CHAPTER SIX
“If you don’t stop pacing to and fro, you’ll be getting a bill for wearing a hole in the carpet,” Kirk Spencer commented while trying to decide between a red and blue tee shirt.
Charley Briggs paused and glared before lying on the bed and sprawled there, naked, gazing at the ceiling. “I can’t help it. It’s that man, Owen Shepherd. He’s really got under my skin. You remember I told you he was a guest here when Briggs and I were on our honeymoon? Well, according to Mel Harvey, he’s been carrying a torch for Anne all these years. Anne isn’t interested, of course, and just as well since his mother kept him on a tight rein by all accounts. I ask you, what woman wants a mummy’s boy? But now the mother is dead…well…who knows what he might do? Some men just can’t manage without a woman around. They go to pieces. Suppose he comes on to poor Anne? I tell you, Spence, that man’s got me worried.”
“It’s none of our business,” Spence pointed out.
“True,” Charley conceded, “But there’s something else too…” sitting up on the bed and running an approving eye up and down his naked front.
“So?” Spence prompted with a grin, “Don’t keep me in suspense? On second thoughts, let me guess. You’ve got a hunch about him, right? There’s something about Owen Shepherd that doesn’t quite add up.”
“Spot on.”
“Now why, I wonder, am I not surprised? Could it be because you’ve read so many corny crime novels, my sweet, you can’t tell fact from fiction?”
“Oh? And it’s fiction I suppose that I once saw Owen Shepherd in the strangest circumstances here in this very hotel twenty-three years ago?”
“Unless you have a phenomenal memory, it probably is, yes. Now, which tee shirt shall I wear, the red or the blue?”
“Neither. Wear the green one with the dragon motif. And you know damn well, I have an excellent memory. I remembered the man’s face, didn’t I? What’s more, now I remember why. Are you listening to me?”
Spence had turned his back and was rummaging in a drawer for the green tee shirt with its dragon motif in a contrasting, darker shade of green. “I’m all ears, my sweet!” he replied.
“It was in the early hours of Sunday morning…the day Briggs and I were due to leave for Gatwick,” she continued, choosing somewhat sceptically to take him at his word. “I had gone to the bathroom. There were no en suite rooms here in those days. On my way back to Briggs, who should I see coming up the stairs but Owen Shepherd! It must have been three, maybe four o’clock in the morning, I forget. But I’ll never forget the look of him on those stairs. He was not only dishevelled, for a man usually so neatly dressed, but he had a real shifty look about him too. I’ll say! I recall thinking, good for him. A night on the tiles away from that ogre of a mother of his would do him the world of good.”
“So?” Spence, having retrieved the dragon top, was facing her again now, looking a trifle bemused.
“Anne’s little girl disappeared sometime within the next twenty-four hours.”
“So?” Spence repeated, “Yes, but you told me the child didn’t disappear until after you and Briggs had left, which would make it during the Sunday night, right?”
“Or the early hours of Monday morning, no one knows for sure.”
“So?” Spence scratched his head, “What has seeing this Shepherd bloke in the early hours of Sunday morning got to do with anything? You’re not suggesting he had anything to do with what happened, surely? It’s probably just like you said. He’d been out having fun and was feeling - and looking - the worse for wear. Besides, the police wouldn’t have left a stone unturned. You can’t possibly think…?”
“I don’t know what to think,” said Charley irritably. She could tell from his expression that Spence was laughing at her. “Supposing he hadn’t been out on the tiles, but planning that poor child’s abduction, sussing out where to dump her body even?”
“That a lot of supposing,” Spence commented dryly.
“Whatever, it fair makes my blood run cold. Honestly, Spence, that man has got me so worked up.”
“So I see, and talking of which…” Spence laid one knee on the bed.
“Oh?” Charley felt a rush of adrenalin despite her annoyance.
“Here I am naked and there you are naked and, wow! Have you got me all worked up or haven’t you, Charley Phoebe Briggs?”
“You know I hate the name Phoebe,” she chuckled.
