Scarborough Ball (Scarborough Fair Book 2)

by Margarita Morris

  She pressed speed dial but his phone went straight to voice mail. A thought inside her head said, He’s stood you up. He’s getting tired of you. Rose pushed it away. He’d been his normal self yesterday, hadn’t he? She tried to think of anything out of the ordinary that had happened and came up blank. What had they talked about? Scarlett’s party, of course. That had been a topic of contention, certainly, but he didn’t mind that much about going, did he? And to think she’d just gone and blown fifty quid on a new dress. She tried calling him once more but there was still no answer.

  Quarter past seven arrived and the doors to the cinema closed. She hated to admit it but it looked as if Dan had stood her up. She felt a surge of anger which quickly turned to a feeling of foolishness, standing there on her own, shivering. What if Scarlett and her new boyfriend were to walk past now? It wouldn’t take a genius to work out what had happened. But the last thing she wanted to do was go home.

  If she went home now her mother would be delighted. Andrea wouldn’t be able to hide her pleasure that Dan had finally proved himself to be the unreliable misfit she’d always believed him to be. Rose wasn’t yet ready to admit that her mother was right. There had to be an explanation. But where else could she go? Sophie and the others had said something about going to a bowling alley. She could join them; they’d be glad to see her. She found Sophie’s number in her phone’s address book and her thumb hovered over the dial button. Then she stopped. What would she say to them? They’d know there was something wrong and Rose didn’t think rolling coloured balls at skittles was going to help lift her mood. She didn’t want to tell them she was worried about Dan, but she didn’t want to have to lie either. In the end there was only one person she wanted to see right now. She dialled Zoe’s number.

  Over the summer Zoe had been living rough in an abandoned lunatic asylum on the outskirts of Scarborough. Unfortunately it had been the same place that Max and his crooks had used to hide their boxes of cocaine and when the criminals had discovered Rose and Zoe hiding in the basement they had wasted no time in tying them to an old metal bedstead whilst they made their getaway. If it hadn’t been for Zoe’s dog Lucky, the two girls might have been imprisoned there indefinitely. Spending an afternoon tied up with someone gave you a special bond that you didn’t have with other people. Back then Zoe hadn’t owned a mobile phone, but she had one now that she was back living with her mum in a council flat and training to be a hairdresser in a local salon. Rose dialled the number before she could change her mind.

  ~~~

  A torrent of swear words spewed from Fiona’s mouth when she saw the scene of carnage in her bedroom. When she paused for breath, Dan explained to her as calmly and tactfully as he could that he believed the burglar may have been looking for the diamond bracelet.

  “What makes you say that?” she demanded, clutching the bracelet with her left hand as if a mugger was about to yank it from her wrist there and then.

  Here goes, thought Dan. He took a deep breath and told her what Ryan had told him in prison.

  Fiona stared at him in fury. “So you’re telling me this bracelet was stolen in the Hatton Garden robbery?”

  “Uh-huh.”

  “The lying bastard!” She wrenched it off her wrist and threw it onto the bed where it disappeared into a pile of underwear. “I wish the burglar had found it.” She buried her face in her hands and Dan thought she was going to burst into tears. Then she straightened up and marched out of the room. “We have to call the police.”

  Half an hour later they were explaining what had happened to a young constable and a female officer who introduced themselves as Barry and Kirsty. They examined the broken lock and concluded it had probably been smashed with a hammer. They wanted to know when Dan and Fiona had left the house that morning, where they’d been all day and what time Dan had arrived back. Dan got the impression they were reading the questions off a script, so he told them about the motorcyclist he’d seen hanging around. That got their attention.

  “Do you have his number plate?” asked Kirsty, looking hopeful.

  “No,” said Dan. “Sorry.”

  “That’s a shame. There’s not a lot we can do without a number plate.”

  The police dusted the door handles and the bedroom for fingerprints, but Dan didn’t think they’d find any. This had been a professional job, not some bungling amateur trying his luck.

  Fiona didn’t tell the police the bracelet was stolen property and Dan didn’t see that it was his job to enlighten them. He’d passed on the information to his mum and he decided it was up to her what she did with it.

  By the time the police left it was seven thirty. Fiona bolted the front door on the inside since the lock was now useless. It was then that Dan suddenly remembered he should have met Rose half an hour ago. Crap! She’d think he’d stood her up. He’d forgotten to switch his phone on after the prison visit. He switched it on now and found two missed calls. He called her back but her phone was switched off. She was probably really pissed off with him. What was the best thing to do? He could go round to her house, but if she wasn’t there he’d have to face her mother and he really didn’t feel up to that. Besides, if he went out they’d have to unbolt the front door and leave it unbolted until he got back. He didn’t think his mum would appreciate being left alone in the house after what had just happened. Tomorrow she was going to speak to the landlord and ask him to fit extra secure locks on all the doors and windows, but right now he could understand if she felt vulnerable. He was pretty shaken himself. He’d have to wait until tomorrow to see Rose, and then he was going to have some explaining to do.

