A Sight for Sore Eyes (32 page)

hole, down there, with what lay down there He went outside, picked up the plastic and the stones and replaced the manhole cover. The rain was heavy enough to have soaked his hair and made sodden patches on his jeans in the few minutes he was out there. He shivered. The Edsel's tank was nearly empty and he needed more money. Apart from that, he had to go home, check on his post, see if anything had come from Habgood, perhaps go and see his grandmother's friend Gladys. The bill in the restaurant had been an almost greater shock to him than Francine 's rejection of him. He didn't know food could cost so much. He had barely fifty pounds left and of that thirty could easily go on petrol. Francine had gone into the living-room and was phoning someone. That Holly, it sounded like. 'I'm going out,' he said. 'I'll have another key cut for you, shall I?' If she said yes, everything would be all right. She covered the mouthpiece with her hand. 'Yes, fine. Do that. If I do go out I promise I'll be back.' 'You can have the front-door key and I'll take the back-door key.' A thought struck her. 'Do you want to know exactly when?' He nodded. 'Then I'll be back exactly at six.' He wasn't much of a student of facial expression or tones of voice, but even he could tell that she was making an effort to be kind to him. 'Humouring' was what they called it, he thought. But she would come back at six. He began thinking of ways to keep her, but so that she couldn't get away, so that there was no escape. Enough petrol remained in the tank to get him to the nearest pump. When he had paid for it, he drove to his favourite cash dispenser, the one on the corner of Wellington Road. He put the card in, punched out the number, asked for two hundred pounds and waited. Even before any more digits or words had appeared on the screen he knew something was wrong. Then green letters displayed: Your order cannot be processed. Please collect your card. Puzzled, he took it. Should he try again, maybe in the Edgware Road? He found a dispenser at the NatWest Bank on the corner of Aberdeen Place. It was the kind that wanted to know if he required English money. He punched out~ 'yes' to that and 'no' to a receipt and, just as his hopes were rising, the refusal caine again. There was a fault. His order couldn't be carried out and he was to collect his card. Then he knew, or guessed. Harriet's money had dried up. He had drawn out so much that no funds remained in her current account.

Chapter 35

Richard read the fax from London with some bewilderment. His daughter had been trying to get in touch with him but had left no contact number. Why should she leave a number? Her number was his home phone. Since speaking to Julia on Sunday afternoon he had made no more calls to her. This was normal. He had never got into the habit of phoning every day. But now a phone call must be made. Francine had never before tried to get in touch with him while he was away, therefore if she had tried this time there had to be something seriously wrong. So, at eleven at night - only ten in London - he had tried to phone. No answer and the answering machine switched off He thought of the man who stalked her. Jonathan Nicholson. Was she trying to contact her father because of some outrage perpetrated against her by Nicholson? Had Julia unplugged the phone because of harassing calls from Nicholson? In that case, a ringing tone would still be heard by a caller. He went to bed, but slept badly. At nine in the morning, eight in London, he tried again. Julia might be up, Francine hardly would be. Still, he would be sure of getting one of them. He punched out the number and, when there was no reply, tried again through the hotel switchboard. Still no answer. If, as he thought, they had unplugged the phone, could they have forgotten to reconnect it? He could phone a neighbour. He felt the same reluctance to do this as Francine had felt about calling for help when locked in her room. Holly's mother was the only other con~ he could think of. She answered, couldn't help, but gave him the nuj~iber of Holly's flat. Again he got through, but the answering macbj1~~ replied. In half an hour's time he was due to give a lecture, the last one of the conference. He had intended to stay on till the next morning, visiting the chief executive of a new company of Software manufacturers, but now he decided to abandon this plan and go home on the afternoon flight. The silk curtains in a shade of pale autumn leaf were as beautiful as he could have wished, but now he had no use for them. He saw himself as living, if not permanently in Orcadia Cottage, then for years. Provided he paid the services bills, what or who was there to stop him? They could come and turn off the water and the power in his old home for all he cared, he was determined never to return. The old woman who had made the curtains was clamouring for him to paint the smelly hole at the back of her house. Agnes, who had come with him, backed her up. He could start any time, she insisted, he didn't know what to do with his time, hadn't got a regular job. If his source of supply hadn't dried up he would have paid her for her work and so got out of a hated task. Now he bitterly regretted that expensive meal. It wasn't as if there had been any pleasure involved. All that money had been wasted. 'He'll start tomorrow,' said Agnes, appointing herself his spokeswoman. 'I'll start on Friday,' Teddy said. Anything could happen before Friday. For all he knew, that bank account might fill up again, might automatically do so in, say, the third week of the month, and sets of two hundred pounds in series once more be available. He drove home - what else could he call it? - with Agnes in the passenger seat. She had no objection to him as driver now he had a full licence. Suddenly she asked, 'Has Keith given you this car?' He didn't answer. He was listening to a new sound the engine was making, a knocking. A vague memory came to him of Keith taking it to bits and reassembling it. Should a car be regularly serviced and if so, how often? One thing was for sure, no one had looked at this engine for nine months. 