A Well Kept Secret (31 page)

“What does your husband look like?”

She pulled herself together with an effort.

“Oh, he’s tallish, at least as tall as you, blond hair, sort of babyish face I suppose you might say, lean build.”

“There has been a man asking for a ‘Mrs Collins’ in Wellworthy; he matches the description you have given. That is why I asked you who she was; because I had reason to believe that it might either be you or someone you knew. Now it may all be coincidence of course, a simple case of mistaken identity, yet given what you have told me I don’t think you should be taking any chances until we can be certain one way or the other. You obviously believe that he arranged for one of his associates to try and kill you when he was sent to prison. If he is out and has discovered that you are still alive, then it is not impossible he has tracked you to Wellworthy with the intention of making good his threat. Tomorrow, I will make enquiries, and if he has been released, well, at least we are forewarned. In the meantime, in the interests of safety, I suggest that you move into one of the rooms in the house.”

She looked at him in alarm. “You really think that is necessary; the flat has strong locks, it wouldn’t be an easy place for anyone to break into?”

“Maybe not, but you have to emerge sometimes! What if he is waiting in concealment?”

The renewed look of fear that flashed over her features spoke louder than words of the sheer dread she had of her husband. More than ever he was convinced that everything she had told him was genuine.

“I hadn’t thought of that,” she said tightly. “The idea that he may be free and out there somewhere looking for me is a terrible shock. I honestly believed that he was safely locked away; I imagined I was free of him when I was knocked down; I thought that was the end of it. I deluded myself that he believed that he had had his revenge, but he hasn’t has he? It has been so long since I’ve heard or seen anything, and now you think he might be out there, waiting for me! Oh God; the whole hideous nightmare is starting again!”

“We don’t know that for a fact as yet,” he cautioned. “Did you ever mention to him that you thought your father might be in this part of the world?”

“I suppose I must have done, I expect that is why I was tracked down.”

He could see the raw fear in her eyes, yet he knew her had to press on with what he could see of the threat that now faced her. “Then it is not impossible that he has had someone in the town trying to locate you,” he said. “That someone may have advised him that they thought they had recognised you, even though I suspect you have done your best to alter your appearance. If I am right, and if he is still bent on gaining some form of sick revenge, then upon being released he would sooner or later come to Wellworthy secretly to see for himself.
 
To be safe, we need to work on the assumption that the man making enquiries that I have been warned about is either your husband or one of his friends. Either way we should now be on our guard. Try not to worry about this too much; he won’t try anything whilst I’m around. I will come with you to your flat tonight so that you can collect whatever you need. Please don’t argue about it; you will be very much safer in the house, and you can always lock your bedroom door for added security if you wish. Tomorrow, if my enquiries confirm that he is out on parole from prison, and that it is him in Wellworthy, it will not be too difficult for me to find something for the police to charge him with, just to get him taken back inside.”

She looked up with a hopeless expression on her face that once again touched a chord deep inside him.

“I’m afraid you are right; I’ve a feeling that he is here,” she said in a voice only barely above a whisper. “He always swore he would get out and come for me. I know what he is like; he will not rest until he kills me; am I never to be free?”

“Please,” he said soothingly. “You mustn’t allow this to get to you. Even if it is him, you are no longer alone and friendless. He will not touch you all the time you are under my roof, I promise you that.”

“Thank you,” she whispered, and then shook her head as if throwing off a nightmare. “I’m sorry; giving away like this isn’t going to solve anything,” she added in a more defiant voice. “It was just such a shock; having to admit to myself that he might be out there somewhere waiting to strike. I’m all right now; I’ll not give him the pleasure of seeing that he can reduce me once again to the quivering wreck that I was.”

“That’s the spirit; if he’s somewhere in Wellworthy I’ll soon cook his goose for him, and if he tries to break in again, I’ll take great pleasure in finding out how
he
reacts to a painful beating!”

She stood up, and paced up and down the room, and Martin was vastly relieved to see the fear dying away, and a new spirit of truculence gradually taking its place. He secretly hoped that Paul Collins
would
chance his arm; he would take great pleasure in beating the man to a pulp, and to hell with the legal consequences.

“And another thing,” Martin said, dragging his mind away from visions of hammering June’s husband into oblivion, “this naturally changes the arrangements for tomorrow. You and the girls will now accompany me on my trip to see Mrs Jefferson. It’s a seaside town, and you can all have a good time on the beach whilst I go and discover what it is she needs to tell me.”

“You want me to come with you?” she asked, clearly a bit startled by the thought. “Are you sure?”

“Absolutely, and no arguments accepted,” he said, and meant it.

When Martin finally reached his bed that night he knew that sleep would be a long time in coming. June, as he still thought of her, had become rather quiet and withdrawn after the initial enthusiasm of seeing an opportunity of defeating the fear of her husband. The effort of revealing so much of her traumatic past had re-opened many old wounds for her, and he could see how withdrawn and introspective she had become as a result. Much as he longed to comfort her, he found it next to impossible to express or even understand his own intense emotional reaction to what had happened to her, largely because he was still in such a confused state about his own feelings towards her as a person, coupled with the totally illogical feeling that he was somehow betraying the memory of Alicia. After some minutes of hesitant conversation they had eventually gone together to her flat to collect such things as she felt she needed, and although he accepted her invitation to go in with her, he had felt distinctly ill at ease in her home, markedly more so than he had at the end of his previous visit.

