Who is Sarah Lawson: A Captivating Psychological Thriller

by K. J. Rabane

  After dinner, I walked into the square and inhaled the warm scented air. I’d made no move to phone Owen to tell him of my arrival, but knew I couldn’t put it off for long; I needed to see his reaction when he saw me. It was the end of my quest. Richard Stevens knew of my plan but we’d agreed that Andy Lawson should not be told. As far as he was concerned I was visiting a friend in London.

  Walking across the square, I heard the sound of a guitar being played from the veranda of a restaurant where paella was being cooked on an open fire. It was the first time I’d ever been affected by the magic of Spain and I used it as an excuse to delay the moment when I would walk back along the road towards Owen’s house. I’d passed it in the taxi earlier and found it reminded me a little of the cottage we’d shared in Gareg Wen, the memories of which were rapidly returning with each day that passed.

  “Rowena?”

  I turned around knowing it would be him. The light from the restaurant played on his face and I knew that mine would be in shadow.

  “Owen,” I replied waiting for his reaction.

  “I, er, I don’t know what to say.” The moon came out from behind a cloud and I heard him gasp. “I thought I’d be prepared for this but it’s such a shock. You’ve got her face.”

  “So I gather. And she, it seems has cultivated mine together with my voice.”

  “How can I apologise? It was you on the phone, wasn’t it? I should have known. I’m so sorry. She’s made my life a misery for so long that I was sure she was at it again.” He dropped his eyes from mine. “Besides, after the fire, you told me that you never wanted to see or hear from me again. You were adamant.”

  “Not me.”

  “Look, I can’t get my head around this. Let’s get a drink and talk.”

  The bar was quiet; at a table overlooking the square we sat and stared at each other like strangers. So much had happened since we’d last met and so much of it needed explaining.

  “Where do we begin?” Owen asked, placing a hand on my arm. I felt the heat of his fingers on my skin and sighed but it was a sigh of regret at what we’d lost rather than re-awakened of passion. When we’d finally discussed every aspect of the problem facing me, he took my hand in his. “How can I make it up to you? How can anyone make this terrible affair right?”

  In the subdued lighting of the bar, he looked much younger than I’d imagined in my dreams. Crickets playing their night-time games accompanied the sound of someone strumming a guitar from across the square, whilst my world settled around me.

  “I have to live with the fact that I’ve been given her face and there’s nothing I can do about that; it’s going to be a constant reminder of what happened.”

  His eyes brimmed with tears, which he hastily wiped away with the back of his hand. I had the answer to my question staring back at me – there was nothing left for us – she’d won. “She must be made to pay for this. Have you spoken to the police?”

  “Not recently. Richard Stevens is doing all he can. She’s married and living in Florida, I understand. It’s complicated.”

  “What about your house and the money?”

  “As I said, it’s complicated. But I’ve put my faith in Mr Stevens and I’m sure he’ll find a way out of this mess.”

  Owen put his head in his hands. “You’ve been through hell and I’ll never forgive myself for the part I played in it all.”

  “Let’s walk for a while,” I said, taking his arm. “ It’s a lovely evening.”

  We walked out of the square and along a lane bordered by lavender bushes, the heavily scented air wrapping around us like a satin sheet. “This is beautiful.”

  “I thought you didn’t like Spain.”

  “It’s growing on me.” I felt his hand slip into mine. “Was that why you chose to live here because you knew I wouldn’t come?” I asked.

  He groaned.

  “It’s alright. I understand.”

  “You’re not bitter? That surprises me.”

  “I’ve learned it doesn’t help. It gets you nowhere. As you said I’ve already been to hell. Hell was when no one would believe that I wasn’t Sarah Lawson. But there was always just one person I wanted to convince to make me happy and that was you. The rest didn’t matter.”

  In the moonlight I saw his jaw tighten as he drew me into his arms and kissed me. It was the kiss of a friend and both of us knew it

  Chapter 75

  The garden of number thirty-four Bramble Lane looked even more uncared for than on his last visit. A child’s bicycle lay in the long grass bordering a hastily trimmed lawn; greenfly had attacked the rose bushes near the front door and a pile of withered petals stood where they’d fallen on the driveway.

  Andy Lawson opened the door; standing in the hallway behind him was the man his client had identified as Neil Stafford. “Come in, Mr Stevens. This is my solicitor, Neil Stafford. I thought it wise to have my legal representative join us, in view of our telephone conversation.”

  Richie followed the pair into the lounge-room. They were alone in the house. He’d also noticed the absence of Hannah Lawson’s car in the driveway. “I think, under the circumstances, that’s advisable. The police will have to be contacted at some point but I feel you need to be aware of the conclusion to my investigations first.”

