Lynne Fox - The Armageddon Game

I dropped my handbag and carrier onto the bed and flopped down beside them, gently extricating Liliad from her confinement. Carefully untangling her strings I sat her on the bed beside me and smoothed my hand over her ruffled hair. ‘Well, Liliad so far so good. I think this will do well until we can get a place of our own.’

As I turned Liliad’s head toward me the sunshine caught her eyes, intensifying the blackness of her pupils that seemed to spread like ink on paper until they appeared unnaturally large; drawing me in to their comforting warm depths, giving me the reassurance I needed that I was following the right path.

I bounced up and down on the bed a little, pleased at the springiness of the mattress which bode well for a good night’s sleep. The bed was positioned close to the window with a bedside cabinet on the window side creating just enough space to walk around it. To my right as I sat on the bed was another door standing open which revealed an en suite shower room and to my left was a free standing wardrobe and chest of drawers on which stood a television and coffee/tea making facilities. One easy chair was positioned at the foot of the bed and a sheepskin rug lay by the bed in addition to the carpet. All looked and smelt delightfully clean.

I opened the carrier bag and extracted four hundred pounds which I put into my handbag. Placing Liliad on my lap I tilted her head so that I held her gaze. ‘I’m going to have to put you in the wardrobe while I’m out; I can’t risk you being discovered because if there’s anything in the media about my disappearance they’re likely to mention you too and we can’t risk any connection but I’ll see about getting us somewhere of our own as soon as I can and then it’ll be like old times, when we were in our flat in Endover. You do understand, don’t you?’

Liliad’s head dropped forward slightly in acknowledgement; I could tell she was unhappy but accepted the need for such caution. ‘OK, I’m going to put you in the wardrobe now and pop out to buy myself some more clothes and open a safe deposit box again so I can keep the money somewhere safe. I promise I’ll be as quick as I can.’ I hugged her close, hating having to shut her away again especially after all she’d been through at St Joseph’s but there was no choice. As I quietly shut the wardrobe door I whispered, ‘I’ll make it right; I promise.’

CHAPTER 6

Bournemouth shopping centre, even on this cold uncharitable day, seemed to thrum with people, so many more than the relative quiet of Endover. I pulled my jacket closer about me as I silently determined that my first purchase would be a warm coat, scarf and gloves. I also needed to buy a suitcase to put it all in so that I could arrive back at the B & B looking as though I’d just retrieved it from the railway station property office.

Once I’d deposited my cash into a safe deposit box facility at the bank I headed for the shops, spending all of the four hundred pounds I’d set aside. It was annoying having to spend so much when I had perfectly good clothes in storage back in Endover, there being no need for a fashion wardrobe in St Joseph’s, but I considered it a fair price for my freedom.

Making the suitcase my final item I piled all my carrier bags into it and, suddenly realising how hungry I was, found a charming little Italian restaurant.

I chose a table deep inside so I could sit with my back against the wall and peruse the whole area, my suitcase tucked out of the way by my side. I ordered a lasagne and salad with a large glass of Chablis to wash it down. As I sipped my wine and waited for my meal to be served I contemplated the other diners. There was quite a mix; a family of four tucking into their meals with enthusiasm despite all being grossly overweight, obviously not something that concerned them. There were three tables that looked like the proverbial ‘ladies that lunch’ set and a couple of men in suits dining out on expenses. There may have been a few holidaymakers but it was hard to tell when everyone was so wrapped up against the cold. Over by the window were a couple of tables occupied by some of Bournemouth’s many retirees. All in all, quite an eclectic mix and one in which I should be able to disappear with ease.

My meal arrived and I ordered another large glass of wine reasoning that this was something of a celebration albeit a solitary one. Concentrating on eating I didn’t notice the new arrival until, almost finished, I paused to glance around the restaurant once more. The shock I felt at sight of the person just taking his seat at a table four rows down from me was so intense I thought for a dreadful moment that I might faint. I screwed my eyes tight shut, opened them again, praying that I was mistaken; that he was simply a lookalike. It was no good; I’d never forget that handsome face. The five or six years since I’d last seen him had done him no disservice; if anything he had improved with maturity. Still tall and powerfully built his strong jawline was now defined by a close cut beard that emphasised chiselled features. The subdued lighting in the restaurant made it impossible for me to see his eyes but if they’d retained their thick lashes and dark depths I could imagine the whole package was mesmerising. ‘My God, Barry Mason’.

I shuffled further back in my seat, trusting to the ambient lighting to shield me, and let my mind drift back over the years. Barry had been one of my students during my time at Endover College. He was nineteen then, with an assured cockiness and belief in his sexual magnetism – not exactly misplaced in my opinion. I’d played him like a puppet; manipulating him into a relationship with Inspector Munroe’s daughter, Lily. It hadn’t lasted; I’d managed to generate too much bad feeling on all sides for that but it had served its purpose in that it had got under Munroe’s skin like poison ivy. Weaving a web that had trapped Barry and Lily it enabled me to punish Munroe for his part in my brother’s death. It was a game I’d enjoyed and I knew its sticky threads still clung to Munroe, Lily’s death ensured that.

None of my musing however solved my current dilemma – what the hell was Barry Mason doing in Bournemouth? The last I’d heard was that he’d returned to his roots in Sheffield to work at an animal sanctuary. The problem was I didn’t know how much, if anything, Barry knew of my involvement in his past problems and Lily’s death. Despite the unlikelihood of his having maintained any connection with the Munroe family I couldn’t risk him discovering me.

As silently as I could I rose and made my way to the ladies cloakroom. Once there I donned my outdoor clothes and replaced my hat being careful to position it low so that the brim covered part of my face. As I left the ladies I look around for another exit but having no choice other than to walk through the restaurant to get out I hastened to take a route as far away from Barry’s table as possible.

I was just approaching the row at which he was sitting when my wheeled suitcase caught on an empty chair sending it crashing to the ground in a crescendo of metallic clatter. It seemed that everyone in the restaurant gasped in surprise and before I could make my escape Barry had risen from his seat and was picking up and replacing the offending chair. I gave a muffled ‘Thank you’ and keeping my face averted scurried out the door almost managing, in my haste, to hook the suitcase around that as well. With Barry’s eyes following my steps I dodged the traffic and hurried toward the seafront and the sanctuary of my B & B.

‘I see you’ve collected your luggage.’ The landlady sat behind her desk, a newspaper spread out in front of her. ‘I hope it isn’t too heavy, it’s a decent walk from the station.’