Pretty Maids All In A Row (24 page)

He stopped outside the hospital. She scrambled out of the car and bent briefly back into it, her hand on the door. 'Bye, Dave. Hope you catch your rapist.' The door slammed and she walked, tall and straight and not looking back, up the broad driveway of the hospital.

Slowly he cruised the last few yards to the police station.

CHAPTER 14

The field alongside the Hall was moving with people. At the far end, Jessica could see the revolving circle of a Ferris wheel, hear the excited screams of children. The Michaelmas Fair was in full swing.

'Jessica, my dear!' Leo Sandon was bearing down on them, dressed all in white. 'How delightful to see you! My apologies for not calling again. I've been wrestling with a difficult stanza and I wanted it perfect before presenting it to you.' He smiled vaguely at the Markhams and looked about him. 'Matthew not with you?'

'He's in London,'Jessica said. 'You have met—?'

'Yes, yes. Since you're with friends I shan't detain you, but I'll be in touch.'

Kathy looked after him. 'Is it an act, do you think, or can't he help being like that?'

Butjessica, remembering Leo's outburst at the helicopter, wasn't inclined to treat him lightly. 'He rather frightens me,' she said.

'Really?' Kathy looked surprised. 'I should have thought he was harmless enough. Now what would you like to see first, the flower tent, the stalls or the sideshows?'

Young William interrupted, tugging at Guy's hand. 'Can I have a go at the coconuts, Dad?' Angie, who had arrived with them, had gone with a group of schoolfriends to have her fortune told, a delight Jessica had declined.

'I'd better be a dutiful father,' Guy said. 'We'll meet you for tea in an hour.'

In the flower tent, the schoolmaster and his wife were surveying the
children's entries. Donald Bake
well looked as dusty and dispirited as ever, his wife as dogmatic. She must be tiring to live with, Jessica thought. Did Bakewell ever long to break away, to be master in his personal life as in his professional? And could that urge lead to his prowling the village with a Balaclava helmet? She shuddered, disconcerted to find his eyes on her face.

'You're not using crutches,' Mrs Bakewell stated. 'Getting better, are you?'

'Yes, thank you, though my leg aches if I stand too long.'

'Then let's sit for a while,' Kathy said quickly. 'If we stay here long enough, we'll see most of the people we know.'

Jessica was relieved to comply. The sun on the canvas behind her warmed her back, and the air was filled with the scent of flowers. She'd have been more than happy to remain there all afternoon. Kathy leant towards her and said in her ear, 'See that redhead over there? She's a detective.'

Jessica followed her glance. So the police were unobtrusively present. She was more alarmed than reassured. What were they expecting?

The Sandons' arrival interrupted her musing, and they stood chatting for a while.

'You must come to see us again,' Giselle said. 'I regret I have neglected you, and Matthew's research must be almost done. We leave shortly to visit a relative, but we'll be back by the end of the week.' She hesitated. 'I am so sorry your stay here has coincided with all this trouble. It is usually so pleasant and restful.'

Which, Jessica reflected, was what she'd originally dreaded. Now, she would gladly exchange unmitigated boredom for the quivering nerves that alerted her to every shadow.

When, later, they reached the tea tent, Guy had secured a table for them. Jessica caught sight of Lois Winter and waved to her. Everyone seem relaxed and happy, enjoying the social occasion. Was she the only one who studied each man she saw, wondering what lay behind his eyes?

She started as a hand touched her shoulder, and turned to see Delia Speight. 'I hear you want some company tonight. I don't mind coming over.'

'Oh, I couldn't put you to all that trouble,' Jessica protested.

'No trouble at all. I'll just pop a nightie and toothbrush in my bag. About eight o'clock suit you?'

'There's no need, really. It's kind of you, but I was only being—'

'Don't give it another thought. Glad to oblige.' And she moved away to join a broad-shouldered man who was waiting for her.

'You could have come to us, if you're nervous,' Kathy said.

'I'm just being stupid.'

What was Matthew doing now? Relaxing in his hotel room, or having tea with his family? Quite suddenly she longed for him with an intensity which was painful. Hey!

she told herself, he'll be back tomorrow! But she wanted him
now.
Wanted to see his large, heavy-lidded eyes, the quirk of his eyebrow, his slow smile; wanted above all to feel his strong arms round her, keeping her safe. Because suddenly, in that crowded, sun-warmed tent, she felt alone, singled out, as though a spotlight were concentrated on her.

She looked quickly about her, seeking the averted gaze, the hurriedly turned head. No one was watching her; why then should she feel she was being studied, auditioned for a part she didn't want to play?

It was six-thirty when, their invitation to supper declined, the Markhams dropped Jessica at Hinckley's Cottage. As she closed the front door, she admitted ironically that Matthew had been right; after a tiring afternoon, she
would have
been happy to relax alone. The prospect of an evening with Delia, with her darting eyes and quick speech, was not appealing. Still, Jessica reminded herself, it had been kind of her to offer, and they needn't sit up late.

Not hungry after tea at the Fair, she scrambled some eggs and ate them while watching television.
Pho
ne me, Matthew. I need to hear y
our voice.
But the instrument beside her remained silent. Silly, she chided herself, they'll be at the party by now. Some guests mightn't even realize the family was split. Would Matthew and that other Angie welcome them as joint hosts? Or was he cast in the role of guest? There was so much she didn't know.

Delia arrived at eight. With a perfunctory smile, she walked past Jessica into the room and stopped by the television. 'Oh!' she said, surveying the wildlife programme Jessica'd had one eye on. 'I was watching the other channel.'

