Distant Voices Read online

  I was completely torn. My head kept telling me that Chris was right. Richard was hard, ruthless, unsentimental at his own admission, and capable of violence. Hadn’t I seen Sara’s bruises with my own eyes? But my heart kept telling me that inside he was not like that at all, that perhaps he had become a little fond of me and that whatever or whoever he was, I had to admit at last that I had fallen in love with him.

  And Chris knew it.

  Two days later, after a spate of reporting in the press and on the TV news which I had watched at the inn, trying to hide the shaking of my hands as I saw the handsome face of my cousin on the screen, Chris insisted that we go for a walk.

  ‘I’m going back home to New York, Kate,’ he said.

  ‘But Chris –’ I stared at him.

  ‘No, Kate.’ He took my hands in his and held my gaze steadily. ‘Honey. You’ve got your father here, and no doubt Conway will keep you in the picture about Bradshaw. I’m not going to stay and watch you destroying yourself over a man like that. If you need me, call me, but as long as you’re in love with him, don’t bother.’

  Had I been as obvious as that? Overcome with remorse I threw my arms around his neck. ‘Oh Chris,’ I cried. ‘I didn’t mean to hurt you. But you and I –’ I hesitated. ‘It was never –’

  ‘I know, Katie.’ Gently he disengaged himself. ‘And I hope it all works out the way you want.’

  Two hours later I watched him climb into the local taxi and disappear out of sight.

  I was very sad when I made my way up to the clinic that afternoon. Chris had been my prop and reassurance. I knew in my heart that I hadn’t been fair to him, but already I missed him desperately.

  In the corridor near my father’s room I was waylaid by a doctor. ‘Only ten minutes today, Miss Parrish,’ he said. ‘Your father is not feeling very strong.’ He frowned. ‘I gather he has learned more news which appears to have upset him considerably. I don’t know if you can reassure him at all?’ I had of course told him how much Chris regretted his indiscretion and about the Trust. It had cheered him and seemed to be helping him on the road to recovery. I had not mentioned a word about the murder.

  Of course he had been bound to find out. In a way I was surprised he had not heard already.

  Sure enough, as soon as I went in he groped under his pillow for a newspaper and showed it to me. ‘You knew, Kate?’

  I nodded. ‘He’s innocent of course. And he has a cast iron alibi. It will all be sorted out soon, you’ll see.’

  He seemed reassured, but I could see he was still unhappy. ‘I don’t understand it all, Kate. He seemed such a pleasant man and I had such hopes …’ he went on after a moment.

  He surveyed my face wistfully and I felt myself blush scarlet.

  ‘It’ll all work out in the end, Pa,’ was all I could say and I patted his hand.

  I didn’t stay long, but as I left he brought me up in my tracks. ‘Kate, I want you to go back to Kingley till this is all over,’ he said.

  I stared at him. ‘But I want to be with you!’

  He smiled rather wanly. ‘I’m in good hands here; I couldn’t be better off. But there is no one to take care of things at home. I’m sure Richard has an efficient manager but it’s not the same as one of the family being there.’

  In the end I had to agree with him. ‘Okay. I’ll fly straight home.’ I kissed him fondly. ‘If you promise to get completely well soon.’

  ‘I promise,’ he said.

  The estate looked quite fabulous beneath the June sun. I stood and looked about me as I climbed out of the car, sniffing the sweetness of the honeysuckle and pinks and the soft air, so different from the biting purity of the mountains.

  My father’s worries, at first sight anyway, seemed groundless. The estate was working like clockwork under the direction of Richard’s astute manager and the houses were being efficiently run. In fact Mrs Dawson had lavished so much love on Kingley Farm I wondered if she would polish away some of the furniture altogether. The woods and marshes had been completely fenced and as far as I could tell, allowed to go their own way, although the solicitor told me no further progress could be made on forming the trust without Richard’s signature. Of Richard there was no word. He had vanished into thin air.

  I had begun to relax, lying on a deckchair beneath the apple trees in the soft sunshine, feeling the warmth soaking into my skin, when Mrs Dawson brought me the news. Her normally gentle eyes were hard and excited.

  ‘They’ve got him!’ she announced. ‘It was on the eleven o’clock news. He’s been arrested in New York and taken to Boston where he’s being charged.’

