The flat had been ransacked. The sofas had been slashed and the stuffing, like entrails, spilled out onto the floor. Both coffee tables were upended, the magazines that had been piled on them were now ripped to pieces and the shreds were scattered about the room. Her books had been pulled off the shelves and lay in higgledy-piggledy heaps across the carpet. All of the lamps were smashed.
“Richard?” she shouted. “Richard!” But there was no reply. The only sound was that of her heart banging erratically against her chest. Whoever had been here, it looked as if they were long gone. Even so, Autumn picked up a cut-glass lamp base that had been her grandmother’s. It had parted company with its shade during the mayhem and she carried it as a club, just in case she was required to whack anyone. It felt cold in her clammy hand.
She picked her way through the debris, tiptoeing silently, legs shaking. In the kitchen, all the drawers had been wrenched from the units and their contents turned out; knives, forks, spoons lay in a muddled pile beneath the table. The cupboards were open too and the tins and packets of food had been swept out. Rice, lentils, flour and sugar crunched under her feet. Her precious Charbonnel et Walker hot chocolate flakes were there too and that very nearly made her cry.
What little there was in the fridge—a few yogurts, some tofu, a few tired carrots—had also been tipped onto the floor. Even the oven door swung open on its hinges. If she had been burgled, what on earth were they looking for that had made them turn the place upside down like this? And where the hell was her brother when all this was happening? Suddenly, her blood ran cold. Good grief, maybe Richard had been here at the time!
She dashed through to his bedroom, feeling the floor sway beneath her feet as she took in the enormity of what might have happened. This was obviously done by men coming after Richard for some reason. It was unlikely that it was her stash of chocolate that they’d been after, but it may have been a stash of an entirely different kind. Who knew what went on in the sordid side of her brother’s life? She certainly didn’t. Perhaps she’d expected to see Richard in here, but there was no sign of him. All the drawers and cupboards were open, the contents tossed about the room. There was some cash left on his bedside table—small change mainly, but nevertheless it hadn’t been taken. Whatever they were after, it didn’t look like it was money. More worryingly Richard’s mobile phone had been left behind too, and her brother never went anywhere without it. It was his lifeline. Her heart was in her mouth when she said out loud, “What the hell have you done now, baby brother?”
By now, Autumn knew that her bedroom also would have been subjected to similar treatment, but she plodded through there anyway. She wasn’t disappointed. Her underwear was strewn over the bed. Her meager wardrobe graced the floor. She sat down on the edge of the bed, feeling numb, and let her lamp-base weapon drop out of her hand. So this was the “comfortable wee life” that Fraser thought she had, was it? She surveyed the jumble of a room again. Now what should she do? Should she call the police? Rich would be furious if she brought them in. She should wait and see if her brother contacted her. Maybe he’d turn up tomorrow all penitent with some implausible excuse, and she was worrying unnecessarily. It wouldn’t be the first time.
The only thing she could do for now was bolt the door and hope for the best. There was no way that she wanted to come face to face with the people who’d done this, whoever they were—but she was assuming that they were business associates of her brother’s. She’d spend the night on the sofa, armed with the lamp base in case they thought about coming back. Perhaps she should give one of the girls a call for backup? Autumn knew that Lucy would come over straightaway and spend the night with her if she asked her to. But it was better not to drag anyone else into this situation. She could cope alone.
Autumn shook her head. What could have happened to Richard? This looked as if it was serious. If he was into something bad—then exactly how deep was he? Hot tears coursed down her face and she rubbed them away with a pair of her pants that were at hand. She could only pray that he’d made a run for it at the first sign of trouble and was now lying low somewhere—perhaps at a friend’s flat. If he had any friends left. All she could do was wait and see if her brother came back. It was a hope. But she realized that it might be a vain one.
