The twenty-hour flight to London seemed interminable. Rosalind was too tall to be comfortable in planes and couldn’t manage to do more than doze for an hour or two. By the time the plane arrived in London, she was exhausted.
Pushing her luggage trolley, she walked out into the terminal looking for Paul, pleased at the prospect of being with him again. When she couldn’t see him anywhere she began to feel apprehensive. He’d phoned last week and promised that nothing, absolutely nothing, would prevent him from meeting her at the airport and helping her settle into the English house. So where was he?
She saw a young woman holding one of those signs with people’s names on them and didn’t look at it, then something clicked inside her brain and she turned slowly back. It said STEVENSON in ominous black letters.
‘Oh, damn you, Paul!’ she whispered. ‘Couldn’t you even do this for me? Does the company have to come first every single time?’
The woman holding the sign looked across at her and nodded in recognition. She was so trim and well-groomed, she made Rosalind feel huge and even more dishevelled than before.
‘Mrs Stevenson? Paul’s wife?’
‘Yes.’
The woman stuck out one well-manicured hand. ‘You look just like the photo on Paul’s desk. I’m Gail Johns from personnel. I’m afraid Paul’s been called away. He’s in New York at the moment, actually.’
‘New York!’ Rosalind could hear her voice wobble, couldn’t prevent it.
Gail gave her a reassuring smile. ‘You don’t have to worry. I’ve arranged everything for you. Let’s have a coffee and I’ll explain.’ She set off across the concourse.
For a moment Rosalind stood watching her, then sighed and began to push the luggage trolley through the crowds. Around her people were hugging one another, some weeping for joy. Children were running to and fro. Everyone, it seemed, was with family or friends.
Everyone except her. Only pride kept her head up.
And anger.
The refreshments area was seedy and predominantly brown. The tables had been swiped over casually with a cloth and were still smeary.
Gail brought back two coffees and some food for herself. ‘Hope you don’t mind, but I haven’t had any lunch yet.’ She took a huge bite of the sandwich, then got out some papers. ‘I have full instructions for you, Mrs Stevenson, all in alphabetical order – so much better than my trying to explain everything now, don’t you think? You’d never remember all the details afterwards.’
Her tone was that of an adult dealing with a rather dull child. Rosalind breathed deeply but said nothing. It had been the same when Paul worked in the company’s Australian branch. Ambitious young things like this had treated her as if she were in her dotage because she was a mere housewife.
‘We’ve found you a house in Dorset. The chairman’s family came from there originally and he always speaks well of it. The house is quite large and there’s a nice villagey atmosphere, so you should find it easy to make friends. It’s only about two hours’ drive from London.’
Aligning the papers carefully on the table, Gail dipped into the briefcase again. ‘This is the key to the house – front door key only, the others are waiting for you in Burraford Destan. It’s a nice little place and really easy to get to, mostly motorway from here. Paul said you’d be all right with the driving.’ She raised one eyebrow questioningly.
‘Of course I shall.’ Rosalind was absolutely terrified of driving in a strange country, but she’d let herself be hanged, drawn and quartered before she’d admit it to this bright young thing.
Gail picked up the sandwich again, then glanced across the table with it halfway to her mouth. ‘Are you sure you’re all right, Mrs Stevenson? You look a bit pale.’
‘I’m just a bit – um – jet-lagged. It’s a long flight.’
‘Well, if you’re too tired to drive today, we can easily book you into a hotel.’
Rosalind struggled to ‘get her head together’, as Louise would have said. ‘I – what time is it here?’
‘One o’clock in the afternoon.’
Rosalind thought furiously as she adjusted her watch. If she booked into a hotel now, she would fall asleep then wake up in the middle of the night. Paul always said it was better to fit into the day−night pattern as soon as you could after you changed time zones, and he ought to know. ‘No. I won’t bother with a hotel. I’ve all afternoon to drive down to Dorset, haven’t I? So I can just take things easily.’ One step at a time. Her old motto brought its usual comfort.
Gail devoured the last of the sandwich. ‘That’s terrific. Though you’d better stop on the way to pick up some groceries. Paul hasn’t managed to get down to Dorset yet and there’ll be nothing in the fridge.’
‘But I thought – Paul told me he’d approved the house himself.’
‘Ah. Well, I’m afraid a few things cropped up and he only had time to set the ground rules. But the agency we use for executive relocation is very reliable and I’ve shown him the photos. Very attractive house, delightful village. I’m sure you’ll like living there. Paul really fancies English village life.’ She took another gulp of coffee. ‘Dorset is a really pretty part of England. I looked it up online. Hills, farms with grey stone walls, very picturesque villages.’
Her description made Rosalind realise that no one from the company had actually checked the house.
