Authors: Catherine Hunt
‘Not a problem, we don’t use it much,’ Claire said. She stood up, ready to collect the car and get going. Martha sat still, glaring at her mother.
‘Come on, aren’t you coming to say goodbye?’ Anna called as they went out to the front door. Reluctantly, Martha followed. Anna headed for the garage and the other two waited while she fiddled with a bunch of keys, unlocking the doors.
Inside was a black Nissan Pathfinder 4x4. It had dark tinted windows.
Anna started up the engine, reversed fast up the drive and stopped out in the lane. She had no intention of letting Claire see the Nissan in the lighted driveway. There were new scratches on it and a new dent in the side panel. They hadn’t been there when she’d borrowed it.
‘See you cleaned it up for me,’ Claire remarked. She wasn’t laughing.
‘Sorry, I did mean to, but what with half-term and all.’
‘Doesn’t matter, it was pretty dirty before but’, she eyed the vehicle, ‘it looks like it’s been through a swamp!’
Even in the dark it was obviously filthy. The tyres and chassis were thick with mud and the bodywork was badly spattered. Anna had thought about washing off the worst but decided against it. The dirt helped to hide the damage. The vehicle had been messy and scratched when she’d got it and she was hoping no one would bother to clean it up for a while. Too bad if they did, she thought. Once it was off the premises it would be nothing to do with her.
She laughed, kissed Claire on the cheek, and hustled her into the driver’s seat. The monster moved off, its powerful headlights raking the lane ahead. Martha ran indoors, up to her room and slammed the door. Her mother shrugged, unconcerned. She was remembering the chase.
It had been a spur of the moment thing, because she happened to come across Laura Maxwell, because she happened to have the 4x4, because … Anna thought about it, because it was the answer to all her problems. An answer that had been sitting in her brain for a long time. Suddenly, there was a chance and she had grabbed it.
That day, the day of the chase, she had woken at 3 a.m., panicky, desperate to see Joe, tormented by doubts about the future. It was happening a lot lately and this particular nightmare was becoming more frequent. She was going to lose him, she knew it; he was slipping through her fingers. Her chest filled with a hot choking sensation and she could hardly breathe.
She phoned him as soon as she could. She had to talk to him, needed to hear his voice, the same way she needed air or water. It calmed her but not enough. She had to see him, to touch him, to know that he was hers.
Joe had a lot on, business meetings with his brother that he couldn’t skip. There was no time to come out to the cottage, so she met him at the Greene House Hotel in Hove. Room number ‘21’. Erotic memories. It was where they used to meet, before the cottage, before Anna had left her husband. Their meetings had been all about sex, the excitement heightened by their restricted access to one another and the slight, but ever present, danger of discovery. It was a room that was let only in emergencies when the hotel was full and needed the space. It was too small to be comfortable, with a cramped bathroom and a view of a brick wall. But it had a double bed and Joe had the key and so it was perfect. For Anna, to be back there felt like a homecoming.
They were still in bed, Joe dozing by her side, when his wife rang her. Her mobile was switched to silent but she was sending a text about Martha’s sleepover that night when she saw Laura’s number come up. She knew it was stupid to answer, but something inside her couldn’t resist. She dashed into the bathroom with it.
She wanted to howl down the phone with laughter. How hilarious was this? To be phoned by Laura Maxwell while she was actually shagging her husband in his hotel. She sat on the edge of the bath with her hand in her mouth to stop herself giggling, told Laura the line was bad and she’d have to call her back.
After the hotel, Joe walked with her along the sea front. He’d been worried then, said that what they’d done was a stupid risk because they had to be careful until her divorce was through. He’d enjoyed it at the time, though, she knew. And she wasn’t so sure any more that she wanted to be careful. Why shouldn’t the bitch know? Wouldn’t it be better that way? Part of her, a growing part of her, longed for discovery. Bring it on, she thought. It would shake things up a little. There’d be some kind of action and she was sick of waiting.
She thought a lot about arranging for Laura to ‘accidentally’ find out, fantasized about it, but the truth was she didn’t dare. She was scared that, if it happened, Joe would be frightened off. Same old problem, same old nightmare; when the chips were down, she didn’t trust him to choose her.
