Who is Sarah Lawson: A Captivating Psychological Thriller (14 page)

Aware that he’d had only the briefest contact from Rowena since his exhibition, Owen began to feel justified in accepting Sarah Lawson’s invitation to spend Christmas Day at her flat. Why shouldn’t he, he argued? She was a friend, at least she could become one, although at the moment acquaintance might be more to the point.

He hadn’t heard from her since the night of the exhibition, except for a brief message that she’d left on his answer phone telling him that she’d expect him around one o’clock on Christmas Day.

Like most men Owen had left his Christmas shopping until Christmas Eve and the stores in Oxford Street
were thronged with last minute shoppers buying presents for loved ones and those who’d given them unexpected gifts. He moved from one store to another hoping for inspiration. He didn’t know her well enough to be familiar with her taste in ornaments or whether he should just turn up with a bottle. He wandered around in a haze of indecision, being jostled by the crowds of shoppers snaking along the pavements, until it occurred to him that he had the very thing in his flat, a watercolour view from the Crow’s Nest. All that was required of him was to buy a suitable picture frame and the job was done.

He found what he was looking for in a department store and, after eventually reaching the front of the queue at the pay desk, left with a spring in his step. He hadn’t relished the thought of shopping for a gift in the first place, his heart wasn’t in it but it seemed churlish to turn up for Christmas lunch empty handed.

He thought about the Christmas gift he’d bought for Rowena, months ago, he’d known exactly what to buy then. It was the weekend before he’d gone to the cottage. He’d bought the ring in Tiffany’s on Old Bond Street and had planned to surprise her with his proposal of marriage when she returned from New York for Christmas. Her inability to fly home for the event had left him with, amongst other things, a feeling of anti-climax and he began to wonder if he’d ever recover his previous enthusiasm for the idea. He hated the thought of her enjoying herself without him and hated the fact that there had been so little contact between them since last month.

Carrying the picture frame under his arm, he decided to have a drink and a bite to eat in a wine bar before taking a taxi back to his flat. The Vineyard was busy with Christmas Eve drinkers, office workers having finished work at mid day mingling with husbands who had left their wives to shop, whilst assuring them that there would be a drink waiting for them when they’d finished.

It hadn’t snowed again since the night of the exhibition but a cold wind swept down Oxford Street as
Owen shivered waiting for the next available taxi. He noticed that there was a buzz of expectancy in the air, which was almost tangible. The festive spirit swept along the pavement towards him but somehow managed to pass him by. There was an ache in his heart that only the sight of Rowena could relieve. He hadn’t heard from her for days and he began to wonder what she would think when she rang his flat tomorrow to find that there was no answer.

A group of revellers spilling out from a pub opposite the taxi rank caught his attention and he watched them threading their way through the crowd of shoppers. It was then that he thought he saw Sarah. She was holding the hand of a young child, a girl, and they were hurrying in the direction of a toy shop which had a large teddy bear dressed like Father Christmas standing in the shop window. As she approached, a man, who was holding a young boy by the hand, stepped out of the throng and kissed her cheek. Owen recognised him as Andy Lawson.

The children were excited; he could see their flushed cheeks and the way they eagerly pulled their father and aunt into the toyshop. Christmas was about being with loved ones, nothing else mattered; he was spending his with a virtual stranger and with whom, he wondered, would Rowena be sharing that special day?

It was late when a taxi finally drew up; the driver grunted when he realised that his fare would be minimal.

“Couldn’t walk it, could you mate?” he asked with a frown.

“Bah humbug,” muttered Owen to himself not wanting to antagonise the man into refusing to drive the short distance to his flat.

He had no premonition as he slid the key into his front door, no feeling that the flat wasn’t exactly as he’d left it that morning. Even when he walked into the darkened living room, he wasn’t aware of anything unusual. Then he flicked on the light switch and she got up from the sofa and slid her arms around his neck. Rowena’s perfume filled his nostrils as her lips sought his.

“Don’t look so shocked, darling. You didn’t really think I wouldn’t move heaven and earth to be with you tomorrow did you?”

She stroked his cheek. The picture frame slid from his grasp and slipped under the sofa. Suddenly Owen knew the true meaning of Christmas and he couldn’t wait for it to begin.

How could he have doubted her? Owen, whistling a chorus of Jingle Bells, put a couple of artistic finishing touches to the breakfast tray on which stood hot buttered toast, champagne and orange juice. The champagne had been courtesy of Rowena, as had the food, which now filled his fridge. She’d arrived in the early hours of Christmas Eve and knowing that he was unlikely to have anything palatable to eat in his flat had shopped before arriving later that afternoon.

“Happy Christmas, darling,” he said, the tray his only adornment.

Rowena smiled a slow sexy smile that made his pulse race. First things first, he decided putting all thoughts of what was uppermost in his mind firmly out of reach.

Sitting in bed, his thigh resting against hers, Owen raised his glass. “To us,” he said, reaching across to the bedside table and opening the drawer to remove a small box.

