“Unlikely,” Arabella replied. “He hasn’t for the last fifteen years. Friday nights were a night of peace for me...except when Karen was at home.”
“Well, she might be there,” pointed out Sylvia.
“I’ll ring first to check. Look, Sylvia, I am going to get them, OK?”
Arabella planned her sortie to 12 Cardiff Road very carefully.
When she got off the bus at the end of the street, she was dressed in jeans and a sweat shirt with her fleece on top and trainers on her feet. She couldn’t have looked less like the staidly-dressed Pam Smith who had left her home six weeks earlier in a crimplene trouser suit and sensible shoes. As she had promised Sylvia, she’d phoned from her new mobile, just to make certain that neither Roger nor Karen was there. When the answerphone clicked in she listened in amazement to the new recorded message that greeted her.
“Hi, you’ve reached Roger Smith. Sorry I can’t take your call right now. If you want to leave a message please do, and I’ll get back to you. If you’re looking for Pamela, she doesn’t live here.”
She replaced the handset without saying anything. He must have been getting calls from people asking for me, she thought, but who could it be? She knew very few people who might ring her up. Marilyn, perhaps? Yes, probably Marilyn.
Anyway, she decided, it doesn’t sound as if he’s in, so I shall go round and see.
The darkening street was deserted and Arabella hurried towards number twelve, hoping that she wouldn’t bump into any of her neighbours. She was lucky and slipped in through the gate unobserved, pausing then, in the shelter of the hedge, to look at the house. It was in darkness, not even the inner hall light left on to welcome Roger home. She walked quietly up to the front door and rang the bell loudly, poised to make a dash for it if there was any sign of anyone coming in response. The shrill of the bell died away and the house remained in darkness. The sound of an approaching car made her duck into the shadows, but though it was going very slowly, it passed the house and disappeared into the next road. Quickly she put her key in the lock. It wouldn’t turn. For one panic-stricken moment she jiggled it about, before it dawned on her that Roger must have had the locks changed. Anger shafted through her and she thought, Bastard! Then common-sense came to her aid and she quietly withdrew the key and quickly left the front door. Thinking about it, it was obvious that Roger would have changed the lock, she’d have done the same herself, but she just hadn’t thought of it. Still, she wasn’t defeated yet, there was always the back door. She wondered if he had bothered to change the lock on that, and rather doubted it. He probably didn’t even know there’d been a second key. Only one way to find out. Quickly she made her way round to the alley behind the garden, and opening the gate, slipped inside. Music and light streamed from Margaret Hillier’s kitchen window next door, but there was no sign of Margaret; for once she wasn’t looking out. Anxious to avoid the prying eyes of her nosy neighbour, Arabella crossed the patio and slipped into the shelter of the back porch. Rooting through her bag she unearthed her back door key and holding her breath, inserted it into the lock, praying that Roger hadn’t changed this lock too, or shot the bolts across. He hadn’t. The key turned easily and she was inside her old kitchen. She risked the light, far less likely to attract attention than the bobbing of a torch beam, and looked around her.
The kitchen was a complete tip. Last night’s…last week’s… washing up was in the sink, the remains of breakfast on the table and a basket of dirty laundry by the washing machine. She looked at the mess with grim satisfaction. Roger was not coping well on his own. Clearly he had left in a hurry this morning, but the amount of clutter was certainly more than one morning’s debris, left for lack of time. The kitchen smelt dreadful, and a quick glance at the overflowing garbage bin told her why.
Not my problem, she thought cheerfully, and wrinkling her nose she went through into the hall. The whole house had a musty smell about it; there was no smell of polish and freshness that used to greet her when she came in, no flowers arranged on the hall table, just a heap of junk mail on a chair. She left the hall light off and using the light from the open kitchen door made her way to the stairs. As she crossed the hall the shrill chirrup of the phone made her jump. Instinctively she reached for the receiver and just stopped herself in time. The answerphone clicked in and she heard Roger’s greeting message.
“Hi, you’ve reached Roger Smith. Sorry I can’t take your call right now. If you want to leave a message please do, and I’ll get back to you. If you’re looking for Pamela, she doesn’t live here.”
