by Lou Peters
‘Hope you’ve got your passport.’ Unwittingly, it had been the wrong thing for Ruth to say.
Angela’s little face looked crestfallen. ‘I haven’t got one of my own,’ she said looking down at her red sandals. She kicked one foot against the other, scuffing the toes ‘But I’m on my mum’s.’
‘Well that’s the main thing. These passports aren’t all there cracked up to be, you know. The photographs are usually horrendous.’
‘I know,’ Angela agreed, brightening. ‘I’ve seen Mary’s and it doesn’t even look like her.’
‘There you are then.’ Ruth felt like a change of conversation was called for. ‘Wait there a minute I think I’ve got something for you.’ Ruth hurried into the house, placing the bottle onto the kitchen table she rummaged in one of the drawers until she found what she’d been looking for. Returning to the doorstep she handed the object to Angela.
‘Wow, thanks Mrs Montgomery.’ The girl fingered the enamel brooch in her palm.
‘It’s a sunflower Angela. I expect you’ll see lots of those while you’re in France.’
I know Dad showed me a photograph in the book he borrowed from the library. There was a whole field of them and there were lots of purple flowers as well.’
‘That would be lavender. It’s got a very strong perfume. I’m sure you’re going to have a lovely time.’ Angela’s eyes were shining with excitement as she looked up at Ruth. Ruth smiled. ‘How’s your mum, I haven’t seen her this week?’
‘She’s had a tummy bug, so she’s not been able to go to work, but she’s okay now. Good job it wasn’t while we were on holiday. I’m just off to the corner shop on my bike, to get some bread and potatoes. Dad’s got a day off tomorrow and he’s going to do a proper shop, then.’
‘Well, you just be careful crossing that main road won’t you, and give my best wishes to your mother. Tell her if she wants me to do anything for her just to ask. I really don’t mind, I’ve got all the time in the world.’
‘Okay, I’ll tell her. I’d better go now otherwise she’ll start to worry if I’m too long and thank you for the brooch. I’ll take good care of it.’
‘You’re very welcome, Angela.’
See you,’ Angela called over her shoulder as she crossed the road to retrieve her cycle.
The colourful bike had slipped further down into the hedge. The handlebars momentarily entwined, caught between the shrubbery and the wooden fence. She gave it a couple of good tugs then she was on her way. Angela waved cheerily, ringing the little silver bell on her bike as she passed Ruth, remaining on her doorstep. Ruth returned the salutation. Front door closed, she wandered into her large kitchen, still thinking of little Angela and the busy road. She collected the milk from the table and placed it into the fridge. The kitchen was far too big for one person. In fact the whole house was too big for one person. The Victorian Villa had been bought when she and Reggie had first married, too many years ago to remember. A good sized family home spread over three floors, with a large cellar, which her husband had wanted to do something with. What she had never been quite sure. Knowing Reggie and his love of steam trains and models, probably a miniature railway layout, complete with houses and gardens. The couple had hoped to fill the house with the sound of children’s laughter, him an only child and her one of two daughters. However, that had never happened. Over the years she’d had to make do with the infrequent visits from her sister’s two children, Stanley and Rowena. Reggie had been cruelly taken from Ruth three years into their marriage. His headaches more serious than either of them could ever have imagined. The two had been soul mates; no-one else had ever come close since.
Ruth had continued her career as a stenographer. Eventually she’d secured the position of personal assistant to the managing director of a local engineering company. Her financial position stabilised, had meant Ruth had not been forced to sell the large house Reggie had loved. Ruth had remained with the company for the next thirty one years, until her retirement in nineteen ninety four when she’d reached the incredible age of sixty. Her old boss had died. A result of a heart attack eleven years previously, his son, Anthony, had taken over the running of the company. Despite his father’s best efforts, Ruth had been glad there were no skeletons rattling in the back of her cupboard, to come out and haunt her.
