‘Beautiful Alex. Can you ever forgive me? I will never let you down again. I promise you that. I have asked myself why I treated you so badly and the only answer I can come up with is that I thought you were having a breakdown and I couldn’t bear to see it.’
She curled her fingers round his and felt her heart soar. They would talk about everything later. She’d tell him about her suspicions over Amy Abbott’s death and about the woman who bled to death two days ago in her car park. She had given her statement yesterday along with a DNA sample. Maybe Patrick could help her get the police to believe that there was someone out there making all this happen. He was less emotional than her and might argue her case better.
‘Thank you for that, Patrick,’ she whispered.
He moved the candle and the single flower to one side and then without restrictions or any resistance from her he leaned over and kissed her. It was a kiss full of tenderness, a balm to heal her pain, and she had never felt more cherished.
‘I ask myself if my behaviour helped cause it,’ he said quietly. ‘Had you been crying out in the months before, needing my help?’
‘What—?’
‘Let me finish,’ he said, gripping her hand. ‘I saw you as so strong and perfect that when you said all those things I refused to accept you needed help. Proper help. Not some silly holiday.’
Her body had turned to stone. Her mind was the only thing still working. There were no tremors coursing through her body and no heart racing beneath her breast.
It was worse than she could ever have imagined. He was taking the blame for the things he believed she imagined because he had not seen the signs that she needed help.
It was hopeless. And she was such a fool! He didn’t know her at all. None of their deepest thoughts shared over the last year had taught him anything about who she was. He had seen her as someone strong and perfect who didn’t succumb to weaknesses. And yet if he truly saw her as such a person, wasn’t it reasonable that he would at least want to explore the possibility of another explanation. Didn’t he want to stand up and say, ‘Well OK, Alex, let’s investigate this. You are a sane and normal person. Why on earth would you say this happened if it didn’t?’
But of course, as far as he was concerned there was no need to say this, because as far as he was concerned it didn’t happen. None of it. She had simply lost her mind and needed proper help.
She managed to stand. And through stone-like lips she managed to speak. ‘Goodbye, Patrick. Thank you for asking me out tonight.’
Chapter eighteen
‘You got another call from your admirer,’ Laura told Greg as soon as he arrived at work. She had been on the night shift, but looked as if she was just beginning her day. Her perfume smelled fresh as he stopped by her desk, and her pale blue shirt was crease free.
He didn’t need to ask who the admirer was; he already knew who Laura was referring to. Alex Taylor had called the station several times in the last two days wanting an update on Lillian Armstrong’s death, and because she always asked for him Laura was reading more into it than there was. But he had nothing to tell her yet; he was still waiting for the post-mortem results.
‘What did she want?’
‘To know if we have any news on Lillian Armstrong. For one of us to blue-light it over and hold her hand, probably.’
Greg set down his briefcase, now giving Laura his full attention. ‘Did she have another incident happen?’
Laura stared open eyed, her eyebrows raised high. ‘You mean like another murder, or an imaginary surgeon wanting to operate on her? Have you asked yourself why Lillian Armstrong was in that car park, in that building in the first place? It’s not her usual hunting ground. She would have been way out of her league looking for a client there. She had to have been invited, that’s for sure. Access to the car park can only be gained either internally by the residents or by a key fob. That sound an alarm bell, Greg? Like the fact that Dr Taylor lives there? Like the fact we have no witnesses to a car fleeing the scene? That conveniently there’s no CCTV to capture the moment?’
He gritted his teeth. ‘I meant like someone leaving a message on her car again.’
‘Oh, that.’ There was something in her voice that told him she had a different opinion.
‘We both saw someone at her car.’
Laura shrugged. ‘She could have done it herself. Donned baggy clothes and nipped away from the party for a few minutes to do it. Then have a witness with her when it gets discovered.’
‘She couldn’t have known Nathan Bell would follow her.’
‘Couldn’t she? He doesn’t look to have that many admirers, with his face.’ She grimaced. ‘She might have given him reason to follow her, and in the dark she may not have minded.’
Greg felt his back teeth begin to grind. Laura’s way of thinking sometimes nauseated him. ‘So a leg over in the back of her car is what you think enticed him to follow her?’ He picked up his briefcase, seeming to consider what she said. Then he lowered his voice and made it sound sincere. ‘Good job you have the experience to think that way. We need women like you to know how other women behave. I’ll give it some thought, Laura. You get on home; you look tired.’
Laura stayed at her desk for several moments after he left, thinking on that comment, and an hour later as she settled into bed she was still wondering if an insult had been intended.
*
It was despair and desperation that drove Alex to Maggie Fielding’s house. She had no one else to turn to. Maggie Fielding didn’t ask questions over the phone, or show surprise that her offer of several weeks ago was only now being taken up. She simply gave a time that she would be in and directions on how to get to her home.
And now, standing in the dark on the pavement outside Maggie’s house, Alex strongly regretted making the call. She hardly knew the woman, and what little she did know gave her no comfort. Maggie didn’t strike her as someone who would be happy handing out tea and sympathy. She looked more suited to lecturing. But it was too late to back out of the meeting. A curtain had moved and she had been seen.
There were three steps up to the dark blue front door, and as she raised the brass knocker, the door opened.
‘I saw you arrive,’ Maggie Fielding said by way of greeting. ‘Did you walk or drive?’
‘Walked,’ Alex answered as she stepped into a vast hallway. ‘Couldn’t find my key fob to open the gates of the car park where I live.’
‘Good. You can have a drink, then.’
The hallway was magnificent, the walls rising to fifteen feet or more painted aubergine and the archway and picture rails a muted gold. Large flagstones, like old pavement slabs, gave off a wonderful echo as her boots clip-clopped over them. The large gilded mirror over a gold-lacquered hall table should have looked too ornate, but didn’t. It spoke of great confidence.
‘How old is the house?’ she asked.