The One You Love (Emma Holden suspense mystery trilogy)

by Paul Pilkington

  ‘No, it was good, honestly.’

  ‘I was wondering,’ Stuart began. ‘There’s this new play that’s just started – it’s had really good reviews. Tragic love story, I think. I wondered if you’d like to come and watch it with me. Otherwise I’ll be just going on my own.’

  ‘What about your girlfriend?’ asked Emma, searching for an excuse to decline the offer.

  ‘She’s not really into the theatre,’ he said, in a disappointed tone that betrayed the fact that he had taken the hint.

  ‘Look, Stuart,’ Emma said. ‘I really appreciate you asking, but I don’t think it’s such a good idea. Not just now, with everything else that’s going on.’

  ‘I understand. I shouldn’t have asked.’

  Emma felt sorry for him. ‘No, not at all. It was nice of you to ask. But I just can’t think about anything else at the moment, not with everything that’s going on. Please don’t take offence.’

  ‘Honestly, I won’t. And I promise, if any more press people call up I’ll tell them to take a running jump.’

  ***

  ‘I didn’t take the photo,’ said Eric, looking at the newspaper that Emma had picked up on the way to the park – a replacement for the one her father had torn up.

  ‘It must have been you,’ Emma accused. ‘This was taken on the day I spoke with you – the day you were taking my photograph.’

  ‘But this isn’t one of my photos,’ Eric countered, pointing at the image. ‘I only took your photograph up close. This was taken from a distance, with a zoom lens.’

  ‘Why should I believe you?’

  ‘Because it’s the truth – and I already told you, I don’t sell my photos to newspapers. I never have and I never will,’ he said with passion. ‘Someone must have been watching you from a distance. It’s nothing to do with me.’

  ‘Are you sure it was taken from a distance?’

  ‘Positive. Look, I know more about photography than most people. It was definitely taken from a long way away.’

  Emma looked across the park, as if a person might still be there, watching with the long-range camera. Of course she couldn’t see anyone. She turned back to Eric.

  ‘Were you at the launch party last night?’

  ‘No. I thought about going, but I didn’t in the end. Why?’

  ‘I thought I saw you there.’

  ‘Must have been my clone,’ Eric joked. ‘I was tucked up in front of the television. You can ask my mum if you like.’

  ‘I’m sorry, Eric, for accusing you. It’s just that when I saw that photograph, I just thought that it had to be you who’d taken it.’

  ‘I can understand that,’ he said. ‘It must be awful being splashed all over the newspapers like that.’

  ‘It is,’ she admitted.

  ***

  As Emma returned to the apartment she couldn’t shake the feeling that someone might be watching her – maybe the same someone who had taken her photo for the newspaper. She hurried back as quickly as possible without breaking into a run. Occasionally she glanced around, but she didn’t spot any photographers. But then again, they were probably very good at keeping out of sight.

  There were a few letters waiting for her back at the apartment. She could tell from looking at most of them that they were junk mail. But one letter was so intriguing that she opened it in the hallway. It was in a standard white envelope, with her address typed across the front. But it just seemed different to the rest of the post. As she tore it open she hoped it was from Dan.

  Within seconds of starting to read it, she wished it hadn’t been from him.

  ‘No,’ she said, shaking her head in disbelief, as tears splashed down onto the paper. ‘She wouldn’t do that to me… she wouldn’t.’

  40

  ‘We were starting to wonder if you’d forgotten,’ joked Sarah, as Emma entered the theatre lobby.

  ‘Sorry, got delayed. Couldn’t decide what to wear.’ Emma met the group of girls with a smile and a “what can you do?” shrug. But the smile was an effort. It was hard not to think back to the hen party, the last time that they had been together. How things had changed. But as if that wouldn’t have been bad enough, she was still reeling from the revelations contained in Dan’s letter earlier that day.

  ‘You just missed Lizzy,’ Sarah said. ‘She popped out to say hello – she’s invited us to some nightclub after the performance. Supposedly they’ve hired out the whole place. Should be a great night out.’

