‘Oh, I know who you are,’ the woman said, looking at her intently. ‘You’re Cordelia Lytton, the famous journalist.’
Cordelia raised her eyebrows. ‘Hardly famous, unfortunately. How did you know that? Oh, I know. It was Pat Abrehart, wasn’t it? When you picked up my scarf in the bookshop. Pat and I are old friends.’
‘Oh, I knew all about you before that,’ she answered.
‘Don’t tell me that you’ve read one of my books,’ Cordelia said lightly, embarrassed – and was relieved when the coffee arrived so that she could change the subject. ‘You haven’t told me your name.’
The woman put sugar in her coffee, smiling to herself as if she were considering her answer.
‘How about Elinor Rochdale?’ she suggested.
Cordelia was puzzled by the way she phrased her answer. ‘It sounds familiar,’ she answered slowly, unsettled by the woman’s amused expression. She began to feel uncomfortable. ‘Have we met before? I’m not talking about seeing each other in the town but somewhere else. I feel that I’m being stupid and that you’re waiting patiently for the penny to drop.’
‘We haven’t met before. Not officially. But I know a great deal about you.’
Quite suddenly the penny did drop and Cordelia experienced a tiny tremor of fear. Elinor Rochdale. She glanced round; all the tables were full and the shop was busy. She was quite safe and it would be foolish to panic.
‘Elinor Rochdale,’ she repeated. She looked directly at the woman, determined to appear quite calm. ‘Very clever. I like it. So you are Simon’s wife. Or…’ she hesitated, less sure of her ground, ‘in light of the name, should I say his widow?’
The woman stared back at her. ‘Neither,’ she said. She drank some coffee and set the cup back in its saucer. ‘I was his mistress.’
Cordelia was silent. She refused to be jockeyed into either sympathy or curiosity. ‘In that case, why “Elinor Rochdale”?’ she asked calmly. She wondered if her hand would tremble if she lifted the cup and chanced it anyway. ‘Surely that was the heroine’s name in The Reluctant Widow? That’s the book you put on my lectern, isn’t it? Along with Simon the Coldheart? What was all that about?’
The woman rested her elbows on the table, staring at Cordelia with light grey eyes. ‘He wouldn’t marry me,’ she said. ‘I was crazy about him and he was crazy about you.’
Cordelia’s composure deserted her a little. ‘Do you mean he wasn’t married at all? But he told us that was why he was cutting all communication with Henrietta. Because he was going to Australia to have a new life with a new family.’
Her vis-à-vis shook her head. ‘No wife, no children. Just me. He told me all about you until I felt that I knew you almost better than I knew him. You were an obsession.’
‘But he left me.’ Cordelia leaned forward, keeping her voice low. ‘I didn’t want to break up our marriage. It was he who decided to go. If he loved me so much why did he leave me and Henrietta?’
The woman raised her eyebrows a little. ‘Who said we were talking about love?’ she asked softly. ‘Obsession isn’t love. Obsession is all about insecurity and neediness and wanting to possess. It drives you crazy. It drove Simon crazy. He cursed himself sometimes for walking away from it, though he made sure he’d ruined your chances of happiness first. When the satisfaction of that began to pall he decided to ruin Henrietta’s – and put the boot in for you at the same time. He guessed that it would be just as devastating for you if she knew exactly why he’d left, and by that time he’d gone beyond having any real feelings for her.’ She shook her head. ‘Poor bastard. Yet there were times when we were so happy, and I’d really believe that he was getting over it, but there was always something that would set him off again. What a waste.’
Cordelia stared down into her coffee cup. ‘I gather that he’s dead?’
‘Yes. He died from cancer in April. My family’s still in England, in the Border country, so I decided to come home. I needed to see you. To find out exactly who it was that destroyed his life. And mine.’
‘So you stalked me?’
The woman snorted with amusement. ‘It was so easy,’ she said reflectively. ‘Of course, having a coastal path a few feet from your front door was a godsend. I could always be coming or going or looking as if I were at the tag end of a group of ramblers. I used to watch you through binoculars; see you out in your little garden. I followed your car a few times, took a few photos. And then there was your habit of leaving the door unlocked. After a while I decided to get a bit closer.’
