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The Elephant Girl (Choc Lit)

Page 31

by Gyland, Henriette


  ‘God, my friend nearly died, and you want to talk about funeral arrangements. Ever heard the phrase “bad timing”?’

  ‘I’m … I’m sorry. Perhaps you’re right. We’ll do it another time.’ She clasped her handbag and got up to leave.

  Helen pulled her down again. ‘It’s fine. We might as well talk now that you’re here.’

  ‘You’re sure?’

  ‘It’ll take my mind off things.’ And not just Fay lying injured upstairs.

  Ruth smiled, a timid, quick smile which made her look younger, pretty even. ‘Good, because I’d really appreciate your input.’

  ‘Has Aggie specified anything? Was she religious? I think we should go by her wishes if she had any.’

  ‘Yes, of course. You’re quite right.’ Ruth fell silent and stared straight ahead, at the trickling fountain, her fingers worrying the clasp of her handbag. Helen had a sudden insight.

  ‘You didn’t come to talk about the funeral, did you?’

  Ruth shook her head.

  ‘Then what is it?’

  ‘I’ve spoken to Mother’s solicitor. That chap, Sweetman. He … well, suspects something is going on with the company, something not … right.’

  ‘Oh, he’s right about that.’

  ‘You know?’

  ‘A little,’ Helen replied. She wondered whether Ruth knew just how bad things were. Or potentially how dangerous. If Moody had no compunctions about running people over, what would he do to her aunt if she started digging? Ruth and Letitia were more or less the only family Helen had left.

  ‘I’ve taken a back seat for years,’ Ruth went on. ‘I’m regretting that now. I wish to be part of it again, and I think it’s time I reined in my sister a bit, stop her from ruining our reputation. You get Mother’s shares, and if you’re anything like your own mother, that’d be all that matters. She was very passionate about the company.’

  ‘I care about it too. But I’ve learned something my mother didn’t, that some things are far more important. Things like trust and friendship. A home.’

  ‘That’s true. I wish …’ Ruth’s lips trembled briefly. ‘Well, never mind that now. I need you on my side if I’m going to take a more active role in the company. With our shares between us we can make it happen.’

  ‘I am on your side. At least I was until Fay was run over. It was deliberate, and it’s possible they were after me.’

  Ruth paled. ‘You don’t think I had anything to do with that?’

  ‘Of course not. I had another candidate in mind.’

  ‘Who?’

  ‘One of the shareholders. Moody. You mentioned him yesterday.’

  ‘Moody?’ Ruth raised her eyebrows. ‘If you die, and have no named beneficiaries in your will, then according to the Ransome’s memorandum of association Letitia and I will get first invitation to buy your stake in the company. Neither of us are poor by any means, but we can’t afford to buy the lot. Moody can.’

  If you die …

  ‘What are you saying?’ Helen’s throat felt dry.

  Ruth produced a set of keys from her handbag, unclipped one from the keyring and handed it to Helen. ‘It’s for Letitia’s flat. She says she’s no longer involved with Moody, but I think she’s in trouble. If you can find anything we can use against him, perhaps we can help her. She may have to go to prison, but at least she won’t be hurt. Just don’t let her catch you snooping. She hates that.’

  ‘Won’t she be in?’

  ‘No, she left for Amsterdam this afternoon. It seems our mother’s death isn’t worth taking a day off for.’ Ruth stroked Helen’s cheek, then retracted her hand as if she’d burned herself, and left.

  Helen slipped the key in her pocket. She wasn’t so naïve she couldn’t see Ruth was using her and that the rivalry between the sisters was still going strong.

  That wasn’t what bothered her.

  Ruth had mentioned beneficiaries. Helen had made a will. When she’d filled in the will form in Sweetman’s office, she had, on a whim and as an up-yours against her half-family, named Jason as her main beneficiary, then brought home a signed copy for her own files.

  She’d left her rucksack on her bed and the door wide open, then forgotten about it when Fay was run over. Jason had no compunction about looking through her things. What would he make of it if he saw it?

  More to the point, what would his father make of it if he broke in again?

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  When she returned to the ward, Charlie wasn’t there. As she looked up and down the corridor, the duty nurse caught up with her.

