Who is Sarah Lawson: A Captivating Psychological Thriller (20 page)

It was half past two when he rang the bell to Rowena’s flat. His palms were wet and he could feel his pulse throbbing in his neck. As she opened the door, she said, “She’s late. She rang a moment ago to say she was stuck in traffic. So we’ve time for a drink before she arrives. What’ll it be?”

“Stiff whiskey and soda please.”

“It’s like that is it?”

From the kitchen he heard the sound of ice tinkling into a glass and Rowena pouring his drink.  “By the way, darling, the builders have started on Bramble Lane. We could drive down at the weekend to see how they’re progressing. That’s if you can spare the time. I’ll have to pay them from my savings until the cheque comes through from the will.”

“Sure. Why not? If you need any money just let me know.”

“Thanks. I might take you up on that offer, but I’m OK at the moment. Then there’s the sale of this place – things will work out fine.”  The whiskey was steadying his nerves. Life would go on after today.

When Rowena had called to say she had a cash buyer and that the woman had insisted it had to be
her
flat in particular, it had rung alarm bells. He just had to deal with this visit. Then make up a valid reason why she shouldn’t sell to the woman and that would be that. But somewhere in the back of his mind a voice was saying – until the next time.  The sound of the doorbell ringing cut into his thoughts like a lance into a boil.

“Here she is now. Do me a favour and wash out our glasses. I don’t want her to think we’re in the habit of boozing in the afternoon.”

From the kitchen Owen could hear them talking. He tried to place the voice as belonging to Sarah but failed.

“Owen come and meet, Miss Stafford”

“Lucy, please.”

So she was Lucy, this time, Owen thought taking his courage in both hands and walking into the room.

“Hullo, nice to meet you, “ he said, extending his hand. He knew he was grinning from ear to ear.

Lucy Stafford was a woman in her late fifties, neatly dressed, slightly overweight and with grey hair that was twisted into a knot at the base of her neck. And although he’d previously decided that Sarah Lawson had the attributes of a chameleon, he doubted that even she could successfully pull of such a transformation. His pulse rate returned to normal, as he followed in their wake, pointing out the advantages of living in the area and the amenities the flat had to offer, whilst hoping that the note of desperation in his voice was not noticeable.

Afterwards, Rowena threw her arms around his neck and kissed him firmly on his lips. “Bramble Lane, here we come,” she said.

“She’s going to buy then?”

“She can’t wait to finalise the deal. She said she’d get in touch with her solicitors right away. Apparently her sister lives in the same block, on the same floor, that’s why she wanted this flat so desperately.” Rowena leant against him. “I know we’ve had a few hiccups along the way, but I really feel as though things are taking shape. Just the wedding to get though and we’ll be out the other side, ready to start our lives together.”

Her optimism was infectious. Owen walked
the short distance to the Chinese restaurant and bought a Take Away then stopped at a corner shop and bought a large box of chocolates. After eating, they took the chocolates and a bottle of Chianti into the bedroom, both of which they consumed in bed, and where they stayed until the pale light of dawn filtered through the bedroom curtains. He was beginning to believe her; nothing could get in the way of their happiness.

He spent the whole of Monday morning with a self-satisfied smile playing at the corners of his mouth as he worked on the mural in the Furnish Gallery. So he was totally unprepared for the appearance of Rowena at lunchtime accompanied by Sarah Lawson.

“Owen, I gather you and Sarah are friends. When I was packing up some of my clothes earlier, I noticed that there was a message on your answerphone. I thought it might be from the wedding planner but it was from Sarah to say that you’d left your diary at her flat and she thought you might need it. So I arranged for her to meet us here.”

To a casual observer there would be nothing in her words to cause alarm but Owen recognised a tone as icy as the Arctic and the unspoken question, as to why she knew nothing of his friendship with this woman or why he would have been in a position to leave his diary at her flat, hung in the air like a bad smell.  His mouth fell open as he tried to compose a sentence that would not have his fiancée turning on her heel in an instant. To his surprise it was Sarah Lawson who came to his rescue.

“Er, I think friendship might be too strong a word. My brother and Owen are friends. No doubt Owen left his diary when he visited my flat with Andy.”

“Thanks, I hadn’t noticed it was missing,” he said, wondering how she could have got her hands on it without him knowing about it.

He
sensed that Rowena was still not convinced. “How is Andy, by the way?” He could feel the words sticking to his tongue like Velcro.

“Fine, he said to pass on his good wishes for your wedding. Well I must be off. Enjoy your move to your new home.”

“You’ve got some explaining to do, I think,” Rowena said, following him to the cafe on the corner.

“How does she know about Bramble Lane?” he asked.

“I told her. I didn’t think you’d mind, being as you two are such ‘good’ friends.”

