The Charmer

by Mandasue Heller

  ‘Me being a woman, and all that?’ Maria teased.

  ‘Not at all,’ Nigel said quickly. ‘I just think you’ve probably got a better eye for style. You only have to look at my clothes to know I’m somewhat lacking in that department.’

  ‘Rubbish,’ Maria scoffed. ‘There’s nothing wrong with your dress sense. Although I can’t really imagine you out of a suit. You don’t really look the jeans type.’

  ‘I’m not,’ Nigel admitted, amazed that they were having such a casual conversation about him and he wasn’t blushing. ‘I prefer trousers, actually.’

  ‘So does Joel,’ Maria said, smiling as she pictured him in her mind’s eye in her favourite slate-grey pair. They made his bum look super-firm and sexy. ‘Anyway,’ she said, shaking herself out of her reverie, ‘I’d love to come for lunch.’

  ‘Right, well, shall we go, then?’ Nigel said, pulling his jacket on and opening the door for her – a little deflated now that he’d been reminded of her boyfriend.

  He had only actually met the man once, but he could perfectly well see the effect that he’d had on Maria over the year, because she was far less independent in her approach to things, always wanting to talk things over with him before making a decision. Nigel had kept his fingers crossed that it would fizzle out. But he’d had to accept that Maria and this Joel were a serious ‘couple’ when she’d rung to tell him that she’d be looking after her own investments, and would only need Nigel to deal with legal matters in future.

  It was obvious that she’d done that at Joel’s behest, because she’d been perfectly happy with Nigel’s involvement until then. That made him more than a little suspicious about her new boyfriend’s motives. But he was in no position to argue or voice his unfounded doubts, because she was entitled to take advice from whoever she chose.

  Maria’s calls had lessened to almost none over the next six months, and Nigel had been a little concerned about her. But it would have been unprofessional to call merely to ask how she was doing. And, of course, he didn’t want to be seen to be treading on another man’s territory.

  He’d been so pleased when he realised that Maria had overlooked the date of the annual maintenance check, because that had given him a legitimate excuse to see her. And he was glad that he had, because it had reassured him. And, better yet, he’d enlisted her help in sprucing up his apartment.

  Adam had offered to give him some tips, but it had never come to anything because Adam was far too busy bedding anything that moved – and pretending to study for his bar exams. Nigel had all but given up hope of him ever sorting himself out where that was concerned. But, if he was honest, Adam was the real reason he didn’t mind meeting Maria on a Saturday. He actually preferred it, because there was no chance of Adam coming into work when he didn’t have to.

  Not that Maria would be interested now that she had her very own superhero in Joel. But once she saw Adam, she wouldn’t be able to resist checking him out when she came to the office, because he was too damn good-looking to ignore.

  But, oh, well . . . As his father used to say whenever events overtook him: you can build the walls high and wide, but they’ll never hold a determined tide. If Maria and Adam were destined to meet, they would meet no matter what Nigel did to prevent it.

  ‘This is fantastic,’ Maria said when they arrived at the apartment. ‘I love open-plan; it feels so spacious and light. And your furniture’s absolutely fine,’ she said, casting an eye around the room.

  The floor was polished beechwood, and there was a long Scandinavian-style sofa, a low glass coffee table, and a wall unit in which one or two quirky ornaments were stylishly displayed on each of its shelves. The plasma-screen TV and stereo unit were built into one wall, the speakers suspended from the ceiling. Two enormous paintings of what looked like naked women – although they were so modernistic it was hard to tell – graced the walls, one above a diamond-shaped glass-fronted fire, which was also built in. The other directly faced the ceiling-to-floor windows, outside which was a balcony. The artwork added much-needed colour and vivacity to what would otherwise have been quite a bland backdrop.

  ‘It’s perfect,’ Maria said, nodding approvingly. ‘Honestly, I wouldn’t change a thing.’

  ‘Really?’ Nigel said uncertainly. ‘You don’t think it’s a bit minimalist ?’

  ‘That’s fashionable,’ Maria told him, going to the window and looking out. ‘Wow, you can see most of Manchester from here. Is that the Granada studios?’

