Strange Allure

by Susan Lewis

  Graham sat in the aftermath of her outburst, as though allowing the air to settle and some calm to return, before he spoke again. ‘We thought,’ he said finally, ‘when he called you at Christmas, that that eventuality had in fact arisen. But it seems we were wrong.’

  Carla’s eyes closed as she grasped the one single occasion that had been true. It surprised her to find that it gave her a steadying kind of warmth, until more anger erupted with the realization of Graham’s remarkable good fortune that nothing had been said in that call to blow his despicable scheme wide apart. Then she was glaring at him again as she said, ‘Of course, it’s why there was the confusion over Richard’s visit to Zanzibar, isn’t it? You didn’t know that he’d never been. You just assumed he had, because I assumed he had.’

  He didn’t deny it, nor did he offer any excuse or apology.

  ‘Oh God,’ she groaned with a laugh of disbelief and disgust. ‘It’s sick. So unbelievably sick.’ A second or two passed, then her rage mounted again as she cried, ‘Just what would you have done if I’d agreed to be godmother?’

  He was shaking his head. ‘I knew there was no risk of that,’ he told her.

  Inflamed even further by his arrogance, she shouted, ‘Of course you did. After all, wasn’t it you who suggested that he’d probably only used the question to get me to respond? Of course it was you, because it’s always been you, avoiding giving answers that I was too afraid to press for, in case I learned something that would hurt me all over again. So there was another little exercise for you, the denial and cowardice a person goes into as a means of self-protection. Did you get that? Yes, of course you did. It wouldn’t be like you to miss it. And what about standing me up? How convenient it was for you that I was so fearful of it happening that I didn’t wait more than fifteen minutes, then sent an email immediately I got back to say what I’d done. Once again, I played right into your hands. How lucky you’ve been with me. And how very contemptible and dangerous you are.’

  ‘No, please don’t say that,’ he protested. ‘You’re whole and happy again now. You’re riding many exciting waves in your career, you’re on the brink of a new relationship with a very special man, and we have always rejoiced in the many rewards of our friendship. This doesn’t need to come between us. It can be put down to what it was, a rather misguided but extremely well-intentioned attempt to help you through an exceptionally bad spell in your life.’

  Carla’s outrage could find no words, so she merely turned to Betty as Betty said harshly, ‘I didn’t only tell her about the emails.’

  Carla eyes shot back to Graham, and she saw a man she had once known seeming to shrink inside his skin rather than face the cruel light of yet more exposure.

  ‘I had always hoped,’ he said gruffly to Carla, ‘that you’d never need to know even half as much as you already do, but it would appear that Betty has done her worst, so in order to give the situation any understanding, or forgiveness, I can see that I must tell you certain other facts that are going to be perhaps even more shocking and painful to hear than those you already have.’

  Unable to imagine anything that could even come close to being worse, she merely stared at him with flatly hostile eyes.

  ‘The page that you found in your mother’s thesis,’ he began, startling her with such an unexpected change of subject, ‘was part of a letter she wrote, I believe to Richard. I needed to find the entire letter, which I knew had never reached Richard, or we certainly wouldn’t be sitting here now. I also needed to find it without alerting you to its contents, or even indeed that it had any particular significance. Our means of doing so have been both enterprising and costly, and I’m afraid rather intrusive, since we not only had to perform several searches of this house without being detected, we also had to equip your telephones, and indeed the house itself, with certain electronic devices that would allow us to listen to, or record, your conversations, so that if you ever found the letter we’d know straight away.’

  Stupefied beyond speech, Carla could only watch as he got up to put more coal on the fire. His actions seemed to lend yet another bizarre dimension to the already staggering complexity of his role in her life.

  ‘It was during one of our early searches for that letter,’ he said, as he sat down again, ‘that we came across Richard’s letters to you. I still have them, of course, and you are welcome to them back at any time.’

  Carla made no response, only allowed her repugnance and anger to show as she continued to glare at him.

