Peter Lovesey - Upon A Dark Night

‘Planning anything?’

‘Sightseeing.’

She sounded relieved. ‘Oh, I see what you mean. No plans. Jerry’s not feeling too good. Last night’s wine, I wouldn’t be surprised.’

‘Where did you go?’

‘Some little Italian place in the centre of town. I didn’t even look at the name. We made the mistake of ordering a bottle of the house wine. Jerry had most of it. The taste put me off.’

‘Is it a headache, or what?’

‘Tummy. He doesn’t dare go out. I don’t think you’ll be seeing him today, poor old thing.’

‘I’m sorry.’

‘Well, I’m assuming it was the wine. We don’t want our holiday ruined.’

‘How many days are left?’ Rose asked.

Doreen frowned. ‘What do you mean?’

‘Of the holiday. When do we all go home?’

‘Oh. Tuesday or Wednesday.’

Rose wondered if she could hold out so long. ‘Wouldn’t it be simpler all round if I took a train home this afternoon? You wouldn’t have to pay for the flat and you two could enjoy your holiday without bothering about me.’

‘I thought we’d been through that,’ Doreen said in her brisk, assertive way. ‘We couldn’t possibly enjoy ourselves in the knowledge that you’ve gone off again. You’re in no state to cope on your own. Besides, you don’t know where you live.’

‘Hounslow, you said.’

She gave a smile that said she could trump anything. ‘Yes, but I didn’t tell you the address, did I? And I won’t, just in case you get ideas of wandering off.’

‘Don’t bother,’ Rose said with a glare. ‘I haven’t got enough for a train ticket.’

They toiled right up to Lansdown Crescent by way of Somerset Place. The panorama of the city, the limestone walls gleaming in the thin autumnal sunshine, was worth the climb. Against all her inclinations, Rose had to concede that you could do worse than pass a few days here.

Doreen took a wallet from her handbag and handed across two ten-pound notes. ‘Take it. Really. You may want to do some shopping. Tomorrow we’ll go into town together and get some more food in. Make a note of anything you need. Would it suit you better if I came in the afternoon?’

She came alone again. Jerry, she said, sent his apologies. He was still quite poorly. Rose found herself unkindly wondering if Jerry’s upset stomach might bring a premature end to the holiday.

The possibility didn’t seem to have crossed Doreen’s mind, because she insisted on buying Rose a set of towels and three days’ supply of groceries. They had tea and pastries in Jolly’s department store.

‘How did you spend yesterday evening?’

‘Reading.’

‘One of those books in the flat?’

‘An old Georgette Heyer. I don’t want anything more demanding.’

‘You’re still blocked – your memory, I mean?’

‘Unfortunately.’

They were so laden with shopping that Doreen suggested a taxi. She was less bossy today, and Rose quite enjoyed her company. They emerged into Milsom Street to discover that this was the Bath version of a rush hour and all the cabs coming down from George Street were occupied. They stood uncertainly, watching the steady one-way flow of traffic.

‘Perhaps we should start walking.’

‘There are buses. We’d better find out if any of them go up to the Square,’ said Doreen.

Unexpectedly, a driver flashed his headlights.

‘Look, someone’s seen us,’ Rose said elatedly. She lifted a bag in salute and started towards the car. He had braked and was holding up the traffic.

Behind her, blocked by other people, Doreen shouted her name. Urgently. It came out almost as a scream. At the same time, Rose got a clear sight of the driver, and she knew him.

He was the man who had tried to grab her outside Harmer House. She recognised his wide, fixed, unfriendly grin, and it petrified her. He was flapping his hand, beckoning to her.

She felt her coat grabbed from behind and for a moment she thought she was about to be forced into that car again, but it was Doreen tugging her away, shouting, ‘What’s wrong with you? Come on!’

The man swung open his door and stepped out.

Rose dropped her shopping, shattering something in the bag and spreading a stream of liquid across the pavement. She turned and let Doreen force her through the door of the nearest shop, which was Jolly’s. They dashed through the cosmetics section, rattling the merchandise. Rose glanced fearfully behind her and a display of perfumes on a glass-topped table narrowly escaped destruction. She veered left, past bemused shoppers, and was confronted by the theatrical-looking double staircase that dominates the centre of the store.

Behind her, Doreen said, ‘Not the stairs.’

They cut to the right, around the staircase and into the menswear department, all jackets on hangers, up a few steps and into an area enclosed on three sides which turned out to be the suit-room. Down more steps to the level they’d just left, past a jigging blur of socks and shorts, and back to where they had just come from. A silver-haired shop assistant snatched up a phone and spoke into it, his alarmed eyes on them.

Rose was losing all confidence. The place was a maze. She fully expected to come out at Milsom Street again. The only untried way ahead was to the left and up a different staircase, with the risk of getting trapped on a floor that led nowhere.

Doreen spoke the obvious. ‘We’ve got no choice.’

The stairs had two right-angled turns and brought them up to the household section, which looked depressingly like another dead end until they turned left and saw a way through.

‘The restaurant’s up here somewhere,’ Doreen confidently claimed. ‘There are some back stairs if we can only find them.’

Finding the restaurant was not so simple, and that was not the only problem. They started along one aisle, only to be confronted by a uniformed security man hunched like a wrestler. But their immediate about-turn brought them face to face with the exit sign and the stairs Doreen had spotted earlier.

Through the door they dashed, and down what felt like far too many stairs, but with promising glimpses through the windows of a narrow road that was definitely not Milsom Street. Expecting to find a way out at the bottom, they found themselves instead among displays of women’s raincoats and hats.

But Doreen pointed to a door at the end.

They emerged in the street at the back of the store. It was narrow and quiet, with antique shops of the sort you never see anybody go into.

‘This way. Don’t slow up now.’

‘It was him,’ Rose said. ‘That thug who tried to grab me the other day. I nearly got in his car before I saw who it was.’

‘You prat. After all the warnings I gave you.’

‘I thought it was some bloke being helpful.’

‘Didn’t I warn you to be on your guard? Didn’t I?’

‘I’m bloody scared, Doreen.’

’ You ‘re scared? How do you think I feel?’

They had stopped running. They were both short of breath, but nobody was in sight behind them.

‘Did he follow us into the store?’ Rose asked.

‘If he did, we shook him off.’

The road came out at the corner of a vast square with a grotesque obelisk at the centre partially hidden by some mighty plane trees. The two women looked nervously at the traffic moving clockwise around the margin.

‘Over there,’ said Doreen.

Rose’s heart thumped again. ‘What?’

‘Taxis. Outside the hotel.’

One taxi moved away from the entrance to the Francis just as another with a passenger drew up. Doreen made a reckless beeline across the road, shouting, ‘Taxi!’

Rose was on the point of following. She looked at the flow of cars, trying to spot a gap. One flashed its lights and she nearly had heart failure, but the driver was a woman, and she was signaling that it would be safe to cross.