Who is Sarah Lawson: A Captivating Psychological Thriller (18 page)

The week passed in a hectic rush of appointments and it was four days later when Owen realised he’d done nothing about changing his telephone number, partly because his contact list was long and partly because there had been no further calls from Sarah Lawson.

Rowena was working flat out, as
having secured the American contract she was formulating advertising procedures and arranging corporate lunches for the executives involved. There had been little time to concentrate on wedding plans but she’d promised him she’d take time out at the weekend to inspect the couple of possible venues he’d managed to line up. Neither of them favoured a church wedding preferring to combine both events in one place.

They met after Rowena finished work on Friday evening and dined at a restaurant tucked away in a back street, which served excellent food and afforded a certain amount of anonymity for which Owen was grateful, having found his sudden celebrity status unnerving.

“It will pass,” Rowena assured him. “The hype will soon die down.”

“You think?”

Rowena laughed. “Lie back and enjoy it.”

“Is that an offer?”

“I don’t see why not.”

Owen lifted her hand from the tablecloth and kissed each finger. As he raised his head his eyes strayed to the street. Sarah Lawson was standing on the pavement facing him. She held his glance until he looked away without acknowledging her presence.

“Owen? Whatever is it?”

Rowena turned to see what had taken his attention. He held his breath and looked again. But the street was empty. Fearing that paranoia was setting in, he decided the sooner they arranged their wedding, the better.

The next day, he picked Rowena up at her flat at ten thirty. They had a busy day ahead of them but he was optimistic they would find a suitable venue for their wedding before the end of the day.

Rowena answered the door to him saying, “I
won’t be a minute. I was sure I had a spare bottle of my vitamins in the bathroom. I remember picking up the prescription before I went away, now it looks as if I’ll have to give the surgery a ring on Monday and get them to issue a new one. I was certain it was in the cabinet. Come here, look, you can see the space where I left it.”  She frowned and shook her head in bewilderment.

Owen, inspecting the shelf, saw that there was a definite outline of a circle left in the fine layer of powdered dust. But why would Sarah remove the bottle of vitamins? What did she hope to achieve? Unanswered questions swirled around in his head like an icy wind.  “Strange,” was all he managed to utter.

“Never mind, let’s get going. I’ll sort it out on Monday.” Rowena took his arm. “Excited?” she asked.

Owen swallowed. “Of course,” he said.

“Well, let’s go then. Hang on a minute.” She bent down to pick up an envelope from the mat. “The post is early. I’ll have to open this one, it’s from a firm of solicitors.”

Perching on the arm of the chair he watched Rowena’s facial expression change from one of curiosity to pure joy.

“This day just get’s better by the minute. Look!”  She handed him the letter. “I didn’t realise I still had an Aunt Fiona, apart from a vague recollection of Dad talking about her when I was young, I thought she’d died years ago. Now it seems I’m her sole beneficiary.”

“I shouldn’t get too excited, she’s probably left you a moth-eared moggy to look after.”

Rowena smiled. “I’m sure you’re right. I’ll give them a ring later. Come on then, let’s get started.”

The first two places on their list were unprepossessing and they hastily struck them off with a flourish. But the third, The Celtic Cross Manor House, had definite possibilities. Brandon Harrison, the wedding planner and event arranger, was a Scot whose mother was from Ohio. He spoke with an affected American burr that failed to disguise his Glaswegian roots.  Somehow both Owen and Rowena found him endearing and soon fell into the swing of things, carried along on a wave of enthusiasm that appeared to be genuine, as Brandon extolled the advantages of marrying in a Manor House of such distinction. Inspecting the overnight accommodation some time later, Rowena decided that the honeymoon suite was elegant and romantic enough for her wedding night and Owen, seeing the sparkle in her eyes, agreed.

It was six thirty when they drove down the winding drive
way leading to the main road having booked the Manor for the twenty seventh of May, which gave them nearly four months to send invitations, buy the wedding dress, arrange cars, etc., ready for the big day.

Rowena sighed. “Next week I’ll persuade Noreen to trawl around the bridal departments for a dress.”

