Forgive Me Page 18

  She could only stare in consternation, very aware she was speckled with paint. Her hair was held back with a stretchy band and, with no make-up, she knew she looked awful.

  ‘I didn’t expect you to come,’ she said weakly. ‘I’m painting.’

  ‘So I see,’ he said. ‘But I’ll scrub your back if you want to jump in the bath.’

  That remark told her his sole purpose for coming round was to get her into bed. But he was over the threshold before she could gather her wits and make it clear that sex wasn’t on the menu.

  Brushing past her, he walked straight into the living room. ‘You’ve made a nice job of this,’ he said, looking around. ‘It was a hellhole before.’

  ‘Yes, it was,’ she said. ‘Awful. But there’s still a lot more to do. I really ought to get on with the painting. I only get Sundays to do anything.’

  ‘You can stop for a glass of bubbly and see where that takes us, can’t you?’ he said. With that he popped the cork, which flew out and hit the wall. ‘So where’re the glasses?’ he asked. He then proceeded to go into the kitchen section of the room and opened cupboards, pulling out two glasses.

  ‘It’s a bit early for drinking,’ she said uncertainly. He might be undeniably handsome but she didn’t like him behaving as if he had a divine right to do whatever he pleased.

  ‘Never too early to drink,’ he said and poured out the sparkling wine. ‘Let’s go out into your garden so I can see what you’ve done there.’

  Eva found herself meekly following him. ‘Have you been in here before?’ she asked.

  He seemed to know his way around.

  ‘Yes, I have – about a year ago. I heard it was coming up for sale, and I was interested.’

  He sat down at the table and lit up a cigarette, then offered her one.

  ‘No, thank you. I don’t smoke,’ she said.

  ‘Don’t drink early in the morning and don’t smoke! What are your vices then?’

  The way he sat with legs astride, the exaggerated way he drew in on the cigarette, and the way he looked at her like she was a piece of meat, was just so arrogant. She didn’t want him in her house at all.

  ‘I didn’t know it was up for sale a year ago,’ she said, ignoring his last question.

  He laughed, a humourless sound. ‘It wasn’t, that was just a rumour, but it was obvious the owner was a crackpot letting it to junkies. Apparently she was living miles away, letting it fall apart. They said she was an artist. I came round here to get the owner’s address. I made out I was from the Council, following up a complaint about vermin, and made an inspection.’

  ‘So did you get the owner’s address?’

  ‘Yup, I frightened the tenants into it and they handed it over sweet as you like. But their bloody landlady didn’t even have the grace to answer my letters.’

  ‘What did you offer her for it?’ Eva said.

  ‘A hundred thousand by the last letter, though much less to start with. Told her it was riddled with damp and infested with vermin and that I’d get the tenants out for her too.’

  ‘But it wasn’t damp or infested with vermin,’ Eva said. ‘Fancy telling her that!’

  He just laughed. ‘All’s fair when you are after a bargain property.’

  ‘I don’t call it fair to try to intimidate someone in order to get what you want.’

  He looked hard at her for a moment. ‘You paid the going rate, didn’t you? What a chump,’ he said scornfully. ‘You’ve got to wise up, girl, or you’ll get skinned alive buying property.’

  ‘I didn’t have to buy it,’ she said. ‘I inherited it when my mother died.’

  His face tightened.

  ‘Yes, that bloody crackpot landlady was my mother. And I’d like you to leave now.’

  ‘Oh, come on, Eva. How was I to know she was your mother? Lighten up, girl.’

  ‘You are extraordinarily arrogant,’ she said. ‘I didn’t invite you here, and now I want you to leave. I am in the middle of decorating.’

  He picked up his drink and gulped it down in one. ‘Who the fuck do you think you are, telling me to leave?’ he said.

  ‘Because this is my house, and I don’t want you in it. So please leave now without saying another word, or I’ll call the police.’

  He scowled at her. ‘Fucking waitress,’ he said.

  ‘That’s it, get out now,’ she said angrily, pointing towards the French doors. ‘And take your cheap sparkling wine with you.’

