Stillwater (2 page)

Chapter Two

The grand tour continued for another thirty minutes, until Beth found herself at the foot of the staircase in the hallway. “And what's up there?” she said.

“Private rooms, most of them locked up. Don't worry, you'll never have occasion to go up there. But if you did, then I'm afraid you'd have an issue with the owner. He stores many of his own possessions up there, and the contract clearly states that you rent the downstairs area only. Upstairs is out of bounds. He had that part especially written in. The owner likes his privacy, and expects his tenants to respect it.”

Beth stared up at the stairs, and shrugged. “He needn't worry,” she said. “I won't be running up those any time soon.”

“Er, no, right.” So far he had got on well with Beth, but casual reference to her obvious disability threw him. His discomfort was saved by a loud voice.

“Hello, Beth! Are you home?”

Beth recognized Miranda's Chelsea accent immediately. “In here, Mirri!” she called. “The door's open.”

Miranda Stiles flounced into the house, rushed up to Beth, and wrapped her arms around her, her antique pendant earring barely missing Beth's eye, instead smacking against her cheekbone. Looking over Beth's shoulder, Miranda said, “Hello, Jimmy,” to James Bartlett, who was watching the performance with a slight smile tugging at the corners of his mouth.

“I wasn't expecting you until tomorrow,” Beth said.

“And let you spend your first night in a strange house alone? Inconceivable, darling. Besides, I've brought the cat. Might as well get him settled in as soon as possible.”

“You've brought Teddy?” Beth said, and was thrilled at the joy she felt..

Miranda said nothing; merely smiled and winked at James. She had met him numerous times over the past six months; had built up what Miranda described to Beth as a
deep, but totally platonic relationship
. Which in Miranda-speak meant that she fancied him, but the attraction wasn't reciprocated.

“I'll go and fetch him in. I might be a little while as my nicotine level is dangerously depleted. And as this is a No Smoking house, I'd better grab a quick one outside while I can.”

“Take as long as you need,” Beth said to Miranda's departing back.

“What's
the cat's name, did you say?” James said.

“Teddy.”

“Why Teddy?”

“Because he looks like a teddy bear.”

“That's a good enough reason,” James said.

“It is if I say it is,” Beth said, more kindly than the words implied.

“Better than Tiddles
or something I suppose.”

“I'm a writer. That's what I do. Come up with things like names.”

“Okay,” James said. “Who am I to argue with the author of such esteemed works as
Passion in the Shadows
and
Love in the Desert
?”

“Are you mocking me?” Beth said.

“Yes,” James said, with a smile.

“Good,” Beth said. “I can't stand ass-kissers. I saw your face when I joked about running up the stairs. I've got used to it, just about, so no sympathy or embarrassment.”

“I did wonder why…someone…well why you'd need such a big house with an upstairs.”

Beth thought about letting him have enough rope so he could tie himself in knots but she was warming to him. “I was in a bit of a state after the car crash so Miranda did all the house-hunting for me. I wanted somewhere quiet, and she wanted somewhere that could be adapted to my current needs.” She indicated her wheelchair.

“She drove quite a bargain, but as I said, the owner was happy for the ground floor to be modified.”

“It could have been ten stories high and it would still have suited, as long I could get about downstairs. Now, show me my office space.”

“It's through here,” he said, walking to one of the doors at the end of the house. “It's not part of the open plan area,” he added, which was rather obvious, and pulled open the door. Beth followed him through, and stopped a yard away from a large mahogany desk. Sitting in the center of the desk was an iMac computer with a 27-inch screen, a compact wireless keyboard, and a sleek wireless mouse.

“You have Wi-Fi, so you're connected to the Internet,” Bartlett said.

“I'm impressed,” Beth said. “At home I work on an ancient PC, and it's clunky. This looks…well…fast.”

“It is,” Miranda said, wafting into the room on a cloud of tobacco smoke and Chanel No. 5. “I took the liberty of trying it out.”

“Thank you,” Beth said without sarcasm. She expected Miranda to look after such details.

“Don't thank me, darling. You paid for it…but don't worry, it's written off against tax.”

“Where's Teddy?”

“Exploring. I let him out of his basket.”

Beth wheeled herself back to the living area and called the cat's name. Two seconds later a bundle of orange fur launched itself at her, and landed in her lap, purring furiously and pressing its face into her chest, demanding to be petted.

“Hello, boy,” she said, ruffling the cat's neck. “I've missed you.”

“It looks like he's missed you too,” James said, checking his watch. “Listen, I have another appointment so I'll leave you three to it. I'll drop by in a day or so, to make sure you're settling in okay.”

“Fine,” Beth said, still concentrating on the cat. Finally she tore her attention away from Teddy and looked up at James. “And thanks for everything. I think this place is going to be perfect.”

