Читать книгу Desperate Measures - Kitty Neale - Страница 8

Valerie Thorn was standing at her window, her gaze following Betty Grayson as she left the flats. The woman had moved in upstairs about a month ago and since then Val had taken every opportunity to surreptitiously observe her. She had contrived to bump into the woman earlier in Battersea Park and at least now knew her name. Betty was a short, stocky woman, with a sad expression and browbeaten manner. Her clothes were old-fashioned, her light brown hair tightly permed, and Val judged her to be in her middle fifties.

Was Betty a possible candidate? The woman certainly looked unhappy, lost, with few visitors, which boded well. When Betty said she lived alone, but not by choice, there’d been bitterness in her voice and it increased Val’s interest. With her first plan already in mind, she knew it would take a third recruit for it to work, and if this woman was suitable, her group would be complete.

She would contrive to bump into Betty again, to open another conversation and perhaps make tentative overtures of friendship. If she could discover a shared interest it would break the ice, give them common ground, and then, when the time was right, she’d make her move.

Softly, softly catchee monkey, Val thought, turning away from the window. She’d been too wound up to eat breakfast, but now feeling peckish, her eyes avoided the empty mantelshelf as she went through to her tiny kitchenette to make a sandwich. It was her birthday, but she didn’t have one single card on show. Her mother had died when Val was just twenty-six, followed only three years later by her father. He’d been hit by a lorry when carelessly crossing the road and she’d been left bereft.

As an only child there’d been no siblings to share her grief, just two distant aunts and a few cousins that she hardly saw. Heartbroken, she’d channelled all her energies into her career, and whilst gaining promotion she hoped that if her parents were looking down on her, they’d be proud of what she’d achieved. She’d been so busy with her career that she’d lost touch with her scant relatives, yet on days like this, when the postman didn’t deliver even one card, she regretted it.

Val tried to push her unhappiness to one side but found it impossible. It was always the same on birthdays or Christmas, when, unbidden, memories of her happy childhood filled her mind. She’d been surrounded by laughter and love – but she wasn’t a child now, she was a mature woman, and it was silly to let things like birthday cards upset her.

If her parents were watching over her, it upset Val that they would have seen her life destroyed – seen her foolishness and therefore her failure. Her unhappiness now festered into anger, the sandwich tasting like sawdust in her mouth. There were times when Val’s rage almost consumed her and with a grunt she pushed her sandwich to one side. It was no good, she had to get out, to breathe fresh air and, as her possible candidate had gone to the park again, she would use the opportunity to bump into her. Val picked up the dog’s lead, calling, ‘Treacle, walkies.’

The dog’s ears pricked up and he immediately ran to her side, and with his lead on Treacle eagerly pulled her towards the door. He was her one consolation in life and she didn’t regret getting him from Battersea Dogs’ Home. He might be a bit naughty, but he was loving and loyal – but then that thought brought him to mind again and her lips thinned.

Val left the flat, crossed the road to the park, her eyes peeled for Betty Grayson. It was still a glorious day and the park was full of people intent on making the most of the brilliant weather. She unclipped Treacle’s lead and the dog scampered off ahead of her, but so far there was no sign of Betty. Val walked the paths, her eyes constantly on the look-out, but it was half an hour later before she saw the woman. Betty was sitting by the duck pond, partly concealed by the fronds of a willow tree.

Val drew in a deep gulp of air, forcing her shoulders to relax. Take it slowly – just be friendly, she told herself. She called Treacle and, knowing that the dog wouldn’t be able to resist chasing the wildfowl that Betty was feeding, she clipped on his lead.

‘Hello again,’ Val said. ‘Treacle wanted another walk, but I didn’t expect to bump into you again.’

‘It was too nice to stay indoors and lovely to have Battersea Park opposite our flats.’

‘Yes, and with a dog but no garden, it’s a godsend. Do you mind if I sit down?’

‘Please do,’ Betty said eagerly, her smile one of pleasure. With Treacle around the ducks had waddled quickly away, and after shoving a paper bag into her pocket, Betty bent to stroke the dog’s head. ‘I’d like a dog too, but as I work full time it wouldn’t be fair to leave it in my flat all day.’

‘Fortunately my employer is a lovely man and lets me take Treacle to work. He even got him a basket to sit beside my desk.’

‘That’s nice,’ Betty said, then raised a hand to wipe it across her forehead. ‘Goodness, it’s hot.’

Treacle had moved to lie in the scant shade of the willow tree, panting, his tongue lolling, and worriedly Val said, ‘Yes, and I think it’s a bit too much for Treacle. I’d best take him home. If you’re ready to go, perhaps we could walk home together.’

Betty stood up, her expression eager. ‘Yes, all right. I’d like that.’

With Treacle beside them, they began to stroll slowly, Betty speaking enthusiastically about the flowerbeds that lined the path. ‘Look at those petunias. What a wonderful display. I used to have a large garden and miss it.’

‘I’m afraid I know nothing about gardening, but they’re certainly colourful.’

Betty indicated another flowerbed. ‘They’ve used red geraniums in that one.’

They continued to chat about the plants, but when they arrived at the flats, Betty sort of hovered at the door, smiling tentatively. Val could sense the woman’s loneliness, and hoped she’d accept her invitation as she said, ‘It’s my birthday today. If you aren’t busy, would you like to join me for tea?’

‘Oh, Happy Birthday and yes, I’d love to.’

‘I expect you want to freshen up first. Give me half an hour to make some sandwiches and then pop down.’