  The inside of the house was showing signs of the same chaos that had affected the garden. Newspapers littered a coffee table, there was a layer of dust covering the surfaces and there was a faint smell of neglect. The thought suddenly struck him that what the place lacked was a woman’s touch. “Maybe Mrs Lawson should hear what I’ve got to say?” he said.

  “That won’t be necessary.” Neil Stafford replied.

  “It’s OK, Neil. It will all come out soon. Hannah and I have separated. She’s taken her children and gone back to live in Birmingham.” Andy Lawson looked down at his hands.

  “I’m sorry to hear that.” Richie opened the file he’d brought with him from the office and said, “ Shall we begin, gentlemen?”

  After he’d recounted his client’s position, her feelings when she discovered a strange family had moved into her house and the theft of ninety thousand pounds from her bank account, he started to explain the case against Sarah Lawson. “Your sister made it her business to cause trouble between my client and her fiancé. She hounded Mr Madoc to the point of stalking him, cancelling his wedding plans, and repeatedly telephoning him.”

  Andy Lawson sighed and looked up.

  “She then began to mould her image to that of Miss Shaw. Colouring her hair, altering her style of dress, copying her make up.”

  “I thought she was being influenced by the London fashion scene; that she’d changed because she was living in the city.”

  “Not quite, Mr Lawson. Did you notice that her voice changed?”

  “Sarah always had a talent for mimicry, even when she was a child.” He looked again at his hands, as if the answer was written in the creases of his skin and then raised his head. “But OK, so she was playing a stupid game. Owen Madoc was an adult; he could have handled it. From what I saw of the situation he encouraged her.”

  His defensive attitude was only to be expected he thought; she was his sister after all. However, he was becoming more and more certain that Andy Lawson knew nothing of her plan to swop identities after the fire. But if that was so, what was he doing in Rowena Shaw’s house?

  “That maybe partly so but it didn’t excuse her actions. She started a fire at his cottage in Wales.”

  “Is there any proof of that?” Neil Stafford interjected.

  “We know she was in the area at the time and you must admit, at the very least, her behaviour was becoming psychotic, also the fire chief believed the fire to have been started by a lighted cigarette. The same M.O. as the one that later broke out in Mr Madoc’s London flat.”

  “But again, no actual proof,” The solicitor persisted.

  “That’s why I’m talking to you and not the police – yet.” Richie looked do
wn at the papers Sandy had meticulous filed. “You do both realise that after the fire your sister posed as Rowena Shaw by insisting to the police that she’d left Sarah alone in the flat. The situation was made easier for her as the woman the firemen rescued was suffering from burns and of course we know that the two woman were superficially similar in appearance.”

  “I gave the hospital a recent photograph of my sister, for reconstructive surgery purposes.” Andy Lawson said standing up and pacing the room. “This is madness. Are you asking me to believe that Sarah is now living as Rowena Shaw and the woman I’ve been helping to re-adjust is not my sister?”

  “I am. Did you see Rowena Shaw after the fire?”

  “No, why would I? I didn’t know her very well. We conducted the sale via the telephone.”

  Richie sat up. “The sale?”

  “Yes, the sale of this place. Not long after the fire, I had a phone call from Miss Shaw. She said that she’d been talking to a mutual friend and understood that I was hoping to move to the area, in order to help with my sister’s recuperation, as she had a flat in Lockford,.” He stopped pacing and frowned. “It never occurred to me that the call wasn’t genuine. Sarah had bought the flat some months before, she made the excuse that Hannah and I could use it when we brought Sally and Jake to visit their father.” He sighed. “The woman I spoke to on the phone told me about this place and that she was willing to sell at a very reasonable price, for a quick sale prior to her moving to the States.”

  “So the last pieces of the jigsaw fall into place,” he said.

  “I don’t understand.”

  “Your sister is very convincing, Mr Lawson. Tell me, when the woman, you thought was your sister, first recovered from her burns, did she mention the name Rowena Shaw?”

  “She insisted it was her name but the doctors told me that she was confused and had lost her memory. I knew that Sarah had been involved with Owen and I just thought she’d got muddled.” His face coloured with embarrassment. “She’d had some mental problems of a similar nature when she was a child. She’d tried to convince everyone she was her best friend, copied her clothes, imitated her mannerisms but the doctors put it down to adolescence and said she’d grow out of it. When she insisted she was Rowena, I suppose part of me was anxious it might have resurfaced. I didn’t want to face it.”

