The Venetian House, page 38
Bronwen looked at her watch again, and Rachel got back into her car. She drove home in an anxious state of mind. She had always taken Patrick’s devotion for granted. Ought she to be more conciliatory towards him – or had they come to a parting point?
Patrick felt a sense of relief when Rachel departed to her parents, taking Posy and Yvonne with her. At least it would get them both away from Bronwen for a bit. He planned to pay Bronwen a visit himself and have a few things out with her, and thought it would be much easier if his wife were out of the way. But he had to admit to himself that this wasn’t the only reason he was pleased to see her go. He knew he had some big questions to face and despite all his resolutions on the aeroplane to try, for the children’s sake, to make his marriage work, there was nothing about his homecoming to encourage him to stick with his wife.
He was working on the book one morning when Tania came in to say that Philip Marshall was on the telephone.
Phil came straight to the point. ‘Maggie told me you wanted to know if I could dig up any information through my legal contacts about that Richards woman Rachel’s got so involved with. I’ve been asking a few questions. You’re not going to like what I’ve come up with.’
Patrick groaned. ‘I knew it! She’s a dreadful woman – and she really seems to have got her claws into Rachel. I wouldn’t trust her further than I could spit. She’s managed to get Rachel to lend her quite a large sum of money – not, I think, for the first time.’
‘Well, get it back damn quick if you can. Bronwen Richards has got a record for this sort of thing. She’s a con artist and a fraudster who got a suspended sentence some years ago for similar offences and was lucky not to go inside. Also I gather her dodgy boyfriend is suspected of drug dealing and the police have been watching him. Between you and me, I think they may be planning a raid on Bronwen’s house next time he shows up – not to mention the fact that she shouldn’t be practising as a therapist. Her qualifications were perfectly genuine once but she’s been struck off the register. She’s using a different name now, of course. Get Rachel out of her clutches – Bronwen Richards is bad news and you don’t want her round your kids. Oh, and, Patrick … don’t say anything to Rachel about the drugs at this point. If the police are planning something it wouldn’t help if Bronwen was warned. Not that I’m suggesting Rachel would say anything if you asked her not to,’ he said unconvincingly, ‘but you know how easy it is to let something slip by mistake.’
Patrick’s heart sank. ‘Oh my God! That’s really serious. I’ve known for ages that Bronwen was extremely bad news but this is much worse than I thought. She can be horribly plausible, but I hadn’t picked up on the drug aspect. That’s extremely worrying. At least I’ve got something to go on as far as Rachel’s concerned over the money aspect. God, what a mess! Thanks, Phil. I’ll keep in touch.’
Later that day, when Philip got home, he said to Maggie: ‘What do you think the odds are of Patrick and Rachel’s marriage surviving?’
‘Not good,’ said Maggie, who was sitting at the kitchen table surrounded by garden catalogues and graph paper, drawing up plans for a client’s new herbaceous border. ‘The odds wouldn’t be brilliant even if no one else was involved, but Ellie’s let it slip that Sophie thinks Patrick’s fallen for someone else – and if he has, it won’t just be a jolly little flutter, it’ll be really serious. Rachel’s a fool.’
‘She’s also unbelievably selfish and one of the most tiresome women I know,’ said Phil, exasperated. ‘I’ve never understood why Patrick’s put up with her all these years. I couldn’t have done it.’
‘I’m not quite sure what to make of that,’ said Maggie, laughing at him. ‘Do I take it you’d get rid of me without a qualm if I got up your nose, but that luckily you haven’t found me quite that infuriating yet?’
‘Oh, you can be infuriating too,’ said Philip with a grin, ‘but you’re not even approaching Rachel’s league in tiresomeness.’ And he gave his wife a very loving kiss on her wide, slightly crooked mouth that always looked as if it was about to break into a smile.