“All I know is I want you Charley Briggs, and, so help me, I’m going to have you.” He was astride her in seconds, body pinioning the huge mound of perfumed flesh, mouth smothering a string of oaths pouring by way of half-hearted protest from the wide, sensual lips.
“I love you!” he murmured between frantic kisses.
I can’t think why, she thought good-humouredly. However, rather than tempt fate, she murmured, “I love you too,” before letting him taking the lead in a long, hot, sensual romp until he exploded inside her. She, too, climaxed almost simultaneously.
For a while they were content to lie there, each enjoying the intimate rhythm of the other’s breathing. She stroked his hair, reflecting as she always did that he was the only man who had been able to coax her to orgasm, moreover in such a way that sex became a beautiful, shared experience rather than a demonstration of male ego.
You’re not bad for a forty-something pushing fifty, Charley Briggs, she congratulated herself with amused satisfaction, not bad at all. What did the eighteen years between her and Spence really matter, she fretted? Oh, people would persist in warning her it did. If they didn’t have the nerve to come right out and say so, it showed in their faces. Let them. Who cares? She bent and kissed the nape of his neck. Spence did not stir. She licked the lobe of one ear. He opened his eyes, grinned, lazily raised one arm and proceeded to draw her head close to his for a long, passionate kiss.
...……………………….
Cathy Taylor took her time returning to Hillcrest. As she entered the hotel lobby, Lynette came running towards her and flung herself into her mother’s open arms. Where have you been, Mummy?” the child demanded in a scolding voice that did not match the laughing mouth and eyes.
“I told you, darling. I’ve been to see Anne, the lady we met on the beach yesterday.”
“The one Daddy shouted at?”
“That’s the one,” said Steve Taylor gruffly, tossing Cathy dark looks over the child’s blonde head. “Lynette and I have already had lunch,” he added.
“That’s okay. I didn’t expect you to wait for me. Besides, I’m not hungry,” Cathy lied upon suddenly discovering she was ravenous.
“We’re going to see the Devil,” Lynette announced excitedly.
“I thought we’d take a bus to the Devil’s Dyke then take a walk along the South Downs way,” Steve explained.
“That will be nice. But you’ll have to count me out, I’m afraid. I can feel a migraine coming on and need to go and lie down for a while.”
“No, Mummy, no, you’ve got to come too. Hasn’t she Daddy?” Lynette screwed up her pretty face in protest.
“I’m sorry darling but Mummy has a headache. You’ll have a lovely time with Daddy. You wouldn’t want Mummy to get one of her bad migraines would you?
“No, but…” the child continued to wrestle with concern and disappointment.
“You’ll have a lovely time,” Cathy reiterated, “Just be sure you’re back here by five o’clock”
“Oh?” Steve raised a distrusting eyebrow.
“We’re all having dinner with Anne Gates at The Orion, as her guests. Won’t that be a nice treat?” Cathy kept her gaze on Lynette, careful to avoid her husband’s eye.
“I suppose so,” the little girl sounded doubtful. Immediately, she looked to her father for confirmation that the proposed event would, indeed, prove a treat.
Steve was furious. “How dare you agree to something like that without asking me first? You could have called me on the mobile.”
“And you’d have said no.”
“Too right, I’d have said no. Can’t you see the wretched woman’s obsessed?”
“Can I go and talk to Neil?” Lynette spotted a boy she had got to know at the hotel standing by his parents at Reception. She liked Neil although she wasn’t sure why since she privately considered him to be stuck-up and a rather silly, but it had to be better than listening to her parents arguing again.
“Okay, but don’t wander off,” Cathy agreed and braced herself for a battle royal with her husband.
“It’s not fair on Lynette or me, for that matter. I won’t have Lynette taken over by that woman.”
“Now you’re being ridiculous. Anne is harmless enough. She wouldn’t dream of trying to take anyone over. She and I have things in common, that’s all. She’s lonely, poor soul. As far as I can make out, she doesn’t have any family of her own…”
“And she’s not getting her obsessive little paws on ours either!” Steve fumed.
