Sue for Mercy Read online

  “You wouldn’t kill...”

  “Of course not. But I must join J.B. as quickly as I can, and keep him out of the country until we’re ready to move. I mustn’t see you again, until this is all over.”

  “How long will it be, and what is it you are planning?”

  “I mustn’t tell you. I daren’t. But it won’t be long now. The next move is up to Ronald, and when he’s got his bit of the jigsaw in place, I’ll come back and tell Bianca that I’m willing to see sense and that I’ll do whatever it is that she wishes me to do. Darling Sue — forgive me for dragging you into this?”

  I was more frightened now than I had been before. I clung to him, and he to me. Presently we moved to the bed and made love slowly, sadly, for the last time.

  I woke in the night, and waking, I roused him, too. I had taken to leaving the gas fire on at nights, partly because the weather had turned cold, and partly for company. I had no need to worry about bills, for as Bianca had hinted, Charles had been more than generous to me. It was warm, lying in his arms. The following night I would be alone and cold.

  “I’ve been thinking,” he said, low in my ear. “Every day this last week I’ve been able to tell myself that, incredibly, I was happy. Not just content, but properly happy.”

  There were a lot of things that I wanted to say to him, such as that I was a stodgy Old Maid in the making, and that I didn’t really expect to hear from him again once he’d gone, but I thought they might sound as if I were asking for promises from him, so I said nothing at all.

  “Sweet Sue,” he said. “When I was right down, wondering if I’d ever have the courage to face them again, along you came and said ‘I’m Sue’, all soft and loving. I’ve been hanging on to you with my fingernails. I’ve never known what it was all about before. It explains so much; why Dad wouldn’t allow Mother to be drawn into it, and why David made Inge stop having children after she’d borne him three girls in three years. It even explains why Jane looks at Ronald as if she’s going to cry... I’ve always felt the cold so much, till now.”

  There was a heavy fall of snow in the night. He cleaned it off my car for me before he went.

  Four

  I lost nearly half a stone in the fortnight that followed. I don’t quite know why; it just rolled off me. Bessie told me I was a fool if I thought I’d see Charles again, but even she was impressed by the six dozen red roses he sent me. I had to borrow a couple of vases from Rita in order to get them all into water. Charles never did anything by halves.

  After some thought I told Bessie most of what Charles had told me. At first she refused to take me seriously, but later she said I ought to go to the police. However, when I pointed out that I had no proof, she agreed with me that we’d just have to wait and see what happened. I felt better when she knew about it. I didn’t want to reason why, but even then I must have been aware that I would need some insurance to get through the adventure in one piece.

  I bought some new clothes and some wool so that I could knit Charles a sweater. I didn’t go out at night much, because Charles usually phoned me between six and eight. He had found J.B. bursting with irritability at the stupidity of everyone around him, and had hardly allowed Charles to change into lighter clothes before setting him to work. Anyone might have overheard those telephone conversations. Charles would tell me the latest anecdote of J.B., and in turn I would tell him what I’d been doing. It was all highly satisfactory.

  Then on the Thursday morning the postman left me a letter from Ronald Ashton, asking me to join him and his mother for a coffee in the Turkish room of the biggest store in town that evening, at six o’clock. On Thursday nights several of the big shops stayed open until eight at night.

  I told Bessie about it, and she said “What a giggle!” and that she might just be doing a spot of shopping herself that evening. Frown as I might, she was so curious to catch a glimpse of the Ashtons that she came into town with me, and only left my side when I entered the coffee bar.

  I saw them before they saw me. At first I thought Ronald could have passed for Charles’ twin, although he was a good stone heavier. Then I saw that Ronald’s hair was a couple of shades darker and more conservatively cut. Ronald wore glasses all the time, whereas Charles only wore them for reading and driving. Ronald was dressed entirely in grey, he looked reliable and unassertive. He had commandeered a corner table and placed his mother with her back to the wall so that she had a view of whoever might enter. She was slim; her shoulders were tense beneath a simple jersey suit from Switzerland. She reminded me of a picture of Mrs. Siddons as the Tragic Muse, for she had the same carefully arranged dark hair and beautifully made-up face. Only eyes and mouth hinted at the anguish she was trying to suppress. A superb tweed coat was flung over the back of her chair, and rings glinted on thin fingers.

