He tried to imagine what Susan had looked like as a young girl. The image which sprang to mind was of Judith Durham in the New Seekers, singing ‘The Carnival is Over’. Plump, straight hair with a full fringe. Not a beauty perhaps, but wholesome and very warm. The kind of girl he recalled he and his flatmates always fell back on when they wanted a home-cooked meal, a shirt ironed, or someone to mother them a bit.
‘What pop stars did you like?’ he asked.
‘The Beatles, of course.’ She giggled a little and suddenly she looked far younger. ‘I adored David Bowie too, and Marc Bolan. I think I liked them because Father said they were pansies.’
‘I tried to look like Marc Bolan for a while,’ Steven said, laughing at the memory. ‘I had long hair then and I dyed it black. When my father discovered I sometimes put on makeup too, he had a fit.’
Susan laughed for the first time. She had a delightful laugh, like water running over stones.
‘I can’t imagine you dressed like him, you’re too big,’ she said.
‘I don’t think I succeeded in looking like him.’ Steven grinned. ‘I certainly didn’t attract any girls with it either. But tell me, Susan, who did you admire? I don’t mean pop stars, another woman perhaps that you looked up to.’
‘Vanessa Redgrave,’ she said without any hesitation. ‘She was so lovely, and such a good actress, but she used to speak out about the Vietnam War in rallies and things. You wouldn’t think anyone in her position would care.’
‘What about Germaine Greer?’ he asked. ‘I seem to remember she was something of an icon to most young women then.’
What she said was lost on me,’ Susan admitted with a little giggle. ‘I didn’t have a clue about men, and I’d been brought up to believe that women must take the servile role. Even if things had been different, and I’d gone out to work, I don’t think I’d have been the liberated type. I only ever wanted to be a wife and mother.’
‘Just supposing you had been free to go out to work, what would you have liked to have done as a job?’
She laughed again. ‘The possibilities were a bit limited, given that I had no qualifications. But I think I’d have liked to be a gardener.’
‘Really?’ This surprised Steven almost as much as hearing she admired Vanessa Redgrave.
‘If it hadn’t been for the garden back then, I think I would have given in to despair,’ she said thoughtfully. ‘There’s something about tending plants, watching them grow, that’s very healing. Maybe if I hadn’t had to take that squalid room in Clifton Wood, found a place with a garden, I might not have ended up the way I did.’
Steven felt a surge of elation. Was he getting closer to discovering the reason behind Susan’s actions? ‘Why’s that?’ he asked, keeping his tone light.
‘I would have had something else to focus on,’ she said with a shrug. ‘The room was so awful, I had to get out of it. I used to find myself making for that little square by the surgery, day after day. Instead of watching plants grow I was watching those two. It sort of took me over.’
Steven lost the idea that she was dim-witted then and there. It wasn’t a vacant look in her greenish-blue eyes as he’d first thought, but rather that she preferred to live somewhere else in her mind than in the present.
‘Where did you live before that, after you left Ambra Vale?’ he asked.
She winced.
‘Bad memories?’ he said softly, and reached across her desk to take her hand. ‘I’ve got two children, Susan, I can well imagine the hell of losing one.’
‘Everyone says that,’ she said sharply. ‘But it’s something you have to experience to understand. It’s like you are dead too, shot through the heart, but still breathing and walking about. There’s no sunshine any more, all the beauty of nature you used to see all around you, that’s gone too.’
Steven was dismayed when he glanced at his watch to find their time was almost up. He had covered a great deal of ground about Susan’s early home life, and he didn’t want to leave now, just as she was talking about her feelings. But he knew he must because he had another appointment back at the office in half an hour.
‘There’s a great deal more we should talk about, but no time left today,’ he said. ‘I’ll come again at the end of the week. Do you think you could tell me about Annabel’s father then, and where you stayed before Belle Vue?’
‘You want a lot,’ she said, looking at him with cold eyes. ‘I don’t know I can tell you that.’
