Camellia

by Lesley Pearse

  Price cocked his head to one side, for the first time in the interview he looked surprised.

  'Now why would you think that? We interviewed Miss Forester yesterday after your friend, Mr Deeley, informed us about your connection with her. She has shown nothing but the utmost concern for you. She told us that Manning collected a bunch of letters from the News of the World offices for her, and that was confirmed by Mr Osbourne, in fact they went through them together. By all accounts they were both disappointed to find there wasn't one from you amongst them. The only thing that struck me as odd about Miss Forester was that she had enlisted Mr Osbourne's help in trying to find you. I believe you left his employ in rather a hurry. Why was that Miss Norton?'

  'Ask them,' she snapped. 'They're the ones with all the answers.'

  Conrad arrived back at the hospital just before twelve, with a bag containing Mel's washing things, nightdress, dressing gown and slippers, along with flowers and a box of chocolates. He felt rested and calm again after a good night's sleep, he'd even put on his best grey suit. His wide smile vanished though as he walked into the room and found her lying hunched up on her side, crying into the pillow.

  'What on earth's happened?' he asked, dumping his bags on the floor and rushing over to her bed. He'd phoned the hospital around eight in the morning before he left London and had been told by the Ward Sister that she was very much better, and quite cheerful.

  Mel sobbed as she told him about her interview with the police. It wasn't a twenty-four-year-old woman in shock he heard, but the anguish of a very young girl. It was as if she had slipped back mentally to the time when her mother's body was discovered. She had withheld evidence then out of shame and anger, but now nine years later the combination of painful memories, fear, guilt and an insensitive policeman had pushed her over the edge.

  'Oh baby,' Con put his arms round her and held her tight. He couldn't bear to see her locked into such misery. 'I'll go down to the police station myself and put them straight.'

  'You don't understand,' she sobbed. 'Those letters have blighted my life. Because of them I'm up to my neck in trouble again. Anything you or I say to the police will bring more trouble down on me. They'll check me out, dredge up all the old dirt before they even so much as ask Helena Forester her birthday. I wish Edward had killed me, Con, that way I'd be free of all this. I can't take any more.'

  Conrad left the hospital with a heavy heart. The Ward Sister had curtly told him that Mel needed rest and peace to get better, as if he was responsible for upsetting her again. She'd also pointed out that the official visiting hours which were between two thirty and four in the afternoons and seven to eight thirty in the evenings. Mel had told him not to go to the police, so he had a couple of hours to kill until two thirty. As he'd never been to Bath before, he drove on into the city to look round.

  The sun had come out again. He parked his car in Victoria Park and decided to walk from there. Although Mel was in the forefront of his mind, he soon found himself becoming enchanted by all he saw around him. The park was glorious: huge trees turning gold and orange, flowerbeds ablaze with colour, lush lawns stretching right up to the terraces of imposing Regency houses.

  The enchantment grew stronger still as he walked through the town, past the elegant big stores in the wide main street, and through the narrow lanes leading off. There seemed to be flowers everywhere – hanging baskets, riotous window boxes, tubs outside the dozens of restaurants and coffee shops. He bought a couple of rolls and guided by a helpful assistant made his way down to the famous Poultney Bridge to eat them.

  Conrad had always considered Dublin to be unsurpassable for its beauty and atmosphere, but as he stood looking over the wall at the fast-flowing river tumbling over the weir, he felt Bath was comparable, with its old buildings built in a serene golden stone, willow trees drooping down to the water and brightly painted canal boats. When he looked up he saw how the city was almost like a huge amphitheatre, the graceful houses rising in tiers up towards the green hills beyond. As Mel had so often told him, there were tourists everywhere, cameras strapped around their necks, clutching guidebooks, and gasping at everything in awe. But this town was more than a living museum dating back to the Romans; it was a place dearly loved by its residents. Little old ladies hobbling by on sticks, young mothers with prams, burly workmen shinning up scaffolding – they all looked happy to be here. The pretty park by the river wasn't crowded with holiday-makers, but working people snatching their lunch hour in a place of peace and tranquillity. Conrad understood now why Mel had fallen in love with this city.

