‘I’ve got everything sorted,’ he called. ‘The clinic is booked. Mind if I fix myself a drink?’
‘Go ahead,’ she said evenly. ‘Make yourself at home.’ She went through to the kitchen and picked up the carving knife from the worktop. She set about slicing up a turnip. She heard him come into the kitchen behind her.
‘You wouldn’t believe the trouble it took, though,’ he said. ‘Lots of technical and legal things to sort out.’
‘I’ll bet there were,’ she said.
‘Then of course there are the flights and hotels to get lined up.’ He took a swig from his whiskey glass. ‘This is really good stuff,’ he said.
‘It belonged to my father. I don’t drink. My father only liked the best.’
‘He could afford to, I guess,’ he said, feeling a tad uneasy. ‘You sure you’re OK? You sound rather distant. Not your usual self.’
‘Thank you for thinking of me, Casper. It’s so reassuring to know that there is someone there who cares, looking after my best interests. You don’t know how that makes me feel.’
He saw a smear of blood on a wooden chopping board. Observed how unnecessarily aggressive she was being with the carving knife. ‘Careful,’ he warned. ‘Has that turnip done something to annoy you? You’ll end up cutting yourself.’ He came to her side, attempted to slide his arm around her waist but she pulled smartly away.
‘I’m very busy,’ she said.
‘Fine,’ he said, holding up a hand. He went to lean on the worktop, scrutinising her. He took in a breath, let it out casually. ‘Have you…’ He took a drink. ‘Have you sorted things out at the bank, Laura?’
She turned to him; she tapped the tip of the knife against the worktop, a regular, irritated pattern, almost like Morse code. ‘Oh yes, Casper. It’s all sorted. Who is Katherine?’
The name took him by surprise, almost as if someone had fired a gun in the small room. But he recovered quickly. ‘Sorry – who?’
‘You heard. Katherine.’
‘I don’t know anyone by the name of Katherine,’ he said. ‘Look, what’s all this about? What’s going on?’
‘Who is KATHERINE!’ she screamed at the top of her voice.
He put his drink down, took a step away from her. She had the knife held out in front of her; she was breathing heavily, her eyes like two marble balls.
‘I don’t know what you’re getting at, Laura. Calm down, please. You’re scaring me. There’s obviously been some kind of mistake here, some kind of misunderstanding.’
‘I thought you loved me, Casper. I trusted you with everything, even my heart, and nothing is more precious than that.’
‘But I do love you, Laura!’ he said.
‘Don’t lie to me, Casper!’ she shouted again, then calmed herself down, closing her eyes tight and squeezing a solitary tear from her lid. It traced a silver line down her reddened cheek. ‘Don’t lie to me,’ she said, every single word painfully drawn out. ‘I thought we were going to get married.’
‘And we will get married,’ he assured.
‘I thought you were going to die.’
‘The operation will save me,’ he said desperately.
She took a step towards him and he backed off a little. ‘You were never going to die, Casper. You don’t have cancer. You’re not the least bit ill. And you’re not going to Philadelphia with my money for an operation. You never were. You never intended to marry me. The cancer, the operation, the clinic, everything a lie. You planned it all. We didn’t meet by accident. You didn’t fall in love with me. You never had a wife who died. The only thing you were after was my money.’
‘That’s not true, Laura,’ he said, shaking his head. ‘Where have you dredged all this up from? Christ, Laura, I’m your Casper – I love you!’
‘You’re not my Casper; you’re someone else’s Felix.’
His mouth fell open. ‘I…I…’ he stammered, looking for a way to retrieve the situation.
‘Why? How could you be so heartless?’ she asked plaintively.
‘It’s someone’s idea of a big joke, that’s all…’
‘I’m the real joke, though, aren’t I? That’s what you thought, you and that girlfriend of yours, your Katherine, your Kat. I’ll bet you’ve had a real good laugh at my expense. I should call the police.’
He held up both hands. ‘Now hold on, Laura, let’s not be too hasty. This is all a lie!’