  ‘Oh, there you are. Your friend has woken up, so you can go in.’

  ‘Thank you.’

  ‘But only a few minutes,’ the nurse warned. ‘She’s very weak and needs rest.’

  The ICU room was directly across from a nurses’ monitoring station. Helen stopped in the doorway at the sight of Fay with tubes and wires coming out of absolutely everywhere. Her face, hands and arms were riddled with cuts and bruises like an extra in a horror movie, and through a blanket covering her to her waist, Helen could see the outline of a cast.

  Charlie was by the bed, holding Fay’s hand and stroking her white hair which lay spread like a halo across her pillow, while Fay rested with her eyes closed.

  It’s all my fault, Helen thought, her throat constricting. If only she’d taken Moody seriously.

  Instead she’d done exactly as she pleased, as always. Her obsession with finding out the truth and with what she saw as total abandonment on Aggie’s part had made her blind to the kindness around her. And now Fay was lying here, having suffered possible lasting damage, all because of her own bloody-mindedness.

  She couldn’t stay here. She couldn’t stay at the house. She had to get away from them all before something else happened.

  Turning away, she walked back towards the lift. Under the pretext of wanting to protect her sister, Ruth had given her a job, and that was what she planned to do. Screw the consequences.

  ‘Wait!’ Charlie ran after her. ‘Where are you going? Don’t you want to see Fay?’

  ‘I can’t.’

  ‘Why not?’

  ‘She’s in there because of me.’

  ‘Don’t be stupid. It was an accident.’

  Helen shook her head. ‘No, it wasn’t. That car came for me.’

  ‘Are you sure? Why do you say that?’ A couple of chairs stood against the wall opposite the lift. Charlie dragged her down into one of them. ‘For God’s sake, talk to me!’

  ‘It might’ve been Moody. Jason’s dad.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘He’s involved with the company,’ said Helen, ‘and he has a hold over Letitia. Or maybe she has something on him.’ She paused. ‘And there’s something else.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘Something to do with my mother’s death. He knows I’ve been trying to find out what happened, and he doesn’t like it. The irony is, I don’t actually know anything, but I doubt if he’ll believe that, so I’m going to search Letitia’s flat to find out what’s going on between them. Ruth gave me her spare key. Letitia’s gone out of town.’

  ‘Blimey, they don’t like each other much, them two sisters.’

  ‘Can’t stand the sight of each other.’

  ‘I’m coming with you,’ said Charlie.

  ‘No.’

  ‘Why do you get to do all the fun stuff?’

  ‘This isn’t about having fun. I just don’t want anyone else to get hurt because of me.’

  ‘Nothing will happen if she’s away.’

  ‘Christ, you can’t take no for an answer, can you?’ Helen rolled her eyes. ‘Okay then, but we’ll go later when it’s dark.’

  She’d go through Letitia’s private papers, and in hindsight it was a good idea Charlie came too because whatever else she was, she was a person who worked systematically and methodically. Perhaps they could find something – anything – to get Moody off her back and help Letitia in the process. They h
ad to at least try.

  They returned to Fay’s bedside but found Fay drifting in and out of a drug-induced sleep, occasionally mumbling something unintelligible. Unable to make contact with her, they whispered their final plans for later to combat their anxiety, until the nurse told them they had to leave.

  Charlie went to the loo, and Helen cast one final glance at Fay, making sure she was comfortable.

  Suddenly her eyes flew open, and she gave a drowsy smile. ‘You’re safe,’ she whispered.

  ‘Yes, I’m safe.’ Helen took her hand. ‘Thanks to you.’

  ‘The … car …?’

  ‘The police are questioning witnesses. They’ll find it. Please don’t worry about it. Just concentrate on getting better.’

  Closing her eyes again, Fay heaved a sigh. ‘Don’t … do anything … stupid.’

  ‘I won’t,’ said Helen, but Fay was out cold again.

  Still shaking with anger, Jason left his father. The knuckles on his right hand were sore from where he’d hit him, and now that he’d put some physical distance between himself and Derek, his own actions appalled him. Although he’d been angry with his father many times and even tempted to hit him, he never had. Resorting to violence just wasn’t his thing.