'He hasn't given it to me,' he said slowly, and then, 'He wants it back.' 'Of course he does.' Agnes always took a triumphant pleasure in other people's regrets and resignation. 'He'll be after you if you've not taken care of it properly. He'll want compensation.' This was too stupid and, considering Keith's fate, nasty, to get a reply. Teddy went into the house with the curtains. There was a letter on the doormat for him. He ripped open the envelope on which the postmark showed the evening before. The letter was from Mr Habgood to say that his wife wasn't happy with the designs and not at all pleased with the estimated cost, so in the circumstances they wouldn't proceed further. A tiny thread of panic flickered in Teddy's chest. It seemed that he had gone from riches to rags in a matter of days. He went into the room that he had always thought of, and still did think of, as his own and unhooked the mirror from the wall. When she came back at six she'd be glad to see it and she'd forget all the stupid accusations she'd made. He took a blanket off his bed, wrapped the mirror in it and carried it back to the car. Still in the passenger seat, Agnes was talking to Megsie through the window. 'Hallo, stranger,' said Megsie. 'You ought to tell us when you're going away, you know, on account of keeping a look-out for intruders.' 'I've moved,' he said recklessly. 'I'm living down in St John's Wood.' His grandmother said it was the first she had heard of it and it would be fifty pee to speak to him now. 'We quite miss this lovely old car,' said Megsie. 'It was only yesterday Nige said to me, the place isn't the same without that lovely old Elvis.' 'Edsel,' said Teddy, and then, because it was true, it was his intention, the decision he had suddenly come to, 'I'm going to drive it down to Liphook, to Keith. Later in the week.' Quick as a flash Agnes said, 'Not Friday you're not. Friday you're painting Gladys's toilet.' 'Won't Keith be happy to see it,' Megsie gushed. 'I bet you he'll feel just like he's got his beloved pet out of quarantine. And you have kept it nice, Teddy, not a speck on it.' He drove his grandmother home. Why later in the week, he thought. Why not now? He had nothing else to do. He would drive to Liphook and just abandon the Edsel, leave it in the street somewhere. They'd tow it away eventually, but if they got on to him all he had to do was say it was his uncle's and his uncle lived down there somewhere. Anyone they spoke to would confirm that Keith lived in Liphook. And he would be rid of it and the cost and worry of it. After she had gone inside, he sat in the car for a while just looking at his grandmother's house. It was her house, no doubt about it, not rented, not on a life interest, but hers to do as she liked with. Or hers to do nothing with, just to die and leave him to inherit. A house that would be his that he could sell, not one that had come vaguely into his possession for him to occupy but not own. He drove back to Orcadia Cottage. It was empty. Francine had gone out. He expected that, she had said she might go out and had promised to be back by six. That reminded him he had said he would get her a key. It wasn't worth taking the Edsel, it hardly ever was worth taking it. He walked across Hamilton Terrace to Maida Vale and down the Edgware Road where there were shops where keys could be cut. She wouldn't have let him go to the bother of having a key cut if she hadn't meant to stay. They looked at the key and said they couldn't copy it. That was the point of keys like that. You had to apply for copies to the manufacturer locksmiths. He tried two more places, but they said the same thing. He didn't feel bad about it, it scarcely mattered, he and Francine had a key each. The main thing was that she wanted a key because she meant to come back. The shop next door was a place where 'nearly new' clothes were sold. He remembered Noele's and the day he had called there in search of Francine. But Noele's place was a lot more up-market than this one. You wouldn't expect even second-hand designer clothes on sale in the Edgware Road, but in smarter, more fashionable parts of London there must be plenty of places. And they had to buy before they could sell. The wind had got up as he was walking back, bringing squally rain with it. As soon as it let up he lifted his mirror out of the boot of the Edsel and carried it across the yard into the house. Why not hang it where the Alpheton still life used to be? The hook was still there, a strong double-pronged hook screwed, not pinned, to the wall. He hung up the mirror, straightened it precisely - crooked mirrors and pictures were among his hates - and studied the effect. It looked good. He had feared it would be too modern for the room, too great a contrast with the rest of the furniture, but it fitted in verv well. It reflected the paintings that faced it and the trailing plant in a wall vase. He went upstairs and into the bedroom. No wonder Francine hadn't been able to find anything to wear in that wardrobe. What horrible clothes Harriet had had! Just the same, you could see that they had been very expensive. A bright pink and black suit carried a Lacroix label. There was a fur coat, a sort of speckled yellow thing, that felt real, and an evening gown with a top like a corset encrusted with blue and red and yellow jewels. It wouldn't do for Mildred or any of the neighbours to see him coming out with an armful of Harriet's clothes. He searched for suitcases and finally found one in a landing cupboard. If anyone saw him carrying that they would simply think he had been staying at Orcadia Cottage and was going home. The wind had become a gale, blowing leaves from the trees and whirling them high into the air. The rain that came with it brought a premature dusk. Other cars had their lights on so he turned on the Edsel's. Driving south-westwards, he and the Edsel entered the procession of vehicles that moved with grinding slowness through the wet grey mist of a winters afternoon. Leaves were blown on to the bonnet and a red plastic bag, bright as a tropical bird, flew down to catch itself on his windscreen wipers. 