Cry For Kit
Veronica Heley
Copyright © Veronica Heley 1976
The right of Veronica Heley to be identified as the author of this work has been asserted by her in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act, 1988.
First published in the United Kingdom in 1976 by Chivers.
This edition published in 2014 by Endeavour Press Ltd.
Table of Contents
CHAPTER ONE
CHAPTER TWO
CHAPTER THREE
CHAPTER FOUR
CHAPTER FIVE
CHAPTER SIX
Extract from Scream for Sarah by Veronica Heley
CHAPTER ONE
‘Kit! Kit Jeffries!’ The voice hissed at me from the dark alley.
I was intrigued, because nobody had called me Kit Jeffries for eighteen years and one month, not since I married Pat Neely in New York in spite of everything his friends had had to say against the marriage. They’d been proved wrong, because Pat and I had had a good time in our marriage, and I include the years in which he was dying and we had both known it.
‘Who is it?’ I shaded my eyes against the glare of the lamp under which I stood, and peered into the unlit alley. I was standing in the new shopping precinct—new since my day, that is—having just come through the alley from the Market Square beyond. It looked as if someone had followed me. I could make out that there was a dark figure standing just beyond the lamplight, but I couldn’t identify him—or was it her? The voice was a hoarse whisper, quite unrecognisable. The big city hummed with life in the still, summer night.
‘Come here!’ Whoever it was, he or she seemed to be dressed in black. I’m not a big woman, even in high heels, and I could see that the person who had called to me was taller than I was.
‘Is it Jack?’ I asked, stepping nearer. There were a few people crossing the shopping precinct, but no-one was within fifteen yards of me. I had no intimation of danger as I walked out of the light into the alley, for this was my homeland, in which I had lived until I was seventeen. This was not New York, where I wouldn’t have dreamed of going for an unaccompanied stroll after dinner for fear of being mugged.
I didn’t even see my assailant. Something thick and dark descended over my head and shoulders and I was sent reeling into the ancient brick wall of the alley. Even as I fell, I remembered the actions Pat had drilled into me to avoid the worst effects of a mugging. Roll away from them as you fall. Act dead. Let them take what money or jewellery they want. Don’t move until they’ve gone.
I rolled away from my attacker, cursing myself for having brought my purse with all my traveller’s cheques and passport in it. I was also wearing a very beautiful and costly pair of emerald earrings, Pat’s last gift to me.
I could feel the thud as something metallic struck the pavement beside my head. I acted dead. I couldn’t see a thing with that heavy material over my head. I remembered to let my fingers relax and spill my purse on to the stone pavement, and I listened.
Heavy breathing. Fingers at my wrist. Oh, please don’t take my engagement ring! Fingers withdrawn, followed by a distant tinkle. My charm bracelet? Oh, no!
Why didn’t someone come?
Something caught me between the ribs, hard. I’d been kicked. I began to wonder if it wouldn’t be worthwhile shrieking for help, when the voice came through again.
‘You’ll leave tomorrow if you know what’s good for you!’
I began to get angry. I haven’t got red hair for nothing, and even at the ripe age of thirty-six, I was fit enough to welcome a fight. But even as I fumbled with the material over my head, someone entered the alley from the direction of the shops, and I heard my attacker run off, back towards Market Square.
‘You all right?’ the newcomer asked. He was a young man with long hair, wearing jeans and a brilliant T-shirt. He helped me to my feet. I looked down the alley, but my assailant had disappeared.
‘Quite all right, thank you. A bruise or two. Did you get a good look at the mugger?’
‘Sorry. By the time I realised something was wrong, he’d gone. I’m afraid my boots made a row as I reached the alley, and that’s what frightened him off.’
It was true that the alley resounded to the slightest sound. I groped about on the pavement for my purse, which was open. I checked that I still had my engagement ring. I did.
