Silent Truths (24 page)

‘Oh, she bites,’ someone laughed.

‘Come on, Laurie, let us all have a listen.’

‘Stop it!’ she shouted, as they began roughing her up even more. ‘Let me go!’

‘Just give us the tape! A little girl like you won’t know what to do with it anyway.’

A few of them laughed, while others continued pulling her bag, and prising at her arms.

‘She gets in first with Beth Ashby,’ someone hissed, ‘and all she comes out with is four fucking words. Call yourself a reporter.’

‘Let me go!’ Laurie seethed, kicking out and twisting her shoulders away from them.

‘Let her go!’ a new voice suddenly commanded.

Momentarily surprised, they all turned round.

‘Now!’ Elliot snapped. His harsh, craggy features were uncompromising and distinctly unpleasant.

‘We were just having a bit of fun,’ Rob Phipps said, releasing the bag.

‘She’s got to learn to take a joke,’ someone else piped up.

Elliot brushed them aside, took Laurie’s arm and marched her out of the fray.

‘Well, now we know who she’s sleeping with,’ someone called after them, making the others laugh.

Rage and embarrassment swept through Laurie, turning her cheeks scarlet.

‘Just keep walking,’ Elliot muttered under his breath.

His Porsche was outside a house further up the street, where a woman was peering out through her nets.

‘Get in,’ he said.

‘No,’ she snapped, wresting her arm free. ‘Thank you for the rescue, but I’d rather get the train.’

His eyes held no warmth. ‘Just get in the car,’ he responded.

She didn’t move. She couldn’t allow herself to think of how much she hated him. If she did she might start screaming it.

‘Do you want everyone over there to watch this?’ he demanded.

Worse than anything else she could imagine at that moment was the spectacle of him picking her up and stuffing her into the car, so, her face taut with anger, her heart pounding with dread, she descended into the passenger seat and held her bag close. As soon as he was in the driver’s seat she said, ‘Please, just drop me at the station.’

Ignoring her, he roared away from the kerb, turned left at the end of the road, and carried on along the high street, past the Renault garage where Chas Long’s brother was a mechanic, the funeral parlour that had received Sophie’s flowers, the station entrance where Laurie needed to get out, until they were heading out into the countryside on roads she didn’t know.

‘Where are you taking me?’ she demanded.

‘You’ll see.’

‘Just turn the car round and take me back to the station.’

He continued driving, revving the engine hard, squealing fast round bends, never taking his eyes from the road.

Were it anyone else she might have protested further, but with him she was afraid to. There was
just too much emotion wrapped up in this situation, this man, for her to trust herself to speak, so she kept her eyes averted, not wanting to look at him even for an instant.

‘It’s OK, you don’t have to thank me for getting you in to see the Longs today,’ he said, finally.

She stayed silent.

‘So, can I assume you’ve got something worth listening to?’

‘The interview’s mine,’ she snapped.

His eyebrows went up, but he said no more until he’d pulled into the car park of a country inn and held out his hand. ‘The tape,’ he said, when she looked at his open palm. ‘I want to hear it.’

‘I told you –’

‘Give me the damned tape,’ he growled.

Knowing she had no choice, she reached into her bag, rewound the tape, then set her machine down next to the gear stick. No way was she handing over the actual cassette, he’d just have to listen to it like this.

It took no more than twenty minutes to replay. When it was over he sat staring out at the fields, his long fingers drumming tunelessly on the wheel.

‘Do you know where they were staying?’ she finally made herself ask. ‘Do you recognize the description?’

‘I can hazard a pretty good guess,’ he responded.

‘Well?’ she prompted, when he didn’t elaborate.

‘Did you know that forensics have come up with some unidentified hairs and fibres?’ he said, still staring straight ahead.

Her eyes widened. ‘No,’ she replied. ‘How do you know?’

‘I just do. Are you familiar with the name Marcus Gatling?’

Recalling Chilton asking her the same question she felt the stirrings of intrigue. ‘Yes,’ she answered.

‘What do you know about him?’

‘That he and Colin Ashby have been friends since their time at Oxford. That he’s some kind of heavyweight in the business world … What do you know about him?’

‘That it was probably his house the Longs were at. That he made Colin Ashby an offer, which Ashby refused.’

‘What kind of an offer?’

‘That’s a question for Ashby.’

Inwardly she groaned. ‘So you’ve managed to get an interview with him too,’ she responded.

