by Susan Lewis
‘How could you do it, Helena?’ Kirsten screamed. ‘What did I ever do to you? I thought you were my friend . . .’
‘Come on,’ Laurence soothed her. ‘Get a grip, honey . . .’
‘You don’t understand, Laurence. You don’t know what she’s been doing. You were trying to frighten me, weren’t you,’ she shot at Helena. ‘With those notes! With this tape! Well it worked. I was terrified. Does that satisfy you? Is that what you wanted, or is there more?’
‘You’re crazy,’ Helena whispered incredulously. ‘I didn’t send you any fucking notes.’
‘She’s lying,’ Kirsten sobbed, turning her face into Laurence’s chest. ‘Get her out of here, Laurence. Make her go! Please, make her go.’
‘It’s all right, I’m going,’ Helena retorted. ‘I’m not staying around here to be abused by a sick mind.’
‘Leave those keys!’ Kirsten screamed after her.
Helena turned back, threw them furiously across the room and stormed out of the house.
Laurence held Kirsten for a long time, stroking her hair and waiting for her to calm down. ‘Now what is it, honey?’ he said at last. ‘Just what was all that about?’
‘I’m not sure,’ Kirsten said, blowing her nose. ‘It’s all so . . . Oh Laurence, I should have told you when it started, but . . . you had so much else to think about. I mean no one can prove that I killed Anna and Jake, they can’t because I didn’t do it . . .’
‘I think you’d better start at the beginning,’ Laurence said, his heart churning as he recalled Dermott’s warning that Dyllis Fisher was claiming that she could prove it.
After several false starts Kirsten managed to get out the whole story. She told him about the strange telephone calls, the notes that had arrived after Anna’s and Jake’s deaths, the fact that she had thought there was someone in the house the night before they went to New Orleans and how, all along, she had tried to tell herself that all that had happened to her was nothing to do with Helena, but when she looked back over the past year she could see now that everything had been moving towards this. ‘From the time she took me to your party just after I got back to England right up until now everything’s been pointing to her,’ she said. ‘Her relationship with Campbell, the broken promises, the stories in the press giving details only she would know . . . Then tonight,’ she shuddered, ‘that voice on the tape . . . I forgot she had the keys, I didn’t even know she had any keys, but don’t you see, she was probably already in here when I came in. She started the tape, I couldn’t see anything . . . Then she pretended to let herself in . . .’
‘But honey, it was a man’s voice.’
‘What difference does that make? Just think how many actors she knows. How many technicians who could set it up for her.’
‘That still doesn’t explain why, though.’
‘Oh Laurence, all my life people have resented and hated me.’
‘Hey, come on,’ he said, hugging her to him and trying to dismiss the horrifying image of Helena standing behind Kirsten with a knife. ‘No more tears. I’m here, aren’t I? And nothing’s going to happen to you while I’m around. And this is one guy who loves you, remember?’
‘Do you swear it, Laurence? Do you swear that you’ll always love me?’
‘I swear it,’ he said, smiling at the uncertainty in her eyes. If only he could wipe away this insecurity altogether, make her more sure of herself and of him so that she’d never doubt, not even for a moment, that this time he really wasn’t going to let her down. Or was he? Jesus Christ, he didn’t know what the hell he was going to do, they were in Campbell’s hands now and after what had just happened with Helena he didn’t even want to consider what the next few days might hold. ‘How’s about I see if we can get some light back on the scene,’ he said, ‘that candle’s just about had it.’
‘OK.’
‘You going to be all right in the dark? I’m just going down to the cellar and look at the fuse box. Do you want to come with me?’
‘No,’ Kirsten laughed through her tears. ‘I’ll wait here.’
He’d only been gone a few minutes when the room flooded with light.
‘What do you think we should do about Helena?’ Kirsten asked when he came back. ‘I mean, what if she did kill Anna and Jake? Or if she knows who did . . .’
‘Do you still have the notes?’
‘One of them, yes.’
‘Then we’d better give it to the police and let them take over.’
Kirsten nodded.