  ‘Yes, and the V&A Hotel behind it.’ Coming over, Nigel unlocked the door and slid it open. Standing out on the balcony, he pointed out where everything was. ‘Deansgate’s over there. Hulme and Moss Side over that way, and Chorlton to the right. The M62’s back down that way, and town’s directly over there. Your house is somewhere over that side.’

  ‘Amazing,’ Maria murmured, gazing around. ‘It’s really freaky, seeing it all laid out like this. A bit like being in a helicopter, hovering over everything.’

  ‘Never thought of it quite like that.’ Nigel smiled, knowing that from now on that was what he would think whenever he sat out here with his wine in the evening. Going back inside after a moment, he said, ‘Can I get you a drink?’

  ‘Yeah, coffee would be great.’ Maria followed him in. ‘Want me to make it while you do the salad?’

  ‘No, I’m fine. But you can come and sit in the kitchen if you like.’

  Watching as he moved deftly around the small but perfectly adequate kitchen, Maria was amazed how at ease he was with himself here.

  ‘Living alone suits you,’ she said. ‘You seem to have everything exactly how you need it. Really economical and functional.’

  ‘That’s half the problem,’ Nigel admitted, keeping his back turned while he prepared the food. ‘I tend to think that if I like it, there must be something wrong with it – something a bit lacking. But obviously I wouldn’t know what it is, so there’s no way I can remedy it.’

  Recognising something of her own lack of confidence in his words, Maria felt a twinge of sadness for him. They couldn’t have had more different childhoods – his rich, hers poor – yet they had quite a lot in common, it seemed.

  From the little that he’d told her, Maria knew that Nigel was an only child who had been surrounded by critical adults who demanded complete obedience at all times. Then they’d expected him to be a fully fledged ‘man’ when it came to him making his way in the working world.

  Maria, on the other hand, had enjoyed a wonderfully loving childhood – until her mum had died. After that, she’d been nothing but a statistic; she’d been expected to abide by the myriad rules and regulations laid down by the various care workers whose job it had been to raise her. No love, just care. And most of that had been particularly uncaring.

  It was incredibly difficult to survive that with any sense of self-worth, and any child of the system would be forever seeking affection and approval. Which was probably why, once she’d allowed her carefully built barriers down, Maria had been so grateful for Joel’s love that she’d reverted to a state of girly dependence.

  Nigel was a successful solicitor with a partnership in an established, well-respected firm, who owned a fantastic apartment in a really sought-after location. Yet he still needed to be told that he’d done a good job in choosing his own furniture.

  Tragic.

  Sitting out on the balcony to eat their food, they chatted for a while. Then Maria said that she’d best head off home. Nigel offered to drive her, but she said she’d rather call a cab.

  ‘I’ve already taken up enough of your time today,’ she said.

  ‘It was my pleasure,’ he assured her. ‘I’ve had a lovely time.’

  ‘Me, too,’ she said. ‘I’ll repay the favour sometime – have you round for dinner. You and Joel will get on like a house on fire.’

  ‘I’m sure we will,’ Nigel agreed, actually doubting it very much.

  Walking Maria down to the pavement to wait for the cab, Nigel told
her that he would give her a ring when he’d arranged for the maintenance company to come round – to make sure that it was an acceptable time for her.

  ‘It’ll be fine whenever,’ she said. ‘I’m usually in. And if I’m not, I’m never too far away that I can’t jump in a cab and get back within ten minutes.’

  ‘I’ll check first,’ Nigel said. Then, folding his arms, he said, ‘Didn’t you mention that you’d bought a car recently? Only, with you taking the bus in today and a cab home now . . .’

  ‘Joel’s using it,’ she explained. ‘He’s been in London for the weekend, so it seemed daft for him to take the train when I’d probably be inside for most of the time.’

  ‘Ah, I see,’ Nigel murmured. ‘Sounds like he’s very busy.’

  ‘Oh, he is. He’s out more than he’s in, these days. But I can’t complain. At least he’s making his mark on the world.’

