Читать книгу Kitty Neale 3 Book Bundle - Kitty Neale - Страница 27

Stan had been deep in thought and he’d hardly listened when Amy came back from seeing Carol, although she and Phyllis had yammered on about it for ages.

Now though Phyllis was at work, and Amy was upstairs getting ready to go out with Tommy. When the young man turned up Stan was determined to have his say and only five minutes later there was a knock at the door. He let Tommy in, and with Amy still upstairs, Stan said sternly, ‘Now then, Tommy, I’m not happy about your mother barging in here earlier today and insulting my wife.’

‘She did what?’ he asked, looking shocked.

‘You heard me. Your mother wanted to know where Rose is, and when my wife couldn’t tell her she called her a tart. I’m not putting up with that.’

‘Mr Miller, I’m sorry, but this is all news to me. I arrived home to find my mother in a terrible state because she had found out about my dad and … and Rose, but she didn’t say anything about coming here.’

‘Yeah, well, she did, and if it wasn’t for my wife I’d have been up at your place giving your mother a piece of my mind.’

‘I’ll speak to her,’ Tommy said quickly. ‘I’ll see it doesn’t happen again.’

‘If you ask me, your mother’s a law unto herself and I can’t see her listening to you. She’ll be turning on Amy next and I’m not going to stand for that. In fact, now that there’s bad blood between your mother and us I want you to stop seeing my daughter.’

‘Dad!’

Amy had come downstairs and Stan turned to look at his daughter. He saw by the shocked expression on her face that she must have overheard, but he wasn’t going to backtrack. ‘I’m doing this for your own good,’ he said to her, his attention then returning to Tommy when the young man spoke.

‘Mr Miller, please, you can’t blame me for what my mother said and did.’

Stan was about to answer him, but it was Amy who spoke first.

‘Tommy,’ she said softly, ‘I was going to talk to you about this later, but to ease my dad’s mind I might as well get it over with now. I don’t blame you for your mother’s actions, but nevertheless she barged in here and insulted my mum. Unless your mother apologises, I’ll never speak to her again – though I doubt that would bother her. She doesn’t like me, I know that, and now that this has happened, maybe we should stop seeing each other.’

‘No, Amy, don’t say that. If she dares to insult your mother again, or you, I’ll walk out and find a place of my own.’

Stan looked at Amy, loving her loyalty towards her mother, but impressed by Tommy’s response too. In the light of this, he decided that it was up to Amy now. If she wanted to go on seeing Tommy, he wouldn’t stand in her way.

‘Do you really mean that, Tommy?’ Amy asked.

‘Yes, I do.’

‘In that case,’ she said smiling at last, ‘where are you taking me tonight?’

Stan saw the delight on Tommy’s face, but then the young man sobered and said, ‘Is that all right with you, Mr Miller?’

‘Yes, I suppose so,’ he answered, straight-faced, hoping as the two of them left that his daughter had made the right decision.

Celia was waiting up when Thomas arrived home after seeing Amy, and she immediately asked, ‘Well, did you find out where your father is?’

‘No,’ he said sternly, ‘but I did find out that you barged into Mrs Miller’s house and insulted her.’

‘It wasn’t like that,’ Celia protested. ‘Phyllis Miller’s cousin went off with your father and I have every right to know where they are. She refused to tell me and then demanded that I leave her house.’

‘Was that before or after you called her a tart?’

‘Thomas, I was upset; angry that she was lying.’

‘She wasn’t lying, and I’m telling you now, Mother, if you don’t apologise, Amy will never have anything to do with you again.’

Celia almost laughed – that suited her just fine, yet she knew tears were the best defence for her behaviour and wailed, ‘I know I haven’t been myself since your father le … left me, that I’ve been acting irrationally, without thought, but I … I can’t seem to stop myself, Thomas.’

‘Mum, please, don’t cry,’ he said worriedly.

‘I … I can’t help it,’ Celia sobbed. ‘I almost went out of my mind when I heard about your father and that … that woman, and I was hysterical when I went to see Amy’s mother. Surely you can understand that? And as women, you’d have thought that Amy and her mother would make allowances for my behaviour too.’

‘Mum, I’m sorry. I can’t speak for them, but I should have realised how hard this has been for you.’

