by Anne Mather
‘And Ms Robards—’
Jack growled. ‘That figures,’ he muttered darkly. ‘So what happened? Was it a car accident?’
‘No.’ Mrs Grady looked uncomfortable now. Then, shaking her head, she went on, ‘I don’t think it’s my place to tell you what happened, Mr Riordan. All I can say is, it’s lucky Mrs Riordan wasn’t badly injured.’
Jack’s shoulders sagged and he raked a hand over his damp forehead. Although he felt infinitely worse now than he’d done before, he had to know what was going on. He thought about getting to his feet and baulked at the effort. ‘I’ve got to see her.’
Mrs Grady watched him with troubled eyes. ‘Oh, Mr Riordan, I don’t think—’
‘What?’ Jack wasn’t in the mood to be tactful. ‘What don’t you think? That I should go and see my own wife? She’s had an accident, dammit. An accident you refuse to tell me about. And for some reason she’s staying with a woman who hates my guts. What do you expect me to do? Wait until the morning and give her a call?’
‘That might be the wisest course,’ murmured Mrs Grady unhappily. ‘I know you’re worried—’
‘Damn right!’
‘—but Mrs Riordan’s just getting over the accident. And after what that woman said she might not want to—’
‘What woman?’ demanded Jack harshly. But he knew. ‘My God, are you telling me that Karen Johnson’s been here again?’ He gathered his strength and pushed himself to his feet. ‘When? When was she here? Is that why you don’t think Rachel will want to see me?’
Mrs Grady chewed on her lower lip. ‘I—I thought you knew.’
‘Knew what?’
‘About Miss Johnson’s visit.’
‘Well, I didn’t.’ Jack swayed back on his heels. ‘Look, why don’t you stop clucking like an old hen and tell me what this is all about? Are you saying Rachel’s accident had something to do with Karen?’ He winced at the sudden tightness in his chest. ‘Dammit, woman, did she run her down?’
‘It was nothing like that.’ Mrs Grady had evidently noticed his agitation and she attempted to reassure him. ‘Actually, Miss Johnson had nothing to do with the accident. It happened after she’d gone. I know Mrs Riordan was upset, so she might have been indirectly involved, but—’
‘For God’s sake!’ Jack clenched his fists. ‘Will you stop waffling around. What happened? Tell me!’
Mrs Grady shifted uneasily. ‘I don’t know exactly what happened. I’d gone into the village, you see. But—well, it seems Mrs Riordan had gone for a walk on the cliffs, and—and she fell.’
Jack blanched. ‘Over the cliff?’
‘Apparently.’ Mrs Grady’s hands were twisting together again. ‘According to the man who managed to rescue her, it was the belt loop on her jeans that saved her life. It—it caught on a root or something. Without it—’
Her voice trailed away and Jack sank numbly back onto the sofa. He could imagine only too well what would have happened without that lifeline. And, however innocent it seemed, he was fairly sure Karen must have said something to cause Rachel so much distress that she’d been careless. She’d walked on those cliffs a hundred times before.
‘Anyway, as I say, Mrs Riordan’s all right now,’ the housekeeper continued, evidently deciding there was no point in holding anything back. ‘She was lucky Mr Harris was walking his dog on the beach and saw what happened. He had the presence of mind to call the emergency services and—’
‘I get the picture.’ Jack was sweating now, but somehow he managed to get to his feet again. He’d been right to be suspicious of what Karen might do, he thought unsteadily. But why had Rachel taken it into her head to go and stay with Lucy Robards when it would have been so much more convenient for Lucy to come here?
‘Anyway, I don’t think you should go out again this evening,’ Mrs Grady ventured, braving the bitter look he cast in her direction. ‘Forgive me for being frank, Mr Riordan, but you don’t look at all well. Why don’t you rest for a while and let me make you something light for supper? You can go and see Mrs Riordan in the morning.’
‘You’re kidding, right?’ Jack stared at her disbelievingly. ‘You don’t seriously expect me to do that? My God, I have to see Rachel. I have to see for myself that she’s all right.’
‘Well, I don’t think you should take too much for granted, Mr Riordan.’
Jack had started towards her, but now he halted, nonplussed. ‘What?’
