Stolen

  Dale saw that her friend was leaning back, and it was clear that her mind was taking her back to the last full day on the ship, for as she started to talk it was as if she was there reliving it again.

  ‘Do you remember how rough it was as we sailed through the Bay of Biscay? That bitingly cold March wind, and the sullen grey skies?’

  Dale did remember. Many of the passengers were feeling queasy because the boat was pitching, and some of the girls in the hairdressing salon were finding it difficult to remain steady on their feet as they did their clients’ hair.

  ‘Fern came in at eleven for her hair appointment wearing an emerald-green jersey two-piece which looked stunning with her red hair,’ Lotte went on.

  Fern was astoundingly vain about her shoulder-length hair, and Lotte had realized she wanted it to be perfect every single day, as though she was a film star or royalty. She would never pull it back and put a band round it, as most women did. For formal evenings she had to have it put up; by day it had to be blowdried into a perfect coiffure. So even if it wasn’t washed, it had to be dampened to style it.

  ‘I don’t know how I’ll cope with my hair without you,’ she said once Lotte had washed it and was combing it through. ‘You are the best hairdresser I’ve ever had.’

  Lotte felt warmed by that, and when Fern asked if she thought she’d stay working in Brighton after visiting her parents, she admitted she wasn’t planning to go home at all. ‘I can’t face it,’ she said. ‘I’ve told you what my parents are like; going there is out of the question. But it will be worse with my old friends. I can’t go back to going out to clubs and pubs. So I thought I’d go down to the west of England, find a little flat in some pretty sleepy place, take long walks and read books until I feel brave enough to look for a new job.’

  ‘I think that might be a mistake, honey,’ Fern said, looking concerned. ‘Being totally alone may sound good when you’re on this ship with so much noise and clamour, but it’s very different when there’s absolutely no one to turn to. Why don’t you come along to my stateroom later for a little chat about it?’

  Lotte had no more clients by four o’clock as mostly everyone was packing to leave the ship the next day. As she walked along the passage to the Ramsdens’ stateroom she saw suitcases standing outside many of the doors, waiting to be collected by a steward.

  Fern hadn’t even started her packing and Lotte offered to help her do it, and as she carefully laid out dresses and jackets on the bed, then folded them neatly with tissue paper so they wouldn’t crease, Fern chatted.

  ‘You’re so good at that,’ she said as she watched Lotte systematically empty the wardrobe, leaving only the clothes Fern needed for that evening and the following morning. ‘I always make a real hash of it, so when I get back home everything needs ironing even if I haven’t worn it.’

  ‘I like doing this kind of thing,’ Lotte admitted. ‘In the old days I’d probably have made a very good lady’s maid.’

  ‘That’s just what I need,’ Fern said jokingly. ‘Someone to pack, lay my clothes out, do my hair and maybe paint my nails too.’

  They chatted all the while Lotte finished the packing, including Howard’s too. Then suddenly Fern suggested Lotte came to London with them. ‘We’ve booked a suite at the Dorchester and it has a small room in it which would be ideal for you.’

  ‘I couldn’t possibly do that.’ Lotte wished she hadn’t bleated about going off to the West Country on her own. She hadn’t meant to make Fern feel sorry for her.

  ‘But you can. We’ve got so many important functions to attend, it would help me greatly having you to help with my clothes and do my hair. But more importantly, honey, it’ll give you breathing space, to decide what to do next when we go back to the States. You’d be in a safe environment with us, together we can do all the London sights, and we’ll give you pocket money too. Do say you’ll come with us. You know you’ve become the daughter we were never blessed with.’

  Aside from the fact that Lotte had come to think of Fern as a mother figure, and it made her feel loved to be asked to go with her to London, Fern was only talking about two weeks. It seemed churlish to turn down such a generous offer when she could go down to the West Country afterwards if she wanted.

