The Dark Room (4 page)

THE YOUNG MAN
was in no hurry to get up. He lay on the bed, his limbs sprawled in satiated contentment upon the rumpled bedclothes, watching the woman button her
blouse in front of the mirror. Her reflected eyes stared warily back at him. Despite his airs and graces, and his liberal use of ‘please’ and ‘thank you’, she knew exactly
what she was dealing with here, and it terrified her. She’d seen every type there was to see – or thought she had – but this one was in a class of his own. This one was mad.

‘You’ll have to go now,’ she said, trying to hide her nervousness. ‘I’ve another customer due in a minute.’

‘So? Tell him to go away. I’ll pay you double.’

‘I can’t do that, love. He’s a regular.’

‘You’re lying,’ he said lazily.

‘No, love, honestly.’ She forced a smile to her sore lips. ‘Look, I’ve really enjoyed this. It’s years since I’ve come with a client. You
wouldn’t believe that, would you? A pro like me and it takes a man like you to give her something to remember.’ She offered her raddled face to the mirror and applied eyeliner to her
lids, watching him carefully while she did it. ‘But it’s a tough old world and I need my income just like any other girl. If I tell him to bugger off, he won’t come again’
– she gave a wretched giggle – ‘in every sense of the word. Know what I mean? So do us a favour, love, and leave me to my regular. He’s not a patch on you, and that’s
God’s honest truth, but he pays me weekly and he pays me handsome. OK?’

‘Did I really make you come?’

‘Sure you did, love.’

‘You fat slag,’ he said, surging off the bed with terrifying speed and hooking his arm about her neck. ‘It’d take a bloody bulldozer to make an impression on
you.’ He levered his arm closed. ‘I hate slags who lie to me. Tell me you’re a lying whore.’

But she’d been on the game long enough to learn that you never told psychopaths the truth. She reached for his penis instead and set about rearousing him, knowing that if she
came out of this alive, she’d be lucky. So far, his only real pleasure had been to beat her about the face while he reached his climax, and she knew he was going to do it again.

As he twisted his hand in her hair and yanked her backwards on to the bed, she had time to reflect on the awful irony of it all. She was so used to servicing old and inadequate men
that when the voice on the phone had translated itself into an Adonis at her door, she couldn’t believe her luck. God, but she was a stupid bitch!

Nightingale Clinic, Salisbury – 8.20 p.m.

The phone rang beside Jinx’s bed, setting her nerves jangling with its insistent summons to a world outside that she wasn’t sure she was ready to face. She was tempted
to leave it until it occurred to her that it might be an internal call.
If she didn’t answer it,
said the voice of paranoia inside her head,
then a little black mark would go down
in a book somewhere and her mental equilibrium would be called into question
. She lifted the receiver and held it against her ear on the pillow. ‘Jinx Kingsley,’ she said
guardedly.

‘Thank God,’ said a man’s voice. ‘I’ve had the devil’s own job trying to find you. It’s Josh Hennessey. I finally got through to your
stepmother, who gave me this number. She says you’re OK to talk but that you’ve lost bits of your memory.’

‘Josh Hennessey?’ she echoed in surprise. ‘As in Harris and Hennessey? You sound so close. Where are you?’

He gave a rumble of laughter at the other end. ‘The very same, except that it’s all Hennessey at the moment and remarkably little Harris. She’s buggered off to
France and left me nursing the office. I’m in a call-box in Piccadilly.’ He paused briefly and she heard the sound of traffic in the background. ‘I’m damn glad the memory
loss doesn’t extend to your mates. There’s a few of us eating our hearts out over this.’ He paused again. ‘We were really sorry to hear about your accident, Jinx, but your
stepma says you’re progressing well.’

She smiled weakly. Typical Josh, she thought. Always we and never I. ‘I’m not sure I’d agree with her. I feel like something the dog threw up. I suppose you know
about Leo and Meg?’

He didn’t say anything.

‘It’s all right, you don’t have to spare my feelings. Matter of fact, I’m quite glad Leo found a good home.’
Was she telling the truth?
‘They’re welcome to each other.’

‘Well, if it’s of any consolation to you, I can’t see it lasting. You know Meg and her brief enthusiasms. She’ll have some French guy in tow by the time she
comes back, and poor old Leo will be on the scrap heap along with all the others. She’s a two-timing bitch, Jinx. I’ve always said so.’

Liar, she thought. You adore her. ‘She hasn’t changed just because Leo prefers her to me,’ she said. ‘I don’t bear any grudges, so why should
you?’

