Devil in Disguise (49 page)

Molly
laughed. Was she teasing? It was too absurd. ‘Don’t be silly. You don’t have my
voice for one thing.’

Lilia
spun round to face her, livid. ‘How rude! Your cracked vintage voice is
indistinguishable from mine. I have already done several telephone interviews
on your behalf. The Canadians can’t wait to see me.’

‘You’re
mad,’ said Molly. ‘You can’t be me!’

‘Why
not?’ answered Lilia. ‘You have become
me,
after all. Fair exchange is
no robbery.’

‘Let me
get this clear. You think you’re going to appear on stage as me in Canada and
no one will notice the difference?’

‘I did
the same thing with Anne Murray in the seventies.’

‘You’re
a raving lunatic,’ Molly said again. As she said it, she realised it was true.
She’d always known Lilia was eccentric and, over the years, she’d learnt to
take her stories with a pinch of salt, but suddenly she knew for certain that
the old woman must actually believe her own lies.

‘It
happens in showbusiness all the time. Tracy Barlow in
Coronation Street
—
they had a different actress every other week. And there have been at least five
Tony Blackburns to my knowledge.’

Molly
wrapped her fingers round the warm mug of tea, feeling suddenly vulnerable in
her light nightdress. ‘What is it you plan to do, Lilia?’

Lilia
stalked to the window and stared out over the garden. It was the dead of winter
— the lawn was a dull grey and the geraniums that had flourished until a few
weeks ago were now blackened entrails twisting, agonised, down the side of
their pots. The trees were bare and frozen against the sky. She turned back to
Molly. ‘You had to know eventually, my dear. And the time is now. I have a
feeling that you’re about to ask me to leave your house and your family. Well,
I have a little surprise for you. The one who is going to leave is
you.’

Molly
felt cold and shivery. ‘Don’t be silly,’ she managed to whisper, through
trembling lips.

‘You
see, I won’t leave. I refuse to,’ said Lilia, defiant and proud. ‘I have made a
life for myself here now. Here, in this house, with Rupert and Leo and Bertie.’

‘You
don’t mention me. Am I not in the picture?’

‘Not
for much longer.’ Lilia smiled amicably. ‘Please don’t think I’m not grateful.
I couldn’t have done it without you. You have been the host, the chariot that
has wheeled me to my rightful place in life. I give you my grateful thanks, but
you may go now.’

‘I
heard what you said to Rupert last night,’ countered Molly. ‘That I don’t love
him, that I’m a heartless money-grabber who’s going to move on to the next man
very soon, that I’m a bad mother.’

‘I was
simply paving the way for your departure. The last thing I want is him being
all heartbroken and trying to get you back.’

‘So,
you think that not only are you going to step into my career, you’re somehow
going to replace me in my own home? Take over my husband and children?’

‘We
will have to change the lighting, obviously. I’m not unaware of the unseemly
age gap, and I can’t expect Rupert to get used to it immediately.’

Molly’s
mouth dropped open and a cold chill swept over her. ‘You can’t do such a
thing!’

‘Of
course I can. There’s a very well-stocked lighting shop in Canterbury. I’m just
waiting for the January sales.’

Molly
began to laugh in a high-pitched tone, with an edge of hysteria. It was utterly
absurd. Lilia must be completely deluded. ‘I’m sorry, Lilia, but we need to get
you some help. You’re a sick woman.’

Lilia’s
expression changed. It became hard and determined. ‘No. I have been preparing
for this day for eight years. Everything is now coming to fruition. I will not
let you stop me.’

‘Except
for one thing: I am not going to disappear into thin air.’ Molly set her jaw.
She was going to fight every inch of the way. Once, she had submitted to Lilia,
done everything she wanted, subsumed her identity to realise the old woman’s
dreams. Not now.

‘I was
thinking about that,’ said Lilia, as if this were a happy reminder. ‘It would
not be healthy for the children if you did. Visitation rights will be arranged.
You will not be completely exiled. You will be their mother in the same way you
are stepmother to Rupert’s other son — a distant, benign presence who dutifully
sends cards and presents at Christmas and birthdays.’

