by Susan Lewis
She glared at him, with loathing. “God, you really hate me, don’t you?”
“Hate you? No, I don’t hate you, Jenn. Not me. Now Maggie, yes, remember little Maggie? She hates you. Don’t ask me why, but she does. And I keep telling her, don’t worry, Maggie, I say, you’re not Jenneen’s type. But it makes no difference, she just carries on hating you. Still, I wouldn’t let it bother you, she’ll probably get over it.”
“OK,” said Jenneen. “OK. You’re right. Vicky and I are lovers. Yes, you’re right. We sleep together, and we make love together. Are you happy now? I’ve admitted it. Does that satisfy you?”
“Does it satisfy you, Jenneen?”
“You’re disgusting.”
“And you’re not?” He shrugged. “Anyway, I haven’t come here to discuss your perverted life with Vicky. No, I’ve come to say goodbye.” He walked across to the settee and sat down. “I’ve got a little something for you, actually,” he said. Delving into his jacket he pulled out a brown envelope, and handed it to her.
She didn’t take it, so he put it on the table. “No rush,” he said.
She looked at the envelope. Her curiosity got the better of her reluctance and she walked over to the table and picked it up.
Her voice escaped in a strangled cry as she saw the photographs inside, and for one horrifying moment she thought she was going to pass out.
“Nice town, Brighton, isn’t it?” he said.
Her face was ashen.
As he laughed she felt a white-hot furnace of hatred begin to rage inside her. He looked so ugly sitting there. His face unshaven, and angry red spots on his neck. His hair was greasy and uncombed. He looked like a tramp.
He reached out and took the envelope from her, turning it over in his hand as if he were making a study of it. “You know, it’s just occurred to me, do you think Vicky would like to see them? Jenneen on a day trip to Brighton? Well, I’ve got another set, I’ll let you have them, you can look at them together. Tell me, just out of interest, does the sight of two men fucking one woman turn you lesbians on?”
Her throat was dry and her voice croaked as she spoke. “There’s nothing you can do with those photographs, Matthew, and you know it. No newspaper in the land would print them. They wouldn’t be able to.”
“Oh, but they can. Not in their entirety, I grant you, but there are ways. And magazines of course. But they don’t get a wide enough circulation. And you want to be famous, don’t you, Jenneen? Sorry, I can’t help there. Well, I could, but I’m not going to. No, I’m not going to send these photographs to a newspaper or a pornographic magazine. No, I’m sending them somewhere quite different. The envelope is already addressed. Look, you can read it.” He pushed it towards her.
The thumping of her heart pounded through her ears and all she could do was look back at him.
“It doesn’t matter,” he said. “I’ll read it to you if you like,” and he turned the envelope over. “Number 23, Hallsinger Street, Oak . . .”
“Noooo!” she screamed. She rushed for the envelope and tore it out of his hand. And with unnatural strength, she ripped it into tiny pieces.
Matthew took another envelope from his pocket, identical to the last.
“You bastard! You fucking bastard! What have they ever done to you?”
“Your parents? Nothing. Leastways, nothing I can remember. No, I merely thought that they might be interested to know what their precious Jenneen gets up to, down here in little old London town. Or in this case, Brighton town.”
Jenneen felt her blood run cold. “How did you find their address?”
“Oh come on, Jenneen, it doesn’t take Sherlock Holmes to work that one out. Maggie. Remember, dear little Maggie. She’s got a set too. I think she wants to send them to her mother. Lives quite close to yours, doesn’t she?”
Jenneen’s mouth twisted in disgust. “Vicky was right about you. You’re evil. Sick, evil, sadistic and callous.”
“Back to Vicky, are we? Course, Mumsy doesn’t know about Vicky either, does she? Wonder if I should drop her a line and tell her about that too.” He got up from the chair and tucked the envelope back inside his jacket. “Still, didn’t you say something earlier about being in a hurry? So I’ll be off. Just thought I’d drop in and give you the news. Goodbye, Jenneen. Good luck,” and he walked towards the door.