  Not even close.

  This time, however, he’d almost lost all reason. When Helen told him about the car, his first reaction had been disbelief, that she was making it up because it was in her interest to widen the gap between himself and his father.

  Then he’d realised that this was the last thing she’d ever do. Didn’t she always talk about families and loyalties? She wouldn’t want it on her conscience, creating a breach between a son and his father. Derek had threatened her, but that was the same old story, no one was good enough for his son unless the choice was Derek’s own.

  He’d dismissed it. Rarely did he allow himself to become involved, and on top of that it had been different with Helen from the start. His father had sensed that. It never occurred to him there was more to it, not until Trevor’s revelation.

  But how far did it go?

  Back at his father’s office he’d threatened Derek with the police, but did he really have what it took to send his own father to prison?

  Jason returned to the hospital. He had to talk to Helen but hardly knew where to start. For years she’d been haunted by what happened to her mother, obsessed by it even. No matter how angry Jason was with his father, he couldn’t bring himself to believe that he’d run her over deliberately. Jones perhaps, acting on his own, but surely not Derek? And if he was wrong, he was in possession of the answers to all her questions.

  Helen had been right about questioning his loyalties. Whatever his feelings for her, he couldn’t imagine himself as the one to bring his father down. Not unless he was left with no other choice.

  In ICU the nurse told him Fay had woken up briefly. ‘Her friends saw her for a short while, but I warned them not to stay too long. Mrs Cooper is very weak, and we don’t want to tax her.’ She looked down at a clip board, then up again. ‘You wouldn’t be Jason, would you?’

  ‘I am. Why?’

  ‘Well, Mrs Cooper asked after you when her friends had left. Said she had a message for you. She said to tell you’—the nurse squinted at her notes—‘that “they’re up to something”. Mean anything to you?’

  ‘Beats me. Did she say anything else?’

  ‘No, only that. Anyway, I’m glad I caught you because I’m about to finish my shift and would probably have missed you.’

  ‘Mind if I look in on her?’ Jason asked. ‘I won’t be long.’

  The nurse smiled. ‘I don’t suppose that’ll do any harm.’

  He thanked her and found the room where Fay lay, still as death, he thought, although the monitors told him differently. He felt a pang of conscience that his first thought had been to confront his father, not Fay’s well-being, but he was calmer now. Everything would be all right. He would make sure of it.

  Sighing, he smoothed back a wisp of white hair, adjusted the covers, and left, wondering what Fay had meant by that cryptic message.

  Helen was alone in her room when he got back. She let him in without a word, and he drew her close. The words died in his throat when she tilted her head and met his kiss. Only now did he realise how much she meant to him.

  ‘I love you,’ he whispered into her hair. ‘So much.’

  She went rigid, began to pull back, and he stopped her by holding her closer. With a sigh she gave up fighting and leaned her head against his shoulder. It was a relief not to see the expression he expected to find in her eyes, the kind of regret and pity which spoke of appreciation but not reciprocation.

  ‘I’m no good for you,’ she said.

  ‘We’re not having this argument again.’

  ‘But it’s true.’

  ‘Why don’t you let me be the judge of that? Do you think you could, perhaps just once in your life, try not to take everything on your own shoulders? Show a little faith?’

  ‘Faith?’ she repeated with a hint of amusement and looked up at him, back to her inscrutable self, although he read a certain amount of contrition too. ‘I’ll try. But you know what they say about old habits.’

  Laughing quietly, he cupped her face and planted little kisses on her nose, cheeks, lips, eyebrows.

  They made love on Helen’s bed without bothering to get under the covers. Jason wanted her with an urgency he didn’t stop to consider. To feel her under him and believe in an ownership he didn’t quite have. She responded without hesitation, opening up to him, and they shared the wonder and mystery as they came together.

  Afterwards, as she lay in the crook of his arm, he put his hand on her waist and curled one leg over hers, tying her to him as they slept.

  But Helen wasn’t asleep. She rested her head on his chest, enjoyed the sound of his steady heartbeat. She’d heard something once, that if you placed a ticking clock in the dog basket of a young pup which had been taken away from his mother, he would calm down because it was the closest thing to the sound of his mother’s heart.

