The Aura (13 page)

“Ok,” he said after a pause. “But I need detailed drawings, dimensions, and pricing before the Montgomery meeting on Monday. Get it done and bring it to me first thing Monday morning. I’m going to take the day off tomorrow anyway, and spend it with the family.”

He sounded as happy as if he’d been invited to spend the day with the Spanish Inquisition.

Perfect, I thought, as he disconnected the call. Now I had a boatload of work to do, with no way of knowing if Alan was safe or not.

I worked on the glass panel design for most of Saturday morning, and decided it was good enough. I called Nick several times, but only got his voicemail, and couldn’t think of a single good excuse to call Alan to see if he was safe. Still, I surmised that if anything had happened to him, I’d hear about it.

Josh texted me to say he’d gone to Gloucestershire for the weekend to see his parents. Leo was still in Italy, due to fly back on Sunday morning. My fear for Nick and concern for Alan at least kept thoughts of Rebecca at bay for a while, but the prospect of the dreary, solitary weekend almost paralyzed me with despair. I drank endless cups of tea and thought about my friend’s death.

I wondered when her funeral would be. Several times I picked up my phone to call Rebecca’s parents, but I couldn’t bring myself to disturb them. The people at Montgomery Group would be sure to know something, though. I could ask them at the meeting scheduled on Monday.

In pajamas, socks, and an old sweater of Leo’s, I sat down on the sofa and stared at the coffee table, running my fingers along its lustrous cherrywood surface. If Rebecca’s coffee table had been made of wood, she might not be dead. I shuddered at the memory of all that glass.

I conjured the scene again in my mind. Rebecca on her back amidst the glass shards, the blood dried into the carpet, the bloody handprint on the front of the sofa. There was something I’d noticed when we first entered the room, but now I couldn’t remember what it was.

Pulling a sketchpad and pencil out of a drawer in the coffee table, I drew a rough outline of Rebecca’s living room, with rectangles for the sofas and the table. With a shaking hand, I sketched an outline of the body, arms flung out to either side, one hand touching the sofa. The shattered vase and the white flowers, wilted and brown. I was a visual thinker. Seeing details on paper helped me to concentrate.

What was it that I’d seen that night? Something that made me doubt the theory that this was a simple accident. What I’d said to Clarke I really believed. Rebecca had been a dancer, a talented ballerina. She’d organized a dance recital the first term at University, and I’d been amazed by her grace and strength. She’d outperformed all the other dancers on the stage with ease. She moved with a poise that made me feel ungainly and clumsy. That was it, I thought. She wasn’t clumsy. Every movement seemed to be choreographed. She was aware of her own gracefulness, I knew, and it was part of her appeal. The idea that she’d fallen into her own coffee table seemed so unlikely, in spite of what Inspector Clarke thought.

I stared at the drawing. There was no rug to trip over; the white carpet ran all the way to the baseboards. There’d been no sign of anything else, no bag or stool in the way, no magazines or papers on the floor that she might have slipped on.

And then there was the boyfriend. Did they have a fight? Did he push her, deliberately or accidentally, and then run away? The more I thought about it, the more I was convinced that Rebecca hadn’t just stumbled into the table.

I stared at the diagram for several minutes. I remembered the gold bracelet of her watch against the whiteness of her wrist. It didn’t seem that robbery was involved. I couldn’t really recall if anything had been missing.

Turning the paper around, I realized that I’d drawn Rebecca’s right arm in the wrong place, so I erased it and redrew it. Still something was wrong. Then I remembered. A wine glass in her right hand, broken, the stem pointing up to the ceiling, a jagged spike, and the rest of the glass in splinters. And a bottle of wine lying on its side a few feet away, near the fireplace. It was a Cabernet, like the one we’d drunk the night I had gone for dinner. Perhaps even the same bottle because we’d only had one glass each. Rebecca wasn’t a big drinker; she told me she was careful with her calorie intake and I knew she was proud of her willowy figure.