“That’s rubbish. She told you - it’s her brother I know.”

“That’s not what it sounded like on the telephone. She spoke as if you were rather more than just friends.”

He sat opposite her and took her hand across the table that separated them.  “I’m flattered that you’re jealous sweetheart but you’ve nothing to worry about. Sarah Lawson has a bit of a crush on me that’s all. As if I would be interested in her when I have you.”  For the moment she was mollified but Owen wondered how long it would last and if they’d survive Sarah Lawson and her relentless persecution.

The refurbishment of the Bramble Lane property was completed in record time thanks to Rowena’s organisational skills and determination. Owen was still working on the mural in the Furnish Gallery when she rang to say that she’d decided to spend the weekend at the house and was taking some of the clothes she wouldn’t require until the winter, in preparation for the big move.

“I’m sorry I can’t join you. I’m behind schedule and Mark is hoping to have it all finished by the beginning of next week.”

“No problem. I’ll probably get more done, without any distractions. I’ll leave you to get back to it. Don’t work to hard. I’ll be in touch; love you.”

She was waiting for him outside his flat. It was midnight and all he could think about was a hot shower and his bed. “Hello, Owen.”

“Sarah. Look, I’m too tired for your little games tonight, if you’ll excuse me.” He tried to squeeze past her to put his key in the lock.

“It’s Andy’s wife, Hannah. She’s had an accident. My car is in the garage waiting for a new part to be fitted. I’ve only just heard and I don’t know how to get to him. He needs someone to look after the children, whilst he goes to visit her in hospital. I don’t know what to do.” She looked helplessly up at him and the trap closed more firmly.

“You’d better come in then, let me just have a quick shower and I’ll run you over.”

“That’s very kind of you but he’s not in London. The firm he works for is making cutbacks and the London flat had to go. The family still live in Birmingham, the flat was a concession.”

“I see,” he sighed. There was nothing he could do about it. Rowena would be able to see that surely? The woman was in a fix. He was trying to justify why he could manage to drive to Birmingham and yet could not find the time to drive to Lockford. His reasons sounded hollow, the unspoken words swirling around in his head as if in a whirlpool.

She was sitting in the chair near the window, where Rowena often sat to read. He caught his breath. It could be her; her clothes, hair, make-up, she was a couple of pounds heavier but he could see that the transformation was almost complete. The thought struck terror into his soul as he picked up his keys and followed her out of the flat.

The journey passed with little exchange of conversation, which suited him. When they arrived, Owen saw that the house was a semi, built in the style of the nineteen sixties. There was no light showing at any of the windows.

“Thank you so much, Owen. I do appreciate it. Please don’t wait. I’m OK. I have my key.”

“I may as well see you inside.”

“No, really. There’s no need. I don’t want to disturb the children.”

“Well, if you’re sure. Tell Andy I’m sorry about his wife. I broke my leg playing rugby years ago so I know how difficult it is to get around.”

“Er, yes, thanks again.” She was waiting for him to drive away. He could see that she had no intention of entering the house until he was gone. Well it was OK by him; he couldn’t wait to get home to bed.

He was still asleep at ten the following morning, when Mark Furnish rang. “Just wanted to thank you, my lovely.”

Owen grunted.

“Sorry, sorry, you’re still in bed. I know you worked late to finish it, shouldn’t have rung, sorry again.”

It had been nearly five by the time he’d got back to the flat and he’d been planning to sleep forever but Mark’s well-meaning phone call had made further sleep impossible. In the shower he let the water play over his tired body as his thoughts returned to driving to Birmingham in the early hours. There’d been little conversation between them until he’d turned into the street where her brother lived then she suddenly said, “When are you planning on moving to Lockford?” He’d given a non-committal reply. But the question bothered him and he began to wonder what further mischief she had in mind.

The harsh morning sunlight hurt his eyes as he stepped out of his flat for the short walk to the café where he planned to eat a hearty breakfast. He was slightly disconcerted to see Rowena walking towards him from the direction of the tube station. “You’re a sight for my sore eyes,” he said, kissing her cheek, her lips suddenly out of reach as she turned her head to the side.

“Really? Sore? No doubt after another night spent with Sarah Lawson?” She was furious. “What
is
going on, Owen? You’ve got an hour to convince me that you’re not having an affair before I ring to cancel our wedding and this time it will most definitely be me at the end of the telephone.”

Ignoring the café Owen steered her towards the wine bar, found a table in a corner and, after he’d ordered the drinks, prepared to explain the mess he was in. “It all began with Andy Lawson buying Indigo Night,” he said.

Rowena took a sip of her wine and left the rest untouched as Owen falteringly explained how Sarah seemed to have got the wrong end of the stick and believed there was more to their relationship than just a casual friendship. He told her of the visit to Luigi’s and of his promise to spend Christmas day with her as they were both going to be alone. “I felt bad about it because she’d gone to so much trouble and then you arrived and Sarah Lawson slipped my mind.”