After four days, Rachel telephoned Patrick to say that she had decided to stay on with her parents for a bit longer. They were not getting any younger, she said, and added that one never knew how much longer their good health would last. If Patrick thought this decision had less to do with his in-laws’ age than the fact that so far there had been no sign of any money being returned by Bronwen, he didn’t say so. He had a chat with Posy, who was clearly revelling in grandparental adulation and made no comment to his wife about her arrangements. He told her that he would have to go up to London on business, but only for one night, and would speak to Sophie to let her know there would be no one at home on Wednesday in case she rang. Had Rachel told her that she was with the grandparents? Yes, of course, said Rachel huffily – that is, she hadn’t actually spoken to Sophie but she’d left a message with the school. The house telephone was permanently engaged, she complained. But not, said Patrick coldly, Sophie’s mobile, which she was allowed now that she was in the sixth form. He thought it was too bad of Rachel not to have spoken to her elder daughter. She seemed to be allowing the feud over the bedroom to simmer on.
He left the car at York station and caught the early train to King’s Cross. He had originally planned to spend the night in the flat, but when he got to London he discovered that his meeting the following day had been cancelled so he decided to return home the same evening. The extra time would give him a chance to visit Hugh next morning.
He wasn’t late getting home; it was only about nine when he turned into the drive, having had a highly satisfactory day and seen both Saphira Winterton and the publishers to discuss not only the present book but also future projects. He drove straight round to the back of the house. There was no barking from the dogs as Tania would have been in earlier and taken them home with her for the night – an arrangement that was wonderfully useful. As he unlocked the door there was not the usual beeping from the burglar alarm, but neither was there any sinister message flashing in the little window above the keypad indicating an intruder or a false alarm. All was in order. Tania must have forgotten to set it, he thought, and felt ashamed of his momentary annoyance because this was unlike her – though she was breezily laid-back over many things she was usually punctilious about security. He made a mental note to mention it to her the following morning and went on through into the hall. And then a sixth sense alerted him to something unusual and he froze.
Nothing was out of place and no doors were open. The grandfather clock ticked away as peacefully as it always did and there were no extraneous sounds, but there was some quality in the silence that made him suddenly certain he was not alone in the house. He stood in the dusk without turning on the lights – listening intently, and found that he was holding his breath. It seemed as if the whole house was holding its breath with him. He must have waited for a least a minute before he flung open the door to his study and turned on the lights.
Bronwen Richards was standing by his desk.
Chapter Thirty-four
They stared at each other for a moment in silence. It would have been hard to know who was the more startled.
‘What the hell are you doing here?’ asked Patrick.
‘Hi there, Patrick – I’ve come to pay you a surprise visit,’ said Bronwen coolly, making a lightning recovery. ‘That’s not a very friendly greeting.’
‘It wasn’t intended to be. How the devil did you get in?’
Bronwen looked at him provocatively. She leaned back against the desk with a display of nonchalance that might have won her an Oscar if it had been filmed – but it was not lost on Patrick that with one hand behind her back she was surreptitiously trying to close one of the drawers of his desk.
‘Please stand away from my desk or I shall call the police.’ There was a flicker of anxiety on her face, quickly replaced by her usual arrogance. ‘I repeat,’ said Patrick, ‘how did you get in?’
‘Oh, I wouldn’t call the police – they might be too interested in some of your wife’s recent activities,’ Bronwen’s voice was silky sweet, but she stepped away from the desk, leaving the top drawer slightly open. ‘You can’t accuse me of breaking in because I used the key Rachel gave me herself ages ago – as I’ve often done before. In case you’re wondering, I also know the code for your alarm.’
‘The hell you do!’ Patrick wondered how many other times she’d snooped around, what she might have seen and what she might have taken. ‘I suppose it’s too much to expect that you’ve come to return the money you conned Rachel into lending you?’
‘I didn’t con her. Rachel wanted to lend it. But I gather you want it returned. I’ve told her it will take a week or so to get the cash back.’ She shot him another provocative look. ‘You’ll just have to be patient, Patrick.’
