Camellia

  She heard him move, just a faint shuffle, then his hand touched her cheek. How she managed to give a soft sigh instead of a flinch, she didn't know, but perhaps knowing your life depended on it made one a better actress.

  At last he moved away and the door creaked as he opened it. She waited, sensing he was looking back at her and kept her eyes shut.

  To her disappointment she heard a key turn in the lock after he'd shut the door behind him. Again she waited. She knew he was still outside, listening.

  Finally he moved away and she heard the sound of his feet on the stairs.

  She was onto her feet immediately and over to the French window. Holding her breath she parted the curtains, silently drew the top bolt back, then the bottom one, then pushed at the doors.

  They wouldn't open. The doors were locked by a key in the centre and it wasn't in the lock.

  Frantically she looked on the mantelpiece, ran her fingers along the ledge above the window, even quietly opened the desk drawers to look for it. But the key wasn't there.

  She felt paralysed with terror now, looking this way and that, her mind unable to function. Then she heard him coming back down the stairs.

  When the door opened and Edward came in, Mel was back on the settee, concealed beneath her was the only weapon she'd been able to find in such a short time. A brass candlestick. It was only about eight inches long, but heavy. She hoped it was enough.

  A smell of rubber and a distinctive rustle suggested he had put on a waterproof coat. His step was different too, she thought he might be wearing Wellingtons. He stopped, she felt he was watching her again, then after a few seconds she heard him draw the curtains back.

  Like that night when the police raided Dougie's flat, she could feel her bowels loosening. She felt sick too and every hair on her body was standing on end. But as she heard him slide back the bolts and turn a key in the lock, she peeped.

  He was wearing a mackintosh and long rubber fisherman's waders. As he pushed the doors open and a cold blast of rain-laden wind came in, she leapt to her feet, candlestick in hand.

  Charging at him with her head down was pure instinct. She caught him in the chest, just as he turned and he staggered back, out into the garden.

  'You bastard,' she screamed involuntarily. 'You aren't drowning me.' Lifting the candlestick she whacked it down on his shoulder with all the force she could muster. He reeled back in shocked surprise and Mel was off like the wind down the garden in her bare feet.

  Above the wind, rain and the sound of the river she couldn't hear if he was following her. It was too dark to see anything clearly, but there appeared to be high stone walls on both sides of the garden and the river was presumably just beyond the dark shape of trees in front of her. But as she skirted round a walled raised flowerbed in the centre of the lawn, Edward surprised her by appearing again in front of her.

  'You aren't going anywhere,' he yelled at her and, grabbing one of her arms, swung her round.

  Mel had dropped the candlestick as she fled. All she had as weapons were her hands and nails. With her one free hand she clawed at his face, bringing up her knee hard in his groin as he hauled her nearer to him.

  He yelped as her nails tore into his face, letting go of her arm. She tried to run again, but he leapt after her catching her in a flying tackle, bringing her down onto the ground and pinning her down with his own body.

  Mel was winded, but terror gave her strength. Somehow she managed to buck enough beneath him so they rolled together, and this time she used both hands to claw his face.

  Edward swung his fist at her. It caught her by the right eye and crashed her head back against the bricks of the raised flowerbed, but as he got to his knees ready to haul her up, Mel drew her two feet up to her chest, then shot them out at him.

  The force with which she kicked him was sufficient to send Edward staggering back and give her enough time to get up. She was off again, running for her life through the garden towards the river. She no longer cared how deep and cold it was, she knew it was her only chance of survival.

  He was right behind her, so close she could hear his laboured breath. She barged through a bush and saw a narrow wooden jetty, with a small white motor boat moored there. The river was as black as tar, swirling past in a torrent. But any hesitation she might have had vanished as she heard Edward thundering through the bushes behind her and she leapt in without a second thought.

  The water was icy, almost paralysing her, the strong current tried to suck her down, but she struck out in a fast crawl, going with the flow.