‘And we have a company flat in London for when Paul can’t get down to Dorset. You can get up to town in two hours by train from nearby Wareham, which is pretty convenient. I’ve got you a good road map.’ She unwrapped a piece of fruitcake. ‘Don’t know why I’m so hungry today. Must be the cold.’
‘Is it very cold outside?’
‘Freezing.’ Gail licked some cake crumbs from her fingers. ‘Everyone’s saying how late spring is this year. I mean, almost April and no sign of the sun. Even the trees are late getting their leaves.’ She glanced sideways, frowned and offered another glib reassurance. ‘I’m sure you’ll be all right, Mrs Stevenson.’
Miss Efficiency was still talking to her as if she were a doddery old lady and Rosalind wasn’t having that. She straightened up and said crisply, ‘Well, if you’ve finished eating, we may as well go and get the car, eh?’
It was a large, comfortable car and Rosalind had no difficulty driving it, though she felt a bit nervous at first coping with the heavy motorway traffic. Then, half an hour later, the engine coughed and spluttered before picking up. A few minutes later, it began to falter again. ‘No! Please, no!’ Rosalind begged. But the vehicle lost power and began to kangaroo, jerking forward briefly, then losing momentum.
She signalled to move left, cutting in front of a small truck, which blared its horn at her, then pulling off onto the hard shoulder just as the engine died completely. The car rolled slowly to a halt and she sat frozen in disbelief for a moment before opening the door.
Icy wind howled around her. Traffic fumes assaulted her nose. Dark clouds were massing in the sky. What the hell was the matter? The car had a full tank of petrol, so it couldn’t be that. She lifted the bonnet, but could see nothing obviously wrong. The battery connections seemed good, the fan belt wasn’t slack and no water hoses seemed to be leaking. Beyond that, she didn’t know what to look for.
Cars and trucks continued to drone past her and the wind blew icy dampness down her neck, as well as sneaking chill fingers up her sleeves. She hadn’t got a mobile phone yet. Miss Efficiency had expected her to have her own. She could only hope there would be an emergency phone nearby.
Locking the car, she began trudging grimly along the hard shoulder, alternately buffeted by the backdraught from passing trucks and mocked by the wind, which continued to tug at her clothes and suck away what little warmth was left in her body.
The phone got her through to the police, who telephoned the car hire company and then told her someone would be coming with a replacement car, but it’d take a while.
‘How long?’
‘Sorry, madam. They didn’t say. You should remain with your vehicle or it might get towed away. If anyone stops nearby, it’d be safer to lock yourself in.’
She tramped back to wait. Finding half a chocolate bar in her handbag, she devoured it hungrily, then wished she hadn’t because it made her thirsty. Time crawled past and the radio programmes were only half-audible because of the traffic noise, so she was left with her own thoughts for company.
‘Damn you, Paul Stevenson!’ she said aloud at one stage.
In Australia that same day, Liz looked at her husband and anger rose like bile in her throat, scalding her with its intensity. She’d never felt so furious with Bill before, not even the first time he’d been unfaithful. ‘You must think I’m stupid if you expect me to fall for that line.’
‘It isn’t a line.’ He looked at her warily.
She leant her head back and stared up at the ceiling for a moment. ‘He does think I’m stupid,’ she told it, then looked at him again. ‘She’s called Marian Hulme and she’s just out from England in her first tenured position. She’s tall, with dyed blonde hair. And she calls you William, dear.’
He went white. ‘How did you find out?’
‘I can always tell when you’re being unfaithful, so I did a bit of snooping, not to mention checking the credit card accounts. You’ve been wining and dining rather a lot lately. And you shouldn’t chat to people in stairwells. I heard everything you said to her yesterday when I was on my way to your office, William dear.’
He stared down at the floor.
‘This time, I’m not going to forgive you. Instead, I’m working on the principle of goose and gander, as in sauce for.’
He jerked upright. ‘Liz, surely—’
‘Surely what?’
‘You don’t mean that.’
‘I do, actually. I’ve booked myself a holiday. In Hong Kong. Eighteen lovely days. And while I’m there, I’m going to keep my eyes open for a likely new gander – preferably one a little younger than you and with more hair on his head.’ She heard the air whistle into Bill’s mouth and felt grim satisfaction at hitting him in his weak spot. Heaven alone knew why it mattered so much to him that he was going bald, but it did.
‘Don’t do that, Liz. I’ll – I’ll end it at once, and—’
‘Oh, but I shall do it. Go to Hong Kong, anyway. I’ll have an affair, too, if I can find someone I fancy. And every time you start screwing around from now on, I’m going to take a lover as well. I’m told I’m quite attractive still – even if you don’t find me so – and I doubt I’ll have too much difficulty getting someone to sleep with me.’
