Who is Sarah Lawson: A Captivating Psychological Thriller (15 page)

During the drive to Gareg Wen, Owen tried to think of a reasonable explanation as to why Sarah had booked a table at Luigi’s using Rowena’s name but could think of nothing that made any sense. As he drew nearer the coast the weather deteriorated. A bitter wind howled through the trees lining the road carrying with it a shower of snow. He was grateful for Duncan’s offer of a bed for the night, especially as the temperamental heating system in his cottage would take days to reach an ambient temperature having being unused for over a month.

Reaching the sweeping drive at the front of the house, he saw it was heaving with vehicles. He noticed Duncan’s four by four and Megan’s Mercedes and managed to park alongside an Audi convertible with inches to spare. It seemed to Owen that Duncan’s description of ‘just a few friends’ had escalated, an impression that was confirmed as soon as he stepped into the hall.

“Owen, good to see you, come in, come in.”

Duncan led him into the room overlooking the coast that sat directly under the Crow’s Nest. It ran the length of the property and like the room above had large windows facing the sea. The view was magnificent but not quite as spectacular as from the elevated position that had been his recent workplace.

Megan was talking to a large man with a florid complexion so he raised his hand to her. She beamed, left her companion and walked towards him, “Owen, this is a lovely surprise. It’s so good to see you.” She swept her arm in a circle. “I had no idea about all this.”

“The old man managed to keep it a secret then?”

“He certainly did.”

Owen gave her the painting, which was badly wrapped in paper covered with bows and balloons. Megan put her drink down on a side table and gasped as
September Sunlight
was revealed.

“Oh this is too much,” she said.

“Not at all, it’s my pleasure,” Owen said, bending to kiss her cheek. “Happy Birthday, Megan.”

“Thank you, my dear, thank you very much.” She signalled to a waiter carrying a tray of drinks. “As you see Duncan’s thought of everything,” she laughed. “Caterers and waiters, good book title that, don’t you think? I’d never have thought him capable of such organisation. Now let’s see who do you know?” Megan surveyed the room. “Ah yes, follow me.”

She led him to a corner where a woman with pale blonde hair worn in a French pleat was talking to two older women. She had her back to him.

“At least you know Sarah,” Megan said as Sarah Lawson turned to face him.

He couldn’t avoid it, he gasped. He’d never have recognised her. It was like looking at his fiancée. The resemblance was inescapable. It was as if she’d studied every feature and replicated it.

“Owen,” she said, “good to see you again.

Even her voice sounded different.

“Sarah,” he managed to form the words without choking.

Megan grinned. “He likes the transformation, Sarah dear. I can tell. Do enjoy the evening children,” she said, as yet another guest arriving demanded her attention.

“Do you?” Sarah asked?”

“What?”

“Do you like my make-over?”

He didn’t know how to answer. He thought it was grotesque, a preposterous metamorphosis that couldn’t possibly emulate the original. Yet some part of him wanted to hold on to the image in spite of it.

“I, er, it’s certainly a surprise,” he replied.

She smiled, “You don’t have to be kind, darling.” The breathless tone of her voice unnerved him. If he closed his eyes it could be Rowena. “I was in town, just after Christmas, and feeling a bit downhearted decided to take advantage of an offer in one of the stores.”

Remembering the possible reason why she was feeling downhearted and how badly he’d treated her, he said, “You look lovely, Sarah, it was just such a surprise that’s all. Now let me get you another drink and you can tell me all about the world of publishing.”

He knew he was drinking too much and that part of the reason was sitting in front of him. At midnight he’d even begun to think that he could pretend, if just for a while. By half past two, he’d decided he’d succeeded. Most of the guests had departed, even the ones who were staying overnight and Megan had long since said goodnight.

“I think it’s time we went to bed,” she said, looking up at him. He could smell Rowena’s perfume. He must be well and truly pissed he thought following her into the room where he was to spend the night.

He awoke to the smell of bacon cooking which made him retch. His head felt as if it didn’t belong to him.

