The Lost

by Roberta Kray

  As if emerging from a trance-like state, Ellen freed herself from his grasp and stumbled back. She gazed up at him, confused. ‘What …?’

  ‘We need to get inside,’ Harry insisted.

  But still she continued to stand and frown. In the dusk, her eyes looked almost black against the paleness of her face.

  Harry tried to reassure her. ‘It’s me,’ he said softly, not sure if she was still in shock or if she simply didn’t recognize him. ‘Harry Lind. We met last week. I came to see you about—’

  ‘Yes,’ she said, taking another step back. ‘I know who you are.’

  ‘We need to get inside,’ he said again.

  Ellen wound a loose strand of hair behind her ear and pushed her hands into her pockets. She glanced up and down the street before focusing her gaze on Harry again. Eventually, she gave a small acceptant sigh. ‘Okay,’ she said.

  He bent down and picked up her umbrella.

  They walked in silence towards the house and then turned up the path and climbed the steps. She scrabbled in her bag for her key but when she finally found it her hand was shaking so much that she couldn’t get it in the lock.

  ‘Here,’ Harry said, taking the key from her. He unlocked the door and stood aside to let her in.

  She paused before slipping inside and turning on the light. They both screwed up their eyes at the sudden brightness. Harry closed the door as she began to walk up the stairs. Following her, he found himself staring at her slim rain-splashed ankles. He thought about the car that had almost crushed them. He felt the need to say something positive.

  ‘We should ring the police,’ he said.

  Ellen looked over her shoulder and frowned again. ‘What for?’

  Now it was Harry’s turn to look bemused. ‘Someone just tried to run you over.’

  There was a short pause. ‘What makes you so sure they were aiming for me?’

  The question made him start. Until now, there had been no doubt in his mind that the driver had only had one victim in mind. Was he mistaken? He had been digging around in some fairly dubious stuff recently. But he quickly dismissed the idea. The car had definitely been heading for her.

  ‘Did you get the registration?’ she said.

  He shook his head. ‘No.’ He hadn’t had time to think about it. All he knew was that the vehicle had been large, a Range Rover perhaps, dark blue or black, and the windows had been tinted. He’d had his back turned as the car had swept past and even when it had stopped he’d been more concerned with what would happen next than with clocking the numbers on the plate.

  ‘So why bother?’ she said. ‘There’s nothing we can tell them.’

  ‘Apart from the fact that some maniac just drove straight at us.’

  ‘And then what? They can’t do anything about it now. I’ve had enough of the police recently.’

  Like the first time, she was climbing the stairs faster than he could. Having struggled to keep up, Harry took hold of the banister and finally swung himself on to the top floor landing. ‘Oh, come on,’ he said. ‘You can’t just let this go. What if the guy comes back? What if he tries again?’

  Ellen stopped and turned to look at him. ‘For all I know,’ she said, ‘you could have set this whole thing up.’

  Harry laughed, astonished. ‘And why on earth should I want to do that?’

  ‘How should I know?’ Unlocking the door to the flat – her hand was steadier now – she went inside, took off her coat and hung it on a peg. ‘Maybe you want me to feel that I can trust you.’

  ‘I can think of better ways of achieving that than a close encounter with a moving vehicle.’

  She gave him a long hard look before her mouth eventually broke into a smile. ‘Well, I guess that could be true.’

  Harry closed the door, leaned the wet umbrella against the wall, and followed her through. He stood waiting while she glided from one lamp to another, bringing soft golden light into the room. She pulled the curtains across the windows, pausing only to glance briefly down at the street below. Then she turned to him again.

  ‘Sit down,’ she said. ‘I don’t know about you but I need a drink.’

  Harry, aware of how wet his clothes were, perched on the edge of the red velvet sofa. He watched as she walked over to the old carved sideboard and poured out two stiff measures of brandy. She was wearing a navy blue dress that accentuated her slimness and wrapped around her throat was a red silky scarf. It was the very same colour as her lips. He tried not to stare too closely at those lips as she handed him the glass.

