Nemesis (20 page)

They’d stopped somewhere on the road between Norchester and Calahurst, high on the cliff with the marina lights below. She could smell the salt on the air and feel the wind coming up from the river, cooling her bruised face. A short distance behind her was a row of terraced cottages and, even as she stumbled towards them, she saw their lights flicker on, one by one.

She cast a quick glance over her shoulder, in case he was running after her, but incredibly his car was already rolling down the hill towards Calahurst. It would be too much to hope that he’d decided to return home without her. Any moment now he’d turn around and come right after her.

Despite the pain from her back, she managed to break into a run, heading for the nearest house. The door opened and she could see the silhouette of a man against the interior light.

“Please,” she said. “You’ve got to help me.”

He pushed her aside and ran out onto the road.

Then the other residents emerged from their cottages, shouting and waving their arms at something happening behind her.

So she turned and looked back.

32

Present

Alicia had got as far as switching on her computer, when a rap on the window startled her into knocking her mug to the floor, where the coffee sank slowly and unforgivingly into the carpet. At least it had missed her notes. Because she was alone she cursed freely; only to glance up and see Natalie’s boyfriend, Simon Waters, staring through the window, with Lexi and Will stood on either side of him. Will appeared forlorn; Lexi had her arms folded and looked seriously pissed off.

Was it half-past three already?

There was another impatient rap on the window. Lexi mouthed something Alicia couldn’t quite catch. Although it could have been: ‘Open the bloody door!’

Stepping over the damp patch on the carpet, Alicia walked through the hall and unlocked the front door. She was practically knocked sideways by both children barging through simultaneously, leaving Simon standing on the doorstep.

She had never cared for Simon. There was something distinctly unnerving about him, the way he regarded everything so intently through those spectacles, as though recording every detail and storing it away for the future. He gave her the creeps.

“No one arrived to collect the children,” he said, in his usual emotionless manner. “Did you forget they had a half day?”

James and his wretched conference.
“Thank you for bringing them home,” she said. “It was very kind of you. I expect I would have noticed their absence when they didn’t turn up for dinner!”

He didn’t smile. She hadn’t expected him to.

She thought that was the end of it - that he would say goodbye and leave. Instead he came into the hall and stood there, his hands in the pockets of his trousers, looking around and taking in the high ceiling and elegant Georgian furniture.

“This is a very attractive house,” he said.

“Thank you.” Alicia did not move from the open door. Couldn’t he take the hint? “You have been here before.”

He took a step back to admire a painting hung on the wall, his trainers moving silently on the polished floor. The painting was massive, depicting a three or four
times
great uncle, resplendent in a naval uniform he had never been entitled to.

“Yes,” he said. “I came to a Christmas party a few years ago and, more recently, to celebrate James’s promotion.”

Alicia felt a pang of guilt. Simon was James’s colleague and her best friend’s boyfriend - and he had only been to her house twice?

She watched him walk on to the next portrait. Equally huge, it was of an ancestor who had been caught in the French Revolution, but died in gaol before anyone could lop his head off. Probably out of spite, Alicia thought, and fairly typical of the Vyne family.

Perhaps Simon was interested in history?

“Are these paintings from the castle?” he asked.

“I expect so,” she said, “but they’ve hung here for as long as I can remember. Did you ever visit the castle when it was open to the public?”

“No.”

As he failed to comment further, she was forced to ask, “Was there something you wanted to speak to me about?”

“Yes,” he said, turning away from the portrait and regarding her impassively. “I wanted to talk to you about James.”

Perhaps it was because she was still standing beside the open door, but Alicia shivered. Before she could speak, Lexi thundered down the staircase, stopping only when she caught sight of Simon standing in the centre of the hall, his hands still in his pockets.

Her pale cheeks reddened as she looked past him to her mother. “Is it all right if I use the Internet to do my homework?”

“Sorry, darling, I wanted to finish transcribing those notes I took at the archives last week.”

Lexi frowned. “Can’t you use the laptop?”

Truly, she was her father’s daughter.

“Could we discuss this later? I need a couple of moments to talk to Mr Waters.”

“Oh, all right then.” Lexi’s glance slid reluctantly towards Simon. “I’m not in any trouble, am I, Sir?”