She removed the letter from her apron pocket. Held it out. Her hand shook. Gingerly he reached out, took the letter from her and began to read. His face went pale.
Laura shook her head slowly, the knife now flat against her chest. ‘You’re the lie, Casper – Felix, whatever your real name is. Preying on lonely, vulnerable, susceptible women like you do. You’re vermin, do you know that?’
Seeing the game was well and truly up he dashed out of the kitchen, down the corridor to the main entrance hall. He turned the handle of the door but it was locked. When he spun round she was right there behind him.
‘Open the door,’ he said. He swallowed hard when he saw she still had the knife in her hand. Her face was impassive, eyes frosty and lifeless. Her lips worked at something, almost as if she were reciting a prayer to herself, or silently chanting some verse or other.
‘Why?’ she asked. ‘All I need to know is why?’
‘Put the knife down, Laura,’ he said.
‘Why?’ she asked again.
‘No harm was meant.’
‘No harm was meant,’ she repeated. ‘You clearly don’t know how much I am suffering inside,’ she said, the knife point almost penetrating her blouse. ‘You don’t know how much all this hurts me. I loved you. I thought you loved me. I’d have done anything for you. But it was all a sham. Like the false diamonds you gave me, it was all worthless. You deserve to suffer, too, as I have suffered.’
‘Open the door, Laura!’ he said firmly, his voice tinged with escalating fear.
‘I opened the door to my heart, a door that had been locked shut for years, a door I thought would stay forever locked, but gave it freely to you and you abused it.’
‘In heaven’s name, Laura, it’s only money!’ he said. ‘Put the fucking knife down!’
She stared hard at the blade, as if she hadn’t realised she had it in her hand. She lifted her head, gazed into his terrified eyes. ‘You deserve to suffer,’ she said.
* * * *
19
Issues
For the first seven days she didn’t worry unduly that he hadn’t phoned her. That was the nature of the game they played. It took time and patience, they both knew that. But when the first week bled into the second and still Kat had not heard a single thing from Felix she began to get edgy. Usually he made time for a quick update, to snatch a phone call, if only for a second or two. It was their unspoken rule. By the end of a fortnight she knew something was dreadfully wrong.
She became frantic with worry. She didn’t know what she should do for the best. She started at every noise outside on the street, her hope rising with the passage of shoes on concrete, only to be dashed when they walked on by. She tramped the streets of Glastonbury, scanning faces, searching for his familiar form amongst the shoppers. She went to the top of Glastonbury Tor, where they’d stood to take in the views, and she grew increasingly despondent at the sight of autumn scorching the land and shrivelling the leaves. In the end she could stand it no more.
There was a biting crispness to the air, a portent of the chill to come, he thought, unlocking his MG. He loathed winter, even though in this part of the country the weather could be quite mild. He grabbed a chamois leather to wipe away the condensation from the windscreen.
‘Martin.’
His insides froze on hearing her voice. He threw the leather into the footwell, slammed the car door shut. He glanced awkwardly up to the windows of his house. ‘What the hell are you doing here, Kat?’ he said, anger flashing across his features. He grabbed her by the arm and all but dragged her down the stre
et, away from his house in case his wife should see her. ‘What do you think you’re doing? You never come near me, near my house, near my wife, you understand? I told Felix I’m finished with your fucking schemes.’
‘Where is he, Martin?’
‘What?’
‘You heard me; where is Felix?’ She yanked her arm free of his grip, rubbing the point where his fingers had grasped her.
‘How the fuck should I know? I don’t care where he is. He can go to hell for all I care.’
‘He’s gone missing,’ she said.
‘None of my business,’ he said abruptly.
‘I’ve not seen him for weeks.’
He gave a casual shrug of his shoulders. ‘So? Like I care.’ He moved close to her face. His breath pumped out in clouds. ‘You keep away from me and my wife. You come round here again…’
‘And what? You’ll beat the shit out of me like you used to?’
His jaw set hard. ‘I’m different now.’
‘A leopard and its spots, and all that,’ she said. ‘Like fuck you’re different. Let me tell you, Martin, you’re involved in this whether you like it or not and it’s me that’s calling the shots this time. I’m not afraid of you any more.’
