Shelter Page 3

  Maggie found the front door key on the bunch and slipped it into the lock. It turned stiffly. Inside, the air was musty and damp. The hallway was dark and gloomy, almost swallowing the sunlight that poured through the open door. A rank gray carpet covered the hallway floor and extended up a narrow staircase, but where the hallway turned into a passage leading to the ground-floor rooms there was no carpet at all, and the bare boards were stained and scuffed.

  Laura frowned. Professionally she could see a lot of work was needed.

  “Not very welcoming, I’ll grant you . . . but a lick of paint here, new carpet and curtains there, and you won’t know the place,” Maggie said.

  Laura shook her head, opening the door to one of the rooms and stepping inside. The room was bare. The walls were papered in a floral pattern, but had faded over the years. Here and there were patches of brighter paper where pictures had hung. The picture rail that ran around the top of the wall was thick with dust and the windows were grimy—one pane cracked—the bottom corner of it missing completely. From the birdlime that speckled the carpet she could tell that the window had been broken for some time. There was an old cast-iron fireplace set into a chimney breast, its tiled surround begrimed with soot and dirt. And in one corner green mold covered the wallpaper.

  “Damp,” she said. “That would explain the smell.”

  The kitchen was in a similar state. There was an old Belfast sink, an ancient gas cooker with grease-encrusted rings, and a cupboard, circa 1950, with reeded glass doors and a pull-down flap that served as a work top. Hanging from a hook on the back door was the tin bath Maggie had mentioned. The fireplace had been removed and in its place was the copper, a self-contained boiler in an enameled metal jacket. She lifted the lid and peered inside at the metal drum that held the water for washing clothes and bodies. A filthy rag sat at the bottom of the copper, dry and dusty, a home for a family of wood lice. She dropped the lid back into place with a shudder.

  The last room downstairs was once the dining-cum-sitting room. There was a large window overlooking the garden, but that was its only attractive feature. The fireplace was missing and in its place was a rusting paraffin heater.

  “How could he have lived like this?” she said, more to herself than to Maggie, who was leafing through a sheaf of papers in her hand.

  “Sorry,” Maggie said. “What did you say?”

  “I was just thinking aloud,” Laura said. “Let’s have a look upstairs.”

  The boards on the staircase creaked ominously as they ascended. Once at the top the stairs gave onto a long landing with doors leading from it. These were the bedrooms—all of them a good size but nothing to distinguish one from the other. Peeling wallpaper, bare boards; an overwhelming sense of decay and neglect. That sense of sadness permeated the whole place.

  As she emerged from the last room Laura said, “I think I’ve seen enough.”

  “I’m sorry if I’ve dragged you out here under false pretences. This is my first time here. I sent one of the lads at the office out here to check it over. He didn’t tell me quite how bad it was. I’d better get you back.”

  Laura smiled. It was a sad little house, filled with melancholy echoes of the previous occupants. It needed care and attention, more than just a lick of paint and a cosmetic makeover. It needed to be loved. “I’ll take it,” she said.

  “Pardon?”

  “It’s a lovely house. Oh, I know it’s a mess now, but I’ve tackled worse. Six months time you won’t recognize it.”

  “You’re serious?”

  “Never more so.”

  Maggie stared at her friend thoughtfully. “Okay then. Make me an offer.”

  They walked back to Maggie’s car.

  “You’re sure about this?” Maggie said. “It’s a big job for your first solo effort.”

  “I’m certain. Of course it depends on me selling the cottage. I’m relying on you there. I’ve got to start over. If I don’t, then Brian’s won . . . and I won’t allow that to happen.”

  “Right,” Maggie said, secretly pleased to see the weeks of oppressed Laura starting to dissipate.

  Laura climbed into the car next to Maggie, a knot of excitement twisting in her stomach. She couldn’t wait to get started. Maggie eased the car gently out through the broken gate.