  ‘Sounds great,’ Emma said.

  ‘Lizzy’s got herself a secret admirer,’ Sarah continued.

  ‘Really?’ Emma said, her stomach sinking at the news.

  Sarah nodded. ‘Someone sent her a massive bouquet of flowers, wishing her luck for tonight.’

  ‘She didn’t say who it was from?’ Emma asked.

  ‘Unfortunately not,’ Sarah lamented. ‘We were hoping that you might have some idea – you being her best friend and all.’

  ‘Haven’t got a clue. She hasn’t mentioned anyone to me.’

  ‘Pity,’ Sarah replied. ‘We’ll have to try and drag the truth out of her. Call me suspicious, but I’m sure that she does know who sent those flowers. I just got the feeling that she knew more than she was letting on. Maybe I’m wrong.’

  ‘Maybe,’ Emma mused, thinking about what she was going to have to do.

  ‘We’d better get to our seats,’ interrupted Claire, another one of the gang, poking her head around from the front of the group. She was holding a gigantic bag of chocolates. ‘The show will be starting any minute.’

  ***

  Emma watched in the darkness as Lizzy gave the performance of her life. There was no denying that she was fantastic. The voice, the acting, and the overall look – it was flawless. After all those hours of stressing over the script, and all those doubts, everything had come right. And despite what Emma had just learnt, she still felt pleased for her best friend. But as the cast returned to the stage for the last time, taking their final bow, a knot tightened in her stomach. It wouldn’t be long before the night would take a very different turn.

  ***

  ‘Emma!’ Lizzy shouted, rushing up to her friend and embracing her in a full-body hug. ‘What did you think?’ She moved away but still held onto both of Emma’s hands.

  ‘I thought you were fantastic.’ Emma smiled. ‘Absolutely fantastic.’

  ‘Really?’ Lizzy’s eyes glazed over and her face broke out into a wide smile. ‘You don’t know how much that means to me. That’s why I wanted to speak with you now, before I see the others. I don’t mind what anyone else thinks, as long as you liked it.’

  Shortly after the end of the show, as the group had been waiting in the theatre foyer, a message had come through from Lizzy inviting Emma backstage into her dressing room.

  ‘Well, I did,’ Emma said, noticing the bouquet of flowers in the corner of the room.

  ‘Someone sent them to me,’ Lizzy explained, noticing Emma glance at the flowers. ‘They’re really expensive as well.’

  ‘You don’t know who sent them?’ Emma asked.

  ‘No.’

  ‘No note?’

  ‘There is a note.’ Lizzy moved towards the flowers and picked up a small piece of cardboard. ‘But all it says is “Good Luck”.’ She handed it to Emma. ‘Doesn’t give away very much.’

  But it did.

  ‘What’s the matter?’ said Lizzy, concerned, as Emma stared at the note. ‘You think you know who they’re from?’

  ‘I went back to the flat this afternoon,’ Emma said. ‘There was a letter from Dan.’

  ‘Really? You should have told me. I wouldn’t have minded being interrupted.’

  Emma closed her eyes briefly, searching for the right words. ‘The letter was about you,’ she said, looking away.

  ‘What?’ Lizzy said. ‘I don’t understand. Why would it be about me?’

  ‘Promise you’ll be honest with me,’ Emma said, turning to face her friend. ‘No matter what, promise
you’ll tell me the truth about this.’

  ‘Em, I don’t understand what you’re on about. Just tell me what’s going on, please.’

  ‘Dan said that you two have been having an affair,’ Emma said.

  ‘What?’ Lizzy said, aghast. ‘But that’s rubbish. I’d never do that, Em. Never. Why would he say something like that?’

  ‘So it’s not true,’ Emma said, her voice faltering with emotion.

  ‘It’s complete bullshit,’ Lizzy said, her face reddening. ‘What else did he say?’

  ‘He said that you’d been having a relationship for a few months,’ Emma said. ‘And that Richard and he fought because Richard found out about it and was threatening to tell me the truth.’