‘Liz—’
‘I leave in two days for Hong Kong.’
His glance was very level. ‘I don’t believe you about the lover, but if you want a holiday, well, that’s all right with me. I’ll make sure everything is well and truly over by the time you return.’
‘It’d bloody better be.’ She smiled then and delivered her coup de grâce. ‘Hope you’re feeling in a domesticated mood, because you won’t be able to eat in restaurants while I’m away. I’m afraid I’ve cleaned out our account.’
‘All of it?’
‘Yup!’
‘You’ve got a nasty streak under all that sparkle, Liz. How the hell am I going to manage without money till you get back?’
‘I don’t actually care.’
She slept in the spare bedroom till she left. And missed cuddling him like hell. But she wasn’t going to admit that.
As Rosalind sat waiting for deliverance by an English roadside, in America her son put his last coin into a slot machine and reached for the paper cup of coffee. His hand was shaking. Hell, they had certainly pinned one on last night. What had been in that last pill he’d popped? He blinked and risked a sip of the dirty-looking liquid. Oh, for one of his mother’s wonderful coffees! That thought made him snort with laughter.
‘What’s so funny, man?’ Wayne appeared next to him.
‘I was just thinking of Mum’s coffee. It’s the best in the whole world.’ Tim took another sip. Well, at least this stuff was warm. ‘What are we going to do now? I’m skint. And you’re nearly out of money, too.’
‘We’ll have to earn some more.’
‘We don’t have a work permit.’
‘You don’t need a permit for what I’ve got in mind.’
‘I don’t think I want to—’
Wayne grabbed him by the front of his jacket. ‘I’m getting just a little tired of you and your scruples. If you’re not happy here, go back home to your darling mummy. Otherwise, stop moaning and feeling sorry for yourself. We could have earned ourselves some good money working with those guys last night, but oh no, you had to put your foot in it, didn’t you?’
‘The fat one was a full-on drug dealer and he wanted us to push for him.’
‘So what? Everyone’s into something nowadays, so why not take advantage of that? You’ve been doing stuff since you were fourteen, so you’re a fine one to talk. Yeah.’ He let that sink in, then added, ‘Now, either you’re with me or you can manage on your own. Make up your bloody mind.’ Only then did he let go of his friend’s jacket, laughing as hot coffee spilt down it.
Tim shuddered at the thought of walking away from Wayne. America – well, the part they were visiting – scared him silly and he wished desperately he’d never left Australia. Even home was better than this nightmare existence. But he wasn’t going to crawl back to his father with his tail between his legs. No way.
‘I said I was in, didn’t I? And you owe me a coffee now, you stupid bastard. You spilt most of mine and that was my last coin.’
Wayne’s face slowly relaxed. ‘All right, then. One coffee coming up. Now, here’s what we do …’
It was nearly three hours before another car drew up beside Rosalind, by which time she was chilled to the marrow and bursting for a pee. She had sunk into a dull lethargy, enduring because there was nothing else she could do.
A man wearing a cap with the hire company logo on it got out and she opened the door to speak to him. A flurry of light rain whispered across them, then trailed away into mere dampness, but judging by the dark clouds more was on the way.
‘Mrs Stevenson?’
‘Yes.’
‘John Trevithin. I’ve got another car here for you. A tow truck will be along in a few minutes to take me and this naughty girl back.’ He slapped the car with an affection Rosalind in no way shared.
‘Well, I hope you fix the problem before you hire the car out again. I’ve been sitting here for three hours in the freezing cold!’
‘Yes. Sorry. There’s a motorway services place just along the road. Go and get yourself a meal and a hot drink. You’ll feel a lot better then.’ He handed her a voucher. ‘Compliments of the company.’
She looked at her watch. Half past four. ‘I had intended to get down to Dorset before dark.’
‘You’ll never make it. Might as well take a break first. Do you good. Not a nice introduction to England, eh, Mrs Stevenson? Never mind. Things can only get better from now on. Enjoy your holiday.’
He didn’t look much older than her son, but she felt old today – old, cold and fed up to the bloody teeth. Lips pressed tightly together she started up the car and left him standing there, grinning and waving at her like an idiot. But she did stop at the services to use the ladies’, then grab a cup of coffee and a sandwich. Muddy coffee and a pallid sandwich with wilted salad and stringy beef stuck between two layers of anonymous white bread. She left half of it.
It was an effort to push herself up again from the small plastic table. She was exhausted and jet lag was making her whole system scream for sleep. But she didn’t want to find a motel, just get this endless travelling over and done with, and take possession of her new home.
It grew dark well before she reached Dorset, but she found a petrol station which sold basic foods and bought enough to last her until the following morning. She grabbed another coffee while she was at it and this time it was proper coffee, freshly brewed. By the time she left, she was feeling slightly more cheerful. Nearly there now.
