Camellia (71 page)

Mel looked up and smiled. 'You can't send police packing,' she said. 'But I mean it about the other visitors. I don't want to see them. However much fuss they make.'

'Just tell me why?' Grace pleaded.

'Because, my nosy little nurse, I'm confused and I need time to come to terms with everything.'

The nurse waited until Mel had eaten everything, then took away the tray. 'I'll see you this evening,' she said as she left the room. 'Don't try walking on that foot either.'

The police came just after nine, in plain clothes. Williams, a frosty-faced WPC, was about thirty-five with bad skin and red hair. Her male companion who looked about fifty, introduced himself as Price, not mentioning his rank. He was humourless, a thin, rather seedy-looking man in a beige trench-coat, with bleak pale-blue eyes and thinning hair. Mel had to assume the policewoman had been brought along as a witness. She didn't speak throughout the interview.

Mel had felt quite calm and collected until Price began questioning her in depth, but within minutes he made her feel tense and frightened again. He took her right back to the first time she saw Edward Manning in the restaurant, then every step of the way until she finally reached the farm where the police were called the next morning.

He pulled her up on every last thing. What Manning was wearing, the car he drove. What he spoke about on the journey to the West Country, his manner towards her and why she should suddenly feel threatened when they got to the house by the river.

When she reached the point when she suspected Edward had put a sedative in her tea, Price looked disbelieving. He kept stopping her, questioning why she didn't panic if she thought she was in such danger. The way he raised one eyebrow when she explained how she decided to fake sleep gave her the distinct impression Price thought she had an overactive imagination.

'I just
knew
he intended to kill me,' she said stubbornly. 'I was terrified, of course, but playing along with him was my only option. If he'd known I'd tumbled what he was doing he might have knocked me out. Anyway as it turned out I was right about him and his plan to get rid of me. Why else did he come back into the room wearing a mackintosh and waders?'

When Price didn't reply immediately Mel grew angry.

'I suppose you think I've made the whole thing up. That I'm some sort of loony that races barefoot around the country in a storm for attention? Why don't you look for the house and check it all out.'

Price smiled as if she was a simple-minded child. 'We have found the house. We checked it out yesterday afternoon. Manning's grandmother lived there until her death some fifteen years ago. But we didn't find any evidence that anyone but Manning had been there. Not your shoes, overnight bag or raincoat. We could find no sedatives there either. Of course it's possible he returned to the house after you escaped him and cleared all these things away, but that seems unlikely if he was quite as deranged as you say, especially as you have claimed he came after you in his car later.'

'He was going to kill me, just like he killed my mother,' she insisted. 'I suppose Helena Forester has convinced you that I'm the crazy one, that I freaked out for no reason and jumped in the river to make my story look good. But then she would, she's up to her ears in this.'

Price cocked his head to one side, for the first time in the interview he looked surprised.

'Now why would you think that? We interviewed Miss Forester yesterday after your friend, Mr Deeley, informed us about your connection with her. She has shown nothing but the utmost concern for you. She told us that Manning collected a bunch of letters from the
News of the World
offices for her, and that was confirmed by Mr Osbourne, in fact they went through them together. By all accounts they were both disappointed to find there wasn't one from you amongst them. The only thing that struck me as odd about Miss Forester was that she had enlisted Mr Osbourne's help in trying to find you. I believe you left his employ in rather a hurry. Why was that Miss Norton?'

'Ask them,' she snapped. 'They're the ones with all the answers.'

Conrad arrived back at the hospital just before twelve, with a bag containing Mel's washing things, nightdress, dressing gown and slippers, along with flowers and a box of chocolates. He felt rested and calm again after a good night's sleep, he'd even put on his best grey suit. His wide smile vanished though as he walked into the room and found her lying hunched up on her side, crying into the pillow.

'What on earth's happened?' he asked, dumping his bags on the floor and rushing over to her bed. He'd phoned the hospital around eight in the morning before he left London and had been told by the Ward Sister that she was very much better, and quite cheerful.