  Without contributing a thing to the house, no doubt, Nigel thought perceptively. He’d seen enough of the accounts when he was still advising Maria financially to know that every payment had been made from her account alone. If that were still the case, then this man of hers had landed square on his feet.

  But it was really none of his business.

  ‘Take care,’ Nigel said when the taxi came. ‘And give me a ring if you see that car again. I know you’ve put it down to paranoia, but you were very upset when you reached the office and I’d hate to think of you sitting on your own like that. I could come over and wait with you until Joel gets back.’

  ‘I’ll be absolutely fine,’ Maria told him confidently.

  Despite telling Nigel that she was fine, Maria felt nervous as the taxi neared her house. Looking every which way for the car, she was relieved when she didn’t see it.

  Letting herself in, she hung her jacket up and slipped her shoes off, then made herself a coffee and carried it through to the lounge. She had nothing to do now but wait until Joel came home tomorrow, so she switched the TV on and channel-hopped for a while. But nothing held her interest.

  Bored, she poured herself a glass of wine and carried it up to the attic. There were still some boxes up there that she hadn’t gone through, and she thought she might as well do it now while Joel was away.

  The attic was dusty and quiet – like a crypt, she thought. Which wasn’t too far from the truth, she realised. It was the one part of the house that she still thought of as Elsie Davidson’s, because it was so full of the dead woman’s life.

  Maria had been meaning to deal with the last boxes for months, but had never got around to it – scared that she might find more weird stuff about her dad.

  She’d been freaked-out after that first night here with Beth, when they’d found the private detective’s reports. But it was the photo of Derek bearing such a strong resemblance to Maria herself which had really shattered her. That was proof absolute that her mother had lied to her, and Maria hadn’t been willing to deal with it. Not then, not now. In fact, she doubted whether she would ever look at any of that stuff again. And she wasn’t willing to give up her good memories for any reason. So she stored the evidence of betrayal away in the furthest recesses of her mind, and stashed the paperwork and photos with the rest of the dead stuff in the attic where she didn’t have to see it.

  Maria spent a good couple of hours rummaging through the other boxes now, but there was nothing of any particular interest in them; mainly clothes and books. The first few boxes had been much more exciting, particularly the one with the porcelain dolls in their ancient lace dresses, and the one stacked with jewellery boxes, full of old-lady-type glittery necklaces, bracelets, and rings.

  Joel had been with her when she’d found those, and he’d said that the dolls were probably worth something to a collector, but that most of the jewellery was paste. He said he knew someone who specialised in old jewellery who would buy it all off her if she didn’t want it. Feeling no emotional attachment to it, she kept one strand of black pearls, an emerald and ruby ring that she thought was particularly decorative, and an enormous oblong diamond solitaire – which she was convinced was real, and Beth had agreed. The rest she gave to Joel to offload on the dealer, pleased when he came home with the two hundred pounds he’d managed to push the man to. They went out that night and splashed the lot on a meal and a club. A short time later, Joel had taken the dolls to an antiques fair on one of his trips to London, coming home with two hundred and fifty that time – which again went towards a good night out.

  There was nothing so interesting in this search, and Maria was even more bored than when she’d started when she gave up and resealed the boxes. She’d call one of those house-clearance places and have them take the lot. At least then the whole of the house would be hers.

  Going down the stairs, she set the bath running, then went into the bedroom. Flipping the TV on for background noise, she stepped up on the stool to reach for a towel from the top of the linen closet. Catching a flash of blue out of the corner of her eye, she almost toppled over with shock when she looked out of the window and saw the same car as before driving slowly by.

  The man who had been staring at her from the passenger side earlier was now in the back, staring up at the houses.

  Giving a tiny yelp of terror when he looked straight up at her window, Maria clapped a hand across her mouth. He couldn’t possibly see her through the nets, but she felt as if he had looked straight at her. And she was sure that he had spoken to whoever else was in the car with him – probably telling them that he’d seen her.

  Her heart began to beat a furious tattoo in her chest and throat. They were looking for her, she just knew it.

