Rosie Page 54

  He remembered then how he had predicted to himself that she would grow into a pretty woman but would never be sophisticated. He had been right on the second count – he couldn’t imagine any hairdresser completely taming that wild mop of curls, or any elegant dress transforming her country-girl style into city chic. But she hadn’t grown into a merely pretty woman, she was beautiful: long, coppery lashes framing those sky-blue eyes, that determined pointed chin and upturned nose with freckles like gold-dust across the bridge, and such a soft, kissable mouth. He felt a pang of exquisite tenderness for her. He had been so blunt about Gareth today that he wished he dared be equally honest about his own feelings towards her.

  Donald leapt over the last stile and ran on ahead. Thomas went next, slowly because climbing was hard for him. He turned at the other side and instinctively held out his hand for Rosie’s. For a moment she just sat astride the stile looking at him, her hand in his. The sun was behind her, turning her hair into a fuzzy golden halo, and the tops of her arms in her sleeveless cotton dress were golden too. He tried to photograph it in his memory, so he could paint it just as soon as he got back to London. He also wanted to be brave enough to put his two hands on her waist and lift her down into his arms, then kiss her.

  ‘Thank you, Thomas,’ she said in a soft little voice. ‘You always seem to be here for me just when I need you.’

  ‘I hope I always will,’ he said, and lifting her hand to his lips he kissed it.

  As Rosie lay in bed that night, she found it odd that her thoughts were not of Gareth, as they had been night and day for the past week, but of Thomas. He had been such an important person in her life for so long, and she thought she knew everything about him, but today he’d been different, sort of cruel, yet she liked him even more for that.

  He’d pulled a kind of veil from her eyes. Most of what he’d said about Gareth she’d always known deep down, but he’d brought everything to the surface and now she could see it with utter clarity. She wasn’t exactly sure she liked such clarity, though. She didn’t want to remember Gareth urging her to masturbate him almost the second they were alone together, nor the fact that in the last year he had rarely attempted to please her. She didn’t want to think about the nasty jibes he made at Donald or Thomas, and especially not the ones he made about her, that her hair was always a mess, that her breasts were too small and her hands were getting rough like a man’s. Neither did she want to admit openly that Gareth was boring a lot of the time, especially when he talked about trains or motorbikes.

  That misty image of their married life in a little rose-covered cottage had always been so pretty and comforting, but she knew now that Gareth wasn’t really the man she imagined sitting across a candlelit table from, or tucked up in a vast comfortable bed with. She still had to find that man. Yet she did feel sort of refreshed by having had that veil pulled down. She could see further and she had an urge to get out into the world and try new things.

  What would it be like to go to dances again? To let some new man kiss her? And these girls he’d said she should be out there giggling with, who were they? Where would she meet them?

  Sleep overtook her before she could answer the many questions spinning around in her head.

  Chapter Eighteen

  Three days after Thomas returned to Mayfield, Seth arrived too. He had crept into the garden at five-thirty in the morning, peered through every downstairs window, and now at seven o’clock he was sitting high up on the garden wall, hidden by the dense foliage of a copper beech, staring right into the kitchen. He was waiting for the occupants of the house to get up so he could take a look at them.

  His appearance was now as desperate as his state of mind: unwashed, filthy clothes, and a thick growth of black stubble on his chin. He had abandoned the Standard Vanguard back near Southampton, then walked many miles cross-country before helping himself to a green Rover 90 in a small village. The owner had left a tweed jacket and a flat cap in the back, which offered a little warmth at night and some semblance of a disguise. He’d also managed to buy some food and cigarettes in a village shop run by an old lady. She didn’t appear to recognize his face as the one on the front page of every newspaper, but he sensed his luck at evading the police was fast running out.

  His heart had sunk when he eventually reached May-field and saw where Rosie lived. He had imagined The Grange to be some sort of institution, a school or a nursing home, tucked away in isolation. Instead he’d found it to be a big, posh, private house, with a sleek Jaguar parked in the drive, slap-bang in the middle of a village high street.