Monday morning and the warm summer day stretched out in front of her. Her little white car sat out on the driveway calling out for Ruth to take it for a spin. She’d purchased the car in the March of the previous year and she loved its nippy compactness. The weeds in the flower beds could wait until tomorrow. Ruth was going to have a day out by the seaside. Her good friends, Meredith and Jim Hughes, had invited her to Anglesey for a long overdue visit to see the cottage they’d recently bought and where they were staying for the summer months. Eventually, now Jim had retired, they planned to make the move permanent. The thought struck her she might pack an overnight bag, just in case. Ruth had a bottle of Lanson chilling in the fridge, which she intended to take with her. It wasn’t the most expensive champagne, she knew, but it would suit the occasion.
A persistent scratching sound, alerted her to the fact Rueben was after his breakfast. Ruth unlocked the back door to allow the ginger fur ball access. He trotted straight over to his dish, tail erect, looking up at her with enormous yellow eyes, weaving in and out of her legs, purring as she tried to put the food into his dish. ‘Out of the way puss,’ she chastised gently, rubbing the cat behind his ears, in the way she knew he loved. The purring went into overdrive before the tabby lowered his head, still sounding like a steam engine, to get stuck into his meaty treat. Ruth wondered how he could purr and eat at the same time. She was surprised the animal didn’t choke. What was she going to do about the cat, if she remained at the Hughes’ cottage overnight? The worried expression lifted from her brow when she thought about the little girl across the way. ‘Angela will feed him for me,’ her face creased in pleasure at the solution.
The sand, warm between her toes, reminded her of childhood holidays long past. Ruth couldn’t remember the last time she’d walked along a beach.
‘Are you going to go in for a paddle?’ Meredith asked laughing.
‘I will if you will,’ Ruth responded.
The women linking arms waded into the water, shrieking as the incoming tide slapped cold against their bare legs. The surf wetting their hitched up skirts, as it splashed higher than they thought.
Jim grabbed his camera from the beach bag. He stood on the shoreline. Despite the grey hairs and wrinkles they could have been two giggling school girls. Jim took his snap.
Lunch was an alfresco affair, salad and cold meats, dressed crab from the local fishmongers with home grown strawberries and cream.
‘You have an idyllic spot here.’
Ruth’s eyes took her on a journey from the stone cottage down the winding garden path amidst the emerald lawns and brightly coloured borders where bees flitted contentedly from one flower to the next, down to the wide expanse of sea and golden sand.
‘You’re very lucky.’
‘Yes, we think so.’ Jim squeezed his wife’s hand, his eyes smiling into hers and for a moment Ruth felt a bitter stab of jealous. She wondered why it couldn’t have been her and Reggie sitting there, holding hands, gazing into each other’s eyes. Who knew, possibly with grandchildren running about the garden, laughing, trying to catch butterflies. At that instant Ruth felt very lonely, so much so she thought she might cry. She fumbled in her bag for a tissue, blaming a touch of hay fever for her watery eyes, but she was fooling no-one, least of all herself.
Sensing the need to obliterate the awkward moment, Meredith enquired after Charles Coventry, an old friend. ‘Have you heard from him recently Ruth? I believe his wife died a short time ago.’
‘Yes,’ Ruth had been glad of the distraction. ‘I had a letter from him. He’s still in South Africa at the moment, but planning a trip back shortly. No specific dates as yet, but I’m sure he’ll want to look
us up when he’s back.’
Charlie Coventry had been Reggie’s best man at their wedding. The man had always had a soft spot for Ruth. After she’d married Reggie he’d taken himself off to South Africa, to, as he’d told the newlyweds, make his fortune. Ruth presumed he’d done just that. Of course, Charlie had come back for Reggie’s funeral. He’d been married to Rita by that time and it had been no more than a flying visit. Since that time she’d not seen him. However, Ruth received his Christmas card every year and a few words to let her know how his life was going. Charlie and Rita had been blessed with three sons. Ruth still had the photographs he’d sent through on the occasion of each of their births. The envelope and contents once opened, pushed to the back of a drawer, never to be looked at again. Men were such insensitive creatures.
