I remember gasping in surprise as it all clicked. “And…you mean, the baby was Dad?”
She nodded.
“But that’s awful. What about his father…my grandfather?” I stammered.
“Apparently, Annie—or Leonora—never let on to anyone who it was. Or if she did, your father never learnt his name.”
“Then what happened?”
“She was forced to leave. Being an unmarried mother was still frowned upon in those days, despite the liberal attitude of the theatre. Nonetheless, she struggled with the baby, and then when he was two years old, she left him at an orphanage.”
“You mean she abandoned him?” I shrieked. That was my dad she dumped on the steps of an orphanage. How could any woman do that to her baby?
“Sssh! It wasn’t quite like that. She wasn’t very well. Poor Annie or Leonora never completely got over the baby’s difficult birth and was heartbroken the father had disappeared, leaving her penniless and alone.”
I swallowed the hard lump which had suddenly appeared in my throat. It had the overtones of a Victorian melodrama. “That’s so sad. Poor Dad.”
In all the time since Mum had told me this, I never let on to Dad that I knew his true history. He told me some story about his father being killed in a car crash and that his poor mother had to carry on working to support herself. Later, when I was older, he admitted he never knew much about his mother, except that she was on the stage. I guessed he always fantasised about her being a megastar.
It was all quite harmless, and if it made my father happy, then I was content to carry on with the fabrication. I recalled Mum hesitating when Tim Coleman asked whether there had been any actresses in our family. One little thing did cross my mind, and I thought it a strange coincidence. The recently murdered woman was an actress from the touring company performing at the Yvonne Arnaud theatre. There was a huge chance Dad would have either gone to see the play or seen her in the theatre bar after a performance. Odd that neither he nor Mum had mentioned it.
I turned the television off after the news finished and wondered what to do next. I didn’t fancy any more painting; my altercation with the paint pot had put me off for the rest of the day, but I felt restless inside the flat.
Peering out of the window, I could see the sun still shining, a few copper beech leaves fluttering from the trees in the Browns’ garden next door. It had been gorgeous all day, and I decided an afternoon walk across the park before the sun went down would do me good. I had recently noticed my clothes were tighter than normal, and when the last pair of jeans I had bought, a size fourteen, fitted me a lot better than trying to squeeze into my normal size, I sighed inwardly. I wasn’t what you could call chubby—yet—but I was definitely on the curvy side.
Stoke Park was a few minutes’ brisk walk away, and I always thought it one of the best things the town offered.
Everyone living in Guildford enjoyed the park for one reason or another. Stoke was a large Green Flag-award-winning park on the edge of the town centre and had been bought by the local council from the Earl, Lord Onslow, in 1925 to ensure Guildford possessed a large green space for all time. Apart from acres of green playing fields, there was also intact woodland which had remained more or less the same as it had been in the eighteenth century.
Over the years, the park had played host to the annual Surrey county show and numerous music festivals. Families picnicked on the green, children used the playground areas and paddling pools, and the tennis courts, crazy golf and skateboarding ramps were much in demand. I loved it. In fact, I loved all the green spaces in and around Guildford. I was born in the local hospital and enjoyed growing up there. The countryside was gorgeous: leafy and green, the coast an hour’s drive away, and London only took thirty-five minutes by train up to Waterloo. And Guildford shopping was tremendous. What more could a girl wish for?
Dressed in only a light jacket over my jeans and sweater, I headed for the park. It wasn’t any great distance—less than a mile and mostly all on the flat along familiar roads. Once I crossed over the last road, I wondered which part to explore. The larger Jubilee Woods were to my right and across the fields, while the ornamental gardens were to my left. I thought back to the police tape stretched across the small road leading to the area where the murdered woman was found. The area was lightly wooded and next to Nightingale Road, the ornamental gardens at one end. What was she doing, heading into the park at that time of night? Was she staying in Nightingale Road while working at the theatre? I knew quite a few houses in Guildford had rented-out rooms; it was a canny and easy way of making a few pounds. I made a mental note to ask Michael where she had been staying.