‘Why do you care about him anyway? He doesn’t love you. People like that are incapable of it.’
‘You should know. Have you laid into her yet?’ She nodded towards Caldwell’s house. ‘Does your wife know what you’re really like, what things you’ve done in the past? Does she know about your relationship with our friend in the north, Ray Steele, and his part in things? How he helped you out of a tricky situation? Or have you fed her a load of bollocks, created a different kind of Martin Caldwell that isn’t a violent, murdering bastard?’
He held up a fist but thought better of it. ‘Get out of my sight, Kat, or I swear you’ll be sorry.’
‘Just as I thought; the old Martin isn’t far away, is he? All your stories, your false past, your bogus qualifications, your supposed new life, it can’t cover who you really are.’
‘Have you ever thought that Felix might simply have taken Laura’s money and run? Yes, he told me how much he stood to gain. He could buy ten of you with that amount of cash, Kat. Your kind is cheap. I know it from past experience.’
‘He wouldn’t do that. He loves me. That’s not something you’d know anything about, Martin, love.’
‘You really think he loves you? You’re as deluded as that bitch in Devereux Towers. Felix drove a white Ford Cortina, right?’
‘So what?’
‘So the police found a white Ford Cortina abandoned in Langbridge a fortnight ago. Appears it had been stolen from Coventry. They’d no idea who it belonged to or why it was there, but we both know, don’t we?’
‘You’re lying.’
‘Am I? Check out the Langbridge Gazette. It was mentioned in there. Seems like he simply upped sticks and left. He’s probably sipping cocktails at some fancy fondue party in Capri, whilst you’re here pining for a two-faced slimeball.’ Caldwell sneered. ‘It’s not nice, is it, Kat, being on the other side of the fence? Being the one who’s shit upon instead of doling it out. Face it, he’s dumped you.’
‘If you’ve done anything to him…’
‘That a threat, Kat?’ He laughed hollowly. ‘You made your bed, so now you can lie on it.’ He pointed a rigid finger at her face. ‘You never come near me again, and if any of this ever gets out, I swear I’ll kill you.’ He stomped away, but stopped, turned and came back. ‘I don’t care if he’s lying face down in some ditch or other; truth is that’s what I’d like to hear. He deserves all he gets. You both do. You want my advice? I’d start with that crazy bitch he was screwing.’ He grinned. ‘Shame he didn’t know everything about Laura Leach before he went in there all guns blazing.’
‘What do you mean everything?’
‘Let’s say she’s not the most level-headed of women is our dear Laura. She’s got issues. Fucking big ones. And do you know, I sort of forgot to tell him how fucked-up she was. That must have slipped my mind for some reason.’ With that he turned on his heel and left her, sliding into his car and smiling at her as he drove past.
It was evening, the end of another long day. Vince unlocked his bicycle and flicked on his lamps. Caught in its beam was a smoky cloud of drizzle. He trundled the bicycle across the uneven stone flags of the Empire’s yard to the open gateway and was startled to see a thin shadow separate from the wall.
‘Edith!’ he said. ‘You scared the living daylights out of me. What are you still doing here? You should be on your way home now.’
She stood in the lamplight, her hair already damp from the light rain. ‘Sorry, Vince,’ she said. ‘I was waiting for you.’
‘For me – why?’
Edith jerked her shoulders. ‘Would you walk me home, Vince?’
He frowned. ‘Why?’
She looked up at the night sky. ‘It’s dark,’ she said.
‘It’s never bothered you before. Anyhow, you only live ten minutes away.’
‘It’s not out of your way,’ she observed. ‘I’d feel a lot better if you walked me home tonight.’
He felt he had no choice. And she looked so helpless, frail and wet. ‘OK,’ he said resignedly. ‘But we’ll have to walk fast or we’ll get soaked.’
They left the Empire behind. There was the hiss of the odd-car passing them on wet roads, hardly another soul on the streets. They spent a few minutes lost in private thoughts.