  Seth knew that village people tended to be more observant than their city counterparts, and judging by the houses and cottages he’d seen so far, this one had a large proportion of wealthy residents. They were likely to call the police if they so much as caught a glimpse of an unkempt stranger, and that made him very jumpy.

  On the plus side, however, there were no police at the gate, no dog either, and the number of bushes in the garden made it easy to creep around unseen. He’d also reconnoitred a way in via the field at the bottom of the garden. He intended to hide his shotgun there later, then drive the Rover away to some woods and dump it.

  A noise drew his attention back to the house. A small, grey-haired, middle-aged woman wearing a pink dressing-gown was opening the kitchen window as she filled the kettle. Seth frowned. He had assumed that Rosie must be working here as a maid. But if she was, why wasn’t she up first? Remembering how astonished Miss Marks had been when he showed her this address, he wished now that he’d asked her why. But then, with hindsight, there was a great deal more he should have found out before he allowed himself to become involved with that old bag.

  He had managed to fit part of the story together from newspaper reports. Miss Marks was really Freda Barnes, one-time matron of a private loony-bin, and Miss Pemberton had been instrumental in getting her the sack. The man called Saunders whose face was in the papers too had also worked there. Clearly Rosie had created some mischief while she’d been there, including grassing up the matron and Saunders.

  As Rosie wasn’t mentioned in any paper he’d read, he’d come to the conclusion she must have informed on him anonymously, the sneaking sniveller. He wondered if that woman in the kitchen knew her real identity? He bet she didn’t.

  A man came into the kitchen some ten minutes later. As he was well back in the room, Seth couldn’t see him clearly. He was a tall, well-built man, about sixty, Seth thought; probably the woman’s husband.

  When Rosie suddenly appeared at the kitchen doors, opened them wide and stepped out on to the terrace, Seth almost fell off the wall in surprise. There was no doubt it was Rosie, as her unique copper-coloured curls gave her away, but he hadn’t expected to find that the skinny kid he remembered had grown into a beauty.

  The old tangled mane of hair was gone, the new shorter style was much shinier, and she was taller too, with the figure of a pin-up girl. The confident manner in which she opened those doors, and her casual outfit of dark green shorts and a sleeveless white blouse, suggested she was a great deal more than a maid in this house.

  ‘It’s so lovely and warm,’ she called back into the kitchen. ‘Shall we have breakfast out here today?’

  Her voice was another surprise: she appeared to have lost her Somerset accent. Seth’s was toned down too from his time in London, but people still recognized his West Country origins. For some reason this rankled more than her appearance as it suggested she hadn’t suffered in any way, just slipped miraculously into an easy life.

  ‘Well, you won’t have it much longer,’ he muttered to himself as he watched her arranging garden chairs around the table.

  He soon began to feel very vulnerable, being so close. He was less than eight feet from her. If he as much as sneezed, he would give himself away. But he couldn’t move now, he was trapped.

  In the next half-hour Seth grew more and more agitated, not just because of his proximity to her but out of jealousy too. She was
laying the table for four: a jug of orange juice, marmalade in a pretty pot, and butter in a glass dish, cutlery placed just so. The older woman was frying bacon, and the smell, along with the comfort of the house he’d noticed earlier, tormented him.

  He had never had any comfort or glamour in his life – out in all winds and weathers, doing back-breaking work, his meals virtually thrown on the table. Since Cole was hanged, he hadn’t even had a place he could call home. He was twenty-eight, but he’d never once sat in a beautiful garden like this, or had a holiday, or been anywhere luxurious. Why should she live in a place with a piano, a television set, thick carpets and all the other trappings of wealth, when he had nothing?

  It seemed that the man wasn’t joining the breakfast party outside. Seth thought he must be going off to work shortly. He wondered who the other two places were for? Perhaps there were children in the house?