Chapter Fifty-three
NADIA SMILED AT HER SON as he played at her feet and finished off the plate of chocolate digestives that they’d been sharing. Lewis’s capacity for eating chocolate was nearly as great as hers—but then, he was so active that he burned off all the calories without any trouble, unlike her. That was the difference between being three and being thirty-three. His Farmer Giles farmyard set was spread out all over the living-room floor and Lewis crawled carelessly through it.
“This is a blue pig,” he said to her.
Kneeling down next to him, Nadia took the blue pig which her son held out. It looked more like a cow to her, and it was also brown. Experience told her that she was more than likely the one who was right. Another one of the few benefits of being thirty-three. She must spend more time with Lewis, going through his colors. And his farm animals, come to that. It was Lewis’s fourth birthday this weekend, maybe that would be a good excuse for them all to take a ride out into the country and find one of those kids’ petting farms which were so popular. That might help her son to sort out the pigs from the cows. She’d have to see if Toby was working on Saturday; he was very busy at the moment and, thankfully, taking all the jobs that were on offer. If that was the case, they could perhaps keep Sunday free and go then.
“Elephant,” Lewis announced, holding up another hapless creature. It was a sheep.
“It’s a sheep,” she told him. “Sheep.”
“Sheep,” her son echoed.
“What does a sheep say?”
“Moo,” her son said with absolute conviction. “Moo. Moo. Moo.”
Clearly there was work to be done.
There were times when she was bored to death by being a full-time mum and craved the company of adults and intelligent conversation—or conversation of any kind—but she was going to miss the precious time she spent alone with Lewis teaching him the ways of the world or simply playing with him like she was now. A job offer had arrived through the post this morning. She’d been interviewed last week and was delighted that they’d got back to her so quickly. It was a part-time post, which certainly appealed, and it was during school hours, which meant that once he was at school full-time, she’d only need to get help looking after Lewis in the holidays. The job would be quite interesting—promotions work for a local newspaper. It wasn’t on the level she’d been used to, but neither was it to be sniffed at. The pay was terrible though and, of course, that was always the catch with part-time work. More often the jobs were full-time posts crammed into short hours with worse financial rewards but, at the moment, beggars couldn’t be choosers.
Nadia wanted to pay Chantal back as soon as she could, and it would be a hard job to do it on this salary—even though her friend didn’t want any interest on the loan and kept insisting that there was no rush for the money. It was on Nadia’s conscience, nevertheless, and she wanted to clear the debt as quickly as possible. Toby understood that too and had been trying really hard. He’d sent out a heap of invoices to clients and Nadia hoped it meant that some money might be coming in soon. Toby had already attended a couple of the Quit Gambling meetings and, although he said he hated it, she was thankful that he was still going along.
Nadia smiled to herself. If only her husband knew what they’d been up to on Friday night. Thank goodness they’d managed to get Chantal’s jewelry back from that creep, and it had all gone according to plan. Toby thought that she’d just been out for a drink with the girls and she wondered what he’d think if she told him where they’d really been and what they’d been doing. He never imagined that she could be deceitful too. Still, it wouldn’t hurt to have one secret from him. Goodness only knows, he’d kept enough from her in the past. Thankfully, th
at was all over now. Maybe she’d tell him one day and they could have a good laugh about it.
“Woof-woof,” Lewis said with a frown. “Can’t find Woof-woof.”
She turned her attention back to her son. “He must be here somewhere.” There was a black-and-white sheepdog with his tail chewed off that was Lewis’s favorite in the farmyard set. Nadia searched through the jumble of animals. No Woof-woof in sight. Come to think of it, there were quite a few pieces missing. There was a rickety tractor with a trailer full of logs, a figure of Farmer Giles himself in a dodgy tweed jacket, several animal pens and bits of fencing, some Vietnamese potbellied pigs and a range of milk churns the like of which most working farms hadn’t seen in fifty years. Where had she last seen them? “I think Woof-woof might be in your toy cupboard,” she informed him. “You wait here while Mummy goes to look for you.”
