A Winter Bride (27 page)

After a few minutes Annie appeared with a tray bearing two mugs of tea and handed one to Nell. In this light, Annie looked different: slimmer and younger. Up till now, Nell had only seen her in her cooking whites. Today she wore jeans and a long jumper. Her face was lightly made up. Nell had always thought Annie was old, but now could see she was probably only in her early forties.

‘You have children?’ Nell asked, pointing at the toys.

‘Standard two, both girls,’ said Annie. ‘They’re at school at the moment.’

‘I didn’t know,’ Nell admitted. ‘What does your husband do?’

‘He’s a musician. Plays the piano.’

‘Oh, like the piano man at Rutherford’s.’

‘That’s him.’

‘Really, I didn’t know you and he were married. Gosh. Do you know, every time I looked at him, I thought I knew him from somewhere? Only I can’t place him.’

‘Oh, he remembers you. Did you used to go to the Locarno?’

Nell flushed. ‘In my stupid youth, I did. God, that place was wild—’ she stopped. Emerging through the mists of her memory was the moment she’d seen André, the piano man. ‘Oh,’ she said. ‘It was the last time I ever went there. A goodbye-to-all-that-silliness outing. He was fighting with another man in the passage outside the lavatories.’

‘My husband has never got into fights. He’s the sweetest man alive. He was helping his friend who was epileptic. He’d had a fit and passed out. André ran for help and to phone for a taxi to get his friend home. The taxi came, and you and your friend took it. He was furious.’

Embarrassed, Nell put her hand to her mouth. ‘Oh my God, I’m so sorry. I didn’t know. Oh God, I took his taxi. I thought—’ She didn’t finish the sentence. She cringed and wished the ground would open up and swallow her.

Blushing furiously, she changed the subject. ‘I—I—I like your house.’

‘I was born here,’ said Annie. ‘I inherited it after my parents died. I like it. So May hasn’t been in touch?’

Nell shook her head. ‘My mother died, and then my father. She probably thought I had enough on my mind.’

‘I’m so sorry for your loss, Nell. That must have been tough, losing them so close together.’ She paused. ‘As for May, I should think she’s got a lot on her mind, too. That woman’s in a lot of trouble. The taxman’s after her for unpaid taxes.’

Nell said she knew May was against paying tax, ‘But how did the Inland Revenue find out?’

‘Somebody informed on her.’

‘Who would do such a thing?’ said Nell.

‘Me,’ said Annie.

Nell couldn’t believe it. ‘You’re joking.’

Annie shook her head. ‘No.’

‘Why would you do such a thing to someone like May?

‘That woman is a pain. I got sick of her. Singing to the customers, who all looked startled. Feeding all her friends and Harry’s clients for free at the special table, laughing, drinking and me in the kitchen cooking her bacon and eggs and scrubbing up.’

‘She’s a wonderful cook,’ said Nell.

Annie shrugged. ‘Being a good cook doesn’t make you a chef. She knows nothing about menus. She served heaped plates that came back to the kitchen still heaped. Nobody could finish their portions. Waste, free food, free cocktails – that’s the profits getting thrown away, and my wages come from the profits. I don’t take kindly to being told there’s not enough money to pay me. I don’t take kindly to working my backside off, then not having enough to feed and clothe my kids. I got sick of that woman so I told the taxman about her. I put a stop to her.’

‘You’ve done a terrible, terrible thing,’ Nell said.

‘Maybe, but I don’t feel guilty. In fact, I feel quite good about it.’

‘What will happen to Rutherford’s now? I loved that place.’

‘Someone will buy it and run it properly,’ said Annie. ‘I’m sure of that.’

Nell pointed to the bottles of wine on the dresser. ‘Aren’t these from Rutherfords?’

Annie followed Nell’s gaze. ‘Indeed they are. They cover some of what I’m owed. Not all, mind you, but it’s a start.’ She looked Nell up and down, the full critical gaze, ‘I bet you got paid, being one of the family.’

Nell said she hadn’t checked yet, ‘May paid my wages into the bank. It’s a joint account so she could put money in.’

Annie looked at Nell over the rim of her mug and raised an eyebrow.

It took Nell over an hour to get back into town. As the bus rumbled over narrow country roads, she realised how little she’d known about Annie. She’d been so besotted with May, she had hardly noticed the other woman in the kitchen.

