Beth opened her eyes to see daylight streaming in through the window. She raised her head from the pillow, only to let it drop back as a sharp pain pierced her temple and started to throb.
Confusion muddied her thoughts. She was in bed, how did she get here? The bed felt wet; her hands reached out and she touched her naked body. Water, and strands of pondweed.
Her recollections were hazy. Dinner with James; the woman’s voice mocking and taunting her; the wheelchair smashing into her legs… She pulled back the blanket that was covering her, and her confusion increased.
She was fully dressed in the clothes she’d been wearing the night before, her legs were unmarked, and the wheelchair was intact and parked at the side of the bed. She wasn’t soaked; the bed was completely dry.
She closed her eyes, and tried to gather herself, to make some sense of what was happening.
Her eyes snapped open as the coffee grinder in the kitchen whirred into life. “What the…” Someone was in the house.
She hauled herself out of bed and into her chair, propelling it across the room to the door. There she stopped and listened. There were sounds of movement from somewhere—cups clinking together, someone whistling tunelessly. Suddenly she was scared. What if it was the young men from last night? Wait, what men?
“Good morning,” James said, as she opened the bedroom door and pushed through.
The shock of seeing him standing in her kitchen silenced her. She ran her hand through her tousled hair and sought the appropriate response. “Why are you here?” was all she could manage.
“I’m making coffee. Want one?” Everything seemed so normal.
She could only stare at him as she wheeled over to where he was standing. “I don’t understand,” she said.
“You don’t remember?” he said with a small chuckle. “Can’t say I’m really surprised.”
“Remember what?” she said.
He transferred the ground coffee to the espresso machine, and switched it on. Within seconds it was hissing and gurgling. He took another cup from the cupboard and set it down on the counter beside the first. “I think you need a coffee, strong and black,” he said.
She nodded dumbly. She needed coffee and probably something a lot stronger.
“Do you remember anything about last night?”
“Bits and pieces,” she said uncertainly. Which part of last night was he asking about? “Why are you still here?”
“Do you remember cooking the meal, chili?”
“Yes, of course I do. Look, tell me what happened, what you remember.”
He looked at her steadily, thinking that she seemed like someone with a large hangover. “You cooked a lovely meal, we drank wine and I told you what I knew about the Franklins. After the meal you wanted to move to the sofas. We did that, and five minutes later you passed out.”
“Don’t be ridiculous,” she said. “Why would I pass out?”
He said nothing but pointed to the four empty red wine bottles on the counter.
“I didn’t drink that much,” she said indignantly. “Did I?”
“I’ll put my hands up for one of them. You had nearly finished the Merlot when I arrived. The other two…well, you must have had a thirst on last night.”
“So how did I end up in my bed?”
“I carried you there. I tried to wake you when you were on the sofa but you were out for the count, so I carried you through and covered you with a blanket.”
She looked at him incredulously. She didn’t recall any of this. She wanted to press him about what else had happened, remembering his failed seduction attempt. Did that happen? From his demeanor, probably not. “So why are you still here?”
“Once I’d settled you down I realized that I’d drunk too much to drive safely so I curled up on the sofa, and went out like a light. I roused at four and checked on you. You were sleeping like a baby. Jog any memories yet?”
She shook her head. “It’s not how I remember it,” she said, staring down at the floor so he couldn’t see her blushes.
“Ah, well, yes, I was hoping you’d let me forget that.”
“So we did…”
“I wanted to…but you weren’t so keen.”
“It’s just…” She indicated her wheelchair-clad legs. “I’m not used…”
“So, coffee?”
“Please, yes.” She was glad of the diversion.
“And then I’ll make a move. I should be able to get home and change and still get to work on time.” He filled the cups and handed her one. “How do you feel this morning?”
“Like Fred is putting Ginger through her paces inside my head.”
“You look pretty peaky. It would probably be best if you went back to bed when I’m gone. Sleep it off.”