  His eyes dropped for a moment, then, after a brief look at Betty, he said, ‘Getting back to our methods of tracing the letter your mother wrote … You might recall an occasion, one Sunday afternoon, when you and Sonya were talking on the phone about Richard’s letters, and it was mentioned that they could be under the stairs. Thanks to our electronic devices we were able to hear your conversation, so I immediately called to invite you and Avril to come and help celebrate my birthday. Which you did, and while you were with me Barry Fellowes, whose correct identity I imagine you’re now acquainted with, came here to the cottage to look under the stairs. Unfortunately he didn’t find the letter, so we had no choice but to go on listening and looking, and since a good deal of our devices have been installed through the walls of the house next door, our main problem has been Maudie and her almost constant vigilance.’

  Carla thought of Maudie’s sharp little features peering out through the cloud of her white net curtains, always knowing something was going on next door, but never understanding what. And to think, in her concern, she’d asked Barry Fellowes himself to check over old Gilbert’s house to find out what was going on. Were it not so pitiable, it could almost be laughable.

  ‘Fortunately for us,’ Graham continued, ‘Maudie never appears actually to have seen anyone, though Sonya certainly did, the day she arrived unexpectedly and caught me coming out of the house. I believe I’d come in that time to replace a file we’d taken that contained details of the storage company you were using in London. Though there was an itemized list for each of the containers, we weren’t expecting the letter to be mentioned, but it helped us to know what was in each box, so that Barry could keep his search to a minimum when he went to see if the letter had somehow found its way into storage. Prior to that, as I recall, we claimed Betty had seen someone who looked like Richard outside the cottage while you and Avril were in Monte Carlo. We did this for two reasons, one, because Betty and I were still inside the cottage, looking through your mother’s thesis, when Barry called to tell us that Sonya was on her way to the village and was likely to arrive at any moment. We left the thesis in rather a mess, I’m afraid, so we thought it better to suggest that Richard had been around that day, rather than any other kind of intruder. This was working on the assumption that if you thought there was a chance it was Richard, you’d be unlikely to call the police.’

  Carla didn’t mention that she’d never found the thesis in a mess, though Avril might have, as she was using that room at the time. However, it did account for how the mail had got to her desk that weekend, since Sonya was certain she hadn’t picked it up. What a silly mistake for such a clever man, though it had hardly caused him a problem.

  ‘The second reason we suggested Richard was there,’ Graham said, ‘was to make you think he was serious about a reunion. By then we knew what model of car he drove, because we’d hired a private detective to watch his house, as a kind of precaution.’

  Carla’s eyes were now painfully wide. ‘A precaution against what?’ she said, too bemused now to be angry.

  ‘Well, we needed to know where he was at any given time in case he turned up on the TV somewhere in Afghanistan, or Africa, when we were saying he was in London. We also needed to get an idea of his relationship with Chrissie …’

  ‘Why did you need to know that?’ she cried, hating this more than ever.

  ‘In case it was breaking up and he showed any signs of returning to you. I’d need to know that, wouldn’t I, considering I
was pretending to be him.’

  Feeling a wave of revulsion shudder through her again, she said, ‘This is all so warped and horrible that I’m not sure I want you to go on.’

  His eyes were gentle as he looked at her, waiting for her to make up her mind.

  ‘Just what the hell do you think’s in this letter?’ she finally asked.

  ‘Oh, we know what’s in it,’ he answered, glancing at Betty, ‘because just like she came to you tonight, Betty paid your mother a visit too, and apprised her of our little secret. Didn’t you, Betty?’

  It took only a moment for Carla’s mind to soar through the entire extent of his meaning, then explode in utter horror as she realized that if her mother had known about the murder, if she’d threatened to go to the police … ‘No,’ she whispered, a thick, pounding heat burning in her chest. ‘Tell me it’s not true. Oh, please God, no, no, no.’

  ‘It’s not true,’ Graham said firmly. ‘It’s not what you think, but it’s because of what you think that we had to find that letter before you or anyone else did.’