Anna was free for the rest of the day, and with Martha spending the night away, she wanted Joe to come to the cottage that evening. It was a rare opportunity. She would cook dinner for him, watch a film with him, they could be like a normal couple. Maybe he would even stay the night, and even if he didn’t, she could go to sleep with his smell fresh on her sheets.
He couldn’t make it. He really wanted to, he said, but he couldn’t. He didn’t have a choice – he had to work late, an evening meeting with clients. Anna heard the regret in his voice, saw it on his handsome face as they lay in the hotel bedroom, but as soon as he was gone from her she began to doubt.
The doubt grew as the afternoon went on and by half-past six it was full blown suspicion. Most likely he’d never wanted to come. Of course not. He’d enjoyed the lunchtime sex but that was enough of her for one day. He’d rather go home to Laura Maxwell.
Paranoia. Maybe, but if it was, she couldn’t stop it. She went to a drawer, pulled out a cropped brunette wig picked up in a charity shop, and put it on, cramming her own hair inside it. She looked in the bedroom mirror; she appeared older, tougher, and with her height, more mannish, her long face and strong chin no longer softened by shoulder-length blonde hair.
It was windy and raining heavily outside. She wrapped herself in her Parka and drove back to the Greene House Hotel. Was he still there working or was he lying? She would check if his car was in its allotted space. She left the Nissan in a nearby street; she didn’t want to drive it into the hotel car park, it felt too big and conspicuous. She was pleased that she had it, though, and wasn’t driving her own car because it lessened the chance of him spotting her.
The weather buffeted her as she walked up the road and she was pleased by that too. Nobody paid attention to anyone else in this kind of weather – heads were down, minds concentrated on getting back indoors.
His car was there, just where it should be and she felt some of the tension drain away. But it was not enough. She needed more. She crept from the car park into the hotel grounds towards the bay window of a room on the ground floor. It was where he would be, she guessed, if he was with clients. It was the conference room.
She peered through half closed curtains into the lighted room. Seven people inside, one of them Joe. He was sitting at the table, looking gorgeous, next to his very ordinary brother. She laughed softly to herself. There was no cause for worry, she could see that now, and she could see the funny side. Standing there in the pouring rain, spying on him, wearing a crazy wig. What was she thinking of?
A face stared back at her. A youngish woman she didn’t recognize, seated two chairs away from Joe. Her mouth was open, she was pointing at the window. Anna stopped laughing. She turned and fled.
Safely back in the Nissan and on a high because Joe had not deceived her, she drove off towards Brighton, pressed play on the CD; someone else’s choice that had come with the car, a heavy pulsing beat, drum and bass. She liked it, wound up the volume.
It was about ten minutes later, nearly nine o’clock, when she spotted the white Audi TT on the other side of the road. She recognized it at once and the sight of it abruptly ended her good mood. Hatred filled her brain like a flash fire. She turned the 4x4 around, pulled the hood of her coat over her head.
The Audi stopped at traffic lights and she drew up beside it. Close, very close, crowding it. She looked straight at Laura. She didn’t worry about being recognized; the windows were tinted, no one could see in, certainly not on this dark and rain-filled night. Even if they could, she thought, they would hardly identify the tall, hooded figure behind the wheel as Anna Pelham.
‘Wouldn’t it be great if she crashed,’ a voice in Anna’s head, a lovely picture in her mind – the sports car in a crumpled heap and Laura Maxwell dead, smashed to bits inside. Elation rushed through her and she forced herself to calm down. From what seemed like far off came the hoot of a car’s horn. She waited.
The Audi shot away. The Nissan moved off more slowly. She had no immediate need to chase, she knew where Laura was heading and the route she would take.
Anna followed along the main road, continuing for a mile past the lane that Laura had taken, then turned off herself. Almost at once she was in the forest, thick woods either side of the road, the air full of autumn leaves swirling in the wind. She came to a visitor car park on the left-hand side, turned into it, and from the far end, set off on a track though the woods. It was used by forest rangers in their Land Rovers and it was no problem for the Nissan, muddy and rutted but Anna hardly noticed. Her foot was hard down on the accelerator.