“I wasn’t drunk,” she protested, and then, out of the corner of her eye, caught a glimpse of the empty bottles on the counter. But was I? she thought.
He looked at her over the top of his coffee cup. “You’ve not been having an easy time of it lately,” he said. “Moving house, your cat, a new novel…” He didn’t say, “And your obsession with the Franklins,” but she knew he was thinking it. “I don’t blame you for having a skinful. In your position I would have done the same.”
“Thank you,” she said. “Not for saying that, but for taking care of me. That was above and beyond the call of duty. I feel guilty for laying that on you. And…thanks for not taking advantage.”
He cocked his head, puzzled. “Advantage?”
“I was out cold when you put me to bed. I’ve known other men who might have seen that as an opportunity.”
His face clouded. She could see he was holding his anger in check.
“I’m sorry,” she said. “I didn’t mean to imply that you might—”
“Forget it,” he said, cutting her off. “I can only think you’ve known some pretty flaky men in your time. You were the worse for drink, and there are rules about that sort of thing.” He drained his cup. “Right, I have to dash.”
She set her cup down on the counter, and made to accompany him to the door.
“It’s okay. I’ll see myself out.”
“I’ve offended you.”
He stared at her for a long moment, but she couldn’t read the expression in his eyes.
“Go back to bed,” he said and left the house.
She heard his car start up and drive away. She started to wheel herself back to the bedroom, but at the last moment turned and went to the study instead. Sleep could wait.
She sat at the computer, typed Bernard Franklin into the search engine and waited for the results. As the screen filled with references to Franklin she scrolled down, opening websites at random, but four screen pages later she was no closer to finding anything out about him. When she started seeing references to Benjamin Franklin she called off the search for him and typed in Dolores Franklin instead.
The Google screen disappeared to be replaced with a page of photographs, each of them featuring a very beautiful woman in a variety of poses.
The woman had long, dark hair, alabaster skin, a full-lipped sensual mouth and the most haunting eyes Beth had ever seen. She recognized her instantly as the woman who had stared down at her through the water in the bathroom. She may even have been the woman from her dream last night, the woman in the lake.
Beth hovered the cursor over a particularly striking image, clicked on it, and the other images faded away, allowing the single image to fill the screen. Dolores Franklin sitting in a high-backed, wicker chair, relaxed, cross-legged, the white satin dress she was wearing slipping back to reveal ten inches of porcelain thigh.
The back of the wicker chair was large and circular, the edges decorated with mother of pearl inlays that echoed the iridescent sheen of her dress. Sitting at her feet were three young men, all of them good-looking, none of them more than twenty. All three were stripped to the waist, showing their lithe, toned bodies, muscles oiled, glistening in the photographer’s reflector light as they stared up at Dolores adoringly.
It was a portrait of a woman at ease with her sex appeal, and the power it gave her. Beth remembered what James had told her about Dolores and the young men in town—her acolytes.
As Beth stared into Dolores Franklin’s eyes a chill passed through her body, and she shivered. For all the woman’s beauty and sensuality there was something repulsive about the image. Dolores Franklin sat, serene and imperious, like a spider in the center of a web of twisted sexuality and corruption.
Then the woman on the computer screen blinked.
Beth tore her eyes away for a second and then looked back. The face was still, like the water on the lake. The eyes dark and impenetrable.
Then the lips smiled.
They pulled back from the teeth in a hungry smile that wasn’t inviting, it was threatening.
Beth moved the mouse but she couldn’t delete the picture; the cursor traced invisible lines over the skin, helplessly trying to erase the image.
Then the three men at her feet began to caress her legs, sweeping firm hands over bare flesh, at the same time looking out at Beth, challenging.
The woman winked, her left eye closing slowly, and opening again as if in slow motion.
Beth switched the monitor off, waited moments and then turned it on again. The screen gradually opened, the erotic scene again portrayed in colorful glory.
“She was a very beautiful woman.”
Beth jerked round at the sound of the voice.