A Stranger's House

by Clare Chase

  ‘Okay,’ she said at last. ‘That does make sense. At least now when I hear creaks in the night I’ll be able to imagine it’s you, going to the bathroom, rather than a hammer-wielding maniac.’

  Nice to know he was preferable to that option, at least.

  Chapter Fourteen

  I waited alone at River House whilst Nate went home to pick up what he’d need for his stay in Cambridge. Truth to tell, it was comforting to think there’d be someone with me overnight from now on. All the same, it went against the grain to admit it, so I’d tried to sound casual about the whole thing. I didn’t want him to think I couldn’t cope.

  Now that I was alone again, I found it hard to settle to anything. My nerves were strung taut after the news of Damien Newbold’s death. Time for some distraction. I went back to the bookcase in the drawing room and knelt down beside it. The albums were still there. I picked up where I’d left off and pulled out 1976 to 1980.

  The photos of Bella, Damien and Samson continued: both boys in school uniform, Damien towering above his brother; Bella and Damien lost in conversation, captured by a third party; Bella and Damien in a shiny car, with Samson in the back seat. I wondered what the occasion was. Perhaps the car had been new. Then I noticed that it was Damien who was in the driver’s seat. Bella had her hand on his upper arm, as though she’d been rubbing it, in an encouraging, or congratulatory way. She was looking at him, rather than the camera, pride in her eyes. I glanced at the caption: August 1977. He’d only been, I counted, thirteen. Behind them were trees, and the car was on grass. Perhaps she had taught him to drive early, on private land.

  It was midway through the 1978 photos that I found the first picture stuck into the album face down. It had clearly been glued in the right way round at one time. The back showed signs of tearing where someone – I could only assume Damien – had detached it from its conventional position before reversing it.

  Okay, so Nate had understood why I’d opened up Damien’s package against orders. As I fetched a knife from the kitchen drawer, I acknowledged he might not be quite so relaxed about my next action. All the more reason to get on with it quickly, before he returned. I went back to the album, and edged it under the centre of the photo, trying to ease the paper free by moving the blade towards the loosest corner. It was a slow process, but at last I separated it from its backing. It wasn’t perfect – there were sections of the picture that were covered with a layer of the backing paper that had refused to come away – but I could see enough.

  Bella was standing in a cocktail dress in some grand room with ornate columns. She wasn’t the only woman in the photograph, but the others were chattering away, not facing the camera. Only Bella looked in the direction of the photographer, her eyes sparkling as brightly as her diamond earrings. Her look matched the one she bore in the bedroom painting. The joy was there, without that indefinable reservation that had been present in her early marriage photos.

  Across the bottom corner of the picture was scrawled, ‘The only woman in …’ The next bit was obliterated by the glue and backing paper, but just below I could see part of the word ‘Nico’ and a kiss.

  I might have looked further, but at that moment I realised I’d missed a text from Steph. A wave of guilt washed over me. I should have called her before. The news was bound to have got out, and she was probably frantic.

  She answered on the second ring, and I filled her in on everything that had happened, and how Damien had got me dancing to his tune by mailing me his own mobile. ‘And judging by the line-up on his bedroom wall he could have been doing the same sort of thing to a lot of other women.’

  ‘Too true,’ she said. ‘And given that they were much more intimately involved with him, I suppose one of them might have snapped.’

  ‘Yes, that’s what Nate and I were thinking.’

  ‘How did he seem?’

  ‘Nate? Okay. But all this is a bit extreme; not what you’d expect given his new line of business. He’s going to come and stay here at River House so he can keep an eye on things. It must be hard for him.’

  ‘Really hard,’ Steph said. There was something in her tone that struck me, but before I could say anything she added, ‘Do you know though, I think he’s almost relieved?’

  ‘Relieved?’

  She paused for second. ‘Don’t get me wrong. He’s not dancing a jig at the news of Damien Newbold’s death, though it’s clear he wasn’t a fan. But ever since that prank package turned up, I think he’s been worried about what might happen next.’

  ‘He was worried something might happen to me?’

  She sighed. ‘He thought he was being paranoid. He’s always trying to fight against taking things too seriously and, after all, there wasn’t much to go on. All the same, it was on his mind. He said it seemed like more than standard nastiness.’