It would be touch and go: she had followed Laura Maxwell before and knew how she enjoyed the Audi’s speed. She took a chance, wrenched the wheel, swerved off the track and into the woods. It was a shortcut to the lane that Laura would be on, but the view through the thrashing windscreen wipers made her yelp with fright. Trees loomed everywhere, hemmed her in, came at her out of nowhere.
The Nissan pitched and rolled, roared over a bank and hit the lane hard. She fought with the steering wheel to bring the car straight. Then she laughed out loud because she saw the Audi powering towards her. There was a car in front of it and Laura Maxwell was pulling out to overtake.
Anna didn’t think, didn’t care, about the danger. Her brain filled with bloodlust. She stamped on the accelerator, switched the headlights to full beam, and slammed down her hand on the horn.
Too late. Seconds too late. The Audi squeezed by on a wing and a prayer. Shit.
She wasted no time on disappointment because she was not a loser, not anymore. She swung the 4x4 to the right, across the road, careering up the bank and disappearing into the woods. She nosed her way carefully through the rain and the trees until she came to one of the forest tracks. Laura had escaped, she would have sped off home and there was no chance of catching her now.
Anna stopped and got out to inspect the Nissan. She checked the plates, old mud from the farm covered with new mud from tonight, unreadable. She set off again, following the track as it looped round and back towards the lane.
On first sight she wasn’t sure. It was only visible for a second as the Nissan went over a rise. A car parked off the road at the end of the track. Next time she saw it there was no doubt. The Audi. Waiting, vulnerable. Anna Pelham caught her breath.
The driver’s door hung open. Was the bitch inside? Anna couldn’t see her. The Nissan charged onwards and then, with a stab of excitement, Anna saw Laura Maxwell picked out like prey in her headlights. She couldn’t believe her luck; she was getting another chance.
There was a barrier ahead but she didn’t give it a second thought. The Nissan raced up the hill towards it, smashed it like a matchstick. Suddenly, the Audi screeched into action.
Anna’s bloodstream filled with the thrill of the chase, the music pounded in her skull. It had got away but not for long. She would catch it, run it off the road, force it to self-destruct.
She revved the engine, closed in for the kill, pulled out and drew level with the driver’s window. She wanted to see her victim. See the fear. She looked out from the side of her coat hood, strained to make out Laura’s face. Yes! There it was turned towards her, wide terrified eyes staring out. Or was it? Was it her imagination, hot-wired, seeing what it wanted to see? Beautiful images filled her head; the Audi, ploughing headlong into a tree, its driver crushed to a pulp.
Collision. But not the one she’d expected. The Audi swung to the left, its back smacking into the Nissan’s side before it vanished down a side road. Anna swore in fury then got herself under control and started calculating. Half a mile further on, she turned off again into the woods.
She pulled up by the side of the road, the road the Audi should take as it headed home. She was tucked in the trees just after a bend, ready to pounce as soon as she saw it pass by. It didn’t come. Fifteen minutes later she shrugged and gave it up.
No worries, she thought. There would be a next time.
She pulled down the hood of her coat, snatched off the wig and shook out her hair with a shout of delight.
It had been a blast.
It was close to midnight when Harry arrived at his solicitor’s house on the outskirts of the village of Ditchling. He hadn’t phoned first, afraid that Ronnie would tip off the police that he was on the way.
With relief, Harry saw the first floor lights were on – that meant Ronnie probably hadn’t gone to bed yet. The house was built with the bedrooms downstairs and the living space upstairs to take advantage of stunning views across the countryside to the north. Eventually, after three rings on the doorbell, he saw Ronnie’s tall figure coming down the stairs. The front door opened.
He hadn’t expected a warm welcome so he wasn’t disappointed. Ronnie, not pleased to be disturbed so late, was less pleased still to see who his visitor was. He gave a brief, graphic opinion about Harry and his recent behaviour, then turned away and walked back up the stairs, leaving him to follow.
They crossed the galleried landing and into the vast sitting room. They stood opposite each other, huge windows on three sides, the bright and starry night all around them. Unwanted thoughts came into Harry’s mind of times he had been here with Anna, of how she had loved this room on nights like this. She had called it ‘magical’, said it felt ‘like sitting in heaven’. He shook his head; how deluded he had been about her.