  I looked up at her, thankful for my dark glasses which must have hidden some of my expression, conscious of the terrible despair welling up in me.

  ‘You sound glad, Mrs Dawson.’

  She nodded grimly. ‘He’s been nothing but trouble, that man. I’m glad he’s going to get his come-uppance,’ she said.

  I had forgotten that he had sacked her from the manor.

  I was glad that it was her evening off. The gleam in her eyes for the rest of that day had been more than I could bear as she stomped around with her dusters almost singing her triumph. My own heart was heavy. Several times I thought of picking up the phone and calling David at Bay View, but each time I stopped myself. If there were news, he would tell me soon enough, and anyway what was Richard Bradshaw to me?

  I stayed out in the garden long after Mrs Dawson had gone, wandering around the lawns in the dusk. Then at last I went in. The house seemed very empty without her or my father there and restlessly I paced from room to room, touching the old oak furniture, running my finger lightly across the back of the books, blowing the powdering of pollen which had fallen from the bowl of flowers onto a polished table.

  Slowly it began to grow dark. I turned on the small table light and tried to read, but my mind wasn’t on my book.

  When I heard the knock at the door I glanced at my watch. It was after eleven. I padded out to the hall and listened. There was no sound from outside, then the knocking came again, loud and insistent.

  ‘Who is it?’ I asked.

  There was no reply. For a moment I didn’t know what to do, but the wild hope had shot through me that it might be Richard; that the news had been wrong and that he had managed to reach home – and me.

  With shaking hands I pulled back the bolt and eased the door open. For a moment I could see no one in the darkness, then a figure lurched out of the shadows. It was a woman.

  With an exclamation of surprise I stepped back and tried to push the door shut in her face, but she was too quick for me.

  ‘I want to talk to you, honey,’ Sara said thickly.

  ‘I can’t think why.’ I looked at her in distaste. She was wearing a low-cut, tight-fitting green dress and she reeked of alcohol as she threw out her arm to steady herself against the wall.

  ‘I thought you’d like to hear the news,’ she said. ‘Get me a drink.’ She pushed past me into the living room and stood staring round. ‘So this is where the little country cousin lives. I might have known it would be all chintz and schmaltz.’ The look she threw round the quiet, much-loved room filled me with wild anger, but I managed to restrain myself.

  ‘We don’t all have the same tastes,’ I said quietly.

  ‘Except in men, it seems!’ she flashed back at me. Her red hair was dishevelled and her skin had a damp white pallor which was most unattractive.

  I took a step back. ‘I’m not sure I know what you mean,’ I said cautiously.

  She laughed. ‘Oh come, you’re not as stupid as that. You were determined to get your hooks into Richard the moment you set eyes on him. Well, I’ve come to tell you, you’re not going to get him.’

  She threw herself down on the sofa, exposing a great deal of white thigh, and dropped her little clutch bag on the cushion beside her. ‘Have you got any bourbon?’

  I shook my head, feeling myself stiffly awkward in my dislike and disapproval. ‘I can�
��t see why you’ve come, and I think you should leave now,’ I said. I moved hopefully towards the door, but she didn’t attempt to rise. She eyed me insolently from beneath her eyelashes and smiled.

  ‘You know who told them that Richard killed Jacqui?’

  ‘I know,’ I said quietly. ‘And I also know it’s a lie.’

  ‘How can you be so sure?’ Her eyes were gleaming in the lamplight. ‘Richard is a schizo.’

  ‘He’s not a murderer,’ I said as witheringly as I could. ‘And you know it.’

  ‘You know where Richard is?’ she asked.

  ‘I heard he’s been arrested.’

  She stretched her arms out along the back of the sofa and I heard the rasp of her nails in the heavy material.

  ‘He was, but they released him on bail.’ She narrowed her eyes. ‘He’s not supposed to leave town, but he’s jumped it already.’

  Again that chilling laugh.

  ‘How do you know?’ I was watching her in fascination, knowing that she was enjoying every moment of my discomfort but unable to stop myself asking.

  ‘Because I called him up.’ She moved her head to one side. ‘He didn’t want to speak to me, but I made him listen.’