A voice started to speak. “Hallo, Roger. It’s Marilyn Ross. I’m still trying to contact Pam. From what you say she isn’t there and won’t be. Please would you ring me with her new number. Thank you.” She gave her phone number and the line went dead.
Listening to Marilyn’s message, Arabella thought about ringing her friend back. No, she couldn’t, not now, maybe not ever. Disappearing completely meant losing contact with the very few friends she actually had. She would have to consider whom she could trust at some stage, but now she must get on and do what she had come for.
Chapter 10
That Friday morning Roger had received a call from Charleigh.
“Hallo, babe,” she murmured. “How’s life with you then?”
“Charleigh!” Roger, who had been slumped at his desk in his office, sat up abruptly.
“Got a little knick-knack for you,” she said. “Thought I might bring it round later. Interested, are you?”
“Of course I’m interested.” Roger tried to keep his voice calm, but the sound of her sexy drawl had had the inevitable effect on him and he was suddenly breathless. “When will you come?”
“Later this afternoon,” she replied. “Then when we’ve done our business, I thought you could take me for dinner somewhere. A nice hotel, say. Know what I mean?”
Roger certainly hoped he did know what she meant and he said, “Fine, I’ll close up early.”
“Won’t be that early,” she warned him, “got to see Gord off to Amsterdam first?”
“Amsterdam?” Roger was startled. “What on earth’s he going there for?”
“Nothing to do with you, babe,” Charleigh chuckled, “Just be glad he is, OK?”
For the rest of the day Roger felt himself go hot and cold every time he thought of the coming evening, and little else came into his mind. He phoned Keith Davies, a member of his Friday card school, and told him he wouldn’t be there. He didn’t say why, but Keith had laughed and said, “Roger on the roger – eh?” and laughing again rang off. Roger scowled at the phone as he replaced the receiver. The joke was such an old one, but it still irritated him.
At lunchtime he closed the shop and going to a boutique hotel on the outskirts of the city, booked a deluxe room for the night. When asked his name he gave it, but it was only when she actually took an imprint of his credit card to confirm the reservation that the world-weary receptionist recognised that Smith was indeed his name.
“Will you be wanting dinner, sir,” she asked, smiling up at him.
“Yes, certainly,” Roger replied, determined that this time his evening with Charleigh would not be spoiled. He booked a table for eight o’clock, hoping they would arrive well before that. “And please would you arrange for a bottle of champagne to be waiting in the room for when we arrive,” he said, giving absolutely no consideration to the mounting bill.
“Certainly, sir,” replied the receptionist. “It’ll be chilled and ready in your suite when you arrive. Is there anything else we can do to make your stay more memorable?”
Roger smiled at her and said that he didn’t think so, but if there was he’d ring.
With everything prepared for the evening, Roger went home, took a shower and searched for a clean shirt. He found one eventually, and even as he searched he had to concede that it was time he got his domestic arrangements sorted out properly. He then went back to the shop to find the papers he needed to take home for
his computer lesson next day with Karen. There were few customers as the afternoon crawled on, and when at last the clock showed five-thirty he flipped the sign to closed, turned off the main lights and went into his office to wait for Charleigh.
It was nearly seven o’clock when she finally tapped on the door and he let her in.
“I was beginning to think you weren’t coming,” he said gruffly as he reached to pull her into his arms. She evaded him easily and walked through into his office.
“Sorry, babe, but I had to take Gord to the airport. Did tell you, so don’t grump at me or I’ll go home.”
“Oh, I’m not grumping,” Roger said hastily, “I was afraid something had happened to you, that was all.” He moved towards her again, but Charleigh pushed him away with a giggle.
“Naughty boy,” she admonished, “wait until we’ve done our bit of business.” She pulled out a roll of black velvet from the depths of her handbag and laid it on his desk.
“Granny been looking through her treasures again?” Roger asked her as she unrolled it.
“That’s right,” she said and lifting out a double string of pearls with a diamond clasp, she laid them on top of the black velvet.