He cleared his throat. ‘How are you coping after the – well, you know?’

‘You mean my suicide attempt? I don’t remember it, so I’m fine.’

There was a short silence.

‘Good, well, listen, the reason I phoned is that I’ve been trying to get hold of Meg for the last eight days and I’m getting zilch response from her answerphone.
She swore on her sainted granny’s grave that she’d call in for her messages every day but, if she’s doing it, then she sure as hell isn’t replying to any of them, and
I’m going slowly ape-shit with all the work that’s piling up. I’ve tried her brother and a few of her other friends to see if they know where she and Leo went, but they’re
as much in the dark as I am. You’re my last hope, Jinx. Have you any ideas at all how I can contact her? Believe me, I wouldn’t ask if I wasn’t desperate. I’ve got a sodding
contract here that needs her signature and I’ve got to fax it through post-haste.’ He gave an angry grunt. ‘I tell you, the way I feel at the moment, I could wring her neck. And
Leo’s, too.’

Jinx jabbed her fingers against the vein above her eye that was pounding and rushing like a swollen river. A strangely murky image had floated into her mind as he spoke, a
meaningless, dark negative that relayed nothing to her at all except an intense frustration. She sought to hold on to it but, like a drowning man, it slipped away and left her cheated. ‘Well,
if it’s France,’ she said slowly, ‘then they’ve probably gone to Leo’s house in Brittany, but I’m afraid I can’t remember the phone number, Josh, and I
doubt he’s got a fax either.’

‘That doesn’t matter. Do you know the address?’

She dug deep into her memory. ‘I think so. It’s Les Hirondelles, rue St Jacques, Trinité-sur-mer.’

‘You’re a brick, Jinx. Remind me to take you out to dinner one day.’

She gave a shaky laugh. ‘It’s a date,’ she told him. ‘Assuming I can remember to remind you.’ She paused. ‘Did you really want Meg’s
address?’

He avoided an answer. ‘I could come and see you at the weekend,’ he suggested. ‘Or are you hibernating?’

‘Sort of,’ she said, unsure if she wanted to see anyone. ‘I’m vegetating.’

‘Is that a yes or a no?’

The vein above her eye throbbed mercilessly. ‘It’s a yes. I’d love to see you,’ she lied.

For fifteen minutes paranoia held Jinx’s hand. Ten times she had reached it out towards the telephone on the bedside table and ten times she had withdrawn it again. Her nerve
had abandoned her along with her memory. She was afraid of eavesdroppers listening in. And what could she say that wouldn’t sound foolish? At eight-thirty, as credits rolled on the television
in the corner, she muted the sound, seized the telephone with sudden decision and dialled a number.

‘Hello?’ said a brisk voice that belied its eighty-three years.

‘Colonel Clancey?’

‘Yes.’

‘It’s Jinx Kingsley. I wondered – are you busy or can I talk to you for a moment?’

‘My dear girl, of course you can talk. How are you?’

‘Fine. You?’

‘Worried,’ he barked. ‘Damned worried, if I’m honest. I feel responsible, Jinx. Daphne, too. We should have done more. Hold on a minute while I close the
door. Bloody television’s going full blast. Usual old rubbish, of course, but Daphne likes it.’ She heard the receiver clatter on to their hall table, followed by the slam of a door and
the distant yapping of Goebbels, their mild-mannered Yorkshire terrier. ‘You still there?’ he said a moment or two later.

She felt tears of affection pricking at the back of her eyelids. He made himself out to be so much more ferocious than his funny little dog and, in her mind, he was always Colonel
Goebbels and the dog was Clancey. ‘Yes. It’s nice to hear you.’ She paused a moment, unsure what to say. ‘How’s Goebbels?’ She wondered why they’d called
their dog that.
Was it something she knew and had forgotten, or was it something she had simply accepted as she had accepted all their other eccentricities?

‘Flea-ridden as usual. Daphne gave him a bath and he’s looking like a mohair sweater. Absurd creature.’

She wondered if he was referring to the dog or to his wife. ‘I’m worried about my plants,’ she said, seeking neutral territory and remembering the Clanceys had her
spare key. ‘Would it be an awful bore for you or Mrs C to water them for me?’

‘We go in every day, Jinx. Assumed it’s what you’d want. Plants are fine, bit of cleaning up done. It’s all ready for you as soon as you’re well enough
to come home.’

‘That’s very kind. Thank you.’

‘Least we could do in the circumstances.’

