"Ah, Red, my darling, I think I love you!" Red blushed. "Oh, sorry," said Connor. "I've embarrassed you. Sorry. It's figures and columns; they just do my ruddy head in."
"Can I help?" said Red tentatively.
"Why?" asked Connor hopefully. "Are you good with bookwork?
"I've got a GCSE in maths," she offered.
"What grade?"
"Er— B, I think."
"That'll do!" declared Connor. "I reckon a B in maths makes you practically an accountant, surely!" He vacated the chair and motioned to Red to sit down. "Shall I get you a tea or coffee?" he asked.
"Tea would be nice," said Red, beginning to sift through the piles of paper. Five minutes later, Conner came back bearing a cup and saucer. "Matching crockery?" said Red, impressed.
"For you, my lady, nothing is too much trouble, including matching up a cup with a saucer. Any luck yet?"
"Give me a chance, will you?" exclaimed Red. "It'll take an hour or so just to get the paperwork in order."
"I'll leave you to it, then," suggested Connor. "Would you like to give me your car keys?"
"What for?"
"You said you had a niggle?"
"Oh, yes," remembered Red, beginning to blush. She threw Connor the keys.
"I'll drop by later," he said, exiting the office, "when I've had a look at your niggle."
♣
It was nearly dark by the time Red had sorted out Connor's books for him. "God, Red," said Connor gratefully. "I didn't mean that you should do them for me— just tidying them up would have been enough! But thank you. Thank you so much."
"That's all right, Connor," said Red. "Believe it or not, I quite like the challenge of numbers— especially when they're in such a mess." Red paused and could feel herself blushing. What was she blushing for? She had only straightened his books out for him. It wasn't as if she'd made an indecent proposal, or anything. "Did you have any luck with the niggle?" she asked.
"Umm, not really. Your rear light was out; that was all I could find."
"Oh." Connor put her keys on the desk. There was a pause. "Right," said Red, gathering the papers up into a tidy pile. "I suppose I better go home, and see if Mother has changed her mind about Michael Graham."
"Graham?" said Connor sharply. "What about Graham?"
"Oh, she's had this thing about him since he came to her office. And yesterday, he asked her to go to the work's dance with him."
"What?"
"Yes, I said that, too. But she got cold feet and declined the invitation."
"Oh. Good."
Red looked up. Was that relief on Connor's face? "Good?" she repeated, her heart beginning to sink. Don't say Connor—
"She should keep away from him," Connor growled. "You hear things in this job. Your mum had best keep away from him. And you should, too, for that matter."
"What sort of things?" said Red, trying to ignore a feeling of annoyance that Connor had the temerity to tell her what to do. "What sort of things have you heard?"
"Never you mind," muttered Connor. "Let's just say he's only after one thing and he'll... dispose of you once he's got it."
"Dispose..?" began Red.
There was the sound of the office door opening. It was John Marchant, a farmer who kept sheep near the moor. "Oh, Connor," he said hurriedly. "Glad I caught you. I'm trying to secure the flock, but the Land Rover's playing up. Can you have a look at her? Sorry it's so late, but I've got to get that fence secure by tomorrow night..." His voice trailed off as he noticed Red.
"That's all right, John," said Connor briskly. "Is it out in the yard?"
Marchant nodded. "I thought I'd better get it done properly. I lost a good lambing ewe last month, as you know, " he said to Connor, as they turned to go. Almost imperceptibly, Connor shook his head. Marchant glanced back at Red and gave an equally imperceptible nod. Red was left alone in the office, more than a little mystified.
What was all that about? There had definitely been a tacit exchange about something... hadn't there? She frowned. Maybe it was just her imagination.
She put Connor's paperwork back in the box file and snatched up her keys. Perhaps she would stop off at the supermarket on her way home, and pick up a nice bottle of wine and a dvd, so she and Mother could celebrate being Happily Single. Then Mother could forget about Michael Graham, and she could forget about Connor.
♣
Mother was a little bit agitated when Red got home. "Oh, thank goodness you're here," she gasped as Red came through the door.
"Why? What's happened?" asked Red, putting down her groceries.
"It's Michael Graham. You know— him."
"What? What about Michael Graham?"
