I decided to have a final look in the cellar to check that there was nothing else down there of value. There wasn’t. I shone the torch carefully into every nook and cranny revealing only some cans of paint, sidelined from Carl’s studio, a box of scrubby brushes, several packets of short stubby crayon ends and a number of used sketch pads, all arranged in tidy piles. Carl didn’t like throwing things away, just in case he might ever need them again one day. There were also a couple of cardboard boxes, one containing Christmas decorations and the other some candles and some old magazines. I thought I might at least make use of the candles and dragged the box over to the ladder.
Then I heard a knock on the front door.
I had promised Mariette faithfully that whatever happened I would never repeat my performance of locking myself in the house and ignoring callers. So dutifully I clambered up the ladder, switched off my torch and put it on the kitchen worktop, shouting ‘just a minute’. I shut the kitchen door firmly behind me and hurried to open the front door.
Will Jones stood on the doorstep smiling broadly. He was carrying a large bunch of roses. ‘Welcome home,’ he said and thrust the flowers into my hand.
I smiled my appreciation. I knew that Will had enquired regularly after my welfare during the time that I had stayed with Mariette, and that she had relayed to him my thanks and explained that I really did not want to see anyone for a bit. I simply hadn’t been able to face visitors. I still didn’t exactly relish the prospect, but Will just might have another of those welcome brown envelopes on his person. ‘I was just thinking about you, Will, come on in,’ I invited. Well, it was true in a way, albeit not quite the way he seemed to take it.
His face positively lit up. ‘I thought you could do with a man about the place.’ He beamed at me. It seemed a very strange thing to say in the circumstances.
I couldn’t think of any reply, really. He followed me into the dining room and I gestured to the paintings all around us. ‘I was hoping you might be able to find a place for a couple of these, and bend the rules a bit about payment,’ I said. ‘I could certainly do with the money . . .’
Will didn’t even glance at the paintings. He just stood there in the middle of the room staring at me. ‘You look prettier than ever,’ he said.
I glanced at him curiously. ‘Go on upstairs and I’ll bring up some coffee,’ I instructed, slightly thrown by his rather bizarre compliment.
In the kitchen I didn’t bother to put the stone back over the cellar. Will would have heard me and wanted to help, and Carl and I had always been strict about keeping our hiding place a secret. In any case I was fairly used to dodging around it, and I quickly made coffee and carried a tray upstairs to join Will.
He was as avuncular as ever, but I had even more difficulty than usual making small talk.
I sat on the sofa next to him and found myself noticing how often he touched me as we chatted. He’d always done so, of course, but it hadn’t seemed to matter when Carl was around.
Suddenly he leaned very close to me and put his arm round me. He had often done that before too, but I instinctively knew that this time was different. ‘You miss Carl, Suzanne, don’t you?’
‘Yes,’ I responded truthfully.
‘The two of you were so perfect together.’ There was something in Will’s voice that I couldn’t quite identify, something not very pleasant.
I studied him more closely, perhaps seeing him for the first time, this man I had both liked and trusted. I suppose I had never really looked beyond the flamboyant exterior before, never seen beyond the showman. His silver bouffant hairdo no longer looked attractively eccentric – just rather pathetic. He had always been a kind of parody of himself. His eyes were red-rimmed. He was definitely under some sort of strain.
‘You never did understand,’ he went on. ‘That was the problem. And I could never tell you . . . never find the words, you see . . .’
He pulled me even nearer to him and I realised suddenly that his hand had dropped down so that he was lightly stroking my breast. Curiously, perhaps, it was still the last thing I had anticipated.
‘You miss Carl in every way, I expect . . .’
His voice was very low. Suggestive.
I wrenched myself away from him and stood up. ‘Don’t be silly, Will,’ I said, trying hard not to make too much of it.
But I had said the wrong thing. There was anger in his voice when he spoke again. ‘Don’t be silly, Will,’ he repeated, his voice mocking mine. ‘That’s how you think of me, that’s how you’ve both always thought of me, isn’t it? Silly Willy, we can treat him how we like, he’ll still come running, still knock himself out trying to flog Carl’s bloody awful paintings.’