  He got up, picked up the wine bottle and began walking into the house. She followed him, her heart thumping, afraid he might damage something just out of spite. But he kept on walking straight towards the front door.

  She moved closer, so she could shut the door when he’d gone. But suddenly, without her seeing it coming, he turned and pounced on her, grabbing her by the shoulder and pushing her up against the wall.

  ‘No one speaks to me like that,’ he snarled at her, and he smashed the wine bottle at the wall. She screamed and tried to get away as wine and chunks of glass showered down on her, but his hand that had held the bottle was now on her throat, pressing hard on her windpipe. She tried to push him off, but he was cutting off her air supply and she felt powerless.

  With his free hand he grabbed her crotch, digging his fingers into her.

  ‘If you didn’t want to be fucked, why didn’t you say so last night?’ he hissed at her. ‘Surely even a dumb waitress would know I wasn’t coming round for a cup of tea and a chat.’

  Eva thought he was going to beat her up and rape her, unless she found the strength to fight him off. His face was contorted with rage, and he bent his head towards her as if he was going to bite her mouth.

  She acted out of pure instinct, bringing her knee up with all the force she could muster to hit him squarely between his legs.

  He yelped with pain and jerked back involuntarily, letting go of her. Quickly she bent to the floor, picked up a big piece of broken bottle and brandished it. ‘Get out, you bastard,’ she screamed, and jabbed the glass at his face. He backed away from her towards the still-closed door; he was holding his crotch with one hand, bent over with pain, and blood was trickling down his cheek.

  Rage gave her new strength. She reached for the catch on the door and pulled it open. Then, jabbing the glass up to his face again, she kicked at his legs until he had no alternative but to back out of the door.

  She slammed it shut, put the chain on too, then ran for the phone to call the police.

  As soon as she’d reported what had happened, she slumped down on to the stairs, trembling with shock.

  Phil had claimed she was an innocent more than once. She knew that if she told him about this he would ask why she had allowed Myles to come in. He would never believe that she hadn’t encouraged the man in any way, and hadn’t even told him where she lived. The police were likely to be much the same, and she had no doubt that by the time they went to arrest Myles he would have a plausible story ready, and make out she was some kind of madwoman who attacked him out of spite.

  She put her fingers to her neck. It hurt, and it felt as if bruises were coming up. Would that be enough evidence to prove he’d almost throttled her?

  The police arrived within ten minutes. By then Eva was crying and unable to stop herself shaking. The woman police officer made her a cup of tea while the policeman questioned her about what had happened.

  ‘So you didn’t make a date with him?’ he asked, after she’d explained what had happened the night before.

  ‘No. He flirted with me, and said he’d call round today. He already knew where I lived, but I didn’t take him seriously. If I had, and really liked him, do you think I’d be dressed like this and painting my bedroom? I’d have been all dolled up with make-up on.’

  ‘But you didn’t say he wasn’t to come round?’

  ‘Not exactly. But we only spoke for a minute. The woman he was with was outside the bistro, and he went off with her. I felt he was only winding me up. I told Antonio about it, and
he said he was a bit of a playboy.’

  Eva related everything that had been said between them this morning – how she’d got angry and told him to go – and then she showed them where he’d pinned her to the wall. The evidence was still there, with the broken bottle on the floor and wine dripping down the wall.

  ‘And you cut his face with a piece of glass?’ the policeman asked. ‘After you’d kicked him in the testicles?’

  ‘You make it sound like I was the attacker!’ Eva said angrily. ‘I kneed him in the groin, because that was all I could do to get free. What was I supposed to do? Let him throttle me and rape me?’

  They put the piece of glass she’d used into a plastic evidence bag, as well as the glass Myles had been drinking from to test for fingerprints. Eva had said she hadn’t touched the wine he poured for her, and they could see that was true because it was still on the table in the garden.

  ‘You’d better come with us to the station so we can get a photograph of the bruises on your neck,’ the policeman said. ‘We’ll get you home immediately after we’ve taken your statement.’