She’d enjoyed her couple of days on Anglesey, but Ruth had been glad to get back to the familiarity of her life. She wandered around the house Reggie had loved so much. Ruth even climbed the stairs to the third floor, which had never really been made use of. The wallpaper remained the same as when she and Reggie had moved in thirty six years ago, now dingy and in parts with paper peeling from the wall. Rueben at her heels sniffing hesitantly at all the new, musty odours in this one off only, opportunity. The excursion had made Ruth sad, seeing the place falling into such disrepair. She couldn’t bear to extend her tour into the cellar and was glad to return to the kitchen for a nice cup of tea.
Charlie’s sudden visit had thrown Ruth off balance, unexpected as it’d been. She’d wanted to say so much to him. But the barrier had come down and to him she must have appeared as so very unwelcoming. He’d not stayed long. He’d told her he was thinking about permanently moving back to Britain. The man had already seen a nice house in Hoylake and wondered if she’d like to come and view it with him. He’d said he would value her opinion. But she’d refused point blank, citing some petty excuse. Inside she’d been crying out to him, yes I would love to come and see the house. But Ruth didn’t have the where with all to demolish the well constructed protection she’d surrounded herself with and he’d left a disillusioned and sadder man.
As planned, Angela and her family had left for France at the beginning of August. The little girl had been excited, running around the car as it had been packed for the journey. With roof rack bulging, the group of four had set off the next day. Mary McIntyre had even managed a smile and a wave, through the car’s rear window. Ruth had got on with her life. The weeks passed by and still the family didn’t return. Twinges of apprehension niggled at her when she thought about them, but then something would come along to distract her. Before she knew it August had turned into September and then the alarm bells really did start to ring. Ruth had called on one of the Hastings’ neighbours one morning, but no one had answered. Surmising correctly the occupants must be out at work all day, she’d returned later in the afternoon when a car had been parked in the drive.
She introduced herself to the woman who opened the door, ‘hello, my name’s Ruth Montgomery, I live just opposite.’ She turned to point towards her house across the other side of the road. The woman gave her a vacuous smile, but said nothing. Ruth wasn’t put off. ‘I know you’ve not lived here long and I’m sorry, I should’ve introduced myself sooner, but I just wondered if you’d had any news of your neighbours, the Hastings. They went on a camping holiday to France at the beginning of August, and I thought they’d be back by now.’
A look of total disinterest flickered across the woman’s face. ‘Sorry, I haven’t a clue. My partner and I are out at work all day. We haven’t had chance to meet the neighbours yet, sorry.’ She closed the door in Ruth’s face. ‘Now I know why I keep myself to myself,’ Ruth muttered angrily under her breath as she turned away from the closed door. In her book, there was no excuse for bad manners. Perhaps she would have more luck with the neighbour the other side of the Hastings’ home.
Reaching into the back of the cupboard Ruth pulled out the almost full bottle of brandy, retained for medicinal purposes. The last occasion she’d had reason to use the liquor was when she’d had a bout of flu at the beginning of the year and had made herself a hot toddy. Now she slumped into the chair trying to make sense of what she’d just learnt from Mrs. Willoughby. Angela was dead, murdered in a derelict French farmhouse, while Mary McIntyre was missing, also presumed dead. The story had been emblazoned across the papers and on the TV bulletins for days. However, as Ruth subscribed to neither and hadn’t ventured out much since her trip to Anglesey in July, she’d had no idea. Knocking back the remainder of the neat spirit it burnt her throat making her cough. She poured herself another. Too numb to take it in, it was going to take more than a spot of brandy to make the world seem right ever again.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
Friday Morning 11 December 2009
‘Miss Smith?’