Mrs Grady sighed. ‘Well, Mrs Riordan was very upset about what Miss Johnson said to her. I don’t think she believed it all, but when she was in the hospital—’
‘She was in hospital?’
‘Just overnight,’ said Mrs Grady hurriedly. ‘And she was a bit—hysterical, perhaps. But, anyway, I believe she told Ms Robards that Miss Johnson had insisted she’d been staying with you in Ireland.’
‘What?’
‘Miss Johnson even had a ticket, Mr Riordan. One she said she’d used the morning Mrs Riordan arrived in Ballyryan herself.’
‘Dear God!’
‘But if you say Miss Johnson wasn’t there, that she was making the whole thing up, I’m sure Mrs Riordan will believe you.’
CHAPTER TWELVE
‘DO YOU THINK I ought to go and see him?’
Rachel was standing in the bay window of her friend’s living room, staring out at the rain. She was purposely keeping her back to Lucy so she couldn’t see her expression. But she was afraid the desperation she was feeling must be evident in her voice.
It was four weeks since the accident that had almost killed her. It had been an accident, she assured herself. She refused to believe it had been anything else. And in all that time, she had had no word from her husband, even though she knew he had returned to Market Abbas over two weeks ago.
Lucy Robards, who was lounging in an armchair, enjoying the mug of coffee Rachel had just made, heaved a sigh. ‘Are you mad?’ she demanded incredulously. ‘Jack knows where you are. He’s known where you are for weeks—ever since you had that fall, for heaven’s sake. Why would you want to go and see him? To ask him if he still loves you, perhaps?’ She sneered. ‘I think we know the answer to that, don’t we?’
‘Do we?
Rachel’s response drew another impatient exclamation from her friend, but she ignored it. Lucy didn’t understand. She didn’t understand anything. Rachel didn’t understand a lot herself, but she still couldn’t believe that everything Karen had said was true.
She shivered. In spite of her determination to regard what had happened as an aberration on her part, she still trembled at the thought of the other woman’s name. But no one had pushed her off the cliff, she assured herself. She had imagined the hand in the small of her back, the blow that had sent her careening into space.
Nevertheless, the nightmares—in which Karen did indeed play a part in what had happened—continued to torment her, and she’d wake in a lather of fear and apprehension. On those occasions it would take hours before she could get back to sleep.
A feeling of sickness welled in her throat and she fought to control it. She must not let Lucy suspect that anything Karen had said or done had forced her out of her own home, even if it was true. No, she was staying here because she hadn’t wanted to return to the scene of the accident. Not yet, anyway. But if Jack was there…
‘You’re not seriously considering going back to him?’ Lucy got up now and came to stand beside her, forcing Rachel to look her way. Then she caught her breath. ‘My God, you are considering it, aren’t you?’ She shook her head. ‘And you’re crying! Oh, Rachel, what am I going to do with you?’
Rachel shook her head, hurriedly smudging the tears from her cheeks with a clumsy hand. ‘I just find it hard to believe that Jack would come back to Market Abbas without coming to see me if he knew where I was,’ she mumbled. ‘Whatever his faults, Jack’s not like that.’
‘That was before Karen Johnson got her claws into him,’ retorted Lucy shortly. ‘And don’t you think Mrs Grady will have
told him where you’re staying? Haven’t you ever considered that the reason you haven’t seen him is because he’s ashamed?’
Rachel sniffed. ‘Yes.’
‘There you are, then.’
‘But what did he say?’ Rachel persisted suddenly. ‘When George phoned and told him I’d had a—a fall, how did he react?’
‘You’d have to ask George that,’ declared Lucy, losing patience. ‘Honestly, Rachel, what more do you need to convince you that Jack’s been lying to you? A signed confession?’
Rachel pressed her lips together, feeling the panicked nausea rising inside her once more. She couldn’t believe that in a matter of weeks her life had fallen apart so completely. When had Karen first come to see her? The middle of June? It was the beginning of September now, and if it didn’t sound so pathetic she would say she was a broken woman.
To her relief, the phone rang at that moment, and although she knew a moment’s hope, Lucy’s response revealed that it was only her friend’s London agent. But at least it gave Rachel an excuse to leave, and, going up to her room, she closed the door and sat down on the bed.
