From The Moment I Saw Him .... (23 page)

Low as I was, things kept happening to make me even
lower.  In the Saturday paper, I read an article about Charlie Davis, the
photographer who had been with Nick on the fatal trip - she had been wounded,
but not seriously - in which she revealed herself to be enthusiastically
bi-sexual. She spoke movingly of those fateful days in Africa, and of her
regard for Nick, and sadness about his death, but I was tormented with the
thought that in the last week of his life, Nick might have been tempted by that
slim body, such a contrast to his pregnant partner, and it made me wretched. 

Mrs DeLisle telephoned me to suggest that Nicholas
should spend alternate weeks with them in Beresford.  She did not like the fact
that I had returned to work, and thought that his grandparents could provide
better care and love than a nanny, especially now he was no longer a little
baby.  I knew how precious Nicholas was to her, but I could not face giving him
up for weeks at a time, and her disappointment was made plain to me.

After the exchange in the restaurant, Ian had kept
some distance between us, and I began to hope that working life would finally
shake down into a state of neutrality.  I was beginning to feel tired and jumpy
with worrying about work, and any respite from the pressure was welcome.

Sometimes, I caught myself feeling resentful that
Nick was not there to help me bring up our child.  I played the “ if only “
game - if only he hadn’t pursued his own wishes and gone to Angola, if only he
had thought more about my feelings, if only Charlie Davis had been briefed to
undertake a different kind of photographic shoot - but it was a negative
exercise, and left me feeling frustrated. In the circumstances, I couldn’t
blame Nick, but, in the midst of my unmitigated grief, I occasionally began to
wonder whether he would ever have been the kind of father I wanted for my baby,
and this made me desperately sad.

In the following week, a brainstorming session to
discuss new business strategy for the agency was scheduled to take place at a
hotel outside Sevenoaks.  To my surprise, I was asked to be part of the group.
This meant staying overnight on a Friday, and I asked my mother to babysit, as
Pauline did not work weekends. 

Eight agency members met to debate and develop
ideas, and I found that I enjoyed the discussions.  When not trying to put me
down, Ian was intelligent and incisive, he was an excellent moderator and I was
able to forget our personal differences and contribute as in the old days.  It
made me glad I had been part of this team, and hope I might still have a future
with Mackerras Mackay.

We agreed to meet in the bar for drinks at 7pm,
before dinner.  When I went down, Ian was at the bar placing the order. 

“What are you drinking, Eithne?” he asked.

“I’ll have a Pimms please.”

I joined the others at a round table near the
window.  It was a beautiful summer evening.  My colleagues were laughing and
joking, and I felt happier and more at ease than I had done for some time.  Ian
came across with drinks on a tray.

“Sorry, Eithne, I couldn’t fit your glass on with
all the others,” he told me.

“No problem, I’ll fetch it.”

I wandered to the bar, and saw the barman looking
intently at me.  As I went to take a sip from the glass, which was brimming, he
muttered to me in a low voice,

“Don’t drink that.”

“What?”

His colleague dropped something, making a sudden
crash at the far end of the bar and everyone turned to look.  Quickly, the
barman substituted a different glass of Pimms and took the original back under
the counter.

I looked at him in amazement.

“What’s going on?”

“I’m not absolutely sure, but I think I saw that guy
put something in your Pimms - better be safe than sorry,” he said.  I looked
blank, and he added quickly, “Don’t you know about drinks getting spiked?”

“Spiked? What do you mean?”

“Well - put it this way, you can’t taste a strong
sleeping pill or sedative once it’s dissolved.  You drink the drink, you crash
out, it leaves you vulnerable.  You’re staying here aren’t you?  I guess
someone intended to pay you a visit later on....you probably wouldn’t know what
was happening or remember it afterwards.”

I gazed at him in horror.  Ian had done this?  Panic
seized me, and all I wanted was to get home, to safety, and my baby. 