“I hope so,” he said, and let himself out of the house. “I was worried that you hadn't seen it before today, but Miranda was authorized…”

Beth waved her hand airily in front of her face. “Apart from being in no fit state to look for anywhere, I trust Miranda completely. If she said it was perfect for me, then it is.”

Moments later they heard his car start up and drive away.

“He's not married, you know,” Miranda said, a mischievous glint in her eye.

“And why would that concern me?”

“Oh, give yourself a break, Beth. You're allowed to be interested. You're not a nun.”

Beth gave her friend a rueful smile. “Might as well be,” she said. “When they told me that nothing works below the waist, they meant
nothing
.”

“Don't be so gloomy,” Miranda said. “Things change.”

“I don't believe this. Miranda Stiles, the born-again optimist? Is that it?” Beth said.

“Like I said, things change.”

“Well, don't hold your breath. I'm not holding mine.”

Miranda crossed to the kitchen counter, and switched on the kettle. “I'm making tea. Do you want one?”

“No, but I could murder a coffee.”

Miranda turned, and smiled at her. “Coffee it is then,” she said.

They took their coffees outside to the veranda. It took some maneuvering but, using Miranda's shoulder for support, Beth managed to ease herself out of the wheelchair and make it on to the swing seat that took up a third of the veranda.

“Are you sure you're going to settle here?” Miranda said to her.

“I'm settled,” Beth said. “Look.” She started to rock the swing by moving her upper body..

“I wasn't talking about the seat. I meant here at Stillwater?”

“Why's it called Stillwater?”

Miranda shook her head. “I don't know. There must be a lake or something around here somewhere. Ask Jimmy, the next time you see him,” she added with a knowing wink.

“Miranda, stop it. Nothing's going to happen between
Mr. Bartlett
and me. At least, not in this life anyway.”

“But he
is
good looking.”

“I didn't say he wasn't. George Clooney's good looking, so is Brad Pitt. And nothing's going to happen there either.”

Miranda sipped her coffee, and peered at Beth over the rim of her mug. “You know, for someone who's made a fortune out of love and romance, you're the most unromantic person I know.”

“I'm a realist, Mirri, that's all.”

“You're a cynic.”

“That too. Anyway, let's change the subject. When are the publishers expecting the next book?”

“Last month,” Miranda deadpanned.

“Seriously.” Beth knew it would be a short deadline.

“I've managed a stay of execution. You have twelve weeks.”

Beth had just taken a mouthful of coffee. “You have to be joking!” she spluttered.

“That's the deal. Take it or leave it…but if you leave it I may as well start looking for a new publisher for you, because Kingdom won't wait forever. And there are a lot of aspiring romance novelists out there who are just waiting for you to bow out so they can take your crown, and some of them aren't half-bad…cheaper too.”

“But twelve weeks!”

“You can do it, Beth. I've seen you produce a best seller in half the time.”

“When I was well. Before the accident.”

“This is your opportunity to shine, Beth. You're away from the city. It's almost guaranteed you're not going to be disturbed. You'll have all day, every day, to work on the novel. It should be a piece of cake.”

“Says someone who's never written a book in her life.”

“I may never have written one, but I can certainly spot a best-selling author. How long have we been together as agent and client?”

“Thirteen years.”

“And it was tough at first, but we soldiered on, papering the walls with rejection slips and laughing at the adversity. But I believed in your talent, Beth. I knew it was only a matter of time before you caught the mood of the public just right. And when it happened we were ready for it. You cleaned up, outselling Danielle Steel, and even James frigging Patterson for Christ's sake. You can do this.”

Beth shrugged. “I'll do my best.” She swallowed the last of her coffee, and looked out at the surrounding land. “Does all that belong to the house?”

“Yes, including the woods. Your nearest neighbor is over a mile away, that way,” Miranda said, waving vaguely eastward. “So basically, everything you can see is house property. Not bad eh?”

Beth looked up at the sky. The sun was getting lower but there were still a couple of hours of daylight left. “Let's explore,” she said.

Miranda looked uncertain. “Are you sure?”

“It's all right, I can wheel myself. Besides I'd like to see where I'm going to be living for the next year. You never know, it might inspire me.”

Miranda drained the last of her coffee from her mug. “Okay then. Let's go.”

Chapter Three

They found a fairly flat path on their route through the woods. The trees were alive with birdsong, and the undergrowth was constantly moving and shifting, as small animals scurried through it, alarmed by their presence. It was a very different experience from London, where even the green spaces weren't as wild and free.

Although the journey was making Beth's arms ache, she felt exhilarated by the lush vegetation and the tranquility of the wood, so the pain seemed worth it somehow. Miranda wasn't coping so well. The trek seemed to be taking its toll; she was perspiring freely, and swearing every hundred yards or so.