'And Teddy rescued you?' Holly said. 'How awfully romantic! Don't you think that's romantic, Chris?' 'I'd do the same in the unlikely circumstances of your mum locking you up. 'You'll never have the chance. Teddy actually did it.' Francine was in Holly's flat in Kilburn where she had arrived ten minutes before. Its chaos, its scents of joss sticks and aromatherapy oils and cigarettes, the empty but far from clean cups and plates which stood about, were all immensely comforting. She sat on the floor, on a heap of cushions and shawls and bedcovers, and thought how nice sitting on the floor was and asked herself how she had missed out on this pleasant and comfortable way of relaxing. As if reading her thoughts, Holly said, 'You've missed out on a hell of a lot of things, haven't you? I just hope you've put a stop to that.' It wasn't so easy. Holly always made everything sound so simple. Francine hadn't said anything about what had happened the night before and she wasn't going to. It hadn't, after all, been rape. It hadn't come to that and therefore could be forgotten, put behind her. She had thought of telling Holly and Christopher and James, who had just come in with a bottle of champagne, about Orcadia Cottage and its being lent to Teddy and the work he was doing there, but she decided against it. It was probably ridiculously suspicious and middle-class of her but she felt uneasy about Orcadia Cottage. She thought they, or at any rate she, ought not to be there. James poured the champagne. He seemed used to opening bottles like this one because he didn't spill a drop. 'It's to celebrate your escape,' he said. They all drank a toast to her and to Teddy who Holly said ought to be dressed in armour and on a white horse. Where was he anyway? Why hadn't he come with her? Francine said he was working. 'It's actually quite funny Julia hasn't given us a bell,' said Christopher. 'I mean, you'd have expected that, wouldn't you, Holl?' Holly nodded. 'She doesn't know Teddy rescued you. She must think you got out on your own. Or, no, it's most likely she thinks you phoned me and I came and you threw the key out to me. So why hasn't she called?' 'Because she's afraid of admitting to anyone', said James, 'that at the end of the twentieth century she locked her stepdaughter up in a bedroom. It makes her look cruel and very very foolish.' 'It makes her look draconian.' 'Bloody-minded.' 'Mad.' 'She is a bit mad,' said Francine. 'I've thought so for a long time. But you can't tell a psychotherapist she's crazy, any more than you can tell a doctor she's got - well, chicken-pox.' They all laughed at that. Francine felt better by the minute. She asked if she could phone her father's office, but when she did she once more got the woman's voice saying she was away from her desk. Holly said that now the champagne was finished why didn't they all go down to the pub and celebrate some more and then buy some deep-pan pizzas at the Safeway. It used to be an Irish pub, but now it was full of very good-looking fierce Somalis all living on the benefit. 'Racist,' said James. His brother said, 'Holly thinks that if she says they're handsome that makes it PC.' It was a different world. Francine thought wistfully that she liked it. The pub was smoky and noisy, and the people looked rough, but she liked that too. Holly cooked the pizzas and after lunch Christopher and James, who both had jobs, had to go off to work. Holly's work was finished, she was off in a week's time to join a study group conserving coral on the Banggai Islands of Sulawesi. 'You ought to come. Well, I think it's all booked, but I could see. Or you could get on this Earthwatch thing I'm doing in the spring.' 'Could I?' 'You've escaped - remember? It's studying Trinidadian land crabs. Don't laugh, it's really worthwhile.' 'I wasn't going to laugh, Holly. I was thinking I'd better go home and confront Julia.' Holly's look of horror did make her laugh. 'My dad'll be home tomorrow. I can't just desert him. I won't stay, don't think that, I've promised Teddy I'll be back by six...' Holly said very seriously, 'France, don't get into that again. Not even with Teddy. Not with anyone.' 'Into what?' 'Promising you'll be home. You'll be home at six or whatever. Don't do it. You've had it all your life, you'll never be free at this rate. Get out of it now.' Holly added as if she were middle-aged, 'While you're young. 'All right. I'll try not to. I'll try to change. But I do have to go and see Julia and - and tell her things.' 'Do you want me to come with you?' 'No. No, thanks. I mean, I'd really like you to come, it's a long way, it'd be nice to have you there, but I have to go alone. I have to face her on my own. It's better that way. It's better even without my dad there. You do see, don't you?' The shop Teddy found was in Notting Hill Gate. It was called Designers Please and claimed to buy and sell only first-quality second-hand clothes. This part of London was unknown to him. He couldn't remember ever having been there before. He drove around in the gloom, his lights on, looking for a parking space. Every metered