  So she accepted gratefully, and when Howard returned a little later, he appeared delighted. Compared to his wife who had a big personality, plenty to say and mixed easily, Howard was very quiet. Lotte thought he was shy at first, but he wasn’t, he was just a man who was happy to let others do the talking. He was of medium height and slender, with brown hair, fine aristocratic features and long, thin fingers: Lotte thought he looked like a pianist. She had told him this once and he laughed, saying he could play a few tunes on a calculator, but that was all. His main business was sports equipment, but Fern had told her they had many other business interests between them.

  As Lotte went back to the cabin later, she decided she wouldn’t tell Dale about this. Her friend didn’t like the Ramsdens, so she would only pour cold water on the plan. Lotte felt she might end up having to admit that she’d never even rung her parents to confide in them about the rape, and that there was no question of going home to them.

  But Dale was so excited about going home herself that she didn’t ask any awkward questions, she just lay on the bunk talking about her family and let Lotte pack her case for her.

  ‘Scott wants us to have a drink with him tomorrow before we go our separate ways,’ Dale said later. ‘I said we’d meet up with him and some of the others about one o’clock at the bar just the other side of Customs. Is that all right with you?’

  Lotte gulped, afraid she was going to be found out, for the passengers on the ship would all have left by ten-thirty and she’d arranged to meet the Ramsdens in the luggage shed on the quay.

  ‘I’ve already rung my mum to say I’ll be on the eleven o’clock train,’ she lied. ‘She’ll be really hurt if I ring again to say I want to have a drink first.’

  That last evening was one of the best of the whole year, although it was after midnight before most of the staff were free to have a drink and let their hair down. Almost all the friends Lotte and Dale had made were leaving the ship for good, like them. It was really only officers and people in key jobs who would be signing on for another year. Everyone was feeling sentimental, remembering the good times, laughing about the calamities, and vowing they’d keep in touch for ever.

  Like everyone else that night, Lotte passed out her mobile phone number and entered dozens of numbers into hers. When she went to bed later she felt so positive about everything that she believed within a couple of weeks she’d be ready to contact many of them again.

  That positive feeling was still there the next morning, and she didn’t feel ashamed she hadn’t told Dale and Scott the truth about where she was going, because she intended to contact both of them again very soon.

  She was shocked when Dale’s dark eyes filled with tears as they said goodbye.

  ‘You’ve been the best friend I’ve ever had,’ she said, her lips wobbling all over the place. ‘Don’t you dare disappear out of my life.’

  It was nearly as bad saying goodbye to Scott. He caught her up in the fiercest of bear hugs. ‘Look after yourself, Barbie Girl,’ he said gruffly. ‘Come on down to Cornwall this summer. My mum and sisters will love you. It’s an honour having you as a friend.’

  Everything was frantic that morning: passengers flapping about where their luggage had been taken to, whether they would make their connecting train or plane, or whether the relative who was meeting them had got to Southampton. It was a chilly grey day, and although all the staff were doing their best to stay patient, helpful and caring for just another couple of hours, Lotte could see from their tight expressions that good humour was running out.

  She slipped away just a few minutes after the Ramsdens left the ship, to join them as arranged down in the luggage shed.

  Lotte didn’t miss her mobile phone until they were in the suite
at the Dorchester much later that afternoon.

  Even the very best rooms at the Grand in Brighton weren’t a patch on the suite the Ramsdens had been given. Their bedroom and the sitting room overlooked Park Lane with a glorious view of Hyde Park. It was decorated in pale blue and silver, with a fantastic chandelier, big squashy sofas, sumptuous curtains and carpets, and the bathroom was like something from a Hollywood film set. Even Lotte’s small room was exquisite and she felt she’d made a really good decision to come with Fern and Howard.

  ‘I’ll ring the car hire company about your phone while you unpack our cases,’ Fern said. ‘I expect it fell out of your bag in the car.’

  Howard got a phone call soon after that and said he and Fern would have to make a lightning trip back to New York immediately to sort out some urgent business. Lotte said she couldn’t possibly stay at the hotel without them, but they insisted, and Howard said they would only be gone two nights anyway, providing they could get the flights.

