Хилари Боннер - A Deep Deceit

That evening was my first experience of the therapy of a good relaxed friendship mingled with plenty of alcohol. It was just what I had needed and Mariette, bless her, had instinctively realised it.

Typically, she offered to drive me to Penzance in the morning, but did not press the point when I declined. I told her she had a job to go to, one she enjoyed, that she’d already done enough for me and I could get the train. She did not argue, but instead conjured up yet another of her seemingly endless stories of adventure in love – or in her case perhaps lust was more accurate. This one centred around one of the fitness instructors at the gym she had recently started attending, his cycling shorts and whether or not he stuffed a sock down his lunchbox which, amazingly enough, she had yet to know for certain but felt sure she would be able to reveal from first-hand experience shortly.

Mindless chit-chat may not seem much of a solace to a woman whose life has just fallen apart, but sometimes it’s not a bad diversion. By the time we had reached the cheese and fruit stage Mariette actually had me laughing. Quite an achievement in the circumstances.

Mariette, bless her, played nursemaid and insisted on ensuring I was safely tucked up in bed before she left. Almost immediately, and perhaps unsurprisingly after all I had drunk, I sank mercifully into oblivion again.

But I woke not long after four, the wine having done its best before losing its power over me, and tossed and turned for another hour and a half before giving in to wakefulness, getting up and making tea. My head was a bit fuzzy but I did not feel nearly as bad as I probably deserved to. In fact, I was definitely considerably stronger than I had been the previous day.

Just as I was leaving the house to catch the 7.30 train, having located the spare key in its usual place tucked under the edge of the carpet, Will arrived. I opened the front door and he was standing on the doorstep with one hand raised as if about to knock. It was a clumsy meeting. We almost bumped into each other.

He spoke first. ‘I went to the hospital last night, I didn’t know you’d left...’

‘I’m sorry,’ I said, not really meaning it. I wasn’t much concerned with anyone except me and Carl right then. ‘I should have let you know...’

‘No. No. Of course not. It’s just that I’ve got something for you, the rest of what I owe you...’

He produced one of those familiar brown envelopes. As ever, the practicalities of life were eluding me. I had not given money matters a thought, beyond being able to get myself to Exeter to see Carl. The sight of the brown envelope concentrated my mind. I realised suddenly how welcome it was. Presumably soon there would be rent to pay and other bills.

I took the envelope from him and studied it almost curiously.

‘There’s just over £500, I’ve had a really good run,’ he said. ‘Sold two of his big abstracts and another couple of the little watercolours as well.’

He sounded almost eager.

‘Thank you,’ I said, stuffing the envelope in my pocket. There was not time to tuck away the cash in its usual hiding place. And in any case it was a matter of habit not to allow visitors, rare as they had always been, to become aware of our secret cellar.

I was still hovering in the doorway and Will remained on the doorstep directly in front of me. He made no attempt to move. I stepped forward, pulling the door shut behind me and only then, with great reluctance it seemed, did he shift back out of the way.

As I was locking the door he began to talk again. ‘I just wondered if I could do anything to help. There must be something...’

Yes, there was. I wanted him out of the way, so that I could get to Carl. ‘No, Will, there isn’t,’ I said. ‘Now please, you’re just going to have to excuse me.’ I spoke a little more curtly than I had meant to, but I was in a hurry.

Will looked quite crestfallen. ‘Oh, yes, of course,’ he muttered in a bleak sort of way.

I had neither time nor inclination to worry about his sensibilities.

He still did not move and I simply sidled my way round him.

‘Goodbye, then,’ he said.

I think I called a goodbye or something similar to him over my shoulder but, to be honest, I can’t really remember.

I was intent upon my journey, hurrying, even though I didn’t need to, as I rounded the corner at the end of our alleyway and began to make my way down the hill towards Porthminster and the railway station, leaving Will still hovering outside Rose Cottage.

Luckily the train was punctual and I arrived in the centre of Penzance half an hour or so later with plenty of time to have a cup of coffee on my way to the police station.

DC Carter was older than I had expected. He had a pleasant enough manner but somehow gave me the impression that he was not terribly well prepared about Carl’s case.

He was small for a policeman, with hair so dark that I wondered if it were dyed. He had a crumpled look about him and bore a more than fleeting resemblance to the American TV detective Columbo. However, the resemblance stopped sharply at physical appearance. Ray Carter showed no sign whatsoever of Columbo’s intelligence.

He kept me waiting for several minutes, sitting on a plastic chair in the reception area of the modern purpose-built police station which was nothing special but something of a palace compared with St Ives, before taking me to his first-floor office.

There he shuffled papers on his desk and did his best to tell me as little as possible.

‘As you know, your husband has been charged with abducting you and he will be committed for trial here at Penzance,’ he recited unhelpfully. ‘We haven’t got a date fixed yet, but in any case the committal will be just a formality. You won’t need to be there.’

I hadn’t thought that far ahead. A trial – me giving evidence against Carl. It didn’t seem possible. In spite of everything I still wasn’t sure that was what I wanted, or even that I could cope with it. I suppose I was still hoping that when I saw Carl he would put things right, just as he had always done, that he would in some way be able to tell me it was all one big mistake.

‘I’m not sure that I want to go ahead with it. Maybe I should withdraw the charge. Can I do that?’ I was still feeling far from my best. I stumbled over my words in confusion.

‘No, you can’t, Mrs Peters,’ he said. Everybody still called me that, even though it had turned out to be a much greater lie than I had ever suspected.

‘Your husband is accused of a criminal offence. The crown is prosecuting him, not you.’

Carter’s voice was weary. He was certainly a very different prospect from either Rob Partridge or DS Perry. I didn’t think I was going to get very far with him, but I tried. ‘What about the American charge?’ I asked. ‘I need you to tell me about what Carl did over there, about his daughter and him being wanted for manslaughter.’

Carter sighed and rubbed the back of one hand across his forehead. ‘You know about that, do you? And I bet I know who gave you all the inside info, too.’

‘The whole of St Ives knows about it as far as I can gather,’ I countered, finding just a little bit of spirit.

Carter managed a tight-lipped smile. ‘I expect they do, too. Look, I doubt very much that I can tell you any more than you know already. He’s a wanted man in America all right and that means the American government can apply for a warrant for extradition. That’s really as much as I can say until we know exactly what is going to happen.’

He didn’t actually use the phrase ‘it’s more than my job’s worth’ but you knew that was what he meant. Ray Carter was the kind of policeman who went strictly by the book.