The Twisted Way (32 page)

‘Time for a break,’ the director announced in his crunchy old voice and the players who had finished their current game moved, like a thirsty herd of cattle jostling to be the first in the queue, towards a bar counter the landlord had strategically placed in a corner of the room where it would be easy for him or his staff to serve alcoholic drinks or coffee and biscuits according to the members’ preferences. As if telepathic the red-headed landlord appeared exuding enthusiasm and charm, hoping the players would dip deep into their pockets and indulge in a few glasses of his more expensive liquors. He was not often lucky. Most of the bridge players were cautious with their money and in any case preferred coffee.

‘There is a nice glass of wine, and a packet of crisps if you want one,’ would form part of his regular patter. ‘Come on folks, we have the best Russetshire handmade pork scratchings!’ But his efforts made only a small dent on the desires and spending habits of the bridge club clientele. One week he had sent his most glamorous barmaid Betsy Ann to serve the bridge players. Betsy Ann was a bleached blonde who fluttered long false eyelashes and whose skimpy T-shirts exposed the tops of large breasts that looked like soft downy plumped-up pillows. Sales did not improve and in spite of some of the male bridge players gawping inanely at her bust they managed to ignore her come-hither comments like ‘What can I do you for dear?’ which interested most of his punters. He decided that she would be better employed behind the bar with some of his regular beer drinkers who were more appreciative of her charms.

Some of the members would leg it into the pub garden to smoke during the break, frowned on and muttered about by some of the older ladies, or just get a breath of fresh air and clear their heads in an effort not to get too irritated with a partner’s poor play. It was never ever their fault, of course, when mistakes were made.

John Elk urged Patsy to put her coat on and go outside with him for a few minutes. He suggested that they could walk down the road a little way and get some air though all he really looked forward to was a moment or two alone with her.

They linked arms, a habit they had now accepted as the norm, went out of the back door of the pub and a short distance down the now deserted lane at the back.

‘The cool evening air will do you good, Patsy,’ he said looking at her pale face with concern. ‘Are you feeling all right?

She turned her face towards his and caught her breath. To her surprise, and his, she placed her arms around his neck and tentatively kissed his lips.

John gasped momentarily then held her close. ‘Oh, I thought that this day would never come, I didn’t—’ She kissed him once again and they were soon in a close and breathtaking embrace. Patsy thought she would faint, she had been longing to kiss him for so long though she hadn’t been able to admit that to herself. It was as if some curtain in her mind had been dragged back and light had flooded in. Her eyes softened and her usual sharp reactions subsided. She was, she realised with interest, almost acquiescent. It was a start. She had overcome one barrier but could she overcome another and get even closer to this man? Could she be the kind of warm loving woman he wanted? She was not quite sure but time alone would tell.

The colour had flooded back to her face and John beamed. They went back to the bridge room with renewed energy and the knowledge, although little had been said, that they were destined to be together, one way or another. He would bide his time and when he thought she was ready, he would ask her to be his wife.

Felicity lifted the glass of bubbly lemonade to her mouth and the gas whisked uncomfortably into her nostrils causing her to cough. Robbie was standing by her side and she glanced at him with an apologetic, or as near as she could get to that, expression on her face. He turned a slightly flushed face towards her. She scowled. Huh, looks as though he is going through the menopause, she thought uncharitably. Except that he is the wrong sex and a little old for that nonsense. Perhaps he is ill and might die, the crass thought lingered. Well, she could accept that. A spurt of selfish relief welled up like a hiss of gas from a volcano. It could save her a lot of trouble. Life in Enderly had become quite agreeable, she now had plenty of lolly, new clothes and a crafty, if somewhat tricky, old bird with whom to play a good game of bridge. Robbie was a useful chauffeur but chauffeurs and gardeners could be replaced. She didn’t want to rock the boat at present and her devious mind, as usual, bolted ahead.

Robbie stared for a moment at Felicity and reflected on what an atrocious woman she was. His limbs ached and tiredness threatened to swallow him. The drugs he was taking for prostate cancer swamped him and made him feel very tired but he was not going to give Felicity the satisfaction that she craved. She had so far kept the information that he was Janet’s evacuee to herself. No doubt she had some devious reason for that. He could live as long as Janet, possibly a good few years longer, and his mission now to protect her loomed even greater. Think positively, do not give in, had become his motto in recent months. Felicity was not going to win.