‘Shall we do it now?’
‘OK.’
‘Kiss?’
After a long and tender embrace Laurence pulled away and turned on the sofa to look at her. He didn’t want to voice the doubts he now had about the interview she had given Campbell the day before when the three of them had sat together in this very room going over the details of Kirsten’s past and Campbell, as though he had undergone some kind of metamorphosis, had gently probed and coaxed, reassured and comforted, while the tape recorder had whirred softly on the table between them. The story was written now, Campbell had faxed it over to them early that afternoon and Kirsten, stunned not only by the sensitivity and discretion Campbell had shown when writing about her early years, but by the frankness of his own involvement in her persecution and the regret he now felt, had given it her approval. It was scheduled to be run in the Express the following morning, but though he had read the article himself, had shown it to his lawyers before allowing Kirsten to give the go ahead, Laurence was still uneasy. He wanted more than anything to believe that Campbell would be true to his word, that he really was doing all he could to help Laurence hang on to both Kirsten and Tom, but even with the watertight contract they had drawn up, Laurence was very much afraid that he was going to learn how foolish he’d been to put Kirsten at Campbell’s mercy. He’d been nervous about it from the start but now that Helena had shown up here tonight he was terrified that in some way she and Campbell were planning something that was going to blow their entire lives apart.
He pulled Kirsten back into his arms and rested her head on his shoulder. Dear God, if this backfired in any way he’d never forgive himself. She hadn’t wanted to go through with it at all, she’d only agreed for him and for Tom and Laurence was horribly aware of how he had played on her feelings for them to get her to agree. She’d seemed more relaxed about it once she’d read the article, was prepared to believe that Campbell really might be working for them, but he doubted very much that she felt as confident now. And as if to confirm his suspicions she pulled herself upright and said,
‘Laurence, do you think there’s any way we can put a stop on that story now? I mean, do you think we should?’
‘I don’t know,’ he sighed. ‘Campbell’s going to be in a lot of hot water if he doesn’t run the story we read. The lawyers have checked it out and . . . Oh, hell, Kirstie, I think we’ve just got to trust him.’
Kirsten lowered her eyes. ‘I’m frightened, Laurence,’ she whispered. ‘I don’t know who to believe or who to trust any more. Nothing seems to make sense.’
Inside Laurence was trying hard to keep calm. If they didn’t take this chance then he might just as well hand Tom over to Pippa now. Either that or he was going to have to get up and walk out of here, leaving her alone to deal with all that was happening. He knew he would never do that, but if only, he thought savagely to himself, he could believe that Tom would be happy with Pippa and Zaccheo there might not be such a problem. But that wasn’t true. It would break his heart to let his son go and as he gazed down into Kirsten’s anxious face he had never felt so bitterly torn in his life.
‘I’ll do anything to keep him, Kirstie,’ he said. ‘Anything. And this is the only thing I can think of that will help us. It’s only Campbell who can set the record straight about you and give it the impact we need. Sure, we could ask someone else to do it, but he’s already written about the way Dyllis Fisher has been persecuting you and if it does go to print then it could be th
at this whole damned vendetta will be at an end.’
Kirsten looked long into his eyes then slowly, shakily she started to smile. ‘OK,’ she said. ‘We’ll just wait and see what tomorrow brings.’
The relief that rushed through Laurence was indescribable and as he pulled her into his arms he said, ‘It’ll be all right, Kirstie, I swear it. No matter what happens somehow we’ll get through this. And remember?’ he smiled, tilting her face up to look at her, ‘Nothing in the world’s ever going to come between us, not even you.’
Kirsten touched her fingers lightly to his lips. She wanted so desperately to believe him, to ignore what had happened with Helena and pretend it was all just a bad dream, but a horrible sixth sense was telling her that something was going to happen to break them up and it was something that was going to be beyond either his or her control.
‘Jane, what on earth are you doing down here in the middle of the night?’ Jane’s mother said, turning on the light as she came into the kitchen.
‘I couldn’t sleep,’ Jane answered dully, staring down at the dregs of her cocoa.
