‘I don’t want to interrupt - I just came to see how everybody was, and I wondered if I could persuade the walking wounded to have dinner with me,’ he said, making his way towards the bench and resting his hand lightly on Leo’s shoulder.
‘Only if you’re prepared to cut my food up for me,’ was Leo’s less than ecstatic response. But Tom had clearly got her measure.
‘Of course. It will be like taking Lucy out when she was little, although I doubt if the standard of behaviour will be as high.’ He grinned at Leo.
‘Do I need to get changed? It’s such a faff with this arm.’
‘No - I can cope with you looking scruffy. Come on - we’ll walk back to mine and we can travel in style, seeing as how I no longer have a beat up wreck to take you out in.’
‘Thank God for that,’ said Leo. ‘I’ll get my bag, then.’
* * *
Tom looked at Leo as she returned to the garden ten minutes later, and smiled his appreciation. Contrary to her previous remarks, it was clear that she had gone to some effort to look good, but he knew better than to comment. She gave him a typically Leo defiant glance.
He stood up and walked towards her, casually dropping his arm around her shoulders. He felt her tense for a moment, and then she surprised him by relaxing.
‘I’ve been telling Tom about Fiona and Charles and their rediscovered lurve,’ Ellie said. ‘It’s great that something good has come out of all this.’
Leo was less kindly disposed towards Fiona’s new found harmony.
‘If you say so, although I’m not sure that they deserve it given that she was prepared to have a relationship with Penny’s husband. I thought she was up to something because she got a phone call when we met for lunch, and she went all coy for a moment.’ Leo paused. ‘By the way, Ellie, I’ve been meaning to ask - what is Fiona’s big secret? She told me she’d had her heart broken, and Mrs Talbot says she was pregnant. What’s the big mystery?’
‘Oh, bloody Doreen Talbot ought to learn the art of discretion,’ Ellie said. ‘I’ve kept this secret for so many years, but I’m sure it’s not a problem telling you now, especially as Charles has finally been told the whole story. It happened when we were about seventeen. Fiona was always quite secretive, you know. Still is, it would appear. I knew she was seeing somebody, but I didn’t know who and she wouldn’t tell me. They used to meet in the woods, by the back road. All I knew was that he was older than her - and I suspected one of the teachers from school, but I may have been wrong. She was such a pretty girl. Do you remember?’
‘Not really,’ Leo answered. ‘She was your friend and I saw her at school, but I never actually thought about how she looked.’
‘A lot of men found her very attractive - and I say ‘men’ for a reason. She had the sort of looks that appealed to grown men rather than teenage boys, and she had some of the teachers twisted round her little finger.’
‘So she got pregnant and was sent away?’
Tom had a terrible feeling that he knew what was going to happen. The truth was racing towards them like a freight train, and he couldn’t for the life of him think how to stop it.
‘Oh no. She was never pregnant. That was just village speculation - and wrong. No, it was much worse than that.’ Elle paused. ‘It’s best if you don’t mention it to her, but actually she was raped.’
Tom felt every muscle in Leo’s body tighten, and he gripped her shoulder, pulling her gently towards him and willing her to keep calm.
‘Who, Ellie? Who raped her?’ Tom could hear the strain in Leo’s voice.
‘She wouldn’t say. Her parents didn’t believe her and told her she’d brought it on herself with the clothes she wore and the way she flaunted her body - none of which was true. Or at least, no more true than the rest of us. She told me because I found her sobbing her young heart out in our garden, of all places.’
‘Did she say what had happened?’ Max said. It was clear that this was news to him too, and Tom kept a firm grip on Leo’s taut shoulders.