"He keeps ringing me, wanting to know why I turned him down, and—"
"Did you tell him? About Dad, I mean?"
"Yes. But he just ignored it, and— well, he was quite... forceful."
"Forceful?"
"Insistent, even." Mother shot a worried look at Red. "He frightens me, Red," she whispered.
Red looked at her, her mouth open in astonishment. "What did you tell him?" she asked at last. "What did you tell him— in the end?"
"I told him no, but— "
"But?"
"He said he was coming over!"
"What! Now?"
"Yes, Red. Red, I'm scared. I almost rang the police."
The doorbell went and the pair of them jumped. "It's him!" gasped Mother. "Red, what am I going to do?"
Red thought for a moment, while the doorbell rang and rang. "Are all the downstairs windows closed?" she asked in a low voice.
"Yes," whispered Mother. "I locked them all as soon as he said he was coming over."
"Good. Let's get out of sight, in case he starts trying the windows. Come on, over here, behind the settee."
Mother and Red scrambled over to the sofa and sat behind it, with their feet against the wall. The doorbell had given way to a hammering now. "Oh!" squeaked Mother. "It sounds like he's really, really angry!"
Red turned on her phone and started sending a message. She jumped as the hammering on the door became a hammering on the sitting room window. "Who are you calling?" asked Mother, now clutching Red's arm so tight, the blood was beginning to stop flowing.
"Connor," replied Red, tapping the Send button.
"Connor?"
What do you mean, Connor?"
"Well, he's hardly Arnold Schwarzenegger, is he?"
"So, who do you suggest?" hissed Red indignantly. "Do you want me to ring the police?"
"Oh, no— no. That would be too embarrassing!" Red turned to her mother to make a caustic remark, but Mother interrupted her. "I've still got to work with him, Red."
"But— " Red paused. "Well, what do you want to do, then?"
"Oh," sighed Mother, clearly getting distressed, "maybe he'll just go away. Maybe he'll just take the hint, give up and go away."
"So, you want to wait?"
"Yes. I think that's best."
So they waited. The knocking finally stopped, but they sat there waiting, making sure that Graham had gone. "You stay here," said Red, slowly raising her head over the settee's back. "I'll check first; you stay there."
She went cautiously to the window. There was no sign of anyone, though there were a lot of dark shadows out there, cast by a gibbous moon. She crept quietly upstairs and looked down out of all the bedroom windows. No one appeared to be in the garden. Red heaved a sigh of relief. Then the garage truck pulled up. Oh, damn! thought Red. She had forgotten about her call to Connor.
The doorbell went and Red hared downstairs. "It's all right!" she yelled to Mother. "It's Connor!" Mother met her in the hallway, a look of relief on her face. Red opened the door, not knowing what to say to Connor. Now he was here, their alarm at previous events seemed something of an over-reaction.
"I'm sorry," began Connor. "I was at John's; I left my phone in the car, but I came just as soon as I got your message."
"No, I'm sorry," gabbled R
ed. "He's gone. You don't have to worry."
"But what was he doing?" asked Connor, stepping into the hall and shutting the door behind him. "What caused the alarm?"
"Well," began Red. It was going to sound so stupid— the mad rambling of two neurotic women. She looked at Mother. Mother caught her glance.
"He wouldn't take no for an answer, Connor," said Mother. "He kept ringing and ringing me, and when that didn't work, he came round here and started hammering on the doors and windows. It's a good thing Red got here before he did— I don't know what I'd have done if she hadn't been here."
Connor frowned. "He works with you, doesn't he?" he said.
"Yes," said Mother.
"Has he had a relationship with anyone else in the office?"
"Well, yes," said Mother. "I understand he's been out with a couple of girls, but they've both left."
"Are you sure they left?"
"Oh, yes. I remember there was quite a fuss about both of them, as they didn't give any notice. I remember joking with Michael, what had he done to them, to make them leave..." Her voice trailed off. "Oh," she said suddenly. She frowned at Connor. "Why do you ask?"
Connor grimaced. "Just wondering. This Graham— did he work in personnel, by any chance?"
"Well, yes," confirmed Mother.
"Hmm," said Connor thoughtfully. He glanced at Red.
"What is it?" said Red sharply. "What is it you know?"