“I’m guessing Noreen won’t take much persuading. When’s she emigrating by the way?” Owen asked, steering the car into the overtaking lane on the motorway. The headlights of the car travelling behind him flashed momentarily in his rear view mirror as the vehicle followed him in the overtaking lane then slid in behind him. Owen’s heart began to beat wildly. He risked another longer look in his mirror and was certain he hadn’t been mistaken. He increased his speed, overtaking a lorry carrying food for online supermarket deliveries then overtook a coach and a family car.

“July. Mike starts his new job in Sydney in August. What’s the hurry?”

“Nothing, just getting a bit peckish, that’s all. Let’s not bother with dining out. Why don’t we pick up a take-away?”

“Suit’s me. Just get us there in one piece,” Rowena replied.

Owen put his foot down on the accelerator, his speedometer reaching ninety-five. The car behind fell back. He kept in the fast lane until his exit appeared then slowed his speed to seventy and slipped into the inside lane at the last possible minute. Rowena didn’t comment but he could see her giving him an enquiring look, which he chose to ignore. When he was certain he’d given his follower the slip, he settled down to a steady speed. However, as he turned on to the dual carriageway leading to the city he saw her again. Her car was sitting behind a four by four that was directly behind him. Sarah Lawson was tenacious, of that there was no doubt. But it was becoming obvious to Owen that he’d have to do something about this and sooner rather than later. She was stalking him and there was nothing left but for him to confront her face to face.

As he drove to the Indian Take Away, Sarah’s car was thankfully nowhere in evidence but the experience had unnerved Owen and he was even more determined to put a stop to it once and for all. Rowena slept at his place overnight but left after lunch the following day as she wanted to drive to her friend Noreen’s house in the suburbs. With the rest of Sunday free, he drove to Sarah Lawson’s flat.  His anger at her behaviour increas
ed as he drove through the city’s streets wondering what her reaction would be? He was certain that she’d entered Rowena’s flat in her absence and that she’d removed the vitamins from her bathroom cabinet also taken the necklace. Similarly her presence on the motorway had prompted him to place her firmly in the category of a stalker, if not a complete nutcase.

When he arrived at her block, he took the stairs two at a time not bothering to wait for the lift to arrive. With a balled f
ist he banged on her front door. Andy Lawson opened it.  “Hello. Good to see you again. Come in.” The man didn’t seem in the least bit surprised to see him.

Owen followed him into a room where the rest of the Lawson family were seated. The children were watching a cartoon on television and Hannah Lawson was reading a newspaper.

“Sarah, it’s Owen.”

She came into the room carrying a tray on which stood three mugs of coffee. Her hair, he noticed, was now the same colour, as her sister-in-law’s, a dark brown but somehow the resemblance to Rowena lingered.

“Hi, Owen, I wondered if you’d find time to pop in. Andy’s just been singing your praises.”

“I have indeed. Indigo Night has become quite an investment, thanks to you. Now tell me, what’s this I hear about your latest success in New York?”

Owen recognised that he was trapped. There was nothing he could do about it. He couldn’t make his accusations, not in front of her family. Her brother kept asking him about his work, which he answered with a fixed expression that veered from deadpan to vaguely interested. He couldn’t stop his gaze wandering to Sarah, who was now playing a board game with the older child.  He was at his wits end to know how to deal with the situation when her brother suddenly stood up.

“Right then, kids, pack up your things. We must be off, leave you two lovebirds alone. I’ve taken up far too much of Owen’s time as it is.”

He waited until the door closed behind them then said angrily, “Lovebirds? I think you have some explaining to do.”

“In what way?”

She was cool, he had to give her that.

“What way do you think?” His anger was resurfacing. “You’ve been following Rowena and me around, you gained entrance to her flat, and removed items and I’m beginning to suspect you started a fire in my cottage at Gareg Wen. How’s that for openers?”

She walked past him to the window and raised her hand to wave. “Andy would be furious if he could hear you talking to me like that.”