The young man helped me back into the lights of the shopping precinct, which made me feel twice my age. Luckily the white silk of my dress was only slightly marked, and my hair looks better ruffled than brushed into a smooth style. His lips pursed in a silent whistle, and I knew he was going to take some shaking off.
‘Thanks, I’m all right now,’ I said, checking the contents of my purse. Everything was there, including my passport and travellers’ cheques. All I had lost was my charm bracelet, which had sentimental value but wouldn’t be worth auctioning at Sotheby’s.
‘You’re a stranger here? American?’ He put his hand back under my elbow and pressed it.
‘I’ve lived in America for a long time, but I was born here. Thank you, you’ve been a great help. I don’t know what I’d have done if you hadn’t come along. Nothing’s missing except a piece of costume jewellery. If you could see me through the alley back into the Square? I’m staying at the White Lion Hotel.’
He wasn’t eager to see the last of me. ‘The police? I could ring them for you. I’m supposed to be meeting my mate, but…’
‘Oh, no, thank you. That’s not necessary.’ Walking back through the alley, his feet caught in something lying on the pavement. It was a woman’s black coat, made of poor-quality cloth. I remembered it had smelt of sweat and face powder.
The lad frowned. ‘Was this used on you? Lady, you should go to the police. If someone brought this to the alley to use on you, then that means the robbery was premeditated, and…’
‘Nonsense,’ I said. ‘I wore it myself. It’s not mine, but a friend’s. I went out for a stroll to see if the city centre still looked the same, and borrowed it.’ I took the coat off his arm and gave him my hand to shake. ‘Thanks a million. You were terrific.’
He swallowed it, as I knew he would. He didn’t want to let go of my hand, but we were within sight of the hotel, and people were passing in and out of the ballroom beside it. He knew I had only to raise my voice to summon help. He went away reluctantly, looking back to see if I might change my mind.
My knees warned me to find a seat, and be quick about it.
Not Edward! I thought. Please don’t let it be Edward!
Yet it had to be someone I’d known in the past, someone who had cause to fear my return and who knew about the bracelet. Who else but Edward?
I needed a drink. I was no candidate for Alcoholics Anonymous, but I’d always enjoyed a drink. Pat had taught me to drink beer, but back in England again I’d taken to brandy and dry ginger. Sustained by a vision of a double measure of brandy, I tottered into the hotel.
‘Hello! Turned up again, has it?’ said the receptionist. He took the black coat off me and hung it on a rack in the lobby. ‘Someone left it here during the week, and we’ve been waiting for them to collect it.’
So anyone passing through the lobby might have picked the coat up in passing. Bang went my only clue as to my assailant’s identity, but perhaps I could unearth another.
‘You’ve been busy tonight. Has there been much coming and going while I’ve been out for my stroll?’
‘All the time. Always the same when we’ve a function on in the ballroom.’
He turned away to give his attention to some new arrivals—people I didn’t know—and I stiffened my legs and ordered them to take me to the cloakroom. Afterwards, I tried to find a seat in the bar, but it was so crowded that I ordere
d a drink brought to me in the lounge instead.
If only it were not Edward!
It had to be someone I knew, because they had called me by my maiden name. It had to be someone from the past, who didn’t know that I was registered at the hotel as Mrs Patrick Neely. It had to be someone who had seen me that night.
I had only arrived back in the U.K. two days ago, had spent one day shopping in London, and returned by train to my birthplace at two o’clock that afternoon. I had not seen anyone I knew on the train, and I had taken a taxi from the station through the sprawl of the ancient city, through the towering blocks which had replaced the slums, and out to the pleasant suburb in which my sister lived. It was a big city and it had grown since my day. Once it had been a market town, but now it was given over to industry.
I had spent the afternoon with my sister and her husband, Tom, and seen no one else I knew. Both Mary and Tom wanted me to disappear again, but I couldn’t see either of them stalking me down dark alleys, and neither would have been interested in my charm bracelet.
