Crimson (43 page)

“You’ll have a “,“Ituge bruise … Is there anyone with you?” Clare shook her head.

“You shouldn’t drive, or ride a bicycle, after a wallop ftie that. I’ll take you home.” Clare mumbled with difficulty, “No, I’m okay. I’ll get a lift home after the demo. I’ve just moved into a cottage on ‘e edge of Warminster.”

He drove her back in a battered silver sports car.

To Clare, his milky warm smell was like that of a newborn baby. She sternly reminded herself that she wasn’t going to fall in love with the wrong man again just because she was sexually attracted to him, and she was never going to get married again. Having decided not to marry him, Clare directed her rescuer, David Arrowsmith, to Applebank Cottage.

In the kitchen, Kathy’s look of incredulous congratulation was followed by concern when she noticed Clare’s battered chin.

Abruptly Clare said to David, “Thank you for bringing me back. I’ll be perfectly fine now. Kathy will look after me.” Clare knew that women often made up their minds very quickly, and without enough information, about other people, particularly those who were physically attractive she had just seen Kathy do so. She also knew that, generally speaking, good, worthy men did not look flashy and glamorous, let alone theatrical; on the other hand, many rats were as good-looking as they were confident. Clare wouldn’t put it past Sam to use a rat to lay a trap for her. Like many divorcees, she now viewed the man she had married as a monster of depravity, as capable as Richard III of any dirty deed. Clare’s divorce petition would not be heard until July; she had been warned by her solicitor not to be seen alone with a man right now, or it might affect her petition and the custody of her son. She couldn’t afford to run any risks, and there was certainly something mysterious about David Arrowsmith, something she couldn’t identify for the moment: so she didn’t trust him.

The following morning, after breakfast, a bruised Clare cut a photograph of herself from the local newspaper; luckily, her face was totally obscured by the banner, which had wrapped itself around her like a winding sheet. She looked ig’on Egyptian murmny in boots, but it was a good -of her rescuer. She slipped the newspaper cutting the top drawer of her bedside chest, then took the opportunity to go for a walk by herself, without Josh. Once past her garden, Clare turned off the narrow lane Ijt,j a path hedged high with hawthorn, which led up the gondy rising hill behind the cottage to the wood. The wood was disturbingly still and silent; the twisted vunks and naked branches of the trees looked lonely and w1om. Not a leaf moved, except for the dead leaves that chtre trod on. When she stepped on a stick and snapped it, sudden noise caused a rook to rise from its nest with a guarded beating of wings.

She looked up at the rook’s nest and the grey sky beyond, then bent to pick a clump of white winter aconites to take home to Josh. As she did so, a rusty trap sprang shut, tlamping her left foot. Clare yelled in pain as she fell on scratchy, frosted back en Luckily, she was wearing tough boots, so the trap not torn her leg. She felt little pain unless she moved, wbkh she tried not to do as she struggled to pull apart the wrated jaws of the trap. It was attached to a rusty chain in the bracken. Clare could see more rusty chain round the slender, peeling, silver trunk of a nearby birch w. She would only be able to move within the circumfereiw, of that tree. She was truly trapped. ‘ll”I’ll, The air didn’t feel sharply cold enough for snow, and I-Clare hoped it wouldn’t rain; she peered upward at the -vbi ll grey sky.

-She wondered how long it would be before Kathy grew alarmed. If Clare wasn’t home and hadn’t telephoned by two o’clock or three at the latest she reckoned that “tathy might phone the police, who would surely find her before long.

Unfortunately, Clare lay off the path in a place where the ground dipped, so she could not be seen. With difficulty, she rolled her body into a more comfortable position, pulled up the collar of her cherry wool, coat, twisted her scarf around her head, and heaped bracken to form a pillow; with her head upon it, she stared crossly at the now leaden sky overhead. She pushed her hands deeper in her pockets and wished she had worn heavier gloves. She wondered if fate had just punished her for picking wild flowers.

Just before midday, Clare heard a noise behind her. Abruptly she sat up, winced at the pain this produced, then listened as the sound grew nearer: somebody was whistling “Lillibullero” with warbles and elaborate trills, off-key, but with clear enjoyment.

Clare yelled, “Help!” several times, then stopped. She could hear nothing. Again she yelled.

This time a man’s voice shouted, “Keep calling.” Eventually Clare heard a distant crackle. As it grew louder, she twisted around to face the sound.