“Hangover, darling?” She emerged from the en-suite bathroom wrapped in a towel.

He must still be dreaming, Rowena was in New York, what was she doing in his bedroom? He shook his head as Sarah Lawson came towards him, let the towel fall to the floor and kissed his forehead. “Tablets are on the shelf in the bathroom. I’m going to get dressed. See you downstairs later.”

He closed the bathroom door and leant against it holding his head in his hands. What had happened last night? He couldn’t remember. Rowena’s face swam before him then Sarah’s. He only just managed to reach the pan before vomiting the contents of his stomach into it.

A cool shower, two pain killers and a pint of water later, Owen tentatively left the bedroom and went to join the others at breakfast. Thankfully Sarah was nowhere to be seen.

“You look the worse for wear, my old fellow,” Duncan slapped him on the back. “Get some breakfast down you, best thing for a hangover, I’ve always found.”

Duncan was right; he did feel better after breakfast. And there was still no sign of Sarah. Megan joined them as Owen was drinking his second cup of coffee.

“Ah, just the person I wanted to see. Sarah asked me to tell you, she’s had to go back to London but she’ll be in touch.”

He nearly choked as the coffee hit the back of his throat.

“I’m so glad you two hit it off, she’s such a nice girl. Works hard too, it’s a pity she’s in such a dead end job.”

Owen looked confused. “Surely an Editorial Assistant for such a prestigious publishing firm couldn’t be called a dead end job?”

Megan snorted. “Where on earth did you get that idea? Sarah’s the office dog’s body. She drives all the way down here with my proofs, sweet girl, an invaluable co-ordinator but she most certainly isn’t an editorial assistant.

After his conversation with Megan at breakfast, Owen decided that a walk across the beach would help him to think logically about what had happened. Megan wanted him to stay for Sunday lunch, they were all going to the Anchor, but he made an excuse. A quick walk and then he’d pick up his overnight case and leave before he could make matters worse than they already were. Guilt sat on his shoulders like Pinocchio’s conscience even though he didn’t have the faintest idea what had happened during the night. However, he didn’t need a brush to paint the finer details, Sarah’s demeanour had said it all. He wondered how much Megan and Duncan knew.

Leaving the house by the back gate, he took the path that led to the beach. He was alone except for a couple of dog walkers. The wind was bitingly cold making his ears ache and his fingers numb as he strode across the sand with every intention of putting as much distance as possible between himself and the events of the previous night.

Gulls screeched overhead then dived towards the shore where a woman with a golden Labrador was throwing bread into the water. Spots of rain began to fall so lightly at first that he wasn’t sure whether it was sea spray. As the shower intensified he jogged towards the cave and sat on the same flattened rock he’d used to sketch the coastline some months earlier.

“At least we’re dry in here.”

Startled, he turned around to see a shadowy figure sitting in the darkness at the back of the cave, “Sarah?”

“Sorry, if I made you jump. I didn’t feel much like breakfast so decided to go back to London. But something made me take one last walk along the beach and as you see the rain started and I ended up here.”

Inwardly cursing his stupidity in making for the cave, his anger erupted. “So,” he said, “Who are you?”

“I beg your pardon?”

“Well, are you Sarah, the Editorial Assistant of Fox and Knight or are you the Sarah, who booked a table in Luigi’s under Rowena’s name?”

“What on earth are you talking about?”

When he’d finished explaining she sighed.

“I see. Firstly, I didn’t give you my business card; I gave you a card with my address and home telephone number. The card was conveniently to hand but it was simply a joke.”

“Forgive me if I fail to see the humour,” he snapped.

“Let me finish. I’m a general office worker, a gofer if you like but I love my job and work really hard at it. My co-worker Joe is always telling me to slow down and work at the same pace as the rest of them so, as a joke, he printed a bogus business card from his P.C. then left it on my desk. It was a pure coincidence that it was the first thing that came to hand that morning when we were making plans for Christmas Day.”