“Stop, Matthew!” she hissed. “Just stop right where you are.”
He was smiling as he turned. “Did you want to say some . . .”
“Give me the envelope, Matthew. Give it to me, now.” Her hand shook very slightly as she tightened her grip on the barrel of the gun.
Matthew’s smile faded.
“Give it to me, Matthew.”
“You haven’t got the guts,” he sneered. “It’s probably not even loaded.”
“There’s only one way to find out. Now give me the envelope.”
“Jenneen, darling,” he said, poking his head forward, “go fuck yourself.”
“I mean it, Matthew. Give me the envelope, and then you can go. But you are not walking through that door until you do.”
“You’re mad! You can’t kill me, and you know it. What would that do to your precious image? Nympho, lesbian, and murderer. Oh yes, it’ll all come out if you kill me. Have you stopped to think about that?”
She stayed rooted, pointing the gun.
“I said put it down, dyke! Go on, put it down. You’re not going to use it. You might be a pervert, but you’re not stupid. Look at yourself, you’re pathetic. Go on then, shoot me. Look, I’ll even hold up my arms for . . .”
“Shut up!” she screamed.
“Shoot me, you bitch, and I’ll come back and haunt you. Go on, shoot me!”
“JENNEEN, NO!” Vicky screamed from the door.
And the blast was deafening.
THIRTY-EIGHT
Conrad and Ashley rushed through Customs at Heathrow Airport, and Conrad silently swore a vow to increase Candice’s salary as he saw a board being held up with his name on it. It was something he had completely forgotten, how he and Ashley were to get into London when they reached Heathrow. Obviously Candice hadn’t.
Ashley gave the driver her address in Onslow Square, and sensing their urgency, the driver sped along the M4 and arrived in South Kensington in a record seventeen minutes.
As they got out the driver handed the keys of the black Mercedes to Conrad. “Mr Arbrey-Nelmes thought you might have need of the car,” he said, and turned and walked off down the street.
Ashley rushed inside. Thank God Conrad had threatened to send her back to London, otherwise she might already have left her flat. It was empty, cold and rather cheerless, but she didn’t notice any of that. As she ran to the phone it started to ring. She snatched it up, but her fingers were shaking so badly she dropped it. Coming in behind her, Conrad picked it up and handed it to her.
“Hello!” she gasped.
“Ash! It’s me.”
“Ellamarie!”
“I called your office, they told me what happened . . .”
“Oh Ellamarie!”
“Ash, is there anything I can do? Please, let me help.”
“Yes, no . . .”
“Shall I come over?”
“Conrad’s here. I’m sorry, Ellamarie, I’ve got to ring off,” and banging her fingers against the connectors she cut the line. Quickly she dialled again.
“I’ll make some coffee,” said Conrad.
“I need something stronger than that,” she said as she waited for the connection. “Over there,” she waved her hand towards the drinks cabinet.
“Coffee,” said Conrad. “You’ll need a clear head,” and he walked into the kitchen.
She waited as the steady ringing tone came across the line. She counted how many times it rang. She must stay calm. Whatever she did, she must stay calm. Twenty, twenty-one, twenty-two, twenty-three.
Conrad came back into the room.
“He’s not at home,” said Ashley, and her f
ace began to crumple.
Conrad took the receiver from her hand and placed it back on the telephone. Then, taking her in his arms, he whispered: “It’s all right. Don’t worry, we’ll find him.”
“But where is he? Why isn’t he answering?”
“Is there anywhere else he might have gone?”
“I don’t know, I just don’t know. I can’t think. His mother, maybe he’s gone to his mother.”
“Have you got her number?”
“In my diary.”
Conrad walked across the room and picked up her handbag which she had thrown on the floor as she had run into the flat.
But no, Keith wasn’t at his mother’s, and no, Mrs Mayne didn’t know where he was. She thought he was still in New York. Ashley didn’t explain why she was calling, she just asked Mrs Mayne to have Keith call her at her flat in London, should he get in touch.
