Toby returned. ‘Relax!’ he told me, as he hauled me into a chair at the table. He didn’t unbuckle my wrists, though, so I didn’t take him seriously. He picked up another chair and set it beside mine. The only difference was that he’d put his chair with its back to the table, so that he could sit close to me, facing me. His thigh pressed on mine. I recoiled. He smiled, not pleasantly.
I said childishly, ‘I don’t like you. Go away.’
‘Come now—relax! What is there to be up-tight about? You’re going to earn yourself five hundred pounds this afternoon, and then go off and have a wonderful holiday. You wanted to go to Rome, didn’t you? Think what a wonderful time you could have in Rome with five hundred pounds! No one will ever connect you with the robbery …’
‘Fingerprints!’ I said. ‘No alibi. They’ll search everywhere, locally.’
‘No fingerprints, because you’ll wear gloves, of course. No one will recognise you, either, because you will wear a man’s uniform, a helmet and goggles. As for an alibi—well, you are supposed to be here all the time with me, aren’t you? If you’re ever questioned, I shall give you an alibi, my sweet.’
I kept silence. I was trying to work out where Rose had left her car, and how soon Sid could get back. If I could induce Toby to unbuckle my wrists, I might be able to free Hob, and together we could overcome Toby and get away before Sid returned …
Toby sighed and got up to wind the clock and re-set the hands. I breathed more freely for his absence. He stacked plates and took them out to the kitchen. I tried to shift the belt round my wrists, and failed.
‘Got any sweets, Sarah?’ That was Toby, rummaging in the kitchen. I didn’t reply. He came back in, biting a biscuit, and holding a carton of glacé cherries.
‘Why don’t you go and feed the hens?’ I asked. If only Toby would go out into the yard, I could get across to Hob even though his wrists were tied separately to the arms of his chair, he might be able to release me, and then we could arm ourselves against Toby’s return
‘Damn the hens!’ Toby was restless. He started on the cherries, glanced at his watch, at the clock, and tapped the barometer. He switched on the radio, but it was as dead as usual. There were only children’s programmes on the television, so that didn’t please him, either.
In leisurely fashion he stripped off his shirt and trousers in order to pull on a pair of dark blue overalls. His brogues went neatly at the foot of the stairs, to be replaced by heavy boots. He tried on the helmets and set one aside for himself, combing his hair to lie straight back. He looked less civilised wearing overalls.
He ran his hands through my hair, and I shivered. Bending low over me, he held my head steady so that he could kiss my lips.
‘You’re a plucky little thing, aren’t you?’ he murmured. ‘I quite fancy you, you know that? I wasn’t pretending when I made up to you; in fact, I nearly came into your bedroom last night … just to see what you look like, stripped.’ His hands fumbled at my waist, pulling my sweater up over my breasts. I kept my eyes ahead.
‘You’ve got everything in the right place,’ he said, ‘And in the right proportion. I like a bit of spirit in my girls. Now why don’t you …?’
‘No,’ I said, and stared through him.
He got hold of my sweater with both hands and although I tried to keep my arms to my sides, he pulled it up and right over my head, leaving it dangling down my bound arms over my back. He released the catch on my bra, and pulled it forward to hang at my waist. I continued to stare ahead, though I felt my cheeks flame. I would not show fear, or let him see that anything he chose to do would hurt me. If my breasts were not as large as Rose’s, they were well-formed and worth looking at, so let him look!
He chuckled, and ran his finger over my nipples until they grew taut. I tried to give no sign that I had felt him touch me. I could feel his breath smooth my cheek as he leaned over me; I leaned back against my chair, pressing myself against the wood. He picked a glacé cherry out of the carton, split it open and fitted it over one of my nipples. Then the other. I felt blood seep from my head, and then return in a hot flush. I gulped. My cheeks quivered in an effort to repress tears.
Toby bent over me. He put one hand round my breast and started to lick at a cherry. I stared over him, and my eyes met Hob’s. Ashamed, I withdrew my eyes from his, and then forced myself to stare back. The muscles round his eyes contracted in a smile as he saluted my self-control. He looked as if he understood how I felt about that … that thing … that criminal … licking at my breast. Fighting to keep my mind away from Toby, I concentrated on Hob.