Ronald turned his small hired car into the new tarmac car park at the side of the Red Rooster in Little Brinton. He had 
made a bed-and-breakfast booking for two nights, which 
he hoped would be long enough for him to complete his business in Enderly, though if need be he could always stay another day or two. Northumberland had been blustery and unwelcoming and spending the Christmas break on his own had not been much fun. Chat during the evening with the grouchy publican, following some skilful probing, revealed that a local solicitor had fallen down some steps at the back of a house in Enderly and had died. Ronald felt a tightening of his neck muscles and struggled to avoid flinching.

‘What happened, how exactly did that come about, was it an accident?’

‘I don’t know, the local police think foul play could have been involved but they haven’t arrested anyone yet.’

So the old fart died. That was bad luck, or was it? He was surprised that he felt so little remorse. Oh well, they will have something more dramatic to deal with soon. He turned his head away from the landlord and tried to avoid displaying an expression of sheer joy on discovering this welcome news. The old boy will not be able to identify me now, praise be to God. He placed his hands together under the bar counter in a gesture of prayer and ordered a double whisky. Excitement and anticipation threatened to overwhelm him.

He had grown a short beard and a thick moustache during his stay in Yorkshire and purchased some new spectacles with clumsy thick brown frames in the belief that he would not be recognised when he returned to the Green Man to do some last minute research. There was no way he could hide his tapir-like nose, a legacy from his mother Anne, but he was convinced that his disguise was adequate.

An evening meal in the Green Man bar would be a good start. He sat at a small table in the dingiest corner and, after ordering his favourite cod and chips with mushy peas, which he smothered with tomato sauce, he sipped a pint of strong local cider and sat back to listen. He had taken the precaution of buying a copy of the
Everton Journal
so that he could, if need be, pretend he was reading and lift it up in front of his face. He did not want to meet Felicity. If she recognised him he would be robbed of all of his planning and pleasurable revenge. He was looking forward to rewarding her for past indignities. The time spent apart had not softened his feelings towards his sister but had served to fuel his hate.

Ronald soon discovered that a small bridge club met in the pub on Tuesdays. He remembered Felicity liked playing card games when she was a child, and mentioned that she was learning to play bridge in one of her brief letters from Canada shortly after she left England. There were some bridge results posted on a notice board by the bar and he decided to check later to see if her name was on the list. He looked round with interest as Robbie and Pat came into the pub and sat at the next table. Robbie looked familiar in a vague sort of way but, he could not remember where he could have seen him before. Old Pat he did not know but when he commenced chatting to his companion Ronald became alert and excited. Robbie had to attend the hospital in Russhampton the next day, his appointment apparently scheduled for the afternoon.

‘I won’t be able to go to Primrose House and do the tidying up in the garden as planned. Joyce Skillet has an afternoon off too but Felicity should be able to look after Janet and prepare the tea. I can’t stand the woman but she does have her uses,’ he said, an anxious note surfacing in his voice.

Pat grunted in agreement. ‘Janet Lacey has been lucky to have you to keep an eye on her for so long,’ he said with feeling. ‘You’re not so old as I am, I’m getting on for ninety. I’m so sorry that you have to struggle with prostate cancer.’ His weak old eyes filled with tears. ‘Have you told Mrs Lacey?’

‘No, there’s no point,’ Robbie responded. ‘She wouldn’t remember for more than five minutes. I’m glad to have the job to keep me occupied. They tell me that the cancer is at present under control, indeed I hope to keep an eye on that vile niece for as long as necessary.’

Ronald was more than interested. He was in wholehearted agreement with Robbie’s assessment of Felicity. Well, he wouldn’t have to worry about her for much longer. The stage was set. Everything would be clear for his planned action the next day. What luck to discover that only dotty Aunt Janet and Felicity would be at home in the afternoon.