She turned onto the Wareham−Swanage road, driving through the darkness with a sense of triumph. According to her directions, Burraford Destan was on the right just past Wareham. If she missed the first turn, there was another soon after it. Yes, there was the sign.
She followed the last of the instructions, which she had to admit were excellent, and found Number 10, Sexton Close. She had to stop the car and get out to open the big wrought-iron gates, whose rusty hinges seemed unwilling to move. ‘You ought to be here today, Paul Stevenson,’ she muttered as she struggled with them. ‘For once in your damned high-powered life you ought to be with me.’
The gates gave way at last to her desperate shoving and she got into the car, rolling forward slowly round the circular driveway to the front door. She gaped at the house in the beam of the headlights. It really was beautiful, built of some sort of pale grey stone. Even the roof was grey, not covered in tiles but what looked like big slabs of stone.
A steep gable on the right side of the house looked like something from a small-town Disney movie, and all round the edges of the circular drive were daffodils, scores of them, lit up by the powerful headlights of the car. Her spirits began to lift, though she’d have felt better if there had been lights showing in the windows – and would have felt safer, too.
When she got out, she left the engine running and the headlights on. Outside that charmed circle of light everything looked dark and sinister, but she reminded herself of the self-defence course she’d taken. She’d got a commendation for it, too, though she’d never had to use the skills.
Oh, for goodness’ sake, she thought, pull yourself together, Rosalind! You’re not some fragile little thing to be easily overpowered.
The self-defence instructor had said you never turned your back on danger. Well, she’d just like to see him open this door without turning his back on the garden. ‘Come on, come on, you stupid thing!’ She fumbled with the lock and turned the key just as rain began hissing down again like a grey chiffon cloak between her and the car headlights.
It took a lot of willpower to step forward into the blackness of the hall, even with the car keys poking out between her knuckles as a makeshift weapon. She found a switch and suddenly the place was flooded with light, then something started beeping and she keyed in the security number quickly.
Weak with relief, she leant against the wall, reassured by the feel of something solid behind her as she studied her surroundings.
It was a few seconds before she gathered enough courage to move forward and begin opening doors. On the left a spacious living room led into a small dining room with a very ugly modern table and chairs, all angles and discomfort. On the right was a smaller sitting room and behind it an office. Kitchen and conservatory were at the rear. She left lights on everywhere because it made her feel better, and put the kettle on while she was in the kitchen. Even instant coffee would be wonderful.
Upstairs, according to the brochure on the house, were ‘four spacious bedrooms and two bathrooms’ with an ‘attic playroom or guest bedroom, plus small shower room’. Well, she’d investigate those when she’d got her luggage in.
She made two quick dashes to the car and when she switched off the headlights and motor, she felt suddenly terrified that someone might be lurking in the bushes, so raced up the steps and slammed the front door shut behind her. Laughing shakily at herself, she shoved the bolt across.
The kitchen was full of steam because the kettle hadn’t switched itself off. There wasn’t enough water left in it for a coffee, so she filled the damned thing again. Her teeth were chattering and she had never felt so cold in her whole life. She would not cry! She would not.
But she did. She sipped her coffee with tears trickling down her face and plopping into the cup. Realistically she knew Paul couldn’t have refused to do his job, but emotionally she felt he’d let her down.
She shivered. How cold it was! No wonder her parents had emigrated to Australia. Only then did it occur to her. She was an idiot. Miss Efficiency had said there was central heating. She fumbled for the instructions folder, which said: ‘Central heating is switched on from the central boiler, located in the mudroom.’ She frowned round. Mudroom? What the hell was one of those?
Suddenly she noticed the door at the back of the casual meals area next to the kitchen. She’d dismissed it as a cupboard, but perhaps this was the mudroom. It was locked. No key in sight nearby. Back to Miss Efficiency’s instructions.
KEYS, she read, the only entry under K. Capital letters, neatly positioned on the page. She could just imagine the immaculate Gail typing it on her computer keyboard, red nails flashing. ‘The keys are in the top drawer of the bureau in the sitting room to the right of the front door as you go in.’
Great one! Where else would you keep keys? ‘Aha!’ Jangling the big bunch in her hand, she went back to the kitchen to try them out. ‘No labels on them, of course! Caught you there, Gail Johns! Not good enough. Off with your nails!’
She decided that a mudroom was a utility room, a place for coats and shoes, judging by the hooks and racks. It also contained the controls for the heating system and she left it clucking quietly to itself before trailing wearily upstairs. The quilt in the master bedroom looked fluffy and inviting. Shivering, she crept under it without taking her clothes off. Within seconds she was fast asleep.