‘She was incoherent. I tried to get her into the house, but she wouldn’t come. Probably afraid of The Old Witch, and who could blame her? So I took her home. All I could get out of her was that she’d thought he loved her. She’d gone to meet him in the woods as usual, and he just wouldn’t stop. She wasn’t ready, so she’d fought him and even screamed, but he’d laughed at her and told her to stop teasing him. In the end, he forced her and she was completely devastated. Anyway, I made her tell her parents thinking they would support her and call the police, but they packed her off to her aunt’s in London. That was it. She flatly refused to say who it was - not even to me - but I never went near those woods again. I didn’t hear from her after that until she turned up in the village a few years ago. And she never told Charles anything about it until this week.’
Leo was silent. She turned tragic eyes towards Tom, and he knew she was willing him to get her out of there. His arm tightened even more.
‘A sad story,’ he said. ‘But fortunately it seems things have turned out okay for them now.’
He leant towards Leo and brushed his lips against her hair, speaking softly.
‘Come on. I think we’ll have a night in. I’ve got a bottle of vodka in the freezer, and a huge biriani ready for the oven. Let’s go, shall we?’
Knowing that Leo’s stiffness would be interpreted as a typical reaction to such an overt display of affection, Tom raised his eyes to the sky and gave a slight shake of the head as if to signify how hopeless she was. Max and Ellie grinned at him as he raised his hand in farewell and guided Leo gently towards the garden gate.
As they made their way to the cobbled drive, Tom could hear Max and Ellie’s laughter and was glad Leo had said nothing. They would have to learn the truth sooner or later, but for now they deserved to enjoy their holiday and make peace with all that had happened. It was bad enough that Leo had to bear it, but at least he’d been there for her.
Still with his arm around her, Tom felt the pressure of Leo’s head lighten and he knew she was pulling away. Her moment of weakness gone, she would retreat behind her wall of indifference again. And he had no idea how to help her.
She stopped about half way down the drive and turned back to face the house, oblivious to the happy sounds from the garden, the hum of bees in the lavender or the cool evening breeze that gently stirred her hair, lifting it from her shoulders. Tom remained silent as he watched her expressionless face. She seemed lost in a sea of memories. Then she took a deep breath, and the tension left her body. She turned to Tom with lips turned upwards in valiant attempt at a smile, but her eyes were as bleak as frozen rock pools.
‘Come on. Let’s go and eat,’ she said.
Without waiting for his response, she walked down the drive towards the gate without a backward glance.
* * *
About the Author
Rachel Abbott was born and raised in Manchester, England, and trained as a systems analyst before launching her own interactive media company in the early 1980s. She sold her company in 2000 and in 2005 moved to the Le Marche region of Italy. She now divides her time between the home she shares with her husband in Italy and their home in Alderney, one of the Channel Islands where she is now writing her third novel.
Rachel Abbott’s first book – Only the Innocent – became an international bestseller, reaching the number one position in the Amazon charts and staying there for over four weeks.
Read the Prologue to Only the Innocent on your Kindle now!
Connect with Rachel Abbott online:
Twitter: https://twitter.com/Rachel__Abbott
Facebook: http://www.facebook.com/RachelAbbott1Writer
Website: http://www.rachel-abbott.com
Blog: http://rachelabbottwriter.wordpress.com
Acknowledgements
I owe a debt of gratitude to many people for their help in writing this book, and I sincerely appreciate the advice so willingly given by so many people.
As a
lways I would like to thank John Wrintmore for his insights into the workings of the police, and for answering every question – no matter how trivial. Brenda Duncan and Becky Scrivener – with many years experience between them of working in ICUs - were incredibly helpful with the details that hopefully make the hospital scenes realistic, and for explaining so much about coma patients. Any errors are entirely mine.
There were many people who offered nuggets of information – some of which didn’t quite make it into the book – but Patrick, Daniel, Claudia – thanks for taking the time to inform me about everything from teen-speak on Facebook to the maximum cash an individual can draw out of the bank without raising a red flag.
My early readers have been fantastic, providing excellent feedback and suggestions. Thank you Annie, Kath, Trevis, Janna, Sarah, Kathryn, Steven, Kenni and Lindsay – your comments were all so encouraging and positive. Particular thanks go to Judith for reading it not once, but twice.