“Is that a threat? Perhaps you’d like me to explain to him what you’ve been up to?”

She turned to face him.  “You made me believe that you cared for me.” She lowered her head and the fight went out of him.

“Look, Sarah, I’m sorry if I’ve given you the wrong impression. I thought we were mates. You were kind enough to give me a bed for the night but that’s all it was.”

She looked up at him. “What about after Megan’s party?”

He shook his head. “I don’t remember. I was drunk. I don’t remember any of it.”

She began to cry; silent sobs making her shoulders shake and squeeze tears from her eyes. “It was the best night of my life,” she said.

He put an arm around her shoulders, aware that this was not how he’d planned it should be.  “I apologise. I didn’t mean to hurt you, but you must understand, I love Rowena and we are getting married in a few months time. There was never anything between us and I’m sorry if you thought so.”

She turned then, her eyes blazing with fury; banging her fists against his chest, she said, “Get out; go on, get out.”

Driving back to his flat he felt bad about the whole situation, which
he knew he’d mishandled. He hadn’t meant to lead her on, after all he’d never said he had any feelings for her. It all seemed to centre on that night at Megan and Duncan’s and he couldn’t for the life of him recall any of the details, but at least he’d put her straight now, he thought, parking his car and returning to his flat.  As he put the key in his front door it occurred to him that he was still no nearer finding out whether it was she who’d started the fire in Gareg Wen. Her tears had effectively stopped any further questioning on his part. However, she’d obviously given her family the impression that there was an intimate relationship between them. Surely Lawson had seen the newspaper and television reports about his forthcoming wedding?

Owen picked up the Sunday paper that Rowena had been reading earlier. On the society and arts pages was an item about his recent trip to New York and his wedding plans. The photo accompanying the piece showed himself and Rowena smiling at the camera. He was facing the lens but Rowena was turned slightly away. He read the report noting with dismay that Rowena was simply referred to as his fiancée and at no point was her name mention
ed. He seemed to remember that previous reporters had also been interested in the story of his recent success rather than in Rowena herself.

With a sinking feeling he inspected the photograph more closely and was distressed to see that there was a distinct resemblance between the photograph of Rowena and Sarah’s previous re-incarnation. The woman was like a chameleon. The image in newspaper could have belonged to either of them.

Mark Furnish arranged to meet Owen at eleven-thirty in the wine bar at the corner of the road near his gallery. He was waiting at the bar when Owen arrived.  “I’ve got a proposition to put to you.” He carried the drinks over to a table near the window. “How do you fancy putting in a couple of weeks work on a mural I’m commissioning for the gallery? It’s to be a compilation work by our more prominent clients, into which category you most definitely fall.”

“Flattery always works, Mark, as well you know.”

“Well?”

“I don’t see why not. We
ddings are expensive businesses. I can’t afford to turn down work at the moment.”

“Oh yeah?”

“Yeah. Wives are even more expensive, or so I’ve been told.”

As if on cue, Owen’s mobile rang. It was Rowena, “I’ve just received a letter from the solicitors dealing with Aunt Fiona’s will. Apparently it’s correct, I am the sole beneficiary. What d’you think of that?”

“Sole beneficiary? Don’t get too excited, remember that moth-eaten moggy.”

“You could be right. Anyway, I’ve arranged to see them tomorrow to discuss the details.”

Owen put the phone down and raised his glass. “To Rowena’s Aunt Fiona,” he said.

The phone call came when Owen was sketching a few ideas for the mural. Mark had assured him that it would only take a week or two, which was why he’d agreed. Rowena would be busy and it made sense to keep a low profile considering recent events.

  She could hardly speak with excitement. “Darling, no moth-eaten moggy after all. It’s a house and ninety thousand pounds. I still can’t believe it.”

“Good Lord, a house? Where exactly?”

“It’s in a place called Lockford, on the south coast. I can’t wait to see it. I thought I’d drive down tomorrow. Any chance you can come?”

“I’ll make sure of it.”

The sun shone out of a clear blue sky, although a layer of frost coated hedgerows where the sun had yet to reach. Owen estimated the journey would take them just under two hours,.