She asked out of the blue, ‘Do you like Mr Caldwell?’
‘I don’t know,’ he said and then he shook his head. ‘Not really. Do you?’
‘He’s got a handsome face, sure enough, but I don’t think he’s a nice person inside. Where do you suppose Monica is?’
‘Dunno,’ he said quickly. ‘Don’t care either. Why?’
‘I heard rumours about Mr Caldwell and Monica. She used to brag to the other cleaners about stuff. Dirty stuff.’
‘Well she’s not here now so she doesn’t matter anymore, does she?’
‘You didn’t like Monica either, did you?’
‘So?’
‘She was nasty to you.’
‘Monica was nasty to everyone. That’s just how Monica was.’
They ambled along in silence. Vince tried to hurry Edith along but she seemed to be dragging her heels. He was getting very wet.
‘Vince, do you think I’m pretty?’ she asked rather sheepishly.
Vince’s sense of unease went up another notch or two so that it flashed an amber warning. ‘I guess so.’
‘You’re just saying that to please me.’
‘No I’m not,’ he protested. ‘Yes, I suppose you are pretty.’
She smiled. ‘So you think I’m pretty?’
‘Just said so, didn’t I? What’s with you tonight, Edith? Is everything alright?’
Edith stopped. The water glistened on her face. ‘This is my street, where I live,’ she said. ‘Thank you for walking me home.’
‘You’re welcome,’ he said. ‘You’d better get inside; you’re wet through.’
‘You can kiss me if you like,’ she said, stepping closer to him. Lamplight sparkled in her large eyes.
‘What?’
‘You can kiss me. I’ll let you.’
‘Why?’
‘You said I was pretty.’
‘Well yes, but – ‘
‘You did mean it, didn’t you?’
‘Yes, I meant it,’ he said, getting all flustered.
‘So why won’t you kiss me? I like you, Vince. I like you very much.’
‘I must be ten years older than you, Edith…’
‘That doesn’t matter. I’m not a little girl. I’m a young woman with a young woman’s feelings.’
‘You shouldn’t go around throwing yourself at men like this. You never know where it might lead.’ He put on his cycle clips and sat astride his bicycle.
‘I only said you could kiss me,’ she said. ‘I t
hought…’
‘You thought what, Edith?’
Her smooth brow furrowed. ‘You’re still obsessed with that Laura woman, aren’t you, in spite of what I said? What has she got that I haven’t? Is it because she’s rich?’
He didn’t know how to respond. Her full, red lips pouted enticingly and he felt urges he was afraid of. ‘Go home, Edith,’ he said, pedalling away like mad and aware of her stare hot on his back. He didn’t dare turn around.
* * * *
20
The Dark Patch
The dry reeds made a strange, enigmatic rustling sound as the wind passed through them, their ragged dark head swaying languidly, almost as if they bent over in sadness. Water gurgled over rocks, sounding to Laura like a strangled scream that went on forever. The slow-moving stream caused the pennant-like leaves of underwater weeds to fidget, not unlike a drowning man’s groping fingers, and the spectral, shadowy shapes of melancholy willows lined the bank opposite, posing as ethereal guards that watched studiously over everything.
‘This is the place Ophelia came to drown herself,’ said Laura’s father, staring at the oil-like surface of the restless stream. ‘At least, this is just the sort of place I imagine it to look like.’
Laura, the little girl, held his hand tighter and snuggled up close to him. His sombre words scared her, and a shiver of dread ran icily through her as she too stared into the liquid depths.
He did so love Hamlet, Laura thought. She almost felt her father’s presence beside her, but that could not be, because he was long-dead and she didn’t believe in any kind of afterlife, aware that it was merely her imagination being stretched on the rack of her emotions. He could no more be sitting beside me today, she thought, than Ophelia had drowned in this stream.
Yet she was, admittedly, drawn to this spot, to the softly spoken water that seemed to beckon her, tease her. A sad, lonely place she purported to own along with Devereux towers, but which in fact appeared to own her.
MOUSE (a psychological thriller and murder-mystery) Page 12