Suddenly, I had a hundred questions. I knew that Inspector Clarke would have some of the answers, but would he talk to me? His goodbye at the cafe was pretty final, as though he didn’t intend to see me again. But I remembered he’d given me a card with a phone number on it. I found it in my purse, and made the call. Thankfully, I heard his voicemail click on. Leaving a message seemed easier than actually speaking with him. I left my name and cell number, saying I had a couple of questions, and would he please call me back. And then I went back to the sofa and wondered what to do for the rest of the weekend. I missed Josh. It didn’t seem right to disturb him while he was at his parents’ house, though. I had a feeling he’d gone away to avoid having to see me, or to avoid having to make excuses not to see me.

My newfound gift could hardly have been more badly timed. Josh and I had been friends almost from my first day at Bradley Cohen, and, for me, the attraction had been instantaneous. He hadn’t shown any romantic interest in me though, even though we spent a lot of time together. When I confided in Laura, one of the senior architects, she said she’d heard that he’d broken up with a long-term girlfriend just after graduating from university. He didn’t talk about her and it was obvious he wasn’t ready to date anyone new.

Until now.

I pulled Leo’s outsize sweater tighter around me. This was ridiculous. There must be something I could do instead of cocooning myself in misery and self-pity.

***

I knew I was taking a risk and that the Williams’ family might refuse to see me, but it was worth doing. I wanted to see if they knew anything that might help locate Rebecca’s boyfriend, or provide some kind of clue as to why Nick was in danger.

The train to Bournemouth was fairly empty on a Saturday afternoon. I took a seat by a window. Just as the train was about to pull out, a group of young men in hoodies got into the carriage. They turned on rap music at full volume, and passed a cigarette around, ignoring all the No Smoking signs. When another passenger, a middle-aged man, nervously asked them to turn down the music, they responded with jeers and threatening gestures. He retreated into a window seat near me. We exchanged sympathetic looks.

Fortunately, the youths got off at the next stop, leaving us in peace. I spent the rest of the journey watching the suburbs pass by. Train tracks rarely ran through the prettier parts of any city, I thought. The view from the window was of the backs of terraced brick houses, washing lines, garden sheds, neglected yards with broken fences and piles of rubbish. Further out were the Industrial parks, low-slung prefab buildings, acres of deserted parking lots, grey and dismal under the clouds.

Finally, leaving the suburbs behind, we rode through neatly-hedged green fields dotted with sheep, past grey stone churches with pretty spires and stained glass windows, presiding over ancient graveyards.

Finally we pulled into the station at Bournemouth. When I went outside to find a taxi the rain of the past weeks had stopped; an anemic sun hung uncertainly in the pale blue sky.

The Williams’ house was a semidetached brick two story, identical to all the other houses on the street. Each one had a small parking area in front, and a glossy white Volvo sat in front of number 26. The curtains were drawn. I hesitated before ringing the bell. This seemed like a huge intrusion on a grieving family, but now I’d come this far, I had to go through with it. I rang and waited. A curtain moved at a window. A man in his fifties with grey hair and glasses opened the front door.

“Yes?”

“I’m Kate, Rebecca’s friend. I’m so sorry to disturb you…” I didn’t finish my sentence before he stepped aside and waved me in. “Come in, come in. Rebecca talked about you when she visited us last weekend. She seemed excited that you two had reconnected. Please, take a seat. I’m Terry, by the way.”

He gestured towards the sofa. The living room was crowded with a large floral sofa and several armchairs. A huge flat panel television in one corner seemed out of place amidst the slightly shabby furniture.

“I’ll get Janice,” Terry said. “She’ll want to meet you.”

He disappeared for a few minutes; I looked around the room. Photos of Rebecca and her brother filled the surfaces of several side tables. My throat started to close up, just thinking of the parents, bereaved twice.

When Rebecca’s mother came in, I stood up to shake her hand. Her eyes were puffy, and her grey curls were dishevelled. I wondered if she’d once had red hair like her daughter.

“Put the kettle on, dear,” she said to her husband, who obediently disappeared again.

Janice sat down and patted the cushion next to her. I sat next to her, unsure what to say. All the words I’d rehearsed on the train down dissipated like ash in the cold light of such grief. “I’m so sorry,” I managed finally. She bowed her head. Tears dripped onto her tan slacks, leaving dark spots on the fabric. Unsure, I put my hand over hers. We sat in silence until Terry came back with a tray of china cups and a teapot with pink flowers on it.