I walked on, the sun pleasant and warm upon my back. It made up for the days of torrential wind and rain we had just endured. I inhaled, deep breaths, enjoying the fresh clean air in my lungs.
In the distance, across the grass, I watched three boys kick a football along the ground. Their hoarse, excited shouts reached my ears, but they were too far away for me to make out their words. The ornamental garden wall loomed up before me. I could see the tops of a few specimen trees swaying in a gentle breeze high above my head. The roses behind the aged red-gold brick would have looked fabulous back in June, but now at the start of autumn, I suspected they were becoming bedraggled and withered. The footpaths in the park were still damp from the previous rainfall, large muddy puddles spread along the grass verges, while fallen leaves were caught in soggy, wet clumps clinging along the edges. I noticed how boot footprints and animal spoor criss-crossed the area. As Michael had said the other evening, it was a busy place.
A few feet away, I saw police tape fluttering in the faint zephyrs, cordoning off the spot where the young actress met her murderer. I walked as far as I could towards it and paused, my gaze travelling along the tape and over the piece of ground. The distant sound of the boys and highway traffic faded to a low hum; even the birds had fallen silent.
If a place could conjure up a feeling of spookiness, then this spot certainly disturbed me. I glanced all round, peering into the darker thicket of trees beyond. I had the distinct impression I wasn’t alone. Unnerved, my skin prickling, I backed away and then, turning on my heel, crashed headlong into someone. I felt two strong arms reach out to clutch firmly at my jacket sleeves and I screamed in panic.
Chapter Ten - Ella
“Hey! Steady!”
Overcome with confusion and embarrassment, I pushed against him.
“You were miles away,” he continued. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to make you jump.”
I blinked. Tim Coleman. Here? I thought. I looked up and caught the puzzled frown flit across his chiselled features. He released his firm grip on me and spread his hands out in front.
“Sorry,” he repeated.
I breathed out in relief, my heart still hammering in my chest. “No, it’s not your fault. I wasn’t looking where I was going. I was busy daydreaming.” Questions whirled through my mind; like I thought he had an appointment at this hour? Also, why here? Why would a newcomer to the area be at the site of a brutal crime? Was he following me? But however many questions I had, at the same time, there was something about his flint-like gaze which was mesmerising. I felt like the proverbial rabbit caught in a car headlight.
Tim smiled and I realised he had very white teeth. Stupidly, I thought nobody’s teeth were that perfect.
“Are you okay? You looked a little scared just now.” He stood back a step and frowning, studied my face. “Before I made you jump, I mean.”
“No, I mean yes. I’m fine. Really I am. I was miles away and wasn’t expecting to bump into you so soon after lunch. I thought you had an appointment.” I noticed he had changed out of the smart clothes he was wearing at lunchtime. In place of the rather conservative jacket and trousers, he was now dressed casually like me: jean, trainers, sweater and a thick woollen jacket.
His face cleared. “Ah yes. My appointment. Cancelled, I’m afraid. As I had some spare time and the day
looked so inviting, I thought I’d explore the town. Have you lived here long?”
“All my life.”
“Then you’ll know it like the back of your hand. This park, I believe, has been here for years.” He cast a glance round the area in which we were standing and continued without waiting for my response. “I know this might seem strange, and I don’t mind a bit if you say no, but, you seem as if you’re going for a walk, and if you want some company, then I’ve time to kill. You can tell me something about Guildford, and maybe there’s some place where we can get a drink later?”
I hesitated. He was bloody attractive, but even though we had spent an hour together over lunch at Mum’s, I still didn’t know a thing about him. As far as I was concerned, he was a complete stranger who had turned up in my little world. There again, I wasn’t going to discover his life history if I ignored him. I was undecided, thinking he was almost certainly being polite. Why would he want to spend time with me? I wasn’t known for my fascinating personality or unreserved wit. I was Ella Mallory, thirty-five, single, a shy, reserved nurse who worked for the NHS. Oh, and I suppose I was now curvy. Maybe he liked plump women.