Celia felt a surge of triumph. She’d shown that Amy and her mother were lacking in understanding, a seed planted that she hoped would grow. She’d water it well – put more doubts about Amy in her son’s mind, and hopefully when the plant came into full bloom, that girl would be out of her son’s life for good.

On Saturday morning, Mabel wasn’t at her usual post, looking out of the window. Instead, Jack had gone to work a shift and she was sitting in a chair, still deeply hurt about the way Phyllis had spoken to her. All right, she had opened her mouth to Edna, but it hadn’t been the end of the world. Celia Frost was going to find out anyway, so there had been no need for Phyllis to get on her high horse. They’d been friends for years, but that had counted for nothing when Phyllis virtually chucked her out of the house.

Mabel shifted in her seat, feeling hard done by. What she needed was a distraction, but she’d heard on the grapevine that the young couple had turned down Winnie’s place. That meant there’d be no removals van turning up, nothing to ogle as it was unloaded, and as her mind turned to Phyllis again, she was unable to stem the tears that flooded her eyes. Maybe she should go and talk to Phyllis, try to sort things out, but it was Saturday and Stan would be at home.

On the other hand, Mabel thought, sniffing, why should she be the one to do the running? She had tried to help Phyllis when Celia Frost had turned up, stopped her from laying into the woman, only to have Phyllis’s temper turned on her.

Mabel sniffed again. It should be Phyllis who apologised, not her, and until she did, then sod her! Agitated, Mabel stood up as she decided to put her case to Edna, sure that she was right and the woman would come down on her side. She hadn’t really had a lot of time for Edna in the past, thinking her slovenly, but now with nobody else to spout off to, Mabel had no choice.

It was then that Mabel heard the sound of a raised voice next door so she quickly grabbed a glass and put it against the wall, her ear pressed to it. She heard Frank Cole yelling, and though it was a bit muffled, his words were clear enough. Mabel frowned. He was ordering Carol to pull herself together, to take over doing the housekeeping now that her mother had gone and wouldn’t be back.

Mabel reeled away from the wall. As she’d suspected, all that talk of Daphne Cole going to look after a sick relative had been a pack of lies, something that Frank Cole had come up with to put people off the scent.

Feeling vindicated, Mabel decided to act. She put on a jacket, picked up her handbag and instead of going to talk to Edna, marched out of her house, heading for Lavender Hill and the police station.

‘Dad, I will do the housework,’ Carol said when her father at last calmed down. ‘It’s just that I don’t feel up to it yet.’

‘Go and get some grub in then and at least cook us a decent meal.’

‘I … I don’t want to go out.’

‘Why not? A bit of fresh air will do you good.’

‘Dad, I don’t think I can walk very far.’

‘You’re just making excuses.’

‘I’m not. I really don’t feel well.’

With a frown on his face, Carol saw her dad studying her, and then he said, ‘Maybe I should get the doctor to take a look at you.’

Carol didn’t want to see a doctor. She just wanted to be left alone. ‘No, Dad, I just need a bit more rest, that’s all,’ she protested, ‘and the doctor will only say the same thing.’

‘All right, we’ll leave it until Monday, but if you’re no better by then, I’m calling him out. In the meantime I suppose it’s down to me to get a bit of shopping in, but

I haven’t got a clue what to buy or how to cook anything.’

Carol struggled to make an effort. ‘I’ll write you a list and if you get something simple, like sausages, I think I can manage to cook them with a bit of mash.’

‘Well I suppose that’s a start,’ he said, looking marginally happier as he went to find a pen and paper.

When the list was done and her father left, Carol sank back on the sofa. Not only was he pushing her to do things around the house, he was constantly on at her about Roy. He wanted to find him, but she couldn’t tell him where the flat she’d been taken to was, making it impossible for him to go there to question the real owner. Nor could she tell him who Roy worked for. All she knew was that it was a shop fitting company and now Carol closed her eyes, thinking back to that dreadful night when she’d been raped. She found that her anger had gone, and her need for revenge was dead – as dead as the baby she had carried. All she felt now was disgust that she had put herself in that situation; that she hadn’t fought harder. If she’d really tried she could have kicked Roy where it hurt, and that would have stopped him. Her weakness had resulted in a baby – and what had she done! She had taken her child’s innocent life. Guilt returned to overwhelm her.