“I’m so excited. We could live there. What do you think? It would be a great start to our married life, a house in the country within easy driving distance of London. I wonder if there’s a garden? There’s sure to be.” She placed a hand on his knee. “I’m going on a bit, aren’t I?”

“No problem. You’re entitled to. I just hope you won’t be disappointed.

Bramble Lane looked promising from the outset. As Owen turned the corner at the end of the road, he could see that the area was definitely one of the nicest they had seen on the drive down.  Rowena had been given the keys from the solicitor and, as Owen turned into the drive, she took them from her handbag.

“Certainly looks good from the outside,” he said, closing the car door and following her into the house.

The rooms on the ground floor were large and flooded with light; the décor was a different matter though, being circa nineteen thirties. Wallpaper, that would now be called vintage but to Owen just looked hideous, clung to every wall, flowers clashing with geometric patterns.

“Mm, I can see a use for the ninety thousand straight away, fitted kitchen, cloakroom and total refurb., of the lounge, dining and morning rooms, “ Rowena said thoughtfully. “ Let’s see what state the upstairs is in.”

Owen followed her into the master bedroom, which overlooked the front garden.

“It’s just like my aunt had stepped out for a while leaving everything as it was.” Rowena opened the wardrobe door. “Moth balls!” She wrinkled her nose in disgust. “A trip to the charity shop, maybe several?” She held a camel hair coat and a flowered dress up for inspection. “ Such a shame. No one to look after her things and care whether she lived or died,” she said sadly.

Owen took her arm. “ Let’s look at the other bedrooms. We’ll soon get someone in to sort those out. Charity shops are crying out for good quality clothes.”

There was a large bedroom at the back of the house with a bay window that overlooked the garden. Rowena walked towards the window. “Oh how lovely. Owen, look, a summerhouse – there at the end of the garden.”

The garden was a bit overgrown, the lawn in need of more than simply a trim but the summerhouse looked to be in pretty good shape.

“Come on,” Rowena said, pulling his arm. “Let’s take a look.” She held up the keys. “I wondered what this one was for.”

The summerhouse looked as if it had been recently painted. The first thing he noticed was the rich scent of pine and the hand-stitched sampler hanging on one wall. The air was pleasantly warm and not a trace of damp showed on the soft furnishings. “It’s as tight as a drum in here,” he commented. “ The roof is sound and I can see that there’s an electricity point on the wall. I wonder what she used the place for?”

Rowena was opening the drawers of a small hexagonal side table. “No mystery – she used to sew - I mean embroider; there are embroidery silks, needles and material neatly arranged in every drawer. That sampler must have been one of hers.”

“Home sweet home.”

“I hope so. Anyway there’s no reason why we shouldn’t make it one.”

“You really would like to live he
re?” Rowena kissed his cheek. “That’s just great. I’m so glad you like the place.”

“Who wouldn’t? But I must say, I can’t live with that god-awful wallpaper in the hallway.”

During the next few weeks Owen was swept along on a wave of wedding fever. Rowena seemed to spend every free moment on the phone to the wedding planner at the Manor House and at the end of the second week, following his visit to Sarah Lawson, Rowena announced that she had bought ‘the dress’. There were a few minor alterations to be made but the store had assured her that it would be ready to be picked up at the end of the month.  Her excitement was infectious and Owen began to look forward to the event in earnest. Forgetting his meeting with Sarah was the difficult part. He hated not being straight with Rowena but couldn’t think how he could explain it all without looking as if he was trying to cover up an affair.

Peter Walmsley and Mark Furnish insisted that they all had a boys’ night out the week before the wedding and so Owen reluctantly agreed to a ‘booze up’ for his Stag party. Rowena and her girlfriends were spending the weekend at a Health Spa on the outskirts of the city; a weekend of pampering she called it.