  Just after eight a big blond-haired man came into the kitchen. Seth sneered as he saw him go up to the older woman and hug her.

  ‘Mummy’s boy,’ he muttered. He smirked a few minutes later as the same chap came out into the garden with the Beano in his hands and sat down at the table to read it. Seth’s reading didn’t go much beyond the Beano either, but he would have expected someone who lived in a place like this to be reading the Financial Times, not a comic.

  After a few moments of studying him, Seth came to the conclusion he was simple. He looked normal enough, he was muscular and suntanned, and his light-coloured slacks and short-sleeved shirt had an expensive, well-fitting look, but he was laughing aloud at the comic and his mouth had a slightly droopy look like some of the ‘divvies’ that worked as labourers on building sites.

  Then all at once Seth’s attention was diverted by another man coming out on to the terrace. His lean face, fair hair and pronounced limp seemed very familiar. It was a minute or two before he placed him. But when the penny dropped he gasped in astonishment, grabbing the wall for support.

  ‘It’s fucking Farley!’ he thought. ‘What the hell is that bastard doing here?’

  Thomas Farley was a man he was never likely to forget. Not only was he responsible for initiating Seth’s and his father’s arrest, but it was his character, background and testimony in court which had swayed the jury into finding Cole guilty. From the moment the jurors saw the haggard man who’d fought for his country and spent years in a Burmese prisoner-of-war camp only to lose his leg from an infected wound, they were for him. He was a hero, while Cole Parker with his robust health had spent the war years in cowardly comfort and safety. Cole didn’t stand a chance.

  In the next ten minutes or so, before the older man drove off in the Jaguar and Rosie and the older woman brought out plates of bacon and eggs, Seth scrutinized Farley and listened to his conversation with the man he called Donald.

  Farley looked younger than he had at the trial. He’d gained some weight, and even the lined face Seth remembered so clearly seemed to have smoothed out remarkably. In court Farley’s expression had remained grim, and he had looked at Cole and Seth with hatred as if he was capable of tearing them apart with his bare hands. Seth remembered how he had made his blood run cold, even though he was a cripple. In fact for some time after his acquittal, Seth had half expected the bloke to come gunning for him.

  Life had clearly been good to Farley since then. He looked relaxed and happy as he smiled and chatted. He reminded Seth a bit of his sergeant when he was doing his stint in the army. He had the same kind of cool confidence, the sort other men looked up to – tough and dependable. Seth wondered what he was to Rosie. Surely the man couldn’t care for the daughter of his enemy? But if he did care for her, so much the better. Seth could exact a double helping of revenge at one stroke.

  Once Rosie and the older woman joined the two men for breakfast, Seth soon gleaned a great deal more information about all of them from the conversation. Farley was a guest, a regular one at that. Rosie was almost a daughter to the woman, though she called her Mrs Cook. Donald, as Seth had suspected, was simple, and he worked as a gardener.

  But he still couldn’t make out his sister’s role here. She seemed very affectionate towards the simple bloke, so maybe she was his girlfriend. But then she was equally affectionate towards Farley. It was really peculiar. Surely Rosie could do better than a cripple or a simpleton? Yet there was also a reference to someone called Gareth, so maybe these people had another son. He wondered where he was.

  Most of their conversation, however, seemed to be centred on the day ahead. Farley said he had some work to do, but he’d like to do it out here. Mrs Cook was going to a whist drive at eleven. Rosie and Donald appeared to be going somewhere together, and Rosie spoke of being gone for two hours. There was a great deal more conversation about someone called Robin. Seth suspected from their laughter that he was a small child, perhaps a grandchild.

  Seth was frustrated when they finished breakfast. Rosie and Donald disappeared into the house out of sight, but the old woman and Farley stayed in the kitchen washing up. He wanted to move from his hiding place because he was afraid Rosie would leave by the front door and he wanted to follow her. But he didn’t dare move until the kitchen was empty.

