The Shape of Snakes (28 page)

There was the smallest of hesitations before he answered. "A strip club in Soho," he said. "Sam didn't think you'd approve."

I gave a noncommittal shrug. "Was the pretty little secretary with you?" I asked. "It was October-time, so she must have been around."

He shook his head. "Sam wouldn't take a woman to a strip club."

I leaned forward to tuck the photographs of Annie into my rucksack. "Did you ever meet her, Jock?"

"No," he admitted.

"So you've only Sam's word that she existed?"

There was real surprise in his voice when he answered. "Of course she existed! You can't hate someone who isn't real. He told me that night that strangling was too good for her, and trust me ... I was
there
... I
heard
him. He meant every word. That's why I took him to the club in the first place ... to try to get his mind on to something else. He was terrified she was going to come to you with the sordid details ... either that or blackmail him. I'd just about persuaded him to come clean and tell you about it"-he gave a dispirited sigh-"then we walk through the door and you start throwing bloody saucepans at us."

I smiled at his innocence, thinking it was no wonder Sam loved him as a guru. Pupils always preferred a teacher they could manipulate. "Sorry," I said without contrition, "but if it's any consolation there's no way he was going to own up to it. I'm not questioning the affair, Jock, only the conveniently streetwise secretary. He invented her for your sake. He's always been useless at keeping secrets and you were bound to get suspicious if he started saying he was too busy to have a drink with you. I think you'll find he was performing closer to home."

He rubbed his head ferociously. "I don't understand."

"Oh, come on, it's not that hard to work out." I started gathering my bits and pieces together. "What do you think Libby was doing the night Annie died? Darning your socks?"

He wouldn't accept it. "She can't have been with Sam," he said. "Hell, I'd have known if she'd been out. She had my supper waiting, and all the laundry done, for Christ's sake."

"There was a perfectly good bed in your house," I murmured. "What makes you think they didn't use that?"

He stared at me with a look of bewildered hurt on his face, and I was reminded of my own devastation as I listened to Sam's drunken ramblings that night in Hong Kong.
It's your fault we're here ... If you hadn't left me in the lurch none of this would have happened ... Women are crooked ... They do one thing and say another ... Why the hell did you have to ask people what they were doing that night? Did you expect them to be honest?

"I could have walked in at any moment," protested Jock, clutching at straws.

"It was a Tuesday," I said, "and you never got home before 10 on a Tuesday."

"But..." His bewilderment increased. "Was anything Sam told me true?"

"I think it was true that it started during the two weeks I was away. I remember him telling me over the phone that Libby had offered to do his washing for him, but when I asked him later if he'd taken her up on it he became incredibly tetchy and said he hadn't seen her. At the time I thought he was cross because she'd let him down, but now I think he was just frightened of giving too much away..."

I watched resentment steal into Jock's face like a thief, and was surprised at how hollow my little victory felt.

"I think it's also true that he wanted to end it," I went on, "and was terrified of making an enemy of her. Personally, I doubt Libby would ever have confessed to it herself-she didn't want to give you ammunition for a divorce-but Sam certainly believed she would." I smiled slightly. "The irony is, I suspect he was far more worried about you finding out than he was about me. He says your friendship is important to him."

"He's a bloody hypocrite."

I didn't disagree. "Why do you care?" I asked. "As you said yourself it was dead and buried years ago."

But Jock didn't want to be reminded of his own mealy-mouthed platitudes. "He got me to lie for him."

"You were happy to do it," I pointed out.

"I might have felt differently if I'd known he was with Libby."

I lifted a shoulder in a half-shrug. "Who's the hypocrite now?"

He turned away, pulling a handkerchief from his pocket.

"In any case," I went on, "I'm betting it was Libby who pushed him into it. The police were asking everyone in the street if they'd seen or heard anything at the time of the accident, and I think she was afraid someone would say they'd spotted Sam leaving your house around nine o'clock. It was safer all 'round if he could deny it and say he was with you at our place."