The next morning he ate a hearty breakfast that consisted of eggs and bacon, fried bread, mushrooms and good strong coffee in the Red Rooster dining room. The thought of the interesting day that stretched before him had stimulated his appetite. He filled up his hired car with petrol at a garage on the road from Little Brinton to Enderly. He would need a full tank early the next day when he made his departure from Little Brinton to Heathrow. He planned to stay in a hotel there for a short time and if possible catch an earlier flight back to Australia than the one he had originally booked. If his business went as planned he did not want to hang about too long, indeed he thought it would be sensible to collect his belongings from Little Brinton and depart that evening. He parked the little blue Peugoet in a small layby that bordered the tiny Enderly village green. There were two other cars there and he hoped that his would not be too memorable. It would be too bad if he was traced by anyone after he had completed his business.

The March winds whipped cold fingers round Ronald’s stubby legs as he trudged up the rise to Primrose House. He had taken the precaution of buying a good thick Harris tweed suit in Northumberland; he wanted to look like an English gentleman even if he had acquired a slight Australian accent. He was glad of the thick trousers now. The surrounding area was deserted, it was not a good day for walking by the river or in the nearby fields and he looked with caution at the house. He couldn’t see anyone peeping out of the windows in the front. He would risk walking round the side of the house and try the kitchen door once again. It was left unlocked, which was convenient, just as it had been when he was last in Enderly. It had been raining earlier in the day and the metal steps shone, their slippery glistening black treads gleaming in the weak winter sunshine. He mounted the steps with caution, holding on to the shaky rail that was placed on one side and wondered what would have happened if the old chap he had met last time had been able to grab it. The stone, pale yellow and Cotswold, which he had picked up to hit the side of the old boy’s head, was missing. The only stones that he could see now exhibited grey mottled surfaces.

The kitchen door opened with some reluctance and creaked in a disconcerting manner as he lifted the latch. Jack, who was sitting by Janet’s feet in the dining room, growled and barked once or twice, then there was silence. The dog had been soothed by Janet and told that nothing was wrong. Ronald heaved a sigh of relief.

The old Aga gave out its familiar comforting warmth and the thick rough pine kitchen table he remembered so well from his childhood was now covered with a wipe-clean checked red and green cloth which was no doubt Felicity’s doing. Two fine china teacups and saucers and a plateful of rich Belgian chocolate biscuits covered with plastic film sat on a pretty floral tray. He couldn’t smell any sandwiches but Felicity’s favourites were prepared and waiting in the large old-fashioned fridge that chugged away in the corner of the room. He heard footsteps approaching the door which linked the kitchen with the hall. He held his breath. The door swung open and he confronted his sister.

‘Who on earth ...’ she uttered, surprise distorting her face. ‘Who the bloody hell are you?’

‘Don’t you know me?’ He shuffled slightly forwards. He gave her a welcoming smirk as the fingers of his right hand slid down into his trouser pocket to grip something he had placed there earlier.

‘No, or is it? It can’t be ...’ She inched closer. ‘Ronald?’ She smiled as a warm welcoming expression lit up her face. Heavens ... after all those years apart. He was here, really here, her brother; the brother she had often thought about but who had shown so little interest in contacting her over the years. A warm glow spread across her chest and excitement caused her pale cheeks to achieve a soft pink blush. Her little brother ...

He positioned himself near to the Aga and looked at the hotplates. Childhood memories flooded back, vivid and unforgiving. He remembered sitting on a wooden stool warming himself and Felicity pressing his arm with force on to the hot surface of the Aga, laughing and warning him not to make a sound. He didn’t. Bitter bile forced itself into his mouth as he remembered. Something snapped. His next movement was not one he had planned but he seized her by the arm, he was larger and stronger than her now, pulled up her sleeve and slammed her arm down on to the heated surface. She was too surprised to resist. A smell of burning flesh permeated the room. She, unlike the stoic little brother of their childhood, screeched ‘Ooooh ... aaarrh ... you beast! Are you mad?’ Fear and anxiety rushed through her body with such force that her lungs felt fit to burst. Jack barked furiously in the dining room but Janet was sound asleep, oblivious and unheeding. She was becoming deaf and there was nobody else who was able to come to Felicity’s aid. After what seemed an eternity to the unfortunate Felicity, although it was only a minute, he swung her round and pulled a length of thick cord out of his pocket. His eyes were bright and manic and a small twisted smile curled round his mouth.