  From a vantage point hidden by the trees of the wood on the other side of the track, Brian Tanner took the binoculars away from his eyes and smiled to himself. “Oh no, Laura. It’s not going to be that easy,” he said softly and made his way back to his car.

  CHAPTER THREE

  “Bad news, I’m afraid,” Maggie said, a few days later.

  Laura pressed the phone closer to her ear. “Go on.” Upstairs the professional married couple, who had turned up a day late, but who had immediately agreed on a price to buy Laura’s cottage, were measuring for curtains.

  “I’ve had another offer on the house. Full asking price.”

  “Shit!” Laura said. “Who from?”

  Maggie hesitated. “You’re not going to like this.”

  “I’m a big girl now. Tell me.”

  “Brian Tanner.”

  Laura felt like she’d been hit in the stomach. “The bastard! It’s not a coincidence. He must have known I was going for it.”

  “Well, he didn’t find out from me. You know what a small world the property game is round here. It’ll be one of his mates from the golf club, I expect. How are you fixed? Can you raise any more money?”

  Laura shook her head, then realized her friend couldn’t see her. “I don’t know,” she said. “I was banking on using the equity from this place. I thought it would be enough. It bloody would have been if this offer hadn’t come in.” She thought for a moment. “I don’t suppose there’s any way you . . .”

  “I wish I could, darling. You know I’d help you in any way I can, but I’ve got to present the offer to the vendor. It would be unethical not to.”

  “Of course,” Laura said. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to put you on the spot. But surely my offer was accepted days ago. Doesn’t that make it binding?”

  “You know better than that. Nothing is settled until contracts are exchanged, and even then . . . well, anyway. The fact is the old couple selling the house are bound to want to play you and Brian off against each other. You’ll need to come up to the full price yourself. You’re well advanced on survey and searches, so it’ll just be the extra few thousand.”

  Extra few? Laura breathed deeply. That extra few made all the difference. “I’m not sure I can come up with it.”

  “But I don’t have to present the offer straightaway,” Maggie said. “Would twenty-four hours help?”

  Laura hesitated. There was one possible place she could raise the extra cash. “Possibly. Look, I’ll ring you back in the morning. And, Maggie, thanks. I really appreciate it.”

  “That’s what friends are for. I saw what that bastard did to you emotionally. I don’t want him to get it. You’ll exchange on the cottage in about four weeks, I should think, so you’re well advanced on that side as well. You’ll sort it out, I know you will.”

  Laura rang off and ran her hand through her hair. She might have known Brian would pull a stunt like this. The dissolution of the partnership had been bloody, and thanks to the very clever lawyer Brian employed it left her far more short of funds than she’d anticipated. She needed this project. She needed the income the lets would bring in. There were other properties she could go after, but it would take time to track them down, and it was unlikely they would be as suitable as this one. And if she did find one the chances were she’d find herself back in the same position with Brian trying to scupper her plans.

  She poured herself a stiff vodka tonic and made a decision. It went against everything she believed in, but her back was well and truly against the wall. She’d run out of options. She picked up the phone and dialed.

  “Hello,” a familiar voice said.

  “Mum, are you in tonight? I’d like to come over. There’s something I need to discuss.”

  George and Barbara Craig owned a bungalow in a quiet residential street a stone’s throw from the sea-front at Bournemouth. Barbara greeted her daughter with a hug and a kiss on the cheek. Her father was up in the attic room playing with an elaborate train set—a passion since his retirement from the civil service.

  “Shall I tell him you’re here?” Barbara said to her daughter.

  “No, let him play. He’ll only be grumpy if you disturb him.”

  Barbara smiled. “That’s true. He’s like a big kid. He spent all those years holding down a senior position at work, running an office with thirty people under him. He retires and reverts to a second childhood.” She laughed fondly. “At least if he’s up there with his trains he’s not getting under my feet.”

  “I heard that,” George Craig said from the top of the stairs. “Hello, kitten, I thought that was your car pulling onto the drive.”

