Forgive Me Page 29

  In panic she jumped out of bed and ran to the door. As she opened it she recoiled in horror when she saw a wall of thick smoke. It was so dense she couldn’t even see the banisters of the staircase less than four feet away. But even through the smoke she could see an orangey-red glow coming from down by the front door, and it was making its way towards the stairs.

  The house was on fire, and she was trapped.

  Shutting the bedroom door to hold the fire at bay until she could get out, she ran to the windows overlooking the street. They were both locked. She fumbled for the little key on the sill but couldn’t find it.

  On advice from John, who had installed the windows, she always closed and locked them when she went out for fear of a burglar. She hadn’t opened them when she went to bed because moths and daddy long-legs came in, attracted by the light. Frantically she rushed to switch on the light to help her find the key.

  She had just got back to the window sill when the light went out; she guessed the fire had burned some wiring and shorted it out. The key had to be on the sill, she always kept it there. But she ran her fingers all along both sills, and it wasn’t there.

  The smoke was belching in under the door now. She grabbed the duvet and shoved it down to cover the gap. Coughing and spluttering, she went back to the windows and crawled along beneath them feeling with her hands for the key. But she still couldn’t find it. Terrified now, she began hammering on the windows with her fists but soon realized that no one was going to hear her. She tried to think of something she could use to break the window.

  A chair was first, but when she cracked it against the glass she merely broke off the two front legs. She tried a shoe, but that made no impression at all.

  She knew she was going to die. Someone had once told her that smoke killed you before the flames did. And she was choking now – her lungs were filling up with it – and there was nothing heavy enough in the room to break the glass.

  In a moment of clarity she remembered what that smell was when she opened the bedroom door. It was petrol. It must have been that bastard Myles who had set the fire – his revenge for her going to the police.

  Coughing and wheezing, her lungs feeling as if they were on fire, she fell on to the bed and covered her head with a pillow. She had thought that sometime in the future she and Phil would get married; that they’d have children and have a long and happy life together.

  But now she wasn’t even going to get a chance to say goodbye to him.

  Phil was smiling to himself as he took the Hammersmith turn-off from the M4. He hadn’t knocked off work at five o’clock as usual. He knew, if he kept on working, he could finish the job by about one in the morning. And then he could drive home to Eva. The two joiners had teased him about being in love and growing soppy. But it was in their interests for him to finish the plastering early, as it meant they wouldn’t be held up in the morning waiting for him to get out of their way.

  Eva had given him a key, and he couldn’t wait to creep up the stairs and into bed with her. He just hoped she didn’t scream, thinking it was an intruder.

  As he was about to signal to turn left off Holland Park Avenue, a fire engine with sirens screaming came up behind him, overtook him and turned into Portland Road. Another one followed it, and Phil had pull right over almost on to the pavement.

  Even before he turned the corner, he knew the fire was close. The sirens had stopped, but halfway along Portland Road he could smell smoke and see the bright lights from the fire engines. He realized they must be in Pottery Lane.

  He parked his car in the first space he saw, got out and ran the rest of the way. As he turned the corner by the pub he saw it was No. 7, the small window beside the front door glowing red with flames. He felt himself go cold with fright.

  ‘My girl’s in there!’ he yelled at the first fireman he reached. The man had just got out of the fire-engine cab and was unrolling the hose. ‘I’ve got a key, I must go in and get her.’

  The fireman caught hold of his shoulders. ‘You can’t go in, the whole ground floor is alight. Which room will she be in?’

  ‘The front room.’ Phil pointed up. ‘Get a ladder!’

  He was aware that, behind the man he had spoken to, the other firemen were moving quickly into their positions; one hose was already out, and he heard the gushing sound as the water ran into the gutter. The glass in the small window by the front door suddenly exploded, pieces falling out on to the pavement. The men lifted the hose and aimed it through the window. Phil heard sizzling as water hit the flames.