What was she going to do? she fretted. She couldn’t go on living with Lucy, however willing the other woman might be. For one thing, she’d done no work since the accident, and although her publisher had been remarkably understanding, sooner or later she was going to have to finish the artwork for the book she’d started before all this happened.
She remembered the afternoon of the accident as it if were yesterday. How she’d been on edge after Mrs Grady left, and had spilled water over one of her finished drawings. Another wave of sickness enveloped her, stronger this time, driving her into the bathroom. She’d been right to be on edge, she thought, as her stomach emptied itself into the toilet. My God, whether Karen had pushed her off the cliff or not, she’d certainly done her best to destroy the fragile relationship burgeoning between Rachel and her husband.
Back in the bedroom again, she surveyed herself in the dressing table mirror. Heavens, what a ghoul, she thought, scrubbing her pale cheeks with her fingers to try and bring some colour into them. Her hair looked lank and listless, and she was losing weight. Hardly the image to present to the man you believed was cheating on you.
Or did she believe that? Crazy as it seemed, bearing in mind the facts of the case, she couldn’t totally rid her mind of the thought that if Karen had been so sure of Jack’s intentions she wouldn’t have felt the need to come and torment her. Or would she? Perhaps she was afraid that if Rachel divorced her husband she would ruin him financially. How much easier it would be if Rachel was dead, allowing Jack total control of both the finances and the company.
That thought caused another wave of nausea, and Rachel was emerging from the bathroom a second time when Lucy knocked at her door and called, ‘Can I come in?’
Rachel would have preferred to say no, but it was Lucy’s house, after all, so she answered, ‘Of course.’
Lucy opened the door and put her head into the room. ‘You okay?’ she asked, with some concern, and although Rachel felt anything but, she nodded.
‘I was going to have a lie-down, that’s all,’ she said, not altogether truthfully, putting a deliberately upbeat note in her voice. ‘What did Stephen want?’
‘Well, that’s what I wanted to tell you,’ said Lucy ruefully. ‘He wants me to go up to London again. He’s arranged a meeting with someone who’s interested in expanding the column into his chain of store magazines. I can’t tell you who it is until the deal’s actually signed, but take my word for it—this is a big opportunity for me.’
‘That’s wonderful!’ Rachel was sincerely pleased for her friend. ‘Will it mean more money?’
‘You better believe it.’ Lucy chuckled. ‘At least another ten thou a year at the minimum.’
‘How exciting!’
‘Do you mean that?’
‘What do you mean, do I mean it?’ Rachel was slightly offended. ‘Why wouldn’t I mean it?’
‘Oh…’ Lucy was clearly uncomfortable. ‘The fact that my career seems to be taking off just when you—well, when you’re not able to work.’
‘You think?’ Rachel wondered if that was strictly true. Maybe she’d feel better if she was working. It might help her to get her confidence back, she thought. ‘Well, I’m delighted,’ she insisted. Then, a little apprehensively, ‘When are you leaving?’
‘Well, that’s the thing.’ Lucy bit her lip. ‘Would you mind if I went up to town this afternoon? The meeting’s at lunchtime tomorrow, but I’d prefer to stay overnight and give myself a little time to prepare.’ She paused. ‘You can come, too, if you feel up to it.’
‘Oh, no.’ Rachel dropped down onto the side of the bed again, refusing to admit to the panic she was feeling at the thought of being on her own again for the first time since the accident. ‘I’d just be in the way.’ She paused. ‘I’ll be all right here. I might even buy myself a pad and start making some sketches for when I can get back to work. Don’t you worry. I’ll be fine.’
‘If you’re sure?’
It was obvious Lucy was relieved, and Rachel managed a weak smile. ‘Good luck,’ she said. ‘You deserve it.’
However, that afternoon, after the taxi had left, taking Lucy to Plymouth to catch the London train, the cottage did feel unpleasantly empty. Lucy did have a cleaning woman, but she only came in twice a week for a couple of hours, and Lucy had little to do with her neighbours.
In consequence, Rachel felt horribly alone. And isolated. Not that Karen knew where she was, of course, and even if she did what could she do about it? What could she want to do about it?