  There was something incredibly sinister about her, sitting there on the sofa, exuding malice, and I could feel the goose flesh creeping across my skin as I watched her.

  ‘I suppose you’re going to tell me what you said?’ I went on unwillingly.

  She was still enjoying herself. ‘I sure am.’ Stretching out her elegant legs she crossed them. ‘Haven’t you got anything at all to drink?’ she repeated, and I suddenly realised that her hands were trembling.

  ‘There’s some Scotch in the sideboard,’ I said guardedly.

  ‘It’ll do.’

  I poured her some, and as an afterthought poured myself a small one as well. I thought I needed it.

  She drank hers at one gulp and let the empty glass fall negligently onto the cushions. ‘Richard is a fool,’ she said, almost affectionately. ‘A goddam, bastard fool.’

  Her eyes were closing.

  ‘Why don’t you go home, Sara?’ I said softly at last. I didn’t want her falling asleep on my sofa.

  ‘Home,’ she said. ‘Home? Do you know where home is? Richard thinks it’s California.’ She gave a strange, bitter giggle. ‘But it isn’t. It’s Brooklyn.’

  ‘What did you tell him on the phone, Sara?’ I asked patiently, bringing her back to the subject.

  She seemed to drag her eyes open with an effort. ‘I told him I was going to kill you.’

  For a moment I was speechless, conscious only of those brilliant, lazy green eyes watching me. ‘It was a test,’ she went on, enunciating each word carefully. ‘To see if he loved you. If he dropped everything to come to you, I’d know.’

  ‘And did he?’ I whispered.

  She smiled. ‘When I rang that old fool Marlesford, he’d left for the airport.’ She groped for the glass and lurching to her feet, moved towards the bottle. ‘Bad luck for you,’ she murmured, raising her glass in a toast.

  ‘I’d have thought it was good,’ I said with a spark of defiance. ‘If it means he loves me.’

  ‘What it means, honey, is that I really am going to have to kill you!’ She said it so softly I hardly heard the words. ‘And the beauty of it is,’ she went on, filling her glass with elaborate care, ‘that he will arrive here just in time to collect the rap.’

  ‘You’re mad,’ I stammered, panic beginning to run up and down my spine.

  ‘Very probably,’ she said sweetly. She drained the glass and set it down on the table, staggering very slightly as she walked over to the sofa. Then she picked up her purse.

  ‘Poor little Katherine,’ she went on, half scornfully. ‘His two million bucks didn’t get Richard very far did it? Did he get any change out of it at all I wonder?’ The laugh she gave was unmistakably crude.

  I was eyeing the phone, wondering desperately if I could get to it; she was too drunk to reach me, I was sure of it, and if she did I could fight her off, but I had not anticipated the horror of the next two minutes.

  Casually she pulled open the flap of her purse and reached inside.

  Seconds later I was staring, mesmerised with terror, at the barrel of a small revolver, and I heard the slight click as she eased off the safety catch.

  PART FOUR

  The gun was weaving in the air and Sara, with a laugh, brought up her other hand to steady it. My mouth was dry; I could not believe that this was happening to me.

  I knew I had to talk, to distract her somehow, but terror had clamped down on my vocal cords and I could not utter a word. The smell of Scotch was overpowering in the room.

  ‘If Richard comes, he won’t come alone, you know,’ I managed to gasp at last. ‘And if you hurt me, he’ll know it was you.’

  ‘I intend him to know it was me,’ she said with emphasis. ‘If it weren’t for the cops, I’d sign my name on your corpse.’ Suddenly her eyes filled with tears. ‘You lousy little bitch,’ she shrieked. ‘If you hadn’t come along he would still have loved me!’

  She was beyond reason. Taking two steps forward, clutching the gun in front of her she knocked against the table and let out a string of curses. Then she fired. Again and again she squeezed the trigger and, my ears ringing with shots, I waited to die. Only when four or five useless clicks showed that the gun was empty did I realise that she had missed me completely. Perhaps she had not really tried to hit me; a lifetime later we found five bullets embedded in various parts of that room.

  Once the gun was empty she hurled it towards the chimney, where it knocked a pretty Staffordshire figurine off the mantelpiece and fell amid a shower of porcelain into the empty hearth. Then she threw herself face down on the sofa and began to cry.

