The Beauty of the End (17 page)

32

W
hen I pull up and park outside the B&B, I'm barely out of my car when Ryder shatters my calm.

“I don't have all day,” he says nastily.

I feel myself tense, because a confrontation with him is the last thing I need tonight. “Excuse me, Detective Sergeant, but it's been a long day. Couldn't this wait until tomorrow?”

His face reddens. “You should try answering your phone.”

“Usually I would,” I tell him. “Only it just so happens it needs charging.” I fish in my pocket, holding it up so that he can see the screen is dead. “See? I'm not lying.”

Usually I'd bite my tongue, hide my irritation behind polite blankness, but after the day I've had, his vulgarity incenses me.

“Can we get on with this? I'd really like to go inside.”

He glowers. “A question.” The formality of “sir” dropped along with any pretense of courtesy. “We tracked down your neighbor—a Mrs. Clara Hayward, is that right?”

Anxiety curls inside me at the tone in his voice, because he thinks he's found something.

“Here's the thing.” He shuffles through the papers on the table in front of him. As he looks up at me, his eyes narrow. “One of the local chaps went round to talk to her. PC Taylor, his name is. He found her in the garden, round the back.” He smirks. “Next time you pick an alibi, I'd think twice, if I were you. Mrs. Hayward . . . Well, let's put it this way. She's not your biggest fan. Shall I tell you what she said?” He carries on without pausing. “She says you're a useless drunk. You've let your house go to rack and ruin and she despairs of you.”

He goes on. “Your Mrs. Hayward's got your measure. Says you're a waste of space. She's no idea where you were that night.”

I'm reeling, fielding everything he tells me like blows to my head, because suddenly, nothing is certain. For five years I've known Clara. She's abrasive. Speaks her mind. We might not be friends, exactly, but we get on well enough. She doesn't really think so badly of me. I imagine her giving her uncensored opinion in the way I'm used to, the way she talks about everything. Wishing just for once, for PC Taylor's ears, she could have moderated it. “There are the calls, too. Made by Ms. Rousseau to your home, phone calls you deny all knowledge of. Is there no one who might have seen you that day?”

“I live in the middle of nowhere.” My voice steely. “Sometimes I don't see anyone for an entire week.”

Ryder's grin is a rictus smile. “We'll get to the bottom of it, make no mistake. We've been on to the local station and they'll be sending someone round to talk to other neighbors. Sir.”

I stare at him. “Like I said, I don't see many people.” Then I remember. “Actually, there is someone who saw me. I took my car to be serviced.”

“How convenient.” Ryder stares at me. “You have the name and number of the garage, I take it.”

“The mechanic's a chap called Sam. He rents an old barn at Lower Holdsworthy. That's about all I can tell you.”

“So you'll have a number for him.” Getting out a notepad and pen.

“All in here.” Waving my dead phone at him. “Sorry.”

* * *

Eventually Ryder leaves and I let myself into the house, where the landlady looks at me suspiciously.

“Everything all right?”

“Yes. Thank you.” I'm too bone weary to care that she's been watching from behind twitching curtains.

“That man you were talking to . . .” She pauses. “Was he police?”

“Detective Sergeant Ryder.” Starting up the stairs.

“There hasn't been any trouble, has there?”

“No. No trouble.”

Aware of her eyes following me, her obvious anxiety. Walking until I reach my room, where I lock the door and throw the window open, pour myself a drink, which I down in one, before I pour another, then plug in my phone and delete three messages without listening to them, all from Ryder. Then lying back on my bed, stare at the ceiling as the familiar warmth circulates in my veins.

Whatever he's thinking, I can prove to Ryder I've no part in this. There'll be evidence, somewhere. I just have to find it. Then the chilling thought strikes me, because I'm starting to suspect that April's been framed. What if I'm being set up, too?

I pour another drink, then read for a couple of hours, doze off before I go to bed, so that I'm half asleep when my mobile rings.

“Noah Calaway.”

“Hello? Noah? I'm sorry it's so late. It's Beatrice.”

33

T
hrough its whisky haze, my brain is slow to focus. “Bea! You got my message!”

“I did. I almost didn't call you, Noah. I'm not sure I can help—I haven't seen April for such a long time. Only when I saw Norton's photo in the paper . . . Well, when your message said April was in trouble, I put two and two together. You'd better fill me in.”

“You won't believe it,” I tell her. “Her phone and glove were found in Norton's car, with the murder weapon. The police picked them up and went straight to her home to arrest her. She'd taken an overdose. She didn't intend anyone to find her, Bea.”

“God.” Bea sounds shocked. “I can't believe April would do that.”

“Did you know what Norton did to her?”

Bea sighs. “I knew he abused her. She spared me the details, just said he was a complete bastard. He probably deserved what was coming to him.”

