by K. J. Rabane
“Yeah, and you?”
“Not really. But I’m used to that. It will take me a day or two to adjust. I’ve been unpacking and generally sorting things out. You know what I’m like – always a bit hyper after a long flight.”
Owen groaned.
“I know you’re thinking, you’ll soon cure me of that. As I said, I’ve been sorting through a few things. I don’t suppose you’ve seen that necklace you bought me from Covent Garden have you? I was sure it was on my dressing table. I usually keep it on that porcelain ring hand because I love the way the light catches the glass beads. But now it appears to be missing.”
Owen sat up. “Anything else missing?” he asked.
“Er, no, I don’t think so. You sound worried? What’s the matter? You don’t think someone broke in to steal my necklace do you?” She sounded incredulous. “It’s lovely and you know I adore it but it’s not Cartier.”
He took a deep breath. “No of course not. I’m still a bit sleepy that’s all. Don’t take any notice. And don’t worry about the necklace, I’m sure it will turn up.”
Replacing his phone Owen thumped his fist on the bedside table making his mobile jump. He knew exactly where Rowena’s necklace was and he was certain who’d be wearing it.
Chapter 49
The week passed in a hectic rush of appointments and it was four days later when Owen realised he’d done nothing about changing his telephone number, partly because his contact list was long and partly because there had been no further calls from Sarah Lawson.
Rowena was working flat out, as having secured the American contract she was formulating advertising procedures and arranging corporate lunches for the executives involved. There had been little time to concentrate on wedding plans but she’d promised him she’d take time out at the weekend to inspect the couple of possible venues he’d managed to line up. Neither of them favoured a church wedding preferring to combine both events in one place.
They met after Rowena finished work on Friday evening and dined at a restaurant tucked away in a back street, which served excellent food and afforded a certain amount of anonymity for which Owen was grateful, having found his sudden celebrity status unnerving.
“It will pass,” Rowena assured him. “The hype will soon die down.”
“You think?”
Rowena laughed. “Lie back and enjoy it.”
“Is that an offer?”
“I don’t see why not.”
Owen lifted her hand from the tablecloth and kissed each finger. As he raised his head his eyes strayed to the street. Sarah Lawson was standing on the pavement facing him. She held his glance until he looked away without acknowledging her presence.
“Owen? Whatever is it?”
Rowena turned to see what had taken his attention. He held his breath and looked again. But the street was empty. Fearing that paranoia was setting in, he decided the sooner they arranged their wedding, the better.
The next day, he picked Rowena up at her flat at ten thirty. They had a busy day ahead of them but he was optimistic they would find a suitable venue for their wedding before the end of the day.
Rowena answered the door to him saying, “I won’t be a minute. I was sure I had a spare bottle of my vitamins in the bathroom. I remember picking up the prescription before I went away, now it looks as if I’ll have to give the surgery a ring on Monday and get them to issue a new one. I was certain it was in the cabinet. Come here, look, you can see the space where I left it.” She frowned and shook her head in bewilderment.
Owen, inspecting the shelf, saw that there was a definite outline of a circle left in the fine layer of powdered dust. But why would Sarah remove the bottle of vitamins? What did she hope to achieve? Unanswered questions swirled around in his head like an icy wind. “Strange,” was all he managed to utter.
“Never mind, let’s get going. I’ll sort it out on Monday.” Rowena took his arm. “Excited?” she asked.
Owen swallowed. “Of course,” he said.
“Well, let’s go then. Hang on a minute.” She bent down to pick up an envelope from the mat. “The post is early. I’ll have to open this one, it’s from a firm of solicitors.”
Perching on the arm of the chair he watched Rowena’s facial expression change from one of curiosity to pure joy.
“This day just get’s better by the minute. Look!” She handed him the letter. “I didn’t realise I still had an Aunt Fiona, apart from a vague recollection of Dad talking about her when I was young, I thought she’d died years ago. Now it seems I’m her sole beneficiary.”