  It was then he became aware of how many other people were out in the street. There were dozens of them, huddling in small groups, all wearing dressing gowns or coats over their nightclothes. The police arrived then and started moving people back, away from the fire. One came over to Phil, signalling with his arms for him to go back too.

  ‘My girl’s in there,’ Phil yelled again over the noise of the engines and the water. ‘Please get her out!’

  Everything seemed to have gone into agonizing slow motion. He saw the fireman he’d spoken to talking to a colleague, and pointing to the windows upstairs. His colleague spoke to someone else, and it seemed to take for ever before he saw them positioning a ladder.

  The first fireman came back to him. ‘Is there anything in the house or garage we need to know about. Gas cylinders? Cans of petrol?’

  ‘Her car will be in the garage,’ Phil gasped. ‘Oh hell, there’s not only the petrol in the car, but there’s probably paint stripper, white spirit and God knows what else too.’

  This news seemed to have a galvanizing effect on the fire crew. The front door was instantly broken down and the hoses played right into the inferno of the hallway.

  A ladder was now firmly in place and a fireman with breathing apparatus went up it. Phil was unable to stop himself miming breaking the window, hopping from one foot to the other in agitation. He was vaguely aware that a woman had come to his side – a neighbour, he supposed. She spoke but his focus was on the window and he didn’t hear what she said.

  She shook his arm to get his attention. ‘She’ll be alright, they’ll get her out,’ she said. ‘Look, an ambulance is here now.’

  At last Phil heard the sound of breaking glass falling into the street. He held his breath as the fireman on the ladder put his mask over his face and climbed in.

  ‘I don’t suppose he’d have gone in if the fire was in that room,’ the woman said to Phil. ‘I called them, you know. I normally curse that I don’t sleep well, but I’m glad I was awake tonight. You see, I went out into the backyard, and that’s when I smelled the smoke and saw it coming over the gardens. Next door are away – they aren’t going to be too happy when they get back and find the smoke has damaged their house, are they?’

  Phil wanted her to shut up, even though he knew he should be grateful to her. He wanted to keep his eyes on that window, not look at the woman and make some response. His heart was pounding with fear that Eva was already dead from the smoke. He didn’t know what he’d do without her.

  At last he saw the fireman at the window with Eva over his shoulder like a sack of coal. At that point there was a loud bang from inside the house and a tongue of flame licked out of the front door and up the front of the house. Two more of the team advanced with another hose, and the sound of spitting and hissing as the water attacked the flames filled the air.

  Slowly the fireman came down the ladder with Eva. Phil rushed towards them.

  ‘Steady on,’ the fireman said. ‘She’s alive, but she needs urgent medical treatment.’

  The ambulance men came forward with a stretcher and laid Eva down on it, then gave her oxygen as they wheeled her back to the ambulance. She was wearing pink pyjamas with teddy bears on them; in the yellowy glow of the street lighting she looked about twelve.

  ‘Will she be alright?’ Phil’s words were a plea more than a question. ‘I’m her boyfriend. Can I come with you?’

  ‘It’s too soon to say,�
�� one of the men replied. ‘But sure, you can come with us.’

  Chapter Eighteen

  Phil felt a surge of emotion as he looked down at Eva in the hospital bed. The smell of smoke still clung to her and she looked so pale, small and vulnerable. Even though he knew she was out of danger now, the terror of the past few hours when he thought he was going to lose her would never leave him.

  She had been unconscious on admittance to hospital, and so close to death from the smoke inhalation that they had to put a tube down her throat to give her oxygen. All he had been able to think of as he paced the hospital corridors was that he was to blame. He’d told her the electrical wiring was in good condition, and he’d clearly been mistaken.

  When the doctor finally came to tell him she was rallying, Phil wanted to hug the man for saving her. The doctor pointed out that she was very disorientated and nauseous, and she would be plagued by coughing bouts for some time. But he smiled as he said that Eva was a fighter.