  Minutes ticked by, and to Seth’s horror Farley came out on to the terrace again and set up some tools on the table. He had visions of being trapped on the wall all morning. As he was so close to the terrace, just the slightest movement could alert Farley that someone was there.

  At last Farley went back indoors and vanished from sight. Seth couldn’t see the old girl either, so he took his chance, leapt down into the garden, skirted around behind some thick bushes which surrounded the lawn, and reached the drive.

  The front door was actually located on the side of the house, and Seth was startled to hear it opening just as he was about to run past. He dived behind a bush, trembling with fright, assuming that someone had spotted him. He regretted coming here now. It was nearly half past eight. The shops in the high street would be opening any minute. He knew only too well that in country villages people came out early to do their shopping, older people gathered to chat and a lot of holiday-makers might well be there too.

  ‘We’ll be home by twelve,’ Rosie called out to someone behind her. ‘If Mrs Parsons phones, tell her I’ll call round this afternoon to give her a quote.’

  Seth breathed a sigh of relief. They hadn’t seen him.

  The bush behind which he’d concealed himself was holly and very prickly, but even when Rosie and Donald walked past him up the garden, he didn’t dare come out. A few minutes later they came back, Donald pushing a wheelbarrow loaded with garden tools and Rosie carrying a tray full of small plants. Surely she hadn’t become a gardener?

  At eleven that same evening Seth was in the field at the back of The Grange, tucked up against the garden wall, concealed by two dense bushes. It was dark now, but sticky hot, as if there was a storm brewing.

  It had been very difficult to follow Rosie this morning. The high street was busy, and there was nowhere to conceal himself. Rosie seemed to know everyone; again and again she stopped to chat. Seth had attracted quite a few curious glances, and even though he pulled the cap further down over his eyes and shuffled on as if he was just a farm worker passing through, he felt his presence had been noted and it would be only a matter of time before someone alerted the police that there was a suspicious-looking character in their midst.

  Apparently Rosie and Donald ran a gardening business together. He’d spied on her over the hedge of the place where they were working and was amazed to see her digging like a seasoned professional. Unable to get near her because of Donald, Seth had a sleep in a field near by. He woke later to find they had both gone home, so he went back to the car, drove it into some woods, then came back to The Grange and just waited. At four he heard Rosie and Donald come down the garden together. He pricked up his ears, but they went into the greenhouse and their voices became muted. An hour or so later Farley came into the garden and called Rosie out t
o speak to her. This time Seth heard everything distinctly. He felt they must be sitting on the bench just the other side of the wall, only feet away from him.

  Farley had come to tell Rosie about the latest news bulletin. To Seth’s consternation, it soon became clear that the entire household knew exactly who Rosie was and also the details of his own movements, which could only have been passed on to them by the police. Farley told her a Standard Vanguard with Seth’s fingerprints all over it had been found, and went on to say the police believed he was heading in their direction in a green Rover.

  ‘They’re warning the public not to approach him,’ Farley said, his voice gruff and authoritative. They’ve posted an officer at the gate here, but you mustn’t go out at all until he’s been caught.’

  ‘Surely he won’t dare come here?’ Rosie said, and Seth had a twinge of pleasure at the alarm in her voice.

  ‘It doesn’t seem very logical,’ Farley replied. ‘If I was him, I’d be looking for ways to get out of the country. But who can guess at a man’s state of mind when he’s already killed twice?’

  Their voices slowly faded as they walked back to the house together. Although Seth was shaken to find the police were so close on his tail, he still smirked. They hadn’t got the savvy to watch the back of the house too, and if Farley knew how close Seth had been to Rosie today he’d be shitting himself.

  Seth lit up another cigarette. He was waiting for everyone in the house to go to bed. He hoped there would be a storm, because it would make his new plan easier.

  His original idea had been to catch Rosie alone, well away from the house. As the day’s events had made that impossible, he’d had to rethink. But in fact his new plan excited him far more.