  “Hello,” I said, with my hands deep in my pockets. “I’m Sue Stephens.”

  Mrs. Ashton surveyed me with all the enthusiasm of one presented with an untrained puppy. “This... is... Susan?” she asked her son. Her fine eyebrows indicated that “Susan” did not match up to expectations.

  Ronald didn’t even blink. He rose, handing me to a chair from which he had to remove a substantial briefcase. He looked me over thoroughly, without prejudice, and then smiled. I didn’t think he normally smiled much; he wasn’t that kind. He was a very serious young man.

  “Delighted,” he said, sounding as if he meant it. “Coffee or tea?”

  “Black coffee,” I said faintly. “Please.”

  “I give up!” announced Mrs. Ashton, veiling beautiful eyes with blue-veined lids. “I thought Charles at least, of all of you, might choose someone to do the family credit.”

  “Charles knows what’s good for him,” said Ronald, disposing of that topic of conversation. A waitress materialised in response to a flick of his fingers. I thought Ronald had all the virtues; fancy being able to summon a waitress in the busiest coffee bar in town, just like that! Ronald wore a wedding ring; I wondered if Charles would wear one if he decided to get married. I thought he probably wouldn’t.

  “You are ready to move now?” I asked, feeling slightly unreal. “Charles didn’t say anything about it last night when he phoned me.”

  “Right up to early this morning he was hoping he could keep Uncle John away until everything was ready,” explained Ronald. “But Uncle John has to make a speech in Birmingham on Saturday night, and he won’t even consider cancelling it. They are flying back this evening, and will spend the night in a hotel in London. Charles apologises, but he won’t be able to ring you tonight. Tomorrow he and J.B. will be busy in London, and with any luck Charles will be able to persuade J.B. to go straight to Birmingham on Saturday. That way he should be safe until Sunday, when we will be ready to move. Did you bring my note with you?”

  I handed it over. He shredded it up, together with the envelope, and burned the remains in an ashtray. He was very thorough.

  “Charles has told Uncle John what’s going on, but Uncle John refuses to believe that his son really means to go through with it. He thinks that when it comes to the crunch, Julian’s nerve will fail him. He believes that Bianca is the brains behind all this, and if he can only split the marriage up, he may be able to salvage Julian. It’s possible. I’m not happy about it, but it is possible.”

  “You’re taking a risk,” I ventured. “Couldn’t you just tell the police...”

  “What would we tell them?” he asked soberly. “There’s no proof. No, we have to let them incriminate themselves, while taking every precaution we can think of to safeguard Uncle John. I’m doing my bit tonight, and if the worst comes to the worst, we could move after that, although we’d prefer a couple more days grace.”

  “Can I help?”

  “Yes. Charles wants you to go away for the weekend — at our expense, of course. He wants you safely out of the way when we move.”

  I shivered. My coffee came, and I drank it, without sugar. I thought of pleading with him to let me st
ay and help, and then thought I’d better not.

  “I’ll go home for the weekend,” I said. “I usually go once a month anyway. No need for a sub.”

  They nodded approval. Mrs. Ashton’s eyebrows still indicated that she found my appearance disappointing. “Do you have to wear glasses all the time?” she asked.

  “Yes, I do.” Her eyebrows now told me that she deplored not only the information, but the argumentative tone in which it had been given. “Sorry!” I said. “But that’s the way I am. Now don’t let’s get worked up about this. Charles and I had a great week together, but we might find we haven’t anything to say to each other when we meet again.”

  Mrs. Ashton sighed. Ronald gave me a kindly, but reproving shake of his head. “Charles has told us he intends to marry you,” he said.

  “Oh!” I blinked with shock. “But he’s an awful liar, isn’t he?”

  Ronald looked shocked, but Mrs. Ashton viewed me with something that might have been approval. “Very good, Susan. Perhaps you will be able to control him, after all. God knows, nobody else can.”

  “Except Uncle John,” frowned Ronald.