  ‘I suppose he must see the worst in every situation, having worked as a private investigator.’

  Steph paused for a moment. ‘Something like that. Speaking of men who treat women badly, did you ever get round to reading that letter of Luke’s?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Sorry,’ she said. ‘Wrong thing to ask on a day like today.’

  ‘It’s okay.’

  ‘Do you know what you’re going to do?’

  I could hear the anxiety in her voice, which made it worse. ‘I can’t go back, Steph. It’s no good.’ And I explained how he’d effectively blamed me for what had happened. ‘And it’s not just him,’ I said. ‘Daisy Buchanan’s mother caught me in the street when I was chucking stuff into the car on the day I walked out. She said something like, “Such a shame you were away, otherwise it might never have happened.” And then she went on about Luke having taken away Daisy’s innocence.’

  Steph snorted. ‘If she really thinks that, she’s a bigger fool than I took her for. And I took her for a pretty huge one, I can tell you.’

  ‘But the fact remains, even she thinks I’m partly responsible. How the hell did that happen?’

  ‘For her it’s old-fashioned-woman syndrome, I’m afraid. Thinks we really can’t expect men to keep their hands to themselves if they’re left unattended for five minutes. It’s probably personal experience; I’ve heard quite a few things about her husband …’ She coughed meaningfully. ‘But, as far as Luke goes, you don’t really think he blames you, do you?’

  ‘Probably not, deep down. It’s just guilt putting him on the defensive. But he ought to be able to rise above that at a time like this. Anyway, that’s all immaterial. It’s still no good. It’s too much of a betrayal. He didn’t just risk damaging me and her when he slept with Daisy, he put our whole life in Saxwell on the line.’

  She sighed. ‘I understand. I’ll really miss you, you know.’

  I had to take a deep breath to keep my voice steady. ‘You won’t get rid of me that easily. I’ll have to visit Saxwell St Andrew in disguise, that’s all.’

  Nate arrived back at around seven. I opened up and he stepped into the doorway, loaded with carrier bags. He followed my eyes and gave me a wry smile. ‘I wasn’t sure what food you’d got in, but I had a feeling shopping might not have been uppermost in your mind.’

  ‘Spot on, as a matter of fact.’ I turned towards the kitchen and he followed me, dumping the bags on the worktop. Once he’d offloaded them, I noticed he was wearing a rucksack too.

  ‘I can unpack the food whilst you go and sort out your stuff, if you like.’

  ‘Thanks.’

  I opened the first bag. Prosciutto, Parmesan cheese, mini plum tomatoes, aubergine and spaghetti. Hmm. I suddenly realised I was ravenous. That, and the fact that I was glad Nate had done the shopping; I couldn’t have picked better myself. The second bag had onions, garlic and herbs and a couple of bottles of red. Better and better.

  ‘When did you last eat?’

  I hadn’t realised he was back in the kitchen. He moved quietly for someone of his size.

  I had to think for a second. ‘Breakfast.’

/>   ‘And given that you had a police visit hanging over you, I’m guessing it wasn’t a hearty one?’

  ‘It’s amazing how far you can go on a spoonful of cereal. Though I can’t pretend I’m left entirely cold by the contents of your shopping bags.’

  I glanced at him for a moment, taking in the unruly hair and the eight o’clock shadow. I wondered if he’d slept the night before. He scrubbed up all right for someone who was up against it.

  ‘Glass of wine?’ I said. ‘I’ve got some in, but yours looks superior.’

  ‘After today, I’m not sure I’ll care about the quality, but yes, please. Bring it on.’

  I reached for a corkscrew whilst he got down some glasses. It felt so weird to be using Damien Newbold’s things, now that he was dead. As though we were somehow trespassing. I shivered for a moment and caught Nate watching me. He nodded. ‘It takes a while for it to sink in, doesn’t it? I’ve read what little the news sites have to say on the Internet now, but it still doesn’t feel real.’

  ‘I know he wasn’t a nice man—’

  ‘But that just makes it all the more confusing? Because you feel guilty, at the same time as seeing the horror of it?’ He took the corkscrew from me and opened the bottle I’d put out.

  I nodded.