‘Wrong.’

He turned to look at her and as their eyes met a horrible burning seared through her chest. Immediately she reached for the Sony player. He was just as quick, but as his hand closed over hers she drew back sharply, recoiling from the physical contact. ‘I’m no longer officially on this story,’ she said, turning to look out of the side window so he wouldn’t see the heat on her face. ‘That tape could get me back on it.’

When he made no comment more anger lashed through her. ‘I did that interview,’ she seethed. ‘The tape belongs as much to me –’ She stopped as he threw open the door and got out.

‘Come on, let’s get a drink,’ he said.

As she walked into the pub behind him, memories of Lysette were tearing so painfully
through her that she could hardly bear it. How could her sister have loved a man like this? He was a monster. A demon. He had no heart, no soul, no care in the world for anyone but himself.

‘What’ll you have?’ he asked when they reached the bar.

‘Bloody Mary, with ice.’

As he ordered she glanced round the shadowy interior with its gnarled wood furniture and small niche windows. A group of German tourists was gathered round a table next to an old-fashioned pinball machine, studying their maps and drinking lager, while a middle-aged couple who looked decidedly illicit, canoodled in a dimly lit corner booth.

‘There are tables outside, on the patio,’ Elliot said, nodding towards an open door at the back. ‘Why don’t you go and sit down?’

Though it was cooler inside, the view down over the valley to a red-roofed town and cathedral towers and spires in the distance was more pleasing than the throb of the jukebox, so selecting a long wooden table and benches in the shade of an oak she nodded to an old man who was just leaving, and sat down.

Elliot joined her a few minutes later with two bloody Marys and a couple of bags of crisps. ‘In case you’re hungry,’ he said throwing them on to the table.

She was, but would be damned before she’d accept them.

‘OK,’ he said, after downing half his drink, ‘we need to clear the air and this seems as good a place as any to do it. I know you blame me for Lysette’s
death, and believe you me, I’ve spent a long time blaming myself too …’

‘I don’t want to discuss it,’ she said through her teeth. ‘What you –’

‘Laurie, listen to me. I had no idea she’d do what she did –’

‘Stop it!’ she cried, putting her hands over her ears. ‘I don’t want to hear your excuses. If it weren’t for you she’d be alive now, and nothing you say’s going to change that. You killed her, Elliot. It was
you
who killed her.’

His face had turned pale, and his eyes showed the anguish he felt at her words. ‘I swear, if I’d known …’

When he stopped she rounded on him bitterly. ‘If you’d known what?’ she snarled. ‘That she’d kill herself because you told her you’d met someone else, so she should stop bugging you now? That was the word you used, wasn’t it? “Bugging.” A year and a half you’d been putting her through all kinds of hell, taking advantage of her in a way any normal person would be ashamed of, then you tell her there’s someone else on the scene now so she should get out and stop bugging you. Just what kind of man are you? No, don’t answer that, I’ll tell you. You’re one who’s not fit to tread the same earth as a decent human being.’

‘Which is exactly how I felt for a long time after she died,’ he responded.

‘But you’ve let yourself off the hook now, is that it? Or no, you want me to do it for you. That’s what all this is about, isn’t it? Get me involved in what could be one of the most sensational stories of the decade, give my career a little boost, and I might
just forgive you for killing my sister. Well, forget it! In fact, you can just go straight to hell. She was my twin, for God’s sake. She was so much a part of me that I only feel half alive now she’s gone. Have you got any idea what that feels like? How it is to lose someone you’re so close to you can actually feel their pain? And I felt hers over you. God, did I feel it. And the sick, sad part of it was, the worse you treated her the more she loved you. Dear God, why couldn’t you have been kind to her? She was so sweet and good. She’d never hurt anyone. The whole world mattered to her, but no one as much as you, and you had to go and destroy her.’

He said nothing, only stared at the horizon and occasionally blinked. He’d thought nothing, not even her loathing, could make him feel any worse than he already did, but she was coming close. It didn’t help either that he’d somehow forgotten how alike they were. A part of him was still reeling from the shock of seeing her when she’d come out of the Longs’ earlier. She could so easily have been Lysette. They even sounded the same, though only the timbre of their voices. The words they used had always been different. But maybe this was what he wanted, why he was here – to suffer Laurie’s hatred as though it were Lysette’s, even though he knew Lysette had been incapable of hating a single living soul.