If his hair were trimmed, and he were put into some decent clothes, I wouldn’t be sorry to be seen out with him. Even with his eyes crinkled up, you could see he wasn’t all that old; maybe thirty-five or so. He had an intelligent, good-humoured face. A well-used face. Not one kept in a window for display, but one that reflected what its owner felt about things.
I smiled back. It wasn’t much of an effort; more of a grimace, in fact, but it was worth it. Hob grinned at me, and suddenly Toby’s action seemed not evil, but mischievous. I found I’d been holding my breath and let it out. Toby teased off the second cherry and ate it. I tried not to look. It was far better to keep my eyes on Hob.
Toby started to nibble at my sticky, sweet breast. Momentarily I closed my eyes and shuddered. Then forced myself to look at Hob again. He was serious now, watching me. Caring what happened to me. Toby had tied his wrists to the chair, but had first pulled down the sleeves of his sweater so that his skin would not be marked. I began to think about the white band on Hob’s wrist, where he had once worn a watch. Where he must have worn a watch until recently, for it would only take a few days in the sun to tan that tell-tale band of white skin.
Therefore, Hob must have worn a watch until a few days ago. Only, tramps didn’t wear watches; they sold them for food.
Another thing. His beard had been trimmed recently, even if his hair had been allowed to grow too long for my taste. I knew something about beards because my boss had grown one that year and had been forever snipping at it with a pair of nail scissors so as to keep it neat. Hob’s beard was neat; no scissors had been found on him when he arrived at Elm Tree House, but he must have possessed a pair, or money enough to go to a barber, until quite recently.
My conclusion was that Hob hadn’t been on the road for long—perhaps only for a few days?
I told myself that I was trying to upgrade Hob to the status of ordinary citizen because it was more comforting to think of my companion in misfortune as someone temporarily down on his luck, rather than as a tramp. As for his being mentally deficient, I had long ago made up my mind that it was an act. I decided that I would very much like to have half an hour alone with Hob, so that I could question him about himself. I thought it might be a most interesting session.
A sharp tug on my nipple caused me to double up. Toby had bitten me. I hung my head until I was sure I could school my face to show indifference. Toby stood up, and went to look out of the window. He had left me naked to the waist, and there was nothing I could do about it. The late afternoon sun gilded the edge of Granny’s favourite picture, a water-colour of a local beauty spot. I looked at that, rather than face Hob. It was a river scene, cool and serene. The sunlight caught the edge of a bevelled mirror, and acting as a prism, set a rainbow shimmering on the wall.
Toby’s bulk filled the doorway, ominously. I risked a quick glance at Hob, who was looking at the clock. I was glad that he wasn’t looking at me any longer. I wanted to creep into a corner and wash myself clean. My feet hurt.
Toby tested the windows, dragging them shut if they were open, and slamming the catches into place. In spite of the open front door the room felt like a prison to me. He trod heavily out into the kitchen, to test the back door. He ought to know that it was locked, for he’d removed the key himself. I’d got as far as trying to inch myself out of my chair when he returned, and pressed me back. He had a pint of milk with him.
‘Drink this,’ he said, and poured milk into a glass for me.
‘I can’t pick it up,’ I said, hating to hear my voice come out unevenly.
‘Say “please”, Toby!’
‘Please!’
He released my wrists. I massaged them, pulled up and clumsily fastened my bra, and settled my jumper into place before drinking the milk.
‘Shall I give some to Hob, as well?’ Toby asked.
I nodded.
‘Say “please”, Toby …’
‘Please,’ I repeated, like a child.
He poured out the milk and set the glass to Hob’s lips. Hob drank, his eyes on mine. I think he was trying to tell me something—warn me? I couldn’t think what to do, and time was running out on us. One thing was for sure, my feet were too painful for me to try running away again.