‘I don’t have to be anything of the sort. The alarm code will be altered and I shall have the locks changed tomorrow – and may I have that key back now, please?’
She laughed mockingly, throwing an unmistakable challenge and an invitation at him. ‘Would you try to get it off me by force?’ she asked softly.
‘No, Bronwen, I wouldn’t. I’d leave that to the police.’
‘That might be a mistake. I could tell them a lot of things your wife’s been involved in lately and I don’t think you’d like that much, Patrick.’
‘I don’t suppose I should like anything you’ve involved her in,’ retorted Patrick, ‘and for Rachel’s sake I hope I don’t have to call them – but don’t make any mistake: I will if I have to. And it would give me great satisfaction to see you arrested. Give me that key now and then go.’
‘And if I don’t?’
For answer Patrick walked over to the desk, picked up the telephone and started dialling.
Bronwen took the key out of her pocket and tossed it at him. He put his foot on it, and held the receiver out so that she could hear the ringing tone before he replaced it.
‘That was wise of you,’ he said, pocketing the key. ‘And please remember I won’t hesitate to call them again – only next time I’ll make sure I don’t ring off before I get through – Rachel or no Rachel. She may have torn down a few notices, and signed her name to some nonsensical petitions connected with your bogus protest group but I know her too well to think she’d knowingly get involved in anything really serious. Whatever you’ve got on her must be very minor – and far more incriminating to you than her.’
They eyed each other across the room. Patrick was tempted to tell her that he knew about her record but, mindful of Philip’s request, didn’t want to alert her to police suspicions.
‘We could deal with each other better than this, Patrick. I’ve always thought so.’ Bronwen came slowly towards him. ‘I admit I didn’t think you’d be here,’ she said. ‘Rachel told me you were in London – but now that you are here it seems a pity not to make the most of it.’ She stopped in front of him, suggestively fingering a button on her shirt and stood there – too close for comfort. ‘I could give you a great time,’ she said. ‘You’re far more interesting to me than your wife – you always have been.’
‘I’ll give you one minute to be out of here,’ said Patrick icily, ‘and don’t ever come back.’
He held the door open. She gave him a long speculative look, but he stared her down, determined neither to retreat from her nor show the slightest flicker of response. Then she shrugged her shoulders. ‘Oh, well – your loss,’ she said. He followed her into the hall and escorted her to the unlocked front door in silence. He watched her get into her red car and drive off, very fast, down the front drive.
It was only after the tail-lights of the car had disappeared from sight that he realised he’d failed to discover what she had come for – and whether or not she had found what she wanted and managed to take it away with her right under his nose. He could smell her musky perfume lingering in the air. There had been something sinister and unpleasant about the episode that made him very anxious for his wife. He might not feel for Rachel as he used to do, but he still felt protective towards her. He also felt sullied by the encounter with Bronwen.
He looked all through his desk – in particular in the drawer he’d seen Bronwen fiddling with – but all appeared to be in order. He never kept cash there anyway – though he knew there was some in the safe in the cellar; he checked to see if the safe key was missing – but it was there in the centre drawer. What could she have been after? He went through the house, checking for signs of disturbance, but couldn’t detect anything untoward anywhere. In the sitting room the flap of Rachel’s bureau-type desk was closed up and all the drawers were neatly shut: it was all apparently just as Rachel, a dedicated tweaker of cushions, aligner of ornaments and closer of cupboards would have left it. All the same, he must get her to check that there was nothing missing as soon as she returned.
The answering machine was flashing and he pressed the button to hear his wife’s voice.
‘Patrick – it’s me. I know you’re in London tonight but just to let you know I’ve decided to come home on Friday. I’m going to leave Yvonne and Posy down here for a bit longer and they can come back by train later. My ma seems keen to have them for a few more days and you’ve been saying for ages that we ought to have some time on our own – so I hope you’ll be pleased. Night then – see you Friday.’
But Patrick’s heart sank. He found himself not at all keen for his wife’s return.
