Wonder Women (56 page)

You don't expect to be on the loo when you receive a life-altering phone call. The caller ID said ‘unknown', which meant it was more than likely someone ringing from abroad. She didn't feel like having to return an international call, so she answered it.

‘Ah, Ms Evans,' said a male voice, and she knew with those three words that it was Detective Tshabalala, the detective from the South African fraud squad. Her heart sank.

‘Detective Tshabalala. Haven't heard from you in a while,' she said, trying to be polite. ‘I'm afraid I haven't got any news for you.'

‘I am calling because I have news for you, Ms Evans,' he said, and she could hear he sounded mightily pleased with himself. ‘We have Mr Vermaak in custody.'

‘You do? Oh my God. Are you sure it's him? Where did you find him?'

‘Well,' said Detective Tshabalala, sounding a little less self-important, ‘he actually found us. He walked into the station and said “I'm Damon Vermaak, and I'm here to hand myself in.”'

‘Wow,' said Holly. Funnily enough, she could imagine Damon doing it. He was probably beautifully dressed and
very suave. He would have made it look like he was James Bond. ‘So where had he been? What happened to him?'

‘I'm not at liberty to give you that information, Ms Evans,' said Detective Tshabalala. ‘You see, there will be a trial. And you will certainly be called as a witness, at the very least. We're still taking Mr Vermaak's statement. He is cooperating fully, but I wanted you to know that this thing isn't over. So stay where we can find you.'

Holly didn't like the sound of ‘witness, at the very least'. She had assumed that the fact she had been allowed to leave the country meant she was in the clear. But who knew what Damon was saying? Was he lying in order to implicate her in the whole mess? She hated to admit it, but he was more than capable of that, and worse. Whatever happened, it looked as if she would be going back to South Africa, and maybe sooner rather than later.

There was no point in stressing about it, so she tried to keep her mind busy with work, and with her clandestine, late-night dress designing. But then she was ‘outed', as it were, because Mel asked her to design and make a dress for Serena. Serena, who, it turned out, was a super-talented singer–songwriter, had got her first paying gig at a little wine bar in West Hampstead and wanted something special to wear. She had only just had her sixteenth birthday, so ironically she could play but not drink there, and none of her school friends could come to the gig. She wanted to look ‘sophisticated and classy, in a retro kind of way', Mel told Holly. It was just the kind of inspiration she had been waiting for. She did a few sketches – she'd seen Serena in what Mel called her ‘early Madonna' outfits before, so she drew an
outfit along those lines, then tried something more like a classical pianist's concert attire – a slim, sleeveless column dress with a low back. But Serena fell in love with the design Holly loved best too: a 1940s dress with three-quarter sleeves, a big collar and full skirt. She made it in a beautiful dusty blue, and they found perfect pointy court shoes in a charity shop to go with it. With Serena's curvy figure, and her dark hair set in old-fashioned waves, she looked like a movie star.

Holly went along to the gig with Mel, who looked as if she might explode with nerves and pride. Jo was in New York, but had sent flowers for Serena. Serena's dad Bruce was there too, a stringy, wrinkled individual with a long grey ponytail and a heavy metal band T-shirt. Mel had also invited a friend of hers called Hamish, who she said was a novelist. He was a big, soft bear of a man. Mel had used the term ‘friend', but Holly noticed that when the lights went down for Serena to play, Hamish took Mel's hand and didn't let it go. She liked the way he looked at Mel with such tenderness, and the fact that he clearly adored Serena. The last member of their party was Fraser.

Despite the awfulness of their last encounter, Holly had felt that Fraser deserved an apology, although probably not a detailed explanation. The week after Judith's funeral, she took a deep breath and dialled his number. He didn't answer, unsurprisingly, so she left a message.

‘Hi there. Look, I wouldn't be at all surprised if you deleted this message without listening to it, but I just wanted to let you know that my mum died. And I also wanted to say sorry … for the other morning.' She laughed a little. ‘I think between us, we've pretty much had every embarrassing,
awful encounter in the book. You and Daniel … me and Lindsay … There's nothing I can say to make it better. I just wanted to say, well, sorry again. And if you wanted to talk to me ever again, I'd … well, I'd like that.'

He rang back within the minute. ‘What do you mean, you and Lindsay?'

‘What? I mean, hi, Fraser. And … what?'

‘In your message, you said you had an encounter with Lindsay. What did you mean?'

‘You know … when I came to your flat. The day you were late.'

‘You were there? And you saw Lindsay? She never said.'

‘She didn't?'

‘I assumed you got my messages saying we were delayed, and you went home. When you didn't take my calls, I thought you were pissed off that I let you down. I thought it was an overreaction, and I found it a bit odd. That's why I came to your flat.'

‘I didn't get your messages that day. I got to your flat and Lindsay let me in. I thought it was you opening the door, so I might have said something rather … saucy as I came upstairs. It was very awkward. Anyway, that's when she told me how you're still together.'

‘She what?'

‘She said she was trying to help you overcome your serial infidelity, but that you were still very much together and still sleeping together.'

‘Did she?' said Fraser, and she'd never heard him sound so livid. ‘Did she indeed? Listen, Holly, please excuse me, but
I'm going to need to ring you back in a little while, if you don't mind.' And he hung up.

It was a couple of hours before he rang back. ‘This is going to sound stupid,' he said. ‘It's taken me so long to ring you back, because I know that whatever I say, it's just going to sound like I'm feeding you another line. What Lindsay said was absolutely, totally not true, and it was vindictive in the extreme to say it. I've yelled at her, and she's totally unrepentant. I had this mad idea that I could make her ring you herself and say she was lying, but she's refused point-blank to do that. I'm sorry, Holly. I didn't want to mix you up in the crazy crap from my marriage. It's the last thing I wanted.'

