Jason treated her the same way Joe did, with kindness and respect, but with an undeniable heat in his eyes now and then. For the umpteenth time in his company she slammed a lid on her lust. If anything ever happened between them – a big if – she wanted to get it right this time.
He returned to the kitchen and made them both a fresh mug of tea, which they took outside on the grass. Opening a packet of Hobnobs, he offered her a biscuit, then wolfed down two without drawing breath.
Impressive, she thought, amused, and watched him out of the corner of her eye.
Jason lounged on the grass supported by an elbow, his legs stretched out before him, and, completely untroubled by the world, continued munching biscuits. Helen realised she knew nothing about him. She’d been so focused on Fay that she hadn’t given him much thought, except in the sexually attractive sense. Then there was Charlie who was pretty unavoidable, and creepy Lee who was the exact opposite.
It was a confining environment, living in a shared house, yet it was a much bigger world than Helen had ever been part of. All she had to do was to come out from her shell, and there’d be someone to talk to.
‘Tell me about yourself,’ she said.
He smiled. ‘There’s not much to tell.’
‘There must be something.’
‘Well, if you want the whole boring life story …’
‘I do.’
‘Okay,’ he drawled, finished the biscuit he’d been eating, and brushed the crumbs from his hands.
Jason had only caught a glimpse of the contents in the folder which had lain open on Helen’s lap, the one she seemed so keen for him to forget about. A headline about a murdered woman and her child, a picture with the name Mimi Stephanov underneath it. A company logo of an R and a D cleverly intertwined like a royal insignia. No dates, but the newspaper clippings were yellowed with age so it couldn’t be that recent. Was Helen related to this woman? The child who was mentioned? Her reaction had told him it was private, not work-related.
Her face was animated now that the focus had shifted away from herself, and he supposed he ought to let her have this little triumph. Another time he might try to delve deeper with her, but for now let it be the other way around.
Of course, it was possible she was interested in him, which was flattering, and he wasn’t going to discourage it. He was certainly interested in her, one way or another, the mystery or the woman. Or even both.
She was smiling expectantly. Jason took in the full lips and that cute little dip above her mouth he hadn’t really noticed before, and wondered how it would feel to kiss those lips. Probably very nice.
Then he stopped himself. One thing at a time. Right now she wanted to know more about him, the rest could come later, perhaps.
The question was how much to tell her.
‘I’m an only child,’ he said. ‘My father is a, well, I suppose you’d call him a self-made business man. He worked himself up from humble beginnings, and then tried to give me everything he never had as a child, you know expensive toys, the right clothes, boarding school. It all meant that I was a spoilt little brat until I discovered how the other half lives.’
‘I can’t imagine you being spoilt.’
‘Why is that so difficult to imagine?’ he said, with more feeling than he intended. He snapped off a blade of grass and tossed it aside irritably. ‘You’d be surprised. I was intolerable. Of course, the perverse thing about parent-child relationships is that parents try to show their love in one particular way, their way, but the children only see that they’re not loved in the way they think they ought to be loved. It can get into a right old muddle sometimes.’
Helen watched him quietly with those arresting eyes of hers. Could she tell there was more going on between him and his father than met the eye? At the best of times he found it hard to hide his irritation with his father, and it must have sounded like the sore point it was.
‘And what about your mother?’ she asked.
‘My mother keeps dogs.’
‘What?’
‘Dogs, yes. Day in, day out, dogs, dogs, dogs. That’s what she does.’
‘What kind of dogs? Does she own a kennel?’
‘Pekes. Pekingese,’ he explained in response to her confused look. ‘And she doesn’t run a kennel, more’s the pity. She has them at home. Five of them. Drives my father around the twist. Can’t say I blame him. Annoying little yappers if you ask me, but she adores them.’
Helen laughed, and the sound of her carefree laughter did something funny to his stomach.
‘What?’ he said, both peeved and delighted.
‘You. Your mum and her dogs. Your poor dad.’ She laughed again. ‘I can just see them. It’s wonderful.’