He must have read the reticence on my face. “Sorry. I’m being presumptuous again. Forget it. I’m sure you’ve better things to do.” He turned to go.
“No. It’s okay. In fact I’d love to. It’s such a lovely afternoon, and I’d like to have some company. I need the exercise and we can talk as we walk.”
I decided on the spur of the moment that my earlier thoughts were rude and ridiculous. Besides, despite being busy at work, I needed to get out more and meet people. I considered working in a hospital theatre as a lonely kind of job in many ways. The majority of the patients were anaesthetised when they were wheeled through our doors, and apart from chatting to other members of the medical and nursing staff, I hardly spoke to anyone else throughout the day. It wasn’t the same as being on the wards when you had numerous people to talk to as well as the patients. Working flat out didn’t help either, as unless I had a date organised with Michael, if I was completely knackered after a long day, all I wanted to do was have a light dinner, watch an hour of TV and then curl up in bed with a good book.
I gave him my biggest and brightest smile. “Perhaps you’d like to see the gardens first? They’re not at their best right now, as the blooms have gone over and you need to come back in the spring to see the flowers, but it’s laid out nicely, and I find it a peaceful place to wander around.”
As we walked towards the ornamental gardens, leaving behind the marked-out crime scene, it crossed my mind briefly that he hadn’t asked what had taken place there. Who could have failed to see the cordoned-off site? I glanced back and saw the police blue-and-white ‘no-go’ tape fluttering in a forlorn fashion. I couldn’t believe he hadn’t noticed or heard the news on the radio and television.
Chapter Eleven - Ella
In the end, we spent over a couple of hours together. We must have walked the complete circumference of the park, skirting the woods, of course, as I heeded Michael’s advice, and we finished up walking towards the outskirts of town.
Tim pulled back his sleeve and squinted at his watch in the fading light of dusk. “I can’t believe where the afternoon’s gone. Fancy a drink, or have I already taken too much of your time today?”
I blinked in surprise when I saw that it was past six o’clock, although knowing full well that lighting-up time was just past the hour in mid-October. The last two hours had sped by, and I discovered I had enjoyed being in Tim’s company.
“I’d like that. There’s Rogues Wine Bar just along the road, or would you prefer a pub? The nearest is the King’s Head or the Drummond a bit nearer the town.”
“You choose…you know the place. Do any of them do food?”
“They all do, but I haven’t eaten in Rogues for ages. I know The Drummond best, and if you want a simple, wholesome meal, then it’s a good place to go. Plus, if you like beer, I’m told they have a good selection.”
He grinned. “Then the Drummond it is, and I hope you’ll let me buy you dinner? At the very least you’ve earned it—I’ve learnt so much about the area. I feel I’ve been here for weeks.”
I had planned on a simple meal that evening. Michael hadn’t organised anything, and originally, I fancied a quiet night at home. But during the afternoon, I had relaxed in Tim’s company, and looking back, it occurred to me that I had told him far more about my personal life than I thought. Throwing caution to the wind was something I rarely did, but there was something about him that made me do just that.
I shivered and Tim noticed immediately. “Here, have my jacket, you’re cold.” Despite my protests, he removed his woollen jacket in a trice and draped it round my shoulders. “I rarely feel the cold, and as you said, the pub isn’t far away.”
I smiled my thanks and pulled the jacket closer. The rough wool tickled my nose while at the same time smelling pleasantly of something which reminded me of sandalwood. Lending me the coat was a gesture I doubt Michael would have made. He would have laughed at my lightweight jacket and told me to walk a bit faster. Tim was a different man altogether: older, undoubtedly very polite and almost old-fashioned in some ways, and I found I liked and appreciated the difference.