There was an awkward pause while she sought for something more to say. ‘Let me give you my phone number. I’m at the Nightingale Clinic in Salisbury.’ She squinted
at the dial. ‘I don’t know the code but the number’s two-two-one-four-two-zero. Just in case anything unexpected crops up.’

‘Got it,’ he told her. ‘And you say you’re fine. Glad to hear it. Looking after you all right then, are they?’

‘Yes.’

‘Well, you sound cheerful enough.’

Another awkward pause. They spoke together.

‘Best be going then—’

‘Colonel—’

‘Yes?’

‘Please don’t go, not yet.’ She rushed her words. ‘My stepmother said you rescued me from my garage. Is that true? She said I had the car engine running and
you found me before I could – well – finish myself off.’

His voice grew gruff with emotion. ‘Don’t you remember?’

‘No.’ She swallowed painfully. ‘I’m really sorry, but I don’t. I don’t remember anything – at least – not since I left to stay with my
parents two weeks ago. Is Leo really not there any more? I don’t know who else to ask – and I’m so, so sorry if it’s embarrassing but I do need to be sure. They keep telling
me . . . things . . . that don’t make sense. They say I’ve got amnesia – that I got drunk and tried to kill myself. But – I just – oh, God . . .’ She clamped her
hand over her mouth because tears were flooding her throat.
Hang up, you stupid woman.

‘There, there,’ said his comforting elderly voice, ‘no need for embarrassment. Good lord, I’ve had six-foot-tall men weep on my shoulder before now. Clear
answers, eh, that’s what you want. Your stepmother’s a nice enough woman, I expect, but, if she’s anything like Daphne, she’ll have managed to confuse the message somehow.
Not that I know all that much,’ he warned. ‘Never been one to poke my nose in where it’s not wanted, as you know.’

‘Quite. Best sort of neighbour always.’ Odd, she thought, how she picked up his shorthand when she spoke to him. Perhaps everyone did.

‘Leo’s been gone over a week, Jinx. Left the night you came home from Hampshire. Hope it’s not an impertinence, but I’d say you’re well shot of him.
Never did like the cut of his jib much. You were far too good for him. Funny thing is, I spoke to you on the Saturday and you didn’t turn a hair. “The bastard’s jilted me,
Colonel,” you said, “and the only bugger is he beat me to it.”’ He chortled at the memory. ‘And then, on the Sunday, there you were in your garage with the engine
running. Fact is, it was Goebbels who spotted something was up. Parked himself in front of your garage door and barked his little head off.’ He paused for a moment and she could picture him,
fluffing his moustache and squaring his shoulders. ‘Upshot was, pulled you out PDQ and got some fresh air into you. Should have done more, though. Called a doctor, got a friend round. Rather
upset about that, to tell you the truth.’

‘I wish you wouldn’t be. Did I say anything? I mean, explain or something?’ Her fingers tightened involuntarily around the handset. ‘I just don’t
believe – well, you know. Not over Leo . . .’

‘Matter of fact, I agree with you. Personally, thought it was an accident, garage doors slammed after you started the engine, that sort of thing. Not as though you had a hose
pipe attached to the exhaust, is it? Truth is, you weren’t feeling too clever afterwards, not surprising in the circumstances. But you can’t have been in there very long. Back to normal
in no time, cracking jokes and telling Daphne not to fuss. Even made a phone call to some friends you were off to see. The old girl was all for a doctor but you wouldn’t have it.
“I’m perfectly all right, Mrs C,” you said, “and if I don’t get going I’ll be late.” Worst thing was, thought you were going to squash poor Goebbels, the
way you hugged and petted him.’ He gave a gravelly laugh. ‘Hah! You said dogs were the only things worth having in your bed from then on.’

She dabbed at her cheeks. ‘Then why does Betty think I was trying to kill myself?’ Her voice was remarkably steady.

‘On the principle that one swallow doesn’t make a summer but two probably do, dear girl. Dare say it’s our fault. Bobbies turned up a week ago, telling us
you’d driven your car at a wall in what looked like a deliberate attempt at suicide, and did we know of any other attempts? So Daphne piped up about the garage and how you promised
you’d be more careful in future, then told them what a rat Leo had been and, hey presto, conclusions being drawn all over the place. Silly old woman,’ he said fondly. ‘Practically
ga-ga, though, let’s face it, and awfully worried about you. Matter of fact, I did try to stem the breach by pointing out you weren’t the type, but I might have been banging my head
against the proverbial wall for all the good it did.’ He cleared his throat. ‘Must say, Jinx, talking to you now, more inclined than ever to think it’s all nonsense. Never struck
me as the type to throw in the towel.’