  ‘He’s lying,’ Lizzy protested. ‘Em, I don’t know why he’s saying this, but it’s not true. I wouldn’t do it to you. You know how much you mean to me. I can’t believe he’d say that.’

  Emma looked down again at the note. ‘This note, with the flowers. It was written by Dan. It’s his handwriting.’

  Lizzy was speechless.

  ‘He said in the letter that he had proof that you two were having a relationship,’ Emma stated.

  ‘He can’t have,’ Lizzy countered, ‘because it’s not true. You do believe me, don’t you? You can’t think I’d do that to you?’

  ‘I want to believe you. But I don’t know if I can.’

  Their eyes met, tears glistening.

  ‘Please, believe me,’ Lizzy begged.

  ‘I don’t know what to believe anymore,’ Emma admitted. ‘One of the two people I trusted the most is lying, and I’ve got to decide who.’

  ‘Maybe you’d better go,’ Lizzy said sadly, ‘while you decide.’

  Emma turned and walked out of the dressing room. As she slipped out of the theatre and weaved her way through the night-time revellers of central London she had never felt so alone.

  But the problem was, she wasn’t alone at all.

  41

  Nurse Mary Donahue had been keeping her eye on the visitor in the private room for some time now. He had seemed harmless enough at first, but when she’d come in to check on Richard Carlton, something felt wrong. It was as if she’d just interrupted a conversation – an argument, even. The man was looming over Richard, just staring. And he was still doing just that, a good thirty minutes later. There was a time when Mary Donahue would never have thought the worst of anyone in hospital. But it was different now. Things had changed the night a drugged-up patient attacked her with a used syringe. Thank God the blood tests had come back negative. It had been hard returning to work two months ago, but she had done it. But it wasn’t surprising that the experience had changed her perspective on life.

  ‘Everything okay?’ Mary asked, entering the private room but being careful to wedge the door open. She hoped that her question sounded relaxed, even if she wasn’t.

  The man didn’t react. It was as if he was the one in a coma.

  ‘Everything okay?’ She tried again, this time her voice faltering.

  ‘Oh, fine, fine,’ he said, returning to life and seemingly shocked to notice her standing at the door. He raised himself up and blinked a couple of times, rubbing his face.

  ‘Would you like a drink?’ she asked. ‘I can do you a tea or coffee. Might not taste that great, but it’s wet.’

  Her smile wasn’t returned.

  ‘I’m okay,’ he said, looking anything but.

  ‘Are you a relative?’

  ‘No,’ he said. ‘Friend of the family.’

  ‘It’s difficult isn’t it,’ she observed, looking at Richard and then back at the unnamed man. ‘Knowing how to deal with someone in a coma.’

  ‘Yes,’ he agreed. ‘Will he recover?’

  ‘Impossible to tell, really,’ she admitted. ‘But there’s always hope. Some people do make a complete recovery.’

  ‘Will he remember everything?’

  ‘Coma survivors often have some form of memory loss,’ she said, being careful not to get this man’s hopes up by referring directly to Richard’s case.

  The man turned to look at Richard. It was then that Mary stole a glance and noticed that he was grasping something in his right hand. It looked like a piece of plastic – a cord, maybe. Her body stiffened as the man’s attention shot back to her, noticing where she had been looking. His fist tightened around whatever he was holding.

  ‘I’d better go,’ he said, lowering his head and striding out of the room, brushing past her.

  Mary stood aside and let him go, unchallenged. She was in no position to do anything else – the man had towered above her slight frame. But she could do something now. She moved out of the room and watched as the man disappeared through the double doors. Then she hurried over to the nursing station and picked up the phone.

  ‘Hello, security? Nurse Donahue here on Ward 23. You wanted me to let you know if anything suspicious happened up here with Richard Carlton…’

  ***

  Emma thought about going to the hospital to see Richard, but visiting hours had long since ended. Instead she headed back to her apartment. She needed to sort things out with Lizzy, but tonight wasn’t the night to do it. It was best to let the dust settle and take stock in the morning. She closed the door behind her and went around the apartment, flicking on all of the lights. It wasn’t environmentally friendly, but it made her feel a bit better – a little safer. Then she ran a bath and made a cup of tea.