“I shouldn’t get too excited, she’s probably left you a moth-eared moggy to look after.”
Rowena smiled. “I’m sure you’re right. I’ll give them a ring later. Come on then, let’s get started.”
The first two places on their list were unprepossessing and they hastily struck them off with a flourish. But the third, The Celtic Cross Manor House, had definite possibilities. Brandon Harrison, the wedding planner and event arranger, was a Scot whose mother was from Ohio. He spoke with an affected American burr that failed to disguise his Glaswegian roots. Somehow both Owen and Rowena found him endearing and soon fell into the swing of things, carried along on a wave of enthusiasm that appeared to be genuine, as Brandon extolled the advantages of marrying in a Manor House of such distinction. Inspecting the overnight accommodation some time later, Rowena decided that the honeymoon suite was elegant and romantic enough for her wedding night and Owen, seeing the sparkle in her eyes, agreed.
It was six thirty when they drove down the winding driveway leading to the main road having booked the Manor for the twenty seventh of May, which gave them nearly four months to send invitations, buy the wedding dress, arrange cars, etc., ready for the big day.
Rowena sighed. “Next week I’ll persuade Noreen to trawl around the bridal departments for a dress.”
“I’m guessing Noreen won’t take much persuading. When’s she emigrating by the way?” Owen asked, steering the car into the overtaking lane on the motorway. The headlights of the car travelling behind him flashed momentarily in his rear view mirror as the vehicle followed him in the overtaking lane then slid in behind him. Owen’s heart began to beat wildly. He risked another longer look in his mirror and was certain he hadn’t been mistaken. He increased his speed, overtaking a lorry carrying food for online supermarket deliveries then overtook a coach and a family car.
“July. Mike starts his new job in Sydney in August. What’s the hurry?”
“Nothing, just getting a bit peckish, that’s all. Let’s not bother with dining out. Why don’t we pick up a take-away?”
“Suit’s me. Just get us there in one piece,” Rowena replied.
Owen put his foot down on the accelerator, his speedometer reaching ninety-five. The car behind fell back. He kept in the fast lane until his exit appeared then slowed his speed to seventy and slipped into the inside lane at the last possible minute. Rowena didn’t comment but he could see her giving him an enquiring look, which he chose to ignore. When he was certain he’d given his follower the slip, he settled down to a steady speed. However, as he turned on to the dual carriageway leading to the city he saw her again. Her car was sitting behind a four by four that was directly behind him. Sarah Lawson was tenacious, of that there was no doubt. But it was becoming obvious to Owen that he’d have to do something about this and sooner rather than later. She was stalking him and there was nothing left but for him to confront her face to face.
Chapter 50
As he drove to the Indian Take Away, Sarah’s car was thankfully nowhere in evidence but the experience had unnerved Owen and he was even more determined to put a stop to it once and for all. Rowena slept at his place overnight but left after lunch the following day as she wanted to drive to her friend Noreen’s house in the suburbs. With the rest of Sunday free, he drove to Sarah Lawson’s flat. His anger at her behaviour increased as he drove through the city’s streets wondering what her reaction would
be? He was certain that she’d entered Rowena’s flat in her absence and that she’d removed the vitamins from her bathroom cabinet also taken the necklace. Similarly her presence on the motorway had prompted him to place her firmly in the category of a stalker, if not a complete nutcase.
When he arrived at her block, he took the stairs two at a time not bothering to wait for the lift to arrive. With a balled fist he banged on her front door. Andy Lawson opened it. “Hello. Good to see you again. Come in.” The man didn’t seem in the least bit surprised to see him.
Owen followed him into a room where the rest of the Lawson family were seated. The children were watching a cartoon on television and Hannah Lawson was reading a newspaper.
“Sarah, it’s Owen.”
She came into the room carrying a tray on which stood three mugs of coffee. Her hair, he noticed, was now the same colour, as her sister-in-law’s, a dark brown but somehow the resemblance to Rowena lingered.