I was stunned by his sudden outburst. He was speaking in a kind of bitter whine. ‘What on earth’s the matter with you, Will?’ I asked. ‘You’ve always admired Carl’s painting, haven’t you? And I thought we were friends.’
‘Pah,’ snarled Will. ‘He’s no better than any of the others, just very very average. But he had you, didn’t he? And together you were . . .’ his voice softened ‘. . . so special.’
Was that it then? Will was jealous of Carl and me? I couldn’t believe my ears. It had never occurred to me. Not to either of us.
‘I was your friend all right, oh yes, I was such a good friend,’ he went on. ‘But you two, you barely noticed me, did you? If it didn’t suit you, you turned me away. Remember the night I brought you the pink champagne? It made no difference, did it? I could have brought diamonds. You two wanted to be alone together. Nothing else mattered. You just turned me away . . .’
He paused. I didn’t speak. Merely calling him silly had brought on this outburst? All sorts of jumbled thoughts were beginning to occur to me.
Meanwhile the tirade continued. It was as if, once he had started, he couldn’t stop. ‘You never took me seriously, did you? You had no idea about my feelings. Not either of you. And you, Suzanne, you’re so soft and lovely, I always liked so much just to touch you . . .’
I shivered, thinking of how often he had done that. But in such a way that I had never really minded and neither had Carl. He was quite an actor, was Will, but then, we had always thought that.
‘I knew there was no hope, of course, there was only ever Carl for you. So I was prepared to accept that. Just to be near you. I tried to tell you how it was, I really did. I was prepared to settle for friendship. But you kept shutting me out, didn’t you? Both of you. Making a joke of my feelings. It was so unfair . . .’
His voice was wheedling and yet very hard. He really was beginning to scare me.
Sometimes things are suddenly very clear and you wonder how you missed them before. How could Carl and I have been so blind? But then, we had always been so totally wrapped up in each other. Will was right about that.
I thought of the time he had come to dinner and told us how he envied us, how we had so much, how he would have swapped his gallery, his car, everything he had for what we had. And yes, Carl had made a joke of it, as he usually did. How Will must have hated that. ‘Why are you telling me all this?’ I asked.
‘I thought you might have known already.’
I had known nothing. But I was beginning to realise a lot. I had a feeling I had made an awful error of judgement, that I had got something horribly wrong.
I took a deep breath. ‘Did you threaten us, did you send the letters, Will?’ I asked. I spoke very softly, trying to keep my voice expressionless.
He looked for a moment as if he were going to deny it. Then he turned on me. ‘Of course I did,’ he shouted. ‘And you never suspected for a bloody moment, did you. Not Silly Willy, whom you could treat like dirt and I’d still ask for more.’ He laughed. It was not a pretty sound.
‘Why, for Christ’s sake?’ I asked, really scared now. ‘Why did you do it?’
‘I’ve just told you,’ he said. ‘It was the way you treated me, both of you. And if I couldn’t have you I was going to hurt you, Suzanne, you and him
. I wanted to give that perfect . . .’ he spat out the word then continued ‘. . . that perfect life of yours a shaking.’
‘You tortured us,’ I yelled at him. ‘We did nothing to deserve that.’
‘I was the one who was tortured.’
Will’s red-rimmed eyes burned into me. My legs felt like jelly.
‘I thought Carl had sent the letters, done it all, I really believed that.’ I was thinking aloud really.
Will leered at me. ‘Carl?’ he repeated wonderingly. ‘That was a bonus for me, wasn’t it? I never expected that.’
I wanted to hit him, but I didn’t have the courage. I couldn’t believe that this evil, poisonous side of Will had been lurking all this time and neither Carl nor I had seen it. But, of course, we had rarely seen anything much except each other.
Then Will stood up and I became disconcertingly aware of how big he was. We were quite alone and the walls of Rose Cottage were three and a half feet thick. Carl and I had never heard the neighbours, nor they us as far as I knew. I began to wonder what Will had really come to the cottage for. It was hard to believe that he would have confessed all this on the spur of the moment. Could he be that uncontrolled? What was he intending to do now?