  Mel had always been a strong swimmer. Bonny's fear of water hadn't affected her and in fact she had been the fastest swimmer in the class at senior school. But swimming in a pool or even in the sea on a summer's day, was quite different to being in a rain-swollen river in the dark, with a current that threatened to pull her under at every stroke.

  She hoped for another garden backing onto the river, but she could see nothing but shrub-covered banks which appeared to be growing steeper the further she swam. To her further horror she heard the sound of the boat's engine being started up behind her, and she knew he would catch up with her in minutes.

  There was no alternative but to strike out for the bank on the opposite side from Edward's house, to conceal herself until he'd passed by, then somehow climb out and make a run for it. The river wasn't very wide, but the current made it difficult to make much headway. She had her hand on a branch when she saw Edward coming, the white bows of the boat and his blond hair showing clearly in the darkness.

  She hauled herself under a low-lying bush, trying hard to grip her dress which was floating up to the surface like a parachute between her legs. He was going very slowly, looking intently at both sides of the river as he went. She held her breath and let herself sink right under the water, offering up a silent prayer that he wouldn't catch a glimpse of her striped dress.

  There were thick weeds and roots under her feet, but she stayed down until her lungs were bursting. As she re-emerged gasping for air, she was just in time to see him going round a slight bend. It was obvious he'd come back, he would know she couldn't have swum much farther in that time; she just hoped that by then she had managed to get out of the river.

  It was the most difficult thing she'd ever done. The heavy rain had turned the bank into thick slimy mud and as fast as she got one foothold, so the other would slide back. Reaching out for a bush she nearly toppled back into the river when she felt sharp thorns, but she gripped it regardless of the pain. Hauling onto another branch she finally managed to reach the top.

  More thorn bushes tore at her face, cardigan and legs, and she could hear the boat returning. With rasping breath she forced her way through another bush and hid behind a tree trunk just as Edward got back to the spot where she'd climbed out.

  He cut the engine. Mel held her breath. He was just beneath her. Could he see marks where she'd scrambled up the bank?

  She was even more terrified now than she'd been earlier. Setting aside the discomfort of being soaked, freezing cold and her feet bare, she knew Edward wasn't going to give up easily, there was too much at stake. She had no idea where she was, or which direction to go in to find help. Her watch said five past ten, but it must have stopped when she jumped in the river.

  The boat engine started up again and moved away back in the direction of his house. She took off her sodden cardigan, tried to squeeze out some of the water, then rolled it up and put it under her arm. She hurried through the last of the trees and bushes, but once she was up to the top of the bank she found herself in an open field with no cover to conceal her.

  Stopping for a moment she scanned all around. Across the field was a hedge. There could well be a country lane behind, but if there was, Edward almost certainly knew of it. She had no way of knowing where the nearest bridge across the river was either, but it might be quite close and if he got in his car he could quickly catch up with her on a road.

  She decided to go to the rig
ht, keeping close to the bushes. She could see nothing ahead of her, not even a distant light, but at least it was away from Edward's house, and if he was following her on foot, at least she had a head start. It was only now that she felt the pain of her injuries. Her jaw and cheek throbbed, there was a bump on her head as big as a walnut and dozens of sore places from thorns on her legs, hands and face.

  The rain lashed down and she was so cold it was painful. She broke into a run to try and get warmer, but almost immediately she caught her foot on a stone in the grass, so she had to slow down and try to look where she was stepping. She reached a thorny hedge. It was too high to see over, so she followed it along looking for a hole to crawl through. Another rock caught her foot, and this time she knew it was cut open by the pain. Hobbling on she came to a small hole in the hedge and attempted to crawl through it.

  There was barbed wire. It caught her back, and as she struggled to free herself she heard her dress rip. A noise startled her, making her draw back under the hedge in fright. But when she looked again she saw that what had appeared to be a bush was, in fact, a cow.