  “Oh, him!” She managed a smile. “I almost pity Charles, working with John. His temper has been something diabolical these last few years.”

  There didn’t seem anything else to say. Ronald collected the bill and we rose to go. As we moved to the entrance of the coffee bar, the harsher light picked out a dozen lines on Mrs. Ashton’s face which had been softened in the kinder glow inside. She looked ravaged.

  Impulsively I touched her arm. “I’m so sorry,” I said.

  She stared at me full-eyed. Her composure was paper-thin. I took my hand away. Her pride was as high as her son’s. Ronald shook me by the hand, a gesture kindly meant and gratefully accepted. I saw there were many differences between the brothers. Charles was mercurial whereas Ronald was solid. Charles’ eyes were never still, always observing and assessing; Ronald looked you full in the eyes and hid nothing. I liked Ronald, but I loved Charles.

  Bessie caught up with me as Mrs. Ashton and Ronald disappeared into the crowd.

  “Smashing outfit!” was Bessie’s verdict. “But doesn’t she look sour!”

  As we followed the Ashtons out, I told her, loftily that she didn’t understand. Of course Bessie had to be brought up to date. She thought me feeble-minded, meekly agreeing to go away for the weekend while the Ashtons put their plan into operation. If she had been in my place, Bessie said, she would have forced Ronald to let her in on their secrets. I argued that the Ashtons knew what they were doing, and that as Bessie hadn’t met Bianca, she couldn’t appreciate just how nasty a piece of work she was. I said I was quite happy to leave the dirty work to someone else, so long as it didn’t land Charles in prison, too, and...

  “Come on!” hissed Bessie, grabbing me by the arm and hauling me after her out of the shop and across the street.

  “What is it?”

  “Ronald Ashton. I thought I saw him going down that alleyway over there. He looked over his shoulder to see if anyone was following him first. His mother must have gone on alone.”

  “You’re imagining things!” But I followed her. The alley connected the main shopping street with a quiet, tree-lined square of houses which were now taken over for use as offices. At a safe distance we watched Ronald — for it was he — cross the square, stand looking around him for a moment, and then disappear into a doorway. The square was very quiet; most of the office workers had gone home by now. Lights showed here and there in the houses, where the odd person worked late. A solitary street lamp lit the square. In a moment or two Ronald’s figure appeared at a ground-floor window. We could identify him by the glare of the street light. He pulled down a blind, and a moment later the interior of the office was illuminated as he switched on the lights inside.

  “Burglary?” suggested Bessie, giggling.

  “Nonsense,” I replied. “I expect he’s got every right to be there.” Nevertheless, I didn’t exactly march across the square after Ronald, but tiptoed around the side. The house into which he had disappeared was an office, like the rest.

  “‘Robert Maudsley, Chartered Accountant’,” said Bessie, reading the plaque over my shoulder. “It is burglary, you know, even if these are the offices his family used to own. He hasn’t any right to be here, has he?” I fidgeted, not knowing what to say. I couldn’t help remembering that Ronald had said he was going to “do his bit” that evening.

  “We ought to ring the police,” said Bessie dubiously.

  “How can we? He’s Charles’ brother, and we don’t actually know that Ronald’s doing anything illegal.”

  “Watch it!” Bessie pulled me away as the light was switched off inside the office. Ronald’s arm released the blind, and disappeared into the dimness of the room behind. Bessie and I scampered for the shelter of the nearest trees.

  “No point in ringing the police now,” I whispered, as Ronald let himself out of the office and walked away across the square, his briefcase now under his arm.

  “Now that he’s got what he came for, you mean,” said Bessie. “But if he has stolen something, what will happen when the police are called in? We can’t just keep silent and pretend we didn’t see him at it.”

  “They probably won’t find out about it till Monday, and by then maybe the whole thing will be over and it won’t matter if we do tell the police.”

  We watched Ronald out of sight, and then separated; Bessie to tell her boyfriend all about it, and I to ring my parents. Unfortunately I’d left it a bit late to ask if I might go home that weekend, since they had already accepted an invitation to eat out the following night. They suggested I had supper in my own flat, and then drove home to them afterwards. It seemed reasonable.