‘Dress!’ said Toby, throwing a blue uniform my way. I didn’t move. He smiled, showing all his teeth. He fetched the big bottle of methylated spirits from the kitchen, and set it down near Hob on the polished table top. He uncorked the bottle, and poured a little of the liquid into the now empty glass of milk. We watched him, fascinated. From the mantelpiece he took down a candlestick which Grandpa had kept for emergencies, and checked the height of the candle stub which had been left in it. About an inch and a half. Carefully he dug a hole through the candle near the base, using a skewer, and threaded one end of a soft, cord-like string through it.
‘Sid’s good at cracking safes,’ said Toby, ‘And although we won’t need to use any fuse to crack the safe at the Festival site, he came prepared.’
Toby set the candlestick on the table beside the bottle of meths and the glass, and then threaded the free end of the length of fuse through the string that bound Hob to the chair and finished up by winding it round his chest.
‘Paraffin,’ Toby explained, fetching a can from the kitchen. He took off the cap and let me sniff the contents. It was paraffin all right.
‘No!’ I cried. I guessed what he intended to do. I heard Hob’s breath hiss as paraffin sloshed over him. His sweater became stained with dark patches of the liquid, and Toby completed the job by trickling it on his jeans and over his arms. Hob jerked against his bonds, but he had been well tied.
Toby explained what he was doing quite calmly, as if demonstrating an experiment to a class of children in school. ‘We’ll use meths for the fuse, though I shouldn’t think it really necessary.’ He tipped the bottle carefully over the length of fuse.
I pulled myself to my feet. I was trembling, and my feet hurt, but that wasn’t important, now.
I pulled on the dark blue overalls, and had to belt them round me in great folds to make them fit. Granny’s mending basket lay nearby, so I took a couple of pairs of thick bed-socks from it to pad out the boots, and make it easier for me to walk on tender feet. Toby grinned approval.
Hob said nothing, of course. He didn’t look at me, and his hands were twisted round the arms of his chair. I wondered if he’d be able to get to work on his bonds with his teeth after we’d gone, and then dismissed the idea; Toby had forestalled any such manoeuvre by binding his shoulders to the back of the chair.
I tried walking; it wasn’t comfortable, but it wasn’t impossible. The gloves would disguise my hands, but at first I didn’t see how I could balance the helmet on my head, for it was far too large. I fetched one of Granny’s scarves and swathed it round my neck and over my head, pulling one fold up to cover my mouth.
‘Not like that, poppet!’ said Toby. He had a large piece of sticking plaster in his hand. He held my chin to kiss me taking his time over it, and then stuck the plaster over my mouth, firming it into place around and over my chin. Then he drew up the fold of scarf and buckled the helmet on. It was terribly heavy. My head trembled on my shoulders. Then came the goggles. I tried to breathe evenly. I felt smothered.
Toby handed me the gauntlets and I pulled them on. He buckled them at the wrists, but they were so large I thought I might be able to get them off, if I tried hard.
Then he pulled on his own helmet, goggles and gloves. His lips smiled at me, but the rest of his face was a blank.
We both heard the Mini crunch down the lane and round into the orchard. Sid was ready for us, already dressed in his uniform. I started for the door on stiff feet.
‘Haven’t you forgotten something?’ asked Toby. He pulled out a box of matches and struck a light. He laughed as he lit the candle. My nerves tightened as he took his time sticking more plaster over Hob’s mouth—I suppose so that he could not try to blow out the candle or call for help if someone did chance to stray down the lane. Still moving in a leisurely fashion, Toby drew the curtains close, and bowed me out of the door before him. Hob raised his head to look at me. No trace of imbecility in his expression now. He was plainly afraid, and struggling to keep calm. His eyes widened to their limits, and his nostrils pulsated. His eyes deserted mine and went to the flickering candle. The room was dim, and shadows crowded the walls as Toby locked the front door.
‘Sid—take her into the garage and stand her in a corner with your hands over her eyes till I give the word.’
Sid didn’t argue, but did as he was told. I could smell his sweat and his bad breath as he crowded me into the garage and held me there. I started to count, knowing that my ordeal had barely begun, and fearing I would not be able to take it. Sid’s gloves were enormous, blocking off light and air.