‘My mother always used to say, “Better to tell it all than let it fester inside.” I didn’t know what she meant by that when I was a boy,’ Steven said. ‘I do now.’
‘My mother used to say, “Least said, soonest mended,” ’ Susan retorted. ‘That makes a lot more sense to me.’
‘I think that expression refers to things said in the heat of the moment,’ he said reprovingly. ‘What I meant is quite different. Think about it, Susan, maybe try writing some of it down. Then I’ll see you again on Friday.’
‘Is Beth a talker?’ she said unexpectedly, just as he was getting up to leave.
‘No, she isn’t,’ Steven admitted. ‘We’ve worked in the same office for a year now, and I still know nothing about her. Was she a talker when you knew her?’
‘Yes and no,’ Susan said thoughtfully. ‘She didn’t talk about her family much, but she could chat non-stop about anything else.’
‘Why did you ask me that?’ Steven said.
Susan blushed. ‘I don’t know exactly. I suppose it’s just the same as you wanting to know all about me, so you can understand why I killed. I always thought if I was ever to meet Beth again she’d be sort of larger than life, dynamic, full of bounce. But she isn’t like that, she seems sad to me. I just wondered why. She’s not married either, is she? Has she been?’
‘I don’t think so,’ he said. ‘But if I find out I’ll tell you. Only it will have to remain a secret between us,’ he added, tapping his nose and winking at her.
Susan laughed again, perhaps more at the silly face he was pulling than at what he’d said. ‘You’re all right, Mr Smythe,’ she said. ‘Thank Beth for me for sending you.’
As Steven drove back into Bristol it was Susan’s remark about Beth he was thinking about, as much as anything she’d said about herself. It was a little ridiculous to consider seriously a judgement on someone’s character made by a person who had known her thirty years ago, but Susan struck him more and more as thoughtful and astute.
Beth had intrigued him right from the first day she had arrived in the office. His first sighting of her was as she bent over to unpack a box of books in her office, with her back to him. She was wearing a plum-coloured suit with a slim, long skirt which had a split at the back. He remembered curbing the desire to give her a wolf-whistle, for the combination of her curly black hair against the red of her suit, and her long, shapely legs in sheer black tights, was very sexy.
Instead he introduced himself and offered to help her with the books. She straightened up, looked him up and down and said something about how she needed to do it herself so she would know exactly where each book was. Dramatic was the only word that summed up how she looked. In high heels she was as tall as himself, and her face with her pale ivory skin, wide mouth and rather cold eyes appeared almost ghostly framed by the mane of black hair. She was not a beautiful woman by any means, but alluring in the manner of old silent-movie film stars.
Steven winced as he remembered how he’d put his foot in it right then by questioning her as to where she came from, why she’d chosen to work in Bristol, and where she lived. With hindsight, it would have been far better merely to have introduced himself, offered to get her some coffee and disappeared. Friends often teased him about being like a large over-enthusiastic puppy, and he certainly was that day, trying too hard to be liked, almost to the point of slobbering over her.
Beth made herself quite clear from that first day. ‘I appreciate your interest,’ she had said in a chilling tone, ‘but I’
m a very private person. I’ll be happy to confer with you about clients’ cases or other legal matters, but nothing more personal.’
That, it transpired, was exactly how she operated. She was snooty and cold, never chatted to anyone in the office, appeared to have no sense of humour, and the only time he saw any animation in her was when they discussed a case. But her striking looks and elegant, often sexy clothes suggested there had to be another side to her, a side that was yearning to show itself.
It was only at the office Christmas party last year that he saw a glimpse of a warmer person beneath that tough shell. She had bought presents for each of the office girls, not the usual chocolates or a bottle, but carefully chosen personal gifts, all beautifully wrapped. She’d also brought in that morning a large tray of delicious canapés for the party. They were all home-made. For the first time in the three months she’d been with the firm, she unwound a little, and drank quite heavily. He thought he sensed in her a reluctance to go home too.