Roger whistled. “She kept the best piece back,” he remarked.
“Yeah, well…” Charleigh left her sentence unfinished and looked at him for a moment. “So, what’re you going to give me for them, eh?”
Roger knew real pearls when he saw them and these were worth a great deal of money, but he was not a jeweller and though he could sell them on all right, he wouldn’t be able to realise anything like their true value.
“P’raps I should take them somewhere else,” suggested Charleigh when he explained this to her. “I mean, I want Gran to get a fair price for them, now, don’t I? It’s no good coming to you if you can’t come up with a decent price now, is it?” She smiled at him with innocent sweetness and began to roll the necklace back into its protective velvet covering.
Roger got the message. If he didn’t buy the necklace at a price that suited her, even though he would never recoup the money himself, she was going, and there would be no chance of them spending the evening together now….or ever.
“Wait,” he said, his hand on her wrist. “Let me have another look at them.”
“Of course, babe,” she smiled at him again, running the tip of her tongue round her lips. “Take your time.”
Roger made great play of looking at the pearls, studying the clasp with a jeweller’s glass. Eventually he named a price and Charleigh looked at him sorrowfully.
“Is that really the best you can do, babe?” she asked. “Only Gord knows this other bloke who’d be interested, like. I just thought it was only fair to give you first refusal, but,” she added pouting prettily at him, “you only get one chance, know what I mean?”
Roger did know what she meant and upped his offer considerably. Certain she was onto a winner, Charleigh pushed him a little higher and eventually the deal was done.
“Only I haven’t got that much money here, you know,” Roger explained. “I only keep that sort of money in the safe at home.”
“That’s OK, babe,” Charleigh said understandingly, “we’ll collect it on our way to the hotel.” She ran a finger lightly down his cheek, allowing it to rest for a second on his lips. “You did find us a nice hotel, didn’t you, babe?”
Roger told her where he had booked and she clapped her hands like a little girl. “Oooh Rog! I’ve never been there.” She gathered up the velvet roll and replaced it in her bag. “I’ll look after this until we’ve been to your house and got the money, eh?”
They drove to Cardiff Road and Roger got out of the car. Charleigh handed him the velvet roll and said lightly, “I won’t come in this time, Rog. Don’t want to upset Mummy, now do we?”
“Pam doesn’t live here anymore,” Roger told her shortly.
Charleigh treated him to a cheeky grin but simply said, “You just run in and get my money, I’ll wait here.”
Within moments Roger had put the pearls into the safe and retrieved the extortionate sum Charleigh had demanded. It had virtually cleaned him out. As he came downstairs again he thought about her way of increasing the amount he was prepared to pay and realised it was a method she had employed from the start. He wondered if Gord allowed him to sleep with her to ensure that they made far more on every deal that they otherwise would. Maybe. Maybe not. Maybe it was simply an enterprise of her own and Gord really didn’t know of their liaison. Either way Roger knew that he was being rooked, but there was nothing he could do about it. Charleigh always gave him just enough to ensure her hold over him and to keep him coming back for more.
They reached the hotel just before eight, and as they booked in the receptionist said, “Your table will be ready when you are, Mr Smith, Mrs Smith.”
“Oooh, lovely,” cooed Charleigh, “I’m starving, aren’t you Rog?”
“Let’s go up to the room first,” Roger insisted and taking her arm led her firmly to the lift.
In the suite everything was as he’d wanted it, with the champagne standing in its ice bucket and two champagne flutes sparkling beside it.
“Bubbles!” cried Charleigh in delight as she saw them. She flung her bag down on to the huge bed and slipped off her shoes. “Open it up, babe,” she said, “and let’s have some before we go down.”
This was much more what he had had in mind and Roger did as she bid, pouring them a glass each. As he handed hers to her he raised his own in salute, “Here’s to a fantastic evening,” he said.
She clinked her glass against his and wrinkling her nose at him said, “And to lots more business between us, eh babe?”
Despite his efforts to get her onto the bed before they went down for their dinner, Charleigh continued to evade him, saying with a giggle, “Now Rog, be good! We’ve plenty of time for all that after dinner. I know you, my lover,” she ran her hands down his chest, “once you get going there’ll be no stopping you and I won’t get the dinner you promised me.”