  Carla was on her feet. ‘You killed her,’ she cried breathlessly. ‘Oh my God! The blow to her head. You killed her. You killed her.’

  Both Graham and Betty rose, but before either of them could reach her, she was gone, out through the kitchen, into the garden, away from their shouting and pleading for her to come back and listen, to give them a chance to explain. But no explanation was needed. Her mother had known about the murder they’d committed, and now her mother was dead, killed in the exact same way. Was that what they were intending for her now? To bash in her brains, rather than risk letting her live another day with their hideous secret? Oh God, why, oh why had Betty told her?

  Throwing open the gate she staggered against the wind into the lane, and began heading through the driving rain to Maudie’s. Jagged forks of lightning flashed down from the sky, lighting the way for a brief, dazzling moment, then suddenly she became aware of a figure looming out of the darkness ahead. Terror struck her heart as she realized it was Barry Fellowes, and, spinning into a forceful gust, she pushed her way back into the garden, and made for the shed. She tripped on a flagstone, then lost her footing in the mud, but finally she managed to tear open the door and with violently shaking fingers pulled the key from the lock, before closing and locking the door behind her.

  By now her heart was thudding so hard she could barely even hear the rain above it, nor, in her agitated state, could she dare to hide behind the old bicycles and boxes, for fear of knocking something over. So standing as still as she was able, rain dripping from her hair on to her face, limbs juddering like crazy, she strained her ears to hear anything beyond the pounding might of the storm. Then her heart twisted with terror as she heard the clatter and squeal of the gate opening and closing, followed by the noise of someone squelching through the mud towards the shed. There was a moment of nothing but the wind and rain, then she almost screamed, as the door suddenly rattled.

  ‘It’s not going to do you any good hiding in there,’ Fellowes called out. ‘So open the door, or I’ll have to force it.’

  Carla stayed where she was, hardly daring to breathe, as tears streamed down her face. Dear God, please help me, please help me, she prayed fervently and silently, for this was the man who’d beaten an innocent drunk to death, and who had very probably wielded the rock that had killed her mother. So what was he going to do to her now? The same? Or did they have something else planned for her? Oh God, why had Betty told her? And how in hell, trapped here in this shed, was she ever going to escape them?

  Chapter 24

  ‘OH, FOR GOD’S sake!’ Avril cried, as they sped round a bend in the motorway to be confronted by a twisting chain of red tail lights that snaked as far as the eye could see. ‘What is it? Roadworks, or an accident?’

  ‘Roadworks,’ John answered. ‘They’ve been here for weeks. Damn!’ he muttered, thumping the wheel. ‘I should have remembered.’

  ‘Is Richard still with us?’ she said, turning to look back.

  ‘Is it him? I can’t tell,’ John responded, glancing in the rear-view mirror, only to be blinded by the headlights behind.

  ‘I think so. Oh God! What are we going to do?’ she seethed, as they came to a stop. ‘We can’t even turn round. And why doesn’t she answer the damn phone?’ she added, shaking her mobile in frustration.

  ‘Try again,’ John said, looking at the time. ‘Jesus, it’s after half past seven. If they were meeting at the cottage she’d be there by now.’

  ‘Unless they weren’t actually meeting there,’ Avril responded, still dialling.

  A moment later Richard came up to John’s side window. ‘The next exit’s only about half a mile,’ he shouted, over the wind and rain. ‘Do you want to take the hard shoulder?’

  ‘Yes,’ John shouted back. ‘Do you know the way from there?’

  ‘More or less. Shall I lead?’

  John gave him the thumbs up, then closed the window as Richard ran back to his car.

  ‘Still the machine,’ Avril said angrily. Then, as Richard passed in the BMW, and John pulled on to the hard shoulder behind him, she said, ‘Have you got a map?’

  ‘On the back seat.’

  ‘I still don’t trust him,’ she stated, leaning over to get it. ‘He might try to lose us, so we’ll need to know where we are.’