He began to speak again. ‘I could have given you so much more than he ever did, you know, in every way . . .’
I didn’t want to hear any more. I just wanted the man out of my house. ‘You’d better go, Will,’ I said, struggling to stay calm.
‘Really? Yes, and every time before I’ve always gone, haven’t I? Meekly left you and that pretentious American bastard alone whenever you wanted me to. Or that’s what you thought, wasn’t it?’
He took a menacing step towards me. I began to think that I might be in real danger.
‘I’ve stood outside, you know, late at night, listening to you having sex. Listening to your cries, Suzanne.’
I cringed, feeling slightly sick. Was it true, I wondered? It could have been. Carl and I had almost always slept with the window open a little. We’d never given it a thought. I shuddered involuntarily.
‘C’mon, why don’t you give me just one chance,’ he said. ‘Let me have you. Let me give it to you, show you what it can really be like. Were you crying out because you were satisfied, Suzanne, or because you needed more? I doubt that pathetic bastard ever fucked you properly, did he? I doubt he had it in him . . .’
My instinct was to cower away from him. That had always been my instinct when faced with a threat. But not this time. Instead of taking a step backwards I made myself take a step forward towards Will. He towered over me. I refused to allow myself to be daunted. ‘Will, I despise you,’ I told him. ‘The only way you are ever going to have me is to rape me. Is that what you want? Is that what you are, as well as everything else, a rapist?’
Something flickered across his eyes.
He reached out with one hand, thrust it between my legs and pushed hard upwards, so hard that it hurt, which was no doubt his intention.
I tried not to flinch.
For what seemed like for ever he stood in front of me staring at me, his hand thrust against my crutch, his long bony fingers digging into me. I returned his stare as levelly as I could.
Eventually and abruptly he removed his hand and spoke. ‘You’re not worth it, are you? I’ve come almost to hate you, you know. That’s what happens if you keep rejecting someone.’
He stepped back. ‘Carl murdered his daughter, he kidnapped and drugged you, Suzanne,’ he said calmly enough. ‘You can’t still feel anything for him, surely?’
He didn’t wait for a reply. He turned on his heel, ran down the stairs and left the cottage through the front door.
I felt sick. I half fell on to the sofa bed, put my head in my hands and wept.
Sixteen
I remained crouched on the edge of the sofa bed, crying, for several minutes after Will had gone. Then very suddenly I realised what I must do next. I had to see Carl. I had to tell him what Will had been doing to us. Will’s confession changed so much. Carl had not been responsible for any of the threats, not sent the letters. And, just maybe, neither had he deliberately deceived me all those years about the way Robert had died. I had to tell Carl that I had done him a big injustice. This time I had to get to the bottom of it all.
I jumped to my feet, grabbed my coat, shoved all my money in my pocket and headed down to the town. I stopped at the first call box on the way to phone Penzance police station and for once got almost straight through to the police officer I wanted to speak to. ‘I want to see my husband,’ I told DC Carter. ‘Can you arrange it for me?’
‘No problem,’ he replied. ‘He’s on remand and you can visit more or less when you like, we’ve already told you that. When do you want to go?’
‘Today – as soon as I can.’ I planned to catch the next train out of St Ives and then pick up the first available Intercity Service at either St Erth or Penzance.
‘Ah, that is a problem,’ said Carter. ‘He’s due to appear at the Magistrates Court in Penzance this afternoon. It’s his committal . . .’
‘Penzance!’ Just half an hour or so’s journey by train. Maybe I didn’t need to travel all the way to Exeter after all. ‘I’ll come to Penzance, then . . .’
‘Whoa,’ said DC Carter. ‘Hang on a minute. He’s only being brought in for committal proceedings. It’s a formality. He won’t be allowed visitors here. Then straight back to Exeter. You won’t be able to see him.’
