Devil in Disguise (51 page)

In accordance with Simon’s
instructions, Molly returned home and pretended she was willing to go along
with Lilia’s plans: yes, she surrendered. She had no choice. She would go on
Boxing Day as suggested and, no, she would not make a fuss. All she wanted was
to spend a happy last Christmas with everyone.

‘I’m so
glad you’ve seen sense,’ Lilia said. ‘Such a bright girl. There is no need for
all this to end nastily, after all.’

It was
torture for Molly, as Lilia began to take over more and more of her life. She
was no longer allowed to get the boys up or put them to bed, and she had to
pretend she had little interest in them. Before and after dinner, she had to
leave Lilia and Rupert alone, shut out of their discussions.

It was
difficult to remain hopeful. Rupert grew colder and colder as, under Lilia’s
instructions, Molly stopped communicating with him and the boys. She could see
her husband was hurt by her growing remoteness and the way she no longer seemed
to care for her children, but she didn’t dare disobey her orders. It pained her
deeply to think what must be going on in his head and what he must think of
her. Was he already contemplating divorce? Was his love for her dying as a
result of Lilia’s malevolent machinations? Sometimes, when they were alone at
night, she longed to confide in him and explain the real reasons for her
behaviour but she couldn’t risk it. One false move and she might lose
everything. She had to hold firm to her trust in Simon.

After a
week, Rupert moved to the spare room anyway, and then her chance was gone.

As
Christmas approached, she felt constantly sick and unbearably miserable. The
gaily decorated tree, the tinsel and lights seemed to mock her. The boys’
growing excitement as they opened the doors of their Advent calendars and
talked about what they hoped Father Christmas would bring caused her intense
pain. The very sight of Lilia sent prickles of fear all over her.

She
heard almost nothing from Simon. They had decided it was too dangerous to be in
constant contact, in case Lilia overheard them or checked Molly’s mobile. She
began to panic in case he couldn’t think of a way out of her dilemma. What if
he’d decided he didn’t want to help her after all? Perhaps he’d had a relapse
and was now unconscious in hospital, unable to come to her aid.

Then
she had a text message:

Hold firm, dear heart. I have the

solution. I’m coming Xmas Eve and will

tell all. Keep mum until I get there.

Delete this message at once.

Christmas
Eve came at last. The children were overexcited that night and took some time
to settle. It was agonising for Molly, not being allowed to share in bathtime
and hanging the stockings, but Lilia had forbidden it. She loitered on the
landing where she could hear Lilia’s voice coming from her sons’ room, reading
them a story called
Sharing a Shell
by Julia Donaldson. Then she heard
the front-door knocker slamming against the old oak surface and hurried down to
answer it.

Simon
stood on the doorstep, wrapped up against the winter chill. He smiled at her.
‘Happy Christmas, Molly, my darling. Santa’s here.’

‘Oh,
thank goodness. Quick!’ hissed Molly, throwing an anxious glance up the stairs.
‘She’s reading a story to the boys. We’ve got a few minutes to ourselves.’

She led
Simon into the lounge, where he sank down into a chair, clearly exhausted by
his journey. ‘Well?’ she said, trying not to appear as nervous and tense as she
felt. ‘Is everything all right? What’s your plan?’

Simon
smiled happily. ‘Don’t you worry about a thing. Remember you told me about how,
when you were living at Kit-Kat Cottage, the husband, Joey, told you to go away.
It was obvious to me that that was a warning. You were determined to go, and
told Lilia so. When you said he’d died from heart failure
that very same
night,
I knew it was no coincidence. You mentioned dog hairs in the poor
man’s mouth… How on earth had those got there? So, back in Northampton, I
tracked down a copy of the death certificate, and from that the name of the
doctor who’d signed it. He remembered that night, because the inordinate amount
of dog hair around the body had struck him as odd. The rules of his profession
prevented him from discussing the specifics of the case, so when I put it to
him, hypothetically, that a dog could have been coaxed to lie on the old man
and suffocate him, he admitted it was possible. Lilia had a dog, didn’t she?’

‘Yes,
yes — Heathcliff. She adored him and he did anything she said.’ Molly looked
astonished. ‘Lilia killed Joey?’

Simon
nodded. ‘To keep you at the bungalow. If I take my allegations to the police,
they’ll be forced to investigate.’

‘Oh,
heavens!’ cried Molly, anguished. ‘That explains everything! Of course, I
should have guessed… Oh, poor Joey. He was such a dear, helpless soul. Now
I’ve got his death on my conscience too.’ Molly sat down and covered her face
with her hands.

‘It’s
not your fault, Molls. She’s the wicked one, not you. What happened to the man
who attacked me was an accident, you know that. And Joey’s death was not in
vain — it’s just what I need to send her on her way. What are the plans for
tonight?’

‘Dinner,
then Midnight Mass. I’m not supposed to be going —just Lilia and Rupert. My
orders are to prepare port and mince pies and go to bed.’

‘Hmm,
not quite what I’d hoped.’ Simon looked thoughtful. ‘We need to find a reason
for Rupert to stay here. Then I’ll take Lilia on my own and confront her with
her crimes. I’ll offer to keep quiet in return for the mobile phone, then tell
her to sling her hook. Premeditated murder of an innocent disabled man in her
care is far worse than your crime of trying to save me from a vicious hooligan.
She’ll see my point, I think.’

Molly
jumped up, her eyes shining. ‘Oh, Simon, do you honestly think so? Will you
really be able to get rid of her?’

‘Trust
me,’ declared Simon. ‘She’ll be gone by morning, I promise. We’ll be able to
enjoy Christmas without her rancid presence. Leave it to me. Play your part
well, but rest assured that you will not be leaving this house. Trust me to do
the right and proper thing. Know that I love you.’

