Full Circle (29 page)

‘Where else could he have got to? The woods, do you think? I can't believe it. Dad. Dad, of all people. Nothing ever threw him off balance, he was – oh, hell, it's not fair. You can't understand – you never knew him before he started to go downhill.' He knew he ought not to have let himself talk about his father; the only way to accept the change in him was to take each day as it came, not look forward and not look back. So without another word he left Bella and instead of going down the track to the road, turned left at their gate and made to follow where it continued towards the wood. Then, after two or three steps he turned and called to Bella, ‘Are you coming with me? It might be a good idea.'

Bella closed her eyes as she shook her head and called, ‘No, I have to get some food going,' but closing her eyes didn't shut out the image of Harold wanting them to help look for the ball and Ali lying dead. She turned away and went into the house.

Harold hadn't been aware that Leo had looked down on him sitting with his eyes closed in the deckchair. In fact, he had been aware of only one thing, his plans clear cut in his muddled mind. Fate had played into his hands and with Bella out and Leo shut away in his workroom, he was a free man.

With the car safely put away Louisa automatically closed and locked the garage door then shut the double gate. She heard the clock from the church at the far end of the village chime and strike six, and wondered whether Leo, not Bella, would come after supper. What an odd situation it was that she and Bella, two people so different, should really care about each other even though Bella knew Leo was unfaithful to her and Louisa herself stole the love that he should have given his wife. Or did Bella reject him? She had adored him in the beginning, so how was it he turned to another woman to satisfy him? No one seeing Louisa as she walked towards the house, opening her handbag to take out the key, would have suspected her thoughts were anywhere except on what she did. But the truth was she had a mental picture of how the evening would be if he came. Please make him come, make him need me as much as I need him. She turned the key in the lock of the front door and stepped into the hall. The house felt still and empty and, for a moment, she was certain that this was how it would remain, with her waiting alone in the silence. Giving herself a mental shake, she told herself that she would use the evening wisely; she would start on the work she had collected the previous day from an engineering firm. As if to back up her determination, she went into her workroom, not because she meant to start on it straight away but simply to bring her mind back from where it wanted to stray. That's when she heard a movement behind her that stopped her in her tracks, shock and instant terror driving everything else from her mind.

‘Didn't know I was waiting for you, did you? Now I've got you.'

She knew the voice, but there was something about it that made her more frightened that she would have believed possible. Harold Carter was mentally deranged and, more than that, he was strong. But he was a poor, broken man, not an evil one; that's what she had to keep in mind as she faced him. She must keep calm and talk to him in a friendly manner. She even imagined herself lying to him that she was just going to walk up to the farm, so they could go together. All that flashed through her mind in seconds for, although he often came to The Retreat with Bella, she knew from his tone that this was no friendly visit. Something must have happened to trigger memories that upset him. As she turned round to face him he was coming towards her, his mouth open as he gasped for breath as if he'd been running which, of course, she knew he hadn't. Somehow he had got into the house and been lying in wait. She made a supreme effort to bring him back from wherever his troubled mind had taken him.

‘No, you usually just come with Bella, but it's nice to see you. Would you like a cup of tea?'

In answer to her effort to give him a friendly welcome the muscles in his right cheek twitched out of control, the expression on his good-looking face being changed into an ugly and angry grimace. With clenched fists he beat the air, while even his feet wouldn't keep still as he seemed to be marching on one spot. Every part of him had lost control as he lurched towards her. She was strong and had seen what was coming, so she held him off with her hands on his shoulders.

‘You've got no place here. This is
her
house, hers and mine. How can I find her here if you're here? You drive her car; you pretend you're her. Well,
I
know you're not.' Try as she might to keep him away from her, he loomed closer until his face was only inches from hers. ‘You tempt Leo. Get him into your bed, do you? Was that where he was when Ali was lost? Gone, she has, gone.'

‘Stop it! Shut up, can't you. Get away from me!'