  The next morning the car hire company rang to say they couldn’t find Lotte’s phone. She didn’t see it as a calamity then as she had used it so rarely in the last year, just the odd text to Simon and to some of the others at the hairdressers, and she only had about a pound’s worth of credit left on it anyway.

  She was very tired after the cruise, and with Fern and Howard gone she could doze when she liked, read, watch television and wander along nearby Oxford Street to look at the shops.

  She spent two nights without Fern and Howard and when they returned they were anxious to take her to all the sights like Buckingham Palace, the Tower of London and Trafalgar Square. It was all so thrilling that she didn’t give her phone another thought.

  She had only been to London twice before, both times for hair competitions, and had never seen anything of the city. Fern and Howard had seen it all before, but they seemed to get a real kick out of showing it to her.

  It was only on the fourth day, when they went on the London Eye, that Lotte wished she could send Dale and Scott a text about it. Then it dawned on her that she hadn’t got anyone’s numbers written down anywhere. They were all in the missing phone. She didn’t even know her own number so she could get it changed to a new phone.

  Lotte was a bit down that evening, because she felt cut off, but Fern persuaded her to put on her one and only formal evening dress to go to dinner in the hotel. She had bought the dress to take on the cruise, but she’d only worn it once, at the staff Christmas party. It was black lace with a high neck and long sleeves. Dale had put her off it, saying it was something Morticia in the Addams family would wear. But Fern said it was classy and sophisticated.

  ‘You are so beautiful,’ she said, insisting that Lotte borrowed her diamond drop earrings for the night. ‘Your hair, your skin, figure and face, all so perfect, along with the sweetest nature I’ve ever had the privilege to know. And I think losing your phone and all those contacts could be God’s way of moving you on to the kind of life you deserve.’

  They had lobster that night and vintage champagne. Fern said they should celebrate Lotte’s liberation from reminders of the past, from people whispering behind their hands, and those who felt sorry for her. ‘I never thought Dale was a suitable friend for you. She’s what I call a “force fielder”.’

  Over the next day or two, while walking in Hyde Park or strolling down Bond Street and other ‘high end’ streets, as Fern called them, she enlarged on her theory of ‘force fielders’. These were people with dominant personalities, who drew people to them like iron filings to a magnet and caused them to become followers.

  She did say that some of these people worked for good, citing Gandhi, Nelson Mandela and other well-known men and women who had an enraptured following. But she was far more voluble when she talked about those who used their gift for their own evil ends, and named Mugabe, Hitler and Stalin as the most notable.

  While she didn’t actually call Dale evil or even wicked, she pointed out that she had changed Lotte. This was of course true, at least to the extent that Dale had encouraged Lotte to be more assertive, outgoing and daring. But Fern went a stage further, hinting that Dale’s influence had caused her to wear more provocative clothes and to risk going out alone in unknown territory, which was why she had been raped. She also said the reason Dale was angry about Fern taking care of her afterwards was because Dale wanted sole control over her.

  Lotte didn’t fall into believing this theory of Fern’s right then, but it was like a slow leak dripping into a pail, and as time passed she found herself putting it forward as the truth. She even came round to believing she was better off without her old friends. Fern didn’t approve of homosexuality of course, so Simon and Adam would be considered even worse than Dale.

  But Lotte did agree right away that her mini skirts, tight jeans and strappy low-necked tops were provocative, even though Dale had never had any hand in choosing them. Ever since the rape she’d chosen to wear tracksuit bottoms and baggy tee-shirts because she wanted to be invisible. When Fern suggested she helped her buy some new clothes that would be demure yet still pretty, she was really pleased.

  The print dresses, pastel cardigans, high-necked blouses and mid-calf skirts which Fern picked out would have made Dale scream with laughter, but they made Lotte feel safe. Sometimes when she glanced in a mirror she thought she looked like a wholesome extra from an American Fifties film, but she wanted to retreat into the background and her clothes helped her do that. Nobody looked at her twice.