The steps from bewilderment to hate were short and ugly and could be measured in their passage across his face. I had taken those steps myself and recognized the signs. Yet the object of his hatred was not the man who'd betrayed him, but the woman. "She loved making a fool of me, you know. She's probably been wetting herself for years knowing I was the one who covered their tracks."

I shook my head. "You shouldn't dwell on it. If Sam had been anything more to Libby than a stopgap lover, you'd have been out on your ear and he and I wouldn't still be married."

"I was out anyway," he said angrily. "I never had a chance."

"You had the same chances I did," I said coolly. "If either of us had known what was going on, then both our marriages would have ended in divorce. Because we didn't, yours held together a little longer and mine survived. But yours was on the rocks already, Jock, and you can't blame Sam for that. He was a symptom, not a cause."

He began a rambling defense of his own part in that long-dead relationship. Did I have any idea what it was like to be rejected by someone I loved? Why would he have taken up with Sharon if Libby had shown the slightest bit of interest m him? What did I think it did to a man's self-esteem to have to pay for sex? Of course he hadn't told Sam about her. No man in his right mind would want his friends laughing at him behind his back...

Listening to him expose his heartache in that room stuffed with hidden secrets, I was more amused than sympathetic. Was he so blind to his own duplicity that double standards held no embarrassment for him? And why did he think he could trust me with his pain, when mine was older, more monstrous and a great deal crueller? Like Sam, he saw himself more sinned against than sinning, and, like Sam, his belligerence grew as his own guilt paled before the guilt of others.

When he finally ran out of steam, I stood up and pulled on my rucksack. "I wouldn't waste any more time on it if I were you," I said kindly. "It won't change anything, just make you angry."

"If that's what you wanted you should have left me in ignorance." He watched morosely as I checked to see I'd left nothing behind. "Why didn't you?"

"I didn't think it was fair."

He gave a mirthless laugh. "Well, maybe I don't put such a high price on fairness as you do. Did you think about that? Sam and I go back a long way. Maybe I'd have been happier not knowing."

I was sure he was right. It was truly said that what you don't know can't hurt you, and Sam and he could have gone on forever, the one lying about his stalwart support of his friend, the other lying about his success. It was also truly said that misery loves company and I laid a quiet bet with myself that Jock-a man not given to suffering in silence-would pick up the telephone after I left and offload some of his misery onto my husband.

It seemed eminently fair to me-justice demands a penalty-but whether they would ever speak again was questionable. I wasn't troubled by it. I had waited a very long time for my pound of flesh.
 

Family correspondence-dated 1999

CURRAN HOUSE
Whitehay Road
Torquay
Devon

Friday

Dearest M,

I can't help feeling Libby is right, and you should rethink these visits on Monday, particularly the one to Alan's house. I know Danny's told you Alan won't be there-but do at least consider how he's likely to react when his wife tells him you've taken photographs of what's there. Are you sure it wouldn't be more sensible to involve the police ? I know I don't need to remind you of what Alan and his father did to you-it distresses me to see you washing your hands all the time-but I'm not as confident as you that just because Alan's brother doesn't seem to know about his past, his wife won't either.

Love,
Dad
X X X

*18*

My last port of call that day was a small 1930s semi in Isleworth with pebble-dashed walls and lattice-style windows. It was too far to walk so I took a taxi from Richmond station and asked the driver to wait in case there was no one at home or the occupants refused to speak to me. I heard a dog bark as I rang the bell, then the door was flung open by a small curly haired boy, and a Great Dane came bounding out to circle 'round me, growling. "Mu-mmy!" the child screamed. "Satan's going to bite a lady. Mu-mmy!"

A plump blonde in a baggy T-shirt and leggings appeared behind him and sent the dog back inside with a click of her fingers. "Don't worry," she said comfortably. "His bark's worse than his bite."

I smiled weakly. "How do you know?"

"I'm sorry?"

"How many people has he bitten?"