Four days later, when she came back to work with her arm in plaster, having fallen and broken it after leaving the party, Steven felt sure that she’d been alone for the whole of the holiday, and probably in pain too, with no one to call for help. His curiosity about her was heightened with sympathy then, and he began to study her more closely. She was an enigma, excellent at her job, totally committed, fair-minded and honest too. Whilst she gave nothing of herself away, she invited confidences from others. Steven often found himself telling her things he wouldn’t normally have divulged to anyone.
Snooty she might be, but she was no snob. She didn’t talk down to the people beneath her, in fact she seemed far more relaxed with the office cleaner and young thugs from housing estates than she was with her peers. She was also very patient and considerate with any new staff, taking the trouble to explain things carefully, which none of the other lawyers did.
It soon became clear to Steven that Beth’s snootiness was a carefully constructed act, designed to keep people like him, who wanted to know more about her, at bay. That made her even more intriguing.
Steven began to smile at the absurdity of studying another lawyer, when it was his client he should be thinking about. But then he was guilty of the same kind of absurdity in his private life too.
He portrayed himself as a happily married family man, but there was nothing happy about his home life any more. His wife, Anna, was a drunk, and his girls, Polly and Sophie, were suffering because of it. Night after night he’d go home to find Anna out cold, the house in a mess and the girls tearful and hungry.
Again and again he had pleaded with Anna to get help to stop drinking. She would promise him she would, but the next day she’d start again. He’d lost count of the times she’d gone out and stayed out all night. On Sunday nights it would be he who was washing and ironing the school uniforms for the morning, just as it was he who did the shopping, the cooking and the cleaning.
There was only one real solution to prevent her messing up the children’s lives any further. That was to give her an ultimatum, to stop drinking or he’d throw her out. But he hadn’t done that because he knew she would almost welcome being thrown out, so she could do just as she liked. She’d said often enough that she drank because she was bored with him and her dull life. If he had believed she really could look after herself, he would have been glad to rid himself of the responsibility and the constant bad scenes. But he knew she couldn’t, and he couldn’t bear the thought of the woman he once loved ending up being arrested for drunkenness, or begging in the streets.
He felt like a juggler, trying to keep all the balls in the air at once, trying to be mother and father to his girls, running the home, hiding Anna’s drinking from friends and family, and doing an exacting job too, all the while pretending he hadn’t a care in the world. It was the pressure of pretending, the lack of anyone to confide in which made him despair sometimes. At times he had fantasized about Anna being killed, run over, or her kidneys finally giving up, just so it would end. He had even thought of killing her himself in really dark moments.
‘That might make Beth sit up and take notice of you.’ He grinned at the preposterous idea. But it was true, committing a serious crime was one way to get yourself noticed, and taken care of. Maybe that was the reason Susan did it.
‘Well?’ Beth leaned her hands on his desk, looking down at him. ‘What did she say?’
Steven thought she looked stunning today. She was wearing a light grey trouser suit and a red polo-necked sweater with matching lipstick, her hair slicked back into a bun. He grinned impishly at her, amused that Susan had rattled Beth’s chains enough to make her come haring into his office, something she’d never done before. He still didn’t understand why this seemingly implacable woman could have retained such affection and concern for someone so different from herself.
‘Lots,’ he said, determined to wind her up a little more. ‘I discovered she would like to be a gardening Vanessa Redgrave, married to Marc Bolan if she could have her life all over again.’
‘Marc Bolan’s dead,’ Beth snapped.
‘So he is,’ Steven retorted. ‘I’ve got to get home now. I’ll tell you all about it tomorrow.’
‘Come and have a drink with me first,’ she suggested, a note of pleading in her voice.
He was so staggered by this U-turn from her usual standoffish manner with him that he felt himself blush. ‘That’s a very tempting offer,’ he said. ‘But Anna’s out and I’ve got to see to the kids.’
‘Let me come home with you then,’ she said. ‘I could cook us all a meal.’
Steven hardly knew what to say. Aside from being unable to imagine her cooking a meal for anyone, he hadn’t thought her capable of caring about anyone enough to be so desperate for news of them.