“Thank you for seeing me,” I said. “I just wanted to tell you how sorry I am, and to see if there is anything I can do to help.”

“You were the one that found her, weren’t you?” Janice asked.

“Yes, and Nick, her neighbor. Have you met him?”

No,” said Terry. “She moved into that new flat about two years ago, but we never visited. I mean, we would have liked to, but I think Rebecca was too busy. She always said she liked coming here when she had some free time. We’ll have to go up, at some point, I suppose, to get her things, but the police said we have to wait a bit longer.”

“We are so proud of her,” said Janice, holding a handkerchief to her eyes. “She got such a good job. She bought that television for us, you know.” She pointed at the big TV, like a black hole in the flowered wallpaper.

“And the car,” added Terry. “The old Rover I’d had for years just about fell apart, and she insisted on getting us a new one. She said it was her way of repaying us for putting her through college.”

I nodded and sipped my tea. The visit had already answered one question, which was whether Rebecca came from a wealthy family, one that could subsidize the rent on her luxury apartment.

“Did you meet her boyfriend?” I asked. “Did she ever bring him down here?”

They looked at each other, Janice lifting a shoulder in a faint shrug.

“No, we didn’t. I got the feeling we weren’t good enough for him, if you know what I mean? We put out the invitation, but he never came. And then last weekend she said she was going to break up with him.”

“Break up with Edward?”

“Yes. In fact, that’s when she talked about you, dear. She said she’d started thinking about her relationship and decided it wasn’t right for her. She said she wanted to be more like you, although, to be honest, I wasn’t sure what that meant.”

I didn’t know what it meant either.

“So Rebecca was here last weekend?” I asked.

“Yes, she came home on Friday night,” Janice said. “She stayed the night and went back on Saturday morning. I thought she seemed a bit distracted, didn’t you, Terry? I wanted her to stay longer, but she said she had to get back. I never imagined it would be the last time I’d see her…” Janice’s words tailed off.

“Did she ever tell you Edward’s second name?” I asked. “Or show you a photo?”

“No. We didn’t talk about him much when she came down,” Terry said. “I think she was just being independent, you know, keeping her London life and home life separate. She lived in a way that we couldn’t really imagine, in the city, all those nice clothes she started wearing. It was very different from what we’re used to.”

“Designer bags,” added Janice. “She was obsessed with designer handbags. She gave me a couple that she said she didn’t like any more, but I can’t use them. Would you like them, Kate?”

“Thank you, but I really…. ”

“Never mind the bags, Janice,” said Terry. “More tea, Kate?”

“No, thank you. May I ask when the funeral will be?” I asked. “I know some of Rebecca’s work colleagues would like to attend. And I’ll be there, of course.”

Terry looked at Janice before answering. “We don’t have a date yet, lass. The police haven’t released the body from the autopsy.”

Janice began to sob loudly.

“Sorry, love. But that’s the fact. Until then, we can’t plan anything.”

“Why did they need to do an autopsy?” wailed Janice. “Cutting her up like that. It’s cruel.”

“Best not to think about it,” said Terry.

“It’s quite normal,” I said, trying to soothe Janice. “When my grandfather died in a nursing home a couple of years ago, they needed to do an autopsy just to verify cause of death. I’m sure it won’t take long.”

I wondered what the delay could be.

“Have you talked to Inspector Clarke?” I asked.

Terry nodded. “Just on the phone a couple of times. Seems like a nice enough young man. A bit cold and professional in my opinion, but I suppose that’s the way it is. He’s just doing his job. He said they were doing a toxicology assessment, because it seemed that Rebecca had been drinking at the time of the accident.”

“Rubbish,” said Janice. “She never drank enough to be drunk or incapable. She was a dancer, you know,” she said, looking at me.

“I know,” I said. “And a good one. I watched her dance in college.”

“Well, she looked after her health and her figure,” continued Janice. “She disapproved of drinking too much. It’s ridiculous that the police think she was drunk enough to fall over her own coffee table.”

Toxicology assessment, I thought. Clarke hadn’t mentioned that. In the long silence that followed, I tried to think of something to say.

“Nick is looking after Caspian,” I managed, finally. “I was wondering if that’s all right with you? I’m sure we could get him down here if you wanted him?”