Connor ran his fingers through his hair. "I don't rightly know anything," he said at last. "Do you know Linda Reynolds?"
"Yes," replied Red. "She upped and left her husband, didn't she?"
Connor nodded. "Apparently," he said. "She'd been married to Jason for twenty-five years— they'd just celebrated their silver wedding anniversary, and she suddenly ups and leaves, with no warning, not even a goodbye note. Jason's still not found out where she went."
"Well," said Red, "maybe twenty-five years of wedded bliss suddenly focussed her mind on what she's been missing."
"Maybe," conceded Connor, "but she's got four kids living in this area, and her daughter is getting married next month. You think she would have been in touch, with that coming up."
"I suppose," said Red. "And this has what, to do with Michael Graham? Or have we moved on to another subject?"
"According to Jason, Graham had been bothering Linda— trying to get her to go out with him. Jason had to confront him in the end. And, suddenly she ups and goes. Jason thought she'd run off with Graham at first, but then he saw him in town with a new woman in tow— Bev Channock, I think he said."
"She went to Ludlow," said Mother. "Got a new job there."
"How do you know that?" asked Red.
"Michael told me—" She stopped abruptly.
"What are you suggesting, Connor?" said Red. "That Michael Graham's some kind of mass murderer?"
"Not that I can prove," said Connor.
"You do think he's a murderer!" Red stared at him. "Oh, that's ridiculous," she exclaimed. "Has anyone called the police? Have there been any missing persons investigations?"
"No," said Connor, staring at his feet. "I did say I didn't rightly know anything. It's a gut feeling, that's all. The man's bad news." He looked embarrassed now. "Yeah, I know it sounds dumb," he mumbled. "Anyhow, he seems to have left you alone for the night, so I don't suppose you'll be needing me for now."
"Er, no. I suppose not," said Red. "But thanks for coming over."
"Yeah, well... any time." He paused. "Look," he began. "Just in case— have you still got your phone on you?" Red nodded. "I'll give you John Marchant's number. In case you can't get me, and you're... worried."
"John Marchant?" scoffed Mother. "What good would he be?"
Connor looked at her and frowned. "Well, he's got a gun, hasn't he?" he said.
♣
Red was at the computer in the kitchen, trying to get some long overdue work done, when the doorbell rang. She tutted to herself. She had just got into her stride and now she was being interrupted. Was she expecting anyone or anything?
No, she couldn't recall any appointments made or parcels ordered, so she decided to ignore the doorbell. Her fingers had barely alighted on the keyboard, when the bell went again. "Go away," she muttered under her breath, and began typing. The bell went a third time. "Oh for goodness sake," she muttered. Surely twice would be enough to establish no one was at home.
By the fifth time, Red began to get very annoyed. Normal people don't ring a doorbell five times, she told herself as she stood up. Either the house was on fire or the person at her door was an imbecile. The bell went a sixth time as Red's hand reached up for the latch. "What!" she snapped bad-temperedly, as she flung open the door. The door almost banged shut again.
A tall, good looking man stood on her doorstep. Red had to stop her tongue from lolling out and dribbling. If she had to guess, she would say he was in his mid-forties— a very well kept mid-forties. "Oh," he intoned in a deep gravelly voice. "Sorry to disturb you." He paused. "You must be Red." He looked her up and down, a vague smile on his face. "I was hoping to see Annie," he said. He smiled broadly, showing perfect teeth. "I'm Michael Graham," he informed her. "Annie may have mentioned me."
"Oh!" said Red, her heart beginning to thump. "She's— she's not here," said Red hurriedly.
"Perhaps," said Graham, pushing forcefully past her, "I can wait for her. You see," he said, reaching over her and shutting the front door, "I wanted her to come to the office dance with me, but I think she's of the opinion that I'm joking." He took Red by the arm and led her into the sitting room.
"Oh," was all Red could manage. And then, "Can I get you a coffee? Or a tea?"
"A tea would be lovely," said Graham, letting go of her arm. "I'll just sit here, shall I?" he said, settling down on the sofa.
In the kitchen, Red put the kettle on and then grabbed her phone. Keeping her eye on the kitchen door, she frantically sent a text message to Connor, and then to Mother, before calling out to Graham, "Do you take sugar?"
