The Verdict. Olivia Isaac-Henry

Чтение книги онлайн.

СКАЧАТЬ shrugged and smiled.

      ‘I’ll show you the room now.’

      For a woman in her fifties, Genevieve was light on her feet, as if she’d been a dancer. She floated up the stairs and Julia had trouble keeping pace. The staircase was in two flights. The first led to a landing running along the large window at the front, before going up another flight to the first floor. A separate staircase led to the attic.

      ‘My rooms are on the top floor and the bathroom is at the back of the house,’ Genevieve said. ‘And this one will be yours.’

      The bedroom was on the far side of the staircase. Genevieve opened the door and allowed Julia to enter before her. The room was small, with a single bed and a double wardrobe. The walls were magnolia, the carpet beige, and pine-scented furniture polish hung in the air. It was neat and orderly, too bland to be objectionable. It would do.

      Julia walked to the window. A green bank rose sharply above the hedge on the opposite side of the road. She couldn’t see the tops of the hills but was aware of their presence and how abruptly the town ended and gave way to open countryside. Genevieve followed her gaze.

      ‘The Downs,’ she said. ‘I told you, I can’t tolerate ugliness. It’s wonderful to wake every morning to this beauty, the pure blue colour of the sky you only get here. I grew up just down the road. I don’t suppose many people appreciate it as I do. Even when I lived in the Alps, I longed for the Downs, to lie on the grass on a summer’s day and look up at the clouds blowing across the sky.’

      It was a performance, Genevieve’s lines rehearsed and repeated many times before, an impression reinforced by her switch to a pragmatic tone when the discussion turned to business.

      ‘It’s two hundred and eighty-five pounds a month including bills,’ she said. ‘Payment sharp on the first of every month and two months’ rent in advance.’

      Julia was tired. And if Genevieve was a little annoying, at least the place was clean, and she wouldn’t be sharing with Norman Bates.

      ‘I’ll take it,’ she said.

      ‘Wonderful,’ Genevieve said. ‘Come downstairs and we’ll sort it all out.’

      They returned to the kitchen.

      ‘I’ll need the deposit now. Make the cheque out to Genevieve D’Auncey,’ she said. ‘I’ll just pop to the lounge and get my receipt book and you can sign the contract.’

      Julia took her chequebook from her bag and sat at the table, as Lucy was finishing her sandwich.

      ‘So why are you leaving?’ Julia asked.

      ‘Moving in with my boyfriend.’

      A shard of pain sliced across Julia’s chest. Until two months ago she’d used the same casual tone as Lucy to say, ‘I’m moving in with my boyfriend.’ As if it were the most normal thing in the world. Instead, here she was with strangers, two hundred miles away.

      Julia realised Lucy was looking at her and expecting her to speak.

      ‘What’s it like here?’ she asked.

      ‘OK,’ Lucy said. ‘Genevieve’s a bit …’

      ‘Theatrical?’

      ‘I suppose,’ Lucy said. ‘That as well.’

      ‘As well as what?’ Julia asked.

      ‘She’s fond of—’

      Light footsteps, scampering across the hall, signalled Genevieve’s return.

      ‘Ah Lucy,’ Genevieve said as she entered the room. ‘Haven’t you anything to do?’

      By way of reply, Lucy stood up and took her plate to the dishwasher.

      ‘Who else lives here?’ Julia asked.

      ‘Well, there’s Alan,’ Genevieve said. ‘Been here five years – a fixture you could say – though he’s not in much. And the other three rooms will be free once Lucy’s left. You’ll be taking one of them, of course. I wasn’t sure when you first came to the door, but now I can see you’ll be perfect. I have a good sense about people. It’s a … a …’ She wound her hand in a circular motion from the wrist but didn’t finish her sentence. Out of the corner of her eye, Julia saw Lucy smirking. ‘Yes, you’ll do very well,’ Genevieve concluded.

      Julia finished writing out the cheque and handed it to Genevieve, who folded it and slipped it under her silk turban.

      ‘I’ll see you in two weeks,’ she said.

       Chapter 5

       2017 – Central London

      On returning from the park, I go back to my desk. All I can think about is the text, concentrating on work is impossible. Without leaving a cyber trail, I have to find a full news report about the body unearthed on the Downs. I’ve already been careless with Paulo and using my phone. I’m itching to leave but I must not arouse suspicion by any unusual behaviour. Why did you leave work early on 4th October?

      Only two people on the planet could have sent that text, and both know not to contact me. We agreed, twenty-three years ago, how to behave if it ever came out: no phone calls, no unusual activity, no change in routine. Few people had mobile phones back then, and we made no specific stipulation regarding texts, but the principle remains. And it’s difficult to believe either of them could be so stupid.

      Sitting at my desk becomes intolerable. I stare at the laptop, then remove my glasses and rub my eyes. The screen blurs into streaks of black and white. I replace the glasses and reread my current e-mail. It makes no more sense in focus.

      How can I find out more, without using my phone or laptop? We were careful to leave no trace at the time. I can still smell the acrid fumes as we found every photograph and negative we’d ever taken in that place and burnt them. I must not be careless now, but I have to find out more. Do they have a name? Do they have suspects?

      A pay as you go from a phone shop would accept cash, but they would probably have CCTV, and all mobiles have serial numbers so that each handset has an individual identification. How do criminals go about it? I think of the khaki-wearing drug dealer. He must be in constant communication with buyers and suppliers. I need to go and see him. I start to invent fake emergencies – burst pipes, a family death – just to get out of the office. I get lucky when Jonathan snaps his laptop shut.

      ‘Got a meeting with Ulrich,’ he announces.

      He should be gone for a couple of hours at least.

      I wait a minute in case he returns for his keys or wallet then leave the office. I check behind me as I pass the Sensuous Bean. The man in the padded jacket has gone. Probably, he was just someone passing through, another face in the crowd.

      It’s raining hard now and the square is clear of visitors СКАЧАТЬ