“Look, I should tell you, I'm here as her lawyer rather than a friend. The police think she's guilty and I'm equally sure she's not. I don't know how busy you are, but could we meet up? Talk about this properly? Maybe for lunch?”

She hesitates. “I'm not sure. Noah, I'm in the middle of a pretty hideous divorce. I'm lying low.” She laughs hollowly. “God, James would love to catch me with someone.”

I try to reassure her. “I don't mind where we meet. And I can assure you, no one knows me here, Bea—apart from my landlady and Will.”

“Oh.” She sounds unsure. “I suppose a coffee wouldn't do any harm. How about tomorrow? I could do late morning—I live in Cheltenham, though.”

She sounds doubtful again. But distance is the least of my worries. “It's not a problem. I'll come to you.”

“Actually, I know just the place!” Sounding more like the Bea I remember. “The most dull, nondescript café there is—at Tambridge Services. Miles from my home and it'll save you having to drive all the way here. It's perfect, Noah. Anonymous and absolutely ghastly. No one ever hangs about.”

* * *

When I get there, early, I see what Bea meant. Tambridge Services is indeed dismal. Inside are brown tables and chairs, and my nose wrinkles at the odor that lingers, of stale deep-fried food and cheap coffee. I buy a black tea, finding a quiet corner away from everyone else, where I wait.

Keeping half an eye on the door for Bea, I watch the random assortment of people wander in and out. Then, to my annoyance, someone comes and puts their bag on the table right opposite me. Just as I'm about to get up and walk away, she pulls off her hat and grins.

“Bea!” I get up and kiss the cheek she offers. “You haven't changed—except, well, maybe that hat.”

She may be going through a divorce, but the years have been kind to her. There are a few faint laughter lines, but her hair is still honey blond, and her eyes are bright.

“My clever disguise.” She hugs me, then holds me at arms' length, her eyes twinkling. “You're a gorgeous man, Noah Calaway!” she says, sitting down, looking around. “You know, it's worse than I remember in here.”

I wonder what kind of a man she's married to, who warrants such subterfuge. “Yeah. It is, as you said, perfect. Can I get you a cup of tea? I thought it was the safest bet. I mean, a tea bag and hot water . . .”

“Thank you, but I'll pass.” She glances at my cup with distrust.

“How are you? And I'm sorry—about . . .” I'm talking about her divorce.

“About James? Don't be. He's a shit. I can't believe I stayed married for so long. Anyway, it'll be over soon, and I can move on.” Her voice is bright enough, but I can see in the faint shadows under her eyes, the weariness she tries to hide, its toll on her.

“What happened?” I start to ask, but she shakes her head.

“Honestly. Let's not go there. Tell me about April. If you ask me, Norton had it coming to him.” She glances around guiltily, then lowers her voice. “I really shouldn't say things like that.”

“Actually, it happens I agree with you. What do you know about him?”

Bea sighs. “I met him once. And by met, I mean that I was at April's house, after school one day. Though I have to admit I completely asked for it.”

“What do you mean?” My ears prick up.

Bea shrugs. “As you know, April and I used to hang out after school and she'd come back to my house. Quite often, as it happened. But when it came to inviting me to her own home, she was always reticent. Secretive. Of course, now, I understand why. But then . . .”

She looks at me, her blue eyes honest and tinged with regret. “I was a bitch, if you want the truth. I knew there was something she was keeping from me, but I'd no idea what it was. I told her that if she didn't take me back to hers, I wouldn't be her friend.”

Bea shakes her head. “I don't know who I thought I was, giving her an ultimatum like that. Anyway, I remember walking down that street she lived on, thinking she was deliberately taking me to the wrong place. I'd never seen anywhere like it. Magnolia Drive, I think it was called.”

“It was.” It was how I'd felt.

“Of course, you went there. You probably remember that the house was just as grim. If I hadn't seen it for myself, I never could have believed April lived there. There was always something extraordinary about her, I thought.... Anyway, there we were in the kitchen, with April standing over at the sink making us glasses of orange squash, when Norton came in. Straight away, he stood too close to her. I remember staring at them, horrified, because she was so beautiful and he was this vile creep. That was when she turned and pushed him away. Then she told him to fuck right off. I'd only ever heard her speak like that—in jest—to one of the idiots at school, He started walking away—well, stumbling really. He was that drunk. Then he came over to me. I'll never forget how his eyes wandered up and down me, as though he could see through my clothes. He was repulsive.” Bea shudders.

“Anyway, when he'd gone out of the room, I asked April if he was always like that. She nodded, then said she didn't want to talk about it. Shortly after that, her mother came in, and then a man arrived. I heard their voices as they went upstairs.” She shakes her head as if trying to shake the memory. “I don't think April could bear me being there. She told me I had to go, that it was a mistake asking me there.”