  ~~~

  Twenty minutes later Rose and Zoe were walking briskly along the prom, the wind tugging at their hair and the roar of the waves crashing against the shore. Lucky trotted a few paces ahead of them, leading the way. Zoe never put him on a lead. He was the best-behaved dog Rose had ever met and just seeing his trusting, intelligent face had made her feel a little better already.

  “So what’s up?” asked Zoe. “You look really hacked off.” When Rose had first met Zoe back in the summer Zoe had been wearing her long hair in braids. Now it was cut in a layered style that framed her face. She peered at Rose from under a long fringe.

  “Sorry,” said Rose. “I don’t mean to be a grump. It’s just that I was supposed to meet Dan this evening and he didn’t show up. He’s not answering his phone either.”

  “Humph,” said Zoe indignantly. “And after all you did for him. But that’s boys for you. Reliability isn’t exactly their middle name.”

  “Yeah,” said Rose, feeling a surge of female solidarity. Zoe didn’t take shit from anyone and initially Rose had thought her a bit scary, but that had just been a defence mechanism. Zoe was all right really.

  “You know what I think?” said Zoe, turning to face her friend.

  “What?”

  “There’s only one type of fella you can really rely on.”

  “What’s that?”

  “The four-legged type. Lucky, come here boy!”

  Lucky was busy examining the remains of a discarded burger that the seagulls hadn’t been able to finish. At the sound of his name the dog came bounding back to them, ears pricked and tail wagging.

  Rose knelt down and wrapped her arms around him, burying her face in his rough fur. She just hoped Dan would come back too.

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  I should have turned round there and then. I should have told him that I had no interest in starring in one of his films, that it was Ruby who wanted to be a film actress, not me. I should have gone to the ladies’ powder room and looked for her. I should have dragged us both out of that damn hotel and far away. I’ve told myself all this a thousand times since that night. But, naive and foolish as I was, I walked into room 105 and Mr Franklin followed, closing the door behind him.

  He turned up the lights and I saw just what a luxurious room it was. It must have been one of the most expensive suites in the hotel. A Persian
rug in an intricate design of reds and yellows lay at the foot of the bed; the walls were decorated in burgundy flock wallpaper; the double bed was covered in a dark pink, satin bedspread with plumped-up, lace-edged pillows arranged by the headboard. Either side of the bed were bedside tables in carved mahogany. The tables held a pair of matching Art Deco lamps: each one a bronze figure in the shape of a naked woman standing elegantly on tiptoe and holding above her head a large, white glass globe. I had never seen such seductive lights.

  Mr Franklin dropped the room key onto a glass-topped dressing table near the door, then walked over to one of the bedside lamps and lit it. The white globe shone brightly, illuminating the bronze figure beneath and throwing her slender curves into shades of light and dark. He lit the lamp on the other side of the bed and then turned down the main light. I stood by the dressing table, a knot of anxiety in my stomach, glancing towards the door, waiting for Ruby’s knock. Surely she wouldn’t be much longer?