Then he released me, and prodded me into the driving seat of the van. I backed it out of the garage with him sitting beside me. Then he was locked into the body of the van by Toby, who came to sit with me.
‘In case you are wondering,’ said Toby. ‘I hid the front-door key while you were in the garage. By way of insurance, as you might say. Only I know where I put that key, and I’m not going to tell anyone, even if we’re caught. So don’t get any ideas into your head about trying to attract the attention of the police while we’re at the Festival, my sweet, or Hob will burn. Because even if you do get away from us, and find someone to talk to, and get them to believe you, and get them to come down here, they won’t be able to get into the house to save your friend in time. That front door is solid oak, isn’t it? Built to last … Even with axes and crowbars and the like, the police couldn’t get through it in time to help your friend. No, your only chance of saving his life is to get me back here safely, so that I can unlock the door for you and pinch out the candle before it burns down.’
He sighed. A long, voluptuous sound. He stretched, enjoying himself. I saw he was one of those who enjoy taking risks, and being in danger.
‘If anyone should chance to go down the lane,’ he continued, ‘they’ll see nothing wrong in a house locked up and deserted. The cars are round in the orchard, at the back of the house—no one would see them if they came down the lane casually. The curtains are drawn, so no-one can see in. I estimate that if all goes well, we should be back within an hour, and it will take about two hours for that candle flame to reach the fuse, so you see, Hob is perfectly safe if you drive properly. Of course if there is a hold-up, or anything goes wrong, then Hob will die. They’ll find a charred corpse with a bottle of meths open in front of him. A tramp, who wandered in to shelter from the weather? Or perhaps they’ll think it was you? You’re much of a size, you two.’
It was a nightmare. Toby talked most of the way. Sometimes what he said got through to me, and sometimes it didn’t. The van was heavy to drive, and needed all my concentration. My feet were tender and the heavy boots made me unresponsive.
Sid had done a good job on transforming the van. It had arrived in my yard painted a plain blue, with clear glass in the windows; he had covered the windows with some darkish plastic sheeting which allowed me to see out, but prevented people from seeing in. Over the windows he had stuck wire mesh, imitating proper armoured cars. I felt as if I were driving a fortress.
I was sweating from heat and fear, so I leaned over in an attempt to open the window beside me.
‘None of that!’ Toby cracked out, and I had to restore the window to its usual position.
I mimed sweat dripping from my forehead. ‘Raise your goggles, if you like. No one can see you.’
I raised my goggles, but still felt parboiled. The late afternoon sun had beaten all life out of the countryside. The inside of the van was close. I wondered what would happen if I were to faint.
‘… amazing, really!’ Toby was saying. I tried to concentrate. ‘I thought you went for big men.’
What was he talking about? I turned a corner with care, and saw the tip of the big barn in Mr. Thomas’ field shouldering up behind some trees in front of me.
‘Take Sid, now!’ continued Toby. ‘He’s a fine figure of a man, and plenty of women have fallen for him. I could understand you turning me down for Sid, but what you see in that little runt, I can’t imagine!’
He was talking about Hob. How very odd! I wasn’t physically attracted to Hob at all. How could I be? He was a tramp.
‘I suppose it’s that mop of curls that gets you. Fetching, at the moment, but he’s likely to go bald early. Had you thought of that?’
I hadn’t. I did think about it, and decided that even if Hob went bald, he’d still look kind and good-tempered, which was more than you could say for Toby if he were to lose his hair. Another thing, Hob was no teenager, and a man usually showed signs of losing his hair—if he was going to do so—about thirty. Hob didn’t show any signs of losing his hair, so he probably wouldn’t go bald.
‘Do you really think a shrimp like that could make satisfactory love to you?’ asked Toby.
I hadn’t thought about that, either, and I would have said so, if my mouth had been free. I’d been sorry for Hob, he’d been kind to me, and had helped me when he could. There hadn’t been anything more to it than that. I couldn’t stand by and let a man be burned to death, even if I disliked him.
Scream for Sarah Page 5
