No More Secrets

There was a chorus of farewells as the writer promised to come back the following year when her next novel came out. Ben Fletcher bestowed his dazzling smile on everyone except Kate, who won an oddly wry, questioning glance before he escorted Cassie to the car parked outside.

Mrs Harrison congratulated Kate on a very successful signing session, and the others returned to their various tasks—except for a rather wary Gail.

‘Kate, I’m down for early lunch today, but could I go late instead, please?’

‘I’ll swap,’ offered Harry promptly. ‘I’m starving.’

‘Yes, fine,’ said Kate rather coolly. ‘Stay at the till until one, then, Gail. Harry, put the table and chairs away first, then off you go.’

The staffroom was a comfortable, untidy place where all of them were glad to rest their tired feet, eat sandwiches and drink coffee, chat, read the paper, or just relax for the hour’s break. Harry usually went out to join cronies for a pizza, but the female section of the staff tended to congregate together, glad to sit down.

Today Kate was not glad to sit down. For some reason she felt restless. Gail went out shopping, Mrs Harrison and Clare were grappling with The Times crossword, and after swallowing a sandwich and half a cup of coffee Kate excused herself to dash out and buy some shampoo. Somehow she couldn’t bring herself to say she just needed to be out in the open air, though the sleet showers had given way to chilly sunshine by this time. She walked briskly, guilty enough about her excuse to walk to the other end of town and buy shampoo she didn’t need. On her way back past public gardens bright with early daffodils, Kate eyed the tempting cakes in the corner coffee-shop with longing, wishing she had Clare’s metabolism. Suddenly her eyes widened. At one of the tables inside the coffee-shop, clearly visible through the shelves of Danish pastries and cream buns, sat Gail, her eyes like stars as she gazed at the man with her. His back was turned to Kate, but it was all too easy to see that Gail’s companion was Ben Fletcher.

The louse! thought Kate fiercely. Cassie Fletcher was at home, pregnant, coping with a boisterous toddler into the bargain, and here was Ben Fletcher chatting up young Gail, who, seemingly, was so taken with him she was prepared to overlook his married status.

Kate turned away sharply. It was none of her business. Not even Gail. Unless the girl’s work suffered because of it her private life was her own affair, however she chose to conduct it. Kate cut across the gardens, taking the longest route possible back to the shop to calm down. It was Cassie she felt for. A warm, lovely lady like Cassie Fletcher deserved something better than a blond Romeo who reacted to every woman in sight. Well not every woman, amended Kate with painful honesty. She was the only one he hadn’t smiled at on leaving, so it was obvious she didn’t merit the Ben Fletcher gold seal of approval.

The afternoon was busy, as usual. Kate spent a large part of it with a publishing rep, discussing new titles for the summer list, then did some chasing up on book deliveries to make sure they arrived for various special displays she was organising. In between she helped customers find titles they were looking for, tidied up the children’s corner after the usual post-school surge of mothers and offspring and kept a general eagle eye on everything going on in her department. By the time her shift ended just before seven Kate had managed to push thoughts of the Fletchers to the back of her mind, even able to bid Gail a fairly affable goodnight instead of wringing her neck, as she’d wanted to earlier.

It was almost dark and raining again when she set out to walk to the older part of Pennington. Kate pulled the stitched brim of the now dry wool hat low over her eyes, buttoned her raincoat to the neck and set off at a brisk pace.

Shortly after her arrival in Pennington she’d answered an advertisement which required ‘a young professional lady for a small flat in a house off Waverley Square’. Kate had gone to inspect it without much hope, but had been charmed by the house, which was small, flatroofed, and one of a pair in a quiet cul-de-sac tucked away behind a row of imposing Georgian mansions. Waverley Lodge had a small front garden with shrubs and a lilac tree, and the flat, Kate had learned, was the entire upper floor of the house. Mrs Beaumont, the owner, was a sprightly lady in her late seventies, with curly white hair and shrewd dark eyes. She leaned heavily on a stick and could no longer manage stairs, she’d explained.

