Thorn in the Flesh (10 page)

He gazed at her, his expression unfathomable.

‘You’re still a beautiful woman, Kate,’ he said. ‘I’m sorry for what happened between us. I wish I could change it, but I can’t. Please, stay in touch if you feel able. And if … if you find our son, I’d like you to let me know.’

He let her go. Her hands were no longer trembling; everything within was as calm as stone.

She shook her head.

‘No,’ she said. ‘I can’t. You don’t understand, but I can’t.’

Chapter Twelve

Later, at home, she knew that if he’d asked her, she would have slept with him again, even after all the years apart. Her skin, her flesh, all of her had wanted him, but he hadn’t made that offer, and she couldn’t voice her need. But, no, it would have been impossible. Not now, after everything that had happened.

First, she had to defeat the past. Accept it, and defeat it.

And a step forward to this end was the knowledge that Peter had not been responsible for sending her the letters. Then again, how could he have been? The one immediately after her attack had threatened her with the same treatment again, and Peter had had no idea what had happened to her. There had been nothing in his eyes to tell her he knew. Even though that wasn’t, of course, one of the letters she’d taken to show him, she was still sure of it. That avenue of discovery and, yes, hope, was suddenly closed to her; her answers lay elsewhere, but, for the moment, she could go no further in that direction.

But she had other paths to explore. Ones that didn’t make her skin grow cold and her hands clench with the effort of suppressing terror and guilt. And shame. It was possible that her letter-writing rapist knew someone who was aware of what had happened in her past. And only two people would have access to those facts. Peter she’d discounted. That left only one.

Her son.

She would have to find Stephen. In the end, she’d always known it would come to that. To do it, however, she needed help. So tonight she would tell Nicky everything.

Almost everything.

It seemed a long time till evening. During the day, the garden was bright, calm and controlled, but at night it took on a different character. Shadows flowed between the yew hedge and the roses, shadows of birds or small animals Kate couldn’t identify. Now and again, a fox would pad through, its yellow eyes gleaming in the darkness. The first time she’d seen the fox, after she’d moved in, it had made the breath catch in her throat, imagining an intruder or other kind of evil surrounding the safety of home, but now she’d grown used to the fox’s occasional appearance. There were more piercing dangers to be afraid of. In fact, she’d welcomed the animal’s coming; she liked to think it was the same one she always saw. It made her feel less alone.

Now as she gazed out of the window waiting for her friend, no fox appeared. Simply the darkness and the dull patter of rain which disturbed her thoughts. If she’d hoped to gather her words together to explain to Nicky some of the secrets she held, her hopes had been thwarted. She could think no further than Nicky’s arrival, in half an hour, and what she had decided to tell her. Beyond that, all was shadow.

She must have fallen asleep, dozing off in the chair, because the crisp tones of the doorbell woke her and she sat up, blinking. When she peered through the window, she could see no-one on the porch, but the view was limited anyway. Her watch said 8.25pm. It had to be Nicky.

Checking her hair in the hall mirror, she could see smudges under her eyes and thought she looked pale. Through the spy-hole, instead of Nicky’s warm smile, she saw nothing. No visitor, only the outlines of the rose bushes in the garden, a study in shades of grey now, and the slight sway of the trees. She must have imagined the bell; her need to speak to her friend was playing tricks on her. But no, the security light David had installed at the end of the porch was on. That was why she could see the roses. Somebody had been there.

Somebody who wasn’t Nicky had rung her doorbell. In which case where was that person now? Her heart was thumping and her throat felt dry. She should ring the police, or David. The thought of his familiar voice at the end of the line made her stumble away from the spy-hole and reach for the telephone, even though her hands were trembling. No, she was being foolish. She shouldn’t assume something bad was happening or about to happen. In Bruges, hadn’t she promised herself she wasn’t going to let the rape colour how she lived her life? Didn’t she want to be free of the nagging anxiety and always looking over her shoulder at shadows? And she’d received no more letters in the last few days. She had nothing to fear. Nicky would be here soon.

Nicky.