“To us,” Rowena echoed. “What’s this?”

“It’s your Christmas present.”

“Really? I was sure you wouldn’t have bothered, as you didn’t know I’d be back in time.” She took the box and opened the lid.

“This present has been waiting for you for months.” He touched her face tracing the outline of her jaw with his fingertip. “ Rowena, my darling, will you marry me?” The words, so often rehearsed, seemed strange and awkward on his tongue. He waited for her reply unaware that he was holding his breath. The silent seconds lengthened with every tick of his beside clock.

“I, this is such a surprise. I mean, of course the answer is yes, but I had no idea.”

He bent forward and kissed her gently. “Yes, is the only word I needed to hear; we’ll discuss the details later. God, Rowena, I’ve missed you so much.”

Breakfast abandoned, they celebrated their engagement with a hunger that could only be satisfied by lovemaking and apart from a desperate dash to the fridge to consume a cold Christmas lunch, the rest of the day followed the same pattern.

Boxing Day dawned with a layer of frost turning London into a sparkling crystallised city whose deserted streets beckoned them. Dressed in warm running suits they pounded the pavements, Rowena’s engagement ring gleaming in the crisp morning sunlight.

The city was starting to wake up properly by the time they returned to Owen’s flat. It was the day when sports fans up and down the country immersed themselves in their favourite pastimes
, having spent the previous day fulfilling their family commitments. Normally Owen would have joined his mates at their rugby club on the outskirts of the city before watching the match but nothing would drag him away from Rowena side that day.

She was making them a hot drink in the kitchen when he saw the edge of the package under the sofa. Removing the frame he’d bought for Sarah, he exclaimed, “Shit!”

“What is it?”

“Nothing, I…. sorry - there’s something I’ve got to do urgently. I’ll be back in a tick.”

He rushed into the spare room he used as a small studio, removed the watercolour from his desk, slid it into the frame and wrapped it in the Christmas paper he’d bought on Christmas Eve. “I’ve got to pop out for a while; won’t be long.” He kissed Rowena’s cheek.

“No problem, I’ll be soaking in the bath and dreaming of our wedding,” she replied. “God, Owen, you stink of sweat. Don’t be too long my love; I’ll keep the water warm for you.”

Driving to Sarah’s flat Owen couldn’t think of how he could apologise. It was unforgivable not to have phoned to let her know he couldn’t make Christmas dinner.

He waited for
the lift to take him to the first floor. Outside her door he stood like a guilty child in the headmaster’s study then summoning up his courage, he pressed the bell.

She’d been crying. Her eyes were swollen and red-rimmed. He’d thought he couldn’t possibly feel any worse about letting her down but now realised he could. “Sarah, look, please don’t close the door. I’m so sorry.”

“You had my number. You could have rung.”  She spoke to him through a gap of three inches, refusing to open the door any wider. A stale smell of overcooked vegetables drifted towards him and he wondered how long she’d kept the meal hot, waiting for him.

“Please, could you let me in? I need to explain.”

“There’s no need.” She started to shut the door.

“Please, Sarah, please,”

Relenting, she stood back to let him pass. Through the dining room door he saw to his horror that the dinner plates containing yesterday’s meal still remained untouched. It reminded him of Miss Haversham waiting for the lover that never arrived. She was still wearing her dressing gown. The one she’d worn on the morning he’d slept on the sofa. He took her hand in his.

“It was unforgivable of me. I am truly sorry. My fiancée arrived unexpectedly and the shock of seeing her put everything else out of my mind. It’s no excuse I know but it’s the truth.”

“Fiancée?” she repeated.

“Rowena. She’s agreed to marry me. I’d bought the ring a while back and proposed to her yesterday. That’s one of the reasons I forgot about our arrangement.”

She raised her eyes to his, her expression unreadable. “I see.”

He handed her his gift. “Please accept this, I expect you want to throw it at me but I’d like you to have it.”

She didn’t open it, just laid it down on a side table.

“I promise I’ll make it up to you, Sarah. Perhaps we could get together in the New Year; maybe we could s
hare another meal at Luigi’s?” He didn’t know why he said it, unless it was because he felt so bad about letting her down.

“That would be nice,
” It was said in a monotone. “You have my number.” She held the door open and as he turned away she said, “Congratulations.”

Afterwards,
driving home, he wondered if he’d ever make good his promise to make it up to her. Somehow he doubted it. He was starting to think that he was destined to keep letting her down.

Owen’s assumption that Rowena’s work in the States was finished for the time being was incorrect and it came as a shock to hear that on the second of January she’d be returning to New York to fulfil the rest of her commitments.

“I’m so glad I came back for Christmas,” she said, twisting her ring towards the light. “At least we have a whole week left to make up for lost time. I should be finished in New York by the end of January then we can discuss our wedding plans.”

“I’m going to miss you.” Owen hung his head, aware that he was giving her his ‘little boy lost look’ that she found irresistible.