From my sister’s house I had taken another taxi to the hotel. I had registered, unpacked, dined and settled myself in the hotel bar for the evening. I wanted to be quiet. I needed to think over the problem of Mary and Tom, and plan my next move. I had been unhappy, and missing Pat.
Up till a year ago I had thought to live out the rest of my life in the States, but when Pat could no longer run his various business enterprises efficiently, he began to worry about my future. He had done well since I had married him, and he was worth a lot of money. He sold all his companies and invested the money for me. He had long discussions with me about his past, the things he had done, and the things he had left undone. He was afraid I would be lost without him, because I am the kind of woman who needs a man to fuss over. He said he was worried I might be wooed after his death by men who wanted me for my money, rather than for my looks or kind heart. He was obsessed with the idea that I ought to return to England and claim my son.
‘No mourning,’ he said. ‘You must marry again, but wisely. There is still time for you to have another child, to make up for our failure…’
‘No failure,’ I’d said. ‘You know I didn’t care.’
‘You cared, but you were loyal, and we did well enough. However, there is your son to consider. He has the right to meet you and the right to know his father’s name. He’ll be eighteen soon.’
‘You know I promised my sister that I’d never try to see him. I even signed a paper to that effect on the day I handed him over to her.’
‘Things are different now. You were only seventeen then, the boy’s father couldn’t marry you, your parents were unsympathetic, your sister barren, and you had no money or place to live. All these years you’ve sent money for his keep and in return received a progress report and a snapshot from your sister once every six months. That’s not much. It was only natural for your sister to fear you would try to take him from her when he was a child, but at eighteen he should be about ready to leave home himself, or at least be capable of making his own decisions. When he’s old enough to vote, he’s old enough to know the truth. Think what it must have been like for him to grow up without knowing whose son he is…’
‘Do you think I haven’t worried about it? But if Edward won’t acknowledge the boy, what good would it do to tell Johnny who his father is?’
‘He has a right to know. I see now that I’ve been very selfish, Kit. I ought to have helped you in this. I didn’t do so because I wanted you all to myself. I ignored your grief…’
‘Not grief, darling. I’ve longed for him sometimes, it’s true, but...’
‘Grief, Kit. Do you think I haven’t noticed how the sight of children affects you? And a certain type of man?’
He meant men of Edward’s type; big, handsome, fair-haired and intelligent. Luckily I hadn’t met many such in the years I’d been married to Pat.
‘I’ve only looked at two other men in all these years, and I confined myself to looking. You know I’d never have left you.’
‘I had an unfair advantage, didn’t I? You wouldn’t leave a dying man.’ Pain took over his body at that point, and I made him stop talking. But later he whispered, ‘Loving and giving, that’s you. I’m a lucky man. I’d have gone under years ago if it hadn’t been for you. And what do I have to leave you? Only money. I ought to have taken you back to Europe last summer while I could still walk. I could have made it easy for you. I was jealous of your son, and of his father. I thought they might take you away from me.’
‘Idiot! I think of Johnny often, but I know he is loved and happy. As for Edward, he is still married and he has his legitimate son to look after. What could he have to say to me now, or I to him?’
‘I want you to promise me you’ll go back as soon as my body is disposed of. Go back to where you belong. Your sister...the boy...you will have money...they may need it...’
He’d made it all sound so reasonable that, to ease his mind, I’d promised. Neither Mary nor Tom thought it reasonable, though. I wrote from America to ask if I might meet Johnny while on a forthcoming visit to Europe. They replied forbidding it, and reminding me of my promise never to try to see my son again. In spite of that I telephoned Mary from London to warn her I was coming. She arranged for the boy to be out of the house and denied knowledge of his whereabouts. I didn’t blame her. She said she’d asked the boy if he wished to meet me, and he had replied that he didn’t see the point of it. And would I please go away and leave them in peace.