  “That’s better,” said Mr Franklin, walking towards me. I assumed he was referring to the lights, which were indeed very beautiful.

  He removed his jacket, letting it fall onto a nearby chair. Then he undid his bow tie, pulled it from his neck and tossed it onto the dressing table. It landed near the room key. He removed his shirt collar and unfastened a pair of onyx cuff links, rolling back his shirt sleeves to reveal forearms covered in dark hairs. He was wearing red braces.

  “I’m sure Ruby won’t be much longer,” I said, my voice sounding high-pitched and a little shaky. “What sort of film do you have in mind for her?”

  He stood in front of me, placed a hand under my chin and tilted my head up towards him.

  “Actually, I was thinking you might be more the sort of girl I was looking for.” Keep him talking, I told myself. Ruby will be here soon.

  I took a step backwards and bumped into the glass edge of the dressing table. “Oh no,” I said, laughing nervously. “I think there’s been a misunderstanding. I’m not looking to star in a film. Ruby’s the one who...”

  He put his hands on my shoulders and bent his head down towards mine. I could smell alcohol and cigarettes on his breath. I turned my head to the side and tried to inch my way along the edge of the dressing table towards the door. He held me tighter and moved closer.

  “Don’t play games,” he said.

  “I’m not. Look, please stop...”

  His lips were on mine, then, warm and moist. I struggled to free myself from his grasp but I was pinned against the edge of the dressing table which was digging painfully into the base of my spine. I squeezed my arms up in front of my chest and tried to push him away but he was like a rock that wouldn’t budge.

  I felt helpless and then I thought of the feisty heroines in American movies and how they stand up for themselves. I bent my right leg back into the central gap under the dressing table and swung it forwards with as much force as I could muster, kneeing him in the groin. I didn’t manage to hurt him as much as I’d hoped, but it was enough to throw him off balance. Shock registered on his face and he let go of my shoulders.

  I made a dash for the door which was just out of reach, but he was too quick for me. He was behind me now and he grabbed hold of my upper arms, his hands squeezing painfully tight. He breathed into my ear, “You little bitch!”

  No one had ever called me that before and the words stung. I tried to break free, turning from side-to-side. But he had me in a vice-like grip and he manoeuvred me across the room and then pushed me down onto the bed, my face pressed into the pink, satin bedspread. For a moment I couldn’t breathe, but then he rolled me onto my back and, before I could get up, he had clambered on top of me, straddling me with his legs. I would have tried to knee him again but he sat on my legs and pinned his arms either side of my body, bringing his face close to mine. His eyes glittered with anger and a madness that I hadn’t seen before. I tried to scream but my voice came out in a whimper. I turned my head to the side, clamping my mouth shut, in an attempt to avoid his mouth on mine.

  One of the Art Deco lamps was less than two feet away. The bronze woman looked as if she was about to hurl her glass globe at my assailant. That must have been what gave me the idea. I grabbed hold of Mr Franklin’s hair with my left hand and with my right hand I stretched as far as I could until my fingers came into contact with the legs of the naked woman. As he pawed at my breast with his hand, I curled my fingers around the lamp, lifted it into the air, surprised at how heavy it was, and swung its weight down on the top of his head. The glass globe shattered into a thousand pieces.

  Mr Franklin let out a roar of pain and rolled away from me and off the edge of the bed. As he fell, the back of his head connected with the corner of the mahogany table to my left, making a cracking noise like the sound of a cricket ball hitting the bat. Then I heard a snapping sound and he landed on the floor with a thump that shook the room. The remaining bronze figurine wobbled and then fell on top of him, plunging the room into darkness.

  I lay where I was, not daring to move. My heart was thudding in my chest and my breathing was coming in ragged, short gasps. I thought I was suffocating. All the time I was listening for any movement from the floor, terrified that Mr Franklin was going to suddenly jump up and attack me again. After a couple of minutes, when there was no sound, I moved very carefully to the other side of the bed. Crystals of glass fell from my dress. I felt the floor under my feet and stood on shaky legs, then I stumbled towards the door in the dark. It took me a moment or two to find the handle. I wrenched the door open and Ruby was standing outside, about to knock. She paused with her knuckles raised and stared at me in horror.