Cordelia clasped her hands in her lap; she was determined to show no sign of the clammy fear that trickled down her spine and crept in the roots of her hair.
‘What did you hope to achieve?’ she asked coolly. ‘Did you want to frighten me?’
The woman considered the question. ‘Possibly,’ she said at last. ‘I just had a need to be near you. You’ve got to remember that I felt I knew you already. Simon talked about you so much that I felt we were a threesome. It was very odd, after all those things he’d told me about you, to be so close to you physically. After a while, tracking you lost its charm and I decided to chance my arm and come into your cottage – of course, I had excuses ready if you caught me in the hall. “Sorry, I knocked at the door but you didn’t hear me” kind of thing, but I wasn’t certain I’d get away with it. That was part of the thrill of it, of course. I tried it first when I knew you had someone with you, out in the garden. I just opened the door and slipped in. I knew which room your study was and I went in and fiddled with your computer. A few days later I followed you in here and put the koala bear in your basket.’
‘But I saw a man going out?’ Cordelia was confused. ‘He tapped me on the shoulder.’
The woman shook her head almost reprovingly at her naiveté. ‘That’s such an old trick. Look. I’m standing on your right, beside you at the counter. I reach behind you and tap your left shoulder. You turn round and see a man leaving the shop while I’m putting the bear into your basket. Easy.’
‘And the other bear and the books. Was that easy too?’
‘I’d begun to gain confidence by then. I saw you go down the steps to the beach so I knew I had plenty of time. I’d brought copies of the books with me, just in case. But Simon had told me that you were an absolute devotee of Georgette Heyer and had all her books so I thought it would be more interesting to use yours. He told me how you called him Simon the Coldheart and I thought that The Reluctant Widow was the closest I could come to really giving you a clue.’
‘So you were hoping that I would discover you?’
The woman shrugged. ‘It was getting a bit boring,’ she admitted. ‘I wanted to get close to you. Can you understand that? We’d been three in a bed and I wanted more than just following you and frightening you a bit. I needed you to see me and for there to be some communication. I thought you’d begin to guess but I didn’t want to make it too easy. You did, didn’t you?’
‘I thought it was Simon,’ said Cordelia. ‘I thought that it was you – or, rather, his wife – who had died and that he’d come back hoping for a reconciliation. It would have been an odd approach, I agree, but it was Simon’s style somehow.’
She looked genuinely pleased at this. ‘I thought so too. He always had an oddball take on life.’
‘So the scarf,’ Cordelia prompted her. ‘Was that genuine?’
‘I was looking for an opportunity to speak to you so I just edged it out of your basket while you were talking to the woman in the bookshop and when you’d gone out I picked it up off the floor and hurried out after you.’ She paused, frowning.
‘And what then?’ asked Cordelia curiously.
‘It was strange,’ she said slowly. ‘When you looked at me and spoke to me, everything changed. At that moment it was real, and suddenly you were just an ordinary woman. The spell was broken. And then we spoke again in the car park and you looked so happy, and somehow the focus shifted completely. You’d been a kind of presence in our
lives and you’d had such an extraordinary and powerful effect that suddenly being so close to you, face to face was a shock…’
‘And?’ prompted Cordelia.
She shrugged. ‘Something changed. The fun went out of it. You see, I’d been feeling for the first time since I’d known Simon that it was I who had the upper hand. I was in control. But when we spoke it wasn’t like that any more. It was as if quite suddenly everything regained its proportion and I realized that I didn’t have to go along with it any more.’
‘But you sent the photograph anyway?’
The woman shook her head. ‘I wished I hadn’t but I’d already posted it. I couldn’t do anything about it but I regretted it. The whole thing had begun to seem rather silly, as if I were still allowing Simon to control me by continuing to punish you, to try and keep the hatred and the obsession alive, and I didn’t want to be part of it any longer. I decided I’d try to meet you and explain. And say that I’m sorry.’
‘But how do I know that’s true? It could just be another clever move in the game. My friends are trying to persuade me to report all this to the police. How do I know that you won’t keep following me about – or push me off a cliff?’