  Laura hugged him as he reached the bottom of the stairs.

  “Come through to the kitchen and I’ll pop the kettle on,” Barbara said. “Are you staying for dinner?”

  “Yeah,” Laura said. “Why not?”

  George Craig was sixty-six, but looked ten years younger. His salt-and-pepper hair was cut in a fashionable style and the clothes he wore belied his years. Today it was denim jeans and a Grateful Dead T-shirt. His wife was ten years younger and clung to her youth with a tenacity Laura could only admire. As parents went, they were the best she could have hoped for.

  Once the tea was made they sat around the table in the kitchen. “So,” Barbara said. “What brings you down to see us?”

  “Money,” Laura said bluntly. She could have tried to dress it up, but knew her parents wouldn’t appreciate any subterfu
ge. “I’ve run out.”

  Barbara and George exchanged looks.

  “I was wondering how long it would be,” George Craig said. “I can’t believe you let that Tanner get away with so much.”

  “You never liked him, did you, Dad?”

  George shook his head. “Both of us had reservations when you tied yourself up with him. Your mother’s a pretty good judge of character and she never took to him, did you, pet?”

  Barbara shook her head. “I always thought he was a slippery one. Always a little too charming. A little too . . . neat.”

  “He’s put in an offer on the place I’m trying to buy. Full asking price. It’s pushed it out of my reach.”

  George Craig frowned. “I wondered if he might pull a stroke like that. How much do you need?”

  She took a deep breath and told them. “I could pay you back. It would only be a short-term loan. Just until the project’s finished and I start collecting the rent.”

  “What about the partnership’s other properties? Aren’t you receiving any income from them?” Barbara said.

  “She walked away from them,” George said. “That’s what I meant when I said I couldn’t believe she let him get away with so much.”

  “It was worth it just to be free of him,” Laura said. The agreement was very one-sided, her lawyer pleaded with her not to accept, but she was adamant. A clean break both professionally and from the personal relationship that had intruded.

  “Yes, I can see that,” George said. “At least I can see why you thought like that. If you’d have gone to see Peter Franklin like I suggested, you might have come away with more.” Franklin was the Craig’s family solicitor and one of George’s closest friends—another model railway enthusiast.

  “Now don’t start all that, George,” Barbara said. “Laura wanted to do it her way, using her own people.”

  “Maybe so,” George said. “But Peter—”

  A look from his wife silenced him. “Of course you can have the money,” she said to Laura. “And don’t break your neck to pay it back. It’s only sitting in the bank doing nothing except financing your father’s obsession with trains.”

  “Dad?” Laura said.

  He smiled ruefully. “Your mother’s right. And it will make me feel better to know that we’ve done something to get back at that bastard Tanner.”

  “So, about that dinner,” Barbara said. “It’s only beef casserole, but I can stretch it to feed three.”

  “Sounds good to me,” Laura said.

  “Come on then, you can give me a hand with the potatoes.”

  “My cue to make myself scarce,” George Craig said. “I’m going back to my trains.”

  “Typical man,” Barbara said, smiling at her husband fondly. “Is everything else all right?” she said to Laura once they were alone.

  “Yeah, fine.”

  “You’ve lost weight. And I must say, that haircut makes you look . . . well, vulnerable.”

  Laura ran her fingers through her cropped hair self-consciously. “Needed a change,” she mumbled.

  Her mother put an arm around her shoulders. “I know you’re a big girl now, but you would tell me if there was anything—”

  “Really, I’m fine.” She kissed her mother on the cheek. “Thanks,” she said.

  “What for?”

  “Being there.”

  “At least I know I’m not redundant in the parenting stakes.”

  “Oh no, you’ll never be that.”