But there was something about that look Annie had given her just before she left – something disbelieving, cynical, almost mocking. It had been unnerving. Nell urged the bus on. She had to get to the bank and check on her money. Surely May wouldn’t have emptied the account. Nell comforted herself that May was kind, open-hearted and generous. She’d given Nell the account, a little something to fund her independence – a running-away fund. It’ll be fine, Nell told herself.

In town, she jumped off the bus and ran to the bank. She handed over her bankbook and asked to withdraw twenty pounds. She wasn’t sure how much money she had, but there had to be hundreds of pounds in the account.

‘The book’s not up-to-date,’ said the cashier, and asked her to wait.

She watched from across the counter as he filled in the pay-in column. Nell sighed, everything was fine.

The cashier took her withdrawal slip, compared it to his updated figures and told her he was sorry but she didn’t have twenty pounds in her account. He slipped the book back across the counter. ‘You appear to have withdrawn all of your cash a few days ago, Mrs Rutherford.’

‘No, I didn’t.’ Nell looked at her book. She’d hadn’t had it made up for a while but though she should have a few hundred pounds in there what with her wages going directly in. But four days ago, she’d had five thousand pounds, and three days ago all but one pound had been removed ‘I never had this much money – and I never took any out! This is a mistake.’

The cashier assured her it wasn’t.

Twenty minutes later, she was sitting in the manager’s office weeping and saying there had been a dreadful mistake with her account.

The manager, a small, dapper man with a bushy greying moustache, said that his bank rarely made mistakes. ‘I have all the pay-in and withdrawal slips here. You’ve been making regular deposits – cheques and cash.’

‘No, I haven’t. I hardly ever come in here. This was my private savings account. My. …’ She was going to say running away fund. But thought perhaps not.

The manager pushed some of her bank slips over the desk. ‘See, you signed them.’

‘I never signed anything’ said Nell.

She examined the slips, which were signed Mrs N Rutherford, but the handwriting was May’s. The final stroke in the M in each case hadn’t been completed. They looked like Ns.

‘You phoned us and said you wanted to empty your account. I took the call myself. I made the arrangements.’

Nell stood up. ‘I should go. I’m sorry I bothered you. There’s been a mix-up. I share this account with my mother-in-law. I work with her. Obviously she’s withdrawn the money without telling me.’

She fled. Ran the length of George Street. Stood in Charlotte Square, panting, weeping, trying to figure this it all out. May had been putting cheques and cash from the restaurant into the bank using her name. How could she do that? And why clear out the account now, not even leaving Nell the wages she was owed. ‘My God.’

She walked down to Princes Street and caught a bus out to May’s house. It was time to confront the woman and demand an explanation and her wages at least. Heart pounding, stricken with worry and fear, Nell strode the familiar short route from the bus stop to the Rutherford’s front gate.

The house was busy, thronging with people. The front door was wide open. May’s furniture was on the lawn and cluttering the garden path.

Nell stopped to watch. She approached a man who was leaving carrying a pair of vases that had taken pride of place on May’s mantelpiece. ‘Excuse me, who are these people?’

‘Dealers,’ he said. ‘Second-hand furniture mostly. Few antiques people.’

Nell asked why they were here.

‘Sale of goods to cover debts.’

‘What?’

‘Sheriff’s officers have put the stuff in this house up for sale. The money goes to the folks the people who lived here owed money to. Must have been a hell of a lot. Go see the guy over there if you want to look round.’ He pointed to a balding man in a grey suit.

Nell said she didn’t. ‘I just wondered what was going on.’

But the sheriff’s officer had spotted her. He came over. ‘Do you live here? Are you Mrs Rutherford?’

Nell shook her head. ‘No.’

‘Did you know the Rutherfords? Were they friends of yours?’

‘No,’ said Nell. ‘I was passing and saw all this. Stopped to look. Just being nosy, I suppose. And, no, I’ve never heard of the Rutherfords. Don’t know them at all.’

She walked away and didn’t look back.

Chapter Twenty-eight

Just Who Are You
Running Away From?

Nell phoned Alistair. It was seven o’clock in the morning and she knew he wouldn’t yet have left for work. She’d lain in bed in her old room in her parent’s house all night sleepless and shocked. Her only comfort had been the light from the hall. That little glow from beyond the room eased the torment. Pitch dark deepened it. She didn’t count her troubles, or even tackle them; her mind was a jumble of fears – humiliation, poverty, homelessness.