There was the ghost of a smile. “No, Alexandra, you’re not in any trouble. I need to speak to your mother on another matter entirely.”

“Oh good,” said Lexi, and sidled into the study.

“Don’t touch the computer!” Alicia called, but the door slammed shut, probably before Lexi had even heard her.

Alicia felt the need to explain. “I’m working on my family tree. One wrong keystroke and thirty generations of the Vynes would be erased.”

“We certainly wouldn’t want that,” said Simon.

Alicia regarded him uncertainly, unclear as to whether he was joking.

She closed the front door. Apparently he was not planning on leaving until he’d had his say. She had no intention of offering him a coffee, so she did not want to take him into the kitchen, but the sitting room was so cosy she might never get rid of him. She remained where she was.

“Is this work-related?” she asked him. “If you have a problem, you should really speak to James.”

“It is a little more delicate than that.” He glanced towards the door of the study, as though concerned they would be overheard. “There has been … talk.”

Why couldn’t he just spit it out?
“About what?”

“This is really difficult for me.”

Not half as difficult as it is for me having to listen to you, thought Alicia. She remembered the coffee she’d spilt in the study. If she didn’t do something about it soon, she’d never be able to get the stain out of the carpet.

“I’m sorry,” she said, “but I’ve had a really bad day. Do you think you could come to the point?”

“Of course,” he said. “You see, James has been seen with a student.”

She forced herself to pay attention. “It is his job.”

“A female student,” said Simon.
“Out of school hours and in inappropriate circumstances.”

Alicia recalled an image of Summer Cameron, lying naked on a bed. It was an effort to keep her expression neutral.

“Define ‘inappropriate’,” she said.

“You don’t seem concerned?”

“I’m certain there is nothing to be concerned about!”

“You don’t mind that your husband is frequenting nightclubs with female students?”

He said it so dourly it was hard to keep a straight face. “To be honest, I can’t really imagine James at a nightclub. Which one was it?”

“Remedy.”

“The local one?”
If that was all the evidence he had, James’s dirty little secret was quite safe. “I’d hardly call Remedy a nightclub,” she said. “It’s where the students hang out and listen to local bands. Lexi goes there. It’s perfectly all right - a bit grungy, but then teenagers like that sort of thing, don’t they? You really should have spoken to James about this. I expect he was there to support one of his pupils.”

“Summer Cameron is not a music student.”

Again, Simon appeared to be waiting for a reaction.

She was equally determined not to give him one. “You’re reading far too much into this. Summer was probably part of a larger crowd of friends. Her sister is a friend of Lexi and her mother is one of the school governors. If my husband was going to have an affair with a 6
^th
Former, don’t you think he’d go somewhere more private?”

“Such as an education conference in London?” said Simon.

Alicia could almost feel the blood blanch from her face and for a moment was incapable of doing anything other than stare at him.

“I think you should leave,” she said. “My husband is not here to defend himself and, as I don’t believe a word of these accusations, you are wasting your time repeating them.”

He didn’t move. “You’re very loyal.”

“I’m his wife.”

“For how much longer?”

“What?”

“Don’t you worry that one day he won’t come back?”

“From London?” she said stupidly.

“To you.”

“Now you’re being absurd!”

“How many girls have there been over the years?”

To say ‘It’s no business of yours’, would be admitting he was right, so she said nothing and hoped her expression was equally blank.

“Can you even remember?” he said. It sounded like a taunt.

“Please leave,” she repeated.

“I’ll give you a hint,” he said. “They were all very beautiful and all very blonde. He certainly has a type. Curiously, not one of them looked like you.”

She didn’t answer. She couldn’t answer. Her voice would stick at the back of her throat and betray her.

“Would you like me to remind you of their names?”

She shook her head.

“There was Jess, who worked at the sailing club, and Kara, on holiday from the Midlands. Then there was Rachel from teacher training college, although that’s going back a few years. In fact, why don’t we go right back to the beginning - to the original, if you like?
Your friend Sarah Grove.”

“Shut up!” she hissed. “How dare you even mention her name
- ”

He frowned. “But you’re not even surprised … You knew all the time.”

“Why have you come here now? Why are you saying these things to me - when James is not here to defend himself?”

“Perhaps I thought you required a little reality in your perfect life?” He waved his hand at the paintings behind him.

