The Question: A bestselling psychological thriller full of shocking twists. Jane Asher

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СКАЧАТЬ – of course! she suddenly thought. How could she have been so stupid? It wasn’t during the day that she would catch them – it was now, this evening, at night. He had rung with his excuse – bastard – and now knew his wife was safely at home as usual. Now was the time they’d be together, and now was the time she’d catch them.

      She threw a jacket over her brown long-sleeved dress, picked up her bag and quickly locked up the house, catching the dog’s reproachful glance as she walked out through the kitchen.

      ‘Oh Christ, I haven’t fed you, have I, George? Never mind, I’ll do it when I get back. Be a good boy.’

      

      She installed herself in her usual discreet parking place from where she could clearly see the front entrance to the flats, and waited. After ten minutes she began to feel impatient, and looked at her watch. Seven forty-five, she muttered quietly to herself. On a hardworking day he’ll stay at the office until seven thirty or eight, and reach the flat about eight fifteen. Give it another ten minutes or so.

      But then a sudden quiver of something like frightened excitement ran down the inside of her belly as a thought struck her. Or does he? Has he been getting back to the flat far earlier than I’ve ever known? Has he been ringing me after he’s eaten, or made love, or lain in the bath with her, or whatever they like to do together when they first get there after work? Telling me he’s just got back, when they’ve been relaxing there for an hour or so with their drinks and their self-satisfied, smirking, knowing looks into each other’s eyes?

      Anger ripped through her body and jolted her muscles into sudden, intense action. She almost leapt out of the car, slammed the door shut and ran over the road towards the building, not bothering, for the first time in her life, to lock the car, and intent on only one thing. To find them. Together. Now.

      

      Too impatient to wait for the lift, she half ran, half walked up the stairs to the third floor, getting out of breath by the time she reached the second-floor landing, but refusing to let herself stop and rest until she had reached the flat and discovered what she felt sure was the lovers in their lair. She went straight for the door and inserted the key without hesitation, still fired by the furious indignation that had possessed her since she had left the car.

      But once more the flat was empty.

      This time she didn’t bother to look around or to search. She felt completely out of her depth, outwitted by a pair of conspirators, who, even now, she felt were watching her somehow, and laughing at her. Almost tearful in her frustration, and reluctant to return to the loneliness of the car, she began once more to walk slowly down the stairs, anxious to put off the decision of what to do next or where to go, and trying in some small way to recapture the relative serenity she had found the last time she had walked slowly back down from the flat in the warm, dark silence of the stairwell.

      The door of the first-floor flat was ajar once more as she passed it, but this time there was no sound of a television, and the quietness surrounding her was deep and total and made her feel uneasy. She found herself missing the cheerful sound of the audience laughter that had reassured her those three days before. Once again, her footsteps creaked on the old floorboards of the landing, and she could hear her breath still escaping in little pants after the effort of the climb up.

      As she started to go down the final flight of stairs she heard the sound of the door behind her being pulled further open. Almost as if she could feel it through the back of her neck, Eleanor sensed something extraordinary was about to take place. It seemed as if she knew exactly what she was going to hear just a split second before it happened, and it was almost calmly that she paused on the stair to listen, as the quiet, hesitant voice spoke gently into the twilight of the landing.

      ‘Ruth, dear, is that you? Is that you, Ruth?’

      

      Eleanor turned round quickly just in time to catch a glimpse of the same grey-haired woman she had seen before. She thought she saw a flash of something like anxiety in the hooded eyes behind their gold-framed glasses as they looked into hers for a fraction of a second, but as Eleanor moved back up onto the landing and towards the door, it was closed quickly and firmly against her.

      She stood outside it and considered. She wasn’t sure why she felt so certain that this woman was the key to answering the questions that had been plaguing her for three days. She could see, even in the state of suspicion and unease that clouded her normal logical practicality, that there were alternative explanations. Yes, it was possible that here was another coincidence: that this woman knew another Ruth; or that it was the same Ruth but here on an entirely innocent mission: that this friend of hers, or relative, just happened to have a flat in the same building as John – or not even just happened to, but had taken it on John’s recommendation. Ruth was an efficient, helpful PA after all; she knew about this place; she must ring John here in the evenings to deal with problems or prepare him for the next day’s meetings. She could well have suggested this location for her friend or relative and fixed it up for her.

      But nothing that suggested itself to Eleanor’s weary mind could convince her. Even as she dismissed every alternative, she was walking slowly towards the closed door, certain that every step was bringing her closer to an explanation; willing now to face anything in the desperate and relentless need to know the truth.

      She pressed the small white push button on the side of the door and heard the bell ring out quietly inside the flat. She thought she heard some movement inside, but after a few seconds it stopped, and the landing was as silent as before. She pushed the bell again, and then again, angry at the way this woman, whom she knew to be somewhere inside and listening, was ignoring her. Couldn’t she feel her pain, this person a few feet away from her? Wasn’t the lonely humiliation on this side reaching out to her on the other through the thickness of the wooden door? Surely she must be able to sense it? Eleanor rested her forehead on the surface of the door and closed her eyes. She pressed her finger back onto the bell push and held it there while she focused all her mental effort on the questions that still burnt into her brain, feeling almost as if she could transmit them by the force of her will into the flat beyond. Never having been a particular believer in the sisterhood of women, or in the idea of some sort of communion of the female spirit, she nevertheless now found herself appealing to some primitive common bond between herself and the woman on the other side, whom she knew now could, if she wanted, give her the answers she needed so desperately.

      Please, she found herself silently begging, please, please tell me. Open the door and talk to me. I’m in agony here – can’t you feel it? You don’t look like a bad person; you can’t want me to suffer like this, surely?

      Her head suddenly jerked forward as the door moved. For a confused second she wasn’t sure if she had somehow pushed it with the weight of her body, but as she lifted her head and recovered her balance she found herself looking straight into the glittering lenses of the woman who stood in front of her, holding the edge of the open door.

      ‘You’d better come in.’

      Her voice was still quiet, but the eyes behind the glasses had lost their anxiety and gazed back into Eleanor’s almost challengingly.

      ‘Yes. Thank you.’

      The layout of the flat followed the same pattern as that of John’s, but in reverse, and, as she followed the rather dumpy figure of the woman in front of her through the hallway and into the sitting room, Eleanor had the uncanny feeling that she was walking into the one upstairs, but in a surreal version that had somehow been changed into a mirror image of itself. She was half aware of the differences in colour and décor, but couldn’t shake off the dreamlike feeling СКАЧАТЬ