  I can’t say I did my work with an easy mind the next day. Bessie was unhappy about the situation, too, and made me promise that if the Ashtons did not tell me everything on Sunday night, I would go to the police. I agreed. I didn’t want J.B.’s death on my conscience. After work I went back to the flat and started to cook myself some supper. I hoped Charles would ring me before I went home for the weekend. The very thought of seeing him again made me nervous. When the door-bell rang, against reason I was sure it was him, and flew to release the catch. A lighter step than Charles’ came up the stairs, but I relaxed when I saw it was Bianca by herself.

  “We must talk,” she said abruptly. She strode into my flat and looked around. Had she expected to see Charles as well? Then she swung back to me. “You’ve lost weight. It suits you.” She didn’t sound pleased about it. She was as immaculately turned out as ever. “We have to do some entertaining this weekend,” she said. “And I thought you could help us out with the cooking. I believe you’re something of a dab hand with a wooden spoon.” She made my accomplishment sound contemptible.

  “I don’t understand,” I said. “I’m not a professional cook, and anyway I’m due home this weekend. My parents are expecting me.”

  “Then you’ll have to cancel it. We have a bedroom waiting for you. Just pack a few things and come along without a fuss, there’s a good girl.”

  Now I understood. They had been making plans, too, and I had been elected hostage. If they held me, then Charles would be forced to do whatever they wanted. “Don’t try anything foolish,” she said, watching me. “Julian is downstairs, and we happen to know that although Charles is back, he is going to be held up in a meeting for another hour.”

  I glanced at my uneaten supper, and wondered what would happen to it. Then I measured her, and guessed that I carried more weight than she did, for all her height. My suitcases were stacked one on top of the other above a big, old-fashioned wardrobe. I pulled the wardrobe doors open, and reached up for the bottom suitcase in the pile. The suitcases teetered. I tried, not too hard, to hold them back.

  “Can you help me?” I asked. “I think they’re going to fall...”

  She put up her arms to steady the top suitcases, and I pushed down on
her shoulders, thrusting her forward into the depths of the wardrobe. Then I locked it, threw the key across the room, grabbed my coat and handbag, and ran. I took the stairs two at a time, and then, remembering Bianca had said that Julian was downstairs, peered through the coloured glass panel at the side of the front door. Sure enough, he was standing there, stamping his feet to keep them warm, with his big black overcoat pulled up to his ears. The lights of a passing car threw him into silhouette, and I identified him as the driver of Charles’ car on the night of the “accident”.

  I rapped on Rita’s door, and asked if she’d let me out through her french windows on to the lawn at the back of the house. I said someone had just called whom I didn’t want to see. She was full of curiosity, but let me through. Down the garden path I ran, to the rickety gate in the fence at the bottom. Then through into the alley which served the back gardens of all the houses in our block. Ducking under the branches of an untended hedge in the dark, I was enfolded, arms and all, in the stifling harshness of a rug. I dropped my bag to fight it, but strong arms held me immobile. I kicked and heard someone wheeze and curse, but whoever it was didn’t release me. Then something hit me on the head, and I felt myself daze and go limp. I woke half lying, half reclining on the muddy ground. My right arm was being pulled upwards. I fell on my back in the mud. Something hard and round was pressed into my chest. I tried to push it away but something round my wrists tugged them forward.

  I focused my eyes in the beam of a powerful torch... the rug was on the ground beside me, and I was clasping a big shopping basket to my chest. My wrists had been bound round it and to its handles; the rope then went round my upper arms and was secured in the small of my back. Someone... a big, bold-featured man with dark, receding hair, was fiddling with my skirts. He bound a leather strap around my legs, just above the knees.

  I opened my mouth to scream, even though the alleyway was deserted and the long gardens on either side would insulate the sound from anyone in the houses around. A wedge of cotton wool was thrust into my open mouth while someone got a grip on my hair from behind and jerked my head back. My eyes watered. I choked. I couldn’t free my tongue. A scarf was tied tightly round my head, wedging my jaws open and the cotton wool well back over my tongue. A balaclava helmet was pulled over my head, leaving only my eyes visible. I was hauled to my feet. I nearly overbalanced, but the dark man steadied me.