Was that what this was all about?
Jealousy over their perceived lifestyle?
It hardly seemed a valid motive at all.

She grabbed the phone from the table behind her and held it up. “If you don’t leave within the next five seconds I’m calling the police. Do you understand?”

“Perfectly,” he said, but before she could carry out her threat, he’d snatched the phone from her and slammed it back into the base unit.

She was so frightened by this unexpected turn of events she began backing towards the door but he grabbed her wrists and held them, painfully tight.

“You’ve always known the truth about James,” he said, keeping his voice low but apparently no longer able to conceal his rage. “Why do you keep covering for him?”

“I don’t, I
- ”

“You hide your head in the sand and yet you’re so stupid you don’t even realise the consequences of what you’ve done. It will get worse, you know, this compulsion of his. He won’t ever be able to stop. He’ll get older, the girls will get younger, then one day there will be another girl like Sarah, another obsession, another lily pond
- ”

The study door opened. Instantly she was released.

“Mum, something’s wrong with the computer!” Lexi shouted at the top of her voice, before spotting her mother standing only a few feet away. She looked from Alicia to Simon and back again. “What’s happened?”

“Nothing,” said Alicia, moving away from Simon, far slower than she would have liked. “Mr Waters
was
just leaving.”

Lexi knew she was lying; anxiety was clear in her grey eyes, and the way that she chewed at her bottom lip, but for once she did not contradict her mother.

“Goodbye, Mr Waters,” she said, in an oddly formal way. “Thank you for the lift.”

“Bye, Alexandra,” said Simon smoothly. “I’ll see you at the drama club tomorrow. And Alicia, should you feel the need to discuss our conversation further, you have my number.”

“What was
that
all about?” asked Lexi, when Simon had finally gone. “I thought you were having an argument, but the way you were standing so close together, it was almost like
… ”
she trailed off, frowning.

“It was nothing,” Alicia said firmly.
“Nothing at all.”

33

While Natalie told her story, Bryn remained silent, staring through the windscreen at the brick wall of the car park as though he wasn’t even listening. The yellow overhead lighting made his skin appear sallow and emphasised the dark circles beneath his eyes. He looked as though he hadn’t had a decent night’s sleep in a week.

When he did speak, it was not the question she had been expecting.

“You caused the accident that crippled your father?”

“I suppose so - but it
was
an accident. He was drunk, he was in a rage - he didn’t pull the handbrake up fully when he parked.”

Bryn turned his attention back to her. “It explains why you’re the only person who doesn’t believe he drove over that cliff deliberately.”

“I saw it happen.”

“Ah, but technically you didn’t. You were running away.”

“The police said it was an accident,” she protested. “They carried out an inspection on the remains of the car and found the handbrake was partially on.”

“He’d still be able to drive.”

“Why would he want to?”

“He’d attacked James Fitzpatrick - whose influential family would have ensured he was sent to prison for a very long time - and he had threatened to kill you. His life would have been ruined.”

“He wouldn’t have killed me; he only wanted to frighten me. He hated the fact I was growing up, wearing make-up and seeing boys
- ”

“You’re deluding yourself, Natalie. He was a monster and I can’t believe you’re making excuses for him.”

“I’m not, but he was drunk and
… ”
She trailed off, regarding him unhappily. She wanted to add “It’s complicated” but that was such a cliché. Bryn hadn’t been there. He hadn’t had to live her life. What the hell did he know? She’d told him every little detail and he wanted to dissect it further. Why did they have to keep going over it?

Guiltily she remembered when her father had grabbed her and said,
‘I know what you did’.
Is this what he meant? Did her father blame her for his accident?

“I pushed him back into the car and kicked the door shut with my foot,” she said.

Was it that which had set the car in motion down the hill?
Her father had been on the back seat, not the front. He couldn’t have driven that car anywhere.

“I never meant to hurt him.”

“Had he hit you before?” Bryn asked.

“Only when he was really angry.
He was mean-spirited, particularly after he’d been drinking, and occasionally he was violent. You have to remember, I wasn’t used to living any other way. I knew his behaviour wasn’t normal, but it was normal for me. When I grew older, I learnt not to do anything that might trigger that terrifying rage.”

“I suppose he was always sorry afterwards.”