  While Phil had been waiting for news, two different policemen had called in to see how she was. Phil had admitted that he felt responsible, because he should have recommended she get a qualified electrician to check the wiring in the house. They said that fires started for many reasons and that, until the fire service had made their investigation and discovered what had caused it, he shouldn’t go blaming himself.

  When he was finally allowed in to see her, the relief of knowing she was going to be alright made him feel almost euphoric.

  He took her hand and stroked it. She opened her eyes and looked at him.

  He was shocked at how sore her eyes looked, and he bent to kiss her forehead. ‘Don’t try to speak, your throat must be very raw. I’m going to stay with you, just go back to sleep, you are safe now.’

  ‘Do they know it was Myles?’ she croaked out.

  ‘Myles?’ he repeated. Then he remembered that it was the name of the man who had assaulted her. ‘What makes you think he was responsible?’

  ‘I smelled petrol. Who else would pour that through the letter box?’ she said, her voice so hoarse it didn’t even sound like hers. ‘You must tell the police.’

  It hadn’t even crossed Phil’s mind that the fire had been started deliberately. The possibility that Eva could be right, and that the intention had been to kill her, made his stomach lurch.

  Somehow he managed to stay calm, to reassure her that he would deal with it, that everything would be alright and all she needed to do was go to sleep knowing she was in safe hands. But that calmness was just a front – inside, his stomach was contracting with anger. If he could lay his hands on that bastard, he’d tear him limb from limb and take real pleasure in it.

  A policeman was waiting out in the corridor, hoping for a few words with Eva. Phil went straight over to him and repeated what she had just said.

  The policeman was in his mid-thirties, a pleasant-faced man with brown curly hair. ‘One of my colleagues did mention that your girlfriend had been assaulted recently,’ he said in a very off-hand manner. ‘We will check out Miss Patterson’s allegation.’

  ‘The man is out on bail,’ Phil tersely reminded him, wondering why he wasn’t rushing out of the door now to catch Myles. ‘He should be arrested immediately and charged with attempted murder.’

  ‘We will of course question him – should it transpire that the fire was arson,’ the policeman said. His tone had more than a touch of ‘allow the police to decide what is to be done’. He continued, ‘Does Miss Patterson have family we should contact? Will they be able to take her in when she is released from hospital?’

  Phil said that he would take care of her and gave the man his address and phone number. He explained that Eva’s mother was dead. And although she had a half-brother and half-sister, he didn’t think there was any point in contacting them, as their father was not on friendly terms with her.

  The policeman nodded, but wrote Andrew Patterson’s address down in his notebook anyway. ‘We should have the report back from the fire officers shortly,’ he said. ‘You look as if you could do with some sleep yourself. Go on home for now. And if we need to know anything else, we’ll contact you.’

  Phil didn’t go home. As tired as he was, he felt unable to leave in case Eva needed him. He rang Serendipity in Notting Hill, where Eva had been working, and told them what had happened to her, saying he’d contact them again once she was better. He also phoned his own boss to warn him that he might not be in to work on Monday. He wished he could phone Patrick, Gregor and Olive too, as he felt the need to share what had happened with people who cared for Eva. But she had their numbers, and he didn’t even know their addresses to look them up in a directory.

  They moved Eva later that morning from intensive care into a medical ward. As the ward sister wouldn’t let him sit by her bedside, he had to wait in the visitors’ room.

  He must have dozed off, as he came to with a start when his name was called.

  It was the same curly-haired policeman he’d spoken to earlier. ‘I just came to tell you that the fire was started deliberately,’ he said, looking grave. ‘Forensics have ascertained that rags soaked in petrol were pushed through the letter box. We are doing a house-to-house inquiry in the proximity, in the hope that someone saw something.’

  ‘How likely is that in the middle of the night?’ Phil asked. ‘It’s obvious it was that creep who attacked her.’

  ‘He wasn’t at his home when we called there. According to his neighbour, he went on holiday three days ago.’

  Phil made a dismissive snort. ‘How convenient!’