  It seemed like an age ago, a different life, that Laura and Brian Tanner had worked together in the advertising department of a large provincial newspaper. Thinking up original slogans and ideas for local businesses had long since paled when she and Brian started having lunches together and talking about ambitions. She couldn’t even remember now whose idea it was to start the business. Reading the adverts for houses and the letting agencies prompted the idea that money could be made buying dilapidated houses, refurbishing them, then letting them out as holiday homes. They set up business together after quitting their jobs on the same day. Their first venture was a derelict farmhouse just outside Bridport. Both of them were single and had enjoyed a few years of a reasonable income. Both of them had money in the bank to invest in the project. And the result was a beautiful site set in a picturesque landscape. The house was converted into four flats, the part sale and part rental income from which financed their next project.

  The business grew quickly with Brian looking after the letting and Laura concentrating on engaging the architects and builders, dealing with the local authorities on planning matters, and generally overseeing the projects. But, as she’d told Maggie, Brian was always eager to take their relationship to, as he saw it, the next level, with the proposal of marriage. And while, in her heart of hearts, she knew there could never be any long-term romantic attachment between them, her resolve wavered slightly after a particularly boozy end-of-project party in a Dorchester hotel and restaurant.

  The project team drifted away one by one or in small groups until only Laura and Brian remained, surrounded by pillows of cigarette smoke, empty plates, and discarded glasses. Even though she had drunk as much as the others, there was a clarity about her thinking that made her feel initially guilty as though she was manipulating the situation. Brian was mumbling to her, stroking her leg, telling her how great they were together. Suddenly she felt an overpowering range of emotion from lust to pity, from empathy to superiority.

  “Come on,” she whispered to him, grasping his tie and pulling him up from his chair. She noticed a couple of the waiters smiling as she led him out of the restaurant. Your room or mine? she thought as she collected both keys from the front desk.

  “Laura, love you . . .” Brian told her continually as the lift silently colluded in their liaison.

  His room. She pushed the card into the security slot, pushed the door open, and pushed Brian inside.

  “Oh, Laura . . .”

  Even as she stood before him, unzipping her dress, countless misgivings were circling her thoughts, like vultures above her head. She certainly felt sensuous as she undressed him, letting his hands wander over her body. It was inevitable; she had always known they would spend at least one night like this. He was erect as soon as she held him in her hand. As her underwear was pulled off, his fingers, his mouth, were more delicate than she could have imagined. The actual act of sex that followed that night was a clumsy hurried affair, he far more drunk than he should have been, and she far too preoccupied with the wider aspects of the relationship.

  In the morning with Brian in bed beside her, her head ached as the vultures of doubt feasted on her feelings. The human psyche allows myriad thoughts and emotions to roam together in harmony or in discord. Laura felt shame for acting so wantonly; she felt guilt at letting Brian think she might feel for him as deeply as he obviously felt for her, she felt selfish for wondering how it might affect the business partnership. She never asked Brian how he felt, but things were never the same again.

  From that point on the relationship fell into a downward spiral of petty squabbles and, sometimes, decibel-shattering shouting matches. She only encountered Brian’s violent side toward the end of the relationship, but by then she’d already decided that their relationship, both business and personal, had to end.

  But now she was free of all that. This house was not only going to be her first solo project, but it would also stand as a symbol of her newfound freedom. It was going to be daunting flying alone, with nobody there to pick her up if she crashed, but it was exhilarating in a way she could never have dreamed possible. It was as if her life suddenly had wings.

  Dunbar Court, England—Summer 1950

  Ryder, the maid, stood with her ear pressed to the bathroom door, listening to the sound of retching coming from within. She hesitated before knocking, not really sure what to say. This was the seventh day running that she’d brought Lady Helen breakfast, only to listen to her throwing it up minutes later. Elizabeth Ryder was in her early twenties and had been in the Charteris family’s employ since leaving school at fifteen. There had never been a man in her life and as such she was still a virgin, but coming from a family of nine children and helping her mother through five of her pregnancies, she knew full well what Lady Helen was experiencing.