Bryn was being sarcastic but she answered him seriously. “No, I don’t think it ever occurred to him he’d done anything wrong. That’s who he was.”

He muttered something beneath his breath, which could have been “Christ!” but before she could respond, he said, “This visit of yours, did he say anything else of relevance?”

“He tried to deny my mother had been to see him - referring to her as his ‘Nemesis’. He wanted to know who ‘the gardener’ was in my novel, but I said I didn’t know. Sir Henry employed a dozen gardeners, many of whom were young and hot, and would definitely have appealed to Sarah. He said he hadn’t wanted to get married or have children, but that my mother trapped him into it, which I suppose explains why he was always so angry all the time
- ”

“No, it doesn’t! Everyone gets angry - not everyone beats the hell out of women and defenceless kids
- ”

“Well he’s dead now, so none of it matters! We’re
never
going to find out the truth.”

“I’m sorry, me talking about your father this way must be difficult for you, particularly now he’s dead, but I really need to understand the relationships your family had with each other and with other people.” He rubbed his hands across his face, a gesture of pure exhaustion. “I’m sure everything is connected. Look at what we have. Sarah is murdered, your father’s car goes over a cliff, Sir Henry Vyne, who owns the garden where Sarah was found
and
employed your father, dies in a shooting accident
- ”

“Coincidence,” she said.

“I don’t believe in coincidence.
John’s car going over the cliff?
OK, we can explain that away as an accident - but the way he died last night, strapped into that wheelchair and left to burn?
That’s
not a coincidence. Did someone know he was planning to talk to you? Or is there some other reason someone would want him dead?”

Some person other than me?
she
thought, but said nothing.

“And we still haven’t found out what happened to Geraint. Was there anything else your father said?
Anything at all?”

“Mostly he ranted about my mother
… ”
She closed her eyes, leaning back against the car seat, and tried to think back. She pictured her father sat in his wheelchair in that sterile little room, the room that no longer existed, now buried beneath the ash and rubble that had once been Rose Court.

Buried
…

“He said I was an idiot for digging over stuff that was better left buried. He said no one would be interested. Sarah was dead and knowing the details wouldn’t bring her back. He started quoting the bible at me, talking about revenge, and then he said
- ”

Natalie opened her eyes. She’d almost forgotten.

“What?” Bryn asked impatiently. “What did he say?”

“He said the weirdest thing … He said that none of this was about Sarah.”

“She was the one who died! How could it not be about Sarah?”

“How the hell should I know?” Natalie felt stiff from sitting in the same position for such a long time. She was hungry and
cross
, and despite only having been awake for a few hours, she felt utterly shattered. “Do you think we could continue this conversation some other time?”

“If you want,” he said, sounding as though he didn’t care one way or the other. He undid his seatbelt, which she thought meant he was leaving, but then he went back to staring at the brick wall, as though he expected to see the solution written there.

Natalie felt a flash of impatience. Sarah’s murder had haunted her for years - did he think he was going to solve it overnight?

She heard another car pull into the car park and watched in her rear view mirror as it bounced too quickly over the speed bumps. Charles Fitzpatrick had a car like that, she remembered - a dark-green Rover with tinted windows. She’d often seen it parked outside the front of Rose Court. She sincerely hoped Charles wasn’t paying her a courtesy call after her father’s death. It wasn’t even as though she could pretend to be out. He would have seen her car as soon as he’d driven into the car park.

She watched the Rover manoeuvre into a parking space beside the elevator, but no one got out. Was he watching her sitting here with Bryn - and getting completely the wrong idea about their relationship? And did it really matter what he or anyone else thought of her anyway?

She sighed and hauled her bag onto her lap, scrabbling about until she found a notebook and pen, whereupon she wrote down her phone number and handed it to Bryn.

“I’ve got to go,” she said. “Maybe we can meet up again one day next week?”

He looked down at the paper and frowned. “Next
week
?
Why not now?”

“I’ve spent years trying to puzzle out who murdered my sister, for all the good it did me. I’m starting to think my father was right. I’ve got to get over it and move on, or I’ll go crazy.”

Without waiting for him to make response, she got out of the car.

Bryn did likewise, leaning against the side of the car and resting his hands on the roof as he said, “But it’s only four o’clock. We could go and have a coffee?”

