Even Stranger Page 8

  “Real risk?” I said, “What does real mean? And, what’s behind it all? If you’re right, why on earth’s she doing it?”

  “Because she can. And because she enjoys it enormously.”

  “Oh great, she enjoys it? Well she’s a pretty dangerous and unpleasant individual, isn’t she? Sorry, I don’t want to know, apart from which, what could I possibly do?”

  “Frighten her off.”

  “Frighten her off?” I repeated. Glory sighed,

  “Don’t do that annoying echo thing again. We need to give her a short, sharp, unpleasant shock, one that just might put her off playing vicious games with people’s heads for a while. If you can put the wind up her and save even one individual, hasn’t that got to be worth a try?”

  “Well, why can’t one of you do it?” I asked. Glory shook her head,

  “Much better if it’s someone who can blend in, look ordinary, vulnerable and, most important, harmless.”

  “Thanks a bunch.”

  “At least think about it?”

  “Look Glory, I’m sorry about what’s going on, she sounds ghastly and I’m truly shocked and sorry if she’s hurting people, but I’m not… ” Ed interrupted me mid-flow.

  “Excuse me Stella.” He said politely, “Before you make a final decision, Rachael wanted me to ask you something. She wanted to know if you still have the strap?” I glared at him,

  “Bloody hell, Ed!” I exclaimed, he looked back impassively. Yes indeed, I did still have, in a drawer at home, a small package, not looked at or touched for years. The wrapped object, in now, slightly yellowed tissue paper, was a small, broken leather strap such as might fit the thin wrist of a child. It was dark brown, scuffed leather on the outer side, with lighter brown staining on the inside – Sam’s blood. It was the only thing I’d retained from the last time I’d become embroiled in a plan of the Peacock’s. There were three words on a piece of paper, torn from a notebook and wrapped round the strap – ‘Job Well Done’ they said. I wondered if that inked message of Rachael’s had faded in the intervening years. If the ink had, the memories hadn’t. I sighed.

  “What you want me to do?” I said.

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  There was no question, the re-appearance in my life of Ed and Glory and, by default, the Peacock sisters, risked destabilising its smooth, onward progression, on which recently I’d been congratulating myself. I was determined, however, not to let it derail me. My priority was running and growing my business and I decided I’d look at this troublesome, Martha Vee situation, as just another job I was taking on. It wouldn’t show up anywhere on Kitty’s accounts, but the personal reward would be a comfortable conscience and hopefully, Glory off my back.

  Following Ed shooting his mouth off, I’d somewhat ungraciously committed to go along to the next Meet Martha gathering the following Thursday which, it turned out, was at a hotel about ten miles away. I’d grumbled mightily about not being given more notice, ignoring Glory’s sarcastic aside that in future, perhaps Martha might like to liaise with me, when setting her dates. Ed was going to pick me up from my office, drive me there and wait to take me home again. In the meantime, I put Martha Vee on the back-burner and re-focused on real life and a Laura Gold run.

  Like Devlin and his family, Laura Gold and hers, had become regulars of ours. Her husband, recommended by another client, had made an appointment to come along and meet me at the office, one afternoon. He was looking, he said, for some assistance for his wife who’d recently lost her driving license, due to an unfortunate encounter with two traffic islands and a nearby parked car.

  “Medication,” he explained, “For migraine, you know, might have made her a little woozy, she’s not really too clear exactly how it all happened. Anyway, no point crying over spilt milk, eh? Nobody hurt, just a little shaken and when push comes to shove, a car’s only a piece of metal isn’t it? Most of the time I can drive her wherever she needs to go, or our son does, but on the occasions we can’t… thought maybe you’d be able to step in, that is the sort of thing you do, right?”