Betty looked delighted as she climbed the stairs, calling, ‘See you soon.’

Val went inside her own flat to make a plate of cucumber sandwiches, and then finding a packet of individual chocolate rolls she arranged them on a plate before gong to the bathroom to refresh her make-up.

Shortly afterwards the doorbell rang and Val tucked a stray lock of hair back into her French pleat as she answered it, a smile of welcome on her face. ‘Come on in.’

Betty stepped inside, her eyes scanning the room. ‘This is lovely – I just love your décor. Youngsters nowadays go for all the modern stuff with bright, garish wallpaper, whereas this is so soothing, so sophisticated.’

‘I prefer soft colours and as I can’t tackle wallpapering, I just gave it all a coat of paint. Would you like tea or coffee?’

‘Tea please.’

‘Sit yourself down. I won’t be a tick,’ Val said, going back to her small kitchenette.

When the tea was made she carried the tray through. ‘I hope you like cucumber sandwiches.’

‘Yes, lovely,’ Betty said, whilst eyeing the plate of chocolate rolls with appreciation.

Val sat opposite, poured the tea into small, delicate china cups and then offered cubes of sugar from a bowl, complete with little silver tongs.

Betty took two lumps, then saying, ‘Well, Happy Birthday again.’

‘Thank you.’

‘My daughter was waiting for me when I came home from the park this morning. She couldn’t stay long as she was off to buy new clothes for a holiday in Spain.’

‘That’s nice. Is she going with her husband?’

‘Anne isn’t married. She’s going with her boyfriend.’

‘Do you have other children?’

‘Yes, a son, and he’s single too.’

Val didn’t want to sound too inquisitive, so said, ‘I’m sure your daughter will love Spain. I once went to Barcelona and the architecture was stunning.’

‘You’re lucky. I’ve never been abroad.’

‘Yes, well, nowadays I’m lucky if I can afford a day trip to Brighton.’

‘Me too,’ said Betty.

So, the woman was hard up, Val thought as she mentally stored this small piece of information. ‘There are some lovely places in England and I’ve always been fond of Dorset. Do have a sandwich,’ she encouraged, whilst fumbling for common ground. ‘I suppose you heard that Judy Garland died on Monday?’

‘Yes, I saw it in the newspaper. It said she died from an overdose of sleeping pills.’

‘I was so sad to hear of her death. Since I saw her in The Wizard of Oz she’s been one of my favourite actresses.’

‘I loved her in A Star is Born,’ Betty enthused.

‘Do you go to the cinema much?’

‘Not really, but I did go to see Maggie Smith in The Prime of Miss Jean Brodie.’

‘Me too. I was so glad when it won the Oscar.’

Betty just nodded, munching on her sandwich and, when it was finished, Val held out the cakes.

‘Thanks,’ Betty said, taking one and biting into it with obvious relish.

Maybe food could be a common interest, Val thought. ‘I’m not much of a cook. What about you?’

‘I used to be, but as I only cook for myself now, it’s usually something simple.’

‘I love eating out, and often go to a little French restaurant in Chelsea.’

‘I’ve never tried French food.’

‘It’s delicious, Betty, and if you aren’t doing anything tomorrow, we could go there for lunch.’

Betty’s eyes lit up for a moment, but then her face straightened as she said, ‘I … I don’t know. Is it expensive?’

‘Not really, but don’t worry, it’s a family-run business and I know the owner. He usually gives me a discount.’

‘In that case, I’d love to.’

‘Wonderful,’ Val said as she stood up to take a packet of cigarettes from the mantelshelf. Inviting Betty to tea had been a good move and she was pleased that there’d now be another opportunity to get to know her better. ‘Would you like a cigarette?’ she asked.

‘No thanks, I don’t smoke.’

‘At six shillings a packet I know I should stop too, but I have managed to cut down.’

‘Do you work locally?’ Betty asked.

‘I’m a receptionist for a solicitor in the King’s Road.’

‘It must be nice to work in an office and so interesting.’

‘It can be sometimes, though most of my work is just routine. What do you do, Betty?’

‘I’m just a sort of cleaner-cum-housekeeper in Kensington. I used to live in Surrey, but saw the job advertised in The Lady. I applied for it and got it, but it meant moving to London. My employer’s away at the moment, but when in town he keeps me busy with his incessant demands.’

‘He sounds a bit of an ogre,’ Val sympathised.

‘He’s all right, but used to servants seeing to his every wish. His home is just amazing and it’s such a shame that it remains empty for most of the year. He has a large staff, but when his wife died he retreated to his country home taking them with him. I was lucky to be taken on for his London house, but as I said, only as a sort of cleaner-cum-housekeeper.’

‘If you’re the only one there, don’t you find it lonely?’

‘Sometimes, but I keep myself busy. It’s a very large house with plenty to do, and just polishing the silver can take all day. I’d love to work in an office like you, but I was a stay-at-home wife and mother so I’m not trained for anything else.’

‘There’s nothing wrong with being a housewife and mother,’ Val said. She had caught the trace of bitterness in Betty’s voice again, and though tempted to ask questions, it wouldn’t do to rush things. ‘Would you like another cup of tea?’

‘I’d love one.’

‘I’ll just top up the pot,’ Val said, taking it through to the kitchenette. So far she’d gleaned a little information, but if she didn’t want to scare Betty off she would have to play this carefully. In her experience, Val had found that if you shared a confidence it was likely to be returned, but it was too early to try this ploy now. She would have to wait, but nevertheless crossed her fingers, hoping that Betty would turn out to be a suitable candidate.