Down in Surrey, in her parents’ trim house near Chobham, Rachel had encountered unexpected criticism from a source that had hitherto been dotingly compliant of her every whim. Her parents liked their son-in-law; indeed, though they might not have admitted it, they’d been quite relieved when he’d taken the responsibility for their difficult daughter off their hands, because Rachel had always led them a terrible dance. They had initially been disappointed that, once she was married, their clever daughter had never shown any further inclination to pursue the career possibilities that had cropped up during her time at Oxford, or made apparent use of her undoubted brains, and perhaps they would never have considered anyone quite worthy of their only child, but over the years they had come to think Patrick came close to qualifying for his position. Recently, however, they had not been blind to the tensions in the marriage and had hoped Rachel’s obsession with her third child would lessen to a more normal state of affairs as Posy grew older. Like Patrick, they had initially thought the new therapist, on whom Rachel had become so dependent, had wrought something of a miracle in her approach to motherhood; but this gratitude had waned as they witnessed their daughter’s emotional pendulum swing from one extreme to the other. They were fearful about what might happen if it suddenly swung back. They admired Patrick’s loyalty to his demanding wife but were anxiously aware that his forbearance was wearing threadbare.
They were also troubled about the effect that Rachel’s dissatisfied carping might have on her older children and thought the entrancing Posy was in danger of becoming a perfect pain. But this awareness had been tempered by their habitual fear of putting Rachel under pressure – a fear that had its roots in the anxiety they had felt for her since the day she had so unexpectedly appeared late in their married lives, after they had given up all hope of conceiving a child.
After several nervous conferences they decided for once to express their views – to which Rachel’s reaction had been predictably prickly. In reality she paid more attention to their warnings than she was prepared to let on. Despite Bronwen’s frequent suggestions that she should abandon her marriage, she wasn’t sure she wanted to part from her husband. She drove north in the expectation that she would only have to show him how much she still needed him to be welcomed back with open arms. She wasn’t sure she actually wanted to be in his arms any more but she certainly required them to be ready to receive her.
On the way home Rachel decided to call on Bronwen to test her reaction to this proposed rapprochement with her husband. If she explained that it would be in Bronwen’s financial interest to get Patrick on side again, surely she would agree? The thought of Bronwen’s disapproval of any of her actions made Rachel nervous. Also, without the stabilising influence of either Patrick or Yvonne, she was not finding the two-year-old passions of her small daughter easy to handle.
The red car wasn’t parked outside the house so she assumed Bronwen must be visiting a client. However, since it was already after one o’clock and she knew Bronwen rarely made appointments after twelve on a Friday, she decided to wait. She left a message on Bronwen’s mobile, turned the radio on and settled down to listen to the news. After half an hour when there was still no sign of her it occurred to Rachel that Bronwen might have driven round to the back without her noticing, so she got out of the car and went down the side of the house. She glanced through the windows of the main room as she passed and then peered in.
What she saw – or rather didn’t see – stopped her in her tracks. The room was completely empty. There was not a stick of furniture to be seen – not a picture on the walls. Rachel couldn’t believe her eyes. She dashed round to the front again, peered in all the windows and rattled the door. Nothing. She went round the house, looking for an open window, but they were all were closed. The house appeared to be deserted. The back door was locked and she had to stand on tiptoe to see into the kitchen window.
She nearly jumped out of her skin when something soft pressed against her leg from behind. It was Bronwen’s goat. The door to her shed was propped open and she had been turned loose. Rachel peered cautiously into the shed but there were no clues there. She can’t just have left, thought Rachel wildly – not without saying a word to me. Her heart started to thump. Perhaps the house had been broken into – but there were no signs of any break-in. Was Bronwen all right – could she be lying somewhere in a pool of blood having been attacked? Rachel didn’t feel strong enough to force an entry and go inside. She sat down on the doorstep because her legs felt so shaky. I couldn’t manage my life without Bronwen, she thought. I need her.