  The intercom buzzed shortly after she had slipped into the bath. She remained there, her desire to soak in the warm water outweighing her desire to find out who it was. She closed her eyes and dipped her nose towards the water line.

  Then the intercom buzzed again, and again. It became more insistent. So much so that Emma began to worry about who it was. And whether they were in trouble.

  Could it be Dan? Or Lizzy?

  She climbed out of the bath, wrapped a towel around herself and pattered out into the hallway, leaving a trail of wet footprints in her wake. A chill whipped around her bare shoulders and legs as she reached the intercom. It buzzed again just before she could speak.

  ‘Hello? Who is it?’

  She waited, but there was no answer.

  Again, the buzz – this time slightly longer than before.

  ‘Hello?’ she said again.

  Silence.

  ‘Look, if this is someone just messing around you can just go to…’

  ‘Help me,’ a weak, barely audible voice interrupted.

  ‘Dan?’ Emma shouted. ‘Is that you?’

  ‘Help me,’ the voice repeated in its deathly whisper.

  ‘Dan?’

  ‘Quickly,’ the voice said.

  Emma raced into the bedroom, dropping her towel and grabbing her training outfit. She dressed and then headed for the door, not even bothering to shut it behind her. As she rushed down the stairs she had to check herself, for fear of falling. The stairs were quite steep and slippery. Thoughts flashed through her mind of who would be waiting for her at the bottom.

  When she got to the entrance hall she slowed to a stop, taking the opportunity to look through the outside door, hoping to make out Dan’s silhouette. But no one was there. Emma stepped towards the door, breathing heavily, and grasped the handle. Not knowing whether she was doing the right thing, she opened the door and stepped outside.

  Flash!

  ‘What?’ Emma exclaimed, shielding her eyes from the bright light.

  Flash! Flash!

  She squinted and saw the hooded figure at the bottom of the steps, pointing the camera at her. The person was wearing a balaclava.

  Flash!

  ‘What the hell…’ Emma said, taking a step towards the figure.

  It turned and ran.

  Instinctively, she gave chase. She pursued them down Marylebone High Street, keeping her target in sight, as he turned first into St. George Street and then onto Baker Street. But he gave her the slip by running straight across a road junction, narrowly
avoiding a Double Decker and 4x4.

  Emma watched, breathless with adrenalin as the figure disappeared into the distance. She took a moment, then turned and headed back to the apartment – there was no point in chasing them any further. As she walked back, she tried to take in what had just happened. She was shocked and upset, and couldn’t believe the lengths journalists would go to, just to get a picture.

  By the time she reached the apartment she was thoroughly unnerved. If this sort of unwanted attention was the price of success, then she didn’t want any of it. She locked the door and went into the living room, collapsing onto the sofa, her head spinning. She really needed someone to talk to – Lizzy, or Will.

  ***

  Emma was woken by a knock on the door. At first, dazed by tiredness, she thought it might have just been part of a dream. But as she staggered across the room and moved towards the door there was another knock.

  Was it the photographer, coming back to get a closer shot?

  Or was it something more sinister?

  But how had they got in? Had she not closed the main door properly?

  Instead of asking who it was, giving them time to react, she crept towards the door. With her heart seemingly punching its way out of her chest, she slowly brought an eye up to the spy-hole.

  42

  ‘You all right?’ asked Stuart, as Emma entered the kitchen. He examined her eyes, looking for an explanation as to why she had obviously been crying.

  ‘Today was supposed to be my wedding day,’ Emma stated, taking a seat at the breakfast table.

  She’d let Stuart stay the night on the sofa after his late-night visit. Having someone familiar in the flat eased her anxieties, especially now people were calling at her door. She had worried that asking him to stay might give him the wrong impression, and he certainly wouldn’t have been her first choice of overnight guest, but he was there and willing. They’d watched some TV and then, when he’d mentioned calling for a cab, she’d asked him to stay.