Amy Cottle eyed her daughter with a mixture of hostility and exasperation, then taking the few steps to the table where Jane was sitting she hoisted Jane’s chin up to look into her face. ‘What have you been crying for?’ she demanded.
‘Just leave me alone,’ Jane said, pushing her mother’s hand away.
‘It’s about that child, isn’t it?’ Amy sneered. ‘I heard you talking to your father earlier. You think they’re going to get rid of you, don’t you? If his mother wins custody, you reckon you’re going to be out on your ear.’
‘Just shut up,’ Jane sobbed. ‘Shut up and mind your own business.’
‘Well, I can’t say I’d blame them if they did,’ Amy remarked. ‘I don’t know how that Laurence has put up with having your sullen face around him for so long.’
‘It’s not sullen when I’m with them,’ Jane countered. ‘It’s only you who makes me like this.’
‘Oh, I see, it’s my fault, is it?’
When Jane didn’t answer Amy turned to the stove and poured boiling water on to a spoonful of cocoa. ‘Do you want some more?’ she barked over her shoulder at Jane.
Jane shook her head.
Amy turned back to what she was doing. ‘So what’s happening over there now then?’ she asked.
‘They’re getting ready for the custody battle,’ Jane answered.
‘His mother’ll get custody,’ Amy stated. ‘Mothers always do.’
‘Why don’t you just go back to bed,’ Jane said, fresh tears starting in her eyes.
Amy’s eyebrows shot up in surprise. ‘If you ask me you’re too wrapped up in that family and their affairs.’
‘No one’s asking you.’
‘All right, but if you’re going to sit here worrying yourself sick over whether or not they’re going to get rid of you then have it out with them. Ask them straight.’
‘That’s not what I’m worrying about,’ Jane cried, burying her face in her hands.
Amy’s glassy eyes gleamed her cynicism. ‘Who are you trying to convince here? Me or yourself?’ She watched Jane steadily for a moment or two. ‘You’ve done something to get up their noses, haven’t you?’ she said. ‘That’s what this is all about. You manage to get up everyone’s nose in the end.’
‘That’s not true!’ Jane cried, looking up at her mother. ‘I know you’d like me to think it is, but it isn’t. And if you must know, the reason I’m sitting here, the reason I can’t sleep, is because I’m trying to work out what I can do to make everything all right.’
‘You!’ Amy scoffed. ‘You don’t have it in you to do anything that takes any guts. You never have. Turn out the light before you go to bed and wash that cup up.’
As Amy retreated down the hall Jane was watching her, such sadness in her heart it seemed to weight her to the chair. Amy never had had any time for her, had mocked and ridiculed everything she did throughout her life. But this time Jane was going to show her! She was going to find out soon enough just what kind of courage Jane had. She’d change her tune then. Oh yes, she’d do that all right, in fact she’d regret every scathing attack, every belittling remark, every derogatory word she’d ever uttered about a daughter who wasn’t even hers to criticize.
She just needed some more time to think this through then she would know what to do . . .
It had taken Helena over half an hour in the pouring rain to find a taxi after leaving Kirsten’s. When she finally had, by then soaked to the skin, she’d taken it straight to Dermott Campbell’s.
By now she had been in his top-floor apartment for almost twenty minutes, and though she was a lot calmer than when she’d arrived as Campbell finally grasped what she was telling him he could feel his own nerves starting to clench.
‘You mean – you’re saying she actually came right out and accused you of those murders?’ he said.
‘More or less. The bitch! How could she think that I, her own best friend, would do something like that? I mean, suspecting me of feeding you the odd bit of information about what was going on in her life was one thing, and OK, I did, but that was ages ago now and she knows why I did it. But why the fuck would I kill Anna Sage and Jake Butler is what I want to know! Jesus!’ she seethed. ‘I can’t believe she said it. And she accused me right out of sending some fucking note and setting up that tape. What, does she think I’m sick in the head or something? Well if you ask me it’s her who’s sick – Dyllis Fisher might be after her skin, but that doesn’t mean the whole fucking world is – God damn you, don’t just stand there, say something!’