Feeling distinctly uncomfortable, not only for his outburst but having been given a reminder of his thoughtlessness on Christmas Day, he took a defensive stance and asked again about Luigi’s.

“That’s a bit of a mystery. I phoned to book a table and they said that the place was full up. So I mentioned that it was a pity because you and I had eaten such a great meal there. As soon as I mentioned your name they said fine. They didn’t even take my name. Perhaps the guy I spoke to knew that your girlfriend was Rowena and thought I was she – it sounds to me like a simple case of mistaken identity.”

Owen put his head in his hands; he’d been only too ready to think the worst of her and what had she done to deserve it, offered him a bed for the night and a meal on Christmas Day.  “I’m so sorry. How can you ever forgive me? It seems that all I do is treat you badly, Sarah, please, again, accept my apologies.”

“Of course. Oh look the rain has stopped. Goodbye then, Owen. I must get back to London I’ve got a busy day tomorrow. Perhaps we’ll meet again sometime soon.”

She hurried away leaving him feeling that this time he really did need to make it up to her. He wouldn’t follow her now. He’d give her time to drive away before returning to the house.

During the drive back to London, he couldn’t stop wondering what must she think of him. He’d insulted her, mistrusted her and made her out to be some kind of nut. Rowena would have told him what she thought of him but of course he couldn’t tell Rowena about Sarah now, last night had made that impossible.  The roads were quiet; a dismal Sunday afternoon in January wasn’t everyone’s idea of pleasant driving conditions.

When he arrived at his flat, he poured a large brandy, partly to thaw out and partly for a ‘hair of the dog’ as his headache had returned with a vengeance. Then as if to make matters worse, as he took a glass from the shelf in the kitchen, he noticed Sarah’s bogus business card propped up against the tea caddy.  He turned the card over taking a last look before he transferred her number to his mobile. Her writing was neat and precise but below her address and telephone number was a logo in the shape of a swan. He held the card closer to inspect it in detail then frowned. Was he being paranoid? The logo was a printer’s mark. The card hadn’t been printed from an office computer printer, he recognised the firm’s mark – a company specialising in stationery had professionally produced it. He remembered that they had business premises next to Rowena’s Gym. He hesitated, then after punching in Sarah’s details on his phone, threw the card in the bin. He was done with suspicion. He’d just have to trust her.

New York was hit by the worst winter in decades. Television news reporters stood in snowdrifts announcing that the city had come to a standstill, overnight temperatures had dropped to a bone-chilling twenty below. Rowena told Owen that she couldn’t wait to come home at the end of the month and he agreed that, as soon as they were reunited, they’d make plans for their future.  In the meantime, he worked sporadically, his inspiration, temperamental at the best of times, was discarded. Nevertheless, Mailer’s positive report on his December collection had produced a certain celebrity status. A reporter from the local rag came to see him with a photographer in order to do a centre spread for the weekend edition, followed by a guy from Radio London and then a reporter from the BBC news programme. Later, he took a call from a representative of one of the smaller but nevertheless prestigious art galleries in London who arranged to meet him on Saturday morning.

This time he didn’t forget his promise to Sarah. On the Thursday evening she agreed to meet him for dinner. Deciding it might not be the best idea to book Luigi’s, Owen picked her up at her flat and drove out of the city to a small pub he knew that provided excellent meals in a convivial atmosphere.

She was waiting outside her flat when he arrived. He wondered how long she’d been standing on the pavement shivering in the cold. She was wearing a black coat not dissimilar to the one Rowena had been wearing when she left for the States at the beginning of the month and he shivered. Every time he saw her, the transformation was becoming more complete.

The Plough and Harrow stood on the banks of the Thames, the river shining like quicksilver in the moonlight. Owen parked the car. “You’ll soon warm up; there’s always a roaring log fire in the bar in the winter,” he assured her as a cold wind swept towards them. A welcoming buzz of conversation greeted them as he held the restaurant door open and pointed to a table near the fire. “Let me take you
r coat and I’ll fetch the drinks and a menu. White wine is it?”