  Melvyn Gold had an extremely distinctive voice, toffee mellow and smoothly soothing. It made you feel he could competently deal with anything life might chuck his way although, as subsequently came to light, this was as far from true as it was possible to be. Only in his late fifties and tall, he walked with a one-sided stoop, due to the opposing forces of a chronic back condition and a burgeoning paunch. He bore an air of permanent weariness, and looked as if a good nap and a dust-down wouldn’t go amiss, an impression endorsed by repetitive sliding of black-framed, square glasses, up and onto his forehead, so he could massage watery blue eyes with thumb and fourth finger. This was always worrying, because he invariably had a lit cigarette in the same hand. He didn’t seem to have done himself any damage to date, but I cringed every time he did it, and was aware, we could be hitting the road to Moorfields Eye Hospital at any time.

  Laura Gold wasn’t hard to deal with, though she leant towards the unpredictable. An elegant opposite of her husband, she was small, slim and always impeccably dressed. Brenda didn’t take to her, ‘All fur coat and no knickers, that one.’ she said, dismissively. She was a woman on a permanent, unnecessary diet and consequently, anchored to this earth, only by an inordinate amount of chunkily expensive jewellery and a heavy perfume. For the majority of the time she was detached and aloof, perfectly coiffed, blonde-highlighted head slightly angled, as if avoiding a faintly unpleasant odour, beneath her finely arched nostrils. However, under any kind of stress – of which there appeared to be an inordinate amount in her life – she’d delve into her handbag for one of her ‘migraine pills’. Whether in fact, they were or weren’t anything to do with migraine, I never established, but their effect was disconcertingly swift. She’d defrost faster than our fridge, and was given to reaching for your hand, resting her head heavily on your shoulder and murmuring how very, very fond of you she was. This was awkward at the best of times, more so when driving.

  On this particular occasion I was picking her up for a 2.00 Harley Street dentist appointment, waiting for the duration of her treatment, and bringing her home again. Mr Gold, when booking, had asked if I’d be kind enough to make sure I actually took her into the house when I brought her home. She was, he said, a nervous patient, and often had a bad reaction to any sort of medical treatment. This proved something of an understatement.

  Our outing was complicated from the off. She tottered down the garden path, fell into the passenger seat, grabbed my hand in a vice-like grip and informed me I was a truly, truly wonderful person and she was beyond grateful, to have me in her life. I sighed, it would appear the pills had come into play early. But a paying client’s, a paying client and as she wouldn’t let go my hand, we both put the car in gear and headed for Harley Street. She wasn’t in a brilliant condition when she went into the surgery. Even less so, when she emerged, some forty minutes later, supported by the dentist and a nurse.

  The former, propping her against his side, while the nurse and I wrestled her into her coat, said he was extremely surprised she was having this strong a reaction to what had only been a local anaesthetic. I wasn’t. I could see he’d completely missed the moment, whilst his back was turned, when she’d knocked back a helping of migraine pills, swigging them swiftly down with that pink rinsing-out stuff, so conveniently to hand. Could I manage to get her home safely, he asked with some concern, or should we wait until she was more herself? As I wasn’t quite sure how many pills, the wretched woman had hoovered up before she left home, let alone whilst in the chair, I’d no conception of when that might be. So I said I was sure we’d be fine. I unwound her arm from round his neck, wound it round mine, and we staggered, in some disarray, down the stone steps, to where I’d mercifully secured a parking spot right outside the consulting rooms.

  Thanks to her on-going diet, and my floating her, an inch or so, above the
pavement, which I didn’t think anyone would notice, I was able to load Laura safely, if unceremoniously into the back seat. This was an operation hindered by having to keep stopping and hugging her back, assuring her she was every bit as important to me, as I was to her. Extracting her at the other end was far simpler, because there weren’t other people around and I just floated her gently, giggling – her, not me – up the garden path, securing her with one hand while I found the key in her bag, unlocked the front door and got her inside.

