A Place Of Safety(45)

Irritated, he put the image aside. This was pure fantasy. If she had anything at all to hide there’d been ample time to clean up the place. But perhaps it had never occurred to her that the police might wish to see where Carlotta had lived. Possibly the experience of their extremely violent parting had left her unwilling, perhaps even unable, to enter the room again. Yes, that was more like it.

A heavy sigh and an ostentatious clearing of the throat from the doorway returned him to the present.

‘Mrs Leathers,’ said the chief inspector, ‘thank you for being so patient.’ He nodded at Troy and both men moved towards the door.

‘No trouble, Inspector. Only I must get on.’

As they walked away from the house, Troy, father of one, female, four years, three months, nine days, said, ‘You’ve got a daughter, sir. Was her room ever like that?’

‘Pretty near,’ said Barnaby. ‘The cat had kittens in it once and we didn’t find them for three weeks.’

‘Blimey.’ Troy looked sideways at the boss. He seemed to be smiling but you could never be sure. ‘You’re exaggerating. Aren’t you?’

‘Only slightly.’





Ann’s branch of Lloyd’s in Causton not only still had a manager actually in residence but was also open for three hours on alternate Saturday mornings. Richard Ainsley had an office with his designation on the door and a polished wooden Toblerone on his desk with his name printed in gold. Ainsley had known Ann a long time, as he had her father. He had met her husband too, whom he didn’t much like. As Ann had anticipated, he was prepared to lend her what she needed against the security of the house. But she was very surprised at the high rate of interest.

‘It won’t take long to draw up the agreement. If you’ll call in perhaps next Thursday, Mrs Lawrence—’

‘I have to have it now!’ Ann realised she was almost shouting, leaning over the manager’s desk. ‘I’m so sorry, Mr Ainsley.’ She sat back, her face scarlet. ‘I don’t know what . . . I’m sorry.’

Mr Ainsley was not unused to emotional outbursts. Money was the fulcrum on which most people’s lives turned. When it seemed to be slipping away, they panicked. Understandably. But he had handled Ann Lawrence’s financial affairs since the death of her father and was both surprised and mildly distressed to find her in such a predicament. Naturally he wondered what the money could be for. Hardly a conservatory or a new kitchen, two of the most common seductions currently turning up on loan applications. Or a holiday in the Bahamas, though heaven knows she looked as if she could do with one. None of these would give rise to such desperation.

‘This is quite a lot of money, Ann.’ He decided not to mention the withdrawal, only days ago, of a thousand from her current account. ‘Over what sort of period do you see it being repaid?’

‘Oh - very quickly.’ Ann stared across the desk at this round little man with his neat hair and neat, gold-rimmed glasses and neat moustache. All puffed out with his own importance. Pompous, stuffy, fatuous, long-winded rolypoly pudding. And to think in a previous life she had rather liked him. Even been grateful for his kindness. ‘Actually, someone has died. There are funeral expenses to look after. But I am mentioned in the . . . er . . . will. Remembered, that is. So there won’t be any . . . problem . . .’

Concerned though he was, Richard Ainsley decided to call a halt to this wretched business. He could not bear to hear her lying. He suggested a repayment period of six months and, when she agreed, produced a form, quickly filled it in and asked her to sign it. Then he rang the chief cashier to clear payment.

‘I need it in cash, Mr Ainsley.’

‘Cash?’





Ann was hurrying blindly away from the bank, the envelope safely in the bottom of her handbag, when she collided with Louise Fainlight who was just turning away from the cash point.

After the automatic apologies and awkward hellos, neither woman knew what to say. Both were recalling their last meeting. Louise remembered that Ann had asked her to the house and then not wanted her there. Ann remembered thinking it could well be Louise who was doing the blackmailing.

She thought it again now. Thought it with the money held close to her side, burning through the soft beige leather of her handbag. Was this meeting really a coincidence? Or a determined attempt to check that she was actually doing what she had been instructed to do. A sudden wild impulse seized Ann. A mad urge to confront Louise. Brandish the notes in her face. Shout, ‘Here it is! Is this what you want? Is it?’

Appalled, she turned away, mumbling something vague. Pretending she needed the cash machine herself; standing in front of it while Louise walked away. Then, becoming aware that a small queue had formed and that people were staring at her strangely, she stepped aside. Blushing, and on the verge of tears, she affected to look in her handbag for some lost item.