“Oh!” she said.

“It’s you!”

“And vice versa,” said David Arrowsmith as he scrambled towards her.

He towered above Clare, his hands tucked in the front pockets of the suede jacket.

“I called to see how you were. Your nanny told me you’d gone for a walk. She saw you come up here.” He squatted beside her.

“Hey, not much of a country girl, are you?” He examined the trap.

“As a matter of fact, I am,” Clare said.

“We used to live near here. But as this is hunting country, I didn’t expect a trap in the woods. And Kathy isn’t my nanny. I can’t afford a nanny. She’s been staying with us over the Christmas holiday.” David tried without success to release Clare. Eventually he said, “This is a very old, heavy trap, and I don’t think I can force the thing apart. I’d better phone the police they’ll know who owns this wood, and get him to free you.

my gloves, and try not to get into any more trouble Jim gone.” He added ruefully, “I know I should tear tMt. trap apart with my bare hands, but I’m not as tough as I look.”

An hour later, the trap was pried apart by two mech an im from the local garage using steel bars. Teethchattering, Clare limped back to Applebank Cottage with David, Ulling herself not to make a fuss.

After she had a hot rum toddy in a steaming, warm tub glid showed Josh the trap marks on her leg, they all sat around the wooden kitchen table to eat vegetable soup, local Stilton cheese, and a salad of walnuts and chicory, followed by gingerbread that Clare had made with Mrs. Gooden’s special recipe.

Then Josh had his nap and Kathy took Clare’s bicycle to explore the country.

“You must be an Escoffier when you’re in full possession of your faculties,” David said.

“May I have another slice of that delicious gingerbread?” “It’s a bit overdone. I’ve only just started to cook in a convection oven,” Clare said apologetically.

“And it’s a bit difficult to manage with no fridge just that metal meat safe hanging outside the back door. When I get a job, I’ll act a fridge.” David, who had been briefly told about the flight from Sam, joked, “You might try selling gingerbread. I’d be your first customer.” Clare laughed.

“What do you do for a living?”

“I’m an architect. I work in Bath. Mainly house renovations. I add an extension, convert a barn, chop off a couple of wings to make a house a manageable size that sort of work. It’s always a headache, but you have to take anything you can get when you’re newly qualified.”

“I thought of converting the attic,” Clare said.

“Making a room for Josh to sleep and play in, with bunks for visiting

children. This house has only two bedrooms, which isn’t ideal., have a look at the attic, if you like.”

“Well … I can’t afford anything yet.”

“But you might like to know what’s possible, and how much it would cost?”

“Very much.” In the attic, David said thoughtfully, “As there’s a window, you only need to lead the electrical supply upstairs, lay a soundproof floor covering cork and insulate the roof.” “It’ll have to wait until I have some money.”

After Josh had gone to bed, the three adults spent the evening roasting chestnuts before the living-room fire.

At ten o’clock, David said, “I must go. But I’ll be back.” At the front door, he kissed Clare on the tip of her nose, then left.

SATURDAY, 31 DECEMBER 1966 Just after Kathy left for London, David arrived with a bottle of champagne to spend the day and celebrate New Year’s Eve. Clare wondered suspiciously why this sensationally good-looking man seemed not to have any New Year’s plans.

At lunch, Josh misbehaved. He pushed his food off the table and refused to eat even the cheesecake.

Clare was mortified. She had so hoped that Josh would like David.

“He’s tired,” she apologized, and took Josh off for his afternoon nap. He kicked and screamed, furious that his mother’s attention was being distracted from himself.

Darkness fell early, and it started to snow. After tea, Clare Pulled the sitting-room curtains together but didn’t switch on the light: she preferred to watch the firelight flick ws over the walls. In the embers of the fire, David n roasted chestnuts for the now sunny-tempered Josh, 4wtil his bedtime.

When Clare returned from putting Josh to bed, David.”,.wordlessly took her in his arms; they sat on the floor, leaning again st the broken-backed armchair, and necked ac teenagers.

As David’s nose nuzzled the back of her neck, Clare had Xn overwhelming need to be even closer to him. She felt as if she were lying naked on a hot rock, stretching languorously towards the sun.

, As the light of the friendly flames played over their Ices, Clare felt she was in a dream world where time was uS pended She felt a physical longing too strong to resist; she breathed fast and grew a bit light-headed; she could smell the soft, milky smell of David’s body and the warm wool odour of his sweater; she felt a frenzied yearning.