  I planted her firmly on a chair in the hall, thinking maybe a coffee might counteract what she’d taken, at which point I could leave with a clear conscience. This was the first time I’d been in the house, I usually just collected or dropped her off. With a quick glance, to make sure she wasn’t going to slide off the chair and break her neck, I headed for the kettle, just as a man in a black balaclava, carrying a vicious looking claw-headed hammer, emerged from the living room. Laura looked up and screamed. I reacted instinctively, backing up to hang on to her and knocking him down, he landed heavily, half on his side. The hammer slid, at speed, across the parquet flooring.

  “Don’t move,” I said, as much to Laura as to the chap on the floor, “I’m calling the police.” and I reached for the phone on the hall table.

  “I wouldn’t do that.” Disregarding instruction, he was sitting up gingerly, rubbing his arm. He reached up to remove the balaclava and Laura shrieked again,

  “Darling?”

  “Well, who did you think it was?” He was a little terse.

  “You didn’t say you were coming over.”

  “I did. You wanted that picture hanging. I said I’d pop in during the week to do it.”

  “Well, you gave me the most terrible shock.” Laura looked a little shame-faced, as well she might, although she did have a point.

  “Mask and hammer.” I pointed out, “Not a good look.” And because I felt I hadn’t got off to a good start, with what now appeared to be the client’s nearest and dearest, held out my hand politely. Obviously he’d been brought up well enough to be unable to ignore that, though I was pretty certain he was bearing a grudge.

  “Stella.” I said. Now, with the mask off, I could see the resemblance, and there was no mistaking the voice that was so much like his father’s.

  “David. How the hell did you do that?”

  “What?”

  “Knock me down.”

  “Judo.” I said briefly, “Black belt. Sorry.” He gave me a sideways look. I couldn’t easily read him. It wasn’t a tightness of mind like Dorothy Lowbell’s, nor a deliberate blocking, just an introversion of thought. I knew if I went in properly, I’d be able to, but goodness knows, the situation was uncomfortable enough, probably best not to know what he was thinking. Further attack might be the best form of defence. After all, the whole unfortunate incident was his fault.

  “Do you normally wear a mask indoors?” I said.

  “Only when I’m not expecting visitors.” He said, then maybe because he felt that was a little heavy on the sarcasm, added, “Hate getting plaster dust in my mouth and these walls are dreadful.” There was a slightly awkward pause before he said,

  “Right then. Well, thanks for dealing with things this morning, she hates the dentist.” We both looked at Laura, who was still on the chair, but only just.

  “Spotted that.” I said.

  “I’ll keep an eye on her now. Do I pay you?”

  “No, your father has a monthly account.”

  “Right.” He opened the front door and I beat, what even I had to admit, was a somewhat hasty retreat. Some jobs go well, others with not quite the same smooth professionalism as one might wish.

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  Ed was as good as his word. When I left the office at 6.00, on that Thursday evening, he was waiting. I’d dressed as Glory suggested, jeans, jumper, flat shoes and a duffel coat. Unobtrusive, she’d said.

  I didn’t spot him until a horn hooted gently, and he nodded at me, from the driving seat of a black van, high sided and glossy, parked on the opposite side of the road. As I crossed, the nearside back passenger door swung wide. Climbing up and in, not without some effort, it was indeed high. I inhaled that unmistakeably delightful, new vehicle smell. The Peacocks never stinted on expenses, they didn’t have to with an income nurtured, in a totally ethical way, Ruth had always assured me, by natural abilities. What she meant was, she spent a fair amount of time in the City, specifically in restaurants and bars, flush with stockbrokers and bankers, where she picked up far more in tips than the waiters ever did. Couldn’t that be considered, I’d asked at the time, insider dealing, and therefore illegal? Ruth had frowned crossly and said most certainly not – if people couldn’t keep confidential information confidential, then that really wasn’t her fault was it?

  Glory was in the front passenger seat. I hadn’t expected her to be there, neither was I prepared for the sharp, cool peppermint sensation that washed over me as the door swung shut with a well-mannered click. Rachael Peacock swept into my head, as always, without so much as a by-your-leave and tutted.