Saturday night in London was typical of any in a large city. The bars and clubs were full of drinkers taking advantage of ‘Happy Hours’ and discounted drinks. Peter and Mark had suggested they meet in the Black Bear Club at eight. The Black Bear was tucked away in a side street and had a reputation for selling good beers and wines at reasonable prices as opposed to some of the smarter establishments selling rotgut drinks at inflated prices. Artists and businessmen were the mainstay of its clientele but on Saturday nights there was an influx of revellers drifting in from the bars on the main thoroughfares.  Unfortunately for Owen, on the night of his Stag party, a pop concert was being held in Leicester Square so the Black Bear was busier than normal.

“Owen, over here,” Peter shouted above the din as he steered a course towards his friends. The drinks were lined up on a table in front of them.

“Made sense to buy a couple of rounds while we were at it. You can’t get to the bar for love nor money.” Hamish Dalton grinned. “Cheers my old mate, last week of freedom.”

The drinks flowed in spite of the crowd and by the time he saw Andy Lawson Owen was well and truly drunk. He was only vaguely aware of Lawson watching him from the bar and forgot his presence almost immediately as Hamish placed another drink in his fist. The conversation around the table now had degenerated into commenting on Owen’s prowess in bed and how tasty, in order of preference, were the girls standing near the bar, each one becoming more palatable with every drink they took.

“Nor interested,” Owen slurred.

“Go on, last chance.” Tony, a prop for the London Welsh rugby team, dug Owen in the ribs. “She’ll never know.”

Owen grinned, at least, he thought he grinned but he couldn’t be sure. “Nor interested,” he repeated. “I’m off to the bog.”

Somehow he managed to find his way to the Gents and propped an arm on the tiles as he stood at the stall. He was only dimly aware of the fact that he was alone, except for a tall man washing his hands in the sink.

“So, no friends to protect you here, scum bag.” Andy Lawson gripped him by the shoulders and threw him back against the wall. Owen felt the cold hard surface as his head cracked against the tiles.

“Enjoying your Stag night, are you? How d’you think my little sister’s enjoying herself? Dropped her like a hot c
oal when your tart returned from the States. She’d booked the wedding for God’s sake.”

Owen knew then that he must be totally out of it. It must be a dream. He screwed up his eyes as Lawson’s fist connected with his jaw and he slumped to the ground.

“She’s been crying her eyes out ever since, you bastard.” The punch landed in his ribs and Owen thought he heard a far off crack before he briefly passed out. He was standing when he came around, propped up by Lawson’s arm, which pinioned him to the basin.

“You deserve all you get, you little shit.” Owen was aware of Lawson’s arm being removed as he slid to the floor. A sharp pain shot through his leg and blood pumped up like a fountain until darkness descended.

Drifting in an out of consciousness Owen heard voices and a door slam. Then something tight gripped his thigh and he drifted off again. The next thing he knew he was on a stretcher, with something over his face and a loud alarm that pierced his brain like a scalpel. He was swaying from side to side and vaguely aware that someone was talking to him.

“Won’t be long now, son; just hang on in there.”

The alarm was the ambulance siren; it stopped as the swaying ceased. Owen closed his eyes as he was wheeled into the Accident and Emergency Department. He wondered what had happened to him. The details were blurred but it was no dream. This was real, every ache, every cut and every bruise.

When he next awoke he was in a hospital bed, sunlight streaking down the ward like a lightening bolt.

“Well now and how are we feeling this morning, Mr Madoc? Not quite what you had planned for your Stag night I should imagine?”  The nurse was on the plump side, her cheeks dimpled when she smiled. Her name badge read Sister Mary Dixon. “You lot will never learn; too much drink and too much money.” Her smile took the sting out of her words. “Doctor will be along in a minute. Then he’ll no doubt discharge you. You’ve been patched up and your fiancée will be along to pick you up at ten.”

“Rowena? Did someone phone Rowena?”

He hoped not. It was her Hen weekend and besides, how was he going to explain what had happened?  He was dressed and sitting on a chair at the side of his bed waiting for Rowena when he saw Sarah Lawson making her way down the ward towards him.

“Ready, darling? Come along let me help you up,” she said as Owen closed his eyes and prayed he was still dreaming.