‘You get him here pleasuring you, pretending to be Bella's friend. Glad to get it from any man who'll give it to you, frightened you'll end up a dried-up old maid. We don't want you here, pretending to be my Violet.' As he shouted he dribbled, saliva running down his chin. ‘Well, it's too late now. You can burn in hell. You wore her clothes – I've seen you in them. You won't wear them any more.'

‘Get out!' Catching him off his guard, she pushed with all her might and he stumbled backwards across the room, hitting the door and just saving himself from falling to the ground. Giving a manic laugh he left her, closing the door behind him. She heard the key turn in the lock, but her feeling was relief and thankfulness that he'd gone. Next time Leo came she would tell him what had happened and surely then he would speak to the doctor about getting the crazy old man put in a home. She heard the front door slam and breathed a sigh of relief. He had gone. The fact that he'd locked the door didn't worry her; she was on the ground floor and could easily get out of the window. So she decided to work for an hour or so, for work must be the best way to silence the echo of his words. He was crazy; he wanted to accuse her simply because he hated to see her here in the house her aunt had left to her. Well, damn him, he needn't think he could frighten her away.

She set out her papers and, determined not to be thrown off course by his accusations, picked up her pen. He must have upset her more than she was prepared to admit, though, for she couldn't concentrate and went to open the window. Someone must have a bonfire – she could smell it and there was a hint of smoke in the air. Gazing down the long strip of well-manicured garden she thought back on what poor, confused Harold had said and, honest to the core, she admitted to herself that his comments had hit home. ‘Frightened you'd end a dried-up old maid' … ‘glad to get it from any man who'll give it to you.' No, that wasn't true – he was a wicked old man. All her thoughts had been focused on Leo; he was the man – the only man – she had wanted. Of course nothing had changed, she told herself. And yet she knew the truth was that nothing was as it had been before Ali was lost to them; then, they had thought just of the moment, caring for nothing more. Now, she knew she could see clearly. Another Road to Damascus moment, perhaps? And was it the same for Leo? Oh yes, Leo had changed even if he hadn't yet faced the truth.

The smell of smoke was getting stronger. It brought her thoughts back from their wanderings. Pushing the window wide open she leant out, stunned by the horror of what she saw. Instinct was her guide as first she grabbed her handbag and then climbed over the sill into the garden. Then reason came to the fore and she ran to the front of the house, groping in her handbag as she went. The telephone was in the sitting room, that's where she must go to send for help.

The fire was on the first floor, the smoke emanating from her bedroom. She remembered him telling her she would burn in hell. How could he have done this to the place where he and Violet had been so happy together? He was wrong; never had she tried to take anything that had been her aunt's. All this time while he had been coming to the house with Bella and Ali, had he been hating her and planning how he would get rid of her?

‘Operator,' she said as she picked up the receiver, ‘give me nine-nine-nine.'

‘Which service do you want, police, fire or ambulance?' came the businesslike reply.

‘Fire. Please be quick.'

Then Miss Harding, the ever practical, came to the fore and took the situation in hand. Thankful that the fire was in the upper storey and so far the ground floor was safe, she went back to her workroom and unlocked the door, then into her large briefcase crammed all the papers relating to outstanding work. Next came the bureau for papers that were more personal. Surprising herself, she added all of Violet's snapshots to the pile. It was as she closed the bureau that she became aware of a dull, roaring sound. The smell of smoke was strong and when she went out into the hall she could hardly see up the stairs for it. Fear was her first fierce but brief reaction; common sense told her that she was only yards from the front door and freedom. Without warning the realization of what was happening gripped her. Until that moment she had had thoughts of nothing except what had to be saved from destruction. Only then did it hit her what the fire meant to her. This was her home, the very first home she had actually possessed … it was a place filled with memories of Leo and her … it had been a house filled with happiness … even if the firemen were in time to contain the fire to the first floor nothing could ever be the same. Everything before she came here had faded into the mists of time; everything relevant to her life had been
here.
Leo, Bella and Ali, the transformation of the garden and her real and growing affection for Hamish and his sister, even the movement of the lace curtains opposite: all these had given meaning to her life. And there was something else, something that had given purpose to her days and pride in her success: her steadily growing business, one where she was subservient to no man.