  “Your shielding has become shoddy, Stella.” She said aloud, from the seat next to me. Despite myself, I grinned, her approach certainly cut down on time wasted on catch-ups and pleasantries.

  “Works well enough for me.” I said. “And hello to you too.” Rachael, as she so often did, ignored what she didn’t think worth answering.

  “Right Ed,” she said, “Let’s go, we’ll talk on the way. I don’t want her to be late.” Ed drew away smoothly from the kerb. Heavy breathing and a van-swaying thump from behind me, indicated the presence of Hamlet, the Peacock’s Great Dane cross, a dog whose assistance I’d once had cause to be exceedingly grateful for – though I couldn’t see why it was necessary to bring him along on this trip.

  “Because he can be a brilliant and highly useful distraction, when we need him to be.” Said Rachael. “In any case, he loathes being left for the whole evening.” I tightened my jaw. This was taking me back to times past, and not in a good way. I’d forgotten how quickly the wretched woman got under my skin, when she got into my head. I pulled my internal shutters down more tightly. It probably wouldn’t keep her out, but might let her know how unwelcome was the intrusion. Should have known better.

  “Don’t be silly,” She said, “We haven’t time for shilly-shallying. We need to get on top of this situation as quickly as we can. This woman you’re going to see, is not a nice piece of work.”

  “I still don’t know,” I said, turning sideways to look at her. “Exactly what it is you want me to do when I get there.” Like Glory, Rachael hadn’t changed that much in the intervening years. Her uncompromisingly grey hair was maybe worn a little longer than I remembered, but still brushed firmly back from the widow-peaked, high foreheaded angularity of her face, and in the shadows of the car I could see she hadn’t swerved far from her usual choice of grey skirt and white shirt.

  “There’s reason for you not knowing more.” She said. I waited, to see if there was going to be further enlightenment, it seemed there wasn’t.

  “I really could do with a bit more info as to what you want me to do exactly” I said. Glory twisted a little in her seat to face me, large gold hoop earrings glinting, even in the dimness of the van’s interior.

  “We want her to spot you.” She said. “We want you to make yourself a target and make yourself such a tempting one, she won’t be able to help fixing on you and in that way, she won’t do damage to anyone else.”

  “Hang on.” I wasn’t thrilled with the target word. “What happened to the no real risk, you mentioned?”

  “There is no real risk, but even if there were, that’s why we’re here, we’ll be near enough to keep track of what’s going on. Any trouble, we’ll be there to help. But you’re perfectly well able to handle things on your own. Right
Rachael?”

  “Correct.”

  “You still haven’t given me much.” I grumbled.

  “Deliberately.” Rachel said. “Better you form your own impressions, means your reactions will be all the more responsive. We want you to put the wind, well and truly up her, so she’ll think twice about doing what she’s doing. And remember, if you’re taking her attention, she won’t be a threat to anyone else.” I reflected on this, I wasn’t too keen on the threat word either.

  “Where’s Ruth?” I asked. There was a slight pause, before Rachael said briefly.

  “At the Oxford cottage. She’s been a bit under the weather.” I could see that wasn’t the whole story, but not beyond that.

  “Is that anything to do with this, with this Martha woman?”

  “No, of course not.” said Rachael. She was telling the truth, although maybe not all of it. I couldn’t help but think, the sooner I got all this over with and could go back to normal, the better. Another thought occurred to me,

  “Why does she hold these meetings in hotels?” I asked, “Aren’t these sort of things usually done in churches or community halls?”

  “Not the way this lady works,” said Glory. “She’s got herself a successful business that’s lucrative and growing. She’s achieved that, by making herself different. The venue costs are expensive, but easily covered by ticket takings – it’s a numbers game, and she pulls those in consistently. She also sells her books and a lot of other stuff, I told you, she’s a great marketer. But the real icing on the cake, is what happens after the public meetings, when people are so impressed, they’re clamouring for private readings – that’s where she makes the real money. The business side of things is a smoothly run operation. The other stuff we told you about – well, you might call that more of a hobby.”