  He shivered as he gazed down into the river. But for Mel's quick thinking and courage, she might very well have ended up being fished out of it. As it was she might never fully recover from the ordeal.

  There was only one way to heal his friend: to peel back that cloak of secrecy and reveal the whole truth to her. It was time someone stepped in on her behalf, someone who had no vested interest.

  Conrad turned away from his view of the weir and walked purposefully to a telephone box.

  At nine o'clock that same evening Conrad turned into the wooded drive towards Oaklands. He had spent the afternoon with Mel, then returned to the small guesthouse in Weston village to freshen up and change his shirt. By seven thirty he was back at the hospital, where he'd found Mel just as withdrawn as she'd been earlier. She had seen an evening newspaper and the news that Edward still hadn't been apprehended hadn't helped. Conrad couldn't cheer her much. He was so nervous about going to Oaklands behind her back that he'd had difficulty in stringing more than a couple of sentences together.

  The front door opened even before he'd parked his rusting little Mini between a big grey Daimler and a black Bentley by the stable block.

  He guessed the man silhouetted in the porch light was Magnus, though his height, upright stance and broad shoulders hardly fitted the image of a seventy-year-old stroke victim. As Conrad got out of his car the man moved forward to greet him, and he noticed then that one leg dragged slightly.

  'You must be Conrad? Welcome to Oaklands. I'm Magnus Osbourne. Come on in.'

  Mel had spoken of this house so often that Conrad felt he'd been there before. But even so, the hall was grander than he'd imagined: no sagging settees or worn rugs like the country house hotels in Ireland. He took in the twinkling chandelier, the handprinted wallpaper and the glossy white paint and felt uncomfortably aware of his unprepossessing appearance and his cheap suit.

  Through a half-open door he caught a glimpse of an elegant candle-lit dining room and heard the low rumble of voices and the clink of glasses. The bar was busy too, full of businessmen in lounge suits. Classical music played softly in the background.

  'I thought it better to meet in my private sitting room,' Magnus said, leading Conrad towards a wide staircase before he could see anything more. 'The drawing room is a little public and some of my guests might wander in. Sir Miles has managed to get here, even at such short notice – he arrived about an hour ago.'

  As Magnus ushered him into his masculine sitting room and the assembled company stood up to greet him, Conrad's nerve left him.

  He thought he had prepared himself, but now he felt dwarfed and intimidated by such an impressive group. He wondered how he had the temerity to think he could break them down.

  Helena, in a regal blue dress, dark hair waving over her shoulders, was even more devastating in the flesh than on screen, taller and more majestic than he'd expected. Mel's loving descriptions of Nick Osbourne hadn't quite prepared him for such physical perfection either. Just one glance at his height, sun-kissed blond hair and athletic body and he was back at school, gazing at the golden boys who had it all.

  Then Sir Miles Hamilton: old and fat, but still so distinguished. He wore a formal dark suit, but beneath it a maroon silk waistcoat with a small gold motif. Baggy jowls, bright dark eyes embedded in flesh, balding head glistening under the light from a table lamp, but though he had to reach for a silver-topped cane to hel
p himself out of the chair, his step toward Conrad was sprightly.

  Magnus made the introductions and Conrad shook hands with all three of them. Then as Helena and Sir Miles returned to their seats and Nick went to a trolley to pour drinks, Magnus began to speak.

  'Conrad has asked us to meet tonight because he has something to put to us. I know you are all as curious as I am, but first I'm quite sure you'd like to know how Mel is.' He looked back at Conrad. 'We have of course rung the hospital, but their reports have been disappointingly guarded.'

  Conrad felt he ought to stand, but his legs were turning to jelly, so he took one of the two smaller armchairs.

  'Physically she's recovering well,' he said, leaning forward in his chair, one hand on either knee. 'She has a very bad cut on her foot which has several stitches, but the rest of her injuries are superficial. Mentally, however, she is in a very low state. That's what prompted me to ask if I could speak to you all.'