  She had never been nervous of cows, not in daylight, but making her way through a field full of them in darkness was quite different. Each time one moved, she jumped, and when she stepped in a still warm cowpat she recoiled in horror. Then she heard a car.

  The glow of headlights proved she was correct in thinking a lane ran behind the far hedge to her left. But the slow speed at which it was being driven proved without any doubt it was Edward. Dropping down onto her stomach, she crawled back towards the hedge she'd just come through. The car stopped. She heard the door open and close behind him.

  Shaking with fear and cold, she lay under the hedge, imagining him peering into the field. A gleam of a torch frightened her still more as it slowly scanned around, its beam reaching almost to where she lay. Not daring to lift her face to look, her heart palpitating, she waited and waited, tense with the expectation that any minute he would grab her.

  Just when she could stand the suspense no longer, she heard the click of the car door again. She lay still until the engine started again and he moved off.

  Her foot was hurting so badly now that she could no longer bear her weight on it. When she came to a thicket of dense bushes, she crawled underneath them, unable to go any further.

  It was the safety of those bushes which made her stay. Even though she was wet and freezing, and she hurt everywhere, common sense told her it would be foolhardy to try and walk any further until it was light. Again and again in those long hours as she lay curled up in a ball, she saw Edward's headlights pass by less than a hundred yards from her.

  She relived so many scenes from her past, purposefully only selecting good ones, and trying to steer her mind away from the image of Edward suddenly hauling her out from the bushes. Eating hot buttered crumpets in Norah's tea rooms with her mother. Cheering her father when he came striding out of the pavilion in his cricket whites to bat. A day out with both her parents, sitting in the back of the car singing 'The Animals Went in Two by Two' and Bonny making up sillier and sillier new verses.

  Planting spring bulbs in the garden with Bonny, hanging the decorations on the Christmas tree. Suddenly these happy memories seemed to far outweigh the sad ones, warming her inside as if she was back in front of the fire at Mermaid Street, drinking cocoa before going up to bed.

  She had to survive until morning. There was still so much she had to do. Helena and Edward had robbed her of her mother, and she had to see not only that they were punished, but that all those dark secrets which had caused her death, were brought out into the open.

  When the first weak grey light crept into the sky, Mel ripped off a strip from the hem of her dress and wound it round her foot for a bandage, then crawled out of the bush.

  Anger alone kept her moving through those wet, cold fields. Ears strained for the sound of Edward's car, her feet, legs and arms throbbing and jangling with pain. She thought of Magnus and Nick, wondering how many miles she was from them. There was so much she wanted to say to them.

  And Conrad. Was that phone call from Brighton part of the plot? Had Edward snatched that note she'd left him while her back was turned? Was he lying in bed right now, worrying, imagining that she'd run out on him?

  There was more barbed wire on the next hedge, thorns and still more cowpats and stones to stumble over. But the sky was getting lighter and lighter by the minute.

  Then at last she saw a house in the distance, just as she was ready to drop with exhaustion. A farm house, built of old grey stone. A barn and some outhouses clustered round it, and faint grey smoke curling out of the chimney. It was some distance away, in a dip, and another two hedges to negotiate before she'd reach it.

  Those last two fields seemed endless, stumbling along with no shelter if Edward should come back. Sliding on mud, her feet getting torn by stones, wind battering her and crying aloud with pain which now seemed to be in every part of her body.

  A dog bounded up to her as she crawled the last twenty or thirty yards. A big black and white farm dog, obviously put off his guard by her position.

  'Good boy.' she said weakly, reaching out to pat him. 'Bark please, get help.'

  The dog seemed to think it was a game, he lay down in front of her, wagging his bushy tail, red tongue lolling almost as if he was laughing at her.

  'I know I look funny,' she whispered. 'Just be a good guard dog and make a noise!'

  'Kim!' A loud bellow came from the farm house.

  'Kim! Come here!'