Inside the pub, we found a cheery fire crackling in the hearth, while sparks flew up the chimney. There were quite a few people already gathered round the bar or sitting at the tables. We chose a chunky pine table with comfy cushioned chairs near the fireplace, and I sank down gratefully, warming my hands while Tim went to order drinks and ask for the pub menu.
“You’re right. That is a good brew,” he said a few minutes later, wiping a smidgeon of froth from his top lip. “Cheers.”
“Cheers”, I echoed as I sipped at my Merlot and caught his eye. Facing him across the table, I felt shy. Walking around a park and talking had come naturally, but sitting opposite a good-looking man I hardly knew and wondering what to say without boring the pants off him suddenly seemed the hardest thing to do. I noticed how blue his eyes were: like the deep waters of the Southern ocean, and in confusion slid my gaze away. For one moment, my thoughts were in danger of running away from me. For heaven’s sake, get a grip!
I turned back to my glass of red wine, took a huge gulp and blurted out the first thing that came into my head. “So why Guildford? I mean it’s a nice enough town, great shops and all—not that you come across as a man who loves shopping—but why, I mean what brought you here?” My voice died as I realised how banal my questions sounded. Give me strength. I wouldn’t have been surprised if he had bolted down the homemade burger he ordered and rushed out of the door as soon as he finished.
Instead, he smiled. “I don’t mind shopping in moderation. In answer to your question, I write travel books. Anything from coffee-table pictorials to story-led fact fiction. I and my editor came up with the idea of writing a series of English county travel books, concentrating on the old forty counties of the Doomsday Book period.”
“Oh yes. Mum said you were writing a new travel book, but we didn’t get round to asking you about it during lunch.”
“My fault,” Tim raised his glass and took another sip of bitter before continuing. “I probably hogged the conversation, asking your mother about her own craft, and we didn’t really have time, as I had to leave for what I thought was an appointment. There’s nothing very much to say beyond what I’ve just told you.”
I must have looked surprised. “Do you write under your name? Travel writing must be interesting. Getting to visit all those places and then write about them. I’m sorry, but I won’t have read anything of yours. I normally read fiction.”
“That’s okay. Lots of people don’t read anything. And it is interesting up to a point. But you have to enjoy the art of travelling for travel’s sake. Some places are bloody horrible to look at, excuse my language, but they can often make up for what they lack in gorgeous scenery with interesting customs. But what about you?
I know you’re a theatre nurse, but what do you do in your time off?”
I shrugged. Like during lunch earlier, I couldn’t help feeling he wanted to lead me off the subject of him. “Nothing very exciting, I’m afraid. I enjoy reading, walking and music. I jog a bit when I have time. Oh, and we go to the theatre if there’s anything on we like the sound of.”
“We?”
“Michael and I…he’s my boyfriend.”
“Ah.” He nodded and leant back as the waitress placed our meals in front of us. After nodding his thanks, he picked up the pepper and sprinkled a liberal helping over his burger. “This smells good. What about your lasagne? Your boyfriend you said. I take it he’s not with the NHS? At a guess I’d say…” He paused for a second and then snapped his fingers. “Don’t tell me. Police.”
I paused, fork in hand and nodded my head. “Yes. Michael’s a policeman. How on earth did you come to that conclusion?” I took a bite and glanced across at Tim. I know it seemed stupid, but for some reason I wished I hadn’t mentioned Michael. I was enjoying being with Tim, as he intrigued me, and inexplicably, I didn’t want any other distractions. At the same time, I realised I hadn’t heard from him today and then, after feeling for it in my jacket pockets, discovered I had left my phone at home.
“Nurses and police. You know the old saying about nurses dating cops.”
“I do. Mum and I were only talking about it the other day.” I smiled to take the edge off my voice, but Tim must have caught something in my tone as he darted a quick look at me.
“So at the risk of being rude, is it serious? Michael and you? If he’s a member of the local nick, I don’t want him coming round and accusing me of nabbing his girlfriend. I might end up being hauled off to jail.”
The Green Room Page 5