Her condition wasn't helped by her constant intake of nicotine and tar. After seven cigarettes, Beth lost count and let her get on with it. She'd stopped lecturing Miranda about the dangers of smoking years ago, when she realized that her well-meaning advice was falling on deaf ears. Now she ignored the constant smell of tobacco smoke that accompanied her friend everywhere, and the occasional irascible temper tantrums she was prone to when deprived of her drug of choice.

Half a mile into the wood they came across the small body of water that had given the house its name. Stretching five hundred yards across, the small lake was roughly circular, and almost surrounded by rhododendron bushes. The lake was certainly still—Beth was tempted to say stagnant—its surface covered by a layer of weeds, with a few water lilies popping up here and there to break the monotony. A couple of itinerant dragonflies darted backward and forward in search of food and, above the water, a thin, wispy mist hung in the air, disturbed only by the flitting of the dragonflies and the occasional cloud of midges.

“Not exactly picturesque is it?” Miranda said.

“It has a slightly Jurassic charm I suppose,” Beth said. “I wonder if there's any fish in there.”

“If there is I wouldn't care to sit here with a fishing rod trying to hook one,” Miranda said, and pointed at a midge cloud. “Those little buggers would suck you dry within minutes.”

“Yeah, you're probably right,” Beth agreed, and then noticed something protruding from the undergrowth a hundred yards away. “What's that?”

Miranda followed her friend's pointing finger. “I don't know. Wait here.” She walked back along the path, and then stepped into the layer of bracken, picking her steps carefully. She reached the object Beth had spotted, and reached down for it. “It's a sign,” she called.

“From God?” Beth called back.

“Could be. No, a warning sign of some kind.”

A thick wooden post was attached to the wooden sign. Miranda tugged it free of the bindweed that had grown over and around it, and pulled it upright.

Beth wheeled herself back along the path to get a better look.

Miranda dragged the sign and dropped it down in front of the wheelchair.

It measured two feet by one foot. “
NO SWIMMING
,” Beth read aloud from the fading gold script. “As if anyone would want to swim here. Not very welcoming, is it?”

“Perhaps they had problems with trespassers, kids or…what was that?” Miranda said.

Beth swiveled around in her seat as something splashed in the lake behind her.

She stared out at the water. A hundred yards away there was a change to the surface. There was now a circular patch of clear water where the blanket of weeds had been displaced. Ripples were eddying out from the center of the circle. “There,” she said, pointing. “I can see it.”

“Well that answers your question about the fish, and from the gap in the weeds I'd say it was pretty big, maybe a pike.”

“Want me to take up fishing?”

Miranda shrugged. “Concentrate on the next book.”

Beth was still distracted by the movement in the water. “It was something large. Maybe an otter; do we still have them in the wild? Or maybe it…”

“That's your imagination kicking into gear. Which tells me you're ready to start a new book.”

“You have a one-track mind. Okay,” Beth said. “Let's go back to the house.”

“Have you seen enough?”

“I've made a start. I expect I'll be exploring more as the weeks go past.”

“You want to have a word with Jimmy. I'm sure he'll escort you.”

Beth slapped a hand to her forehead in mock exasperation. “Christ! You don't give up, do you? Have you forgotten Milo and where that led?”

“Milo Alvarini was a slug. I said at the time you shouldn't marry him.”

Beth wheeled around in the chair, and headed back to the house quickly, making Miranda run to catch up with her, satisfied that when her friend finally did, she was too breathless to continue the conversation. It was a conversation Beth didn't want to have…not now, not again.

Many times the two of them had picked over the carcass of her ill-starred marriage to Milo Alvarini until there was no meat left on the bones. The marriage was a huge mistake and a major regret. If Beth could turn the clock back she would. And, indirectly, it was Milo's fault she was in the wheelchair.

He'd summoned her to his solicitor's office in Holborn, where a very urbane man, called Clarkson, laid down the terms of the divorce settlement. Milo was taking her for everything he could get, including the house in Crystal Palace—her family home. She would never forgive him for that.

It was this final insult that was playing on her mind as she drove home from the solicitor's office. She was distracted, didn't notice the red light at the junction, and drove straight through it. The truck that plowed into the side of her had no chance of stopping. The impact lifted her Peugeot into the air, and sent the car rolling over and over across the junction, until it finally smashed into a lamppost and came to a halt.

“I'm afraid your spine is badly traumatized, Mrs. Alvarini.”

The doctor's words reverberated around the sterile hospital room.

“I can't feel my legs.” Her voice was weak and tremulous, and sounded like the voice of a stranger.

“You may get the feeling back one day, but it would be wrong of me to offer false hope.”

Devastating words that changed her life forever. Hope, false or otherwise, had been a part of her life for as long as she could remember. Now it had been taken away from her, and she struggled to find something to replace it. Confined to a wheelchair wasn't how she wanted to define herself, but it was how most people saw her. For many of them it was all they saw: a woman in a wheelchair, therefore not a full, whole, person.