“Hi, Owen, I wondered if you’d find time to pop in. Andy’s just been singing your praises.”
“I have indeed. Indigo Night has become quite an investment, thanks to you. Now tell me, what’s this I hear about your latest success in New York?”
Owen recognised that he was trapped. There was nothing he could do about it. He couldn’t make his accusations, not in front of her family. Her brother kept asking him about his work, which he answered with a fixed expression that veered from deadpan to vaguely interested. He couldn’t stop his gaze wandering to Sarah, who was now playing a board game with the older child. He was at his wits end to know how to deal with the situation when her brother suddenly stood up.
“Right then, kids, pack up your things. We must be off, leave you two lovebirds alone. I’ve taken up far too much of Owen’s time as it is.”
He waited until the door closed behind them then said angrily, “Lovebirds? I think you have some explaining to do.”
“In what way?”
She was cool, he had to give her that.
“What way do you think?” His anger was resurfacing. “You’ve been following Rowena and me around, you gained entrance to her flat, and removed items and I’m beginning to suspect you started a fire in my cottage at Gareg Wen. How’s that for openers?”
She walked past him to the window and raised her hand to wave. “Andy would be furious if he could hear you talking to me like that.”
“Is that a threat? Perhaps you’d like me to explain to him what you’ve been up to?”
She turned to face him. “You made me believe that you cared for me.” She lowered her head and the fight went out of him.
“Look, Sarah, I’m sorry if I’ve given you the wrong impression. I thought we were mates. You were kind enough to give me a bed for the night but that’s all it was.”
She looked up at him. “What about after Megan’s party?”
He shook his head. “I don’t remember. I was drunk. I don’t remember any of it.”
She began to cry; silent sobs making her shoulders shake and squeeze tears from her eyes. “It was the best night of my life,” she said.
He put an arm around her shoulders, aware that this was not how he’d planned it should be. “I apologise. I didn’t mean to hurt you, but you must understand, I love Rowena and we are getting married in a few months time. There was never anything between us and I’m sorry if you thought so.”
She turned then, her eyes blazing with fury; banging her fists against his chest, she said, “Get out; go on, get out.”
Driving back to his flat he felt bad about the whole situation, which he knew he’d mishandled. He hadn’t meant to lead her on, after all he’d never said he had any feelings for her. It all seemed to centre on that night at Megan and Duncan’s and he couldn’t for the life of him recall any of the details, but at least he’d put her straight now, he thought, parking his car and returning to his flat. As he put the key in his front door it occurred to him that he was still no nearer finding out whether it was she who’d started the fire in Gareg Wen. Her tears had effectively stopped any further questioning on his part. However, she’d obviously given her family the impression that there was an intimate relationship between them. Surely Lawson had seen the newspaper and television reports about his forthcoming wedding?
Owen picked up the Sunday paper that Rowena had been reading earlier. On the society and arts pages was an item about his recent trip to New York and his wedding plans. The photo accompanying the piece showed himself and Rowena smiling at the camera. He was facing the lens but Rowena was turned slightly away. He read the report noting with dismay that Rowena was simply referred to as his fiancée and at no point was her name mentioned. He seemed to remember that previous reporters had also been interested in the story of his recent success rather than in Rowena herself.
With a sinking feeling he inspected the photograph more closely and was distressed to see that there was a distinct resemblance between the photograph of Rowena and Sarah’s previous re-incarnation. The woman was like a chameleon. The image in newspaper could have belonged to either of them.
Chapter 51
Mark Furnish arranged to meet Owen at eleven-thirty in the wine bar at the corner of the road near his gallery. He was waiting at the bar when Owen arrived. “I’ve got a proposition to put to you.” He carried the drinks over to a table near the window. “How do you fancy putting in a couple of weeks work on a mural I’m commissioning for the gallery? It’s to be a compilation work by our more prominent clients, into which category you most definitely fall.”
