Camellia (68 page)

'Helena must have guessed you'd be hungry, she'd cut some sandwiches in readiness,' he said, looking faintly embarrassed. 'I hope you like ham.'

They sat down, Edward in an armchair, Mel on the settee, the tray of tea between them on a coffee table.

'Milk and sugar?' Edward asked as he poured the tea into the cups.

'Just milk, no sugar,' she said and sat back a little more comfortably.

The tea was too hot to do more than sip it. But it tasted a little peculiar.

'Urn, that's hot,' she said, putting it down on the coffee table. Edward picked up the milk jug.

'Perhaps I didn't put enough in,' he said. 'I don't take milk myself, so I never know how much to put in.'

Under ordinary circumstances Mel would have found nothing odd about that remark. But she'd given him tea back in Fulham and he'd drunk it with milk. She was puzzled and glanced at Edward. He looked tense, a tightening around the mouth and the eyes and his hand shook as he put more milk in her cup.

Mel tried the tea again, only another sip, but the odd taste was stronger still. Could he have put something in the milk?

She thought her imagination was playing tricks on her. What would he gain by drugging her?

'May I use the phone?' she asked. 'Con's bound to be a little worried. I ought to tell him where I am exactly.'

Edward frowned. 'The phone's dead I'm afraid.' He didn't meet her eyes and got out of his chair to bend over to take the gas poker out of the fire. 'The lines round here are very old and it seems they went down in last night's high winds. The engineer will be here first thing in the morning.'

Taken as one isolated incident, a phone being out of order wasn't important. But added to everything else she felt was strange here, alarm bells began to jangle. Would a sophisticated actress, used to living in some splendour, really choose to stay in such a damp cold house? Now she came to think about it, surely a woman in her position would be far more likely to arrange to meet someone for the first time on neutral territory, in a hotel or restaurant.

Mel looked suspiciously at Edward and all the curious little things she'd observed about him during the evening, all came together. He was too smooth, too cagey, and, aside from Helena, he didn't like women. His long silences, the guarded, often curt way of speaking, his cold eyes, were all so creepy.

'Edward, please don't take offence at this, but I'd like you to take me to a hotel,' she said, trying very hard not to show her panic. 'I'm not a bit happy being here, especially without a telephone. I'm sure Helena will be tired too when she gets back. We can meet up tomorrow when we're both fresh.'

'Now that's ridiculous,' he replied and his eyes flashed with irritation. 'Helena will be upset if you aren't here when she gets back. Now just drink your tea and relax. It's tipping down out there too. You don't want to be rushing off somewhere else at this time of night.'

She wanted to insist, but a sixth sense told her that she must keep calm and think this through before putting herself in an even more vulnerable position.

'Just another half an hour then,' she said as compromise. 'But if she isn't back here then, I'll go.'

'Oh, she'll be back within that time.'

Mel felt there was a note of relief in his voice. It could of course mean that he was merely relieved she wasn't about to make a scene. On the other hand it could mean that half an hour was all the time he needed. She looked at the cup of tea in front of her, saw a couple of white flecks floating on the surface and she thought perhaps it might contain some kind of sleeping draught. She certainly wasn't going to risk drinking it.

'I expect it's just the quiet here giving me the jitters,' she said with a tight little laugh. 'Con always recommends tea for calming you down.' She picked up the cup and pretended to drink some, then put it down and took a bite of her sandwich. 'Do you think I could have some salt on this?' she asked. 'I know salt isn't good for you, but I can't eat anything without it.'

Edward frowned, but he got up and went out to the kitchen. Camellia looked around her quickly. There was a tall brass vase standing in the corner by the French doors, the moment he was out of ear-shot, she leapt up, rushed to it and tipped the tea in.

As Edward came back with a salt cellar she was back on the settee apparently drinking the last dregs of her tea. He smiled at her. 'Would you like another cup? There's plenty more in the pot.'

'Not just now,' she said, hoping her face wasn't as flushed as it felt. She took the sandwich apart and sprinkled it with salt.

Edward began to tell her something about Rupert, Helena's co-star, but Mel was only listening with half an ear as she tried to reason things out. Why would he want to drug her? So he could take her somewhere she wouldn't normally go willingly? To keep her quiet for some other purpose?

All at once she guessed the truth. He intended to kill her.

Her first instinct was to run for the door, but she resisted it. For one thing he would catch her before she even got to the hall. It would also alert him that she had guessed his plan. He was far bigger and stronger than her and even if she managed to get beyond the door he'd be able to out run her. If she calmly played along with him, giving him every reason to think his plan was working, then she could outwit him.

'Are you warm enough?' Edward's solicitous question startled her. She hadn't heard a word he'd been saying before that.

She thought fast. 'A bit too warm now I think,' she said, faking a yawn. 'I'm getting sleepy.'

He smiled at her. Mel thought it was smug, as if that were what he hoped to hear. She slipped off her shoes and moved to a more relaxed position on the settee, curling her legs up on it.

'Tell me the story line in the film?' she asked. 'Is it a love story?'

She leaned one elbow on the arm of the settee, looking right at him as he began to describe Helena falling in love with a man half her age. Edward was an outstandingly handsome man. She wondered what his background was and why he hadn't ever got decent parts in films and become famous himself. Could it be that he lived in Helena's shadow?

By Mel's reckoning a strong sedative would make most people start to feel sleepy within fifteen minutes, faster still if they were already tired. As she looked at him she allowed her eyes to droop, then blinked and opened them again.

Above the crackling fire and the wind outside, she could hear another sound, she listened carefully until she identified it. Then she remembered Edward had said the house was by a river.

Suddenly everything fell into place.

None of this was chance. It had been planned meticulously. Helena hadn't wanted to find her because she cared about her old dancing partner's daughter. She was afraid that Bonny had passed some information to Mel.

Edward was waiting for her to fall asleep then take her out there and drown her. He knew it would work because he'd done it before: to Bonny. The only difference was that Bonny was probably very drunk long before he slipped her the sedative.

Mel thought back to those days prior to her mother's death. The late night phone calls, her excitement and even the mention of getting them both passports. Edward must have been that man she was in contact with. He was the one she went to London to meet.

There wasn't time now to concern herself with what secrets Bonny knew that were serious enough to warrant murder. Mel had to escape before she met the same end. But how on earth was she going to do it?

She let her eyes droop again, jerking her head up every now and then in exactly the same way she'd seen other people dropping off. Edward stopped speaking, almost in mid sentence. She sensed he was studying her.

She took his silence as the final proof of his intentions. Any normal person would speak, offer her a cup of coffee or even suggest she went upstairs to bed.

Where was Helena? Was she sitting in a hotel room somewhere close by waiting for the news that loyal, obedient Edward had finally severed the last link with her past? Or could he be acting on his own initiative out of some misguided desire to protect her?

Some ten minutes later Mel had allowed herself to sink right down onto the settee, faking deep sleep. Edward had been silent all this time. She felt he was watching her, biding his time. She'd had time now to work out a plan of sorts. She didn't think he would attempt drowning her in his smart clothes. If she faked sleep well enough she thought he might leave her alone in the room to go and change. Then she could either slip out into the hall and out the front door, or if he was still downstairs, unlock the French windows and escape that way. She hoped it could be the front door, she didn't relish the thought of negotiating a river in the dark.

Minutes seemed like hours as she lay there. It wasn't easy to feign sleep while being watched, and she was so frightened she was afraid he could hear her heart thumping. The wind was growing even stronger. She could hear the trees outside creaking with the force of it.

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.