  The regular rhythm from Jason’s chest had a similar effect on her. Just knowing that he lay next to her, warm, alive, and half-draped over her, was reassuring.

  After a while he shifted his position and rolled over on his stomach, still fast asleep. Helen rested on her elbow and studied him in the moonlight, took in the thick, dark hair, a little messy now, his shoulder blades curved like angel wings, his spine ending in a dip at the waist, then rose again in two firm and perfectly sculpted mounds. The strong thighs, downy with fine hairs, long legs, and soft, slightly pinkish feet.

  Did men moisturise? she wondered. Every inch of Jason looked as if he did, but maybe he was just lucky to have such good skin.

  Without touching him, she traced the profile of his back, then on impulse placed a light kiss in the soft hollow at the base of his spine. He stirred slightly but didn’t wake, and she breathed a sigh of relief. She’d wanted to kiss him just there, in that spot halfway along his body, but without him knowing.

  He loved her, he said, and an incredible sense of pride and warmth spread in her chest as her lips pressed against his soft skin.

  ‘I love you too,’ she whispered. There, she’d said it, and it was true even if he wasn’t awake to hear it. It seemed simple enough, but for her to ever appreciate him as an important part of her life she had to let go of the past, and that was easier said than done. The need for revenge – or justice perhaps – still burned inside her.

  She might not be able to prove Jason’s father had anything to do with her mother’s death, but she and Charlie were going to find out what sort of hold he had over Letitia, and how that might link him to Mimi’s death. What the next step would be after that, she didn’t know, but she suspected she’d have tough choices to make.

  Which meant leaving Jason to sleep and not asking him to come with them.

  Quietly she rolled out of bed and got dressed. He still hadn’t stir
red, and she picked up her keys and her wallet from her desk.

  Jason mumbled something in his sleep and turned over on his side, reaching out as if he was searching for her. She slid a cushion under his arm, and he went quiet again.

  Charlie was waiting for her in the hall. ‘What took you so long?’

  ‘I wanted to wait for Jason to fall asleep.’

  ‘Mm, I suppose you were at it like rabbits again.’

  ‘It does help with the falling asleep bit,’ Helen replied, glad that Charlie couldn’t see the colour rush to her cheeks. ‘And anyway, that’s none of your business.’

  ‘Absolutely. The less details, the better. Come on, we’d better go while we still can.’

  Letitia’s penthouse flat overlooking Hyde Park was deserted. They entered through a hallway which led to a large sitting room with floor-to-ceiling windows and a balcony, and moonlight streamed in through the tall windows, bathing the room in a pale bluish light.

  The living room was elegantly furnished with a dark leather suite and a glass coffee table, a wall-mounted wide screen TV, a mahogany dining table and chairs, and a sideboard with a silver drinks tray on top. Above the sideboard hung an Expressionist painting, which looked very much like a genuine Kandinsky.

  Two rooms led off the living room, one the bedroom, the other a home office.

  ‘Bingo,’ said Charlie when she spotted Letitia’s computer on the desk.

  Helen wasn’t so sure this was a ‘bingo’ moment. She and Charlie were looking for two different things. Charlie for evidence that Letitia was ‘dirty’, Helen for a convincing link to Moody.

  Unlike the pristine living room, the office was crammed with filing cabinets, folders, box files, magazine holders, CD racks and four elegant leather boxes filled with papers.

  ‘Where do I begin?’

  ‘Start with anything that’s locked,’ said Charlie.

  Helen tested the filing cabinets, but they weren’t locked. She wondered if Letitia had a safe and looked under the few pictures on the walls. Nothing, but that didn’t mean she didn’t have one somewhere else.

  The desk, modern, made of blond wood with a traditional blotter pad of tooled leather, stood with the back to the window. Charlie had already cracked whatever password Letitia had – no doubt using the same social engineering skills she’d used last time – and Helen tried the desk drawers on either side. The left-hand drawers were unlocked and contained nothing but stationary, the right-hand drawers held personal items like hand cream, lipstick, breath mints, and a phone charger.

 

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