  I stared at her, too shaken for a moment to move. Then, dazed, I made my way towards the phone.

  I called the Manor. It was by far the closest and the estate manager had seemed a solid, dependable man. All I wanted was someone to come. Anyone. Quickly.

  A familiar voice answered the phone however and I felt a quick surge of relief.

  ‘Dave? Is that really you?’

  ‘Sure.’ He sounded sleepy. ‘Who’s that?’

  ‘It’s Kate. Dave, can you come over to the farm? Sara’s here. She tried to kill me!’ And suddenly I started to cry.

  ‘Where is she now?’ He was fully awake at once, his voice clipped and urgent.

  ‘Here. In the living room. She’s drunk.’

  I heard a low mutter at the other end of the line.

  ‘Kate? Open the front door for me, then get the hell out of there. I’m on my way!’ A second later I was listening to an empty line.

  I met Dave at the gate. He drew up in one of the estate Range Rovers and leaped out. ‘Are you okay?’

  I nodded. ‘Just a bit shaky. She missed me.’

  ‘Missed you?’ He stared. ‘Are you telling me that she had a gun?’

  ‘A revolver. In her purse.’ I gave an unsteady laugh. ‘I don’t think she knew what she was doing.’

  ‘Like hell she did. You wait out here.’

  He strode past me and disappeared into the house. Moments later he was back. ‘Okay. Come on. She’s passed out for the moment.’ His face was grim as he led me in and shut the front door. He took me into the kitchen. ‘Now, tell me what happened exactly.’

  Briefly I explained, and he gave a silent whistle. ‘Of course we knew she had told the cops Richard killed Jacqui, but this is unbelievable! You say Richard has jumped bail?’

  ‘So she said.’

  ‘Christ!’ He was gnawing the joint of his thumb. Then he reached for the wall phone.

  He dialled Bay View and then Boston airport. At the latter they confirmed Richard’s jet had filed a flight plan for London and taken off two hours before.

  Dave put his head in his hands. ‘What a mess,’ he said. He looked up and gave a wan grin. ‘Come on, Kate. Black coffee, then
I’ll take the lady home.’

  ‘What’ll you do?’ Automatically I took down the jug and reached into the fridge for the coffee beans.

  He shrugged. ‘We’ll keep her up at the Manor till Richard comes and then let him decide. I’m sure he’s plenty of ideas about what to do with our Sara.’

  I did not like the look of the grim expression which had clamped down on his features at all. ‘Aren’t you going to call the police?’

  He shook his head. ‘And have them waiting when Richard lands? No way, honey. This is a private matter.’

  ‘You think she killed Jacqui, don’t you?’ I said after a moment. The idea had been hovering at the back of my mind since the first moment I had seen her gun.

  Dave was plugging in the grinder for me and I couldn’t see his face. ‘It had occurred to me,’ he said guardedly. ‘She was over there when it happened.’

  Almost unwillingly I found myself glancing over my shoulder towards the door as the roar of the grinder echoed through the house, terrified she would awake. But seconds later when Dave switched it off, I once more heard the rhythmical snores coming from the living room where Sara lay sprawled on the floor.

  ‘She won’t wake, Kate,’ he said, catching my glance with a sympathetic grin. ‘It’ll take her hours to sleep off that lot. I’ve known lushes like her before. You’ve nothing more to fear, I promise.’

  I turned back to him. ‘It’s almost as if she hates him now,’ I said softly. ‘Did he really beat her, Dave?’

  He gave a harsh laugh. ‘If he did, which I doubt, it’s because she likes it. Oh come on, Kate! What kind of man do you think he is?’ He reached out and put his hand under my chin. ‘Richard’s okay, honey. Business, he’s ruthless in, even dangerous; but he’s no Bluebeard.’

  I wanted so much to believe him.

  He carried Sara, who was still asleep, out to the Range Rover and put her in the back, then he turned to me.

  ‘Get some sleep if you can, and I’ll call you in the morning, okay?’

  I lay a long time, tossing restlessly, listening to the ticking of my little clock in the dark, watching the sky slowly grow light behind the curtains. Then at last I must have fallen asleep for the room was brilliant with sunshine when I was awoken by the shrilling of the phone.