‘And
where am I to go?’

‘Obviously
I have considered this. It occurred to me that Kit-Kat Cottage is empty. I
never did rent it. You may go and live there.’

‘A home
full of such lovely memories,’ said Molly, her voice dripping with scorn.

‘We can
sort out the terms of your rent once you are settled in. It is a property of
considerable historic interest so we are not talking peppercorn. I expect the
garden has become horribly overgrown, so sorting that out will obviously occupy
you for a good few weeks. I wonder if my bird-bath is still standing.’

‘You
ramble on for as long as you want,’ said Molly. ‘When Rupert comes back we
shall see about getting you some help.’

Suddenly
Lilia raised her voice. ‘I want you to leave this house. Within the week.’
There was a pause as the two women studied each other.

‘I will
not,’ said Molly. ‘There is nothing you can say, no threat you can make, that
will induce me to leave.’

‘What
about the truth?’ asked Lilia, jutting out her chin bullishly.

‘What
about it?’

‘I have
an ace in my hand,’ said Lilia. ‘I know something that will have you walking
out of that door as swiftly and meekly as a whipped dog.’

‘What?’
demanded Molly. ‘Bring it on.’

‘The
secret. The secret about what happened that night, years ago, down by the
river. You and Simon.’

Molly
gasped. Her hands flew to her mouth. She tried to scream but no sound came out.

Lilia
smiled with satisfaction. ‘Yes. That’s right. You see, I know all about it.’

‘Wh-who
told you?’ stammered Molly.

‘You
did, my dear.’

‘No!’
Molly managed a quiet, terrified scream this time, and then she ran out of the
kitchen, away from Lilia, as fast as she could, towards the safety of her
bedroom. But Lilia came after her, slow but steady, like a yeti, bellowing at
the top of her voice as she went.

‘So
much for a devoted wife and mother! I know every detail of your sordid secret.
You told me when you were delirious that first night at Kit-Kat Cottage. You’re
a murderess! A callous killer!’

‘No,
no!’ cried Molly, as she ran up the stairs. ‘I won’t listen, I won’t!’

But
Lilia’s words followed her, impossible to shut out.

‘Your
words were quite disjointed that night. It took all my powers of deduction to
piece things together. Then I did a little research to see if such an
outlandish tale could be true. Local news archives, a bit of research. And,
yes, your story hung together very well.’

Molly
raced along the landing to her bedroom and ran inside, slamming the door. She
turned the key in the lock and leant against it, sobbing with fear and horror.
Did Lilia really know about that terrible night? She had never told another
soul! She had erased it from her memory, locked it far away inside her mind.
The awful voice kept droning on, getting closer and closer, spilling out the
details she’d tried so hard to forget.

‘Murder.
A boy found with his head caved in floating in the Thames. March 1996.
Remember? That thug had lured your best friend Simon under a bridge with the
promise of sexual congress while you sat on a bench, waiting impatiently. You
heard a scuffle and ran to the rescue.’

Lilia
had reached the bedroom door now and her voice came through it clearly. Molly
covered her eyes and sank to the floor.

‘He was
sitting astride Simon, beating him to a pulp. He had robbed him and stolen his
St Christopher medal and now he was enjoying himself. Beating the life out of
the dirty, pretty queer boy. Gay-bashing. Dear, fragile Simon was already
unconscious. He knew nothing of what happened next.’

‘Please,
stop,’ moaned Molly.

‘According
to the newspaper archive reports, which I have taken the trouble to read, the
deceased was called James Bellwood, from Sheffield. He was twenty-one years of
age and had come to London that day to watch the football. Open the door,
Molly.’

‘Enough,
Lilia, I can’t bear it!’ Molly was sobbing now.

‘His
girlfriend was eight months pregnant at the time of his death. Open it!’

‘He was
trying to kill Simon,’ Molly managed to say. ‘He had his hands round his
throat!’ She picked herself up, beaten. She turned the key and opened the door.
Lilia came in, a half-smile on her face. She patted Molly’s arm with something
like sympathy.