“Flattery always works, Mark, as well you know.”
“Well?”
“I don’t see why not. Weddings are expensive businesses. I can’t afford to turn down work at the moment.”
“Oh yeah?”
“Yeah. Wives are even more expensive, or so I’ve been told.”
As if on cue, Owen’s mobile rang. It was Rowena, “I’ve just received a letter from the solicitors dealing with Aunt Fiona’s will. Apparently it’s correct, I am the sole beneficiary. What d’you think of that?”
“Sole beneficiary? Don’t get too excited, remember that moth-eaten moggy.”
“You could be right. Anyway, I’ve arranged to see them tomorrow to discuss the details.”
Owen put the phone down and raised his glass. “To Rowena’s Aunt Fiona,” he said.
The phone call came when Owen was sketching a few ideas for the mural. Mark had assured him that it would only take a week or two, which was why he’d agreed. Rowena would be busy and it made sense to keep a low profile considering recent events.
She could hardly speak with excitement. “Darling, no moth-eaten moggy after all. It’s a house and ninety thousand pounds. I still can’t believe it.”
“Good Lord, a house? Where exactly?”
“It’s in a place called Lockford, on the south coast. I can’t wait to see it. I thought I’d drive down tomorrow. Any chance you can come?”
“I’ll make sure of it.”
The sun shone out of a clear blue sky, although a layer of frost coated hedgerows where the sun had yet to reach. Owen estimated the journey would take them just under two hours,.
“I’m so excited. We could live there. What do you think? It would be a great start to our married life, a house in the country within easy driving distance of London. I wonder if there’s a garden? There’s sure to be.” She placed a hand on his knee. “I’m going on a bit, aren’t I?”
“No problem. You’re entitled to. I just hope you won’t be disappointed.
Bramble Lane looked promising from the outset. As Owen turned the corner at the end of the road, he could see that the area was definitely one of the nicest they had seen on the drive down. Rowena had been given the keys from the solicitor and, as Owen turned into the drive, she took them from her handbag.
“Certainly looks good from the outside,” he said, closing the car door and following her into the house.
The rooms on the ground floor were l
arge and flooded with light; the décor was a different matter though, being circa nineteen thirties. Wallpaper, that would now be called vintage but to Owen just looked hideous, clung to every wall, flowers clashing with geometric patterns.
“Mm, I can see a use for the ninety thousand straight away, fitted kitchen, cloakroom and total refurb., of the lounge, dining and morning rooms, “ Rowena said thoughtfully. “ Let’s see what state the upstairs is in.”
Owen followed her into the master bedroom, which overlooked the front garden.
“It’s just like my aunt had stepped out for a while leaving everything as it was.” Rowena opened the wardrobe door. “Moth balls!” She wrinkled her nose in disgust. “A trip to the charity shop, maybe several?” She held a camel hair coat and a flowered dress up for inspection. “ Such a shame. No one to look after her things and care whether she lived or died,” she said sadly.
Owen took her arm. “ Let’s look at the other bedrooms. We’ll soon get someone in to sort those out. Charity shops are crying out for good quality clothes.”
There was a large bedroom at the back of the house with a bay window that overlooked the garden. Rowena walked towards the window. “Oh how lovely. Owen, look, a summerhouse – there at the end of the garden.”
The garden was a bit overgrown, the lawn in need of more than simply a trim but the summerhouse looked to be in pretty good shape.
“Come on,” Rowena said, pulling his arm. “Let’s take a look.” She held up the keys. “I wondered what this one was for.”
The summerhouse looked as if it had been recently painted. The first thing he noticed was the rich scent of pine and the hand-stitched sampler hanging on one wall. The air was pleasantly warm and not a trace of damp showed on the soft furnishings. “It’s as tight as a drum in here,” he commented. “ The roof is sound and I can see that there’s an electricity point on the wall. I wonder what she used the place for?”