  ‘Thank you.’ He took a sip as she sat down beside him. The brandy was good. Harry cleared his throat, took a breath and then turned his head to look her again. ‘So, would you like to tell me what’s going on? And please don’t say that you don’t have a clue because you must have some idea of why that maniac would want to run you over.’

  Ellen’s dark eyes flashed but she kept her voice controlled. ‘I don’t,’ she insisted softly. ‘I swear. Unless my husband thinks it’s a cheap and easy way to get rid of me.’

  Harry wasn’t sure if she was joking but felt a guilty surge of pleasure at the thought that all might not be rosy in the relationship between the Shaws. It wasn’t a thought to be proud of and he instantly banished it to the back of his mind. He still couldn’t work out why she had married someone so much older than herself. A father figure perhaps – which reminded him of the cutting he still had in his pocket. ‘The truth usually comes out in the end,’ he said. And then, wondering if that had sounded rather pompous, quickly added: ‘I mean, if you do have any suspicions …’

  ‘No,’ she said shortly.

  Harry could see that the subtle approach wasn’t getting him anywhere and decided to be more straightforward. ‘Why should I believe you?’

  ‘Why shouldn’t you?’ She lifted the glass to her mouth. ‘Do I look like the kind of person who tells lies?’

  This gave him another opportunity to examine her face. It was the kind of face, he suspected, that no man would ever tire of looking at. ‘Not willingly perhaps but we’re all tempted, for one reason or another, to occasionally evade the truth.’

  She suddenly laughed, exposing both rows of her small white teeth. ‘Evade the truth? That’s a nice way of putting it, Mr Lind. You should have been in the diplomatic corps.’

  He smiled back. ‘So you’re claiming that you’ve always been completely honest with me?’

  ‘I’m not sure what you mean. After all, we barely know each other.’ Ellen tilted her head. ‘In fact, if we’re talking honesty, perhaps you’d like to explain why you were so conveniently in the Square today.’

  ‘I came to see you.’

  ‘And that was because …?’

  Harry took the by now rather crumpled piece of paper from his pocket and passed it over to her. ‘I wanted to ask you about this.’

  Ellen unfolded the cutting and gazed down. ‘Ah,’ she said, the corners of her mouth turning down. She glanced up at him again, her face a shade paler than it had been a moment before. ‘Where did you get it?’

  He shrugged. Now wasn’t the time to get into an awkward conversation about the thieving habits of one of Jess Vaughan’s associates. ‘That doesn’t matter. I’m just curious as to why you should have told me that your father died last year. You said that was the reason you went to visit Paul Deacon but if your parents passed away over twelve years ago …’

  Leaning forward, Ellen put her glass and the cutting down on the table and dropped her face into her hands. Her sleek black hair fell like a screen across her cheeks, obscuring her expression. ‘God, I should never have said that,’ she murmured. ‘I shouldn’t. It’s always the stupid lies that catch you out.’

  Chapter Thirty-Four

  Harry sat very still, remaining silent. Eventually, after a long tense minute, she looked up at him again. She wiped away the tears with the backs of her fingers.

  ‘It’s what I told the police. When you came along, I thought I’d better s
tick to the same story.’ She hesitated and then stumbled on. ‘But … but this has nothing to do with that poor man who was killed. That’s why I lied, because I was scared that they’d think I had something to do with it. You do understand, don’t you?’

  Harry wanted to believe her but wasn’t entirely sure that he did. ‘I can help,’ he said. ‘But only if you’re prepared to be honest with me.’

  She shook her head despairingly. ‘I can’t.’

  ‘You have to,’ he said, ‘unless you want to be looking over your shoulder every time you go out. Today wasn’t an accident. We both know that. And next time you might not be so lucky.’ He automatically thought of Len and dread ran through him. ‘You can’t do this on your own.’

  Ellen suddenly got to her feet and walked briskly over to the window. She pulled back the curtain and peered down into the street again. ‘I can’t. I can’t tell you.’

  ‘So who else are you going to talk to?’

  She hesitated and then gave a tiny shrug.

  Harry sensed that she was weakening. ‘And is keeping it a secret going to make it go away?’

  She turned and shook her head again. ‘You don’t want to get involved.’