Conrad handed her a cup of coffee, and taking her by the arm he led her over to a chair.
“What do we do now?” she said, looking up into his face.
“Is there anyone else you can call? Anyone else who might know where he is? What about your friends?”
Ashley shook her head. “Oh my God! Kate!” she said, suddenly remembering. She covered her face with her hands. “Dear God, what’s happening? Why is everything going so horribly wrong?”
“Hey, hey there,” he said, putting his arms round her. “We’ll find him. Don’t worry, I promise you we’ll find him. But for the time being we’re just going to have to wait.”
“But where is Alex? What if . . .” Her voice trailed off as she began to cry again.
“What about your folks?” Conrad suggested. “Do you think he might have taken him there?”
“No. But maybe I should ring them, just in case.” She went back to the phone. She was half through dialling when Conrad took it away from her.
“No,” he said. “No. We don’t want to worry them yet. If he’s not there, then they’ll want to know why you’re in London. There’s got to be a better way of contacting them.” He took her back to the chair again. Then walking back to the phone he picked it up and dialled a number. “Julian?”
“Conrad,” said Julian. “At last. Any news? Candice told me everything. Was the car waiting for you at the airport? How’s Ashley? Where is she?”
“She’s here. We’re at her apartment in Kensington.”
“Is she all right?”
“Yes, at least she will be. Look . . .”
“Is there anything I can do?”
“That’s just what I was going to ask you. Get on the phone to Ashley’s folks. Don’t tell them anything about what has happened. Just ask if Alex is back from New York yet because you’ve got a birthday present for him, and then ring me back here. I take it you’ve got the number.”
Julian allowed himself a quick grin at the irony in Conrad’s voice. “Yes, I’ve got the number. I’ll call you as soon as I know anything.”
Conrad walked back across the room to Ashley, and pulling her up into his arms he led her across to the settee, where he sat down with her for what was going to be a long night.
It turned out to be the longest night of all of their lives. Ashley, Jenneen, Ellamarie, and Kate.
Ellamarie sat on the floor, clutching the telephone to her breasts and moaning quietly. In her worst nightmares she had never known anything like this. She had to speak to someone, please God there had to be someone out there who would listen. Where were Kate and Jenneen? Why didn’t they come? But in her heart she knew that there was only one person left now to whom she could turn.
Wiping her hand across her eyes she dialled the number. When the voice at the other end answered, in a halting voice she explained that she must speak with Bob McElfrey. It was very important.
It was a long wait, but she didn’t hang up. And eventually he was there.
“Bob,” she whispered.
There was a pause before he answered. “Ellamarie.”
She fought to keep her voice steady. “Bob, I must see you.” The tears were streaming silently down her face now. “I have to see you.”
“Ellamarie, I thought we’d said all there was to say.”
The tears threatened to drown her voice. “We said so little,” she stammered. And when he didn’t answer she cried: “Oh Bob, why did you walk away like that?”
He sounded impatient. “Look, I can’t talk now.”
Ellamarie looked down at the letter that was lying on the floor beside her. She picked it up and turned it over in her hand. “I saw the interview,” she said. “Why didn’t you tell me? Why did you let me find out like that?”
Bob glanced over his shoulder and saw that Linda was coming towards him. He thought quickly. “Look, meet me at the mews house,” he said, thinking that if he said the mews house he could arrange for Linda to ring him there, which meant he could get away quickly.
“What time?”
He looked at his watch. “In an hour,” he said. “It won’t take long will it?” He shook his head to show his exasperation, then smiled as he slipped an arm around Linda.
“No,” said Ellamarie, “it won’t ta . . .” but he had already rung off.
The time was passing slowly. At regular intervals Ashley rang Keith’s number in Surrey, but there was no reply. Once her phone had rung, but it had only been Julian reporting back after his telephone call to Ashley’s parents. Her mother had told him that Alex wasn’t going to be home until late the following week.