There was no logical reason why he should have reacted that way of course, yet being so confused in himself about what he really felt for her, just being in her private domain seemed almost like forcing a decision on his emotions, and one which as yet he felt incapable of making. He stood there in her lounge as she collected together all that she required in an overnight bag, gazing at the paintings, the décor, and all the little reminders of her as a person, yet not really taking anything in. He wondered if the real problem was that he simply didn’t have the courage to be honest with himself. Beyond platitudes and non-controversial conversation on minor matters there was no real communication between them, it was almost as if neither of them really knew what to say to the other.

On returning into the house she had wished him a subdued goodnight and retired to the room at the end of the landing which she had selected and prepared for herself. She made no further reference to what she had revealed, and he had asked no questions. Now that her past was out in the open, rather than clear the air, it somehow seemed to have created a wall that neither of them knew how to breech. After she had gone, he had sat for a while in the study, trying to sort matters out in his own mind. It was a pointless exercise as he mind went round and round in circles.
 
He kept thinking of what she had related to him, and the more he thought about it, the more twisted inside he became. He was not by nature a violent man, yet sitting there brooding over what she had suffered he knew that if he could lay hands on Paul Collins he would never be able to ill-treat another person like he had his wife.
 
Eventually he retired to his own room, still endlessly turning over in his mind what she had told him, and his own illogical reaction to the whole business.

Sleep was impossible; he didn’t even bother with one of the pills because he was so unsettled. He lay tossing and turning, trying to make sense of his own feelings, and the more he tried the more confused he became. Inevitably, he thought a lot about Alicia, how it had been love at first sight, his sheer delight when she had returned that love, the years of happiness they had spent together, and the desolation and anguish that had come with her death. For him, there could never be another Alicia, and at times the ache he felt for her was more than he could bear. He had never been even remotely interested in another woman throughout the happy years of his marriage; much less strayed from the 'straight and narrow'. He was well aware that many of his colleagues and friends were routinely unfaithful to their partners, and although such behaviour didn’t bother him, he had never felt the slightest desire to follow their example. He was well aware that many women had made it obvious that they would not be averse to his attentions, and he knew that he should have been flattered. Ever since he had married he had found that the more attractive the woman the more wary of them he was. It was a trait that had become greatly pronounced following Alicia’s untimely death.

When Alicia had died, the physical and emotional side of life had died with her as far as he was concerned. The mere idea of trying to form another relationship had never crossed his mind, indeed, the very concept was repugnant to him, representing as it did in his mind an insult to Alicia who was in a class all of her own. Yet there was no denying that there was something about June that drew him like a magnet, and in a way the effect she unconsciously had on him was almost frightening. She had instinctively recognised it in him from the first, yet initially he had simply deluded himself that his interest in her was merely a necessary distraction; a mystery that needed to be solved.

Ironically, in a sense he had now resolved it. He now knew why she was so difficult and prickly, and that should have been the end of his interest, only it wasn’t. He had been torn-apart inside as he had listened to her sickening tale of abuse; he had wanted to comfort her, to soothe her, to protect her. Maybe he would have felt like that about anyone he had become aware of in the same situation whilst Alicia had still been alive, yet instinctively he knew that it was so much more than that Why did he feel so protective towards her? Why did he always feel so much better in her presence? Why did he find her conversation both so relaxing and stimulating at one and the same time?

Was it simply the fact that he was physically drawn to her? She was certainly attractive in a quiet and reserved sort of way; she carried herself well, and she had a small but neatly proportioned figure with a round and attractive face with perfect teeth. Being brutally honest, she was no more attractive than a good many women he had encountered; certainly nothing like as physically desirable as some. Yet those women had not merited a second glance; what made her so different? He tried to convince himself that it was nothing more than carnal lust, exacerbated by the fact that her background precluded any sort of willing sexual liaison.

He tried to imagine what she might be like in bed, and although in one sense the idea was pleasant, at the same time it evoked terrible feelings of guilt that he should even be thinking of her in such a manner. Such thoughts begged the question; why? Alicia was dead, and he felt sure that if she was able to speak to him she would encourage him to find another partner in life, yet it still felt as if he was betraying her by even considering such an idea. He reminded himself forcibly that he had only known June for a matter of a few days, and in another few days they would more than likely be going their separate ways, and that would be that. Or would it? He suddenly realised that the prospect of returning to his own home, and never seeing her again was something he did not relish in the least. But there was no way he could take her on as a housekeeper, and how else would he maintain contact?

