Poppy was swimming in the sea at Whitley Bay. Her brother was with her. The waves lifted them up and down, their legs kicking frantically under the water to keep them afloat. Their mother called to them from the shore: “Be careful! Don’t go too far out!” and their father waved to them, a peas-pudding and ham sandwich in hand. It was getting dark and a light swept over them in a wide arc: it was coming from St Mary’s lighthouse.
Suddenly her brother cried out and disappeared under the waves. Poppy waited for him to pop back up or to grab her ankle and pull her down, pretending he was a shark. She waited. And she waited. The light from St Mary’s was sweeping from left to right faster and faster. She looked to shore but could no longer see her parents. She thought she could still hear her mother’s voice, distantly calling: “Come back, Poppy; come back!”
No, it wasn’t her name she could hear; it was another’s. Delilah’s… and the voice was male: “Again Delilah, again!” The light from the lighthouse flashed once more.
Poppy closed her eyes against the glare then opened them again. She was not on a beach. She was not in the sea. She was on a stone floor in some kind of shack. The wall planks were higgledy-piggledy, with gaps in between through which bright, artificial light seeped.
Poppy shook her head to clear it. Was she awake? Yes. The pain in her arms was real. She shifted to move them, then felt something pull against her wrists. She peered through the gloom and saw that her hands were tethered with a rope, and the rope was tied to a metal ring on the wall of the shack. Where was she?
“No, Delilah! Not like that!”
Delilah? Poppy thrashed her head from left to right, looking for her friend. But she was alone. Alone in what looked like a boat shed. Yes, that’s what it was: the lap of water against wood and stone, the dank smell of soaked timber, the roughness of hessian under her bare, cold shoulders; and in the corner, a pile of oars and a rusty anchor. But there was no boat.
“For God’s sake, Delilah. I thought you were an actress!”
That sounds like Parker. What’s he doing with Delilah? Poppy tried to peek through the cracks in the walls, but all she could see was the glaring light. What is that? Where’s that light coming from?
“I-I-can’t, Howard. I-I’m too scared. P-please. Please stop this!”
Poppy pulled at her bonds. They didn’t give. She looked around, trying to see if there was something she could use to cut through the rope. Nothing obvious… She manoeuvred herself up onto her knees, then shuffled over to the wall. She poked the wood around the metal ring. It was soft and rotting in places. She started picking at the timber, clawing it away. If she could undermine the wood around the bolts…
After a couple of minutes her nails were cracked and her fingers raw. She needed some kind of tool… What could she use? A pile of shells! Some kind of oyster shells, just within reach. Poppy picked one up and started scraping at the wood as Delilah’s crying and Parker’s shouting got louder and louder…
And then… yes! The bolts began to shift and twist, the wood splintered, and with a heave, Poppy pulled the ring free of the wall.
Her wrists were still tied, but at least she was free to move around. She picked up the ring and shimmied her way around the shed until she came to the entrance. She feared that it would be bolted or padlocked shut. It wasn’t. Thank God.
Poppy pushed open the door, freezing as the hinges creaked. But Parker, still berating Delilah for whatever it was she was failing to do, was making too much noise to hear. With the door open not much more than half a foot, Poppy slipped through.
Yes, she had been in a boat house. She was now standing on a slipway, and a few yards below her was the blackened water of what appeared to be a lake. A lake? Poppy looked around her. Around the lake and on either side of the boat house were spruce and maple trees in early spring bloom. This place was familiar. Poppy sniffed the air: yes, she’d smelled that smell very recently.
“This is your last chance, Delilah – do it or I’ll shoot you!”
Delilah! Poppy ran to the corner of the shed and peered around. There was the source of light; and there were Parker and Delilah. Delilah was standing, ankle deep in water, wearing what appeared to be an Indian squaw’s dress and head gear, her shoulders shuddering as she wept. On the shore, behind three film studio lights and camera, was Parker. Sitting to his left in a director’s chair, one leg draped over the arm, was Slick… holding a gun. Beyond Delilah, on the lake, a boat bobbed up and down. The boat from the shed, Poppy assumed.
“Now Delilah, let’s try that again. Peer to left and right. Look all around, desperate. You are calling for your lover! He doesn’t come. Then in despair you walk, slowly, into the lake.”
He’s mad! Totally mad! He’s filming a movie at gunpoint!
Poppy thought for a moment of running up behind Parker, swinging the heavy iron ring and whacking him on the head. Or perhaps she should attack Slick first. He had the gun. If there was only one of them, Poppy thought, she might have a chance, but with two… She turned away from the lake and looked up the hill. Yes, it was just as she thought. They were at Lake Ronkonkoma, just below the Spencer holiday lodge. Through the trees she could see the lights of The Lodge blazing. If Slick and Parker are both here, maybe I could slip up to The Lodge and call the police… Yes! I’ll use the telephone in the library!
She turned back to the perverse film set behind her. Delilah was ham acting the role of the lovelorn squaw. Parker seemed to be happy for now. But how far would he take it? Up to the drowning?
There was no time to waste. Poppy ran as quickly and quietly as she could, with her hands tied and holding a metal ring, up to the house.