Once again, Alan Carpenter has excelled in the design of the cover, despite being asked to go around the block more than once, ending up where we started and resisting the temptation to say “I told you so”.
I’ve had two terrific editors – Clare and Charlotte who helped so much in pulling all the threads together and making this a much better book than it might otherwise have been. I am genuinely grateful for all their hard work.
My particular gratitude goes to my agent, Lizzy Kremer who has been a constant source of support and guidance, as have the rest of the team at David Higham Associates – especially Laura and Harriet.
Finally, as always, my thanks to John for indulging me and allowing me to talk ceaselessly about the plots, the characters and the next book. Your belief in me is a source of inspiration.
Links
When writing The Back Road, I discovered a very useful document that explains the dangers of digital stalking. Even if you have never been a victim, it clearly outlines some of the risks and suggests best practices for safe use of social media. The PDF can be found here.
Throughout the novel there are various references to music – particularly when Max plays Ellie’s ‘soppy’ music. A Spotify playlist has been created here.
The Rachel Abbott website also includes recipes from the novel, which can be found here, and a selection of music videos for those of you who don’t use Spotify.
Only the Innocent
The number one bestseller
Prologue
Bright sunshine flooded through the tall windows, touching each surface with its dazzling light. Every corner of the room was bathed in a soft yellow glow, and its elegant proportions were displayed to their best advantage. It was a disaster. The one thing she hadn’t allowed for was a sunny day.
Maximum impact—that’s what she was striving for. The clothes, the hair, the jewellery; her attention to detail had been impeccable, and any false note would influence his perception of her credibility. But instead of completing the illusion by creating subtle lighting and atmospheric shadows, the room was more akin to a floodlit stage. It was the end of October in London. It was supposed to be raining.
She didn’t know what to do. Should she close the curtains? No. That would never work. Too obvious by far, and he wouldn’t like it. But time was running out, and she had to think fast. She adjusted everything quickly until she was sure it was as perfect as it could be, angling a wingback leather armchair so that it almost faced the door, sufficient that she could see his face without turning her head. But not straight on. That would give her nowhere to hide. And the light from the window had to be behind her, of course, throwing her face into enough shadow to disguise anything that her eyes might inadvertently reveal.
Her preparations were complete. All she could do now was wait and think of the inevitability of what was about to happen. Every muscle in her body was taut, and her shoulders were rigid. She forced herself to relax. She heard the sound of a taxi drawing to a halt and a car door slamming. She quickly glanced in the mirror to check that everything was perfect, and was alarmed to see the inner turmoil betrayed in her eyes. She breathed deeply, suppressing the thoughts and images that were crowding her mind, fighting to compose herself.
She heard nothing more for several minutes, but she knew he was in the house. There were no footsteps; the deep pile carpet in the hall and up the staircase to the third floor smothered any sound. But he was moving straight towards the bedroom. Every nerve ending in her body told her so.
The door opened slowly, but he remained in the doorway, his expression inscrutable. He didn’t speak for several moments, and she steadily returned his gaze. Nobody could deny that he was a handsome man. His tailored black suit hung perfectly on his tall, lean frame, and his grey-flecked hair was as immaculate as always. He looked every inch the successful man that he was. It was no wonder the media loved him so much.
Finally he smiled, the curve of his lips suggesting only the slightest trace of the victory he was no doubt feeling. Her heart jerked unsteadily, but her eyes didn’t falter.
“I knew you’d come.” He paused, and his glance raked her body. “You really had no choice, did you?” He nodded, as if with a sense of self-satisfaction. “You look perfect.”
Knowing she could afford no mistakes, she had chosen carefully—selecting a black leather knee-length skirt with sheer black stockings, coupled with a white silk-knit V-necked top designed to cling lightly to her breasts and offer a just a hint of what was beneath. Her legs were artfully crossed, showing a glimpse of thigh, and her simple but elegant gold jewellery completed the picture. It seemed that he was pleased. She had passed the first test and prayed that she could keep her emotions in check for just a little longer.