‘Wonderful? It’s bloody awful. My family are messed up and get on each other’s nerves, and you think it’s funny, do you?’ He made his voice sound extra stern but for some reason she’d managed to take the sting out of his bust-up with his father. When he thought of it now, it was almost irrelevant.
‘At least you have a family,’ she said.
‘And you don’t?’
She shrugged. ‘Not really. Just aunties and stuff.’
‘Yeah, I have a few of those, on my father’s side. They’re a bit younger than him, so he doesn’t see much of them.’
‘And what are they like?’
He picked up another biscuit and sent her a look of mock despair. ‘WAGs. Think Footballers’ Wives, and that should give you a pretty good idea. Opinionated, expensive hair, lots of bling. But they’re very nice.’
She smiled. ‘I like the sound of your family. A strange mix of posh and middle-class, if you don’t mind me saying so. Not that there’s anything wrong with that,’ she added. ‘It’s just a bit off-beat.’
‘That’s a pretty good description,’ he muttered darkly. ‘Posh ’n Trash, that’s us.’
‘Does it bother you?’
She was sharp, he had to give her that. Once, when he’d tried to conform to his father’s ambitions for him, it had bothered him a lot. Back then he’d been ashamed of his background. Then he grew up.
‘It’s not what people are that matters,’ he said, ‘but how they behave, what they do. I think I’ve proved that here, in this house. Anyway, let’s not talk about me. Let’s talk about you.’
He sat up, crossed his legs and smiled at her in a way which he hoped was roguish. It had the desired effect. Her eyes widened, filling with humour and promise.
‘Oh, no, let’s not,’ she said. ‘I’m really boring.’
‘That’s not the word I’d use to describe you.’
Leaning back on the palms of her hands, she stuck her chest out, deliberately he reckoned. She wore no bra under her sleeveless top, and his eyes followed the curves of her breasts and settled on her nipples, which showed through the fabric like a cherry on a cake. His lips parted slightly, then his eyes cut back to hers.
‘What, then?’ she taunted.
Man, she was something else.
‘Intelligent, self-reliant, interesting.’ He paused. ‘Secretive.’
‘Secretive?’ Her eyes went wide with surprise. ‘What makes you say that?’
‘It was the business with that folder. The way you closed it. There’s something in it you don’t want me to see.’
‘Anything else you want to say about me?’
The look she sent him was nothing short of sassy. ‘You’re sexy,’ he said.
Her mouth curved at that.
He couldn’t help it. She was like a siren, an urban Lorelei reeling him in like a fish on a hook. He leaned in, and before he knew it his hand cradled her neck in a firm hold, and his mouth was on hers.
Her reaction was a series of spasms which electrified him, turned him on like he’d never felt turned on before. He crushed her to him, and felt another shudder run through her which almost took his breath away. Sliding her hand up, she curled her fingers into his hair and, for one long, sweet moment, returned the kiss.
&
nbsp; Then she pushed him away.
‘Don’t,’ she said in a thick voice and got up, pressing the folder to her chest like a shield.
Jason was still trying to control his baser instincts when he heard the kitchen door bang shut behind her.
Shit.
Chapter Ten
Heart racing, Helen ran upstairs and threw the folder on her bed. She could still feel Jason’s mouth on hers, still taste the intoxicating mix of sugary biscuits and something Just Him on her lips. She’d tried so hard not to, but what she’d both wanted and feared at the same time had actually happened. If she hadn’t stopped the kiss, how far would it have gone? To sex? Was that what he wanted? She didn’t just want that, she wanted …
Oh, hell, I don’t know, she thought. To be part of something special, maybe. Love. All the things she’d never had.
A tumble between the sheets wasn’t going to give her that, not long-term anyway. Guys like Jason might look at her, but when they discovered what a freak she was, she wouldn’t see them for dust.
She pushed the thought aside and focused on something else, something she’d just figured out. Jason had been as loath to be upfront with her as she was with him. It made her wonder what he had to hide.