When there was a knock on the door, Carol didn’t go to open it, instead just willing whoever it was to go away.

‘Carol, it’s me,’ Amy called through the letterbox.

Despite telling Amy to leave her alone, to stay away, she had come back time and again, but Carol didn’t want to see her – to talk to Amy or anyone else. When the letterbox lifted again and Amy shouted through, Carol at last sat up and yelled, ‘Go away! I’m busy!’

There was silence then, and relieved, Carol once again put her head back onto the cushions. She closed her eyes, wanting only to escape into sleep again, and remained like that, dozing, until her father returned.

Mabel left the police station, satisfied that at last, after repeating her story to an officer in CID, she had finally been taken seriously. Though she felt it was her duty to report a murder, she’d also been frightened of the repercussions. After all, she was living next door to a killer – and who knows what Frank Cole would do to her if he found out that she’d been the one to dob him in.

However, assured that when they questioned Frank Cole they wouldn’t reveal the source of their information, Mabel walked home feeling happier, though she still scuttled past Frank Cole’s house and into the safety of her own home.

Jack was still at work, and unable to settle, Mabel paced nervously, wondering when the CID would knock on Frank Cole’s door. What she needed was someone to confide in, but how could she tell anyone that she’d been to the police to accuse Frank Cole of murdering his wife? Gossip was rife around here and it would soon get back to him, the thought of that making Mabel’s knees go weak. She’d be safe as long as Frank Cole was arrested, but what if he wasn’t? What if they couldn’t find any evidence?

Mabel would never know how she got through the rest of that day, and she was constantly looking out of her window to see if the CID had turned up yet to question Frank. So far there was no sign of them and Mabel began to wonder if she’d been mistaken, that instead of taking her seriously, she had just been patronised. She should have felt angry, but instead found herself relieved. Maybe she was wrong, maybe Daphne Cole really had gone to look after a sick aunt – yet even as this thought crossed her mind, Mabel still felt it was highly unlikely.

By the time Jack came home Mabel had managed to cook his dinner, and after greeting him they ate in virtual silence. When the meal was over Mabel carried their plates through to the kitchen, unaware that at that moment, a black, unmarked car had pulled up outside the Coles’ house.

Frank had tried Daphne’s mother again, but the old girl insisted that she hadn’t seen or heard from her.

He’d returned home and at dinner time done his best to get through a plate of burned sausages, lumpy mash, and equally lumpy gravy. Carol had barely touched hers, her head down as she toyed with the food on her plate. She looked terrible; drab and scruffy. It was hard to equate her to the vivid, beautiful and vibrant daughter he’d been so proud of just a short time ago.

‘Look at the state of you!’ he said. ‘When I get my hands on the man who did this to you he’ll be sorry he was born.’

As though his words had lit a fuse, Carol cried in anguish, ‘My baby wasn’t born. I killed it, Dad. I killed my baby.’

For a moment Frank was too surprised to react, but as Carol shook with sobs he quickly stood up to go to his daughter’s side. At first he just stroked her head, but then Carol surged up and into his arms. He felt helpless, unable to understand why his daughter was in this state. She must have been only about twelve weeks pregnant, maybe less. ‘Come on, girl. You didn’t kill a proper baby. It would’ve been little more than a blob.’

‘A blob!’ she cried, pulling away from him. ‘How can you say that?’

Frank had never been much good with words of comfort and it was with some relief that he heard a sharp knock on the door. He rose to open it and seeing two men he asked, ‘Yeah, what do you want?’

‘Mr Cole. I’m Colin Foreman, CID, and this is my colleague. Can we come in?’

‘What for?’ he asked, puzzled.

‘We’d like to ask you a few questions.’

‘What’s this about? What sort of questions?’

‘They concern your wife.’

Frank paled and stood back, asking anxiously as the men walked in, ‘Has something happened to her?’

‘That’s what we’re here to find out, Mr Cole.’

Both men saw Carol, and seeing the state she was in, Frank wasn’t surprised that their eyes widened imperceptibly. He said quickly, ‘This is my daughter, Carol. She hasn’t been well, but what’s this about my wife?’

‘We’d like to see her. Is she here?’

‘No, she … she’s gone to look after a sick relative.’

‘What relative?’

‘A … an aunt.’

‘I see, and where does this aunt live?’ Foreman asked.

