‘Maybe she thought that one of them had killed her when she went missing and there was that police search.’
‘I don’t think so,’ Kate said slowly. ‘It wasn’t quite right for that. More brutal.’
‘Can you remember her exact words?’
She thought for a moment.
‘Yes. She said the Chadwick men had killed Zoe from a very young age. It was only a matter of time before her lifeless corpse turned up.’
24
Phantom of the Opera was all I remembered it to be — all I hoped it could be.
From the cymbal-clapping monkey automaton at the beginning to the dramatic denouement in the Phantom’s subterranean labyrinth at the end, Kate and I were spellbound, and when Raoul and Christine together sang ‘All I Ask of You’, I felt as if they were singing it just for us:
Get a grip, I told myself. Everyone knows you’re in deep trouble when you start believing the lyrics of love songs!
We went to dinner afterwards at The Ivy in Covent Garden, sitting at a corner table, still humming the show tunes and basking in the warmth of having just seen a great performance.
‘That was fabulous,’ Kate said. ‘So much better than I remembered. Difficult to believe it’s been on at that same theatre since I was only three.’
‘It’s timeless,’ I agreed.
Kate ordered the steamed sea bass, while I opted for the tiger prawn curry.
‘Did you know,’ Kate said, ‘you can tell a lot about someone by what they choose from a menu.’
‘What nonsense,’ I said.
‘It’s true, I tell you. I read it in a health magazine. It was proper research, done by a doctor.’
‘And you reckon that makes it true?’ I said with irony.
She ignored me. ‘As we all know, you are what you eat, right? Well, surely then what you are must also determine what you eat.’
‘So what am I?’ I asked.
‘You obviously like spicy food. You’ve gone for the prawn curry here and you had a take-away Indian last Sunday.’
‘At least that bit’s true. I love a hot curry.’
‘Well, according to the research, people who prefer spicy foods are known to be risk-takers and thrill-seekers.’
I’ll take that, I thought.
‘How about you, then?’ I asked. ‘What does choosing sea bass mean?’
‘It means I’m bloody hungry and I adore sea bass.’
We both laughed, but she wasn’t finished.
‘Your personality also affects the way you eat. Slow and methodical eating means you’re stubborn, while fast and furious indicates you don’t have any balance when it comes to life’s priorities.’
‘What a load of baloney,’ I said.
But when our food did arrive, I was very careful not to eat it either too slowly or too quickly and, when we later took a minicab back to my flat in Neasden, I was definitely seeking a thrill.
We took the train back to Cambridge on Sunday evening.
‘You can come and stay with me, if you like?’ Kate said hesitantly as the Hertfordshire fields sped past the windows.
‘I would like,’ I said. ‘Very much. But I’m working. My boss wouldn’t think I was concentrating on the job if I was staying at your place, and he’d be right. I need to be on the scene in Newmarket, so I will go back to the hotel, but perhaps you could come and join me there for a night or two.’
‘Every night, if you’ll have me,’ she said, taking my hand in hers. ‘I’m terrified that you’ll go away and forget me.’
‘I won’t go away,’ I said. ‘And I won’t forget you.’ But I could see in her face that she wasn’t convinced.
The driver and Mercedes picked us up from Cambridge Station at eight-fifty, just as the sun was going down.
‘I actually think I’d better stay at home tonight,’ Kate said. ‘I have some washing to do, and some ironing.’ She pulled a face. ‘My uniform is creased.’
So the driver took us first to Six Mile Bottom, before continuing on with me alone to the Bedford Lodge.
I was surprised how much I hated leaving her, and I was sorely tempted to ask the driver to take me back, but I also had things to do, not least catching up with my report-writing for Simpson White. And I had phoned the hotel from the train to tell them I was returning tonight.
‘Welcome back, Mr Foster,’ said the same receptionist when I checked in. ‘Fortunately we still have the same room available for you.’
‘Thank you,’ I said.
‘And you have a message waiting.’ She handed me an envelope. ‘It’s only just come in. I told the person who called that you’d be back soon.’
I took my luggage, and the envelope, along to my room and opened it there. The message consisted of just a couple of typed lines on a single sheet of the hotel’s headed notepaper.
Harry, Please come along to the old yard as soon as you get in. I have something important I want to show you. Oliver.
I looked at my watch. It was already ten o’clock. I was tired. Couldn’t it wait until tomorrow? But I thought about how much fun I was having with Kate, much of it at Simpson White’s expense, and decided that another late-night excursion was the least I could pay, especially as Kate wasn’t even here this evening.
I walked out of the hotel, along the Bury Road, and in through the gates I had first used on my arrival last Monday. On that occasion the ground had been covered with fire hoses, but they had long gone, together with the remains of the burned-out stable block. I could see the lights of the new yard through the space it once occupied.
The remaining two stable blocks of the old yard were in darkness, save for one stable at the far end where the door was slightly open, and the light from within spilled out across the concrete.
‘Oliver?’ I called as I walked towards the light. ‘It’s Harry. What do you want?’
I reached the stable door and looked in.
I wasn’t really expecting some great revelation from Oliver concerning their family secret but, there again, I also wasn’t expecting to be struck heavily across my shoulders from behind, and pushed headlong through the doorway.
I was sent sprawling onto the floor as the door behind me was slammed shut. I could hear as the bolts were slid across on the outside, locking me in.
Damn it, I thought. That was bloody careless.
And I was not alone in the stable.
The other occupant had four legs, a tail and a mane, and I’m not sure which one of us was the more scared.
Me probably, especially when I realised I had seen this horse before. It had a small white star in the middle of its forehead, such that it fleetingly appeared to have three eyes.
Momentum. The crazy horse that Oliver called just skittish. The horse he wanted to calm down by gelding but the owner wouldn’t hear of it. Damn Michelle Morris. Give me a knife and I’d happily do the job right now.
Momentum curled his upper lip, baring a large row of off-white tombstone teeth. Then he pawed at the ground with one of his front hooves, and opened his two real eyes very wide, clearly exposing the whites around the huge pupils.
He obviously didn’t take kindly to having his space invaded, and there was little doubt about his intentions, all the more so when he kicked backwards violently against the wall, leaving a deep scar in the wooden cladding.