Murder her, perhaps?
But that was stupid and absurd. She had no proof that Karen had intended to do anything except drive a verbal wedge between her and Jack for a second time. Even the man who’d called the emergency services thought Rachel had slipped and fallen on the damp grass. And, because it had sounded ridiculous to claim that someone had pushed her, Rachel hadn’t contradicted him.
Indeed, over the weeks since it had happened she’d succeeded in convincing her conscious mind, at least, that she had imagined it. It was only now, with Lucy on her way to London and the certain knowledge that she would be spending that night and all the next day on her own, that those suspicions were stirring again.
When the doorbell rang in the late afternoon, Rachel almost jumped out of her skin. She’d turned on the television in the hope that the quiz show taking place on the screen would provide her with some much-needed company. But the knowledge that there was someone outside now, waiting for admittance, showed the virtual images up for what they really were: a useless substitute.
She didn’t have to answer it, she told herself. She wished now she’d chosen to watch television in the kitchen, which wasn’t visible from the front of the house. As it was, if the visitor happened to glance through the window they’d see her. Edging across the room, she insinuated herself against the wall and squinted through a break in the curtains.
Then she almost collapsed with relief. It was MrsGrady. She hadn’t seen the housekeeper for ages—not since the week after the accident, actually. Until now, she hadn’t thought anything about it, but it suddenly occurred to her that Mrs Grady must be looking after Jack. Was that why she’d stayed away?
It certainly put a different slant on the reason for her visit. If she’d come to plead Jack’s case, Rachel didn’t know if she should let her in. After all, this was Lucy’s house, not hers, and there was no question that her friend would not approve.
The bell rang again, and, realising she couldn’t just ignore it, Rachel took a deep breath and stepped out into the hall. Then, plastering a polite smile in place, she walked to the door and pulled it open.
‘Mrs Grady,’ she said, and even to her own ears her voice sounded stilted. ‘This is a surprise.’
‘I was beginning to think you were out,’ Mrs Grady responded, with a corresponding lack of conviction. ‘How are you, M
rs Riordan? I’ve been thinking about you. A lot.’
‘Have you?’ Rachel lifted her shoulders in a dismissing gesture. ‘Well, as you can see, I’m feeling much better.’
‘Are you?’ Mrs Grady glanced over her shoulder. ‘Is Ms Robards here?’
‘I—no.’ Rachel couldn’t lie to her own housekeeper. ‘She’s just left for London, actually. She has an important meeting with her agent.’
‘Good.’ Mrs Grady nodded. Then, in a low, urgent voice, ‘May I come in?’
Rachel was taken aback. She had thought the woman was just making a courtesy call, and it was disconcerting to be put on the spot. ‘Um—well, I am rather busy.’
‘Watching television?’ Mrs Grady proved she was more astute than Rachel had given her credit for. ‘Look, Mrs Riordan, I realise you think you have your own reasons for not inviting me in, but believe me you’ll be sorry if you don’t.’
Rachel swallowed. ‘I beg your pardon—’
‘Oh, now, that sounded melodramatic, didn’t it?’ Mrs Grady shifted a little awkwardly. ‘I’m sorry. But honestly, Mrs Riordan, there are—there are things you need to know.’
Rachel stiffened. ‘If this is about Karen Johnson—’
‘It’s not. Well, perhaps indirectly.’
‘Mrs Grady—’
‘Please.’ The housekeeper gazed at her beseechingly. ‘This is important, and I don’t have a lot of time. If Mr Riordan knew where I was—’
‘You mean he doesn’t?’
‘Of course not.’ Mrs Grady glanced up and down the street as if to assure herself she hadn’t been followed. ‘He’s—well, he’s sleeping at the moment. But—’
Rachel blinked. ‘Sleeping?’ she echoed incredulously. ‘But it’s—’ she glanced at her watch ‘—it’s nearly five o’clock.’
Mrs Grady’s face took on an expression of resignation. ‘I know,’ she said flatly. ‘Like I say, I need to talk to you.’
Rachel stood aside without a word and the housekeeper stepped into the narrow hall. ‘It’s the first door on the right,’ said Rachel absently, and then closing the door, hastened after her.