‘I love
you, too, Simon.’ Molly heard footsteps descending the stairs. ‘That’s her.
Storytime’s finished. Look casual.’

Lilia greeted Simon with
cool surprise. She frowned as she said ‘I didn’t know you were joining us for
the festive season.’

‘No one
did,’ answered Simon, cheerily. ‘I’ve just dropped in. I hope that’s all right.
It’s important to be with your loved ones at Christmas, isn’t it?’

‘You’re
very welcome,’ Rupert said hospitably, while Molly, pale and nervous, tried to
act normally.

They
gathered to drink mulled wine in the lounge before dinner. Lilia, looking
wonderful in dark-green satin with delicate emerald earrings that glittered
against her hennaed hair, sat regally on a stool by the fire. She sipped her
drink, looked into the flames and smiled at her private thoughts.

As they
all sat down for dinner, Molly was relieved to see that Simon and Lilia seemed
to be getting on rather well, sparring together, laughing at each other’s catty
jokes and swapping companionable glances every now and then. Lilia seemed
completely at ease, and only criticised the roast beef once, lamenting the
absence of a bloody centre. ‘You’ve overcooked it, Molly. Never mind,’ she said
breezily. ‘There’s a lot to be said for a crusty exterior, don’t you think,
Simon?’

‘You
would know,’ replied Simon, and the pair of them laughed drily.

Can
this really be the last time we’ll have dinner together? wondered Molly,
watching her old mentor through the candlelight. It’s hard to imagine my life
without Lilia in it. But she must go. It’s her or me.

She
would trust in Simon.

‘You
have certainly made good progress since I last saw you,’ Lilia was saying to
Simon. ‘I shall pray for your swift recovery at Mass tonight. Will you be
coming?’

‘Oh,
yes,’ said Simon. ‘I come alive at midnight. I wouldn’t miss it for anything. I
love a Midnight Mass.’

‘The
Catholic Mass is at eleven thirty in Bilsington.’ She turned to Rupert. ‘I
suppose we should be setting off soon. Molly, I believe, will stay at home.’

Molly
nodded meekly, while Rupert gave her a cold look and said nothing.

After
Molly had cleared the plates, the other three put on their coats and got ready
to set out into the night. As they stood in the hallway, Molly said suddenly,
‘Rupert, I don’t feel at all well. I’ve had champagne, port, mulled wine,
brandy and then three glasses of Merlot. Would you mind staying with me? I’m
worried that if I’m ill and the children wake up, I won’t be able to look after
them.’

Rupert
looked cross. ‘Really, Molly, we’re just about to leave …’

‘I
honestly don’t feel well.’ She stared at him with pleading eyes.

‘But
I’m going to drive us in the Land Rover—’

‘Don’t
worry,’ said Simon, piping up. ‘You stay here with Molly. I can drive the Land
Rover — that is, if you don’t mind and your insurance policy covers it.’

Lilia
frowned at Molly, a flicker of suspicion crossing her face.

Rupert
thought for a moment. ‘Yes, that’s fine. It would be very kind of you, Simon.
Sorry to put you to all this bother.’

Lilia
watched Rupert hand Simon the car keys and relaxed a little.

‘Shall
we?’ Simon offered her his arm.

She
hesitated for a fraction of a second, then took it. ‘Thank you, Simon.’

Simon
turned to Molly. ‘I’m sure you’ll feel better very soon. My Christmas present
to you is very special.’

‘As are
you,’ said Molly, in a weak voice, as Simon and Lilia went outside. She closed
the door behind them, her mind reeling. Now it was a question of waiting.
Whatever Simon had in mind, she hoped he did it quickly. She wasn’t sure she
could bear the suspense. She turned to look for Rupert, but he was padding
upstairs already.

‘Night,’
he said, with all the expression of a moody teenager.

In a moleskin coat, with
matching hat, black leather gloves and a sensible black handbag, Lilia stood on
the driveway, a picture of gracious elegance. Simon reversed the black Land
Rover, complete with privacy windows and a fridge, from the car port and parked
it in front of her.

As she
made her way to the passenger door, he produced a water bottle from his coat
pocket and took three healthy swigs. ‘Mmm,’ he said to himself, as he felt the
vague stirrings of something familiar flapping, like a moth, inside him. He
waited for Lilia to get in, but it became apparent that she was waiting for her
chauffeur to open the door for her. He went round, opened the door and offered
a hand, which she declined, stepping nimbly into the luxury interior unaided.

Back in
the driver’s seat, he said, ‘All set?’

‘You’re
most kind,’ said Lilia, resting her handbag on her knees and patting the brim
of her hat. ‘Are you a regular churchgoer?’

‘Not
even my bowel movements are regular any more, unfortunately,’ replied Simon. He
drove the Land Rover smoothly on to the main road.

‘Turn
left here and follow the signs.’

I’ll
wait until after the service before I get down to business, he decided.
Attending church first seemed poetic and correct, so he followed Lilia’s
directions and a short while later they arrived at Bilsington. The
twelfth-century church was pretty but crowded. They managed to get a seat, and
sat in silence for a few minutes, inhaling the smells of damp and incense and
listening to the sad, tuneless organ trying its best to be jolly and festive.

‘I must
light a candle for Molly,’ whispered Lilia. She got up, stepped out of the pew
and made her way to the back of the church. She fished in her handbag for some
coins, popped them into the metal money-box, lit a night-light and put it with
the many others already flickering on the three-tiered candelabra. She stood in
thoughtful silence for a moment, crossed herself and nodded, her prayer
complete. Simon Was behind her, waiting patiently for her to finish. He
purchased two night-lights, lit them and placed them next to Molly’s candle.
Lilia looked at him inquisitively.