He’d have dearly liked to take her up on it, but Anna wasn’t really out. Polly, his eight-year-old, had rung him only a few minutes after he got back from the prison, saying Mummy was sick and in bed. That of course meant she was drunk yet again, and the house would doubtless be in a shocking state.
‘No, you c-c-can’t do that,’ he said, stammering because he hadn’t time to think up a plausible excuse. ‘I mean, I’m not prepared. Neither are the girls.’
Beth looked at him sharply. ‘Is everything all right at home?’ she asked. ‘Anna’s not ill or something?’
‘Er, no. She’s fine, just gone out for the day. The house will be a tip.’
‘Well, why don’t you go home, pick up the girls and bring them to my place?’
Steven felt that since she was offering the hand of friendship, to refuse it would look very odd.
‘God, you’re persistent.’ He half smiled. ‘Do you want to know about Susan that badly?’
‘Yes, I do.’ She put her hands on her hips and looked at him defiantly. ‘But it would be nice to meet your girls too. So go and get them. I could have a meal ready by the time you get back.’
‘Beth, they are six and eight.’ He sighed. ‘That isn’t your scene.’
She gave him a challenging look. ‘How do you know? Just because I haven’t any kids of my own doesn’t mean I’m a child-hater.’
The thought of having a meal cooked for him was greater than his fear that one of the girls might blab about Anna. ‘Okay, I give in. But don’t hold it against me if it turns out to be a disaster.’
‘It won’t be,’ she said. ‘I was a little girl once myself. I know what they like. Now, you know where my flat is in Park Row, don’t you? It’s number twelve.’
‘Please behave, girls,’ Steven said to his daughters as they drove down Whiteladies Road towards Beth’s flat. He adjusted the driving mirror so he could see them both in the back seat, and wished he’d got them to change out of their school uniforms.
Polly, the eight-year-old, was like him, fair, with blue eyes, and tall for her age. Her newly arrived big teeth looked too large and slightly crooked in her mouth and like him she always seemed untidy. Sophie was more like Anna, with dark b
rown hair and eyes and plump, apple-like cheeks.
‘Of course we’ll behave, Daddy,’ Polly assured him. ‘But I hope she won’t give us some weird food.’
‘Whatever she cooks for you, eat it,’ he said, getting anxious now, for Polly’s idea of weird included most meats, salad, anything spicy or with herbs. ‘And while Beth and I are talking you must leave us in peace.’
‘Will we be able to watch telly?’ Sophie asked.
‘I expect so,’ he said, wishing he’d had the foresight to bring one of their videos with him. ‘And don’t say anything about Mummy being sick. She’s gone out with a friend if Beth asks about her.’
The girls were impressed by the way the front door of the flats opened automatically after Beth had spoken to them on the entryphone, but less so by their first view of Beth leaning over the banister as they went up the stairs.
‘She looks like Cruella De Vil,’ Polly whispered.
There was a delicious smell of garlic as they went into her flat, and the girls were struck dumb by the restrained elegance of the sitting room and the view of Bristol from the window.
After introductions, Beth smiled down at the girls. ‘I should have asked your daddy what you like to eat. But I’ve played safe and made cheesy omelettes and tomato salad, and I’ve fried some potatoes. I hope that’s going to be okay?’
Both girls looked relieved. Omelettes were one thing they’d eat anytime, anywhere.
Whatever Steven might have thought about Beth previously, she was surprisingly good with children. She chatted easily, showed them around her flat, and gave them a drink of apple juice while she dished up the meal. They ate in the cheerful red and white kitchen at a small round table by the window.
‘This is great,’ Polly said with real enthusiasm as she tucked in. ‘I love the potatoes.’
‘They are only boiled ones, fried up with some garlic,’ Beth said, pouring some wine for Steven and herself. ‘My sister does them for her girls and they liked them when they were your age.’
‘Mummy drinks too much of that,’ Sophie said, pointing to the wine.