Mel sobbed as she told him about her interview with the police. It wasn't a twenty-four-year-old woman in shock he heard, but the anguish of a very young girl. It was as if she had slipped back mentally to the time when her mother's body was discovered. She had withheld evidence then out of shame and anger, but now nine years later the combination of painful memories, fear, guilt and an insensitive policeman had pushed her over the edge.

'Oh baby,' Con put his arms round her and held her tight. He couldn't bear to see her locked into such misery. 'I'll go down to the police station myself and put them straight.'

'You don't understand,' she sobbed. 'Those letters have blighted my life. Because of them I'm up to my neck in trouble again. Anything you or I say to the police will bring more trouble down on me. They'll check me out, dredge up all the old dirt before they even so much as ask Helena Forester her birthday. I wish Edward had killed me, Con, that way I'd be free of all this. I can't take any more.'

Conrad left the hospital with a heavy heart. The Ward Sister had curtly told him that Mel needed rest and peace to get better, as if he was responsible for upsetting her again. She'd also pointed out that the official visiting hours which were between two thirty and four in the afternoons and seven to eight thirty in the evenings. Mel had told him not to go to the police, so he had a couple of hours to kill until two thirty. As he'd never been to Bath before, he drove on into the city to look round.

The sun had come out again. He parked his car in Victoria Park and decided to walk from there. Although Mel was in the forefront of his mind, he soon found himself becoming enchanted by all he saw around him. The park was glorious: huge trees turning gold and orange, flowerbeds ablaze with colour, lush lawns stretching right up to the terraces of imposing Regency houses.

The enchantment grew stronger still as he walked through the town, past the elegant big stores in the wide main street, and through the narrow lanes leading off. There seemed to be flowers everywhere – hanging baskets, riotous window boxes, tubs outside the dozens of restaurants and coffee shops. He bought a couple of rolls and guided by a helpful assistant made his way down to the famous Poultney Bridge to eat them.

Conrad had always considered Dublin to be unsurpassable for its beauty and atmosphere, but as he stood looking over the wall at the fast-flowing river tumbling over the weir, he felt Bath was comparable, with its old buildings built in a serene golden stone, willow trees drooping down to the water and brightly painted canal boats. When he looked up he saw how the city was almost like a huge amphitheatre, the graceful houses rising in tiers up towards the green hills beyond. As Mel had so often told him, there were tourists everywhere, cameras strapped around their necks, clutching guidebooks, and gasping at everything in awe. But this town was more than a living museum dating back to the Romans; it was a place dearly loved by its residents. Little old ladies hobbling by on sticks, young mothers with prams, burly workmen shinning up scaffolding – they all looked happy to be here. The pretty park by the river wasn't crowded with holiday-makers, but working people snatching their lunch hour in a place of peace and tranquillity. Conrad understood now why Mel had fallen in love with this city.

He shivered as he gazed down into the river. But for Mel's quick thinking and courage, she might very well have ended up being fished out of it. As it was she might never fully recover from the ordeal.

There was only one way to heal his friend: to peel back that cloak of secrecy and reveal the whole truth to her. It was time someone stepped in on her behalf, someone who had no vested interest.

Conrad turned away from his view of the weir and walked purposefully to a telephone box.

At nine o'clock that same evening Conrad turned into the wooded drive towards Oaklands. He had spent the afternoon with Mel, then returned to the small guesthouse in Weston village to freshen up and change his shirt. By seven thirty he was back at the hospital, where he'd found Mel just as withdrawn as she'd been earlier. She had seen an evening newspaper and the news that Edward still hadn't been apprehended hadn't helped. Conrad couldn't cheer her much. He was so nervous about going to Oaklands behind her back that he'd had difficulty in stringing more than a couple of sentences together.

The front door opened even before he'd parked his rusting little Mini between a big grey Daimler and a black Bentley by the stable block.

He guessed the man silhouetted in the porch light was Magnus, though his height, upright stance and broad shoulders hardly fitted the image of a seventy-year-old stroke victim. As Conrad got out of his car the man moved forward to greet him, and he noticed then that one leg dragged slightly.

'You must be Conrad? Welcome to Oaklands. I'm Magnus Osbourne. Come on in.'