“Give her a chance, can’t you? You might even find you like her. She’s really a very nice person. Oh, but I forgot. Giving people a chance isn’t exactly your forte, is it? You don’t think it’s such a bad principle when the shoe’s on the other foot!”
“I’m trying aren’t I?”
“So try a bit harder. Lynette and I will be having dinner with Anne Gates tonight whether you like it or not. You’re welcome to join us. Or you can go to hell, take your pick.” She strode across to Lynette, sparing no more than a cursory nod for the little boy and his parents. “Go with Daddy now, darling, and have a lovely time. You can tell me all about it when you get back,” giving her daughter a hug and kisses before making her way towards the lift, turning only once to be sure father and daughter were safely reunited. She watched Steve sweep the child into his arms and a laughing Lynette fling hers around his neck. Robustly telling herself she wasn’t in the least jealous, Cathy was nonetheless relieved when the lift arrived to take her to the fifth floor.
It was true she had a mild headache. Once in her room, though, Cathy consulted a menu and called room service to order a snack. Only then did she take two paracetamol capsules and lie on the bed to await its delivery.
Is Steve right to be so wary of Anne Gates, Cathy wondered? What possible harm could Anne do? Her husband was mistaken. It wasn’t as if he had given her just cause to have much faith in his judgement for years. Besides, she felt irresistibly drawn to the little woman in a way she couldn’t begin to work out for herself let alone describe to anyone else. “Least of all to Steve,” she confessed aloud. Why, we can’t even have a serious discussion any more without its rapidly degenerating into a slanging match.
She sighed, recalling fondly how it hadn’t always been like that. Once they had been able to talk, communicate, sort things out between themselves. Somehow, after Lynette was born, all that closeness began to evaporate, leaving a gaping hole that even their daughter had been unable to fill. Oh, Steve adored Lynette. She might dispute it with him sometimes when he made her angry, but she rarely meant half of what she said whenever they argued.
Now all we do is argue. So where did we go wrong? It was, she supposed, as much her fault as his. Men were not unfaithful to their wives for no reason. In Steve’s case, it certainly wasn’t a frustrated sex drive. Sex had never been a problem for either of them. On the contrary, it was only during lovemaking that she felt her marriage was worth saving. No man could make love to a woman like that if he had no feelings for her…or could he?
She reached for her purse, absently wondering how much she should give for a tip and went to answer a knock on the door. “Thank God for room service!” she confided to a passing fly.
.....................................
“Dinner…? You can’t be serious, Anne? I shouldn’t need to remind you I’m in mourning? What will people think if I start socializing and Mother not even in her grave yet?”
“Who cares what people think?” Anne retorted, “Besides, it’s not as if you have any other plans for this evening other than moping about in this draughty old flat on your own.”
“This flat is not draughty,” Owen protested.
They were in the Shepherds’ kitchen, sitting at the table drinking more tea. “It has always been draughty.” Anne wasted no time contradicting her old friend, “You should have done something about it years ago.”
“I haven’t had time, what with working at the bank and looking after Mother.”
“You agree the place is draughty then?”
“Perhaps it is a little draughty here and there,” he conceded then, “But so what? It doesn’t bother me and Mother never complained.”
“Yes, well, there has to be a first time for everything I suppose,” commented Anne wryly but Owen was not amused.
“I hope you’re not suggesting my mother was always complaining? If so, that just goes to show how little you knew her. Mother was a stoic, an example to us all. She bore her illness without as much as a whimper.”Never mind that now,” said Anne impatiently, “Do say you’ll come to dinner. I need your moral support, Owen, I really do. Steve Taylor is far less likely to make trouble between Cathy and me if you’re there. Another man…well…It will make him think twice about causing a scene. Men hate to make fools of themselves in front of other men. They seem to think behaving badly in front of women is somehow likely to endear them to us for some unearthly reason. I’ve never have been able to fathom out why.”