Had he seen inside the folder? He’d certainly had the opportunity because she had no idea how long she’d been out. A couple of minutes maybe? Enough time for him to get the gist of the content and know more than he’d let on. Perhaps he’d only seen the top page.
For legal reasons her name wasn’t mentioned in the first few articles. She’d only been referred to as ‘Mimi Stephanov’s five-year-old daughter’. Fay wasn’t mentioned either, not to begin with. Jason had told her Fay had been to prison for murder, but he’d made it clear that Fay never offered him the specifics, and it wasn’t his place to ask.
The question was, how much had he seen and had he put two and two together about Helen?
She spent the evening poring over the newspaper clippings and taking notes, again finding it completely unreal to read about her mother’s murder strictly in reported terms, but being sentimental about it would get her nowhere.
The only useful information from the articles was that the investigation had been headed by a detective named Barry Wilcox, of Ealing Police, so he had to be her next move. Her head buzzed from overload as she half-stumbled to the bathroom to brush her teeth.
Opening the door, she came face to face with Lee, and the shock made her drop her wash bag. He picked it up and handed it back to her, his eyes darting from side to side as if looking for an escape route.
‘Thank you.’
‘No prob-b-blem.’
He was in slouchy trousers and bare feet, showing off his flawless golden chest. Charlie was right, what a waste for him to spend half his time behind bars. She decided to give him the benefit of the doubt, like Jason had.
‘Listen,’ she said, ‘I appreciate you keeping to yourself and all that, but could you please make a bit of noise when you’re around? I get sort of freaked out when you’re suddenly behind me, and I haven’t heard you.’
Lee grinned.
‘You like freaking people out?’
He shook his head.
‘So do you think you could let me know you’re there next time?’
He nodded.
‘You don’t say much, do you?’
‘My big m-m-mouth. Always gets me into trouble. I k-keep my head down now.’ He sent her a dazzling smile and disappeared into the bathroom.
In a way, what he said made sense to her. Just like Lee retreated behind his stutter, she’d been hiding away behind her epilepsy, allowing it to define her. To come out she needed to have faith in other people that they would treat her like a normal person.
But where did you find such faith? It didn’t grow on trees.
Heading back to her room, she saw a flickering light from under Fay’s door and stopped.
Candles.
In Goa she’d lit candles every night before going to bed. One for her mother, one for her father, and one for herself. Plus a handful of others for practical reasons as the electricity supply was sometimes unpredictable. By candlelight her demons diminished so they were no bigger or threatening than the shadows she could make on the wall with her hands. It was in daylight people might spot the aberration behind the façade.
Did Fay light candles for the same reason? She was tempted to just ask.
She lifted her hand to knock, then hesitated. Aggie’s scrapbook had been screaming Fay’s name at her all afternoon, but the more the newspapers were convinced of Fay’s guilt, the less Helen was, now that she’d met her. Still, she was hardly a friend.
Dropping her hand, she returned to her room.
Her sleep was plagued by confusion, and she woke, exhausted and full of doubts as to whether she was doing the right thing. Her mother died twenty years ago – even if she contacted the detective named in the newspaper clippings, he probably couldn’t be much help.
When she entered Ealing police station, her heart beat a little faster. Last time she was here she’d screamed the building down when she realised her mother was dead, and she tried hard not to look at the door she’d come through then. Instead she headed straight for a clerk behind a glass partition who informed her that Wilcox had long since left and was now a Chief Superintendent working at Scotland Yard’s Homicide Unit.
‘I can call him if you like,’ he offered.
‘That’d be great, thanks.’
The clerk disappeared to a room behind the reception, was gone for ages and left her wondering whether his absence meant good news or bad news, but when he returned, he was smiling.
‘He says he remembers you and would be happy to see you this afternoon if you’re not busy.’
Not busy? Helen could hardly believe her luck. Could it really be that easy?