Mel had spoken of this house so often that Conrad felt he'd been there before. But even so, the hall was grander than he'd imagined: no sagging settees or worn rugs like the country house hotels in Ireland. He took in the twinkling chandelier, the handprinted wallpaper and the glossy white paint and felt uncomfortably aware of his unprepossessing appearance and his cheap suit.

Through a half-open door he caught a glimpse of an elegant candle-lit dining room and heard the low rumble of voices and the clink of glasses. The bar was busy too, full of businessmen in lounge suits. Classical music played softly in the background.

'I thought it better to meet in my private sitting room,' Magnus said, leading Conrad towards a wide staircase before he could see anything more. 'The drawing room is a little public and some of my guests might wander in. Sir Miles has managed to get here, even at such short notice – he arrived about an hour ago.'

As Magnus ushered him into his masculine sitting room and the assembled company stood up to greet him, Conrad's nerve left him.

He thought he had prepared himself, but now he felt dwarfed and intimidated by such an impressive group. He wondered how he had the temerity to think he could break them down.

Helena, in a regal blue dress, dark hair waving over her shoulders, was even more devastating in the flesh than on screen, taller and more majestic than he'd expected. Mel's loving descriptions of Nick Osbourne hadn't quite prepared him for such physical perfection either. Just one glance at his height, sun-kissed blond hair and athletic body and he was back at school, gazing at the golden boys who had it all.

Then Sir Miles Hamilton: old and fat, but still so distinguished. He wore a formal dark suit, but beneath it a maroon silk waistcoat with a small gold motif. Baggy jowls, bright dark eyes embedded in flesh, balding head glistening under the light from a table lamp, but though he had to reach for a silver-topped cane to help himself out of the chair, his step toward Conrad was sprightly.

Magnus made the introductions and Conrad shook hands with all three of them. Then as Helena and Sir Miles returned to their seats and Nick went to a trolley to pour drinks, Magnus began to speak.

'Conrad has asked us to meet tonight because he has something to put to us. I know you are all as curious as I am, but first I'm quite sure you'd like to know how Mel is.' He looked back at Conrad. 'We have of course rung the hospital, but their reports have been disappointingly guarded.'

Conrad felt he ought to stand, but his legs were turning to jelly, so he took one of the two smaller armchairs.

'Physically she's recovering well,' he said, leaning forward in his chair, one hand on either knee. 'She has a very bad cut on her foot which has several stitches, but the rest of her injuries are superficial. Mentally, however, she is in a very low state. That's what prompted me to ask if I could speak to you all.'

Magnus took the last spare chair, while Nick passed around the drinks. He then joined Helena on the settee and looked to Conrad to continue.

'I feel a little awkward.' Conrad blushed with nerves, his heart thumping. 'I've known Mel such a short time and it may seem impertinent to you that I'm sticking my nose in her business.'

'The police said one of the first things she did when she was found was to ask the farmer to ring you,' Nick said. 'As far as I'm concerned that gives you the right to act on her behalf.'

Conrad was grateful for Nick's support; the man must be wondering if he was more than just her employer and friend.

'I told Magnus on the telephone today that Mel has confided in me totally,' he said, looking to the older man for reassurance. Magnus smiled encouragement. 'And Magnus in return gave me a frank report on the lengths he and Nick have gone to to try and find her in the last year. I was very tempted to tell Mel this tonight, but I resisted because it's my belief that until the entire truth can be handed to her, such news would only offer a strand of comfort, not a cure.'

He paused and looked at each one in turn, just as he once had with a class of boys.

Helena was nervously pleating her skirt with her fingers. Sir Miles looked uncomfortable, but this might have been due to old age and tiredness. Nick was leaning forward, his whole stance impatient for a revelation. Magnus alone sat back entirely relaxed.

'I'm not going to beat about the bush,' Conrad went on, hoping he could keep his nerve. 'Mel believes Edward killed her mother because of something Bonny knew and maybe threatened to disclose. Clearly Edward had reason to believe Bonny had passed on this information to Mel, which was why he attempted to kill her too. As it was Helena's newspaper interview which revealed where Mel was, she quite understandably believes Helena must be involved too.'