The accident hadn't just taken away her mobility, it had removed her identity.

“Lighten up,” Miranda said, when they got back to the house. “You haven't said a word since we left the lake.”

“Can you push me up the ramp?” Beth said. “I haven't mastered it yet.”

Miranda stood for a moment, and then shrugged, gripped the handles and pushed her friend onto the veranda. She realized how degrading it was for someone so independent to have to ask for help. It would be easy for her to go soft and do more for Beth than she already did. Her judgment, based on their years of friendship, was that acting tough with her was the best way.

“He got in touch with me, you know? After the accident,” Beth said.

“Who?”

“Milo. He wanted to know if I'd signed the divorce papers. Apparently he wanted to sell the house in Crystal Palace.”

“Sell it? But he made such a fuss about getting it included in the settlement.”

Beth slid her key into the lock, and pushed the door open. “He needed the money. He'd gambled away almost everything he owned.”

“What did you say to him?”

“I told him I hadn't signed the papers, but I would if he'd let me buy the house back from him.”

“And he agreed?”

“Almost bit my hand off.”

“Why didn't you tell me this before? You could have moved in there instead of taking on this place.”

“Because the sale is still going through. Unfortunately the bookies ran out of patience. At the moment Milo's convalescing from the beating they gave him.”

“Ouch!” Miranda said. “Can't say I feel sorry for him, though.”

“But at least we're divorced now, and the house
will
be mine…one day.”

“Sometimes I wonder if I really know you at all,” Miranda said. “You keep so much from me.”

Beth took her friend's hand, and squeezed it. “It's not meant maliciously,” she said. “If I don't do some things for myself I might as well not exist. And the fact that I survived the car crash tells me that I'm here for a reason.”

“Fair enough. Let me cook you dinner,” Miranda said. “Or does that infringe on your independence?”

“Okay, don't get cocky. I'm not going to argue with dinner being cooked for me.”

Miranda opened the freezer, and crouched down to look through the drawers. It was well stocked; mostly dinners for one. “Lasagna, cannelloni, or something fresher? I think there's some rice and pasta in one of the cupboards.”

“You're cooking. You decide.”

Miranda shut the freezer, stood upright, and pressed her hand into the small of her back. Sometimes she felt every one of her fifty-three years. “How about risotto? I brought some ingredients with me. They're in the car.”

“Great,” Beth said.

Twenty minutes later she was still waiting for her friend's return. Even allowing for the crafty smoke, Miranda should have been back by then. Beth wheeled herself to the front door, and pulled it open. Miranda's Audi R8 was parked no more than fifty yards from the house. The car was closed up, but there was no sign of her friend.

“Mirri!' she called, waited, and called again, and then jerked around in surprise as she heard a footstep behind her. Miranda was standing behind her, two yards away, inside the house, clutching a Fortnum & Mason carrier bag, and wearing an apologetic smile.

“Sorry,” she said. “I didn't mean to make you jump. I came in the back door.”

“And it was open?”

“Yes…well, unlocked anyway.”

“What were you doing around the back of the house?” Beth said, closing the door and wheeling herself back into the lounge.

Miranda glanced behind her, the smile slipping a little. “I thought I saw someone and I went to investigate.”

“Someone?” Beth tried not to feel concerned. In London someone at the back door wasn't usually good news.

“Well, movement really. I thought I caught a glimpse of someone moving behind the laurel hedge that runs down the side of the house.”

“Someone? Who?”

“Not sure. I only sensed movement. It
felt
as if there was someone there. It could have been an animal. I just felt sure there was something moving beyond the hedge. Your cat maybe?”

“Teddy is small and ginger, and he's asleep on my bed. He's made himself at home already.”

“Could have been a fox then. I bet you get a lot of them around here, looking for food.”

“I thought you said it was a person.”

“I wasn't sure. I just thought I saw someone, but it was like catching something out of the corner of your eye. Blink, and they're gone. Anyway, by the time I got to the back of the house there was no one there. No big deal.” She moved through to the kitchen, and set the carrier bag down, rummaging through it and producing a bottle of wine. “Every comfort. Châteauneuf-du-Pape
.
It should go well with the risotto.”

“Headache in a glass,” Beth said.

“But what a delicious way to get one. Do you have a corkscrew?”

“Try the drawer. I haven't had time to check the inventory list yet.”

Miranda opened and searched three of the kitchen drawers, before she found what she was looking for: a silver waiter's friend that she held aloft with a cry of triumph. “We shall have wine!” she said.

Beth gave Miranda a long-suffering look. Sometimes it was comforting to know that some things never changed.

Change had put her into a wheelchair. She wanted some stability in her life.