  He sat down, a deep frown creasing his forehead. “After the fire, the psychiatrist at the Hermitage suggested that she was suffering from amnesia brought on by shock and she’d remember who she was in time. He advised a firm hand and not to allow her to continue with the fantasy – to insist that she was Sarah.”

  “I see.” He consulted his notes. “You accepted that this woman was your sister, without question then?”

  “In view of the fact that I’d been speaking to a woman called Rowena Shaw on the telephone, of course I did. There were times when I thought she was a bit strange but I put it down to her disturbed state of mind and well, after having reconstructive surgery, she was bound to look a bit different.”

  Neil Stafford sat forward in his seat. “This is all very well and good but do you have any concrete evidence, other than hearsay, that this woman is who she says she is?”

  “That can easily be supported by comparing samples of DNA from Mr Lawson and Miss Shaw.”

  Lawson nodded, “Of course, anything I can do to help clear up this mess, is fine by me. Perhaps you could arrange for samples to be taken immediately. And I’ll have to speak to Sarah right away, before this goes any further. Do you have a contact number, Mr Stevens?”

  Driving away from the house on Bramble Lane, Richie felt little sense of achievement at solving the case. Too many people’s lives had been affected and would continue to be so. Lawson was as innocent as his client in all of this and yet thanks to Sarah Lawson he’d lost his family, the home he’d paid for with the proceeds of some wise investments and the ‘sister’ whom he’d spent the last year trying to help. Rowena Shaw at last knew the truth but had to live with the face of her persecutor staring back at her every time she looked in the mirror. In addition to which Owen Madoc had lost the fiancée he loved. It was a mess whichever way you looked at it.

  Chapter 76

  Six months later

  Walking along the cliff path at Gareg Wen, I feel the cold wind in my hair and stop to marvel at the ice sculptures on the foreshore. Diamond cut crystals gleam in the winter sunlight. The ground is crisp underfoot and there’s more than a hint of snow in the air. I try not to think about the past and concentrate on the future, my future, not the one created for me by a mad woman.

  The sale of the house in Bramble Lane seems to be progressing without a hitch and at last I’ll be able to pay Richie; he’s been so patient. I’ve come to terms with the fact that the ninety thousand and the money I had in my bank account will never be returned.

  Owen and I have stayed in touch but as the months pass the threads of our relationship have weakened rather than binding us together. We can be nothing more than friends. Sarah Lawson succeeded – she damaged us beyond repair.

  I’ve bought the cottage in Wales, which we once shared. At least the sale of Bramble Lane has allowed me to do that. It’s been impossible to work in London at my old job. None of my contacts, or work colleagues recognise me and trying to explain just brings it all back again.

  Dr Kilpatrick has helped me fit it together the missing pieces of my memory. That Thursday, when I arrived home and found them in my house, I was sure I’d been to work. But as I walked down Bramble Lane, I saw a fire engine outside number 14 and the old lady being carried out on a stretcher towards the waiting ambulance, I smelled smoke and by the time I’d reached number 34 I knew who I was. I was Rowena Shaw and the months since the fire were as if they’d never been. The details, of where I’d been until the moment I turned the key in the lock, faded, the faces of the people who were supposed to be my family slid away – they were strangers who thought I was someone else.

  Dr Kilpatrick explained that memory glitches were only to be expected after such a traumatic experience and that it had been down to my strength of character that I hadn’t suffered a mental breakdown during those months when I’d been mistakenly identified as Sarah Lawson. All I know is that there were times when I felt my sanity hanging by a thread and if it hadn’t been for Richie Stevens and Glyn Morgan perhaps I would now be an inpatient at the Hermitage.

  Surprisingly, Andy and I have become friends. I know he was only trying to do his best for his sister; he and I were both cheated one way and other. He’s living in the flat, which he thought was mine. I did visit him once but found I couldn’t stay for long; he understood, and now we meet elsewhere.

  I’ve started to write it all down. It’s a catharsis. Megan Lloyd Jones has been so helpful introducing me to her contacts, inviting me to the house she shares with her husband Duncan. She doesn’t expect lengthy explanations; she knows the facts and lets me be myself.

  The police still haven’t found her; she disappeared after Andy telephoned her. Clint Miller has spent a fortune trying to find his wife; he’s offered vast sums of money for information but neither he nor the police have succeeded.

  Although I have her face, I’m sure she no longer has mine. Sarah Lawson is an enigma, a chameleon, as changeable as the weather; all I pray is that our paths never cross again.

  At last this book is finished and I’m waiting for the girl from Fox and Knight to collect the proofs. I think I can hear the sound of her car tyres crunching through the frost-covered road now.

  THE END

 

 

 
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