Lynne Francis - Alice’s Secret - A gripping story of love, loss and a historical mystery finally revealed

One evening a couple of months previously, when an urgent deadline meant that they had to work later than usual, he came in with wine, crisps and pizza ‘to keep the troops going’. Alys began to feel uneasy as the others finished their work, packed up and started to drift away. She still needed to put the finishing touches to the cover and it looked as though she would be the last to leave. She’d barely sipped her wine, wanting to keep a clear head until everything was signed off, but she noticed that Charles had kept a bottle all to himself and he was well on the way to finishing it.

‘I’m done here,’ she said at last, shutting down her computer and gathering up her belongings.

‘Wait,’ he said. ‘I just wanted to tell you how pleased I am with how hard you’ve been working to meet the deadlines. Can I buy you a drink to say thanks?’

‘Oh, there’s no need, you’ve already done that,’ said Alys, pointing at her wine glass, now half empty.

Charles wasn’t going to give up so easily. ‘Dinner, then?’ he said.

Alys started to put on her coat. ‘That’s very kind of you, but I really must get going.’ She was already heading for the exit but he was there before her, back to the door, arm stretched across the doorway.

‘You must have noticed how I feel about you?’ He breathed wine fumes into her face.

Alys’s heart lurched. ‘Well, I –’ Was yes, or no, the best answer?

‘You did know!’ he said, triumphant. ‘You were just leading me on …’ Before Alys could protest, he’d pulled her to him and was kissing her hard. Part of her brain was detached, dispassionate, aware of the sour wine on his breath, the prickle of stubble. Alarm bells were ringing in the other half – she needed to make him stop.

She tried to pull away from him, but he was too strong for her. ‘Oh, I’ve been watching you for so long,’ he murmured into her neck. His skin was radiating heat and he was tugging at her buttons, slipping his hand inside the neck of her shirt. Alys felt paralysed. Was this really happening? Could she kick him? Knee him in the groin and make a run for it? Even as she thought these things, images of how the next day would play out were crowding in. Was this going to be the end of her job? The one she took pride in and had worked hard at over the last couple of years, to become part of the close-knit team?

Summoning all her strength she pulled away from him, grabbing his arms and holding them at his sides.

‘For God’s sake Charles, you’re a married man.’ It sounded positively Victorian, but it was the best she could come up with. Could she preserve her job by maintaining his dignity?

He just laughed. ‘And that’s what makes it all the better. No strings attached on either side, eh?’

Alys took a deep breath. There was no way out of this. She was going to have to tell him exactly what she thought of him. At that moment, the door behind him flew open, and a face appeared in the doorway.

Startled, the new arrival said, ‘Sorry, sorry. I thought you’d all left. I’ll come back. Five minutes?’

Alys seized her chance, pushed past Charles and resisted the urge to hug the cleaner. The poor man looked embarrassed enough already. ‘No, it’s absolutely fine,’ she said. ‘I was just on my way out.’ Then she fled, without looking back.

She ran all the way to the Tube and felt blessed when the train arrived at the platform at the same time as she did. She slept fitfully that night, anxious about the next day, about how Charles might react to her. Would there be a trumped-up dismissal? Or another clumsy attempt at seduction?

Nothing happened. Instead of feeling relieved, Alys found herself jumpy and unable to relax. She wanted to discuss it with him and clear the air, but it was too awkward a topic to broach. How would you start? ‘By the way Charles, about last night when you tried it on?’ ‘How’s the wife, Charles? I’d love to catch up for a chat.’

Her inability to take action seemed to have sapped her vitality. Increasingly, she found herself observing, rather than taking part in, social gatherings. There’d been that after-work drink she’d dragged herself along to, a week or so after the incident, when Laura, one of her workmates had asked her, ‘What have you done to upset Charles? I’ve noticed him picking on you for no reason.’ Alys had looked at her in mute astonishment, not sure what to say, indeed, whether it was safe to say anything at all. Laura looked puzzled, then gasped. ‘Oh, you weren’t treated to one of his late-night working specials, were you? Just ignore it and pretend it never happened. I always say it should be written into the contract. Clause 2.5. Permission for Mr Rollinson to try it on at least once without employee inflicting grievous injury .’

Alys was horrified but she tried to give herself a talking-to. Laura had shrugged off Charles’s behaviour – why couldn’t she? She couldn’t get rid of the feeling, though, that Laura should have warned her to be on her guard.

Her feelings started to turn to anger as time passed, but she felt that there was no one she could take her complaint to in a small family firm. It would be her word against that of her boss. Rather than having it out with Charles it felt easier to do nothing. Instead, she brooded on the incident. She no longer looked forward to going into work each day and she was hardly aware of how insular she’d become. She found herself going through the motions of life, following her normal routines, but simply not engaging with them anymore. And soon it became easier to dodge invitations and shut herself away.

The Sunday when Alys, setting out to buy milk, realised that she hadn’t left the house or spoken to anyone all weekend, had provided a rare moment of clarity. It had pierced the fug of inertia that had descended upon her. She had decided there and then that the best thing to do was to leave work after all. She was bored in her job, she told herself – blocking out the fact that once upon a time she’d looked forward to each day in the office. She needed a change of scene. As the plan took shape in her mind, the original reasons were gradually buried, and before long she had convinced herself that boredom and restlessness were her only motivations.

Alys dragged herself out of her reverie, aware that the train had just pulled into a station. She forced herself to focus, looking for the name on the platform. It was Doncaster – they were well on the way. She people-watched from the window as the train waited there for a few minutes. A portly, balding gentleman in a suit drank from his polystyrene coffee cup, gazing intently down the tracks. He turned, and Alys caught a glimpse of an unexpected thin, greying ponytail. As the train pulled out, she saw local buses, the top decks filled with people, heading home after shopping. Who knew where to, or what awaited them there? At the next stop, Wakefield, a man stood in shorts and sunglasses, apparently oblivious to the rain and the fact that all those around him sported coats and umbrellas. Alys was intrigued by these little glimpses into other people’s worlds. Who were these people, and what were their lives like? It was a reminder that there were other lives apart from her own, equally filled with problems, challenges, achievements, boredom, and happiness.

She changed trains at Leeds, struggling to pull her case out of the rack. She found herself caught up in the confusion of what seemed to be rush hour, even though it was only four o’clock. The train for Northwaite was already standing at the platform, just a couple of carriages this time, heat belting out as though it was a winter’s day rather than early April. She took a seat near the door, calculating how many stations there were until her stop. Passengers got on, looked uncertain, asked Alys if they were on the right train. She hadn’t a clue, but smiled politely and tried to help.