At midnight, David kissed her gently and left shortly afterwards, saying he hoped that snow hadn’t blocked the ibads.

Disappointed, Clare wondered what had gone wrong. After all, he needn’t have visited her. Why hadn’t he wanted to stay Of course, she wouldn’t have let him.

WEDNESDAY, 11 JANUARY 1967

“What’s so urgent and private that you couldn’t discuss it over the telephone?” In his study, Adam, wearing a dinner jacket, poured whisky into a cut-glass tumbler and confronted his brother.

Mike wore black leather biking trousers and a heavy seaman’s turtleneck sweater. He said, “I’ve now been waiting two bloody years for my commission on the Framwell deal.”

Mike’s agreed commission was two per cent of the purchase price of any property that Miranda acquired, either directly or indirectly, through him. The commission had been correctly paid on all the relevant purchases except that of Framwells the chain of tobacconist shops which was easily the biggest deal Mike had handled.

“You’ll get your money,” Adam said.

“But Framwells was a self-financing deal. Frankly, the interest we’ve had to pay on the loan is very high.”

“Fuck that. It isn’t my problem.”

“With the greatest respect” Mike knew this phrase meant Adam was annoyed ‘it is your problem, Mike, because no date of payment for commission was written into your contract. Legally, I could keep you waiting a hundred years for the money.”

“We didn’t have a contract. You wrote the arrangement on a sheet of paper over dinner, and we both signed it. Here it is!” Mike pulled a paper from his pocket and looked at it. No period of payment was mentioned.

“If you’re going to be difficult,” Adam said, “I suggest that either you wait for a hundred years or agree to reduce the amount payable, by half.” Mike looked at Adam in astonishment.

“You’re my brother, you bastard! Brothers aren’t supposed to fuck each other over! You use me when it suits you, you get me to fix your dirty work” “If you didn’t do it, there are plenty of others who would.”

“You ruthless, evil bastard.” Mike, furious, could see that Adam clearly felt he had nothing to fear from his little brother. Adam stopped now to light a cigarette, contemptuously confident of his ability to manoeuvre and control.

“Kindly remember that I provide the legal know-how to protect you and your friends,” Adam said calmly.

“I’ll peak to Miranda about your payment. I’ll see if I can 4wry it.”

“I’ll damn well speak to Miranda myself,” Mike growled.

Adam looked up sharply from his cigarette.

“No. Don’t do that. It isn’t necessary!”

Mike suddenly realized what had happened.

“Miranda thinks she settled this bill months ago, doesn’t she?” he yelled.

“What did you do? Forge my name on the back of the cheque and endorse it to yourselff Mike saw a fleeting guilty look in Adam’s eyes before his lids were lowered and his attention seemingly focused again on his gold lighter.

“No doubt you told yourself that you were only borrowing my money to pay your bloody gambling debts, but I call that theft!” Mike thundered.

Coolly Adam ground out his cigarette on the hearth. Adam’s apparent lack of concern enraged Mike, as hurt by his brother’s treachery as he was by the theft. He wanted to hurt Adam. He wanted to feel his fist bruise flesh, smash bone, draw blood.

His fist shot out. Adam stumbled backward, tripped over the steel fireplace screen, then lost his balance and crashed to the floor. As Adam fell, Mike heard the sound of his head hitting the elaborate steel fender. It happened so fast that Mike was left with his arm still outstretched, towards the dinner jacketed body of his brother.

Immediately contrite, Mike crouched by Adam and lifted his head: it lolled sideways. Mike’s face was very pale.

IChrist, thought Mike, I can’t have killed him, not just with one lousy punch … could I? He knew that only a very good fighter a much better fighter than he was could knock a man unconscious with one punch to the

jaw. “Hastily Mike pulled at Adam, until he lay full length on the rug. He tore Adam’s tie loose, undid his shirt and collar, and stuck his finger in Adam’s mouth to check that his tongue was free. He grabbed the telephone and dialled 999. He knew that the housekeeper wasn’t in, because Adam had opened the front door.

After the fourth ring, the emergency operator answered: “Police, fire, or ambulance?” “Ambulance! Fast!” After giving full address details, Mike ran to the kitchen for water and a towel. How could he have hit his brother, the only person in the world with whom he felt fully relaxed, happy, and at home?