  ‘It’s not unnatural.’ He handed me a full glass. ‘Or at least, I bloody well hope it’s not, because that’s exactly how I’ve been feeling. By the way, Damien Newbold’s brother, Samson, has been in touch now. The family solicitors have contacted him; turns out he’s his brother’s sole beneficiary, and also an executor. In principle, he’d like us to carry on overseeing this place. But he’s coming to check on arrangements tomorrow.’

  His tone said it all. ‘You don’t like him?’ I asked.

  ‘Probably a bit of a snap judgement, given that it’s based on one phone call, but no. I have a feeling we won’t hit it off.’

  ‘I guess the signs weren’t good, given his family connections.’

  ‘Quite.’

  ‘Would you like me to chop an onion?’

  ‘No.’

  I raised an eyebrow.

  ‘I’d like you to top up your wine and go and sit in the garden. I wouldn’t have chosen to put you through all this. Cooking you dinner won’t exactly make up for it, but my options are a bit limited at the moment.’

  I did as he asked and topped up my wine, which was obviously stupid, given I hadn’t eaten anything for over twelve hours. Let’s just say I was past caring.

  Being outside accentuated the feeling of unreality. It was drowsily warm, the heat of the day having abated, and a blackbird was singing. I sat on the bench and a bee buzzed around the climber by my shoulder. It seemed unbelievable that Damien Newbold would never look on any of it again. I wondered how Emily was doing. I could only imagine the effect his death would have on her. For a second I listened for any sound from Oswald House, but it was quiet.

  Through the window, I could see Nate, crossing back and forth, from the kitchen sink to the cooker.

  After ten minutes or so, I got up to go to the bathroom and found my head felt a bit swimmy.

  By the time I’d finished, Nate had fetched my glass from the garden, refilled it, and was dishing our pasta and sauce onto plates at the kitchen table. It smelled like heaven.

  I sat, and he dropped into a chair next to me and took a swig of his wine.

  I found it hard to come up with conversation. My mind was taken up with everything that had happened that day, and I wanted to ask what he thought about the murder. He was bound to have an opinion, given his past experience as an investigator. But remembering his reaction when I’d asked about his old job, I held back. I thought again of how he’d walked out of the room.

  He glanced sideways in my direction, a forkful of food halfway to his mouth. ‘What?’

  ‘Sorry.’ And then the thoughts that had just been running through my mind came straight out. It must have been the wine.

  He sighed and leant back in his chair. ‘I’m sorry I was so rude when you asked me about my PI work.’

  ‘I knew you must have your reasons.’ And of course, I’d wondered what they were, but I wasn’t going to ask. Not now.

  ‘I have, but it doesn’t excuse me being foul about it. So, to answer the question you asked back then, yes, I do miss my old job. But I can’t go back to it.’

  His tone told me the subject was closed. We both ate for a moment, but then he put his fork back on his plate and looked in my direction.

  ‘In spite of that, it doesn’t mean we can’t talk about Newbold. God, it’d be pretty hard not to under the circumstances.’

  ‘I just wondered what you thought about who might have done it.’

  ‘You’ve probably got a better idea, after living in this place.’ He topped up my wine again, before I’d thought to object. ‘But the women on his bedroom walls all seem like possibilities on the face of it.’

  ‘Except one.’ I explained I’d found out that one of the paintings was of Damien’s dead mother.

  ‘Interesting. Okay, so not her then.’

  ‘And I’ve met another of the nudes now, Tilly Blake.’

  He raised an eyebrow. ‘It’s as though you’re collecting them. I take it she was dressed on this occasion?’

  I let out a laugh that surprised me. ‘Thankfully, yes.’ I explained how Tilly had turned up out of the blue that morning. It was hard to believe it was the same day.

  ‘Sounds as though her shock was genuine.’

  I remembered her reaction to the news. ‘It certainly seemed that way. Poor woman.’

  He caught my eye and for a second put a hand on my arm. He didn’t say anything, but I could see he understood. ‘Whereas Maggie Cook?’

  ‘A firebrand. But then again, that means she wasn’t bottling anything up.’

  ‘There is that.’

  ‘And then there’s the fourth woman, who the police clearly know about, but I don’t.’

