Rosie (69 page)

He had managed to fit part of the story together from newspaper reports. Miss Marks was really Freda Barnes, one-time matron of a private loony-bin, and Miss Pemberton had been instrumental in getting her the sack. The man called Saunders whose face was in the papers too had also worked there. Clearly Rosie had created some mischief while she’d been there, including grassing up the matron and Saunders.

As Rosie wasn’t mentioned in any paper he’d read, he’d come to the conclusion she must have informed on him anonymously, the sneaking sniveller. He wondered if that woman in the kitchen knew her real identity? He bet she didn’t.

A man came into the kitchen some ten minutes later. As he was well back in the room, Seth couldn’t see him clearly. He was a tall, well-built man, about sixty, Seth thought; probably the woman’s husband.

When Rosie suddenly appeared at the kitchen doors, opened them wide and stepped out on to the terrace, Seth almost fell off the wall in surprise. There was no doubt it
was
Rosie, as her unique copper-coloured curls gave her away, but he hadn’t expected to find that the skinny kid he remembered had grown into a beauty.

The old tangled mane of hair was gone, the new shorter style was much shinier, and she was taller too, with the figure of a pin-up girl. The confident manner in which she opened those doors, and her casual outfit of dark green shorts and a sleeveless white blouse, suggested she was a great deal more than a maid in this house.

‘It’s so lovely and warm,’ she called back into the kitchen. ‘Shall we have breakfast out here today?’

Her voice was another surprise: she appeared to have lost her Somerset accent. Seth’s was toned down too from his time in London, but people still recognized his West Country origins. For some reason this rankled more than her appearance as it suggested she hadn’t suffered in any way, just slipped miraculously into an easy life.

‘Well, you won’t have it much longer,’ he muttered to himself as he watched her arranging garden chairs around the table.

He soon began to feel very vulnerable, being so close. He was less than eight feet from her. If he as much as sneezed, he would give himself away. But he couldn’t move now, he was trapped.

In the next half-hour Seth grew more and more agitated, not just because of his proximity to her but out of jealousy too. She was laying the table for four: a jug of orange juice, marmalade in a pretty pot, and butter in a glass dish, cutlery placed just so. The older woman was frying bacon, and the smell, along with the comfort of the house he’d noticed earlier, tormented him.

He had never had any comfort or glamour in his life – out in all winds and weathers, doing back-breaking work, his meals virtually thrown on the table. Since Cole was hanged, he hadn’t even had a place he could call home. He was twenty-eight, but he’d never once sat in a beautiful garden like this, or had a holiday, or been anywhere luxurious. Why should she live in a place with a piano, a television set, thick carpets and all the other trappings of wealth, when he had nothing?

It seemed that the man wasn’t joining the breakfast party outside. Seth thought he must be going off to work shortly. He wondered who the other two places were for? Perhaps there were children in the house?

Just after eight a big blond-haired man came into the kitchen. Seth sneered as he saw him go up to the older woman and hug her.

‘Mummy’s boy,’ he muttered. He smirked a few minutes later as the same chap came out into the garden with the
Beano
in his hands and sat down at the table to read it. Seth’s reading didn’t go much beyond the
Beano
either, but he would have expected someone who lived in a place like this to be reading the
Financial Times,
not a comic.

After a few moments of studying him, Seth came to the conclusion he was simple. He looked normal enough, he was muscular and suntanned, and his light-coloured slacks and short-sleeved shirt had an expensive, well-fitting look, but he was laughing aloud at the comic and his mouth had a slightly droopy look like some of the ‘divvies’ that worked as labourers on building sites.

Then all at once Seth’s attention was diverted by another man coming out on to the terrace. His lean face, fair hair and pronounced limp seemed very familiar. It was a minute or two before he placed him. But when the penny dropped he gasped in astonishment, grabbing the wall for support.

‘It’s fucking Farley!’ he thought. ‘What the hell is that bastard doing here?’