Mimi had been in this room before. It was a library, smaller than the one where she’d first met Anatoly… Oh my love, if only I could turn back time and stay in that library with you forever…
This was the library in the house she had been taken to a few days earlier. The place where she had first seen the Boss Man and his friends. The place she had seen that Poppy lady. This time, though, she was not with Kat and the other two girls, but Estie. Estie was still sleeping beside her; Slick must have given her an extra dose of that foul-smelling potion to subdue her when she attacked him.
Mimi had woken up about fifteen minutes ago. She already knew where she was and she already knew that only a few feet away was a telephone – the same telephone the Poppy lady had used. But she knew too there was no chance she would be able to use it, as seated between her and the telephone was someone she’d never met before – someone who had made it clear that if she tried to run, or scream, or do anything the woman did not like, she, or her sister, would be shot.
The woman sat quietly with the gun on her lap, staring into the flames of a fire in the grate. The pine cones popped and sizzled, and under any other circumstances it might have been described as a cheerful blaze.
But the woman scowled, her brows furrowed, deep in thought.
Poppy, breathless, climbed the steps onto the front porch of The Lodge. She was about to burst in, when suddenly it occurred to her that the house might not be unoccupied. Why hadn’t she thought of that before? Perhaps Slick and Parker were not acting alone… She fell to her haunches and shuffled along the porch and hid herself, as best she could, behind some pot plants. She needed to think a moment, but not too long… She didn’t know how long poor Delilah had. Who could be in the house? Any of the Spencers. Toby had told her it belonged to the extended family. Cousins had been mentioned… But who would let Parker set up a makeshift film set on their private beach – a command performance at gunpoint? Or didn’t they know? Surely they would see the lights… and the motor car… two motor cars! Slick’s and another one. There was definitely someone here. Miles? It wasn’t his fancy sports car. Toby? To be honest, she didn’t know what he drove. Mr and Mrs Spencer? Other family members…
Time’s running out! Nonetheless she didn’t want to barge in through the front door – not if whoever was inside was in cahoots with Parker. The lights were only shining on the ground floor, so the chances were that whoever was in the house was downstairs. She got up on her knees and peered into the nearest window – the trophy room: a small lamp in the corner but otherwise it seemed unoccupied. She crawled along, looking in each window. Some curtains were drawn, some not. Then she came to what, from what she could recall of the layout of the house, was probably the library. She edged up, clutching the metal ring, and… bingo! There were three people in the room. Two on a sofa and one in an armchair. Poppy could not see the person in the armchair very well; their back was to the window. But on the sofa was a very frightened looking Mimi Yazierska and beside her the sleeping form of another young woman, most probably her sister, Estie. Mimi looked towards the window. Her eyes caught Poppy’s; her eyebrows rose in surprise. Then her eyes flicked towards the person in the armchair. Poppy still could not see, but from Mimi’s expression the person was likely a captor, not a captive. What should I do now?
Suddenly, there was the roar of an engine and the blaze of car lights. Poppy crouched down again. Who’s coming now?
Down on the drive a car pulled up and three people jumped out of the vehicle: Rollo Rolandson, Elizabeth Dorchester and… Poppy’s stomach lurched… Alfie Dorchester. Suddenly, a human shadow was cast further along the porch, suggesting someone was standing at a window, in front of a light. The movement caught Rollo’s eye and he looked towards the library. Poppy tried to get his attention, but he was looking at the lit window, not the shadowy porch. And then the shadow moved away.
“Rollo!” called Poppy in a stage whisper.
“Hold on, Poppy, I’m coming!” hissed the editor in reply. He ran as fast as he could up to the front porch. Meantime, screams from the beach suggested all was not well with Delilah. Poppy was just about to run back to help her when Elizabeth and Alfie turned and ran in the direction of the cries for help. Elizabeth was carrying a tyre iron. She wasn’t sure why Alfie was there, but she had no doubt Elizabeth would do her best to save Delilah. Poppy turned her attention back to Rollo, hoping to intercept him. But it was too late. He had run past without seeing her and was already in the house. She ran through the front door and across the foyer, just in time to see Rollo push open the library door.
“Where are you, Poppy?” he asked. And then he stopped in his tracks.
“Rollo Rolandson,” came a woman’s voice. “Why can’t you keep out of other people’s business?”
Poppy recognized the patrician tones of Amelia Spencer. She edged forward, trying to alert Rollo that she was there, but not wanting to be seen by Amelia. If the woman didn’t know she was on the loose she might still be able to use the element of surprise to her advantage.
“Rollo!” Poppy whispered, as close to him as she dared. He tensed. Had he heard her? “Don’t turn around. I’m here. I’m fine. Does she have a gun? Nod if she does.”
Rollo nodded.
“Then keep her talking.”
And Rollo did, giving Poppy time to think of what to do next.
“It’s hard to keep my nose out of your business, Amelia, when you insist on getting involved in so many newsworthy stories. Oh, and by the way, the police are on their way.”
The police are on their way! Or is he bluffing?