She stood up and stretched her back before going upstairs to Lewis’s bedroom. The toy cupboard was a mess, as always. Nadia wondered whether a girl, if she’d had one, would have been more tidy than a boy. And then she thought back to her own messy bedroom as a child and guessed probably not. Maybe if she and Toby could get themselves out of debt in the next few years, then they could think about having another baby before Lewis was too much older. It would be nice to have a little girl too.
Scouring the shelves and shelves of toys, she pushed teddies, puzzles, cars and diggers to one side. She shook her head. “This boy could give some toys to FAO Schwarz,” she said out loud. “No wonder we’ve never got any money.” Some of these were definitely destined for the next car boot sale.
“Hurry up, Mummy,” Lewis yelled from the bottom of the stairs.
“You count all the sheep,” she shouted back. “They’re the ones with the white coats and the black faces. I’ll be down in a minute.”
Tutting to herself, she renewed her search and within moments had put her hands on the box of missing Farmer Giles pieces, including the much-chewed Woof-woof Nadia dragged the box to the front of the shelf and as she did, it snagged on a black strap. She pulled harder and the box tugged the strap further out of the cupboard. A compact black bag followed it. A black computer bag.
Nadia’s heart was in her mouth as she reached in and lifted the bag from the cupboard. It was a laptop. A new laptop. What was it doing, hidden at the back of Lewis’s toy cupboard? Instantly, she knew the answer and her stomach twisted into a sickening knot. She took it through to the office and, fumbling with the leads, she plugged it into their phone connection. With trembling hands, she switched on the computer and waited until it sprang into life. She clicked on to the Internet symbol and, sure enough, their broadband connection had been restored. Clearly, Toby was back online.
Tapping into the history, she soon found—as she suspected—that he’d been visiting the virtual casinos. Her husband had betrayed her. This time he’d been even more devious in trying to cover his tracks. After all that she’d gone through to borrow the money from Chantal and to clear all their debts, now he’d started gambling again in secret. He must have got hold of another credit card too—not that it was hard these days, for weren’t all the banks just lining up to offer easy credit? It was only the paying it back that was difficult. She felt sick to her stomach. How soon would it be before they were up to their eyes in debt once more? Nadia logged off, closed the lid of the laptop and slid it back into its bag. She went through to Lewis’s room and returned the computer to its hiding place. Inside she was crying, but she had to stay strong. There was no way she could go through this time and time again. This had to end. All she had to do was decide how.
Nadia picked up the box of Farmer Giles farm pieces and made her way back down the stairs with a heavy heart. Whatever happened, this mustn’t affect her son. He was her life. Her only joy.
“Look what I’ve got for you,” she said, a bright smile fixed on her face.
“Woof-woof!” he cried. “You’ve found him.”
Unfortunately, Nadia thought, that wasn’t all she’d found.
Chapter Fifty-four
TED HAD BARELY SPOKEN TO Chantal all weekend. After their nearly fantastic evening on Friday, he’d now moved into the spare room— something which he’d never done before. It was the cold shoulder in extremis. He’d stayed at the golf club even longer than he would normally dinner had been eaten in virtual silence apart from a few mumbled pleasantries, and after that he’d stared at the television until bedtime, resolutely ignoring her. Chantal felt even more frustrated than usual. Well, two could play at that game. If he was going to punish her by withdrawing even further from her, then she’d just make sure that she got her pleasure elsewhere.
Chantal lay back on the sofa and sipped a glass of good Shiraz. Just thinking about Jazz and his firm young body made her aroused. It wasn’t ideal, having to see a male prostitute to get her satisfaction—what woman wanted to be in that situation? But if that’s what it took, then she would do it. There was no way at her age she was going to resign herself to managing without a sex life. She had to admit that it had shocked her to hear Ted’s view of having children. Chantal was so sure that they’d been on the same wavelength there. Neither of them had ever wanted kids—they pitied their friends who were shackled with them. When had that changed for her husband? Mind you, if he refused to sleep with her, it was hardly going to be a problem that she’d have to address.
