I'll Be There Page 6

  ‘Yes father.’ Tremors of fear jagged through her. Her father had never looked at her in this terrible, frightening way before.

  ‘God took her life as punishment.’

  Was he going to kill her? She shrank back when he brushed his hand on her naked shoulder.

  ‘A daughter who loves her father, shows respect. Do you respect me, Janey?’

  She stared at him. How could she respect a man she hated so much?

  ‘Tell me you love me, Janey?’ he whispered against her ear.

  She closed her eyes for a few seconds, shutting him from her sight. Lightning danced across her lids and thunder crashed above the thatched roof.

  His hand closed around her throat, jerking her to her feet. ‘Answer me?’

  ‘No,’ she whimpered. Something escaped from the pent-up hurt inside her, a spark of defiance that she couldn’t control. Her hand lashed across his cheek. ‘I hate you.’

  Breaking free of his grasp she ran, dry-mouthed and fearful, across to her room. He came after her, crashing his shoulder against the door before she could turn the key in the lock. She retreated to the bed, huddling in the corner as his shadow advanced towards her.

  As the lightning flickered, she saw her father’s horrible smile. He looked like the devil. Fear forced a jittery scream from her.

  ‘I’m going to punish you, Janey. I’m going to teach you to respect me.’

  Janey closed her eyes and silently started to pray. When the first stroke landed, she stopped. What was the use? The pain went on and on, each stroke of the belt raising fiery welts on her buttocks.

  She gripped the bed-sheets with her hands and bit down on her lip. She wouldn’t give him the satisfaction of crying. She wouldn’t!

  Despite her resolve, she screamed out just once – but it was after the beating had stopped.

  Her plea for mercy was lost in the roar of thunder overhead. The lightning sent brilliant flashes against the wall, setting into relief a moving, menacing shadow. It became ingrained in her memory, the shadowy evil ogre hunched over her, and the storm of its voice muttering curses against her ear.

  When he finally left, she curled herself around her pain and stared blankly into the darkness. Racked by trembling, she wanted to cry but couldn’t find any tears. Something inside her had dried up. Like old grass, she was brittle and used up. Later, she experienced an overwhelming shame, as if she’d been soiled by her father’s vileness.

  For a long time she stayed awake. Sleep came in reluctant little snatches, jerking her awake to remember the heaving evil shadow on the wall.

  She fought it, filling her mind with the roar of the wind, absorbing the thunder to destroy her thoughts. Rain lashed against the window, crying the tears she couldn’t find.

  Gradually, the storm abated to a sigh. Through the window Janey saw a sprinkling of stars amongst the chasing clouds. Heaven didn’t exist. God didn’t exist.

  Her body gave up its tension slowly. Her pain was absorbed, becoming smaller and smaller until it fit into a tiny room with a stout wooden door. She turned the key in the lock, then made the room as small as a dot, and threw the key in the ocean. But the tide was strong. The key grew larger as it floated back towards her.

  She knew she could be stronger than the tide. Relentless, she churned the dark water into a terrifying whirlpool. The key circled the edge, and then was drawn inexorably into its flow. Round and round it went, faster and faster. Finally, it was sucked into the yawning hole at the centre, down ... down ... down into the darkness. The water closed over it in unruffled serenity. Her eyes drifted shut. Peace came, and with it sleep.

  When she woke she remembered nothing. Rising from her bed she went into the bathroom and stared at herself in the mirror. Her hair was all different lengths and stuck up all over the place. She frowned, unable to remember cutting it off. She’d go to the big house and ask Ada to trim it properly for her before she went to school.

  She felt dirty. Filling the bath with cold water she immersed herself in it, scrubbing at her skin with a nailbrush and soap until she was numb.

  She dressed for school, made her breakfast and packed her lunch. The Aga had gone out, but she didn’t bother to re-light it. She had to hurry.

  Her father came down just as she was ready to leave. He had dark circles under his eyes. He began to cough when he lit a cigarette, and inhaled on the smoke.

  ‘Where’s my breakfast?’

  She ignored him. She experienced nothing but a strange sense of detachment as she left the cottage – as if she belonged only to herself, and he didn’t exist.

