Bridegroom On Loan

She’d never been in the house, never been alone with him. On the few occasions when they had met, it had always been in the centre when other people were present—and she couldn’t believe she’d fallen asleep. Too many late nights, she supposed, and a weekend spent chasing clients who owed her money. And the day-to-day tension that she might see Beck, of course. Who was engaged to Helena. And women knew, didn’t they? When another woman was attracted to their man?

You can sometimes be very silly, Carenza. Masochistic even. Yes.

With a deep sigh, a wide yawn, she pushed the blanket aside. The knees of her tailored trousers were torn and muddy, her boots caked with God only knew what. Her jacket was creased. And she ached. Stretching to ease her cramped muscles, she went to peer at her reflection in an ornate mirror, and tried to smile. Something the cat wouldn’t have brought in. Her long hair was tangled, her mascara smudged. Wetting a finger, she wiped away the worst of it and then turned away, because there was absolutely nothing she could do about how she looked. She didn’t even have a comb with her.

Walking into the large kitchen, she halted with another dented smile. It was also expensively decorated. A blue enamel Aga stood proudly against one wall; a matching blue hood with a brass rail hovered protectively above it. The stone flags were cold beneath her feet. The oak cupboards and units matched the long table and chairs, the tiles matched the floor, the walls the curtains. Someone’s idea of a country kitchen. Except it wasn’t. She’d been in a great many country kitchens, and they didn’t look like this. There should be muddy wellington boots, raincoats, a dog basket…Where did poor Spanner sleep? Not here, obviously.

There was no sign of Beck, or Helena, but a kettle steamed gently on the Aga. Milk, sugar and coffee had been left on the work surface. Taking a cup from the mock Welsh dresser, she made herself a hot drink and went to stare from the window. The rain was falling heavy and straight. Noisy. Thunder rumbled in the distance, a low, menacing sound, and she spared a thought for the poor clear-up crews who would be working out in this. She could see a lot of the damage from here. White, ugly scars on the trees where branches had been ripped off, those that were left standing, that was. There were scattered bricks across what looked like a dug-up lawn. Perhaps that was the next item for renovation.

Sipping her coffee, lost in her thoughts, she started when she heard the back door open. Turning, heart beating over-fast, she found a faint smile as Beck walked in. Drowned rat wasn’t in it. Hair plastered to his head, jacket and jeans soaked through, he gave a small smile back, but his eyes didn’t quite meet hers.

‘I’m sorry I wasn’t here when you woke,’ he apologised quietly. ‘I just wanted to check for damage.’

‘That’s all right. How bad is it?’

‘Bad. The “front”, as it’s being called,’ he murmured humorously as he shrugged out of his jacket, shook it and draped it over a chair, ‘cut a swathe through the south of England about a mile wide. Anything in its path was either uprooted or destroyed. Fortunately, it seems to have missed any major towns. I don’t suppose the true extent of the damage will be known for a few days. Certainly the electricity won’t be on for a while. Did you sleep all right?’

‘Yes, thank you.’ Never one to pussy-foot around, she said bluntly, ‘I haven’t seen Helena.’

He looked away, and a muscle jumped in his jaw. ‘No,’ he agreed quietly. ‘She isn’t here.’

‘Oh.’

Sounded like a sensitive subject, best avoided, perhaps, and she was disgusted with herself for the rush of hope she felt that they might have split up. Returning her attention to the garden, she observed lightly, ‘The storm will have put your landscaping plans back.’ When he didn’t answer, she turned to look at him, curiosity in her dark eyes. ‘No landscaping?’

‘No.’

‘Sorry, I didn’t mean to pry.’

One hand on the back of the chair where he’d tossed his jacket, he said quietly, ‘I tried to keep it separate.’

‘Sorry?’ she asked in confusion.

‘The house and the conference centre. I tried to keep them separate.’ His back to her, he walked across to the Aga and put the kettle back on to boil.

Thoroughly bewildered, she asked lamely, ‘Why?’

‘Because it was easier.’ Turning to face her, he gave a grim smile. ‘Helena is missing.’

‘Missing?’

‘Yes. She walked out one day and didn’t come back.’

‘Didn’t come back?’ she echoed in amazement. ‘But why on earth didn’t you tell me? No,’ she corrected herself with a little grimace. ‘Why should you? It wasn’t any of my business, was it? And you wanted to keep the conference centre and your private concerns separate.’ Which was why he’d never invited her to the house. Or maybe it wasn’t. Maybe it was because something was between them that wasn’t allowed to be between them.

‘Yes.’

‘She left without telling you she was going?’ Just because it was none of her business, that didn’t stop her being curious.

‘Yes.’

‘Because of the row?’

‘No,’ he denied simply.

‘Because of a lover?’

‘I don’t know.’

‘And no one knows where she is?’

‘No.’

‘How long…? I mean, when did she…?’

‘Leave? Two months ago. She didn’t take anything with her. Not her passport, her clothes, any money. Or her car.’

When he said nothing further, she persisted, ‘And?’ Because there had to be an ‘and’, didn’t there?

‘And the police dug up the garden.’

Flicking her eyes to the window, then back to him, a very hollow feeling inside, she whispered in shock, ‘They think you—killed her?’

‘Probably not, but her father insisted that she wouldn’t have just walked out. And the police have to cover all possibilities, don’t they?’

‘That’s what they said?’

‘Yes.’

A frown in her eyes, she returned her attention to the garden. ‘Why would her father think she wouldn’t walk out?’

‘He doesn’t like me, and he didn’t think I was good enough for her. He thinks me cruel.’

‘No,’ she denied without hesitation. Whatever else he might be, she would have staked her life on the fact that he wasn’t a cruel man. And how on earth could she not have known that all this was going on? People gossiped, started rumours… ‘Does everyone believe it?’ she asked. ‘That you killed her?’

‘I don’t know if they believe it or not, but mud sticks.’

‘But there’s no evidence—is there?’

‘No.’

‘But until she’s found…’

‘I’m under suspicion, yes.’

Genuinely concerned, she said, ‘I’m so sorry, Beck.’

With a deep sigh, he finished making his coffee. ‘I’ll see if I can find you somewhere else to stay until the roads are open.’