Where was she?
What if it was Nicky who’d rung the bell, but someone had snatched her away? What if her friend were out there somewhere, needing help, while Kate stood quivering with indecision inside the house? What if …?

‘Nicky?’

Without another thought, Kate slammed the bolts back and pulled open the door. The faint warmth of the night breeze filled the hallway as she ran out onto the porch, almost knocking over the smallest of her row of pots. Behind her the door clicked shut. ‘
Nicky?
Are you there?’

No reply. She ran to the front of the garden but, when she glanced wildly left and right, the road was deserted. Skirting the bushes, thorns snatching at her hand, she brushed past the yew hedge and down the side passage to the back garden. The slope stretched in front of her, empty of terror or pain as far as she could see. Still she stumbled upwards, all the time calling her friend’s name. She heard nothing in reply but the shriek of a startled bird and the throbbing sound of a party a handful of gardens away. Her legs felt weak and she almost fell, saving herself at the last minute by clutching at the plum tree she’d planted four years ago.

She was being ridiculous, as she’d thought before. No-one was there. She was safe and Nicky would be here soon.

But as she turned to retrace her steps, a flicker at the corner of her eye made her swing round again. ‘Hello?’

No answer. Of course. She swallowed down all the pointless phrases and peered into the top corner of the garden, in the shadows where the yew was thickest and blended into the overhanging branches from next door’s evergreen. For two heartbeats it was as if the only sound in the world was the harshness of her own breath, the only movement the shimmer of the leaves in the wind.

She’d been wrong. Again. She must learn to keep calm, she must …

A sudden change in the quality of the shadows and a figure coalesced in front of her as if by magic. It – he – was crouched against the base of the hedge. She’d been gazing at him all the time and hadn’t seen what was there. Kate couldn’t move. She couldn’t breathe. A flash of lightness in the gloom and she realised she was seeing teeth. He must have smiled, be smiling still. A wave of nausea rushed into her mouth and she swallowed down bile.

From somewhere, she found a store of courage and took a step towards the figure, words crowding her throat. Her action released the world back into spin. The man sprang to his feet and rushed in her direction. A glimpse of a pale face, and she put up her clenched fists to defend herself, though how, she couldn’t imagine. He gripped her arm. She couldn’t see properly. A darkness more than the night surrounded her.

‘No!’

Before the denial was out in the air, he’d seemed to pause before flinging her to one side. She landed in soil and undergrowth, scrabbling to get to her feet, determined to fight if she had to. But he was already flitting away from her, like a wild animal or a ghost, heading to the fence and, beyond it, the Charterhouse woods.

Anger ripped through her, separating blood from marrow, muscle from bone. Not this time. He wasn’t going to get away this time. Not without her knowing for sure. She didn’t care what happened to her.

She chased after him.

At the gate, he stumbled over the top, his dark jacket catching on the rusted iron of the latch. Three more steps and she’d got him, almost, her fingers snatching on leather, snatching and slipping. He shook her off as if she were nothing, bounded over the wooden slats and down onto the path. She saw him stagger as he landed and then he was off, running into the trees and away. Leaning against the gate, her hands gripped splinters that gouged into her skin. She took a shuddering breath and launched her voice after the fleeing man.

‘
You bastard
,’ she yelled. ‘
You bastard. I’ll get you. One day. You’ll see.
’

‘Kate?
Kate?
What’s wrong?’

The sound of Nicky’s voice saying her name brought her back to reality. She turned round and the next second was enveloped in the arms of her friend. Nicky’s skin smelt of perfume and promises. Feeling as if she wanted to stay there forever, Kate shook herself free.

‘Someone, there was someone,’ she panted. ‘A man. I saw him. In the garden.’

‘Where? What do you mean?’

Kate pointed over the fence and into the growing gloom of the woods.

‘He ran over there,’ she said. ‘I saw him near the hedge and then he ran past me. He disappeared into the woods.’

‘Who was it? Did you see?’

Kate hesitated and shut her eyes. Flashes of colour, red, yellow, white, encompassed her vision. She shivered and opened her eyes. Nicky was gazing at her, a frown creasing her forehead.

‘I don’t know,’ Kate said, glancing down. ‘It was too dark.’