  ‘And we can’t discount your young student friend, I’m afraid.’

  I looked down at my plate. ‘I suppose not.’

  ‘Cheer up. There’s Samson to consider too. If he’s inheriting this place, plus its contents he’s got a nice, fat motive.’

  ‘Let’s say it’s him.’

  After we’d finished our food, I dared to ask the question that had been on my mind. ‘What was it that made you worry about Damien Newbold, right from the start?’

  He raised an eyebrow.

  ‘To be honest,’ I said, ‘I overheard you talking to Steph in the street, that first day we met.’ I sat back in my chair.

  He looked across at me slowly. ‘You did?’

  ‘I’m afraid I guessed she might be passing on the gossip in a little more detail than was strictly necessary, so I followed you both out, in case I could distract her.’

  He raised an eyebrow again. ‘I see.’

  ‘And I heard you start to say something to her about Damien Newbold. Do you remember?’ He looked down. His dark fringe had fallen over his eyes now, and he didn’t answer, so I went on. ‘You were going to confide in her, but then you stopped and said it didn’t matter.’

  ‘Ah, yes,’ he said as though he was regretting it. ‘Now I do remember. And I wish you hadn’t got such a good memory. Or such an inquisitive personality. Do you always go about sleuthing like that?’

  I wasn’t going to let him off the hook. ‘It tends to stand me in good stead, both for the books I write, and in everyday life.’

  ‘I can imagine.’

  ‘Anyway, after all that’s happened, I wondered what you were going to say.’

  He sighed. ‘The truth is, I was surprised at how readily he’d agreed to you minding his house. He could have gone to other agencies, found someone with more experience.’ He looked me straight in the eye now. It was clearly his trademark approach when he had to tackle anything tricky. For a second my mind flitted to Luke, staring at the floor as he’d told me about Daisy. ‘He’d asked
me for background details on you, of course,’ he went on, bringing me back to the present, ‘and as part of that I directed him to your website. It was what he said then that worried me.’

  ‘Why?’

  He gave me a wry smile. ‘Your photo’s up there, and he said you looked perfect.’

  ‘Hmm,’ I said. ‘The guy clearly had more to him than I’d realised.’ God. Where had that come from? Bloody wine. I felt my cheeks go hot.

  There was a sparkle in Nate’s blue eyes. ‘I certainly wouldn’t dispute his judgement,’ he said, turning sideways to face me. ‘But those high cheek bones don’t strictly qualify you as an expert house-sitter, so I wondered if he was keen for the wrong reasons.’

  We sat there for a moment, then he leant forwards, and I found I had too. We were only a couple of inches apart. He put his hand to my cheek and his touch sent a rush of static round my body. Then suddenly we weren’t a couple of inches apart any more. He was kissing me hard, his arm round my waist, pulling me to him. And, oh boy, was I kissing him back … It was only at that point that I realised my dream wasn’t just some embarrassing trick of the mind. It had been trying to tell me something, only I’d been a bit too preoccupied to acknowledge it, what with one thing and another.

  Either way, it was all quite satisfactory from my point of view, until suddenly, after what was only probably a second or two he pulled away.

  ‘Shit, Ruby. I’m so sorry.’

  ‘It’s okay.’ When I said it was okay, I meant great.

  ‘No, it’s not. I was completely out of order.’ He got up and put his empty wine glass on the counter. ‘I’m out of it on adrenaline, I think. There’s no way I should have leapt on you like that.’

  He wasn’t facing me any more, but I’d seen the look of dismay in his eyes. Had he leapt on me? Or – horrible thought – had I, in fact, leapt on him? I’d made that stupid comment about Newbold having good taste in admiring my looks. Well, that had put Nate in a position where he’d had no option but to pay me a compliment in response. The only alternative would have been to ignore my lame little remark, and leave me looking like an idiot. I knew he was too much of a gent to do that. And then … Well, then everything went a bit hazy. I remembered leaning in towards him, but had he leant first? He’d gone for it, once we were in such close proximity, but once again, I’d probably put him in a position where he couldn’t politely do otherwise. He’d taken the hit, but then pulled back as soon as he could, and pretended it was all his responsibility. I couldn’t fault his manners.