happened in Paris, Jon. Not really. I’m getting over that, and my face is almost back to normal. I suppose I just feel unsettled.’
‘Natural enough. Shall we go away tomorrow?’ His fingers brushed my cheek. ‘Just the two of us. We’ll look at the house … walk by the sea, take things slowly. You never had a chance to rest when you were with the children, and you work so hard. They will be all right for a few days without you.’
‘Yes, of course they will.’ I leaned over and kissed him softly on the mouth. He was such a kind, gentle man. ‘Thank you, Jon – and thank you for not telling me that what happened was my own fault. I know it was but I didn’t expect …’
‘Of course it wasn’t your fault!’ Jon said, a grim expression in his eyes. ‘The man deserves to be punished. You should have gone to the police in Paris, had him arrested at once.’
‘I didn’t want all the embarrassment and fuss,’ I said. ‘Besides, it’s all over now. It shook me for a while, but I’ll get over it. Believe me, I shall.’
‘You are very strong,’ Jon said. He was smiling now, a tender note in his voice. ‘And I am sure you are right, darling. It is all over. The best thing you can do is to put the whole incident out of your mind. The man isn’t worth worrying over.’
‘I shall forget about it,’ I promised. ‘We will go away together, Jon. I should like that – if you are sure you feel well enough?’
‘I’m fine. Really, Emma. That nonsense just now – it’s something I have to live with. My hand won’t obey me sometimes, that’s all. The attacks don’t come often. They don’t bother me as long as they happen at home. If I’m out it can be embarrassing.’
I accepted his assurances. He didn’t want a fuss, but it reminded me of how much he had suffered. My own upsetting experience had somehow brought us closer together again. Jon had been so protective of me, so understanding.
It made me remember why I loved him.
Chapter 7
‘Will you be away long, Emmie?’ Lizzy slipped her hand into mine. She gazed up at me with her large, seeing eyes. ‘Is your poor face all better now?’
‘Yes, much better,’ I said and bent to kiss her. Lizzy was such a loving child, and sometimes I felt closer to her than my own son. She had so much love to give, and she was so generous with it. ‘Emmie was silly to walk into that wardrobe door. I need a little holiday, darling, but it is only for a few days.’
James directed a sullen stare in my direction. He hated me going away without him, and I had only recently been away for two days.
‘Why can’t we come? We don’t have to go to school yet.’
‘Because I want a few days alone with Jon,’ I replied. ‘You had a lovely holiday, James – and I’ll take you both on some outings when I come back. We’ll go to the pictures or the zoo.’
‘Jack is taking me to the science museum,’ my son said. ‘I like to know how things work – and he promised to take me inside a factory where they make lenses for cameras.’
‘Well, you will enjoy that,’ I said. ‘You’ll hardly know I’ve gone – and I’ll bring you both a present back.’ I was glad James was going somewhere with Jack; it eased my guilt at leaving him again so soon.
I left the children and went downstairs. Pam was hovering. I could see she wanted to talk to me, but Jon was already having our cases taken out to the waiting taxi.
‘Look after everyone for me, Pam?’
‘Yes, of course. Enjoy yourself, Emma. Have a good rest.’ She kissed my cheek impulsively. ‘You’ve looked tired recently.’
‘Is something on your mind, Pam?’
‘No. Nothing …’ She smiled but looked somehow uncomfortable. ‘We’ll talk when you come home. It’s not important.’
‘Pam …’ I broke off as Jon called to me. ‘When I come back. You must tell me then. Promise?’
She nodded. I smiled at her, then went out to join my husband in the taxi.
Jon bought a pile of newspapers and magazines for the journey. He gave me half of them, then settled down to the crossword in The Times. I read the Vogue magazine he had given me.
After a while, a waiter came to tell us that coffee and toast was being served in the dining car.
‘Would you like some?’ Jon asked.
‘Yes, that would be nice.’
We gathered up our paraphernalia. I picked up the paper Jon had been reading earlier, noticing an article about a bomb going off in a car in London. I glanced at the headline, then tucked the paper under my arm as I followed Jon out into the corridor.
It was only after we had enjoyed our hot buttered toast and marmalade that Jon asked for his paper. I looked through the pile, my eyes drawn towards the article again – and then my blood ran cold.