Ashley was much calmer now, though her face was white, and haggard with worry. Whenever she looked at Conrad it made his heart wrench to see the look in her eyes. It was as if she were asking him, almost begging him, to make it all right. He went to sit beside her and took her hand.
“I had a feeling,” she said, after a minute or two. “I knew something was going to happen. And then I thought, when you told me about Mercer Burgess, that that was what it had been – the feeling. That that was what was going to go wrong. But now . . . Oh Conrad, where do you think he’s taken him? Where are they?”
“I wish I could answer that,” he said. “But we’ll find them, I promise you, we’ll find them.”
“You don’t really think . . . Keith wouldn’t . . .” and she started to cry again.
He wiped the tears from her cheeks, and kissed her. “No,” he said, “no, he wouldn’t. He loves Alex.”
Ashley felt so tired, but she mustn’t sleep. What if Alex needed her? She must be there, she must stay awake. But Conrad’s hands were so soothing, and his voice so calm. She listened to him breathing, and tried to breathe in time with him.
Conrad looked down at her and saw her eyelids flickering as she fell into a doze. He bent his head and brushed his lips against her hair, then laid his head back against the cushions. He stared up at the ceiling knowing that there would be no sleep for him. This was a position he had never found himself in before, where something was beyond his control, and he didn’t like it. The feeling made him uneasy, and the frustration made him angry. He couldn’t understand a man who could do this to his own son.
Suddenly the telephone crashed into the silence. Ashley sat up with a start and looked at Conrad. He was watching her face, and he could see that she was afraid.
“Would you like me to answer?”
She shook her head. “No. If Keith knows that you’re here, then . . . no, I’ll go.”
She got up and walked to the phone. Her hand was shaking as she reached out to pick it up.
“Hello.”
“Ashley.”
“Keith, where are you?”
“I told you not to come.”
“Where’s Alex? What have you done to him? Where is he? Is he all right?”
“Yes, he’s all right. He’s here, with me.”
“Where are you?”
“Not far,” he said. “I have to give you credit for getting to London so quickly, Ashley. My mother told me you’d phoned.”
“Your mot
her? Is that where you are?”
“No.”
“Then where are you, Keith? Please, tell me where you are.”
“Did you read my letter?”
“Yes, I read it. You don’t mean those things, Keith, you know you don’t. You can’t hurt him, he’s only a baby. You can’t use him like this. Please, tell me where you are. Let me come and get him.”
“I told you, Ashley, you’re not having him back. You’re not taking him to New York.”
“All right,” she said. “All right. Anything. If that’s what you want, I won’t take him to New York. He can stay here, only don’t hurt him. Please, promise me you won’t hurt him.”
“He’s my son, Ashley, something I seem to have to keep reminding you of.”
“Then you didn’t mean all those things you said in the letter?”
“I meant them. If you try to take him back with you, then I’ll do it.”
“But I’ve already said, I won’t take him away. I’ll do anything, Keith, anything, only say you won’t hurt him. Where is he? Can I speak to him?”
“He’s asleep right now.”
“Has he asked for me? Oh Keith, how could you do this? How could you do it?”
“I’ve done it because I love him. Because I care about him and what happens to him. Because he’s my son, and I want him here with me.”
“I understand how you’re feeling, Keith, believe me I do. I know you love him, and he loves you. But he’s my son too, I wouldn’t do anything to harm him, you know I wouldn’t. I only want what’s best for him.”
“And I think it’s best for him to stay here in England, with me. You’ve got a career now, Ashley. You chose that career. No one asked you to go to New York. No one asked you to give up your son and go to New York. It was your decision, and now you’re going to have to pay the price. I told you, I want my son, and I’m going to have him.”
“But Keith . . .”
“You’re no good as a mother, Ashley. You failed, a long time ago.”
“Oh Keith,” she cried. “Please don’t do this to me. Please stop. Just let me see him. Just let me see that he is all right. I won’t try to take him away, I promise. I just need to see him. Tell me where you are, please. I’ll come right away.”
