Soon after that a leaflet came through the door. It was an invitation to the church’s harvest festival, followed by a hot-pot supper in the church hall. Naturally I threw it straight in the bin and I had the shock of my life when Paul found it there and said he wanted to go. He said he’d decided it was about time we became part of the community. My mouth went dry and my hands began to shake. This was the last thing I wanted.
I was thinking how to talk Paul out of it when I went out into the hall and found the note lying on the doormat.
“Miss Downey was knocked down and killed on Wednesday night… hit-and-run driver.” Mandy leaned forward, anxious to share this juicy piece of gossip.
“That’s awful,” I said. “Have the police any idea who…?”
“Well, I’ve heard that an old Land Rover was seen speeding around the village earlier that evening. Someone said the police have questioned Mr. Carter, who has the farm next-door to you… it’s said he often takes his Land Rover to the Wagon and Horses. These country people sometimes think they’re above the law where drunk driving is concerned, you know.”
“So they think it was Carter?”
Mandy shrugged. After virtually accusing the man, she couldn’t bring herself to deliver the final verdict. She leaned forward confidentially. “Remember I told you about that murder… the girl who was found strangled? Well, I asked about it and apparently she was Carter’s daughter… and he was questioned about it at the time.”
“Was he?” I felt my hands shaking.
“There were rumours going round that he was abusing her, but the police never found any evidence… that’s what I was told anyway. Don’t repeat it, will you?”
“No.” I could hear my heart beating. “Of course I won’t.” I hesitated. “What happened to the boy the police suspected?”
“I think his family left the area. Why?”
“No reason,” I said, as casually as I could manage. “Just curious.”
I stood up. I wanted Mandy to go. I wasn’t in the mood for company. I was wondering how to stop Paul from going to the harvest supper… how I was going to keep him away from Carter. But then I realised that I didn’t have to go with him. I could develop a strategic headache. As long as I didn’t come face-to-face with Carter and the nightmares of my childhood, I’d be all right.
“You’re shaking. What’s the matter?” Mandy’s voice was all concern.
“Nothing.” I tried to smile.
It was half an hour before she left and as she was leaving she asked me if I was going to Miss Downey’s funeral. I said no. After all, I didn’t know the woman.
As soon as she’d gone I rushed upstairs and opened my underwear drawer. I felt underneath the layers of flimsy lace for the note, and when I found it I took it out and read it.
Dear Karen,
I’ve been thinking about our meeting the week before last and I’ve been wondering what to do for the best. I do understand your feelings but I think it would be helpful to talk. Perhaps you would call on me one day for tea.
Yours sincerely,
Edith Downey
I tore it into tiny pieces and put it down the waste disposal unit in the kitchen. I was stupid to have kept it, but I vowed not to make any more mistakes. That evening I told Paul that I wanted to go back to London but his response was that it was still early days… and the harvest supper was just what I needed to get to know people.
The next day I heard from Mandy that Carter had been released without charge.
I lived in a strange state of limbo for a week, pretending to Paul that I was looking forward to the harvest supper… and all the time making plans to avoid it at all costs. The most worrying thing was that Paul seemed to have reached some understanding with Carter. He had taken to visiting the Wagon and Horses some evenings and one night when he returned, he said that he had been talking to Carter and he seemed all right, really: You couldn’t always judge by first impressions.
The change in Paul shocked me: He claimed that the slow pace of country life was lowering his blood pressure and making him feel calmer. Why run around like a headless chicken in London when you could enjoy the simple pleasures of a small community and open spaces? Paul seemed hooked and, like converts the world over, he began to enter into his new enthusiasm with a gusto lacking in the born-and-bred countryman. He talked of learning to ride, maybe joining the local hunt. To my horror, he even suggested inviting Carter round for lunch one Sunday as he was on his own, an idea which sent me straight to the bathroom to throw up.
Paul was going native and with every new development I became more and more certain that I had to get back to the city… any city… anywhere away from Manton Worthy. I had to get out before it was too late.
On the night of the harvest supper I developed a headache as planned and told Paul to go on his own. He looked disappointed, like a kicked puppy, but I had no choice. After some persuasion he went, and once I was alone I locked all the doors and settled down to an evening by the telly with some interior design magazines-I wanted to do something with the en suite bathroom so I found myself a pair of scissors to cut out any pictures that might provide me with some inspiration. I opened a bottle of Chardonnay, too-I needed something to steady my nerves.
At half-past nine it was pitch dark outside. Darkness in the countryside is nothing like darkness in the city and I could see nothing outside the windows, as though someone had hung black velvet drapes on the other side of the glass. But with the curtains drawn and the telly on I felt cosy and safe. Until I heard the noise of our polished brass doorknocker being raised and lowered three times.
I froze. The telly still babbled on, oblivious to the crisis, as three more knocks came. Then another three. I went through all the possibilities in my mind. Could Paul have forgotten his key? Could Mandy be calling to see how I was? I crept along the hall in the darkness, making for the front door. There were no windows in the door but the TV executive had installed a spyhole and security lights. I stood on tiptoe to look through the spyhole, but although the front step was flooded with halogen light, there seemed to be nobody there.
I was about to return to the safe warmth of the lounge when the knocking began again. My body started to shake and I tried to peer out of the spyhole but again there seemed to be nobody there.
I know now that I shouldn’t have opened the door, but it was an automatic reaction-and I suppose I assumed that I could just close it against any danger if the worst happened. But things are rarely that straightforward. As soon as I had turned the latch, the door burst open and I fell backwards. I think I screamed. I think I tried to lash out. But it was useless. It was dark in the hallway and I could see very little, but I felt strong arms dragging me towards the lounge. I tried to kick, but it was as though I was caught in a web like a fly… at the mercy of some monstrous, unseen spider. I screamed again, but then I realised that this was the countryside. There was nobody there to hear me.
We were in the lounge now and Carter was bundling me onto the sofa. I could smell his waxed jacket as he held me… the same smell I remembered from all those years ago. And I could see his face… full of hatred.
“I saw you.” He spat the words like venom. “I saw you run her over.”
I tried to wriggle free, but he held me tight.
“But you were too late. She’d told me already that you were back.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” The words came out as a squeak, unconvincing even to myself.
“Miss Downey, that’s what I’m talking about. I got talking to that husband of yours. Funny how you didn’t tell him much about yourself. He’s no idea, has he?”