Touching up her make-up in the antique mirror on one wall, she glanced at her watch with a quiver of excitement. He should be here any time, she calculated, working out the distance from London in hours and minutes.
She had no idea what she was going to say to him, and that was half of the strange, nervous excitement she was feeling. For the past few weeks she had felt like a small boat lost at sea. At times, most of the time, she felt as if she was about to capsize and get sucked under the water, but perhaps there was another way to turn. Perhaps the answer was to allow herself to be swept away on a tide of uncertainty, not to constantly fight the tumult of questions and confused emotions that had been running riot in her mind since Julian’s death.
She helped herself to an elderflower cordial and spruced up the little bundles of flowers. He was late now. She looked around the café, wondering if there were any more jobs to be done, but it really did look perfect.
Her mobile phone beeped, registering that a text had arrived.
Still in London. Meetings going on for ever so going to have to give tonight a miss. Sorry for late notice. See you on Saturday. Looking forward to it. Adam
Somewhere in the back of her mind a little voice told her it was for the best, but inside her chest, her heart felt as heavy as a lead anchor. She blew out the tea lights, trying with each puff to blot out her disappointment. It was fine. He was busy. It was a long way to come from London. She would keep the champagne for Dot tomorrow.
48
Postman’s Park had always fascinated Rachel. When she had first arrived in London she had lived in a flat-share in Clerkenwell, and had often strolled there on sunny days to lounge on the grass with a makeshift picnic, enjoying the relative peace of this quiet oasis, the roar of the traffic circling the heart of the City and the jagged remains of Roman Londinium temporarily muffled by the trees and the walls.
She walked over to the sloping shelter against the wall of a block of flats bordering the park to the east. The Memorial To Heroic Self Sacrifice: the thing that made this particular park special and which always sent shivers down Rachel’s spine. Fixed to the wall behind a row of benches was a series of ceramic plaques, each one commemorating the heroism of individuals who had died trying to save other people – the idea being that their sacrifice would never be forgotten. They were poignant, such as ‘Edmund Emery of 272 King’s Road, Chelsea, passenger. Leapt from a Thames steamboat to rescue a child and was drowned, July 31 1874.’ Or they could be strange: ‘Frederick Alfred Croft, Inspector, Aged 31. Saved a lunatic woman from suicide at Woolwich Arsenal Station but was himself run over by the train, Jan 11, 1878.’ But they were always bold and brave.
Rachel had often sat here by the wall, reading about these faceless people’s deeds, wondering if she too would leap into the Thames or dash into a burning building to save the life of, as one plaque put it, ‘a stranger and a foreigner’. She supposed not, but then that would probably have been the answer all these ordinary people would have given before they were faced with a life-or-death situation. You just never knew until it was right there before you, did you?
She heard Elizabeth approach before she
saw her, the sound of her heels clacking against the stone path. She was dressed in a tight black skirt and a sky-blue top, her hair scraped back into a bun: just another businesswoman wandering through the City. But was that all she was? Had Susie McCormack been correct? Was she a killer too? Rachel almost smiled at the irony; she had always sneered at scenes like this in pulp thrillers. If you suspected someone was capable of murder, why would you arrange to meet them in some out-of-the-way place where no one could hear you scream? Postman’s Park was not exactly the middle of nowhere, but this early in the morning it was all but deserted.
‘I hope this isn’t a waste of my time,’ said Elizabeth by way of introduction. ‘You do realise the litigation involving Julian’s will is in the hands of our solicitor? I won’t discuss it with you, Rachel.’
‘It’s not about that,’ said Rachel. ‘Not directly, anyway.’ She indicated a wooden bench and they both sat down.
‘So what is it? I haven’t got all day,’ said Elizabeth, glancing at her watch. ‘What’s so important I have to rearrange my diary?’
‘You had an affair with Alistair Hall.’
Rachel watched Elizabeth’s reaction carefully. There was just the slightest tic in her left eye, a recognition that Rachel’s blow had hit home, but the other woman recovered her composure almost immediately.
‘Is that it?’ she laughed. ‘You dragged me out here to discuss old love affairs?’
I very much doubt love had anything to do with it, thought Rachel.
‘No, Elizabeth,’ she said. ‘I dragged you out here because I wanted to discuss the way you slept with Alistair so you could conspire your way into destroying Julian’s reputation.’
Now that one really did hit home. She could almost see the cogs whirring inside Elizabeth’s head as she tried to work out where Rachel was going with this and, more importantly, how much she knew.
‘Destroy his reputation?’ she scoffed. ‘He did that himself, Rachel, you know that as well as anyone. I didn’t force my brother into bed with that girl; he went of his own accord.’
‘But you provided him with the girl, didn’t you?’
Elizabeth stared at her, the fury evident in her eyes, and now Rachel could see what Susie had been talking about when she had said that Elizabeth was dangerous.
‘Why are you doing this, Rachel?’ she said. ‘Is it guilt? Don’t you think you’ve caused enough damage to this family without throwing around accusations like this?’
‘Why? Because you destroyed Julian’s reputation, because you almost broke up his marriage and because you screwed me over too.’
‘You? What’s any of this got to do with you?’
‘For four years I have tortured myself with the thought that I didn’t try to stop that bloody story. Did I do the right thing? Should I have let Julian get away with it? But all the time you had Alistair Hall in your bed and in your pocket. I wouldn’t have been able to stop it any more than I could stop a meteor hitting the earth.’
Elizabeth waved a hand in the air in a manner that suggested she thought the idea was ridiculous – or beneath her attention. Yeah? thought Rachel. Well screw you too.
‘I’m going to expose you,’ she said evenly.