"Oh, I see!" She giggled. "None.
Yet
... No, I'm joking. Actually, he's a big softy. Mind you"-she ruffled her son's hair-"how many times do I have to tell you not to open the door, Jason? Not everyone's as easy 'round dogs as this lady and if Satan did bite someone we'd have the police here in no time flat." She turned him 'round and steered him toward a door to her right. "Go and watch Tansy for me. I don't want her sticking her fingers in the sockets again." The corners of her mouth lifted in a questioning smile. "So what can I do for you? If you're a Jehovah's Witness you'll be wasting your time. That's why Satan's called Satan ... to scare off the God squad."

She was like a gust of fresh air after the watchful suspicion of Maureen Slater, and I wasn't remotely surprised that Danny preferred her company to his mother's. "That would be Alan," I said.

"That's right."

"And you're Beth?"

She nodded.

"Alan knew me as Mrs. Ranelagh," I said, holding out my hand. "My husband and I used to live down the other end of Graham Road from his parents when he was a child. I was one of his teachers."

She looked surprised as she returned my handshake. "Are you the lady Danny was on about? He phoned a couple of nights ago and said he'd met someone who used to teach Al."

"Yes."

She glanced past me toward the taxi. "He said you were in Dorset."

"We're renting a farmhouse there for the summer. It's about ten miles from where Danny's staying. I'm in London today because there were some people I needed to see"-I didn't think she'd accept that I'd dropped in on a whim-"one of whom was Alan."

A look of uncertainty crossed her face. "He went really quiet when Danny mentioned your name ... almost like you were Jack the Ripper or something."

"Did he?" I asked in surprise. "He always told me I was his favorite teacher. I wouldn't have dreamed of dropping in otherwise."

She looked embarrassed. "He's not here. He's working on a site out Chertsey way." A frown developed. "I'm surprised Danny didn't tell you. It's one of these executive-type estates ... you know, houses with fancy stonework and porches on pillars-and he's been pestering Al for weeks to put his name up for the decorative bits. They're behind with the contract so my poor old boy's working overtime ... most evenings he doesn't get back till 'round 10." The frown deepened. "Anyway, how come you
needed
to see him? Most of his teachers were glad to be shot of him."

"Me, too," I said honestly. "Most of the time he couldn't be bothered to turn up, and when he did he was so disruptive that I wished he hadn't." I smiled to take the sting from my words. "Then I'd take a deep breath, remind myself of what his father was like, and try again. I couldn't bear to think he'd end up like Derek. And he obviously hasn't if everything Danny's told me about you and the children is true."

Curiosity won out, as I hoped it would, because my excuse for being there wasn't enough to persuade her to invite me in. "I never met his dad," she said, a gleam of interest sparkling in her eyes. "He was long gone before I met Al, but everyone says he was a bastard. Did you know him well?"

"Oh, yes. He threatened to rearrange my face once, so I tried to have him arrested." I turned irresolutely toward the taxi. "I asked the driver to wait in case you weren't at home, but I think he's left the clock running."

"Fuck that for a load of bananas," she said cheerfully. "They're all rip-off merchants ... charge you an arm 'n' a bloody leg just to look you. Excuse my French. How about I give you a cup of tea and we'll call for a minicab later? If you're lucky, Al might get home early for once. I mean, it's not every day one of his teachers turns up"-she canted her head to one side-"though you don't look much like any of the old bats who taught me, and that's a fact."

With a grateful smile for the offer of tea and the compliment-and a silent, earnest prayer that
nothing
would induce Alan to come home early-I paid off the cab and followed her inside. As I might have predicted, the interior was a reflection of Beth's down-to-earth character. Colors were simple and direct-terra-cotta and straw being her obvious favorites. Floor coverings were practical-sanded floorboards in the hall and cork in the kitchen-and all her furniture was arranged to maximize space and minimize accidents for her children. It worked, and it was attractive, and when I told her so she was pleased but not surprised.