Thomas Farley was a man he was never likely to forget. Not only was he responsible for initiating Seth’s and his father’s arrest, but it was his character, background and testimony in court which had swayed the jury into finding Cole guilty. From the moment the jurors saw the haggard man who’d fought for his country and spent years in a Burmese prisoner-of-war camp only to lose his leg from an infected wound, they were for him. He was a hero, while Cole Parker with his robust health had spent the war years in cowardly comfort and safety. Cole didn’t stand a chance.

In the next ten minutes or so, before the older man drove off in the Jaguar and Rosie and the older woman brought out plates of bacon and eggs, Seth scrutinized Farley and listened to his conversation with the man he called Donald.

Farley looked younger than he had at the trial. He’d gained some weight, and even the lined face Seth remembered so clearly seemed to have smoothed out remarkably. In court Farley’s expression had remained grim, and he had looked at Cole and Seth with hatred as if he was capable of tearing them apart with his bare hands. Seth remembered how he had made his blood run cold, even though he was a cripple. In fact for some time after his acquittal, Seth had half expected the bloke to come gunning for him.

Life had clearly been good to Farley since then. He looked relaxed and happy as he smiled and chatted. He reminded Seth a bit of his sergeant when he was doing his stint in the army. He had the same kind of cool confidence, the sort other men looked up to – tough and dependable. Seth wondered what he was to Rosie. Surely the man couldn’t care for the daughter of his enemy? But if he did care for her, so much the better. Seth could exact a double helping of revenge at one stroke.

Once Rosie and the older woman joined the two men for breakfast, Seth soon gleaned a great deal more information about all of them from the conversation. Farley was a guest, a regular one at that. Rosie was almost a daughter to the woman, though she called her Mrs Cook. Donald, as Seth had suspected, was simple, and he worked as a gardener.

But he still couldn’t make out his sister’s role here. She seemed very affectionate towards the simple bloke, so maybe she was his girlfriend. But then she was equally affectionate towards Farley. It was really peculiar. Surely Rosie could do better than a cripple or a simpleton? Yet there was also a reference to someone called Gareth, so maybe these people had another son. He wondered where he was.

Most of their conversation, however, seemed to be centred on the day ahead. Farley said he had some work to do, but he’d like to do it out here. Mrs Cook was going to a whist drive at eleven. Rosie and Donald appeared to be going somewhere together, and Rosie spoke of being gone for two hours. There was a great deal more conversation about someone called Robin. Seth suspected from their laughter that he was a small child, perhaps a grandchild.

Seth was frustrated when they finished breakfast. Rosie and Donald disappeared into the house out of sight, but the old woman and Farley stayed in the kitchen washing up. He wanted to move from his hiding place because he was afraid Rosie would leave by the front door and he wanted to follow her. But he didn’t dare move until the kitchen was empty.

Minutes ticked by, and to Seth’s horror Farley came out on to the terrace again and set up some tools on the table. He had visions of being trapped on the wall all morning. As he was so close to the terrace, just the slightest movement could alert Farley that someone was there.

At last Farley went back indoors and vanished from sight. Seth couldn’t see the old girl either, so he took his chance, leapt down into the garden, skirted around behind some thick bushes which surrounded the lawn, and reached the drive.

The front door was actually located on the side of the house, and Seth was startled to hear it opening just as he was about to run past. He dived behind a bush, trembling with fright, assuming that someone had spotted him. He regretted coming here now. It was nearly half past eight. The shops in the high street would be opening any minute. He knew only too well that in country villages people came out early to do their shopping, older people gathered to chat and a lot of holiday-makers might well be there too.

‘We’ll be home by twelve,’ Rosie called out to someone behind her. ‘If Mrs Parsons phones, tell her I’ll call round this afternoon to give her a quote.’

Seth breathed a sigh of relief. They hadn’t seen him.

The bush behind which he’d concealed himself was holly and very prickly, but even when Rosie and Donald walked past him up the garden, he didn’t dare come out. A few minutes later they came back, Donald pushing a wheelbarrow loaded with garden tools and Rosie carrying a tray full of small plants. Surely she hadn’t become a gardener?