The woman sat back with a sigh and drank some coffee. ‘You don’t,’ she said. ‘You’ll have to take my word for it. It was a moment of madness and the spell’s broken. I suddenly realize that I don’t like to feel that I’m being manipulated from beyond the grave. I was in thrall to Simon for years and I want to break that power he had. Now that he’s dead and we’ve met properly and talked like this, I believe I can do that. I’ve wasted quite enough time and now I plan to get on with my life.’ She gave another deep sigh, as if she were breathing clean, fresh air for the first time for a long while. Her expression was calm, even peaceful. ‘I don’t expect you to believe me but I promise you that you’re quite safe.’
‘Oddly,’ Cordelia said, ‘I always believed that. It was other people who were anxious on my behalf. I had one or two brief moments of terror but deep down I was never truly frightened.’
The woman smiled. ‘I’m glad,’ she said. ‘We’re both free then, after all these years. And what will you do now? Will you be able to pick up the pieces with Angus Radcliff or have you found that Simon has managed to put it out of court? He hated Angus but he felt that he’d managed to…’ she paused, seeking for the appropriate word, ‘neutralize him.’
‘Why was Simon so certain about that? We might have gone on being lovers.’
She shook her head. ‘He said he knew Angus too well for that. He said that once he was married he’d be much too honourable – and too scared.’
For the first time Cordelia smiled, genuinely amused. ‘He didn’t say that I was too honourable to play around with another woman’s husband?’
The woman smiled too. ‘I gather that the woman was one of your best friends. Simon felt that was deterrent enough.’
Cordelia’s smile faded. ‘He waited for nearly a year. All that time, until Angus was married, and he must have hated me for every minute of it.’
‘For someone like Simon it wasn’t always easy to tell the difference between hate and love. And what about Angus? It is Angus I’ve seen you with, isn’t it? And I know he’s a widower now. Oh, yes, Simon kept tabs on him too. He was furious when Angus put up his fourth stripe.’
‘And did it never occur to Simon that I might marry again?’
She shook her head. ‘Oddly enough, no. He said you were a one-man woman and that you only married him because he wouldn’t let you alone and because you thought you’d lost Angus.’
‘Well, he was right. And then Angus came back and we had that brief, crazy moment and it all started up again. After Simon left I knew that second best simply didn’t work and I never wanted to chance it again. And it was too late for me and Angus. My God, what fools sex makes of us all.’
‘Who was it who said that it was like being chained to a madman? Well, my chains are broken. I’m free at last.’ She picked up her bag and nodded to the coffee cups. ‘I’ll get these,’ she said. ‘Good luck, Cordelia.’
Cordelia watched her go to the counter and pay for the coffee; then she turned, raised her hand and was gone.
CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE
‘The woman’s crazy,’ Hal said for the third time. ‘Creeping about on the cliff, breaking into your house and leaving books and bears about, and sending photographs. Sorry, love, but it’s crazy. And you sat there drinking coffee with her.’
‘What would you have done?’ asked Cordelia, trying to smile.
She was beginning to wish that she hadn’t suddenly decided to drop in at The Keep on the way to Dartmouth, yet she’d needed some kind of reassurance; some ordinary human companionship. She hadn’t wanted to be alone until she met Angus much later in Dartmouth.
‘Hal would have made a citizen’s arrest and tied her to her chair until the police came,’ said Fliss cheerfully. She could see the strain in Cordelia’s face and she shook her head at Hal, willing him to calm down.
Hal saw her gesture and was irritated by it. Surely they could see how potentially dangerous this was?
‘I’ve always said that I never believed that I was in any danger.’ Cordelia was trying to reassure him. ‘And I believe it even more now that I’ve met her. I think it was just some kind of terrible fascination on her part. Well, I can understand that, can’t you?’
‘I can,’ said Fliss quickly, before Hal could answer. ‘You’d want to see who your rival was, wouldn’t you? It got out of hand, that’s all. Like a silly game played by children. It crossed the barrier between reality and fantasy, but then she got a grip again when she actually spoke to Cordelia. Poor woman, I feel rather sorry for her.’
Hal was staring at her as if she were crazy too, and Fliss stifled an urge to burst out laughing.