  ‘Your attitude’s not helping,’ John told her sharply. ‘He’s stayed with us this far, now let’s just concentrate on getting there, shall we?’

  Suitably chastened Avril fumbled around for the map-light, then attempted to locate where they were. She’d never heard John use that tone before, so he was obviously even more uptight than she’d realized, and knowing there was a good chance they were on a wild goose chase anyway, since Carla wasn’t answering either of her phones, wasn’t helping to calm anyone’s nerves.

  ‘Try Sonya again,’ he suddenly barked, as they followed Richard onto a roundabout at a dangerously high speed.

  Avril did, but there was no response from her either.

  ‘Where the hell is everyone?’ she shouted, then almost screamed, as a car suddenly pulled out of a side road right in front of them. John yanked hard on the wheel, swerving the Range Rover across the road, bumping the offside wheels up on to the opposite bank, narrowly missing a tree, then braking hard as they hit the road again, taking them into a short, semicircular skid.

  ‘Are you OK?’ he asked, obviously shaken himself, as he righted the car, and started to drive on.

  ‘Yeah,’ she gasped, still holding the dash. ‘Are you?’

  ‘I’d feel a hell of a lot better,’ he answered, ‘if we didn’t appear to have lost Richard.’

  Carla was staring wide-eyed at the shed door. She hadn’t heard anything except her own heartbeat and the storm for several minutes, though she still didn’t dare to move. The cold and damp were seeping deep into her bones, as was the fear. Seconds ago something had scurried across her foot, making her gasp, and now the dank, earthen stench of wet wood and rusting metal seemed to be stealing the air. There had been no sound of Fellowes moving away, nor of anything else beyond the rain drumming the pitch roof like nails, and the thunder rumbling darkly through the sky like an omen. It was a nightmare, please God, it had to be, because if it wasn’t then the reason she was here, freezing and shivering in terror, had to be real, and if it was real she didn’t know what the hell to do.

  Feeling more tears scalding her cheeks, she carefully lifted a hand and pushed them away. If her suspicions were correct, if they really had killed her mother … She almost choked on the horror, for it was so painful to think of her mother dying that way … Dread seared through her chest, and she was about to take a breath to steady herself when her whole body stiffened at the sound of someone calling her name.

  ‘Carla!’

  Instinctively she drew back into the shadows. Over her shoulder was a small, rectangular window, but through it she saw only silvery spikes of rain, rushing t
hrough the moonlit darkness.

  ‘Carla, hiding like this isn’t going to help.’ It was Graham, and he was right outside the door.

  Despite the thudding fear in her heart, she tried to breathe more slowly, but her chest was so tight the air could barely get through.

  ‘Carla. Don’t make them hurt Eddie,’ Graham pleaded.

  Carla’s eyes widened, as terror punched a hole in her fear. Eddie! How could she have forgotten her precious Eddie?

  ‘I know how much he means to you,’ Graham called.

  Carla’s eyes were wild as her head spun with confusion. How was this happening? How had he turned into this monster?

  ‘Please,’ Graham coaxed. ‘We both know you don’t want anything to happen to Eddie.’

  Panic flared in her head. They were threatening Eddie! Dear God, they were going to hurt her dog. How could she let them do that? Poor, defenceless Eddie, who thought he was with people who loved him. An image of his little face flashed in her mind, his big brown eyes clouded with confusion, as someone started bashing in his head …

  Suddenly her hand was on the key, turning it, and the wind swung the door wide.

  ‘If you dare to hurt Eddie, I swear I’ll kill you,’ she seethed into Graham’s face.

  ‘Please, come inside,’ he said, trying to take her arm.

  Snatching it away, she ran over to the back door. ‘Eddie!’ she called. ‘Eddie! Come here!’

  She heard him whine, then saw him in the hall, being held on his lead by Barry Fellowes.

  ‘Let him go!’ she screamed. ‘Let him go now!’

  ‘It’s OK,’ Graham said, coming up behind her. ‘No-one’s going to hurt him. It was the only way to make you come inside and listen.’