“You can’t think I’ll scare him off, surely? Look me in the eye Anne, and tell me honestly. If what you tell me is correct, the man has a bit of a temper. What could I do if he loses it, eh, whack him one? Oh, yes, and probably be hauled off to jail for my trouble. No, I’m sorry Anne, but you got yourself into this mess sand you can deal with it. I’m missing Mother so much already. I can’t tell you. I just want to be left alone to enjoy some peace and quiet.”
“Wallow in self-pity, you mean,” Anne told him straight, “and what do you mean about my having got into a mess? All I’ve done is to invite some people to be my guests at dinner.”
“Really, is that all?” Owen flung her a knowing look.” You’re convinced the child’s mother is Patricia despite the poor woman’s denials. And don’t you dare tell me any different because it’s written all over your face. Oh, Anne, my dear, don’t go down that road I beg you.” At once he was all sympathy and concern as he saw her eyes fill with tears.
“I hear what you’re saying, Owen. I know and accept that Cathy may not be Patricia. But Owen, there’s something between us, there really is. All the while we were talking at the hotel this morning I felt as if I’d known her all my life. She felt it too, I could tell. You’re right, of course. I mustn’t grab at straws. But she was adopted as a child when she was about Patricia’s age. She has no recollection of her life before then. Of course it could be a coincidence and probably is, but…I have to try, Owen. You can see that, surely? I have to try,” she insisted.
“But try what, Anne? What can you do? If this woman is convinced she’s not your daughter, and you agree she probably isn’t, what can you…do?”
“I can get to know the family. I suspect the husband’s not so bad really. It’s only natural he should be concerned for his wife and child. Some woman, a complete stranger, comes up to them on a beach and starts making wild claims…You can hardly blame the man for being aggressive, hostile even. But Cathy’s a lovely person. You’ll adore her, Owen, the child too. She’s such a pretty little girl, Lynette, and so much...
“Like Patricia. Yes, yes, so you keep telling me,” Owen groaned, “But you told me this Cathy says she looked nothing like the daughter at that age, right?” Anne could only bite her lip and nod. “So how can you even consider it? It will be like putting body and soul through a mincing machine. And for what, I ask you? Chasing after false hopes, that’s what. Will you never learn, woman?”
Anne shrugged, got up and made another pot of tea. It’s always good to meet new people and make new friends, surely? Where’s the harm in that?” she put to him.
“So long as that’s all it is,” muttered Owen.
“Does that mean you’ll come?” Anne struggled to contain her relief, “You’ll enjoy it. I just know you will. Your mother wouldn’t want you to sit around brooding. She’d want to you to get on with your life, show everyone what you’re made of and let them see you’re not…” She bit her lip again.
“Not what, a pathetic little mummy’s boy? That’s what you were going to say, isn’t it? Well, isn’t it?” Anne said nothing but turned her attention to the boiling kettle. “Oh, I know what people say, what they think. Fifty plus and still living with his mother, how boring! Well, maybe I am boring, but I owe Mother so much …more than anyone will ever know…and I wouldn’t have missed these years with her. She loved me, took care of me. I’ll miss her so much…” His voice broke.
Anne sat down again and poured two fresh cups of tea.
“I’m frightened, Anne, frightened of being without her.”
There was genuine fear in his voice. Anne was more disturbed by it than she cared to admit. “All the more reason to start building a new life,” she pointed out, injecting a teasing note into her voice that she hoped he’d find less intimidating, “And why put off until tomorrow what you can do today, or tonight even?”
Owen sighed. How could he expect Anne to understand? She was such a strong woman. “Okay, you win I’ll ome.” He even managed a weak smile. He felt so wretched, as if he were locked in a dark cupboard. He had been there before and again since his mother died in his arms during the early hours of that very morning. Has it really been so short a time? It seems a lifetime already. Who was left to let him out of that horrible cupboard now? He held the teacup in both hands and gazed searchingly into the brown, milky, liquid but found precious little comfort there or any hint of the reassurance he craved.
“Thank you, Owen. You won’t regret it, I promise.” Anne sipped at her tea.
“On your head be it,” he told her with that same crooked smile she had always found at once endearing and oddly disconcerting.
To be continued on Friday.