‘I
expect he did. And who could blame him? He was a simple northern lad on his
first trip to London and had somehow become separated from his friends. Being
propositioned by a grinning queen was outside his field of experience.’

‘It was
dark under the bridge. All I could see was this man on top of Simon. I didn’t
even have time to think. I picked up the first thing I could see to stop him.’

‘A
brick?’

‘Yes,
that’s right.’ Molly was talking softly now through her tears, as if
remembering that terrible evening for the first time. Lilia helped her into the
chair by her dressing-table. ‘I panicked —he was killing Simon and he wouldn’t
let go even though I was screaming at him. So I picked up a brick and hit him
as hard as I could, to make him stop, not to hurt him. Then blood poured out of
his head and he groaned and let go of Simon. He got up and I thought he was
going to attack me, but he seemed dazed, as if he couldn’t see straight. He
staggered to the river edge and the next moment, he’d fallen in — just vanished
into the water as if he’d never been there at all. I didn’t mean to …’ She
couldn’t finish the sentence.

‘So
Simon has no idea of the brave, foolish thing you did to save him?’

‘No. By
the time he regained consciousness the boy had sunk into the water. I got him
to his feet and away from there as quickly as I could.’

‘So.
The secret is out now,’ said Lilia, with a subdued air of triumph.

‘And I
told you all this?’

‘You
did. You unburdened yourself while in a vulnerable state. The police suspected
a local gang of the murder. Turf warfare. But it was you — sweet, theatrical
Molly. Who’d have thought you were capable of such a vicious, bloodthirsty
murder?’

‘And
you’ll tell all of this if I don’t comply with your wishes, is that right?’

‘Yes.’

‘But
how will you prove it? The police investigation would have gone cold long ago.’

Lilia
shrugged. ‘I have two things in my favour. First, when James Bellwood was
pulled from the river, he still had Simon’s St Christopher in his pocket. The
one you bought him for Christmas and engraved with his initials. An unfortunate
detail, but enough to sway the case, should it come to court, in favour of the
prosecution when records show that Simon attended hospital the day after. The
second is the recording of your confession I’ve just made on my new mobile
phone.’ Smiling, she held out a square, luminous iPhone. ‘In fact, I have
filmed the whole thing. Your tragic confession could be on YouTube in minutes,
if I so desire.’

There
was a long pause while Molly stared at the tiny lens on the phone. She could
see now that she was trapped. ‘What do you want me to do?’ she asked, in a
small voice.

Lilia
smiled and turned off the phone. ‘Good girl. Follow my instructions and you
will retain your liberty and see your sons again. Any funny business and you’ll
be on the bottom bunk below Rosemary West. Understood?’

‘Yes,’
said Molly, hopelessly.

‘Call
me a sentimental old fool, but I have decided that I wish you to have a final
Christmas with your family. So you have two more weeks with your family
culminating in Christmas Day — a joyous occasion, though poignant for those of
us in the know. On Boxing Day, you have breakfast as normal, then announce that
you are going to pop out in the car to deliver a festive greeting to some
nearby friends. In fact you go to Kit-Kat Cottage and begin your new life as an
eccentric recluse.’

‘Why?’
she asked. ‘Why are you doing this?’

‘To
survive,’ said Lilia, simply. ‘Jungle law, you understand. I want your life —
after all, I’ve worked hard enough to get it. And for that to happen, you have
to go.’

‘You
can’t expect Rupert to believe all this,’ said Molly, incredulous. ‘He knows a
vindictive, evil harridan when he sees one. Suppose I tell him what you’re
planning?’

‘He’ll
never believe you. I’ve already done the groundwork so he sees me as a kindly
adviser and regards you as unreliable, unstable and selfish. He’ll soon realise
he’s better off without you. Anyway, any hint of the truth to another soul and
this phone goes straight to Scotland Yard. Will your darling husband feel the
same way about you when he learns you’re a murderess? Will he really want to
bring his sons to prison to visit their mother? I don’t think you should risk
it, my dear. Your options are plain. Do as I say and see your children. Disobey
and lose them for ever. It’s make-your-mind-up time.’