“I have another book to write and I’m pretty sure you have a garden to renovate. Goodbye, Bryn.” Locking the car door, she walked towards the elevator.

She heard him slap the roof of the car in his frustration but ignored him. He didn’t follow her. Presumably he’d walk out of the car park via the road, rather than through reception. It would be quicker.

She could see the Range Rover was parked beside the elevator, although no one seemed to have got out. The combination of the erratic overhead lighting and the tinted windows meant she couldn’t even see if anyone was sat inside.

Her flat shoes made no noise as she walked. There were little patches of oil on the ground and she was careful to step over them, having no wish to spoil her shoes. Despite being underground, the air felt cold after the warmth of the car, so she pulled her jacket closer around herself.

As she drew level with the Rover, the driver’s door opened and a man got out - but it wasn’t Charles after all. She couldn’t see his face properly, as he had turned away on her approach to take something from the back seat, which he shoved into his pocket. He was tall but slightly stooped, and wore a heavy raincoat with a black woollen hat pulled low over his forehead.

He closed the car door and walked away from the elevator, straight towards her. He moved with an odd, swaying gait, and kept one hand deep in his pocket. Was he drunk?

Thoroughly unsettled, she had glanced back to see where Bryn was, when something clamped around her waist.

“Got you,” said the man in the heavy coat. He swung her around, so she could see Bryn running towards them. “Now tell your boyfriend to back off.”

Bryn had already stopped and was stood in the centre of the car park, tentatively raising his hands. What was he doing? Why didn’t he knock this guy out? Bryn was at least twenty years younger, and the way this man was swaying, Bryn could easily take him in a fight. She struggled against the arm that held her but he increased the pressure, gripping her so tightly she worried he might crack a rib. He was incredibly strong. It was an effort for her to even draw breath.

“Tell your boyfriend to back off,” the man repeated, and then there was a blur of movement to her right, followed by an explosion. Flakes of plaster showered down from the ceiling like confetti.

Natalie froze. “You’ve got a gun!”

“Bingo. Now give me what I want or I’ll shoot the pair of you.”

The fight went out of her. “It’s in my bag.”

“Then hand it over, darling.”

“I can’t reach it. You’re holding me too tight. You’ll have to let me go.”

After second’s pause, he relaxed his grip around her waist and instead took hold of the collar of her jacket, swinging her around to face him, so she could see the gun he had pointed at her head. Her first thought was that it must be a toy. Then she realised that what she’d mistaken for a woollen hat was a balaclava, now pulled down to hide his face. It was more sinister than the gun.

“Get a move on.” He knocked the gun against the side of her head and spoke very slowly and very clearly, as though he realised she’d gone into shock.

She slid her bag from her shoulder but now her hands were shaking so much she could hardly undo it.
Concentrate
, she told herself fiercely, folding over the flap and scrabbling around inside. She thought he would grab the bag from her in frustration but he remained still, watching her carefully, occasionally glancing over at Bryn, as though daring him to do something stupid.

Finally she found her purse and held it out to him. Her trembling hand meant it wavered in the air between them before he dashed it from her hands in fury, sending coins rolling across the concrete.

“Stupid bitch!
Do you think this is about
money
?”

This time he did grab the bag from her and tipped it upside down. Everything tumbled out - make-up, keys, phone - and when the bag was empty, he shifted it into the hand that held the gun, and used his free hand to grope around inside.

“Where is it? What have you done with it?”

She was about to answer him when it dawned on her. He was no longer watching her.

For a second her eyes met Bryn’s then, without a thought for the consequences, she made a dash for the steps that led back up to the road, her feet slipping and sliding in a patch of oil.

There was a loud bang behind her. She ducked instinctively, just as something solid whacked her in the middle of her back, thrusting her behind a parked car and knocking her to the ground.

She tried to push herself up, only for someone to take hold of her neck and shove her, nose down, into the dirt.

“Have you got a death wish?” snarled a familiar Welsh accent. “Keep your bloody head down.”

In the distance she could hear the gunman screaming. “Where the
fuck
have
you hidden it?”

“He wants Sarah’s diary,” said Bryn.

“Do you think I don’t know that?” She heard her voice rising hysterically. It didn’t even sound like her. There was grit in her mouth and she spat it out.