‘No. I’m her friend Jackie Riley. Have you found Richard ... Mr. Johnson?’ Jackie stood balanced on the front door step. Lowering her voice in an attempt to stop Rachel from hearing she pulled the door almost closed behind her, waiting to hear the bad news she was sure the men had brought with them. Rachel, like Jackie, had noticed the car pull up onto the grass verge. She’d been idly looking out over the surrounding fields from the front bedroom window, her mind in turmoil. Watching as the men had sauntered down the pathway, exchanging smiles, oozing confidence. At that moment Rachel felt she hated them both. The policemen were the enemy. The men she was certain were going to tell her Richard was dead, and it was apparent by their casual demeanour, that they didn’t much care. Tightly gripping the rail she managed to get down the stairs. Rachel stood shaking in the hallway. Rooted to the spot, unsure if she was ready to hear what the policemen had to tell her.
‘May we come in?’ Rachel overheard one of the men ask.
‘Have you found him, is he alright?’ Jackie insisted, not budging.
Unable to bear the uncertainty any longer, Rachel pulled the door wide, surprising Jackie who momentarily was displaced from the step. The men were immediately recognisable as the two officers from their previous nights visit to the police station. ‘Please, come in.’ Rachel said through tight lips, not wishing the enemy to feel welcome. Her nerves were at breaking point, her head full of cotton wool from another sleep deprived night. She repeated Jackie’s question while the group were in transit to the kitchen.
Feeling a strong need to sit down Rachel flopped onto one of the kitchen chairs. Deflated of energy her head rested in her hands waiting to be told the worst. The policemen and Jackie followed her example, drawing out chairs to sit around the wooden table. Previously she’d never been able to fully appreciate the expression, to cut the air with a knife, but now Rachel did. The suspense was intolerable and she wished someone would say something, before she screamed.
Finally the older man deigned to speak. ‘Miss Smith?’
Incapable of words lifting her head, Rachel nodded.
‘Let me introduce myself. I’m Detective Inspector Walters of Boynton CID and this is my colleague Detective Sergeant Cooper.’
The sergeant was more imposing close up, than his one dimensional image hanging on the wall had been. The policemen brandished what Rachel presumed were warrant cards, like conjurors performing a magic trick, but she had no doubt they were who they said they were and waved the cards away.
At the risk of repeating herself, Rachel asked the question for a third time.
‘No... Not as yet.’
It wasn’t the answer she wanted or expected to hear. ‘Then I’m not sure I understand why you’re here. I gave the woman constable the details of Richard’s disappearance last evening.’
‘Is this Mr. Johnson?’ The inspector asked, ignoring her question. He picked up the photograph of Richard and her off the table. ‘Good looking chap.’
‘Yes.’ For some reason she was loath for the policeman to handle the photo and tore it from his grasp. Holding it tightly to her, she said, ‘you haven’t answered my question.’
‘You haven’t lived in Rasburgh long Miss Smith; may I ask what prompted your move?’
He smiled and Rachel no longer saw the man, but a giant scaly lizard wearing a grey suit with a dark blue striped tie. Tongue flicking, a Komodo dragon waiting to strike, sinking its teeth into its unsuspecting victim, making her feel uncomfortable, putting her on her guard. She closed her eyes and when she reopened them the bizarre image had dissolved, returning her to reality. The policeman’s attention remained focused on Rachel. Why was he so reluctant to answer her question? ‘Am I missing something here inspector? I don’t understand why our moving to the outskirts of this village has anything to do with Richard’s disappearance, unless you would like to enlighten me.’ No answers, just more questions.
‘Do you or Mr. Johnson know a lady by the name of Mrs. Ruth Montgomery?’
Rachel shook her head, even more puzzled. ‘No, sorry, I’ve never heard of her. Why?’
‘And Mr. Johnson has never mentioned the name to you.’
‘No, never.’
‘What’s this all about detective inspector?’ Jackie had had enough and wanted a clear answer, as did Rachel, but it looked as though they were both going to be in for a disappointment.
‘I believe you moved here from the North West of England, Chester to be exact, is that correct?’
‘Yes, but...’
‘And you maintain you’ve never heard of, or come into contact with Mrs. Montgomery?’
‘Where?... In Chester? No. Not to my knowledge. It encompasses a large area. It’s a city, not as big as London obviously, but comparable.’ What the hell was going on? Who was this woman and what had she got to do with Richard?