  The police drove Eva back home just after three in the afternoon. Her heart sank as they turned into Pottery Lane and she saw Phil knocking on her door.

  ‘Do you know that man?’ the police constable asked.

  ‘Yes, he’s a friend,’ Eva said. ‘But I wish he hadn’t called now.’

  ‘You need someone with you,’ the policeman said. ‘But if you think he may give you a hard time, I can ask him to leave.’

  ‘That won’t be necessary,’ she said. ‘Thank you for bringing me home.’

  As the car pulled up she saw Phil’s surprise. He came over to the car and opened the door. ‘What’s happened?’ he said. ‘Are you alright?’

  ‘She’s a bit shaken up,’ the policeman said, leaning across Eva to speak to Phil. ‘She could do with some TLC.’

  When Eva opened the front door and saw the spilled wine and broken glass on the floor, she burst into tears. Phil closed the door behind him, put his arms around her and let her cry for a minute.

  ‘I’m going to put the kettle on and get the garden chairs in here. You can sit down while I clear up that mess, then you can tell me all about it,’ he said gently.

  Phil listened carefully, fighting down the desire to find the piece of shit that had done this to her and kick his teeth in. Just the way Eva was dressed, in paint-splattered old shorts and a T-shirt, was all the evidence he needed that she hadn’t been expecting this bloke to call on her. The bruising on her neck and the broken wine bottle were proof that she had been in real danger.

  From what she’d said the police hadn’t been at all sympathetic, and it didn’t sound as if they were stirring themselves to find the man. Did they think she deserved such treatment just because she let him in?

  ‘I’m going to stay here tonight,’ he said, taking both her hands in his. ‘He won’t come back of course – even if the police haven’t arrested him yet, he’ll know better than to risk getting himself in even deeper shit. But you might be scared alone, and I can bunk down here on the floor. I’ve got an old sleeping bag in my van.’

  Eva had a bath and changed while Phil cooked sausages and mash for them both. She felt calmer now she wasn’t alone, and they discussed what she should do about her job.

  ‘I can’t go back there,’ she said. ‘I’ll be afraid he’ll come in.’

  ‘Why don’t you just take a month off without trying to find another job,’ Phil suggested. ‘You’ve got lots of stuff to do in the house, and perhaps you could go up to Leeds and see your brother too? And how about finding Patrick, the man who might be your dad? I could take some time off too and we could take some day trips to places like Brighton, or just cruise about London and see the sights.’

  ‘That sounds very appealing,’ she admitted. ‘If I can get the house decorated and furnished, I could advertise for another girl to share it with me. I’d feel much safer with someone else here.’

  ‘You’ll have to make sure you get someone who will become a real friend, not one of those stuck-up know-it-all Sloane’s this area is full of,’ he said.

  Later on, Eva felt much better and gave the bedroom a final coat of paint, while Phil rubbed down the doors upstairs and the banisters ready for painting. She felt cheered to see the bedroom ready for a carpet and furniture. And if she wasn’t going to be working for a while, she could spend some time choosing things to decorate the room.

  Phil looked a bit apprehensive when she said she wanted to put up the curtain poles.

  ‘I know I can do it,’ she insisted, realizing he didn’t believe she was capable. ‘I’ve got all the equipment: a power drill, spirit level, Rawlplugs and the tape measure. You just watch and stop me if I go wrong.’

  He had that look on his face that men always got when they didn’t believe a woman could do something. And once she’d begun, she could see him twitching because she was so slow. Yet he didn’t interfere, and he grinned at her encouragingly as she drilled the wall for the brackets.

  ‘Well, I’d take my hat off to you, if I had one,’ he said when the poles were finally up. ‘That’s really good. Most women I know haven’t got the strength to get the screws right in.’

  ‘There will be no stopping me now,’ she joked. ‘If that creep comes back, I’ll screw him to the wall!’

  ‘Just make sure you do it in the garage then.’ He laughed. ‘I don’t want the walls I skimmed being messed up.’