Campbell was nonplussed. He didn’t know what to say. If Kirsten suspected Helena did that mean Laurence did too? If Laurence did then for some reason it was throwing everything into a whole different light. ‘Uh, well, what were you doing there?’ he mumbled. ‘I mean at Kirsten’s?’
‘I told you, I was round the corner, in the Arts Club, I’d had a bit to drink and didn’t fancy trekking all the way home in the rain.’
As Campbell looked at her his stomach was knotting with fear. He’d been at the Arts Club himself all evening so he knew she was lying. ‘What did Laurence say when Kirsten started accusing you?’ he asked dully.
‘He was as shocked as I was, what do you think? The woman’s out of her mind, I’m telling you, and he knows it too. Christ, it wouldn’t even surprise me if she did kill Anna and Jake.’
‘Oh, come on,’ Campbell said, distractedly, ‘no one killed them . . .’
‘Well you’ve sure changed your tune!’ Helena spat. ‘What is it, did she work the Meredith charm on you too? Got you eating out of her hand after she gave you her sob story, did she?’
‘She’s had a bad time, Helena, you know that better than most, so just cool it with the jealousy will you and give her a break.’
Helena’s eyes were smouldering with rage. ‘It’s you who’s giving her the goddamned break and why, is what I want to know? What suddenly happened to change your mind about her? Don’t you care about what she’s doing to me? What I’ll have to go through if she goes to the police and tells them some crazy story about what she thinks I’m doing to her.’
Campbell wasn’t used to playing devil’s advocate and the unfamiliarity of it was putting him in danger of saying things he didn’t mean. Not until Laurence had asked him to step in had he considered what it would be like to be in the role of Mr Nice Guy and he still wasn’t too sure how he felt about it. What he did know though was that the repercussions of his story, once it hit the newstands, were scaring the hell out of him. Dyllis Fisher wasn’t going to take this sitting down and if Laurence and Kirsten suspected Helena of being involved in Dyllis’s persecution then were they asking themselves now if he too was planning to double-cross them? If they had any doubts about him he knew that as flimsy as it was his safety net would be hauled away. He would be on his own and heading straight back to the gutter – or worse. But, he reminded himself, once
the story was in print any doubts they might have would be erased. They would see that they could trust him and that he was doing what he could to make amends for the past.
But what about Helena? Where did she fit into all this? What if she was working in some kind of conspiracy with Dyllis Fisher? As the horrible thought clenched at his conscience he turned abruptly away from her, not wanting her to see his face. Jesus Christ! He’d never seriously believed she’d had anything to do with it but now . . .
Helena was talking. She was standing behind him but he didn’t want to listen, he didn’t want to touch her. And yet he longed to. He wanted her in his arms.
He turned to face her and she stopped.
‘Dermott,’ she whispered. ‘Dermott, don’t look at me that way.’
But he kept on looking at her, searching her troubled eyes for something, anything, that would tell him he was wrong. She looked so tired, so distraught, so confused, angry and afraid . . . She looked so many things and his heart tightened cruelly as he reminded himself again that she was an actress. She could look anything she wanted to look. If only she hadn’t lied about where she’d been tonight it would have been so much easier to take her in his arms now and comfort her. But she had lied and still he was afraid to know why.
‘Dermott,’ she said, ‘please tell me you’re not thinking what I think you are. Please don’t do to me what Kirsten’s done, I couldn’t bear it.’
As she moved towards him his arms went round her, but as she wept into his shoulder and he absently stroked her hair he was staring at the leaflet poking out of her bag. He recognized it because he had one himself. They’d been giving them out that night at the Arts Club. So maybe she had been there, maybe he just hadn’t seen her. He knew that was possible, there had been a lot of people in that night, but even as his arms tightened around her he had the sense that he was clutching at straws.
‘Can I stay here with you tonight?’ she whispered, sounding so vulnerable and afraid it wrenched at his heart. ‘Just us two, safe from the world,’ she said.