“I can’t stay here now - I have to get back to
London,” I whispered, my eyes beseeching him to help.  The barman thought
quickly.

“I’ll ring through to Reception, and call you a
minicab.  When it’s here, they’ll let me know, and I’ll just say there’s a
telephone call for you.  What’s your name?”

I told him, he repeated it.

“How long will it take you to get your stuff
together?”

“Only a minute or so.”

“Okay.  You can do that while the cab waits.  You’d
better go back now and act like nothing happened.”

Another customer came up.  I picked up my drink with
a shaky hand, and re-joined my colleagues.

“Having fun chatting up the bar staff, Eithne?” Ian
asked in a sarky tone.  I tried to smile, and took a seat.  I could not believe
what I had just been told.

My colleagues were in high spirits, and no-one
seemed to notice that I was very quiet.  I took a few sips of Pimms, from the
unadulterated glass, then drank a little more.  I was very conscious of Ian’s
eyes on me.  Was it my imagination, or did he glance at his watch from time to
time?  The minicab seemed to be taking forever.

Then I heard my name.

“I’ll just take that call.  Be right back,” I
exclaimed in as bright a tone as I could muster.

Threading my way through the tables, my legs felt
shaky.  At Reception, I asked the cab driver to wait, fled to my room and threw
my things into the case, then ran back down.  I told the receptionist to inform
my party that I had been called back to London, and stepped out into the balmy
evening air.

The mini cab wheels scrunched on the gravel, and we
drove away.  The driver was inclined to chatter, but I couldn’t concentrate. 
After a while, I feigned a headache, and we drove in silence until we reached
the outskirts of the city.

My mind was reeling as I contemplated the horror I
had so narrowly avoided.  I pictured myself in the bar, suddenly swaying,
stumbling, a helpful Ian - “Poor Eithne’s not well, I’ll take her to her room”
- the pocketing of the room key, the return later on to plunder a body
incapable of resistance, unlikely to remember what had occurred or who had been
there.

It seemed horribly cruel to me.  I wondered whether
the barman was mistaken.  I hoped he had been.  Ruthless though I knew Ian to
be, I did not want to believe him capable of such a callous act.

The cab fee was extortionate, but I didn’t care.  I
stumbled up the steps to the flat, stabbing at the locks with my keys, until,
thank God, I was standing in the hallway, with my astonished mother blinking in
the light.

“Eithne?  What on earth are you doing back home?”

“Nicholas - where is he?”

I pushed past her into my bedroom, where the
sleeping form of my baby lay humped in his cot.  Snatching him up, I hugged him
to my chest.  The poor little chap whimpered once or twice, then settled down
against me.  I rained kisses on his damp, dark head.

“Darling…whatever is the matter?”

My mother looked worried now.  I said, urgently,

“Put the chain on - don’t let anyone in, don’t
answer the phone - or if you do, say I’m not here.”  Then my legs gave way, and
I sank on to the bed.

“Hot sweet tea - that’s what you need.  You’ve had a
shock.”

My mother disappeared into the kitchen, while I
continued to hug my precious child.  By the time she returned with the mug, I
was more in control of myself.

“Let me put Nicholas back in his cot, you’re only
disturbing him now,” she said.  Reluctantly, I handed over the little body, and
watched while she laid him gently down, and replaced his duvet.  I took a huge
swig of tea, and felt better for its warmth.

“Now, let’s go into the sitting room, and let
Nicholas get back to sleep.”

The curtains were undrawn, and bright lights danced
on the water below us.  I flopped on to the sofa.

“Mum - I can’t tell you just at the moment - not
until I’ve had time to think.  I’m okay, nothing has happened to me, but there
was nearly a nasty incident.”

Her eyes were asking me to tell her more, but it
wasn’t possible.

“I think I’m going to have to leave work.  Would you
and dad have us for a while, if I can’t get another job?”