At eleven that same evening Seth was in the field at the back of The Grange, tucked up against the garden wall, concealed by two dense bushes. It was dark now, but sticky hot, as if there was a storm brewing.

It had been very difficult to follow Rosie this morning. The high street was busy, and there was nowhere to conceal himself. Rosie seemed to know everyone; again and again she stopped to chat. Seth had attracted quite a few curious glances, and even though he pulled the cap further down over his eyes and shuffled on as if he was just a farm worker passing through, he felt his presence had been noted and it would be only a matter of time before someone alerted the police that there was a suspicious-looking character in their midst.

Apparently Rosie and Donald ran a gardening business together. He’d spied on her over the hedge of the place where they were working and was amazed to see her digging like a seasoned professional. Unable to get near her because of Donald, Seth had a sleep in a field near by. He woke later to find they had both gone home, so he went back to the car, drove it into some woods, then came back to The Grange and just waited. At four he heard Rosie and Donald come down the garden together. He pricked up his ears, but they went into the greenhouse and their voices became muted. An hour or so later Farley came into the garden and called Rosie out to speak to her. This time Seth heard everything distinctly. He felt they must be sitting on the bench just the other side of the wall, only feet away from him.

Farley had come to tell Rosie about the latest news bulletin. To Seth’s consternation, it soon became clear that the entire household knew exactly who Rosie was and also the details of his own movements, which could only have been passed on to them by the police. Farley told her a Standard Vanguard with Seth’s fingerprints all over it had been found, and went on to say the police believed he was heading in their direction in a green Rover.

‘They’re warning the public not to approach him,’ Farley said, his voice gruff and authoritative. They’ve posted an officer at the gate here, but you mustn’t go out at all until he’s been caught.’

‘Surely he won’t dare come here?’ Rosie said, and Seth had a twinge of pleasure at the alarm in her voice.

‘It doesn’t seem very logical,’ Farley replied. ‘If I was him, I’d be looking for ways to get out of the country. But who can guess at a man’s state of mind when he’s already killed twice?’

Their voices slowly faded as they walked back to the house together. Although Seth was shaken to find the police were so close on his tail, he still smirked. They hadn’t got the savvy to watch the back of the house too, and if Farley knew how close Seth had been to Rosie today he’d be shitting himself.

Seth lit up another cigarette. He was waiting for everyone in the house to go to bed. He hoped there would be a storm, because it would make his new plan easier.

His original idea had been to catch Rosie alone, well away from the house. As the day’s events had made that impossible, he’d had to rethink. But in fact his new plan excited him far more.

He had resigned himself to being captured eventually. But he could go to the gallows a great deal happier knowing he’d pulled a fast one on Farley and the police, as well as getting the ultimate revenge on Rosie. It was going to be the most satisfying act of his whole life, and he wished his mind would dwell on it, but for some reason it kept slipping back to Heather.

He’d had her for the first time when Alan was only eight weeks old. He’d arrived home on a forty-eight-hour pass from the army the night before, right in the middle of a vicious row between her and Cole.

When he got up the next morning, Cole had already gone to work with Norman, Heather had a huge shiner and badly skinned knuckles, and the baby was screaming fit to bust. She was at her wits’ end because she had a mountain of washing to do. She looked exhausted and old. It was the first time Seth had ever felt sympathy for her. He had admired the way she tried to fight back the night before – he wouldn’t have dared take a saucepan to Cole’s head the way she had.

It certainly wasn’t desire which motivated him to take her in his arms. She looked terrible, her clothes were stained and her hair hadn’t seen a brush for days. But once he was holding her, something overcame him.

Heather was very sexy in her own way. He’d always thought so. Her big backside undulated as she walked, her tits quivered and her eyes sparkled when she laughed. Normally her long, fair hair was clean and shiny, and she had a way of talking to men that made them feel a bit special. That day she smelled all milky, her breasts against his chest were swollen and hot, and as she cried against his shoulder and thanked him for being kind he knew he had to have her.

Seth couldn’t remember now how he managed to persuade her to come upstairs with him. Maybe he said he would help her make the beds. But he got her in his father’s bedroom, then pushed her down and fucked her.