The part he didn’t mention was Megan’s birthday and subsequent events. He didn’t know how to explain it; she wouldn’t understand, why would she? He didn’t understand it himself.

“You’ve been a fool.” She was still mad but he sensed that he was making progress.

“You’re right.”

“And last night?”

He held his arms wide in a gesture of supplication.  “What could I do? Leave her stranded in London without a lift?”

“It might have been better, considering the situation.”

“Right again. “

“Well, Owen Madoc. Looks like you’ve survived by the skin of your teeth this time. But promise me that this is an end to your involvement with the woman. She’s trouble.”

“You’re not kidding.” He reached for her hand and kissed her palm. “You have my word.”

The following morning Owen opened his eyes reached for her hand and felt
a cold sheet. A note was propped up against the bedside lamp.

Darling, I’ve lots to do and you looked as if you needed the sleep. Will give you a ring later to discuss the sale of your flat etc., R

So, he thought, for the time being, she’d forgiven him. Nevertheless there was the night spent after Megan’s party waiting in the wings to threaten his happiness.

Rowena arrived at his flat later that afternoon; a warm wind had sprung up and her hair was untidy. She was frowning as he kissed her.  “Do you know that the man on the desk downstairs thought I was her?”

A shiver ran down his spine. “Who?” he asked dreading the answer.

“The Lawson woman.”

Owen held her shoulders and bent towards her,  “Let’s agree to forget her. She can’t harm our relationship, unless we let her, OK.?” He could see she wasn’t convinced but gave him a weak smile.

“Have you thought about selling this place?”

“I have. And you’ll be glad to know that I contacted the agent this morning. I know I’ve let things slide lately but not any longer.”

“That’s good news. What about the cottage?”

Owen walked towards the window and looked out into the street where shoppers were walking away from Covent Garden. He would miss living here. “Let’s keep the cottage at Fallow’s End. It will be great for holiday weekends, what d’you say?”

“Sounds fine. So we’re agreed, Bramble Lane and Fallow’s End; they even sound like nice places to live and I for one can’t wait to get away from London.”

Fate has a way of altering even the best laid plans, Owen decided, when on a warm afternoon five days before his wedding, Rowena and he were enjoying a glass of wine at a table outside a bar in Covent Garden. The street entertainers were in full swing and the operatic sounds of an aria being sung close by drifted over the heads of the shoppers.

“Good Lord, it’s Owen and Sarah,” Duncan Jones stood on the cobbles in front of them squinting in the sunshine. “Just knew you two would get together, after that night you spent at our place for Megan’s birthday bash. Good to see you again.”

Owen stood up.  “Duncan, I’d like you to meet my fiancée, Rowena.”

She waited a moment then slowly got to her feet.

Duncan looked confused. “
I’m so sorry, I seem to have made a mistake.”

“Nice to meet you, Mr Jones. Don’t apologise. It’s Owen who’s made the mistake by referring to me as his fiancée.” She slid the ring off her finger and placed on the table. “Now if you’ll excuse me, I’m afraid I’m rather busy.”

Owen knew that trying to explain would be useless this time. Nevertheless, he was desperate to try but she refused to take his calls and when he arrived at her flat the concierge told him that she’d gone away and he didn’t know for how long. He wondered whether this was true or whether the man had been given his instructions with regard to what he should say to him. He had no alternative but to drive down to Lockford. It was the only place he could think of where she might be.

The house in Bramble Lane looked different, smarter; the lawns and borders had been trimmed into place and the outside had been painted. Owen could see Rowena’s handiwork in the swathed drapes at the lounge window and the ice sharp blinds effectively obstructing his view of the inside. Her car, a silver grey Audi stood in the drive. He rang the bell. No answer.

“Rowena,” he called through the letterbox - still no answer. “Please, I need to talk to you – to explain.”

He could hear her heels tapping on the block flooring in the hall then the door opened a fraction.

“There’s no need for an explanation. I wouldn’t believe it so it’s a waste of your time and mine. Please, go back to London and leave me alone.”

“I didn’t know how to tell you. I don’t remember what happened. I was drunk,” he said, as she closed the door in his face.

So that was that, he thought. Sarah Lawson had managed to split them up for good at last. By the time he reached his flat, he was furious. Once inside, he searched for her number but all he could find was her brother’s business card. He dialled the number and heard Lawson’s voice at the end of the line.

“This is Owen Madoc. I want you to tell your sister that if she contacts me again I’ll slap a police injunction on her.”

“I’m sorry? I don’t understand. What is this all about?”

“Just tell her,” he slammed down the phone and went to the drinks cabinet to look for solace where none could be found.