  'Go and get him.' Mel struggled to her knees as the dog looked back in the direction of his master's voice. It was only when she got to her feet unsteadily that the dog barked, running round her, then stopping crouched down, just as if he was rounding up a sheep.

  'What's all that noise for?' The man's exasperated voice came closer.

  'Help me,' Mel shouted, yet even to her it came out more like a yelp. 'Help me!'

  No man had ever looked more beautiful than the big man striding towards her. He was huge, powerful great shoulders in a red checked shirt, cord trousers tucked into Wellington boots, black hair tousled as if he'd just got out of bed.

  'What on earth!' he exclaimed, running the last few yards to her.

  'Help me,' she croaked out. 'There's a man out there trying to murder me.'

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Conrad peeped hesitantly round Mel's open bedroom door at seven on Monday morning.

  Instead of finding her still asleep as he expected, he saw that her bed hadn't been slept in. The jeans and tee shirt that had been lying on it last night were still in exactly the same place. She hadn't come home.

  'Not another bloody mystery,' he exclaimed. He had a thumping headache and his mouth tasted like a sewer after the bottle of whisky he'd drunk the previous night. He didn't even feel up to making himself breakfast, and he'd been hoping Mel would go and buy the bread and vegetables for him.

  He'd arrived at the Four Seasons bistro in Brighton just after six the day before to find it didn't open until seven. He stood in the rain and hammered on the door for some minutes, until a dim-witted girl who said she worked in the kitchens, opened it and told him that Mr Michael Dunwoody never came in until seven and that he hadn't told her he had an appointment with anyone.

  Nothing but a Wimpy Bar was open and after stewing in there for an hour, drinking three cups of muddy coffee, Conrad had lost his usual good humour. He got back to the Four Seasons just in time to see a portly man in his fifties wearing an expensive suit get out of a brand new Mercedes and open the door with a key.

  He ought to have twigged right away that something was wrong, especially since Dunwoody had looked completely blank when he introduced himself. But instead of checking first that he had got the right man and the right restaurant, Conrad launched into a volley of questions about the man's turnover. Ten minutes later he found himself back in the street, smarting with embarrassment. Dunwoody wasn't a reasonable man a
t all. At the words 'financial difficulties' he laid into Conrad with a fierce verbal onslaught declaring in no uncertain terms that his bistro was the most successful and well-known on the whole south coast and he wouldn't sell it to anyone.

  Conrad tried to apologise and explain that it must have been a malicious hoax, but Dunwoody treated him like a lunatic and forced him to leave.

  All the way home in driving rain, Conrad turned the incident over and over in his mind. He couldn't see why anyone would go to the trouble of setting him up like that, unless they wanted him out of his own place for a few hours.

  It didn't help when he stopped halfway home to telephone Mel and got no reply. In his imagination his restaurant was already ransacked, with her tied up in a broom cupboard and the hoax caller sprinkling petrol on the carpet.

  He was relieved to find his home and business intact when he eventually got back to Fulham. If Mel had been there he might have seen the funny side of the lurid pictures he'd had in his mind on the drive back from Brighton. But she'd gone out and hadn't even left a note, so he sat drinking whisky, morosely dwelling on who might have wanted to test his gullibility.

  He didn't remember going to bed. When he woke he found he was still fully dressed, including his shoes. His head felt as if someone had taken a sledgehammer to it.

  Now with Mel missing he felt uneasy again. She had never stayed away for a night before; in fact she had never gone out on a Sunday night without him. Why hadn't she left a note or telephoned?

  He went down to the restaurant kitchen, made a pot of strong coffee and took a couple of aspirin for his headache. He toyed with the idea of crawling back into bed, but the shopping had to be done, and the cleaning lady would be in at any minute. She always made enough noise to wake the dead.

  The phone rang just as he was in the middle of shaving. Dabbing at his face with a towel he went down the stairs. Somehow he knew this was going to be the kind of day when everything went wrong.