Bea's eyes fill with tears. “I knew she was strong. She told me she used to fight to keep him away. But she didn't always win. I kept away from her after that.” Bea's voice wavers. “Wasn't that awful? Of course, what I should have done was help her. Told one of our teachers or something. She hated it there. It was awful. And she had nowhere else to go.”

Until it got so bad that the authorities intervened, when Norton raped her.

Bea goes on. “The worst of it was her family. She had an older brother. Jason, his name was. He was a nasty piece of work. He was killed a few years later—in a car accident, so the story went. Rumor had it he was into drugs. Anyway, back then, he and his friends . . . Well, you know how pretty April was. I never knew for sure, but I suspected he was taking their money in return for her . . . favors, let's call them.”

Suddenly I feel sick. “Did she tell you that?”

Bea shakes her head. “Not in so many words. But looking back, knowing what I know now, all the signs were there. And remember how she'd be off school for a few days, then come back, a bit pale, perhaps? But other than that, you'd never have guessed.”

“I remember. She missed so much school,” I tell her.

“Dear Noah. Yes, I'm sure you do.” She hesitates. “I was never sure if you knew why. I knew about one abortion, but there may have been more.”

“I had no idea.” I stare at the table. “She never talked about any of it. Was it really as bad as you remember?” I was looking for another explanation, anything other than the sickening truth.

Bea looks sad. “I don't think I'll ever forget. But is it really that much of a surprise? Her father wasn't around. Her mother was an alcoholic—and a prostitute. God only knows what went on in that house.”

It's too late, I know that. Even so, I'm flooded with guilt, because I should have known.

Bea reaches into her pocket for a tissue. “Can you imagine how awful it is, growing up somewhere any spare money goes on cheap booze, where sex is for sale, but it's so much a part of everyday life, it becomes part of your life, too? No wonder she was so determined to leave it behind her.”

I frown. “Ican't believe she didn't tell me any of this.”

“Oh, Noah,” she says sadly. “That was always the trouble. There was so much you didn't know.”

34

“ ‘O
h Lord, is that the time?” Glancing at her watch, Bea grabs her hat and gets up. “I'm so sorry, darling, but I have to go. I have a meeting with my lawyer. Then I'm going to look at a flat. I'm starting a new job, and as soon as I find a place, I'm moving out.”

But she can't go, not while I'm still taking in what she's told me. And what is it that even now, I don't know?

“Bea, you could at least tell me what you mean by that before you go.”

Bea fishes in her pocket for her keys; then when she looks up, her face is guarded. “April should have told you. But maybe she was right. Some things are best left in the past.”

They're almost the same words she used when April walked out just before our wedding. Then, I made the mistake of letting it go. Not this time, though.

“Bea. If you know something that could help prove her innocence, you have to tell me.”

Bea hesitates, then looks worried. “Oh, Noah. If I thought it would help . . . The trouble is, I'm not sure it would.”

“Come on, Bea. There must be something,” I insist, getting up and following her outside. “You and I are her only hope. Even Will thinks she's guilty.”

Bea doesn't say anything, just walks, head down, until we reach her car, a new-looking Volkswagen Golf.

Opening the door, she looks across at me. “Be careful with Will. April never trusted him, you know.”

Suddenly, it's just too ridiculous. I slam my fist down on the car roof. “She fucking married him, Bea. She'd hardly have done that if she didn't trust him.”

Bea's eyes widen as she looks at me.

“Sorry.” I take my hand off her car.

“It's not that.” She looks incredulously at me. “It's April and Will. I can't believe you didn't know. They didn't get married, Noah. She couldn't go through with it.”

* * *

Far from answering my questions, talking to Bea has left me with more, left me berating myself, too, for failing to check on April's past. At the peak of my obsession, I'd tracked her every move. It was when I'd heard she was marrying Will I'd stopped hoping and, for sanity's sake, given up.

Having made Bea promise to call me when she can, unsure of the significance of what I've learned, I drive back to Kent, frustrated, because Beatrice and Will know far more than I do. More, too, than they're prepared to tell me.

Will. Everything comes back to Will.

I'd no idea they hadn't married. I'd simply assumed he and April had divorced. And Will had lived happily ever after, as far as I knew, with the famous Rebecca Masters, with their impressive house and no doubt equally talented children, while his professional status had skyrocketed. Will had the life he'd always planned. He had it all.

Only I had to be missing something. I was sure of it. April was in his past. He'd loved her once. He must have. He was going to marry her and for whatever reason they'd parted, but he'd moved on, surely, when he married Rebecca. So why such animosity toward her? Why all these years later were they still in touch?

It seemed reasonable enough to assume that their paths might have overlapped professionally, but there must have been any number of other counselors Will could have referred his patients to, yet he chose April.

So why was he convinced of her guilt?