She wondered why Ted hadn’t been able to sit down and discuss it rationally with her. Maybe it was because he knew that she would never agree to it. Her own family had been so dysfunctional that she’d never wanted to replicate that. She’d never wanted to bring any offspring into the world so that she could subject them to the sort of things that she’d experienced. In all her years she never remembered her mom or dad telling her that they loved her. An only child, Chantal was viewed as a necessary nuisance. Kids were something that you did back then—there wasn’t a choice. It didn’t mean that people were automatically transformed into wonderful, nurturing parents at the birth of their first baby. Her mother and father worked hard, which meant she was left alone in the house for long periods to find her own entertainment. Sometimes she studied. Sometimes she drank the Jack Daniel’s in their cocktail cabinet and then topped up the bottles with tea. All through school she strove to be a high achiever, hoping that something she did would one day win their affection, their admiration, their love. It never did. Being a straight-A student hadn’t been a cause for praise. She was a gifted musician, as was expected of her. Yet from the day she’d left home, she’d never once played the piano again.
Her parents were still alive, but they featured very little in Chantal’s life now. Contact was restricted to the odd guilty phone call and an exchange of Christmas and birthday cards. No doubt, if they were more involved in her life they’d still find something that they didn’t approve of. Even Ted, with his good looks, his charm, his great prospects, had failed to impress them when he presented himself as a suitor. What had they wanted for her? Didn’t her own happiness come into it at all? Just imagine the sort of grandparents they’d make when they couldn’t even be bothered with their own child. And why would Chantal want to have a kid so that she could pass on all of her own neuroses, to make them feel insecure or unloved at her whim? It had never been on her agenda. She’d talked about her own feelings toward children over the years and Ted had always agreed. He’d never once sat her down and said that he might actually like a family one day. Why hadn’t he ever done that? Did he feel that if he expressed his own opinions on the subject, then he’d be in danger of losing her? Wasn’t it just typical of a man to avoid discussing these critical subjects simply to avoid a scene? She’d always assumed Ted had felt the same. Now, it seemed, she had been wrong.
Neither of them was great at apologizing, so this standoff could go on for some time. To distract herself, Chantal had sent Jazz an e-mail, asking for an appointment this week. If her husband didn’t want her, it didn’t mean that she couldn’t have some fun in
the meantime. In her opinion, it was safer to have fun with Jazz than to risk picking up another sleazeball in a bar. She was giving this her full consideration when Ted strode into the room and tossed a piece of paper onto her lap. It was a reply to her e-mail to Jazz and it simply read, Would Thursday evening suit you? Jazz.
Her mouth went dry and she looked up at Ted.
“Jazz?”
Chantal let the paper drop carelessly to the floor. “He’s a client.”
Her husband’s face was dark with anger. “I don’t think so, Chantal.”
“Believe what you like,” she said coolly, even though inside she was shaking. “What does it matter to you?”
“It matters when there’s also over thirty thousand pounds missing from our bank account.”
She felt as if a lead weight had been dropped into her stomach. “I loaned that money to a girlfriend. She was in trouble.”
“Care to tell me who?” Ted said.
“No,” Chantal replied. “I don’t.”
“I spoke to Lucian Barrington this week. He said that Amy had seen you in the lobby of the St. Crispin’s Hotel in town. She said you were acting unusually. That you brushed her off.”
“The woman’s a bore and a gossip. It would have been more unusual for me to be keen to go for a drink with her and Lucian as she wanted me to.”
“She told Lucian that a young man called Jazz asked for you at the hotel reception desk and went up to your room.”
Chantal stared ahead of her. She could continue to deny this, try to talk her way out of it, tell Ted that he was a client again, make a convincing case, but what would be the point? Maybe this was the time to come clean. Chantal pressed her lips together tightly and took a deep breath. “I’m guilty as charged,” she said flatly as she turned to her husband. “I’ve been seeing other men.”