The meal was excellent, but for Roger it went on far too long. However, the wine was good and as Charleigh drank at least her share if not more, he hoped that things were set fair for the rest of the night. When they reached the suite at last, Roger threw all restraint to the winds and grabbed Charleigh in his arms, kissing her fiercely whilst fighting with the zip of first her trousers and then his own. He had just managed the latter when the chirrup of a mobile phone came from Charleigh’s capacious bag. Struggling away from him Charleigh laughed and said in a throaty drawl, “Now just you control yourself, my lover, we don’t want it all over in two shakes now, do we?”
She pulled the phone from the bag and looked at the number displayed. “It’s Gord,” she announced in surprise. “What’s he ringing me for?”
“Leave it!” growled Roger. “Don’t answer it.” He tried to take the phone from her, but with surprising strength she pushed him away, saying sharply, “Don’t be stupid. Course I’ve got to answer it.”
She pressed receive and spoke into the phone. “Hallo, darlin’, everything all right, is it?”
It clearly wasn’t and Roger listened with mounting anger as Charleigh said soothingly, “Don’t worry, darlin’ I’ll come and get you. Just wait in the terminal. I’m on my way?” Gord said something on the other end and Charleigh laughed. “No,” she responded, “course not. I’ve only popped out to the off licence for some wine. I’ll take it home and pick up the car and be with you in no time.” She made a loud kiss down the phone, clicked it off and dropped it back into her bag. In a leisurely fashion she readjusted her blouse and zipped up her trousers.
“Sorry, babe,” she said. “Got to go and fetch Gord from the airport. His flight’s been cancelled and he’s coming home.”
Roger let out a roar of rage . “What! What the hell do you mean you’ve got to fetch Gord from the airport? What about me.”
“What about you?” enquired Charleigh serenely as she put on
her shoes. “You don’t want to come to the airport to fetch Gord do you? How could we explain that to him, eh? He said he rang me at home…had to tell him a little white lie, didn’t I? Told him I’d just popped down the off licence, but he won’t believe me if you turn up as well, will he?”
“But,” spluttered Roger, “what about tonight, here?”
“Sorry, babe, some other time, eh?” She gave him an encouraging smile, but Roger was too angry to be won over by this facile promise, and he grabbed her arms forcing her backwards onto the bed, saying through his teeth, “That won’t do!”
Remaining very calm in the face of his explosive anger, Charleigh said softly but clearly, “Anyone who touches me without my say so is a dead man, Rog.”
“You’ll be lucky I don’t strangle you!” Roger growled at her, still pressing her down on the bed.
She stared up into his angry face, still apparently unafraid, and said with dangerous calm. “ If you did that, Rog, Gord would find you, wherever you hid, and your death wouldn’t be a quick one. Think now, babe, any mark on me and you’ll be getting a visit from Gord and his mates. You don’t want that, do you?”
The sense in her words finally penetrated Roger’s frustrated brain and he released her. Charleigh stood up again and picked up her bag. At the door she turned and as if there had been nothing untoward between them she said, “I got to go, but think, he’ll have to go to Amsterdam sometime soon, he’s got a meet there.” She kissed her fingers and blew him the kiss. “I’ll give you a bell when he goes,” she promised, “and when he does we’ll skip dinner next time, eh?”
Before Roger knew it she had slipped out of the room and he was left alone fuming with furious frustration. For some time he paced the room, his rage nearly suffocating him. Now he was sure it was a scam. Charleigh was sent to sell him stuff Gord had stolen because she could extract more money from him than he would ever consider paying Gord himself. With promises of herself, Charleigh had got him to pay way over the odds, and then at the last minute she’d found a way to withdraw from her side of the bargain. Roger thought of the wad of folded notes which now nestled in Charleigh’s handbag, and his simmering rage erupted again. If Charleigh had still been in the room at that moment it was unlikely that any thought of Gord’s revenge would have stopped him throttling her.
A Dish Served Cold Page 8