  * * * *

  Two weeks later Janey’s squirrel painting took first place the art competition. Pamela was enormously proud of her, especially when her photograph was printed in the local newspaper shaking hands with mayor.

  Pamela showed it to Eddie when he came down for the weekend. He stared at it for a few seconds, then screwed it up and threw it on the table. ‘Where’s the prize money?’

  ‘I’ve opened a post office account for her.’

  ‘Then you can damn well close it again. Any money that comes in this house goes towards the family.’ He glowered towards the pram. ‘We’ve got an extra mouth to feed.’

  ‘Since I’m feeding Susie myself, she doesn’t cost anything. Besides, Janey bought her a teddy bear with some of it, and a box of chocolates for me. She’s thoughtful like that.’

  His eyes raked critically over her and his lip curled into a sneer. ‘No wonder you’re getting fat, if all you do is sit around eating chocolate.’

  Pamela flushed.

  Eddie picked up the cutting again, smoothing it between his fingers. Something about it had bothered him. He examined it. Janey was shaking hands with the porky old mayor, and behind him, just visible, was part of a man’s head. He seemed vaguely familiar. ‘Who’s that?’

  ‘It’s Janey’s art teacher, John Gregory. He’s a nice man. It’s a pity about the scar on his face.’

  Forgetting about the prize money, Eddie crumpled the cutting into a ball and hurled it at the wall. A roaring sound filled his ears. He frowned ominously as Pamela scrambled to pick it up.

  ‘Mister Gregory said he’d be willing to give Janey an extra art lesson every week,’ Pamela said, her voice determinedly bright. ‘He works during the day, but could manage it on Friday evenings.’

  Jack bloody Bellamy! Concealing his rage, Eddie stood up and casually stretched. ‘Where does this John Gregory live?’

  ‘He moved into Canford Cottage about six years ago.’

  Six years! Bellamy had lived in the village for six years without him knowing? The sneaky bastard had been seeing Janey behind his back!

  His mind began to work overtime. What he needed was a plan to get rid of him permanently – short of murder, of course. If anything happened to Bellamy it wouldn’t take the police long to come looking for him.

  ‘Is that all right then, Eddie?’

  ‘Is what all right?’

  ‘The art lessons.’

  An idea began to ferment in Eddie’s brain. It was possible that Jack Bellamy had played right into his hands.

  He smiled and said slowly. ‘As long it doesn’t cost me anything.’

  * * * *

  Winter arrived with a vengeance. It snowed before Christmas, slushy stuff that froze into ridges overnight.

  The bitter wind found its way through the windows of Coombe Cottage and sent icy streams of air whistling under the doors. Drafts pushed down the chimney, sending puffs of smoke and particles of soot into the rooms.

  Susie had a runny nose, and was being fractious at night. She seemed all right during the day, due no doubt to the warmth of the kitchen up at the big house.

  ‘Teething,’ Ada had announced that morning. ‘You can see the teeth in her gums. They must be giving her gyp.’

  Pamela was pleased she’d been able to get some work up at the big house. It was only a few hours in the morning, but at least it brought in some extra money
.

  Her brow furrowed thoughtfully as she polished the dark wooden banister that curved down into the main hallway of the big house.

  The grammar school was strict about uniform, and the list they’d sent her was a mile long. Everything seemed so expensive these days, and she wondered if she could get hold of a second-hand one.

  She supposed she could put off the car repairs. She wanted Janey to look smart. Annie Sutton had also passed the exam and was already kitted out with new uniform. She didn’t want Janey to feel at a disadvantage.

  She glanced up as she heard footsteps coming down the stairs and stood respectfully to one side.

  ‘Good morning, Pamela. How’s the baby coming along?’

  Pamela smiled as she thought of Susie. ‘She’s fine, thank you, Mister Wyman.’

  ‘And Janey? I haven’t seen her for quite a while.’

  Pamela’s smile faded. ‘She’s been a bit on the quiet side lately. I think she might be worrying about going to grammar school.’

  ‘I don’t think she needs to worry. The girl’s as bright as a button.’

