Dead Wrong - [22]

‘Hmmm.’ Rebecca gave a non-committal grunt. ‘And you told her she was being paranoid locking the doors when she was in the house on her own?’

‘Oh, for heaven’s sake!’ I exploded. ‘I don’t know where all this has come from, but I’m doing the job you hired me to do. Now if she’s got problems with me or wants someone else then fine, I’ll send you an invoice but there is no question of shoddy work. Maybe she needs a bodyguard as well.’

‘I think the brother’s limbering up for that. I’m sorry, Sal, it sounds as if there’s some manipulation going on here. I thought it didn’t sound like you but I had to ask. Stay with it for now,’ she decided, ‘if you’re prepared to, and I’ll get in touch with her and explain exactly what we are hiring you to do. I’ll put it in writing too so there’s no mistake. I’ll point out the other things she can do like the ex-directory stuff. Let me know if you meet any resistance.’

I agreed to carry on but came off the phone smarting, not least because I’d failed to pick up on any hint of hostility from Debbie Gosforth. Her complaints were an unexpected slap in the face. I wished that she had given me some indication of her concerns about my work. I suffer from an acute sense of justice and fair-play, and I was outraged that I’d not had a chance to answer Debbie’s accusations before she’d run off to Rebecca with them, or to this brother. I knew I’d have to put things in perspective before I saw her again, but meanwhile I needed to work off some of the useless indignation that was fizzing round my bloodstream.

I called home for my swimsuit and towel and cycled down to the baths in Withington. After twenty lengths I’d mentally barracked Debbie Gosforth, and Rebecca Henderson for listening to her. I’d caught the stalker and been rewarded with huge sums of money and I’d even had a go at Dermott Pitt for his patronising attitude.

The next twenty lengths I used for more positive fantasies. The sun came in through the glass roof and sparkled and dappled the water. I dreamt of swimming in warm seas, of hot sands underfoot and sudden nightfall. As I showered I decided it was time to make holiday plans, something to look forward to. I wasn’t going to get any big rewards no matter what results I got for my clients. There’d be no flights to sun kissed islands dotted with olive groves for Maddie and me. Camping, more like. Somewhere green and damp like Anglesey or the Lleyn Peninsula. Where dry nights or sunny days would be cause for celebration. Kagool territory. It would do. It would have to.

Chapter Eleven

With some equilibrium restored I considered how to spend the rest of the afternoon. It would take me too long to get up to North Manchester to interview any of Luke’s friends and be back in time for school. I wanted to speak to Debbie but I’d wait until she’d heard from Rebecca. I promised myself I’d pack lots of visits into the following day. I was up in North Manchester seeing Dr Khan then anyway so it would make sense to call on other people on my list. No work till tomorrow, then.

With a grin I decided that there was only one thing to do. The garden.

It was a glorious afternoon and hot enough to change into shorts and T-shirt and slap on some sun cream. I brought in the washing, stiff from the line, and heaped it in a corner for sorting later. I cut the grass with the old roller mower, grunting with the effort and feeling the pull on my stomach muscles. The cuttings went in the compost heap. The sweet peas needed tying in and then I dead-headed the tubs and baskets. I thought again about the beauty and simplicity of the Wallaces’ garden. Could I ever do anything like that here? I surveyed the garden. It wouldn’t be me really though, would it? And there was more to it than just vision; Mrs Wallace had spent serious money to realise her plans. Even the grass was in a different league, like velvet compared to our rough hessian.

I’d some nasturtiums to plant out but no real room for them. In the end I decided to get rid of a patch of carnations which were past their best. They’d only managed three blooms the previous year. I loved the sweet milk and clove scent of them but the nasturtiums would give much more colour.

I hate throwing plants away so to soften the blow I took some small stem cuttings from the carnations and potted them up. I knew they were probably not worth the effort but it made me feel better. Earlier I had got the sun-lounger out. Faint hope. It was already school-time and I hadn’t paused. I washed my hands and wandered down the road to collect Maddie and Tom.

Someone in the Khan household had a love of antique furniture. The place looked like something out of a stately home; exquisite inlaid bureaux, corner cupboards and a collection of miniatures and cameos on one wall. The air was fragrant with scent from a vase of lilies. A grandfather clock tick-tocked crisply.

At first Dr Khan was impeccably polite and cold as ice. He offered me tea and when I accepted he asked the young woman I’d seen at the end of the hall to bring it for us.