‘Have you seen this?’ I looked across the table at my husband. ‘Did you see what happened? It’s Philip Matthews. He was killed late yesterday evening. His car had been tampered with … some kind of an explosive device …’
‘Yes, I did read it, Emma.’ Jon’s expression was grim. ‘I didn’t mention it because I knew it would shock and upset you, and I want you to forget all that. This has nothing to do with you. Pay no attention to it, darling. The man was clearly a rogue.’
‘The journalist calls it a gangland killing,’ I said. ‘Apparently, the police were about to launch an investigation into Philip’s business affairs. They seem to think he may have been connected to London’s criminal element.’
‘So I read.’ Jon frowned. ‘And he seemed so respectable. I only met him once, briefly, but he seemed an inoffensive sort of chap. It shows one should never judge by appearances. It’s as well you didn’t sign that contract, darling. You might have been caught up in all this nastiness.’
‘Yes …’ I frowned over the article, feeling numbed. Philip had frightened me and I had hoped never to see him again, but this was a terrible way to die. I shuddered. ‘Do you suppose it was really a gangland killing, Jon?’
‘Of course. What else could it be? It takes experience and a certain kind of skill to set up something like that, Emma.’ He gave a strange, harsh laugh as he saw my frown. ‘You’re not imagining that Sol did it? No, my darling, you can put that right out of your mind.’
‘But he was so angry … he threatened to …’ I bit my lip. ‘You know he did, Jon. You were there.’
‘That was merely an expression of anger, because you had been hurt,’ Jon said in a reasonable tone. ‘Believe me, Emma. Sol wouldn’t be capable of doing something like that. He might have thrown a few punches at the man if he had come across him in the street – but this car bomb was a professional job by the sound of it. Probably, Matthews had been poaching on some little gangster’s territory.’
‘Yes, I suppose so. It’s what the police seem to think.’
Jon’s explanation made sense. I knew there was a sinister criminal element flourishing in London. It would be impossible to live and work in the city and not be aware of what went on. Amongst the petty gangsters and bully boys, there were frequent squabbles, which led to beatings, knife fights and the occasional murder. All kinds of rackets went on under the noses of the police: illegal gambling, vice clubs, protection schemes. If Philip Mathews was caught up in all that, it was not surprising he had met a violent death.
I didn’t know whether Sol had ever paid protection money. I had never been approached, but Sol had lived and worked in London much longer than me. I thought he would pay and keep his mouth shut.
Despite Jon’s assurances, I continued to worry and wonder as the train clattered relentlessly along the line. I stared unseeingly out of the window at the changing scenery: woods and fields, smoky bu
ildings and a patchwork of tiny back yards. During the war, Sol had been involved in a few slightly shady deals. He obviously knew people who operated close to the edge. He probably knew of the criminals who ran London’s underworld, at least by name and sight.
If he had wanted Philip Matthews dead, he would not have had to carry out the assassination himself. Pound notes would buy anything amongst the criminal fraternity. If one were prepared to pay, a car bomb would be easy enough to arrange.
Sol had spoken to Jack about the threats Philip had made against me. Was Jack ruthless enough to arrange something like that?
The thoughts went round and round in my head. I wanted to dismiss them as nonsense. I wanted to believe that my friends were above taking such a terrible revenge on the man who had attacked me, but I couldn’t.
I had ignored their advice about getting involved with Philip. He had tried to rape me. Now he was dead. I was very much afraid that I was the reason behind the brutal attack that had led to his death.
The house Jon had chosen was perfect. A substantial, white-washed property, it was set on a gentle hillside amongst beautiful trees. The view from the garden was breathtaking, looking out over the sea, cliffs and the bay of Torquay.
‘Do you really like it, Emma?’ Jon asked after we had spent almost an hour looking round the house and large garden. ‘The furniture and curtains are included. We can make changes when we’re ready, of course, but they’re not too bad as they are – are they?’
‘Some of the curtains are a bit faded,’ I said, ‘but that doesn’t matter. I think it’s lovely, Jon. You were very clever to find it. We are private up here, but it’s an easy walk to the town – and a short taxi ride from the station. It’s exactly what we want. I can visit when I like, and the children can come down for holidays.’
‘I’m so glad you like it as much as I do,’ he said, looking pleased. ‘I’ll go ahead and buy it then.’
‘Do you need any help financially?’
‘No. I can manage. Mother has decided to move into a flat. I’ve had an offer for the house in Hampstead, and after I’ve bought Mother’s flat I’ll have sufficient left for this.’