“Why the gloves?” he asked, noticing for the first time the elbow-length black silk gloves she was wearing.
“I thought you’d like them.”
He smiled again, and she knew he was mocking her. “And you were right.”
He pointed to the ice bucket that she had placed on the marble-topped console table, together with two flutes.
“Champagne! I see we’re celebrating.” He chuckled without mirth.
She reached across and, willing her hands not to shake, she poured a thin trickle of the pale golden bubbles into each glass.
He walked towards the table, picked up a glass, and took one careful sip. “Delicious, but a bad idea. I don’t think we should be dulling the senses, do you?” He carefully put the glass back on the table and looked straight into her eyes. “You’ve taken the initiative. That’s good. Does this mean you’re going to take charge today?”
She stood and walked purposefully towards him, her high stiletto heels sinking into the pile of the carpet. She knew exactly what he wanted, and she touched his cheek with a single gloved finger. “It does. I hope you’re ready for this.”
She didn’t need to wait for a reply. All she had to do was sound authoritative, and she knew he would comply. “Take your clothes off. All of them. Then lie down on the bed and wait until I’m ready.”
His eyes narrowed, but she knew he was pleased.
“And what are you going to do to me?” he asked, feigning a coolness that he was clearly no longer feeling.
“For now, I’m just going to watch.” She forced herself to look into his eyes. They were glittering with excitement, although his face continued to betray little or no emotion. She had seen that look before, and she knew just how dangerous it could be. She pushed the fear to the back of her mind.
He walked across the room, and slowly began removing his clothes, facing her and watching her all the time. Each item that he removed was carefully folded and laid on a chair until he was completely naked. As always, the sense of the unknown was arousing him, and she desperately wanted to look away.
“And now?” he asked.
“Lie on the bed, just as I told you,” she answered, her voice becoming stronger as she gained confidence.
He moved towards the four-poster bed in the centre
of the room, his proud stance betraying how conscious he was of his near-perfect body. His lightly tanned back, muscular buttocks, and long firm thighs could have belonged to a man half his age. He turned and lay down on the bed, smiling with a sense of triumph.
“I’m ready.” His voice was deepening with barely suppressed desire, and she smothered a shudder.
“See what I’ve got for you,” she said with what she hoped was a convincing smile.
From her bag she drew out five matching silk scarves, in a deep rich crimson. “Your favourite colour.”
He started to lick his lips as his excitement mounted. His features had transformed into an expression that was almost animal, his lips swollen with lust and his eyes blazing with expectation.
She moved over to the bed, and carefully and expertly tied first each arm, and then each leg to one of the four wooden bedposts. She took the fifth scarf and hesitated just for a second.
With a quick intake of breath and a visible straightening of her spine, she advanced towards the head of the bed.
“Today’s going to be special—I don’t want you to see anything until the very last minute.”
His answering smile held more than a trace of self-satisfaction, clearly believing that her only aspiration was to give him pleasure.
Without a word, she firmly tied the scarf over his eyes, and moved towards the door. His naked body displayed his excitement, and in a voice barely recognisable he asked, “What happens next?” She glanced across at him and forced herself to respond.
“Now you must wait. I promise you, it will be more than you are expecting.”
Quickly she moved into the luxurious bathroom adjoining the master bedroom. She was out of her clothes in seconds, and carefully slid into her costume, never removing the long black gloves. In less than three minutes, she was ready.
As she moved back into the bedroom, she could see that his arousal had not diminished for a second; the anticipation had simply heightened his passion. But a note of uncertainty crept into his voice when he heard a slight rustle as she moved, and then the almost imperceptible sound of two objects—one by one—being carefully placed on the bedside table.
The Back Road Page 40