  Stepping shakily down off the stool when the car went by, she closed the curtains, then immediately reopened them. If they came straight back round, they’d know that the curtains had been moved. They’d know she was in. Alone.

  But what if they already knew? What if they had followed her back here? She’d been so sure that she’d lost them when she got to town today, but what if they’d still been watching her – waiting to catch her on her own?

  Oh, God!

  What it . . . What if . . .

  ‘Stop it!’ Maria scolded herself sharply.

  Sitting down on the bed, she chewed her nails and thought it out.

  If they had followed her home, then they would know where she lived and wouldn’t need to scan the houses. So, chances were that they were just doing the rounds on the off chance of seeing her. But why? What had she done to attract their attention?

  Her heart gave a painful lurch in her chest as a news report from last year flashed into her mind, about three people being raped and beaten at a flat on the other side of town. All the police had said was that several large men had been seen . . .

  Driving slowly up and down the victims’ road some time before the attack . . .

  Oh, my, God! I’m going to get raped!

  Panicking now, Maria slid down to the floor and crawled to the phone. Picking up the receiver, she held it shakily in her hand, the dial tone buzzing loudly in her ear.

  ‘Police, please . . .’ she whispered when the operator answered.

  22

  ‘I shouldn’t think you’ve anything to worry about.’

  Sergeant Paul Dalton sat down at the other end of the couch from Maria, his kind eyes showing that he understood the fear and wasn’t dismissing her concerns.

  ‘PC Corcoran checked all your doors and windows, and they seem quite secure. He thinks you’d be wise to have your cellar door fitted with a new lock at some time in the near future, but it looks okay for now.’

  ‘Thanks,’ Maria said gratefully, shivering despite the heat in the lounge. ‘I feel really stupid now.’

  ‘No need,’ Dalton assured her. ‘Better safe than sorry. Anyway, if you see the car again, give us another call and we’ll have a squad car check it out – see what the men are up to. If it’s any consolation, the majority of these things usually have a perfectly innocent explanation. They’
re probably looking for a party, or something.’

  ‘No.’ Maria shook her head. ‘That’s what I thought when I saw them yesterday. But it can’t be that, or they wouldn’t have still been out there this morning. Or now. Parties don’t last that long.’

  ‘It could be any number of things,’ Dalton told her calmly. ‘Rest assured we’ll be looking into it, so there’s really no need to worry. As you said, they were looking at all the houses, not just yours in particular. When we see them, we’ll give them a pull. If they were planning anything, that’s guaranteed to put them off.’

  ‘You won’t tell them who rang you?’ Maria’s eyes were dark with fear.

  ‘Of course not.’ Smiling now, Dalton wrote something in his pad, then ripped the page out and handed it to her. ‘This is an incident number. If anything happens, give the operator this number and ask for me.’

  ‘Do you think it is those men you’re looking for?’ Maria asked, folding the paper and slipping it into her pocket.

  ‘Highly unlikely,’ Dalton said. Then, ‘Look, is there anyone who could come and stay with you until your boyfriend gets home? Mum and dad live nearby?’

  ‘No.’ Maria shook her head.

  ‘Friends, then?’

  Blushing, Maria shook her head again. Nigel had offered to come and sit with her, but she had an instinctive feeling that Joel would be less than impressed to find that a man had stayed the night. Vicky was the only other person she knew, but she couldn’t drag her away from Leroy and the kids.

  ‘Anywhere you could go and stay, then?’ Dalton persisted. She was genuinely scared, and he didn’t want to leave her until he was satisfied that she was going to be all right.

  Sighing heavily, Maria said, ‘No, I don’t really want to bother anyone. Anyway, like you said, this is probably nothing. I always did have an overactive imagination.’

  As soon as she said it, she wished she hadn’t. It wasn’t true, for one thing – she had always been a realist. And now, if anything did happen, they probably wouldn’t believe her. She could just see the report: Neurotic; self-confessed exaggerator. Ignore wild claims of breakins, mad rapists beating down the door, axe murderers, or other . . .