‘Okay. Let’s get you inside,’ Nicky said, looking around as if waiting for a lurking enemy to reveal himself although now there was no-one there. ‘We can call the police.’

‘
No.
I don’t want to do that. I can’t, I …’

‘Kate,’ Nicky took her arm and drew her back down the garden towards the solidity of the house. ‘You have to. You saw an intruder in your garden and after what happened before …’

She left the sentence incomplete and, in spite of her new resolution to be open about the attack if only to herself, Kate was grateful. And too shaken to argue.

‘All right,’ she replied. ‘All right.’

It was only when both women were at the porch that Kate remembered.

‘The key. I’m sorry, I didn’t bring it out with me. I was worried about … about … never mind. I was just worried.’

‘So you went out into the garden?’

‘Yes. I wasn’t thinking.’ Kate leaned her head against the cool brickwork of the house. ‘How are we going to get inside?’

‘Don’t worry. I’ve got your spare key, remember?’

Nicky unlocked the door, settled Kate into the living room and bustled away in the direction of the kitchen.

‘It’s all right,’ Kate called after her. ‘I don’t need anything.’

‘But I do,’ Nicky responded. ‘I won’t be a moment and then we’ll ring the police together.’

Alone, Kate drew in several deep breaths and tried to relax. She’d always been the strong one, hadn’t she? The one Nicky had leaned on in the past, at school and then later during the university vacations. Now everything was different.

When her friend returned, she brought with her a shot of Courvoisier, two glasses of orange juice and soda water, a pack of Café Noir biscuits and the new mobile telephone on a tray, a gesture that made Kate smile.

‘Thank you,’ she said. ‘I should be the one getting you the drinks, but thank you.’

‘Not a problem,’ Nicky shook her head. ‘I did wonder about hot, sweet tea, but discounted it as we’re too young. Unless you …?’

‘No. I don’t believe I’m there yet. I assume the brandy’s mine?’

‘Of course. My driving’s bad enough. Now … the police?’

Nicky picked up the telephone and began to punch the number, but Kate jumped to her feet. ‘No, please. Let me, I’ll call them.’

When the half-halting conversation with the duty sergeant was over, she slipped the phone back onto the tray in the middle of the coffee table and sat down again. Nicky pushed the brandy nearer and Kate took her first fiery sip. The swift journey of the liquid warmed her throat and stomach, and she blinked.

‘Better?’ Nicky asked.

‘Yes. Much, thank you.’

‘What did the police say?’

‘They’re sending someone to see me. I don’t think they were intending to at first, but when I told them my name … well, you understand.’ She paused to take another sip and felt more muscles relax. ‘I think it’s one of those who interviewed me in the hospital, though I can’t remember his name. The older one, I hope. The other one wasn’t pleasant. Not that it matters. Whoever it is will be here in half an hour at most.’

‘Good,’ Nicky said. ‘I’ll ring David and tell him I’ll be late.’

While Nicky rang her husband, Kate sat back and tried to go through in her mind what had just happened. When the police came, she would need to be clear. Whatever she said would be placed on a report somewhere and be open to interpretation. She must seem calm.

‘That’s fine,’ Nicky said as she finished her call. ‘It sounds as if the twins are rioting, but I think David will round them up in the end. He’ll be content to see me whenever I turn up tonight.’

‘Are they all right?’

‘Yes. They’re having a week of quarrelling but that’s usual. It always seems to be the way when I’m coming up to an exhibition. Well, in six weeks or so, anyway.’

‘Oh? Another London gallery?’

Nicky laughed. ‘I wish! I only get a couple of those a year, if I’m lucky. No, this one is much more local. The Pepperpot. Did you know it has a ghost? Sometimes late on a Monday night, after our art class, the floor creaks and there’s the noise of someone moving around, though there’s never anyone there. Very strange. Anyway, local artists and their visions is the theme for the exhibition. I’m working on a series of paintings of Winkworth Arboretum. If the twins will give me a moment, that is. It must be post Bank Holiday blues or something. But Charlotte’s beginning to fight back, which is nice. We can’t have Louise winning all the time.’