The week passed in a flash
as he anticipated it would. The day before she was due to leave, Rowena tidied his flat, made an appointment to see her doctor to make sure she had a new supply of Vitamin B6 and stocked his kitchen cupboards and fridge with enough food to last a lifetime. Her doctor had advised her, although it was possible to buy the vitamins over the counter, he would prefer it if she called in to the surgery for a blood test before each prescription renewal, as he wanted to monitor her condition. However, her anaemia was well controlled, as she was scrupulous in following her doctor’s orders.

They drove to her flat on the outskirts of the city to pick up a few additional items for her trip. The flat smelled of abandonment, as it had been empty since September.  “I’ll have to get rid of this place some time soon,” Rowena said, absentmindedly straightening the cushions. “Two can live more cheaply than one, I understand.”

Sliding his arms around her Owen turned her towards him.  “How am I going to exist without you for four whole weeks?” He kissed her neck and then her mouth.

“You’ll manage, we’ll manage, and then I promise – they can offer me all the incentives they like
– I’ll not be tempted, not for one second.”

Satisfied, Owen released her to continue her methodical tour of the flat as she placed a few essentials in a black leather bag. Rowena was efficiency personified; she was an employer
’s dream, a beautiful woman with a brain and a deep well of enthusiasm, which was bottomless.

They made love that last night as if each were trying to take away part of the other that they would keep until they met again. Owen slept fitfully and during his wakefulness watched her every movement, drinking her in like an alcoholic savouring his last drink.

The next day they said their goodbyes in his flat and he watched her taxi disappear in the melee of rush hour traffic. For most workers it was the first day back after the Christmas holiday and from his bedroom window Owen saw commuters scurrying like ants around the city. He envied them their purpose. Melancholia hung over him like a shroud, the rest of January stretching interminably into the distance.

He hadn’t given Sarah another thought, not since h
is Boxing Day apology and half-hearted promise of making up for his behaviour. He might never have seen or thought of her again if it hadn’t been for Duncan Jones.

Three days after Rowena’s departure his telephone rang. Owen rushed to answer it.

“Owen, it’s Duncan. I’ll have to keep this short and to the point, Megan’s about somewhere and I don’t want her to hear.” He lowered his voice. “How are you fixed at the weekend? Megan is sixty on Saturday and I’m planning to surprise her with a little get together at the house.”

Owen hadn’t been looking forward to the weekend. He knew he’d have to pull himself together soon but he could still smell Rowena’s perfume in every room and his body ached for her.  “Yeah, that should be fine.”

“Stay over, there’s plenty of room and it’s not worth you opening up your cottage for one night. Oh, look out, I can hear the Missus on the warpath; seven on Saturday then?”

“I’ll look forward to it.”

There was no doubt in Owen’s mind about what gift he would give Megan. She’d loved
September Sun over Gareg Wen
and he was pretty sure that it was still unsold. He rang Mark Furnish and asked him to remove it from sale and that he would pick it up later that day.

When he arrived at the Gallery, Mark met him at the door. “Owen, darling, I’ve just heard from Mailer. Thanks no doubt to a glowing report of your work, Nigel Bostock is keen to organise a showing in New York later in the year.”

Owen frowned, “Much later I hope.”

“Nonsense, sweetie, you’ve loads of work lying around your studio that you can knock into shape.”

“I wish I shared your optimism,” he sighed.

“Oh I get it. Rowena’s left you again, has she? How long this time?”

“Four weeks.”

“Right then, ducky. You are coming to Luigi’s with Drew and me tonight. We can’t have our favourite artist down in the dumps now can we?”

Mark and Drew were waiting for him when he arrived. They’d been a couple for as long as anyone could remember; Drew tall and taciturn with a dead pan wit and Mark shorter, fairer, with a head for business that was not always apparent by his demeanour. In Owen’s opinion, they made a perfect pair.

Luigi approached their table.

“Mr Owen, not with the young lady tonight?”

“His lady’s left him for a while,” Mark explained. “Skipped off to the big apple again, three days ago, leaving him bereft.”

Luigi hesitated. “But that cannot be surely?”

“Why,” Owen looked up from his menu.

“’Cos she was in here yesterday having dinner.”

Owen caught the sidelong glances exchanged by Mark and Drew.

“You must be mistaken, Luigi.”

“I don’t think so, she ask for you. She say, ‘Have you seen Owen, Luigi?’”

The penny suddenly dropped. “You mean the woman I was with after the exhibition?”

“That’s right, Miss Rowena.”

The lighting in the restaurant during the evening was always subdued, Luigi’s fondness for candlelight had been a joke between them and although the resemblance between the two women was superficial, it was just possible that Luigi had made the mistake of thinking it was Rowena.

“I wasn’t with Rowena that night, it was a friend,” he explained

“I’m sorry but yesterday, as the lady booked the table in the name of Miss Shaw and, as she asked for you, I assumed ….”

Reassuring Luigi that there must have been a mistake, Owen returned to his perusal of the menu with the uncomfortable feeling in his gut that he hadn’t seen the last of Sarah Lawson.