  ‘It wouldn’t be that.’ Pamela turned pink with embarrassment. ‘Perhaps she just thinks she’ll be out of place.’

  Charles’ astute blue eyes took in Pamela’s shabby clothes and down at heel shoes. Edward Renfrew earned a generous salary, and the cottage was practically rent free, so why was Pamela and Janey always so badly dressed? The older girl seemed to lack for nothing, and attended a private school.

  He suddenly remembered his wife telling him there had been doubt over who had fathered Janey. She’d said Renfrew had married Pamela for the sake of convenience. Poor Pamela. She seemed a nice enough woman to him, and hardworking.

  His lips tightened a fraction as he carried on downstairs. His wife, Sarah, had been quite malicious about it. He’d annoyed her by dismissing it as gossip. Now he wondered if it were true.

  Charles frowned as he thought of Sarah. He’d known right from the start that she’d married him for his money. As for him, as well as being temporarily smitten he’d wanted a beautiful young woman to show off.

  Unfortunately, her beauty had proved to be skin deep. He hadn’t been able to satisfy her, either sexually or emotionally.

  They’d agreed to live separate lives ... he in the country where he was at his happiest, and she in London. All he’d asked was she maintain the facade of their marriage, and be discreet.

  Now he wondered if he’d done the right thing. Sarah had become a wealthy woman in her own right, and although he applauded her for that, she’d not kept her part of the bargain. Her visits were becoming rarer, and on the occasions he visited London she was always in Paris.

  It was always Renfrew who answered the phone, perfectly polite and apologetic as he passed on her messages, or took her calls.

  ‘Madam had to go out of town, I’m afraid. Would you like to leave a message? Perhaps there’s something I can help you with.’

  Charles had disliked Edward Renfrew on sight, and when he thought of Janey, he disliked him even more. Pamela was right. The way Janey was dressed she would be the odd one out when she started at the grammar school.

  Striding into his study, he rang his lawyer, a man he’d studied with in Cambridge. Robert Hathaway could be trusted completely.

  ‘Rob. How would I go about getting some information on someone?’

  ‘Are you thinking of getting a divorce, Charles?’

  Charles chuckled, though his eyes lingered on Brenda as she came into the room with a bowl of flowers. He gave her a smile when she whispered an apology, and waited until she left. ‘Have you heard anything to suggest I should?’

  ‘Not a thing, old boy. Sarah smells like a rose around town. Her frequent trips to Paris are arousing speculation in certain quarters though. Who do you want investigating, Charles?’

  ‘A man called Edward Renfrew.’

  ‘Any particular reason?’

  ‘Curiosity more than anything. He works for Sarah.’

  ‘I see. I might know someone who can help you. He’s very discreet.’

  ‘How discreet?’

  ‘Take my word for it, Charles. Shall I ask him to ring you?’

  ‘I’d rather meet him face to face. Why don’t you bring him down with you at the weekend?’

  ‘I can’t promise anything on such short notice, but I’ll put it to him.’

  Later, Charles called Brenda into his study. ‘What’s the best way of setting young Janey up for grammar school without causing embarrassment to Pamela?’

  ‘You could tell her about the bequest.’

  ‘No. William didn’t want anyone to know. I promised him it would remain in trust until she comes of age.’ Charles leaned back in his chair; his eyes alight with amusement. ‘I’d never have predicted the old man would have taken such a liking to a girl of that age.’

  ‘Why not? You did?’

  Charles grinned. ‘Okay, I admit it. She’s an engaging little minx. I hope she does well at school.’

  ‘My niece used to attend that school.’ Brenda looked thoughtful. ‘I could put some new uniforms through the dry cleaners and tell Pamela they’re second hand. If I throw in a couple of worn garments as well, we might get away with it. My sister’s bound to have something left over. She never throws anything away.’

  ‘I’ll leave it to you then.’ Taking Brenda’s hand in his he gently squeezed it. ‘What would I do without you?’

  ‘You’re an old softy, Charles. Who else would have allowed Lord William to remain here after they bought the place.’

  ‘He didn’t take up much space. Besides, it was his home and he had nowhere else to go..’