  ‘We will of course be checking on that,’ the policeman said. ‘But we’ll also be checking around the neighbourhood. I’m going in to speak to Miss Patterson now, to tell her of these developments.’

  Phil looked at his watch; it was one forty-five. ‘It will be visiting time in another fifteen minutes!’

  The policeman gave him a sharp look, as if his visit was far more important. ‘I’ll come back and tell you when I’ve finished.’

  After the policeman had gone, Phil went to see if he could get a cup of coffee. He was irritated by the policeman’s lack of urgency in this case. Would he have pulled his finger out if Eva had died in the fire?

  The following evening, while Phil was visiting Eva, the policeman he had spoken to on the previous day came in with another officer.

  It was Saturday, so there were more visitors than usual around the other patients’ beds. ‘Couldn’t they have called when there aren’t any other visitors to gawp?’ Eva whispered to him. ‘It makes me feel like I’ve done something wrong.’

  She was much better today. Her face was a yellowy grey, her voice was still very hoarse and her eyes sore, and she also had a headache and the awful cough to deal with. But she had managed to eat some lunch and she was no longer disorientated.

  The curly-haired policeman introduced himself as Detective Inspector Turner. He came straight to the point, saying that he had proof Myles was in Cornwall on holiday. It seemed the local police had interviewed him; he had a cast-iron alibi, because he’d been in a restaurant in St Ives on the night of the fire with a group of friends until almost one thirty. Aside from the fact he’d left there very drunk, it was impossible for anyone to reach London by car in just over an hour.

  ‘Maybe he paid someone else to do it?’ Phil suggested.

  Turner ignored him and just looked at Eva. ‘A young woman in Portland Road did see something she thought was suspicious,’ he said. ‘She was dropped home by taxi about fifteen minutes before the logged call to the emergency services. As the taxi drew up outside her house she saw a man getting out of his car. But when he saw the taxi was stopping, the man ducked down behind his car. It made her nervous, because she thought it was an old boyfriend who has been making a nuisance of himself. However, when she got in she looked out of the window and saw the car was a BMW, and therefore not her old boyfriend’s. The man who had hidden was gone. And a little later she heard the car drive off, so s
he assumed he’d just been calling on one of her neighbours. But she still thought the man’s behaviour was suspicious enough to tell us about it. Unfortunately, she couldn’t tell us what colour the car was. Do you know anyone with a BMW?’

  ‘Only my stepfather,’ Eva said. ‘I’m not very good at recognizing cars, unless they’re a Mini or a Beetle.’

  ‘My wife is the same,’ Turner said. ‘But your boyfriend did mention that you weren’t on friendly terms with your stepfather. Is this a recent falling out? Could you tell me a little more about your relationship with him?’

  Eva began coughing violently. Phil poured her a glass of water and held it for her to sip.

  ‘He was unpleasant to her after her mother died,’ Phil said. ‘He was angry because she’d been left the house in Pottery Lane.’

  ‘I see,’ Turner said. ‘When did Miss Patterson last have contact with him?’

  ‘Less than two weeks ago – we called on him on our way back from a holiday in Scotland,’ Phil said. ‘Eva had things she wanted to ask him about.’

  Even through her coughing Phil could see Eva’s eyes were imploring him not to say anything further, but he knew he must.

  ‘Eva doesn’t want me to tell you this,’ he said. ‘I understand why, because it’s personal, complicated and we could very well be barking up the wrong tree. But whether we are or not, Patterson was rattled by some questions we asked him.’

  She caught hold of his hand as if to stop him. Her coughing subsided and she looked scared.

  He turned to her and smoothed down her hair. ‘I’ve got to speak out, Eva. You could’ve died in that fire, and the police need to know all the facts if they are to find the person who started it.’

  ‘We certainly do, Miss Patterson,’ Turner said.

  Phil was aware that some of the other patients in the ward were watching keenly. He looked back at Turner. ‘I’d rather tell you about this down at the police station, not here in a ward full of people with their ears pinned back.’