So I had taken a taxi to the hotel, changed and dined. Afterwards I had moved to the bar and, sitting on a high stool facing the mirror behind the shelves of spirits, I found I had taken a ringside seat at a review of my past life. The bar was in a recess to one side of the hotel lobby, and opposite was a short corridor leading to the hotel ballroom and the cloakrooms. There was another door into the square at the far end of the corridor, so that guests who were attending a function in the ballroom need not pass through the hotel proper. I never did find out what function was being held in the ballroom that night...Rotary Club...Conservative Club...? But most of my contemporaries seemed to be attending it, and as I sat there I could see them arrive either through the lobby behind me, or through the door at the end of the corridor.
It was enthralling.
I saw Paul and Joan first, and that seemed only right and natural, for it was Paul who had introduced me to his friends, and to Edward, so many years ago. Paul was the son of a rich man and already established as a director in his father’s firm, and yet with all his wealth he had such compassion and such a clear head that he was the natural leader of the group.
I had been selling stockings, fresh from school, in the city’s biggest store when he met me. I was a virgin, and Paul made no attempt to alter that state of affairs. It was hard now to remember exactly how many boys I had gone out with that year. There had been maybe eight or nine boys in the group, each with their satellite girls, but I suppose I had been out with some four or five of them. Although I did not belong in their set by birth, I was acceptable because I was the prettiest girl they knew and also because I was a good listener. My parents were pleased, because they thought going out with members of the group would increase my chances of making a good marriage. My sister Mary was some fourteen years older and had already been married ten years by that time; I hardly knew her.
It was Paul who had given me the bracelet and a gold horseshoe charm to hang upon it. He called it The Queen’s Tribute, and it became a point of honour for any boy who gained my favour to present me with another charm. They were as nice a crowd of youngsters as you’d wish to meet anywhere, and even though one of them eventually forced me to surrender my virginity, I bore him no grudge for what was, at bottom, a misunderstanding on his part. I had three offers of marriage in six months, but declined them all, because I was in love with Edward.
Edward Straker. He was the elder son of Councillor Straker, who owned a printing works. Mrs St
raker had died young and the two boys, Edward and Jack, had been brought up in a dark, chilly house by a father who worshipped respectability and punctuality. Jack had escaped into childish illnesses and laughter; he had a ready tongue and made friends easily. For Edward there was no such escape. His brain was quicker than his tongue, he was sober and reliable. And reserved for Amy Coulster before I met him.
I fell in love with him the moment I saw him, and raged at myself for my stupidity. Why did I have to choose the only man in the group who was unobtainable? I was pretty, and lively, and a good dancer, so why did I have to handicap myself when so many nice boys wanted me to concentrate on them? I knew I couldn’t compete with Amy, who was poised, and dressed well, and knew how to be witty and flatter a man. She was no pin-up, but she had all the wealth of Coulsters’ Mills behind her, and it was rumoured that Edward was to be made a director of the giant works on the day of his marriage. The Coulster blood had run thin in Amy’s generation, and they welcomed the brilliant young accountant into their ranks for his brains, as well as his engagement to the Chairman’s only daughter.
So I went out with other boys and tried not to watch Edward when we were at parties together. Soon I discovered that he was watching me, too. We did not speak to each other; well, perhaps half a dozen sentences in as many months. ‘Pass the salt, will you?’ ‘Going in Fred’s car?’ That sort of thing. I could not bear to see him, and yet I could not keep away from him.
I went out with Jack not only because I liked him enormously, but also because he was the nearest thing I could get to Edward. There was bad blood between the brothers in those days. Jack was as frank as Edward was reserved and it was not hard to see how they had come to dislike one another. Jack had been his mother’s favourite—perhaps because he was so often ill and needed her more than his healthy elder brother—and Edward had felt himself rejected by her. Edward, on the other hand, had the looks and stamina which Jack lacked, and for these things his younger brother envied him. To make matters worse, Edward was his father’s favourite, and after Mrs Straker’s death Edward had been cast as the ‘goody’ and Jack as the ‘baddy’ in every family dispute.
Cry for Kit Page 1