‘Err … in Kent.’

‘At what address?’

Frank swallowed and stalled by asking, ‘Why are you here asking me questions about my wife?’

‘All in good time, Mr Cole. Now as I said, I’d like this relative’s address.’

‘I haven’t got it.’

‘So you’re telling me that your wife has gone to look after a sick aunt, but you don’t know where this relative lives.’

‘Yeah, that’s right.’

‘Do you have any means of contacting your wife?’

‘Err … no.’

‘When do you expect her to return?’

‘I’m not sure. As soon as her aunt recovers I expect, but what’s with all these questions?’ Frank asked yet again.

‘We’re investigating certain allegations that have been made, Mr Cole, and as I’m not satisfied with your answers we’re going to have to take them seriously.’

‘Allegations! What allegations?’

‘They’re regarding the fact that your wife seems to have disappeared, and as I think this matter now needs further investigation I’d like you to accompany us to the station.’

‘What for? I haven’t done anything,’ Frank protested, but then he paled as the penny dropped. ‘Wait! Surely you don’t think I’ve done my wife in?’

‘Have you?’

‘No, no, of course not! If someone is accusing me of doing that they must want their head examined.’

‘Dad, tell them the truth. Show them the letter Mum left for you,’ Carol urged.

Frank’s mind was reeling. Yes, Daphne’s letter, but where had he put it? He hurried to the mantelpiece, searching, but there was no sign of it. ‘I can’t flaming well find it!’

‘What’s this about a letter, Mr Cole?’ Foreman asked.

‘It’s one my wife left when she walked out on me.’

‘So now you’re saying that she isn’t looking after a sick relative.’

‘Yeah, that’s right. The truth is she left me.’

Foreman’s eyes narrowed with suspicion as he asked, ‘So why concoct the story about a sick aunt?’

Frank ran a hand through his hair in agitation. ‘Look, my wife walked out the same day that my daughter went into hospital and I was in a bit of a state. I just said that to keep the gossips at bay for a while, that’s all.’

Foreman didn’t look convinced, but Frank saw a spark of the old Carol as she said sharply, ‘My dad isn’t lying. I saw the letter and read it.’

‘Did you recognise your mother’s handwriting?’

Once again Carol flared as she snapped, ‘Of course I did!’

Foreman didn’t react, unperturbed by Carol’s outburst as he said, ‘Nevertheless, I’d like to see this letter, Mr Cole.’

Frank began searching again, finding it down the side of his fireside chair and with relief he was at last able to hand the letter to Colin Foreman. The man read it, passed it to his colleague, who so far hadn’t uttered a word and still didn’t as Foreman said, ‘It seems you’re telling us the truth this time, Mr Cole. It would have saved us a lot of time if you had done that in the first place.’

‘My dad hasn’t done anything wrong and whoever made the allegation is the one who wasted your time,’ Carol said angrily. ‘Was it Mabel Povis?’

‘I’m not at liberty to say, but I think we can say this matter is closed now.’

With nods of goodbye both men left, and as Frank was still too stunned to react it was Carol who said as the door closed behind them, ‘He didn’t say it was Mabel, but I bet it was and I’m not letting her get away with it.’

Frank looked at his daughter, thinking that at least the visit from CID had served to snap Carol out of her lethargy. ‘Leave it, love. No harm’s been done and we can’t say for sure it was her.’

‘I can’t believe you’re so calm. You’ve been accused of murder yet you say no harm’s been done!’

‘It hasn’t, though it was a bit sticky there until I found your mum’s letter. The CID are satisfied, they left, and I’m just relieved to see that you’ve got your old spark back.’

‘Oh Dad. I wish Mum would come home.’

‘Now don’t go all maudlin on me again. She might and she might not, I don’t know.’

‘I’m surprised that Davy and Paul haven’t been round to see us.’

‘I told them you had food poisoning and knowing those two, they’re waiting until they think you’re fully recovered before turning up, expecting to be fed.’

‘Well they can think again,’ Carol said indignantly.

Frank looked at his daughter, sure that she was going to be all right now. She’d be able to look after this place and hopefully her cooking would improve. As for Mabel Povis, if she was the culprit she was probably shaking in her shoes now expecting him to retaliate, and it served her right. He’d prolong it – leave her to stew until he was good and ready to sort her out.