"Oh, yes," replied Graham.
"One or two lumps?" asked Red.
"Oh," sighed Graham. "Just bring out the bowl."
Red frowned. Damn. Now she'd have to find the sugar tongs. She rummaged in the drawers until she spotted the silver plate, and thrusting the tongs into the sugar, took out the tea.
"Is she likely to be long?" drawled Graham, pulling a handkerchief from his pocket and using it to remove the tongs from the sugar bowl. He picked the bowl up and tipped half its contents into his cup.
"I couldn't say," replied Red. "She's visiting Gran. It depends on what mood Grandma's in."
"Ah," said Graham. "An irascible old lady, is she?"
"Sometimes," said Red, not really sure what irascible meant.
"And rather tough, I would think." He chuckled to himself as if enjoying a private joke. "Do you have a spoon?" he asked.
"Oh. Sorry," said Red and turned back to the kitchen.
"Stainless steel if you don't mind," he called out after her. "Silver makes my skin itch." He took the spoon from her and stirred his tea in a slow and deliberate manner. "It takes a while," he explained, "for all the sugar to dissolve. It doesn't do to find a sweet sludge at the bottom of the cup." He flashed her a perfect smile as he stared at her.
"Well," she said, "I've got work to do, so, if you don't mind..."
"Oh, no, no, no," said Graham, grabbing her wrist. "That, my dear, would be rather rude, don't you think?" She tried to snatch her hand away, but he tugged her onto the seat beside him. "That's better," he said, turning himself around so he was facing her. "Yes, that's much better." He stared at her and then stroked her face with the fingers of his free hand. His touch made her want to squirm. "Yes," he said. "You have a bit of Annie in your features. But only a bit. You must have a lot of your father in you." He smiled his perfect smile as his hand dropped from her face to her neck. "But it suits you Red, it suits you. You're a very handsome woman. Do you know that?" His hand was
hovering on her shoulder now. She dreaded to think where it was going next. "Let me go," she pleaded. Graham raised his eyebrows, and with a theatrical flourish, tossed her hand away from him. "See," he smiled, "there is nothing to fear."
The doorbell rang. Red leapt off the settee and ran to the door. She had tugged it open before Graham could stand up. Connor was on the doorstep. "Oh thank God!" she hissed at him. "He just walked in, I couldn't stop him."
Connor pushed past Red and into the sitting room. "Ah," said Graham, his smile on full beam. "And you would be... actually, I do know you, don't I? You run the garage, don't you?"
Connor nodded and folded his arms across his chest. He looked over to Red. "Did you invite him in?" he asked her. Red shook her head. Connor looked over to Graham. "I thought your lot couldn't come in without an invite," he said.
Graham stared at him before raising an eyebrow and saying, "That's vampires, you idiot."
"Oh," said Connor, momentarily nonplussed. "Well, nevertheless, this lady would like you to leave."
"Oh," said Graham with mock disappointment. "And we were getting on so well, until we were... interrupted." He smiled maliciously at Red. She shivered.
"Well, it was nice meeting you," he said, walking to the door. "Thank you for the tea. Give my regards to your mother— if you see her before I do." He strode out of the door, and Connor shut it behind him.
Red collapsed onto the settee, visibly shaking. Connor looked out of the window, watching Graham get into his car and drive off. "He's gone," he said in a flat voice. He sat next to Red. "He's gone, Red," he said. Red gave a stifled sob. Hesitantly, Connor put his arm around her and pulled her to him. "Don't worry, Red," he said in a low voice. "I'm here now." Red slipped her arm around his waist and hugged him.
♣
Red woke up in semi darkness and stretched. She turned to the sleeping figure lying next to her and smiled. It had been a strange day, a day of extremes. She put on her dressing gown and wandered out into the kitchen. Mother would be home soon. It was nearly dark.
She put water in the kettle and put it on to boil, and then picked up her phone. There was a message from Mother— four letters long. Help. Red stared at it. She looked at the kitchen clock and then at the message. It had been sent just under half an hour ago. She stared at it again, a memory stirring, something said today, a sentence casually uttered by Michael Graham and ignored by her at the time. "Give my regards to your mother— if you see her before I do."