Martin Edwards - The Arsenic Labyrinth

‘You’re bound to find out, aren’t you?’ Karen asked. ‘Sooner or later?’

Hannah nodded, suppressing the urge to shout: Find out what? Get on with it!

‘Years ago,’ Karen said slowly, ‘Tony Di Venuto and I were … close.’

Hannah wished she had a camera. A snap of Jeremy’s slack-jawed features would have won a prize. Talk about gobsmacked. Obviously he’d had no idea. He made a small, indeterminate mewling noise. It was kinder to pretend not to have heard.

‘I’m sorry, darling,’ Karen said. ‘I should have mentioned it before.’

Maggie looked as though she were about to choke. Hannah could read her mind. Is this woman for real? How can you not mention something like that?

‘I was determined to scrub him out of my life, like a nasty stain on a favourite blouse. And I thought I’d succeeded. I had the shock of my life when he turned up here again.’

‘What happened, Mrs Erskine?’

Karen took a breath. ‘I met him in a nightclub when we were both twenty-one. He had those Italian good looks and I always adored the Scottish accent. He’d grown up in Glasgow, but come south of the border to train as a journalist. He had the gift of the gab. To listen to him, you’d have thought he was sure to finish up as a special correspondent on the nine o’clock news. You could say I was swept off my feet. Nothing was too good for me. He spent a fortune on presents, treated me like a queen. Of course, I was flattered. This drop-dead gorgeous man, who couldn’t get enough of me.’

Jeremy’s gaze was locked upon her. For the first time, Hannah found it in her heart to feel sorry for the man. He’d actually believed he was the only man Karen had ever loved.

‘But?’

‘But it wasn’t a healthy relationship. He didn’t understand I needed to be my own person. I never met any man so selfish. He expected unquestioning devotion. Obedience. Worship, even. Whenever he didn’t get his own way, he had a wicked temper.’

‘Is that right?’

‘One night we had an argument. He smacked my face, left a horrid mark. I couldn’t go out of the house for forty-eight hours, I was so ashamed. Afterwards, he was mortified, swore it was a one-off. A fortnight later, it happened again. That was it. I told him we were finished. He wept and begged me to change my mind. But I stood firm.’ She swallowed. Her eyes were fixed on the ceiling as the memories flooded back. ‘For a while he stalked me. You know the sort of thing. Silent phone calls, parking his car outside my flat for hours on end. Keeping watch on me. It was a nightmare. And then — hey presto! — he disappeared from my life.’

Jeremy reached for her. An instinctive gesture of shocked compassion. ‘I had no idea.’

She didn’t take his hand. ‘When you and I met, I was determined not to let the past spoil things. By the time we were married and Sophie was born, I’d almost forgotten Tony. But then he came back.’

‘When was this?’ Hannah asked.

‘A week or two before Emma disappeared. One night when Jeremy was out at a parents’ evening, I heard a knock on the door. When I saw Tony, I almost fainted. He wanted to come in, but I refused. It turned out the reason he’d vanished from my life was that he’d found some other woman. But they’d split up. He said he couldn’t get me out of his head, but the soft soap didn’t work any more. I slammed the door in his face.’

‘And how did he take that?’

‘He stayed in his car outside the house until Jeremy came home. I was shivery, my teeth were chattering, I was so wound up. I pretended I was going down with flu. The next day Tony rang while I was alone with the baby. He said I’d never escape from him. There was a bond between us, we would always be bound together. He sounded creepy. I was terrified.’

Jeremy muttered, ‘I remember, you weren’t yourself. You were coping with a small child, and you were pregnant. And I put it down to hormones …’

‘I told Tony I was expecting another baby. Hoping it would put him off. I don’t think he was ever into fatherhood. After that, I didn’t hear from him again. A few days later, Emma went missing and there was all that kerfuffle. Being questioned by the police. Stuff in the newspapers. I’ve never spoken to him since.’

‘So telling him you were pregnant worked?’ Maggie asked.

‘Perhaps.’

Hannah studied Karen’s chilly expression. ‘Or do you think there was some other reason why he went quiet?’

Karen exhaled. ‘This seems a stupid thing to say.’

Jeremy said, ‘What is it, darling?’

She turned to him. ‘You know, there were days when I wondered whether Tony had something to do with Emma’s disappearance. Whether he’d harmed her to get back at me.’

Despite the cold of the afternoon, Guy felt clammy in his fleece. As he turned out of Campbell Road, his walk had lost its swagger. His stomach was churning and he’d needed to empty his bladder twice in the last twenty minutes. He hadn’t felt so nervous since that unfortunate incident with the customs officer at Heathrow, how many years back? He wasn’t afraid of breaking a promise — he had plenty of experience of that. But this was different. He was going to make a call that would change his life.

He’d rehearsed his lines, knowing the importance of striking the right note. How mortifying to be considered greedy, let alone threatening. He wanted the conversation to be pleasant and painless; this was a request for help, nothing more.

Well, not much more. He’d sworn never to return to the Lakes, but that was the sort of promise you couldn’t keep forever. This was his native heath, he’d done remarkably well to stay away for ten years. Was it Fate that had lured him back? He didn’t really believe there was a God, but sometimes it was hard not to believe there was some mysterious design to life. If he’d booked into a plusher hotel, he might not have seen Di Venuto’s article and none of this would have happened. But he was pleased that it had. Emma would have a decent burial now and her sister could get on with the rest of her life. He’d brought happiness to Sarah and he’d saved her from her gambling habit. Now he deserved something for himself.

The bottom line was that he needed money and he needed it fast. He couldn’t live on fresh air. He didn’t mean to make a habit of issuing demands, he wasn’t unreasonable, far less a parasite. With more luck in the past, he would be swanning around on the Continent now, not scuttling around the chilly streets of Coniston.

A white van’s horn sounded angrily as he skipped across Yewdale Road from behind a lorry. He sucked in air, told himself to watch out. How ironic if he was crushed to a pulp when on the brink of getting hold of the cash that would transform his life for the better.

This time he wouldn’t squander the money. He’d learn from mistakes of the past. He’d fixed on the sum he would ask for. Realistic, yet sufficiently meaningful to change his life. You didn’t need much to make a success of your life. Micawber was spot on.

The phone box was empty. He took out of his pocket the scrap of paper on which he’d written the number, then counted to ten before he dialled. If the wrong person answered, he’d hang up and try again later.

‘Hello?’

It was the right person. A voice he’d never forget. Soon his troubles would be over. He wanted to roar with delight.

Instead he said pleasantly, ‘This is Guy. Remember me?’

At half six the next morning, Hannah padded barefoot into the kitchen, to be greeted by the sight of a dozen roses, the colour of blood. Beside the vase stood an enormous card emblazoned with a pink heart and a box wrapped in gold paper. A dozen balloons, purple, orange, green, were tied to the cupboard doors with sparkly string.