  ‘I’m already involved,’ he said. ‘I could have been killed too. If you don’t tell me then I’ll just keep rooting around until I find out for myself. And I will … eventually. That’s what I do.’ He gave a wry smile. ‘I’m very persistent.’

  Ellen pondered on this for a while and then came back and sat down beside him. She placed her hands on her thighs and her fingers instantly curled into two loose fists. ‘I don’t want Adam to know,’ she said.

  ‘I’m not about to tell him.’

  Her eyes narrowed as she looked over. ‘It’s not what you think,’ she said. ‘It’s just that he’s … he’s a good man, decent, and I don’t want him to worry. He doesn’t deserve to be burdened with my problems. He’ll get all worked up, upset and then …’

  Harry, alert to the possibility of domestic violence, anxiously inquired, ‘And then?’

  ‘See?’ she sighed. ‘You’re already jumping to conclusions – and you’re wrong, completely wrong. Adam is a good man, a good husband; he hasn’t got a bad bone in his body. But this isn’t something I can share with him. It’s too …’ She stopped and lowered her head again, her hands clenching tighter. ‘It’s too complicated.’

  Harry gave a nod. ‘I understand.’ In all honesty, he didn’t understand a whole lot at the moment but hopefully that was about to change. Anticipating that he was going to learn a secret she was keeping from her husband provoked another of those rather shameful thrills. What was the matter with him? Harry Lind didn’t do mad passion – or at least he hadn’t since his distant teenage years. Love, yes – he loved Val, didn’t he? – but this was something different, something entirely beyond his control. He wished he could understand why he felt so drawn to Ellen Shaw, why just sitting so close to her made his heart beat faster. A thin prickle of sweat had broken out on his forehead.

  She leaned forward and picked up the press cutting. She held it for a second and then passed it back to him. ‘You’d better keep this.’

  He folded up the sheet of paper and put it back in his pocket.

  ‘Look,’ she said, ‘if you’ll just let me tell you, without any interruption, then I’d appreciate it. I can’t stop and start. Is that okay? After, later, you can ask me what you like.’

  Harry nodded again.

  Ellen took a deep breath and began. She kept her face down, staring at the Persian rug as she talked. ‘Well, as you’ve already gathered, my parents didn’t die last year. I left Dublin straight after … after the accident. I couldn’t stand to be in that house alone and I didn’t intend to hang around and be taken into care. I was fifteen, old enough I thought to look after myself. I headed for London; I suppose it was just somewhere that I’d read about, a place where I could get lost in the crowd and start again. Of course when I arrived it wasn’t quite the paradise I’d expected. I struggled at first but things got better. I looked older than I was and after a while I made friends, got a job and then one evening I was introduced to Tony.’ She glanced up at him. ‘Tony Keppell.’

  Harry’s jaw dropped open but he had the sense to bite his tongue. Now wasn’t the time to interrupt.

  ‘I suppose you’ve heard of them? The Keppells?’ A tight strained laugh choked out of her throat. ‘Of course you have. They’re not exactly low-profile, are they? Tony and I became friends and then … we became closer. I liked him a lot. We were the same age and we understood each other. I’d lost my family and he felt isolated from his.’ She stopped and took another breath. ‘He was the youngest in the family,’ she continued. ‘Both his older brothers were part of the Firm, over six foot tall, strong, violent, busy getting respect and enjoying the power of lording it over the manor. Even his sister had a reputation. Tony was fifteen but they still treated him like he was a kid. He was smaller, more sensitive, kind of fragile. They used to tease him …’ She paused again, her cheeks flushing pink. ‘No, it was more than that; they used to taunt him and so he decided to …’

  Harry could see the emotion in her face. He reached out his hand and placed it over hers. He thought that she might pull away but, as if she’d barely noticed, she only lifted her slim shoulders and shrugged.

  ‘He’d met Paul Deacon before,’ she continued, ‘at some big charity gala – Jimmy Keppell always enjoyed playing the generous benefactor – and had heard the rumours. Everyone said that Deacon had a liking for young pretty men.’