  Magnus took the last spare chair, while Nick passed around the drinks. He then joined Helena on the settee and looked to Conrad to continue.

  'I feel a little awkward.' Conrad blushed with nerves, his heart thumping. 'I've known Mel such a short time and it may seem impertinent to you that I'm sticking my nose in her business.'

  'The police said one of the first things she did when she was found was to ask the farmer to ring you,' Nick said. 'As far as I'm concerned that gives you the right to act on her behalf.'

  Conrad was grateful for Nick's support; the man must be wondering if he was more than just her employer and friend.

  'I told Magnus on the telephone today that Mel has confided in me totally,' he said, looking to the older man for reassurance. Magnus smiled encouragement. 'And Magnus in return gave me a frank report on the lengths he and Nick have gone to to try and find her in the last year. I was very tempted to tell Mel this tonight, but I resisted because it's my belief that until the entire truth can be handed to her, such news would only offer a strand of comfort, not a cure.'

  He paused and looked at each one in turn, just as he once had with a class of boys.

  Helena was nervously pleating her skirt with her fingers. Sir Miles looked uncomfortable, but this might have been due to old age and tiredness. Nick was leaning forward, his whole stance impatient for a revelation. Magnus alone sat back entirely relaxed.

  'I'm not going to beat about the bush,' Conrad went on, hoping he could keep his nerve. 'Mel believes Edward killed her mother because of something Bonny knew and maybe threatened to disclose. Clearly Edward had reason to believe Bonny had passed on this information to Mel, which was why he attempted to kill her too. As it was Helena's newspaper interview which revealed where Mel was, she quite understandably believes Helena must be involved too.'

  'That's the biggest load of tosh I've heard in years,' Sir Miles roared out before Conrad could even catch his breath. 'The girl's a fool if she believes that Helena had anything to do with it.'

  'Mel is no fool,' Conrad said indignantly. 'She is distraught right now, but then it would be strange if she wasn't after narrowly escaping death. As I see it, at the centre of all this is the file of letters Mel found on Bonny's death. Each one of you has been drawn into this business because of them, and someone in this room knows the secret at the core of them which prompted Edward to kill Bonny. Until they are prepared to tell Mel, she would be foolish to trust any of you.'

  'She can trust me,' Nick blurted out. 'I've done everything I can to find out. How does she feel about me?'

  'Tortured,' Conrad said simply. If he'd met Nick under any other circumstances he would have doubted whether he was capable of loving anyone but himself. But he had felt Nick's love for Mel as Magnus had spoken earlier of all he had done. There was absolute sincerity in those blue eyes, and so far he'd hung on every word Conrad had said as if that made him feel closer to her. 'From the moment she realised you were Magnus's son she lost her peace of mind. Unless she is given hard evidence that she isn't related to you, I don't think she can cope with seeing you again. If you care so much for her you must bring pressure on the other people in this room to reveal what they know.'

  No one spoke for what seemed like minutes. Nick looked around challengingly. Magnus was watching Helena as if willing her to speak. Sir Miles was staring at his lap intently, his chin disappearing into folds of loose skin.

  'I have that hard evidence.'

  Everyone started as Helena's husky voice broke the silence. Nick turned to her eagerly on the settee. Magnus leaned forward in his chair and Sir Miles opened his eyes very wide, looking at her with some consternation.

  Conrad looked closely at Helena, suspecting theatricals. Yet her gaze was steady and unwavering, her dark eyes glinting with strange lights. Her full lower lip quivered with emotion.

  'I wish I could tell you it all now and be done with this mystery,' she said in a low voice, and her eyes began to fill with tears. 'But what I have to say is for Camellia's ears only. Conrad, you must convince her that my sole reason for that interview was to meet her and tell her my story. She has nothing to fear from anyone in this room.'

  Conrad felt elated. He had been intending to threaten them next by saying he was going to take the entire story to the police. He was greatly relieved that this might not be necessary. 'I will pass that on, providing you can tell us now why Manning should want to kill Mel.'

  She hesitated for only a second. 'He knew once I'd met up with her that his place in my life would be usurped.'