“Thanks, yes.” She smiled and shook her hair loose from the confines of her scarf, exactly
the same way he’d seen Rowena do a thousand times before.

Returning with their drinks, Owen explained that this time he’d make sure she wouldn’t have to give him a bed for the night. He held up his glass of orange juice. “There’ll be no drunken bum to put to bed tonight.”

“I wouldn’t mind if there was,” she said, and the memory of the night he’d spent in bed with her slid between them like a spectre, even though his was indistinct.

Over dinner he explained about his forthcoming proposed showing.

“I’m so pleased for you. You deserve to be recognised, too many talented people fall by the wayside. I’ve seen it happen over and over in publishing as with so many other art forms.”

The rest of the evening produced no nasty surprises. He’d not been aware that he’d been on his guard but the conversation flowed easily with no uncomfortable topics surfacing. When the time came to drive Sarah home, he even went so far as to say, “I’ve enjoyed tonight. We must do it again some time.”

“That would be nice.” Even her reply was innocent of any guile. The sort of thing friends might say to each other so he didn’t see any problem with arranging for them to meet the following Friday.

The next day the temperature in the capital being several degrees warmer than in Gareg Wen and his appointment with Harry Lincoln not until two thirty, he decided to walk the short distance to Covent Garden where he intended to amble around the covered market looking for a little trinket to buy Rowena then grab a bite to eat. He was inspecting a line drawing of the Houses of Parliament with a jaundiced eye when he felt a hand on his shoulder.

“Owen?”

Turning around he saw Andy Lawson.

“I thought so. Good to see you again.”

Putting the drawing back on the stand, Owen shook Lawson’s outstretched hand.

“My sister’s been enjoying your company, I understand.”

Owen looked confused for a moment.

“Sarah.”

He felt his cheeks redden.

“I’ve been in London on business for a day or two and thought I daren’t return home empty handed.” Lawson explained.

By this time, they’d walked towards a stand which displayed jewellery behind which sat a young girl, her face framed by clouds of curls as she meticulously added crystals and beads to a length of wire which she twisted into a bracelet. Owen, glancing at the display, saw a necklace made from pale blue stones, which matched the colour of Rowena’s eyes.  “How much is that one?” he asked the girl.

She hesitated. “A tenner do, mate?”

She had an Australian accent and her uncertainty as to the price of the item made Owen aware that she was new to the game. He handed her a twenty-pound note. “Keep the change, it’s worth it.”

“Thanks a bunch.”

She seemed genuinely pleased, although whether it was because of the money or the compliment Owen wasn’t sure. Andy Lawson picked up a bracelet. “I’ll take this. Then I only have the presents to buy for the kids.” He turned to Owen. “You think this is kosher?”

“I do; it’s unique.” He winked at the girl. “Worth twenty of anyone’s money, at least. In fact I know someone in Cardiff who’d love to sell this stuff.”

Lawson sighed as he handed her the note. “I can see I’m being stitched up here but what the heck!”

Owen picked up one of the business cards from the counter. “I’ll pass this to my friend, he’ll give you a call
, I’m sure.”

They were starting to move away when a row over the price of goods for sale on a nearby market stall started a fight between a burly man with a stud in his nose and the stallholder. Owen and Lawson intervened, their combined strength managing to restrain the man who mouthed a couple of obscenities, pulled away and rushed off into the crowd.

“Look, I don’t know about you but I think I need a stiff drink. What d’you say?” Andy Lawson asked whilst dusting off the arm of his jacket.

“ I’m with you on that one.”

They walked towards a wine bar as two opera singers began to sing the love duet from La Boheme. Sitting at a table watching the performers as Rudolfo kissed Mimi’s hand, Owen became uncomfortably aware that he knew very little of Sarah Lawson except the conflicting bits of information that had reached him over the past few days.  Now, with her brother sitting opposite him, would seem to be the best time to clear up a few misconceptions but somehow he couldn’t bring himself to mention her name.