Kitty Neale 3 Book Bundle. Kitty Neale

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      Frantic to get away from her father, Carol scrambled from the bed and fled downstairs where, grabbing an old raincoat from the hook, she ran from the house.

      Carol flung the coat on as she headed for the one place where she knew she’d be safe, protected. Her chest heaving, she only paused occasionally to draw breath, aware of nothing around her but her need to get there, until at last she arrived and thumped frantically on the door. Nobody came, nobody opened it, and sobbing she sank down onto the doorstep.

      With no idea of the time, Carol didn’t know how long she sat there, her mind in turmoil at what her father had tried to do, until at last her brothers turned up. Carol rose unsteadily and almost fell into Paul’s arms.

      ‘Carol, what’s wrong? What are you doing here? Are you hurt?’ he asked urgently.

      ‘No … no,’ she croaked, feeling her legs crumbling beneath her.

      Paul lifted her up, carried her inside and laid her gently onto the sofa, while Davy said, ‘Carol, you’ve got nothing on your feet and they’re bleeding. What the hell happened?’

      ‘I … he … he …’ she stammered.

      ‘A man did this to you?’ Paul growled. ‘Who was it? When we get our hands on him we’ll kill him!’

      Carol couldn’t take any more – couldn’t bear to relive what had happened again and her mind closed down. Exhausted, she closed her eyes and sank into darkness.

      Paul looked down at his sister the following morning. She was still asleep, and seeing the dried blood on her feet again, his lips tightened in anger. Until Carol woke up it was hard to make sense of what had happened, but sick at the thought that she’d been raped, he said to Dave, ‘Look at her. She’s still in her nightdress, so whoever did this must have broken into the house.’

      ‘But where was Dad?’ Dave asked.

      ‘We don’t know what time it happened, so maybe he was out.’

      ‘Yeah, that’s probably it, but surely he’d have seen that she wasn’t there when he came home?’ Dave pointed out.

      ‘He might have assumed she was in bed.’

      ‘True,’ Dave agreed, ‘but he’s going to notice that she isn’t there this morning.’

      ‘If Carol’s up to it we’ll have to take her home, but if she’s been raped Dad’s going to do his nut.’

      ‘No! No, I don’t want to go home!’ Carol cried, suddenly sitting up.

      Surprised Paul said, ‘I thought you were still asleep.’

      ‘Please,’ Carol begged. ‘Don’t make me go home.’

      It she’d been attacked in her own bed, no wonder she was too scared to go back, Paul thought. ‘All right, stay here for now. Dave can shoot down to tell Dad where you are.’

      ‘No! No, he mustn’t tell him I’m here!’

      Confused, Paul asked, ‘Why not?’

      ‘Be … because he … he tried … in my bed … I … I fought him off, got away,’ Carol sobbed, her words disjointed.

      ‘Flaming hell,’ Dave said. ‘Surely you’re not saying that Dad tried it on?’

      Carol nodded, tears rolling down her cheeks, but Paul couldn’t believe it, didn’t want to believe it and said, ‘Dad wouldn’t do that. He was probably drunk and stumbled into your room instead of his own.’

      ‘He … he might have been drunk, but I woke up to find him on … on top of me and his hands were … were all over me.’

      Paul felt bile rising in his throat and unable to stand the sound of his sister crying, he strode to the kitchen. He put water in the kettle and then placed it on the gas before taking three cups from the cupboard.

      ‘What are you doing?’ Dave asked as he appeared in the doorway.

      ‘Ain’t it obvious?’ Paul snapped. ‘I’m making us a drink.’

      ‘You must be kidding. Carol just told us that Dad tried it on with her, and all you’re doing is making tea.’

      ‘Oh, I intend to do more than that. First though Carol probably needs a drink and her feet need to be sorted, bathed.’

      ‘Then what?’

      ‘Then you and I are going to take a walk to Lark Rise,’ Paul growled.

      Mabel had been disturbed by the yelling soon after she’d gone to bed last night, but she’d vowed to keep her nose out of anyone’s business now, especially the Coles’.

      Yet here it was, just after nine in the morning, and while they were eating breakfast, the Coles were at it again. It even disturbed Jack this time and he looked up from his morning paper to say, ‘I don’t know what’s going on next door, but they’re making a hell of a racket.’

      Something thumped loudly against the adjoining wall, and Mabel jumped. ‘It sounds like someone’s throwing furniture around.’

      ‘Yes, it does,’ Jack agreed. ‘Maybe I should go and see what’s going on.’

      ‘No, don’t do that. It’s none of our business,’ Mabel said, ‘and anyway, if there’s some sort of fight going on, I don’t want you getting involved in it.’

      ‘All right, I’ll stay put,’ Jack agreed.

      There was more shouting, but then abruptly, blissfully, it all went quiet. ‘Well I don’t know what that was all about,’ Mabel said.

      ‘Me neither,’ Jack replied, but then went back to his newspaper.

      For a moment Mabel wondered if she should go next door to check that everyone was all right, but then decided against it. Frank Cole would only slam the door in her face again.

      Mabel ruminated, wondering again if she was right, that instead of Rose, it had been Daphne Cole who had gone off with George Frost. The dates matched, but once again she had kept her suspicions to herself.

      Mind you, maybe it wouldn’t hurt to tell Phyllis. After all, no doubt it would come to light one day, these things always did – and then, Mabel thought, smiling smugly – she’d be proved right.

      Unaware that anything untoward had happened in the Coles’ house, Amy was sitting beside Tommy in the registry office, fiddling with her engagement ring. She loved the diamond solitaire, and though she knew Tommy would have liked the stone to be a bigger one, Amy was happy with his choice. On her small, thin finger the diamond appeared large, and now, looking up, Amy had to smile at the scene of Rose standing beside the rotund, grey-haired Samuel Jacobs as the two of them listened to the registrar’s words. Rose looked lovely in a pale pink, shot silk suit, her hat pink too and delightfully frivolous with its tiny veil.

      ‘My feet are killing me,’ her mother hissed from Amy’s other side. ‘One of the straps on these sandals is cutting into my big toe.’

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