  Conrad was confounded by this reply, but it sounded like the truth. Magnus half rose in his chair as if compelled to reach her. Nick looked as baffled as Conrad felt. Sir Miles looked distinctly alarmed.

  Until now Sir Miles had seemed less involved than the others. He had sat in his chair, hands folded across his large stomach as impassive as a judge. But now he was truly participating. There were beads of perspiration on his forehead, he licked his lips nervously and his eyes were firmly on Helena.

  Conrad took a deep breath and jumped in before he lost his nerve. 'Well sir! Are you prepared to tell me what part you've played in all this?'

  'The fool,' Sir Miles snapped back. 'A stupid old fool who should have faced up to his indiscretions years ago, and taken note of things he was told instead of dismissing them out of hand.'

  Conrad was just going to ask him what he meant when he saw exactly what Nick had seen.

  The old man's eyes had been almost buried in loose flesh, but as he spoke they opened wider and the truth was there to see. They were almond-shaped like Mel's. The resemblance was uncanny.

  'Now Helena has stated her intention, I too must do my part to put things right.' His voice boomed out across the room, clear and unwavering. He looked at the actress as if for approval. 'Like Helena, what I have to say is for Camellia's ears only. But I can tell you now Conrad, that none of us here tonight was involved in any way with Bonny's death, and neither did we know that Manning had intercepted Camellia's letter to Helena. To my shame I have to admit I alone suspected Manning was irrational and unstable and I hold myself accountable for not acting on that gut feeling. But in my own defence I would say that I couldn't conceive of the man planning something like this.'

  Silence fell, but the tension remained in the air. Conrad sensed he would achieve nothing by pressing anyone further tonight.

  'I'm very grateful to you all for your honesty,' he said. 'Tomorrow I shall tell Mel everything which has been said tonight and I'll let you know her response.'

  'Will you ask her if she'll allow me to bring her back here to recuperate?' Magnus asked, his deeply lined face full of concern.

  Conrad remembered how Mel had once described this man as a lion. Now he understood why. It wasn't just the broad nose, the mane of hair or the straight-backed way he sat, but something within him, proud, indefatigable.

  'You must ask her that yourself,' Conrad said. 'There is a danger that if Manning isn't caught soon he might come here.'

  The police had no leads ye
t on Manning's whereabouts. Helena had believed him to be in Manchester. The police had asked for the public's assistance in spotting his dark blue Jaguar, but so far none of the reported sightings had been substantiated. Helena hadn't even known he still owned his grandmother's old house. She thought he had sold it several years earlier.

  'I doubt that he'll attempt to come here. But I can make Oaklands like Fort Knox if necessary,' Magnus said with the kind of authority that suggested he would kill Manning himself if he as much as stepped over the threshold.

  'We'll have to see what Mel says,' Conrad rose to his feet. Such considerations were hardly important at the moment, she would be in hospital for a while yet. 'I would ask though that none of you make any move towards her until she's ready.'

  Nick's lip curled petulantly. 'Me too?'

  'Especially you.' Conrad got a certain kick out of saying this. He wasn't in the habit of having the upper hand with people of Nick's class and type. 'She's very confused still, Nick. Give her time to hear what Helena and Sir Miles have to say. Give her a bit of space.'

  'Conrad's right.' Helena turned to Nick and put her hand over his, squeezing it in sympathy. 'I know if I were in her shoes the last thing I'd need is a young man pressing for a romantic entanglement.'

  'I suppose you're right,' Nick shrugged. 'I do have to go back to London tomorrow anyway. I guess I was jumping the gun a bit thinking I could just charge into the hospital and whisk her off somewhere.'

  'Just a bit,' Conrad smiled. On one hand he admired the man for being prepared to admit the depths of his feeling so openly. But on the other he was remembering how badly Nick had hurt Mel when he threw her out of Oaklands. Nick needed to put that right before thinking he could whisk her away anywhere.

  Magnus stood up. 'Well, son,' he took a step towards Conrad, 'I can see Sir Miles at least is wilting and I'm quite certain you've had enough for one day too. Have we covered everything you intended?'