I wasn’t really listening. If Carl was going to be in Penzance later that day then so was I. I barely said goodbye to DC Carter, who was still chuntering away at the other end of the line when I hung up. I ran most of the way to the little station out at Porthminster Beach. I wasn’t sure of the train times and was terrified of just missing one, and then maybe just missing Carl.
In the end I had to wait half an hour for the next train. It was a very lovely day and the first part of the track runs right along the coast but I was too distracted to admire the beauty of the Cornish countryside. By the time I got to Penzance I could hardly contain myself. It wasn’t far from the station to St John’s Hall, the old Victorian building opposite the police station which I knew housed Penwith Magistrates Court, but this time I didn’t walk. I felt as if I couldn’t afford to waste a minute so, my financial considerations of earlier that day now paling into insignificance, I took a taxi.
As soon as I came close to St John’s Hall I realised something was amiss. There seemed to be police everywhere. The traffic slowed to a halt, and I jumped out of the cab and paid off the driver. A patrol car, lights flashing, and siren in full song, came out of the police station yard so fast as I crossed the road towards the court that I only narrowly avoided being run over.
Both the entrances to St John’s Hall, which had once been home to Penzance Assizes and the old hanging judges, were cordoned off and uniformed constables stood on sentry duty.
I kept walking, desperate to see Carl and trying to look as if I was in some way involved in official business, even though I hardly looked the part in my jeans and sweater. I had no success. I was stopped at once by one of the policemen sentries. ‘I am afraid you can’t go in, madam,’ he said.
‘I have to,’ was all I could manage.
‘Sorry, madam,’ replied the officer in tones that brooked no dissent. ‘We have an escaped prisoner situation and nobody is allowed to enter or leave the vicinity.’
‘But I have to see my husband,’ I insisted, hardly hearing what he was saying, just aware that he was preventing me from fulfilling my purpose.
I half tried to push past him.
He put a restraining hand on my arm and positioned himself more solidly in front of me.
‘Well, you can’t go in there to see him, that’s for certain. Who is your husband anyway?’
‘Carl Peters, he’s appearing in the Magistrates Court today. He’s been in jail in Exeter. If I could just see him for a few minutes . . .’
I saw the s
tartled expression on the young constable’s face. ‘But, but, that’s . . .’ He stopped speaking abruptly, as if suddenly aware that he was about to give away something he shouldn’t. At that moment I knew with devastating clarity who had escaped that morning from Penwith Magistrates Court.
‘Oh, my God,’ I said. ‘It’s Carl, isn’t it, Carl who has gone . . .’
‘I really can’t say, madam,’ said the constable, his head swivelling in all directions as if he were desperately seeking rescue from a situation he had no idea how to handle. ‘But I think maybe I should get someone to talk to you . . .’
An expression of some relief crossed his youthful features as he half turned away from me and, still with a hand on my arm, called to a uniformed sergeant walking across the car park. The sergeant came over. The constable released his grip on my arm, asked if I would wait a moment, and he and the sergeant went into a huddle.
I could only catch the odd word.
‘Mrs Peters . . .’ ‘Here to see her husband . . .’ and finally, from the sergeant: ‘. . . fetch DC Carter.’
The sergeant asked me to wait just a moment and made it clear he was not going to engage in any further conversation. I protested fruitlessly while the constable retreated in the direction of the court room, but fortunately reappeared swiftly with a harassed-looking DC Carter.
‘Mrs Peters,’ said Carter in a voice even wearier than the one he had adopted the first time I met him. ‘I wonder if you’d mind coming across to the station with me. I think you and I had better have a chat.’
It seemed that Carl had been transported from Exeter along with several other prisoners by the private security agency now employed by the Devon and Cornwall Constabulary.
‘But how on earth did he get away?’ I stuttered. ‘Carl wouldn’t know how to plan an escape. He’s no jail breaker.’
‘Don’t bloody need to be nowadays,’ muttered DC Carter grumpily. ‘Grasped his opportunity, didn’t he. Over the road waiting to be called, realised there wasn’t a lot to keep him there. So off he trots . . .’
A Deep Deceit Page 22