  Ellen stopped again and glanced at him. Sliding her hand away from his, she sat back and crossed her arms defensively across her chest. ‘It all sounds so vile, so disgusting,’ she said. ‘And I suppose it was. But Tony was impulsive and he didn’t think things through. He was determined to compromise Deacon and then blackmail him. He knew his weaknesses. Deacon was rich, married, in a position of power; he couldn’t afford the scandal, especially of a relationship with an underage boy. I tried to talk him out of it but I couldn’t. It was impossible. Once he’d made up his mind, he just wouldn’t listen. He wanted the money so we could get away, start a new life on our own.’

  Ellen shifted again, uncrossing her arms. ‘And you pretty much know the rest,’ she said softly. ‘Tony made sure he was seen around with Deacon, in bars and restaurants. He wanted there to be plenty of witnesses. He made sure there were photos of them together too. Then, when he thought the time was right, he went round to Deacon’s flat and—’

  Her voice suddenly broke and she turned her face away. A single tear ran down her cheek. ‘I should have stopped him,’ she mumbled. ‘I … I should have done something.’

  Harry wanted to put his arm round her but fought against the impulse. She might see the gesture as unsuitable or predatory and the idea that she could think he was trying to take advantage was enough to make him hesitate. But that didn’t mean he wasn’t tempted. Quickly, he got to his feet and picked up her empty glass. ‘What could you have done?’ he said, walking over to the sideboard. ‘You can’t blame yourself for what happened.’ He poured another stiff brandy, carried it back and held it out to her. ‘Here, drink this.’

  She raised her face and struggled for a smile. ‘Thank you.’ She took a sip and then put it down. Pulling a tissue from her bag, she wiped at her eyes and gently blew her nose. ‘So there you have it; the whole sordid story. It’s not much to be proud of, is it?’

  ‘It’s not anything to feel that guilty about either,’ he said. ‘You didn’t go to the flat. You didn’t try to blackmail Deacon.’

  Ellen shook her head. ‘No, it’s not that simple. I was Tony’s girlfriend. I knew exactly what was going on and I stood back and did nothing. That’s just as bad.’

  ‘I think you’re being too hard on yourself. You were young. We can all look back with hindsight and wish we’d done this or done that. Ellen, you can’t let it haunt you for the rest of your life. This wasn’t you
r mistake.’

  ‘You’re very kind but they’re just excuses, aren’t they? We all have to take responsibility for our actions. I’ve spent years trying to hide from it, to pretend it never happened but …’

  Harry didn’t know what else to say to comfort her. Perhaps there was nothing that could be said. Instead he asked softly, ‘Is that why you went to see Deacon?’

  She stared down into her drink. ‘I wanted to know what really happened that night. I had to know. I went to the trial but it was all so vague: Deacon was trying to cover up the relationship. Even then, when he was facing a life sentence, he wasn’t going to admit that he was sleeping with a boy. He claimed they were just acquaintances. He said there had been a disagreement, a drunken row, then Tony had produced a gun – there’d been a struggle and it had gone off accidentally.’

  ‘But you didn’t believe him?’

  Ellen glanced up at him again, her dark eyes full of confusion. ‘I didn’t know what to believe. I’d never seen Tony with a gun before but his father had plenty; that house was like an arsenal. It wouldn’t have been hard for him to … he might have been scared that Deacon would turn on him. He might have taken it for protection.’

  She paused. ‘I’m not sure why I started thinking about it all again. It’s been a long time and I thought I’d got over it – well, learned to deal with it at least. Moving on: isn’t that what they call it?’ Her smooth pale forehead wrinkled into a frown. ‘I’ve always considered that a callous sort of phrase. I mean, you can’t just leave the bad stuff behind, just shove it aside and pretend it never happened. It’s always going to be there, casting its shadow. You know how that feels, don’t you?’

  As if she had hit a raw nerve, Harry started. He quickly reached for what remained of his brandy and knocked it back in one. Not for the first time, he wondered how Ellen Shaw was able to make him feel so utterly transparent. It was as though she could look straight into his soul and see all the dark and messy complications that were gathered there. ‘I guess,’ he mumbled into the glass.