  She loved the two weeks at the Dorchester. When Fern and Howard were engaged in business meetings she could read, watch videos, or walk in Hyde Park. In the last year she’d rarely had any time to herself, just to be quiet and think about things. Sharing a cabin with Dale was like living in a train station, with people in and out all the time and incessant noise. Even in the salon there was always pressure: clients could be very difficult, the manager was always trying to squeeze extra people in each day, and the other girls could be catty.

  All she had to do now was look after Fern’s clothes, do her hair and nails and answer the phone for them while they were out. She had absolutely nothing to worry about and no decisions to make, because Fern and Howard arranged everything.

  By the end of the first week she was wondering how she was going to cope alone when they went back to America. She could look after herself, but she felt panicky in crowds, and quite often froze completely when a stranger approached her. Going down to the West Country didn’t seem quite so appealing any longer.

  It was around the middle of the second week that Howard told her they were considering staying in England for a few more months to extend their business interests here.

  ‘But that rather depends on us finding a suitable property to rent, and a housekeeper,’ he said. ‘Fern doesn’t go for cooking, cleaning and laundry, but it’s hard for us to find a suitable housekeeper as we need one who is loyal, totally discreet, and not only respects our beliefs but shares them.’

  Lotte told him that housekeeper was her.

  They tried to put her off, saying she might not like being alone all day, or having no friends nearby. But Lotte insisted that wouldn’t worry her, that she still needed more quiet time and solitude before she went back to her old life. She was jubilant when they said they’d be delighted to have her with them. They even talked about taking her back to the States with them at the end of the year, or if she wanted to go back to hairdressing they would help her open her own salon in a place of her choosing.

  Lotte was rather surprised that they found a house to rent so quickly. They went out on the Thursday morning and were back that evening with it all sewn up, and Howard had bought a new black Mercedes too.

  ‘It’s near that quaint place called Chichester,’ Fern said. ‘We’re close enough to the sea to do some sailing, and the house is real cute.’

  They left the Dorchester on Saturday morning, stopping for lunch on the way, and then at a supermarket just outside Chichester to stock up
on food. They arrived at the village of Itchenor, which was around seven or eight miles beyond Chichester, just before four.

  Lotte was feeling really good that day, excited, happy and optimistic about the future. She remembered feeling that she’d finally come out of the end of a dark tunnel into sunshine. It was a lovely day too, and there had been signs of spring all the way there – lambs in the fields, daffodils in gardens and blossom on trees. Fern had been saying on the way down that Lotte ought to learn to drive, for she’d be a bit cut off as there wasn’t much of a bus service.

  ‘I’ll get a bike,’ Lotte said and thought how good it would be to ride around country lanes or down to the beach on hot days. She didn’t know that part of Sussex at all, but she’d heard it was good for cycling as it was quite flat.

  Yet as Howard turned into a narrow drive between high hedges and overhanging trees, and Lotte saw the house beyond for the first time, the excitement vanished and she felt menaced.

  Fern had described it as cute. Weird was the word which popped into Lotte’s head, quickly followed by spooky.

  The village was spread along a long, wide lane with grass verges and many beautiful old trees. Almost all the houses looked as if they belonged to wealthy people, and no two were the same. There were large, picture postcard thatched cottages, big mock Tudor places, and substantial family homes built during the Twenties and Thirties for the seriously rich. Most had large gardens, and even the smaller, older stone cottages which had probably once been home to farm labourers had been carefully and lovingly restored.

  But ‘Drummond’, as the house Fern and Howard had rented was called, was built of ugly grey stone with slit-like windows, crenellations along the roof and a very heavy-looking front door as if it was trying to look like a castle.

  Lotte made no comment, for if Fern thought it looked cute, she didn’t want to put her off it.

  It was clear that the owners of the houses on either side had sold a small portion of their land at the back for ‘Drummond’ to be built, with just a narrow access to the road between the two adjoining gardens. Lotte thought it was probably during the Thirties when times were hard and local councils didn’t always check that a proposed building was going to suit the area it was planned for. There was no doubt in her mind that the owners of the neighbouring houses had grown thick hedges so they didn’t have to look on to the ugliness of their neighbour.