‘To be fair,' she said carefully, ‘you did catch me in bed with someone else.'

‘Someone very young.'

‘Don't. I know. I'm mortified every time I think about it. Anyway, I think in the mixing-each-other-up-in-crazy-crap stakes, we're just about even.'

‘So …'

‘So …?'

‘Where does that leave us?'

‘Maybe … having dinner sometime?'

‘I'd like that,' said Fraser, sounding profoundly relieved.

They had had a few dates since that phone call, each one slightly more relaxed than the last. They hadn't slept together, or even broached the subject, but Holly was enjoying getting to know him. She was touched that he would come to Serena's gig – she imagined it would be like
a school concert – but he was genuinely pleased to be invited, and even brought a good-luck card for Serena.

Holly couldn't have been more wrong. Serena looked beautiful (Holly was proud to have had some part in that), and she had a simply stunning voice. She played the piano well, and the songs she had written were poignant and original. She also did a couple of cover versions, and at the end of her thirty-minute set, the applause nearly brought the roof down. The owner of the bar was thrilled, and immediately said he would like to book her again.

‘I have the feeling we'll be telling our grandchildren we were at Serena Grey's first gig,' said Fraser, taking Holly's hand as they walked down the road after leaving the venue.

‘I hope so,' said Holly. ‘She did so well, and the music thing seems to have helped her relationship with Mel.'

‘So … what are your plans for the rest of the evening?' said Fraser, looking hopeful.

‘I have to go home,' said Holly regretfully. ‘I have to get up early for work tomorrow. But I'm free on Sunday night … all night.'

‘Really?' said Fraser, and he drew her close and kissed her breathless.

On Sunday evening, he invited her over and cooked a beef bourguignon. Luckily, he had made it in a slow cooker, because fifteen minutes and half a glass of wine after she arrived, they were in the bedroom, a trail of clothes strewn in their wake. Sometime after eleven, Holly stood up and wobbled dramatically.

‘I've gone weak at the knees,' she laughed.

‘Why, thank you.'

‘Don't flatter yourself. It's low blood sugar. I didn't have lunch, and dinner should have been hours ago. I'm absolutely starving.'

‘Come to think of it, so am I,' said Fraser.

She grabbed a sweatshirt Fraser had dropped next to the bed and pulled it on. ‘Feed me,' she demanded.

They sat at the counter in the kitchen, devouring big bowls of the stew with spoons. The rice Fraser had put on to steam had dried out unappealingly, and Holly scoffed at his offer of salad.

‘Well, Dr John, said Holly, leaning back in her chair, ‘that was worth the wait.'

‘Stew is always better when you leave it for a bit,' he said, wiping his plate with a slice of bread.

‘I didn't mean the stew.'

He smiled at her wickedly, and her stomach did a little flip. ‘To be honest, I never thought we'd get here,' he said.

‘We did seem cursed, didn't we?' Holly grinned ruefully.

‘Like some kind of excruciating farce.'

‘So is this the calm before the storm? Is it all going to go pear-shaped again? Is a long-lost ex going to jump out of a cupboard and assault me?'

‘I checked the cupboards before you came over. We're okay.' They sat sipping their wine in companionable silence. ‘So, if it doesn't sound too … pathetic and needy,' said Fraser, ‘where do we go from here?'

‘We go … slowly? One step at a time?' said Holly, getting up. Fraser's wine rack was on the top of one of the kitchen cupboards and she stretched up to get another bottle.

‘Dear God, woman,' he said hoarsely. ‘You're not wearing anything under that sweatshirt.'

‘Am I not?' said Holly innocently.

‘There's only one place you're going right now,' he said, taking her firmly by the hand and leading her back to the bedroom.

*

A week or so later, the house clearance was finally finished, the will was sorted and it was time for Judith's house to go on the market. David found an estate agent he was happy to deal with, and Holly agreed to meet him and hand over the keys so they could begin showing the property. She was lucky with the traffic and got to the house early. It was odd to walk through the empty rooms. The house looked enormous, and it felt very cold. Without the furniture and pictures, it looked like what it was, a rather out-of-date, albeit well-kept 1930s suburban house. She thought this would be a difficult and nostalgic moment, but she didn't feel overwhelmed with memories at all. The house seemed to have lost its spirit. She would be happy to walk out of the door for the last time. She did a last check of all the rooms to see that the house-clearance people had taken everything. It seemed they'd done an excellent job. She wandered into the kitchen, and saw they had left a stack of post on the draining board. She'd written to the utility companies and everyone she could think of to let them know her mum had died, and she had changed her address, but there was probably someone she had missed. She flipped through the envelopes – mostly junk mail. The last one, however, was not. It was addressed to her, and the envelope was crumpled and grubby. The stamp
showed it had been posted in Zimbabwe around a month ago. It had taken its time getting to her. Even if she hadn't recognised the handwriting, she would have known who it was from.

She read the letter again. Then she thought for a moment about what it made her feel. Nothing. The answer was nothing. So much had happened since she had left South Africa that Damon and his actions seemed like a distant nightmare. She didn't love him any more, nor did she hate him. All she could think of was that the letter would be evidence in her defence if it came to it. The doorbell rang. That would be Roger, the super-smooth estate agent. She stuffed the letter in her handbag and went to hand over the keys to her past.