  Brenda kissed the top of his head. ‘Now you know why I love you so much.’

  ‘I’m a fool,’ he said gruffly. ‘I should have divorced Sarah long ago and married you.’

  Her eyes met his in complete understanding. ‘I’m content to leave things as they are, as long as you’re happy.’

  But, am I happy? Charles asked himself after she’d gone. Or am I just being selfish because divorce is a messy business, and Brenda demands nothing of me?

  He rang Rob again, catching him just before he left for lunch. ‘Tell your friend there will be two people to investigate.’

  ‘Now you’re talking,’ Rob said softly.

  Chapter Five

  Head bent against the blustery March wind Eddie strolled back to the house in Regent’s Park. Confession had sanitized his soul.

  A voice from the past intruded on his state of grace. Little sewers need disinfecting. He scowled. Confession didn’t burn as much.

  He poured himself a brandy, lit a cigarette and then subsided into a chair. The house was empty of staff today so he could relax. Then his glance fell on Sarah’s bag. Shit! She was supposed to stay in Paris for another week.

  Downing his drink he moved into the hall, his ears straining to catch any sound. A soft gurgling laugh floated down to him. ‘I know you’re down there Edward. Come to madam.’

  Sarah sounded as high as a kite. He sighed as he mounted the stairs, hoping she wasn’t going to be difficult.

  She was clad in a short navy blue uniform, and a Breton hat of the type French schoolgirl’s wore. Her hair was tied in two braids with ribbon bows. Suspenders held up black lisle stockings that left six inches of thigh on show. Her face, unblemished by makeup, looked incredibly young.

  Blood rushed to his face and he closed his eyes for a second or two. Bloody hell, had she found out?

  No ... it had to be a coincidence, and he wouldn’t let it rattle him. ‘Why aren’t you in Paris?’

  She pouted, one finger hooked over her lip, little girl fashion. ‘Don’t be cross with me, teacher.’

  He swallowed and took a grip of himself, but his glance kept going to her stockings. ‘Are you expecting someone, Sarah?’

  She nodded, childlike. He eyes were shyly provocative as she walked towards him. Her pupils were tiny black dots an innocent blue
. ‘I’m expecting you, sir.’ And her eyes went to the came on the bed.’ He held his breath when she bent over the back of a pint velvet chair. ‘Shall I stay like this, teacher?’

  There was a surge inside his pants, making a mockery of his recent confession. Anger flooded him. The bitch must never be allowed to have power over him. Taking up the came he bent it over his knee and snapped it in half, throwing the pieces in a corner. ‘You’re trash, Sarah.’

  ‘And you’re fired,’ she snarled.

  He grinned, enjoying this moment of domination. He’d amassed enough information on her to keep the tabloids busy for years. Now was the time to cash in on it. ‘Let’s get one thing straight. I know too much about you, and have the evidence to back it up. You might decide to offer me a substantial raise in salary after you’ve seen it.’

  Turning his back on her outraged face he left her to think about it. From now on Sarah Wyman would dance to his tune.

  * * * *

  To look at him one wouldn’t imagine that John Smith had once worked for Scotland Yard. Of medium height, Smith had thinning brown hair and a face so ordinary it was instantly forgettable. Charles Wyman smiled to himself. The only extraordinary thing about the man was his name – the standard for anonymity.

  ‘Edward Renfrew,’ the investigator said in a dry voice. Born 1923 in Kent. Only child of Joseph and Agnes Renfrew. The father trained for the priesthood before his married. Both parents are deceased. Renfrew had a catholic school education. Conscripted into the army in 1941. Spent the duration of the war in the paymaster’s office in. Honorable discharge. After demob he took a position in a bank in Bournemouth.’

  He sent as assessing look over his papers, then looked his client in the eyes, mouth pursed wryly. ‘I had no idea I was going to be so long-winded. There is more of the same, and nothing out of the ordinary unless you consider the age of his first wife, and her subsequent death. You have already have the information on the tragic circumstances surrounding it. Renfrew has no convictions, prior to, or since taking up the position with your wife’s secretary. One item of interest you should note. Four months ago he received a substantial raise in his salary.’