“Need you ask?  Of course we will, but why must you
leave Mackerras Mackay?  I thought you loved it there.”

“I can’t explain, but it’s to do with Ian...”

“Ian? Surely that’s all in the past?”

“It is - but he seems to have it in for me.”

My eyelids were drooping, it had been a long day,
and a terrible evening.

“Bed for you.  You’ll feel better in the morning,
and then we can talk properly,” decreed my mother.

I slept like a dead thing, as I
undoubtedly would have slept at the hotel if I had ingested the drug intended
for me.  But in the morning, I could not bring myself to talk about the night
before.  I sat, hugging a bemused Nicholas, feeling a total wreck.

 The telephone rang.  My mother
answered it, and I heard her converse with whoever was on the other end.  She
came in afterwards, and said

“That was Peter.  He’s in town,
and wanted to know if he could pop in and see you both.”

“I hope you said no,” I
sniffed.

“I said yes.  Perhaps he can
shake you out of this, whatever it is.”

Eventually I managed to wash and
dress, and ate a little soup for lunch.  I still felt shaken by the unexpected
turn of events, I kept thinking about what might have happened to me.

Peter arrived about two
o’clock.  He looked upset when he saw me on the sofa, clutching a fretful
Nicholas, whose routine had been disturbed by his agitated mother.

”Leave Nicholas with your
mother, Eithne, and come for a walk with me,” he said firmly.  I started to say
no, then thought I might be able to ask him what to do.  I knew I could trust
him, whatever was involved.

It was a cloudy day, but I felt
better as I breathed in the fresh air.  The riverbank was colourful with
Saturday strollers, and life began to look more normal.  I took Peter’s arm.

    “What are you doing in town
on a Saturday?” I asked him.

“I’m flying to Copenhagen on
business later on.”

He looked at me, frowning, and
I noticed how his denim shirt brought out the blue of his eyes.

  “What’s the matter, Eithne? 
Something’s very wrong, won’t you let me see if I can help?”

As we strolled by the river, I
told him haltingly of all the difficulties Ian had caused me at work, and he
began to look grim.  He looked grimmer still when I managed to stammer out the
events of the evening before.

“But that’s terrible, Eithne -
he can’t be allowed to get away with that, you must go to the Police.”

“How can I prove it?  It would
be his word against the bartender, there’s no evidence now.  And the man wasn’t
absolutely sure......now I think about it, I’m afraid I may have over-reacted,
it might all have been a terrible mistake.”

  I didn’t like to say that
Will’s words in the pub had made me hypersensitive about Ian’s intentions.

“But what about Mackerras
Mackay?  Surely there’s someone you can talk to about all this?”

“Ian
is
Mackerras Mackay
at present,” I explained.  “Rob is in New York, Robin’s in hospital, Charlie
Mackay doesn’t get involved in personnel issues, and anyway, who would believe
me?  I can hardly believe it myself.  Basically, I’m stuffed.”

I stopped, and gazed despairingly
into the water.  The river looked almost oily today, snaking along with a
deceptive aura of calm.

“I’m so angry!” I burst out. 
“I’m so angry with Nick - for leaving me to deal with all this, and the baby
too.  Why did he have to go to Angola?  He could have got out of it, but he
only ever did what he wanted to do.  I never knew things would be so hard.”

Peter looked down at me,
concerned, he put an arm round my shoulders.

“I’m furious with him, for
leaving me, for not taking better care of himself, for getting himself killed,
but then I feel terribly guilty because it isn’t darling Nick’s fault he’s not
here.  I’m just so tired of trying to cope with it all - I hardly ever see
Nicholas, work is a nightmare, and Ian’s the last straw, somehow.”

I burst into shattering sobs,
and Peter put his other arm around me.  I cried and cried on his shoulder.  It
felt good to be held, to have someone there to understand.  I cried for what
seemed like ages, and then I couldn’t cry any more, and groped in my bag for some
tissues.