‘Your mother’s robbed me,’ Nell said when Alistair picked up the phone.

‘How did she do that?’ Alistair asked, shocked.

‘She emptied our bank account, which had my money in it.’

‘
Our
bank account? You and my mother had a bank account?’

‘Yes,’ said Nell.

‘You had a joint account with my
mother
?’

‘I told you, yes. She paid my wages into it. Or said she would. Now she’s emptied it and taken what was mine. I went to see her yesterday. Only she wasn’t there and some sheriff’s officers were selling all the stuff from the house. Did you know that?’

‘Yes, they announce all warrant sales in the newspapers and I saw it, but I’d guessed before then that it would happen.’

‘You did?’

‘They were up to their eyes in debt.’

‘They were? Where is your mother anyway?’

‘I have no idea, but I suspect she and my dad aren’t even in the country anymore.’

‘What do I do about my money?’

‘I don’t know. Listen, I’ll come and see you at lunchtime. Are you at your mother and father’s house?’

Nell told him she was.

‘See you around one o’clock,’ he said, and rang off.

Nell slammed down the receiver. ‘Damn your mother. Damn all the bloody Rutherfords.’

Alistair arrived just after one. Nell had been pacing the house, stopping at the front-room window to watch for his arrival every time she passed it.

‘You’re late,’ she said. She noted how well he looked. He was wearing a new suit, charcoal grey with a dark blue shirt and red tie. He had a different haircut. His shoes were polished. Carol had smartened him up. He didn’t look older; he just looked more mature – handsome, even.

‘Only five minutes late.’ He refused a cup of tea. ‘I just had lunch with Carol before we came over here.’

‘We?’ said Nell. ‘Where is Carol?’

‘At her mother’s. She’s got a lot to tell her.’ He took off his coat and sat down. ‘So you and my mother had a secret bank account.’

‘It was her idea. She set it up. She said women needed their own bank account these days. She called it my running-away fund.’

He asked what she might be running away from. ‘Me?’

‘No. She said it was for when things got rough. You know, it was for an emergency. When I might need to get away.’

‘What from?’

‘I don’t know,’ said Nell. ‘May said that women needed a running-away fund. She always had one. Only she never ran away. She treated herself when she was feeling low.’

He asked why it had been a joint account.

‘She said it was so she could pay money in.’

Alistair sighed. ‘You don’t need to have your name on the account to pay money in, only to take it out.’

Nell looked surprised. ‘I didn’t know that.’

He smiled, ‘So my mother
did
have a bank account. I always wondered what she did when her customers paid by cheque. How much was in the account?’

‘Five thousand. That included my wages.’

‘You should have told me. I was your husband.’

‘You still are,’ said Nell.

‘I won’t always be. Carol and I want to get married.’ Alistair changed the subject. ‘You can’t trust my mother with money. If she’s got it, she’ll spend it. She always thinks she can get more.’

‘She tricked me,’ said Nell. ‘She planned it all.’

Alistair said he doubted that. ‘She would have known she had to have a bank account. But she wouldn’t have planned to run off with the money. She was desperate, saw an opportunity and took it. My mother’s philosophy is to live for the moment. She rarely thinks beyond that moment. If things go wrong she’ll say that it seemed like a good idea at the time.’ He looked round. Something wasn’t quite right here. ‘Where’s your dad? He’s usually about.’

‘He died.’

‘Oh, Nell, I’m sorry. What happened?’

‘He died in his sleep. A heart attack, the doctor said. Actually, he said his heart was broken. He missed my mum so much. I didn’t know they were so in love.’ Her eyes glazed with tears. ‘I miss them. It hurts.’

‘God, Nell. I didn’t know. You’ve been through a lot.’

Nell said she knew that. ‘Among all the other things my best friend stole my husband.’

‘Nobody stole anybody. It happened. Perhaps it wouldn’t have if you hadn’t left us alone together night after night.’

‘I was pursuing my career. And I trusted you both. How could I have imagined you were both sneaking around and betraying me behind my back?’

‘The only time we slept together was that night when you discovered us.’

‘And that makes it OK? Do you love her?’ asked Nell. The only question she dared. The ones she longed to ask – is she prettier than me (answer, yes) more fun than me (yes), a better cook than me (yes), better in bed than me (oh, probably) – remained unasked.