  “Whatever has happened to you?” she asked.

  I tried to speak but couldn’t find the right words. Ruby peered into the dark room, a frown on her face. Then she stepped over the threshold, closed the door and put on the light. She started to say, “Where’s Theodore...” and then she saw him lying motionless on the floor beside the bed. His neck was twisted to the side at an awkward angle and a pool of dark crimson blood was leaking out of the back of his head and staining the carpet. She let out a strangled scream and clapped her hand to her mouth. I saw her taking in the scene: me, a dishevelled mess; the broken lamps; the glass and the prone figure of Theodore Franklin.

  “Oh my God, Lilian. What’s happened?”

  I clutched hold of her arm. “I think I’ve killed him.”

  ~~~

  “Don’t be ridiculous. What do you mean, you’ve killed him? You can’t have killed him.” Ruby was shaking her head at me in disbelief.

  “I didn’t mean to do it,” I cried. “It was an accident. You have to believe me.” I was shaking so violently I thought I might be sick.

  “But he was going to give us a part in one of his films!” Ruby looked stricken and I worried that she might turn on me, blame me for ruining her dreams.

  “No he wasn’t!” I shouted at her. “Don’t you see? It was all a ruse! He just wanted to get us up here so that he could...he could...” I struggled to find the right words. “So that he could have his wicked way with us.” I realised how prim and proper that sounded so I added, “He tried to rape me!” The full horror of what had almost happened hit me and I burst into tears.

  “He did what?”

  I pointed at the bed. “He forced me onto the bed...he climbed on top of me. He was like a wild animal.” My world was falling apart and I desperately needed Ruby to believe me but she was staring at me and shaking her head.

  “I don’t understand,” she said. “He was so nice, and charming.”

  Now it was my turn to be angry. “No!” I screamed at her, “He was just a good actor. But I’m not acting. What I’m telling you is the truth. I’m not a liar!”

  That brought her to her senses. She flinched as if I’d slapped her.

  “Hey, calm down,” she said, stepping forward and putting an arm around me. “It’s all right, I do believe you. It’s just such a shock, seeing you like this and him lying
there.”

  At those words relief flooded through me and I sobbed in Ruby’s arms, telling the whole story right from the time we’d entered the room to when she arrived.

  “I hit him with one of the lamps,” I explained, “but then he rolled off the bed and hit his head on the bedside table and the other light fell on top of him. It was an accident.”

  “I’m so sorry,” said Ruby. “I had no idea he was such a cad.” She turned to look at Mr Franklin who still lay horizontal without moving a muscle. “But he can’t be dead, just from hitting his head, can he? Is he pretending?”

  “For God’s sake, Ruby, this is not a film. I tell you, he’s not moving. In fact,” I added, “I think I heard his neck snapping as he fell.” I shuddered at the memory. I could hardly bear to look at him. The pool of blood on the floor had spread around his head like a devilish halo, staining his white shirt. His mouth hung slack and his eyes were partially open, but unseeing. If only he’d move. Show some sign of life, I wanted to shout at him.

  “He’s probably just unconscious,” said Ruby, tentatively.

  We stood side by side looking at the body of the movie director, both of us reluctant to approach too close.

  “Do you think so?” A tiny flame of hope flickered in my breast. Maybe I hadn’t killed him after all. Maybe he was just badly injured, which would serve him right for taking liberties with me. But I couldn’t bear to go near him and see.

  Ruby took a deep breath and walked over to Mr Franklin. Taking care not to step in the pool of blood, she knelt by the prone figure and placed two fingers on his neck. I held my breath. Then Ruby said, “I can’t feel a pulse.”

  “Maybe it’s just a bit weak.” I was grasping at straws. “He’s lost a lot of blood.” The man was a monster and a brute but I couldn’t bear the thought that I’d killed another human being, even if it was in self-defence and an accident.