‘Perhaps it’s a woman thing,’ she said soothingly – but Hal was not to be comforted.
‘And you didn’t even get her name. Calling herself something out of a book, it’s ludicrous. I think it’s a ruse to lull you into a false sense of security.’
‘It was a silly game,’ said Cordelia wearily. ‘Nothing more, I’m sure of it.’
‘Well, we’ll see what Angus says.’ Hal got up. ‘I’m going to chop some wood before the rain comes in.’
He kissed Cordelia and went out into the scullery where they could hear him putting on his gumboots and talking to the dogs, who’d followed him out. Fliss raised her eyebrows interrogatively at Cordelia, who made a little face. They heard the scullery door close and Cordelia sighed.
‘Perhaps I am being a fool,’ she said. ‘I don’t think so. My gut instinct says that I’m not in danger. You’re right. It was like a game that went a bit too far but it’s over now. I want to forget it and get back to normal.’
‘And will Angus let you do that?’
‘Do you know, I felt just a tad irritated when Hal said that. “We’ll see what Angus says.” As if it’s up to Angus to decide how I should go forward. I’ve managed to live without him for most of my life, after all.’
They sat together at the kitchen table in silence for a moment.
‘I quite see that,’ Fliss said at last. ‘But you did call him in on it, didn’t you? He’s bound to feel involved.’
‘Yes,’ admitted Cordelia crossly. ‘I know I did. That was when it occurred to me that if it were Simon playing these jokes, then he might have it in for Angus too, and so it was only right that he should be warned. Well, I feel quite confident now that it’s all over and I don’t want…’ She paused, frowning, and Fliss watched her thoughtfully.
‘You don’t want Angus playing gaoler?’ she suggested.
Cordelia looked at her with an odd expression: guilt mixed with shock and disappointment. ‘I never imagined that it would be so…so claustrophobic,’ she said defensively. ‘I’ve been on my own for so long, you see, and then again, Angus and I are…Well, we’re not used to being particularly domestic when
we’re together.’
Fliss grinned. ‘You mean you still behave like lovers. You are courteous to one another and intimate moments are still rather exciting. You don’t bicker about mundane things like who’s lost the car keys or taking out the rubbish. Or argue about forgetting to pass on telephone messages and whose turn it is to walk the dog. You still wear sexy underwear, and Angus has a shower and puts on a clean shirt before he comes to supper.’
Cordelia was laughing, relaxed now. ‘Honestly,’ she said, ‘I hadn’t realized how dull cohabiting could be. Or how inconvenient. I’m not used to sharing the bathroom. I like to work at odd hours, when the mood takes me, and meals are pretty erratic. Angus is an utter darling but he’s very…punctual. He got a bit irritated from time to time when I worked past lunchtime, or I suddenly needed a gin and tonic at half past three in the afternoon, and once or twice I had to stifle the urge to hit him with a blunt instrument. It’s all very well to laugh, Fliss, but what am I going to do?’
‘Why do anything?’ asked Fliss calmly. ‘Let this silly business die down. Meet him halfway on any protection suggestions, and see what happens. By the sound of it, Angus will, even as we speak, be thinking how very pleasant it is to be on his own in Dartmouth with his boat just down the river. Do nothing and behave as if nothing has changed.’
‘I hope that’s possible. Though it’s odd, isn’t it? It seems as if Simon has had the last laugh after all. I hate thinking that he’s won.’
‘Look at it the other way round. This might have prevented you from making a terrible mistake. Be thankful for it.’
Cordelia sighed. ‘It worked for you and Hal.’
‘Yes, but Hal and I had very close contact all our lives. We were family, we were always meeting up. When Miles was in Hong Kong for two years and I moved back to The Keep with my children, Hal was based at Devonport and lived here too with Jolyon. Oh, it was all very proper – not much choice with all the others around – but we were always very close friends. It’s odd, though, isn’t it, that you and I and Maria have one thing in common? We all fell in love with one man but married another. Poor Maria. She’s down with friends in Salcombe for the weekend. Jo met her earlier on and told her in words of one syllable that she couldn’t just stroll back into his life as if nothing had happened. She’s suddenly decided that she’d like to move to Devon.’
The Prodigal Wife Page 24