Poppy wondered what was happening down at the lake. She cocked her ear to hear. The screaming had stopped. Was that a good thing?
Back in the library, Rollo and Amelia continued their conversation. Poppy tried to imagine what the woman was doing. What were the Yazierska girls doing? Where exactly were they positioned? Could they overpower Amelia if necessary?
“Why don’t you put the gun down, Amelia, and let those girls go? They’ve done nothing to you.”
There was silence for a moment, then Amelia’s reply. Her voice was devoid of any emotion, almost matter-of-fact. “They haven’t. But now they know too much.”
“What about?” asked Rollo.
Amelia laughed mirthlessly. “Are you trying to trap me into a confession?”
“Do you have one to make?”
Mrs Spencer’s voice puffed with derision. “Of course not. I am just having a quiet night at the lake. I needed to get away for a few days.”
“A quiet night in, holding two young women hostage, or didn’t you know they were going to be here? Did you arrange to meet Parker? Did he bring them here?” asked Rollo.
“Parker?” There was a slight edge to Amelia’s voice.
“Yes, the police should be arresting him” – there was a pause and Poppy imagined Rollo looking at his watch – “about now.”
Oh, if only that were true! She must think of something. What could she do?
“We know that you murdered von Hassler, Amelia; his housekeeper has told us everything.”
There was silence for a moment. Poppy could imagine Mrs Parker weighing up the damning evidence provided by Mrs Lawson. It was a difficult accusation to sidestep.
A slight note of concern slipped into Amelia’s voice. “That woman has got it all wrong. It wasn’t murder. And I’m sure I can convince the police of that. Who will they believe: a negro woman or me? I didn’t mean to kill him, you know, but he wouldn’t stop telling filthy lies about my husband. I hit him – yes – but I didn’t mean to kill him. I’m sure the judge will understand that. A respectable woman like me.”
And then, finally, Poppy knew what she had to do. She headed as quietly as she could back to the door.
“How did Parker get involved?” asked Rollo.
“I’m not being interviewed here for a New York Times exclusive, Rolandson. Get in here. You, girl – tie him up.”
Poppy heard something indecipherable; half in Russian, half in English. Then, as she exited the house and made her way back along the porch, she could hear no more. She could, however, hear shouts – and shots! – from the lake. Dear God! Delilah! She turned, tempted for a moment to go and help her friend, but then pulled herself up. I’m too far away to help her now. But I can still help Rollo…
At the library window Poppy peeked in. Amelia Spencer was standing in the middle of the floor, her back to the window. Her gun was trained on Rollo and Mimi as the Jewish girl fumbled to tie a scarf around Rollo’s wrists.
Now! Poppy swung the iron ring with all her might. The window smashed. Amelia turned and cowered as glass cascaded around her; then Mimi and Rollo jumped on her from behind. The other girl, who had just woken up, piled in too. Amidst screams and flailing limbs, Rollo crawled out of the scrum holding the gun. He pointed it in the air and fired. The three wrestling women froze. Rollo looked up at the window and grinned. “Good work, Miz Denby.”
Poppy left Rollo to deal with Amelia and the two girls and ran towards the lake. I hope I’m not too late!
She stumbled and fell onto the gravel drive, the stones tearing her silk stockings and gouging her flesh. Damn this ring! But she dragged herself back up and continued to run – over the road and towards the maples and the lake beyond. Then, as she breached the tree-line she was met by the bloodied faces of Howard Parker and his sidekick Slick, whose nose was splayed across his face.
“All under control here, Poppy,” said Elizabeth Dorchester, with Slick’s gun trained on the two men, the only indication of her part in the scuffle an angry welt on her left cheek. But Poppy continued to run. “Delilah!”
“She’s all right!” called back Elizabeth.
As Poppy stumbled onto the shoreline, she saw that she was. A wet, bedraggled, but very much alive Delilah was in the arms of an equally wet Alfie Dorchester, standing knee deep in the lake. He waded the rest of the way to shore and laid the quivering actress on the beach. Poppy fell to her knees beside her friend. “Delilah! Are you all right?”
“I-I am. Th-thanks to Al-Alfie. He s-saved my life, Poppy!”
Poppy looked up and into the blue eyes of the man who had once tried to kill her. “Why?” was all she could say.
Alfie ran his hand across his face, wiping away the lake water. “I’m not a killer, Poppy. I never meant to hurt you in London. I just wanted to scare you. I drove the car at you – yes – but I didn’t mean to hit you. If I had, I would have just left you there in the street. But I didn’t. I took you to hospital. I saved your life.”
Poppy felt a blaze of anger. But she suppressed it. He was lying, she was sure of it, but he had saved Delilah.
“You don’t have to thank me.”
“You’re right, I won’t,” Poppy growled.
“I’ve done some terrible things – I know that – but I couldn’t say no to my father. I’m a coward – I admit it.”
Poppy could hear the sound of police sirens getting closer. “You deserve to be in prison,” she spat.
Alfie lowered his eyes. “Perhaps. Goodbye, Poppy. Goodbye, Delilah. And good luck.”
And with that, Alfie Dorchester, also known as Otto von Riesling, ran off into the night.