‘My son and his wife want me to move into a modern flat, but I like it here. In common with that lilac tree I’m too old to transplant. But I would like some company in the house so I decided to let the upper floor.’ Mrs Beaumont waved Kate upstairs. ‘Look around all you want, my dear. Mrs Gill, my daily, assures me it’s all spick and span up there. Come down when you’re ready and I’ll make some tea.’

Kate thanked her and went off to inspect the upper floor of Waverley Lodge. A bright, airy sitting room, with comfortable, chintz-covered furniture, lots of lamps, bookshelves and small tables, looked out over a quiet square with a lawn and trees softening the view of tall, aristocratic houses on the far side, a view shared by the pleasant double bedroom. A pretty bathroom, plus a small kitchen converted from what must once have been a boxroom, looked out on the small garden of the Lodge.

As she hurried in the direction of Waverley Lodge now it seemed hard to realise it had been her home for less than a month. Kate and Mrs Beaumont had taken to each other on sight. Which, as the old lady had explained, was why Kate was served tea that first day. None of the other applicants had qualified for it.

‘I agree with George—my son—that it’s a shame to leave the rooms empty,’ Mrs Beaumont had said, ‘but I couldn’t share my home with someone I didn’t—well, fancy. And some young people dress very oddly these days.’

Kate, it seemed, had passed the test on sight. And she was glad of it. The rent for the rooms in Waverley Lodge was steeper than she’d hoped, but with care, and some cutting down in other directions, she could manage it. The only drawback was the lack of a separate entrance.

‘I do like to go out at night sometimes,’ Kate had warned. ‘I’m doing a course in business studies two nights a week, and I like the cinema and the theatre. Won’t it disturb you when I come in?’

Mrs Beaumont had assured her that it would not. She would like having someone young about the house. If Kate had any doubts they would give it a month’s trial and see how things went. So far things had gone so well that Kate hated the idea of finding another place. At first she’d been sure she’d miss the untidy flat she’d shared with three other girls in Putney. But to her surprise this wasn’t the case at all. She found she enjoyed her newfound privacy and orderliness more than the previous casual companionship. She could choose what programmes she liked on the radio and television, and read in peace whenever she wanted, which was a vital part of her job, since the fiction section of the store was her own particular responsibility. There was no race for the bathroom, or unwashed dishes in the kitchen sink, and, best of all, no embarrassing little encounters with strange young men on the landing first thing in the morning.

Kate was so lost in thoughts of her former existence, head bowed against the wind, that she cannoned straight into the man emerging from the indoor car park she passed on the way home every night.

‘Sorry!’ she gasped, pushing her hat out of her eyes, then stiffened, pulling away from the hands holding her by the elbows.

‘Miss Harker again, no less,’ drawled Ben Fletcher, releasing her. ‘You don’t suffer from a death-wish, by any chance? Or are you blind without those enormous glasses?’

‘Neither — I’m just in a hurry to get home. I’m afraid I didn’t notice you,’ she said coldly.

His grin surprised her. It was very different from the one he turned on like a light to charm. ‘Which puts me in my place. I’m not very vain, but people usually notice me.’

Wasn’t that the truth, thought Kate, remembering the scene in the coffee-shop, and tried to pass him, but to her annoyance he caught her wrist.

‘Wait. Have we met before today?’ he asked.

‘No.’

‘Then why do I get the feeling you disapprove of me? Do you bear a grudge because I almost ran you over? I thought perhaps you knew me from somewhere, and felt annoyed because I’d forgotten.’

Kate looked pointedly at the fingers on her wrist and Ben Fletcher dropped his hand. ‘You’re mistaken on both counts, Mr Fletcher. I don’t know you.’ And don’t want to, implied her tone so clearly that his eyes narrowed for a moment, then danced in a way which made her long to hit out at him.

‘I hear you loud and clear, Miss Harker. Pity. Cassie liked you very much, incidentally. And just in case you were wondering,’ he added, ‘she suffered no ill effects from the signing.’

‘Good; I’m very glad. Goodnight, Mr Fletcher.’

Ben Fletcher gazed down at her thoughtfully, making it impossible to dash off as Kate wanted.