'Change it if you like.' How typical of Delia's over-familiarity! Yet if she were engrossed in television, at least no conversation would be necessary.

'Ta.' As the programme changed, the room filled with the screech of brakes and rapid gunfire of a pseudo Western.

Two hours, Jessica told herself. Only two hours, then she'd suggest an early night.

But Delia, it appeared, was one of those people who, without lowering the volume, liked to talk through television programmes.

'Enjoy yourself at the Fair?' she asked, raising her voice above the sound of breaking glass as one of the villains was thrown out of the saloon.

'Yes, thank you.'

'Did you have your fortune told? She was a real gipsy, you know.'
Delia laughed and recited. "M
y
mother said that I never should Play
with the gipsies in the wood."

'No, I didn't bother.' Jessica paused, then added out of politeness, 'Did you?'

'Not me. Carrie's the one for that. Never misses a chance of having her hand read.'

'I didn't see her at the Fair.'

'No, she was working. Matron asked if she wanted the afternoon off, but she said no.'

'And, of course, she's babysitting this evening.'

'For the Plunketts. Do you know them? Young couple just down the road. Couple of kids.'

'I don't think so.'

'You've not missed much. Pretty hair she has, though. Wears it down her back as if she was sixteen.' Her eyes on the cavorting figures on the screen, Delia added, 'When's your hubby coming back?'

'Lunch-time tomorrow.'

Delia waited as though expecting more information, but Jessica volunteered nothing. Would it look rude if she took out a book? Regretfully, she decided it would. The programme came to an end and Delia stood up. 'Mind if I pop upstairs for a minute?'

'The cloakroom's—' Jessica began, but she was already half way up. Jessica gazed stoically at the advertisements. It was going to be a long evening.

'It's
Try Your Luck
now,' Delia announced, returning and seating herself expectantly in her chair. 'Do you watch it? They win fantastic prizes—holidays in America, and caravans and things. The questions are easy, too. I usually know the answers.'

'You should go in for it yourself,'
Jessica said, and to her chagrin was taken at face value.

'That's what Carrie says. Why don't you write in, she says, and win us a holiday?'

A large, simpering woman in a short skirt was the first contestant. She selected a number and the compere opened a box and read but the question contained in it. 'What is the most popular name in nursery rhymes?'

'Jack!' answered Delia promptly, and, talking over the stumbling contestant, she reeled off quickly,
'Jack-a-Nory, Jack and Jill, House that Jack Built, Jack Spratt, Jack Horner, Jack be Nimble, Handy Spandy Jack-a-Dandy—'

'Good heavens!'Jessica exclaimed. 'I'd never have got all those.'

'There are more, if you count Jackie. Weird, isn't it, to think how old those rhymes are. Hundreds and hundreds of years, and the words hardly changing. Everyone learns them, and you never forget, even if you've no kids of your own to remind you. You haven't any, have you, but I bet you still know plenty of nursery rhymes.'

'I'm not an authority on them,'
Jessica said with forced lightness, 'and anyway they've unpleasant associations at the moment.'

Delia smiled and, pulling her handbag towards her, felt inside it. Suddenly, cutting across the television applause, came a voice that turned Jessica cold.

'Curly locks, Curly locks,

Wilt thou be mine?

Thou shall not wash dishes,

Nor yet feed the swine.'

There was a click and Delia withdrew her hand.

Jessica stared at her.
'You?
It was you who phoned me? So it was a hoax, after all.'

'Yes and no,' Delia said, and there was a note in her voice which raised the hair on Jessica's scalp. 'I phoned you, but it wasn't a hoax.'

'I don't understand.' She felt bewildered anger. 'What a horrible thing to do. You must have known how I'd feel.'

'Not really, no. You a famous actress and everything. You mightn't be as scared as us country bumpkins.'

Surely there was some way of restoring sanity to the conversation? Unable to find it, Jessica smiled stiffly and fixed her eyes on the screen, where another contestant was now on trial.
Delia
had played that tape. But why? It didn't make sense. And why say it wasn't a hoax?

'You see,' Delia said, and though she now spoke softly, Jessica could distinguish every word above the mindless studio laughter, 'nursery rhymes turn me on.'

'I can't think why. They're for children.'

'Oh, there's a reason for it. I'll tell you, if you like.'

Keep her talking, Jessica thought. There has to be a simple explanation—she's just trying to scare me. 'All right, tell me.'

'It was my mum, you see.' Delia's voice shook slightly. 'She used to have men in, while my dad was on nights. One evening—I'd have been about twelve—my kid sister woke up and started crying. Mum had gone out. I didn't think she was back, so I got up. The cot was in her room, but when I got to the door I heard her voice, all queer and breathless, reciting nursery rhymes—
Bye Baby Bunting
and
Rock-a-bye Baby.'
Delia's hand was clenched on her bag and Jessica saw that it was shaking.

'So I put my head round the door to see why she was talking so funny. It was quite light—a full moon—and there she was on the bed with this bloke, rocking the cot with one hand. I stood there a long time, watching and listening to the rhymes, till the kid went back to sleep.'

Jessica moistened her lips. 'It must have been traumatic,' she said. A pulse was beating a rapid tattoo at the base of her throat. She made herself glance at her watch, say lightly, 'Is that the time? I'd forgotten I promised to ring—'

'No,' Delia said quietly.

Jessica stared at her.

'No phone-calls.' 'Now look—'

'The phone's off the hook upstairs.'