Martin Edwards - I Remember You

Rosemary was simply dressed, in white tee-shirt and scruffy jeans, and she had tied her hair back with an orange ribbon. Without the elegant clothes she’d worn when calling at the office, somehow she did not seem so unattainable.

‘Harry.’

Her tone, like her face, was questioning and lacked any trace of welcome. It was almost as if she found his unannounced arrival alarming.

‘Hello, Rosemary,’ he said, disconcerted. ‘There’s something I need to check with you.’

She glanced at her watch. When she spoke again, her sharpness startled him.

‘Couldn’t you have phoned?’

‘You told me you were ex-directory.’

She looked at him steadily. He could tell her mind was working rapidly, but to what purpose, he could not guess.

‘Of course. I’m sorry. It’s just — you’ve caught me at a bad time, that’s all. Won’t you come in?’

He followed her past a glass cabinet full of porcelain. He knew no more about objects d’art than he did about the law of corporate acquisitions, but he suspected that the insurance premium on the Graham-Browns’ household contents would be enough to finance the purchase of the whole of Fenwick Court, with something to spare. She led him into a living room larger than the average courtroom. Through a wall of picture windows he could see a paved area equipped with lighting and a barbecue. Herbaceous borders edged a lawn which was separated by a narrow stream from the rougher grassland stretching towards the horse chestnuts Mr and Mrs Ambrose were so anxious to own.

‘Take a seat,’ she said, motioning him towards a chesterfield covered with skilfully patchworked cushions. The clocks, paintings and bits of china dotted here and there were straight out of a Sotheby’s catalogue; enough to delight the choosiest of his burglar-clients.

‘I hope you’ve not come to break the news that there’s a hold-up on the sale,’ she said.

Lacking the make-up she’d worn on their previous encounters, her face was pale. He sensed that not far beneath the surface bubbled anxiety verging on desperation. Again he wondered why the Graham-Browns were so keen to get away from one of the smartest homes in north Merseyside.

‘A minor snag, that’s all. I’m confident we can sort it out.’

Her whole body relaxed visibly and her expression brightened. Ridiculously pleased that he could produce even this slight change in her emotions, Harry felt his heart beat a little faster. He launched into his explanation and was halfway through describing the problem raised by the Ambroses when, in another room, the child howled once more.

‘Oh God, don’t tell me the baby’s getting bored with the playpen,’ Rosemary muttered. She raised her voice and called out, ‘Coming!’

‘Boy or girl?’ he asked as she got up to do her duty.

‘Girl. And a little madam she certainly is.’

‘Called?’

‘Rainbow — if you can believe that.’

He groped for a diplomatic reply and finally managed, ‘Unusual.’

‘You could say that. Personally, I think she’ll suffer for it at school. But it wasn’t my idea.’

‘Stuart’s?’

‘Er … yes.’

The unseen Rainbow began to sob and Rosemary said quickly, ‘Excuse me a minute while I go and see what her ladyship wants.’

Whilst she was gone he absorbed his surroundings. Some of the antiques — the ebony-framed sampler dated 1762 and an extravagantly-carved grandfather clock — might be heirlooms. If so, he had no doubt that they came from Stuart’s side of the family. Nothing he had seen had made him revise his initial opinion that her roots were in the shabby Liverpool streets. Every now and then, she gave herself away: as with the barely concealed disdain for the ludicrous name her husband had foisted upon her daughter.

He could not help but be intrigued by the hint of discord between husband and wife. Was Stuart a much older man on the brink of retirement and Rosemary an increasingly discontented mother and housewife? Did she see in their departure for Spain an opportunity for romance and adventure?

‘I love children,’ she said, returning so quietly as to startle him with the sound of her voice, ‘but coping with them all day every day is a test of anyone’s devotion. Now, you were saying?’

Harry finished describing the query about the deeds and suggested that she let him see for himself the area of land between the Graham-Browns’ property and the open ground which belonged to a farm on the other side of the slope.

‘Good idea. Let’s sort it out right away, if we can.’

Outside, they took a path which led to a couple of stepping stones in the stream, then strolled up to the dilapidated picket fence which formed the boundary of the grassland. While Rosemary watched, Harry followed the fence’s winding progress until he arrived at its end thirty yards away from the horse chestnuts. Feeling like a Red Indian scout from the pages of Fenimore Cooper, he knelt in the undergrowth and searched around for several minutes.

‘Problem solved,’ he said to Rosemary as they walked back to the house. ‘The pickets haven’t vanished, they’re buried in that tangle of nettles. But you can make out the original course of the fence and it certainly runs around the outside of the trees. Do you remember when it began to collapse? I see from the land certificate you’ve been here a number of years.’

‘Eight, I think,’ said Rosemary. She smiled at him. ‘I was a child bride, you understand. So can we get the Ambroses’ knickers out of their twist?’

‘Leave it to me.’

‘Marvellous. The least I can do in the circumstances is offer you tea. I’m sure you’re very busy, but can you spare the time?’

He paused as they reached the back door. ‘I can’t think of a better way to spend an afternoon.’

Her hand brushed against his. ‘You know, you’re not my idea of a solicitor. Thank God. I’m lucky to have you.’ And she kissed him quickly on the cheek before disappearing in the direction of the kitchen.

As he listened to the kettle come to the boil, he felt lust warring with common sense. It occurred to him that this encounter had echoes of scenes in movies he loved: the glamorous lady of the house charming an eager admirer in the absence of her husband. He thought of Barbara Stanwyck tempting Fred McMurray in Double Indemnity . Was it possible, he asked himself, that when she came back into the room Rosemary would be in seductive mood? Did she see in him a means of escape from a tiresome husband, elderly but rich?

Might she even have murder on her mind?

He became aware that his mouth was dry, his body tense with expectation. Of course, it was ridiculous to let his imaginings take hold — but he could not help himself. She was not a woman he could easily resist.

‘Thinking about the law?’ she asked, making another soft-soled return to the living room.

‘About breaking it,’ he said.

She laid the tray of tea things down on a small mahogany table and, tilting her head to one side, considered him with care, as if in an attempt to make up her mind. Harry waited for her response.

‘I don’t see you as a law-breaker,’ she said.

And the note of regret in her voice told him more plainly than any words that he was not going to be seduced today.

Half an hour later Harry was on his way back to the office. Waiting at traffic lights in Waterloo, he cast his mind back to the small talk he and Rosemary had exchanged while sipping their tea. No conversation between solicitor and client could have been more innocuous. She had neither made love to him nor sought to incite him to murder.

And all too soon she would be sunning herself in her husband’s company at Puerto Banus. Accelerating as the lights turned to green, he instructed himself to blot Rosemary’s face from his mind and treat her as no more than a name on a buff legal file.