Harold didn't go straight home when he left her. He started up the track until he reached the gate to the field behind The Retreat. It was padlocked, but climbing a five-bar gate proved no problem in his present elated state. Once in the field where through the summer peas had been grown, he half ran and half stumbled over the newly turned earth. This was the place for the best view, he decided. Chuckling excitedly, he rubbed his hands and beat a tattoo with his feet. Then instinct made him realize he would be seen from all directions standing in the middle of the field, so he hurried to the far side, took a surprisingly agile leap across a narrow point in the ditch and sheltered behind a tree at the edge of the wood. ‘Look at it burning, that'll teach her. Coming here and living in Violet's house, even wearing her clothes, driving around in her car. And, yes, looking like my Vi used to look. Well, if Vi can't have that house, then neither can anyone else. I did it! Locked her in, too. Don't like that, burning flesh. No, don't like that. I ought to have left it so that she could get out, just as long as she goes away. And that's what she'll do. She shouldn't be there, trying to take Violet's place. I'm glad to see it burn; now no one can live there. Little Bella, she's a good girl. But
that
one, looking like my precious one, and what is she but a harlot? I could see what she wanted; like a bitch on heat she was, ready to lie on her back for anyone. Well, I hope Leo had a good time with her. I bet a pound to a penny he could see as plain as I could what was up with her. Prim and proper as ever I saw, but hungry for a chance to sample the fleshpots. Gave it to her good and proper, did you, m'lad?' Then, just as his thoughts were racing forward with no conscious effort from him, he changed course at the sight of flames appearing from the roof of the burning house. ‘Look at that! That'll do it, Vi. We don't want her there in our house. Remember it, Vi? Remember every hour of it. It was ours, just ours.'

For all his wild ramblings, now that he was satisfied with his work he wanted to get right away from The Retreat. He wasn't in a fit enough state to know exactly why he shouldn't be found near the house, but the wood presented a safe haven. He'd pick his way through the overgrown brambles, ferns and fallen branches in an attempt to reach the more familiar part. So, not turning back to look again at the fire's progress, he stumbled on. Although in the open the light wasn't fading yet, in the wood it was getting dark already. Believing he was heading in the right direction, he moved on. Time lost its meaning, dusk deepened.

‘Dad! Dad!' Was he dreaming or could it be Leo calling him? ‘Can you hear me, Dad?'

Filling his lungs, he shouted, ‘Here! Over here.'

‘Just stand still. Stay where you are. I'm coming.'

It was only then that Harold realized just how frightened he was. As long as he walked he'd believed he was making his way home, whereas in truth he was going ever further into the wood. Now he had to stand still, that's what Leo had told him. But if he just stood here quietly with no light to guide the boy, how could they hope to meet? Visions of night-time amongst these eerie trees frightened him. And what was that? Something was falling on the leaves, then on the ground where it could get through. Rain. He'd be here all night if he had to stand still. A few minutes ago his mind had been filled with his success in creating the fire; now all that was forgotten, wiped clean. All he knew was fear. With his arms around an old, long-neglected beech tree he started to cry, thankful to hear the sound of his own sobbing.

‘Raining,' he wailed. ‘All alone. Just want to die, oh, God, why don't you let me die?' Whether that was a brief flash of clarity or whether it was no more than the fear of the moment no one would ever know, for he alone heard the hysterical outburst. Minutes that seemed like hours went by until he could stand no more. ‘I'm going to walk!' he yelled. ‘Getting wet. Where the devil are you?'

By that time Leo was near enough to hear his voice if not his words. ‘I'm nearly with you. Don't move, Dad. Only a few more minutes.'