Laurie looked at his hand lying on the table, the tapering fingers, the dark hair curling over his knuckles and watchstrap, and for one insane moment she thought she might smash her glass into it. Why was God allowing him to remain on this earth, when he’d done what he had to her
sister? It didn’t make any sense. He should be dead and Lysette should be here. She deserved to live, while he didn’t even deserve to be remembered. She pushed a fist to her mouth to stifle a sob. Why had he brought her here? Why was he making them both suffer like this, when it was over, Lysette was gone and nothing was ever going to bring her back.

‘I’m sorry,’ he said finally. ‘I don’t know what else to say, except I’m sorry.’

Laurie turned her face away, but the tears were coming so fast she could hardly catch her breath. ‘I told you not to bring it up,’ she choked. ‘You’re not decent enough even to utter her name, so just don’t.’

‘Can I ask how your father is?’ he said quietly. ‘I heard about his heart attack.’

‘Just stay away from my family,’ she gasped furiously, crying harder than ever. ‘We’ve got nothing to do with you any more. Do you hear me? Nothing! As far as you’re concerned we’re as dead as my sister.’

He picked up his glass, but didn’t drink. He’d truly believed he was ready to handle this, but now he wasn’t so sure.

For a long time they sat in the difficult, memory-filled silence, barely hearing the traffic on the road nearby, or noticing the sun glinting on the leaves overhead. It was so hot and humid that sweat was beading on their faces, while the flowerbeds wilted and the grass turned to straw. All either of them could think about was Lysette with her gentle, poetic heart, angelic soul and total inability to see bad in anyone. Everyone who’d known her had
loved her, so why couldn’t Elliot? Why had he withheld what she’d craved so deeply that in the end, unable to stand the pain of his rejection, she’d driven her car so fast into a motorway bridge that she hadn’t stood a chance of survival? She’d even told him she was going to do it, and his answer had been ‘be my guest’.

Such a horrifically violent end, with such cruel words ringing in her ears, and still Laurie woke up gasping in the night as she saw the car hurtling at high speed towards the bridge, with her sister at the wheel. She could see Lysette’s face, terrified, traumatized. Sometimes she even felt the impact, saw the chaos, heard the terrible crunching of metal and crushing of bones. And there was more, so much more but she couldn’t deal with it now. She’d never been able to, and maybe she never would.

‘I thought,’ Elliot began, ‘if we saw each other …’ His hand tightened on his glass. ‘I was wrong,’ he said shortly.

Without finishing their drinks they returned to the car and started back towards London. The forty-minute journey passed in silence, until finally they reached West India Quay.

‘I’m not going to the office,’ Laurie said, eager to get away. ‘You can drop me at the station.’

After pulling the car to a halt, causing the traffic behind to honk in frustration, he handed her the Sony player. ‘The interview’s yours,’ he said. ‘Play it to Wilbur. If he doesn’t reassign you, and you decide to continue anyway – well, good luck.’

Chapter 11

THE SELECTION IN
Ava’s new wardrobe was still small, but every item had been chosen to suit the dynamic and worldly kind of woman she aimed to portray. She wanted nothing that reminded her of Beth, none of the long, shapeless dresses or draw-string trousers. No more sloppy sandals or loose-fitting T-shirts. To quote Georgie, Ava was a woman of class and literary standing, whose style of dress should reflect her inner confidence and flamboyance. So they had shopped, mainly in Bath, with Georgie’s credit card picking up the bills until Ava’s initial cheque for her novel came through.

Today was Ava’s first outing since Leonora had dropped the bombshell about Heather Dance and her three-year-old daughter. Beth’s suffering during the days that had followed had driven her to the point where she no longer wanted to live. If the pain and devastation were going to be this bad then what was the point? The strain of it was all but annihilating her, so that all she wanted was for her mind to stop working, in the hope it would stop her
heart from hurting. She wondered how many more times she’d have to lose herself in the woods so that she could scream and scream and scream and plead with God to make it all go away, before He listened and did something to help her. She couldn’t decide which was worse: the child, or that Colin was in contact with the woman, while refusing to see her. She hated, loathed and despised the woman with such a passion it was almost insane, yet she could feel sorry for her too, since no one knew better than Beth Ashby how deeply Colin’s betrayal could cut. And he had betrayed Heather Dance too, for where had he gone the last time Beth had thrown him out? Not to his mistress and child, but to yet another one of his affairs.