‘By the way,’ he said casually, ‘how long have you lived in Pennington?’

Kate frowned. ‘Just under a month.’

‘Ah. New kid on the block.’ He raised his hand in salute. ‘Well, can’t hang about enjoying myself like this—got someone to meet. Goodnight.’

Kate nodded coldly and walked off at a furious rate, fairly sure he was watching her go. At last she gave in to temptation and risked a peek over her shoulder. And then wished she hadn’t. Far from watching her out of sight, Ben Fletcher was striding towards the girl waiting outside Hardacres. A girl with hair as bright as his own, who rushed to meet him. Gail again.

Kate turned on her heel, almost running in an effort to put as much space between herself and the happy pair who were obviously about to spend the evening together. Did Cassie Fletcher know what the man was doing while she was putting their son to bed, or cooking dinner, or whatever she was likely to be doing at this time of night?

Kate arrived precipitately at the door of Waverley Lodge, glad to reach her flat without encountering Mrs Beaumont. As she peeled off her wet raincoat and hung it up in the bathroom to dry she felt very out of sorts. The Fletchers were none of her business. Before this morning she’d never met either of them. But, as a firsthand witness to Ben Fletcher’s infidelity, Kate felt horribly responsible in some way. Which was ridiculous. Besides, she was unlikely to meet Cassie Fletcher again. And even if she did Kate knew she’d never tell Cassie her husband was cheating on her. No way was she ever getting involved in anyone else’s affairs again.

CHAPTER TWO

KATE forced herself to say nothing to Gail on the subject of married men. Gail might well misconstrue her motives, put it down to jealousy, and the girl knew Ben Fletcher was married anyway, so it was useless to point out something so obvious. And Gail was so patently moonstruck about him that she’d never believe Kate preferred dark, lean, witty types, whose attraction was a lot more cerebral than the up-front charms of Cassie Fletcher’s husband, damn the man.

How could a clever, mature lady like Cassie be attracted to someone like Ben Fletcher? Kate was haunted by the thought for a day or two, until two evening classes added to a very busy working week tired her out so much that there was no room in her thoughts for anything other than the exam she must pass fairly soon.

‘You work hard,’ observed Mrs Beaumont as they drank coffee together the following Sunday morning.

‘But I love it. One day I’m going to manage one of the big London bookshops,’ Kate confided.

‘Good for you. Life in Pennington must be a bit slow after London.’

‘No. Oddly enough it isn’t. Different, of course, but I find I like life in a shire town—the change of pace is rather welcome.’

‘Good. Oh, by the way, dear,’ said Mrs Beaumont, ‘I’m going away to my sister’s in Bath for a few days tomorrow. Mrs Gill will be in to clean as usual. She keeps a key.’

Mondays were demanding for Kate. After her stint at the shop she hastily ate a sandwich and went straight on to her evening class. By the time she arrived home that night it was oddly dismaying to find the house in darkness. She unlocked the door and ran upstairs to her flat, turning on lamps everywhere, careless for once of the electricity bill. She put cottage cheese, tomatoes and a thin slice of ham on a plate, added a couple of crisp-breads and an apple, and went to curl up on the sofa in the sitting room to eat her frugal meal in front of the television news.

Afterwards, still hungry but determined to ignore it, Kate took the pins out of her hair, ran a bath and sank into it with a sigh of relief as she settled down to read. This was another advantage of having a flat to herself. In Putney someone had always banged on the door if she took longer than a few minutes over a bath.

Eventually, yawning, she washed her hair, wrapped herself in the new yellow towelling robe her mother had given her for Christmas, and went back to the sitting room to dry her hair while she finished the newest best-seller on display at Hardacres.

By eleven Kate’s long dark hair was dry enough to let her go to bed. She fell asleep almost the moment her head touched the pillow, then woke later with a start, her heart beating rapidly. She lay still, hardly daring to breathe. Someone was moving about downstairs. Her instinct was to pull the covers over her ears and hope the burglar would go away. But he was stealing Mrs Beaumont’s treasures. Worse still, he might come upstairs for more.