At Scotland Yard she made her way to Back Hall as instructed, where she was asked to empty her pockets and step through a metal detector. Then she waited. Eventually a uniformed officer showed her upstairs.
Chief Superintendent Barry Wilcox rose as she entered his office. Looking every bit the career detective, he wore a grey suit, a smoky-blue shirt and tie. His hair was blondish-grey, his eyes sharp, and Helen took him to be in his mid-fifties now.
When he held out his hand, she almost expected him to give her another tube of Smarties.
‘Little Yelena Stephanov. This is a surprise.’
She shook his hand. ‘I’m not so little any more. I grew up very fast.’
‘I bet you did.’ His eyes searched her face. ‘Please sit down.’
‘And I haven’t gone under that name in years.’
‘You’re married?’ he asked.
‘No, just Anglicised.’
That produced a laugh. ‘Fair enough. It was quite a mouthful.’
‘It was my grandmother’s idea,’ she said. ‘In the children’s home they had me down as Helen Stephens. Apparently she was afraid I’d be teased. New identity, new life, and all that.’
Not that it did her much good. Some things you couldn’t run from.
Wilcox nodded sagely.
‘No Smarties today, Detective?’
If her comment wrong-footed him, he didn’t show it. Instead he grinned. ‘No, but I can offer you a cup of tea. And please call me Barry. That’s how you knew me back then.’
‘I’m fine, thanks. How well do you remember the case?’ It felt odd saying ‘the case’ but it helped her to get straight to the point.
‘Well enough. Some cases you forget quickly, others stay with you. This was one of them. And when I knew you were coming, I read up on it.’
‘The thing is,’ she began, ‘lately I’ve … well, I’ve started to remember some things from that morning. Stuff that doesn’t quite make sense.’
Wilcox raised his eyebrows but didn’t interrupt her.
‘I want to talk about my mother’s bag.’
‘Her handbag? Nothing was taken as far a
s we could tell.’
‘Not her handbag. The other bag. It was a cloth bag or shopping bag, something like that, on the back seat. It had an elephant on it.’
He shook his head. ‘I don’t think there was another bag at the crime scene. The SOCOs, sorry, that’s Scene of Crime Officers, will have photographed everything they found. That’ll still be on record. I can dig it out for you, but you do understand that I can’t show you the file.’
‘I understand. I just need to know what happened.’
He nodded. ‘I’ll tell you everything I remember.’
He explained how he was called to the scene. ‘Uniform was already there, acting on a 999 call. Ambulances too, although by then your mother was beyond help. They found Fay Cooper in hysterics and covered in blood. You were slumped on the back seat. The postman who’d called 999 thought you were dead, but one of the paramedics recognised the aftermath of an epileptic seizure.’
Helen swallowed, and for a moment Wilcox’s room tilted on its axis.
‘Mrs Cooper was taken into custody,’ Wilcox continued. ‘We never found the knife, but you were able to describe it for us. A fancy inlaid paper knife. Actually, you drew it for me. Do you remember that?’
‘Vaguely.’ So she hadn’t imagined that bit.
‘To cut a long story short, your grandmother was able to supply us with details of your mother’s knife set. When we showed a picture to Mrs Cooper, she broke down and confessed that the knife was hers, something her husband was able to confirm. Ironically, your mother had given it to her. We were able to make a replica – and I’m sorry for the grisliness – but the blade matched the defensive wounds on your mother’s arms and hands. The only problem was we couldn’t find the damn thing. Mrs Cooper had no recollection of what she’d done with it. We also couldn’t find your mother’s remaining knife amongst her possessions, but in the end it was irrelevant. Mrs Cooper’s presence at the scene, her own knife unaccounted for, and the fact that she’d been stalking your mother for months … well, it was pretty cut and dried as far as we were concerned. Premeditated murder. Your mother even had a restraining order against her. I think it was just luck that she was so hysterical over what she’d done that she didn’t attack you as well.’
The Elephant Girl (Choc Lit) Page 12