  The next morning Phil woke her with a cup of tea. ‘I’ve got to go to work now,’ he said. ‘But I’ll be finishing early. If you like, we could go up to that bookshop in Notting Hill and make some inquiries about Patrick O’Donnell. If he illustrates children’s books, someone there is bound to know about him.’

  ‘That would be nice,’ she agreed, thinking how kind and thoughtful he was. She hadn’t met many men who she thought would cheerfully sleep on the floor just to make her feel safe. ‘I’ll have to phone Antonio this morning and explain why I’m not coming back. Do you think he’ll understand?’

  ‘Of course he will. Anyone would. Now go back to sleep for a bit. Yesterday must have drained you.’

  The phone ringing about an hour later woke Eva up. It was the police, informing her that Myles Babbington had been arrested that morning, charged with assault and would be appearing in court the following morning. They said he was certain to be bailed pending his trial, but he would be warned that he must not approach her again.

  Just the thought of being called as a witness at his trial made her feel frightened all over again. She knew his defence lawyer would try to make it look like she’d led him on.

  She phoned Antonio straight away to tell him she didn’t feel able to come back to work. He wasn’t surprised, as the police had contacted him about it.

  ‘I told them exactly what you told me,’ he said. ‘And I said you weren’t one to flirt with customers, that they should talk to Marcia because she could tell them how the evening had gone in the bistro – she only left about ten minutes before you.’

  It was nice that Antonio was sympathetic; he even said she could have a job there again any time she wanted it. He said he would drop her wages round to her. ‘I never liked that man,’ he said. ‘Always bragging about deals he’d made, women he’d pulled. I’m really sorry he hurt and frightened you, and I’m going to miss you.’

  Eva spent the rest of the day making her curtains. With no sewing machine she had to sew them by hand, and although she tried hard not to think about Myles, he kept creeping into her head. It was more than likely he’d only get probation, or a suspended sentence, and part of her wondered if the humiliation she’d probably encounter at his trial was worth it.

  She was hanging the finished curtains when Phil arrived around four o’clock. ‘They look lovely,’ he said. ‘I am very impressed.’

  There was something about Phil that really lifted her spirits. He was so manly. Chasing after the man who stole her handba
g, and sleeping on the floor without ever making a big deal of it, was evidence of that. He was also calm, he had a dry sense of humour, and he didn’t try to ingratiate himself with her. But, above all, he was kind. She hadn’t met many men who had that quality.

  He asked if she minded if he had a shower, making a joke about hers being a posh one; he claimed his one at home was just a glorified rubber hose on the taps.

  ‘Shall we have something to eat out after the bookshop?’ he yelled out from behind the closed bathroom door.

  She shouted back that she’d made some Bolognese sauce and would cook some pasta when they got back.

  ‘Yum yum,’ was his reply.

  She smiled, as that response appealed to her.

  The bookshop Phil took her to in Notting Hill had a very well-stocked children’s section.

  They wandered around the shop for a while, but the huge selection of books made the likelihood of stumbling upon one illustrated by Patrick very unlikely.

  ‘Is there anyone here who might know about book illustrators?’ she asked the woman behind the counter.

  ‘I don’t,’ the woman said. ‘But Mr Temple, the owner, probably does. He’s back there,’ she said, pointing out a rotund grey-haired man right at the back of the shop.

  They walked up to him. ‘Hello, Mr Temple,’ Eva said, smiling at him. ‘I wonder if you can help me? Have you ever heard of an illustrator called Patrick O’Donnell?’

  ‘Indeed, I have, my dear. His illustrations in the Mr Bear books are an absolute delight,’ he said. ‘The latest one, Mr Bear Goes Camping, is number three in the children’s book chart right now.’

  Eva felt as if someone had just switched on a light inside her. ‘Really! He’s well known then?’

  ‘One of the best.’ Mr Temple beamed. ‘Let me show you.’

  Being shown O’Donnell’s work was as exciting to Eva as finding her mother’s paintings in the attic. The Mr Bear books, aimed at under fives, were written by someone called Mabel Brown.