At about two in the morning he finally accepted that sleep was something that was never going to happen. He rose, slipped on his dressing gown, and crept down the stairs and crossed the hall to the kitchen. He had originally planned on having a glass or two of whiskey, yet as he descended the stairs he changed his mind and decided to have a cup of cocoa instead. June had bought a supply for the girls, and he recalled how his own mother had provided him with it as a child. Maybe it was that association that tempted him to trying something he had not drunk in more years than he could remember. He had just filled the kettle when he heard the kitchen door open. He looked round in surprise as the figure of his daughter Beverley hove into sight.

“Hi dad,” she said in a low voice, closing the door silently behind her. “I couldn’t sleep; I thought I would come down and make a drink.”

“I’m making cocoa, will that do?” he asked. It was unusual for his daughter to have a poor night and he guessed that she must have something on her mind.

“Please.” She came and settled herself down in a chair as her father fished out another mug and went through the ritual of preparing the beverage.

“What’s kept you awake then?” he asked as he finished his preparations and brought the mugs over to the table, “Too much excitement?”

“I don’t think so,” she answered in a sort of semi-apologetic tone. “Georgie went off to sleep quite quickly, and she snores! I’ve noticed it before, but even though I went and prodded her, she soon started up again.”

“Would you rather have separate rooms?”

She grinned and shook her head. “No, it doesn’t bother me usually. I guess I’m just a bit, I don’t know; screwed up I suppose.”

“Want to talk about it?”

She looked at him, and he could see that she was biting her lip, and there were tears at the corner of her eyes. He held up an arm, and she suddenly leapt out of her chair and came and climbed onto his lap as he put his arms round her. She buried her head in his shoulder, and he could feel rather than hear the suppressed sobs. He patted her affectionately on her shoulder, and presently she calmed down a little, and drew back, dabbing her eyes with a hanky.

“Sorry,” she whispered. “I didn’t want to do that; you’ve got enough worries without me being stupid.”

“You’re not stupid, Bev,” he said kindly, giving her shoulders a squeeze, “What are dad’s for, if not to provide a handy shoulder once in a while. It’s mum, isn’t it?”

She nodded, as if not trusting herself to speak.

“I guess we both still miss her terribly,” he added softly. “It will get better; I promise.”

“I thought I was being strong,” she said, laying her head on his shoulder again, “I knew how dreadfully upset you were, and I didn’t want to make matters any worse. I don’t think it really hit me, I mean,
really
hit me, until I came here, and there was you, just like always, but no mum. It was seeing June that made me realise just how much I was missing her, and suddenly accepting for the first time that I’m never going to see her again. I know it sounds so stupid, but when June saw Georgie and I into bed tonight, I wanted to hug her just like I did mum, and then I felt absolutely awful!”

“Well, if it helps, I feel just as lonely,” he said soothingly. “Coming home to an empty house, no one to share my day with; it’s like a big black hole in my life, just as it is for you. It is going to take us both a long time to get used to the fact that she isn’t with us anymore. It is sad, and there is nothing we can do about it. The important thing is that we still have each other, and you know that mum will always be watching over us. Look, when we have finished here and the school breaks up for the summer recess, maybe we should go away together for a while?”

She shook her head. “No, I don’t think that would be a very good idea dad,” she said quietly. “That would be like running away, wouldn’t it? No matter where we went, we would both know that mum wasn’t there. Sooner or later we would have to come home.”

“I suppose you are right,” he sighed. “It will be hard no matter what we do.”

“I was thinking,” she said hesitantly after a few moments, drawing her face back from his shoulder and gazing at him earnestly, “couldn’t we come and live here?”

“Live here?” he echoed, looking down at her in surprise. “Why on earth would you want to do that?”

“Memories,” she said sadly. “I’m really sorry dad; I just can’t cope with them at home, because home is where mum should be. I don’t think I can ever go home and be happy again. I shall always be expecting to see mum everywhere, and I don’t think I can face it, I really don’t. If we came and lived here, well, it’s all quite different, and although I will still miss mum, there’s so much else to do, places to explore, people to meet, so I wouldn’t be thinking about her all the time. And there’s June; she’s nothing like the dragon I imagined, she is so nice I’m sorry I ever thought that about her. I know she’s not mum, only, I don’t know, somehow she makes it easier, and if we go home, we won’t see her again either, will we?”

“No, I suppose not,” he answered slowly, more than a little taken aback by what she had just said.

It struck him forcibly that Beverley had felt the loss of her mother just as much if not much more than he had felt the loss of his wife, and being so totally immersed in his own grief he had just assumed that she was coping. It was a wholly selfish assumption, it was all too evident now that she hadn’t really been coping anything like as well as he had imagined; she had been bottling it up inside her, and doing it because she didn’t want to add to the worries he already had. He suddenly felt terribly guilty about how he had simply neglected to genuinely consider her feelings as he had wallowed in his own grief. He hugged her again in sympathy.

“It’s a tempting thought,” he said to her. “Because I know exactly what you mean about June, she’s that sort of person. Sadly, it isn’t as easy as all that; there’s lots of things to consider which you wouldn’t understand about. Anyway, even if we stopped here, June might well have plans of her own, mightn’t she?”