become lovers when we hadn’t even had time to become friends.
I wandered through into my bedroom. It hadn’t escaped their attentions, either. The Scouser had sliced his way through my mattress, the curtains, and even taken the knife to every pillow. One of them was from my mother’s, a feather one. The stuffing was now scattered all over the room like confetti at a full church wedding.
The ingredients of my drawers had been turned into a novelty carpet. He’d taken particular care to rip his way through what seemed to be my entire stock of underwear. It was symbolic, somehow, too personal, and it sent a prickle of apprehension through me.
Marc had followed me through. Now he gripped my shoulders and turned me to face him. This time I didn’t pull away.
“Charlie, listen to me,” he said urgently. “Whatever it is you’ve been doing, stop it. Let it go. Whoever these people are, they’re obviously deadly serious. Don’t take any risks.”
I broke eye contact and let my gaze slide across my ransacked home. “But there’s a connection to your club,” I argued.
He cut me short, curtly. “If there’s anything going on at the New Adelphi,
I bristled under his glare, wavered for a moment, then gave in. I let my shoulders slump.
“Yes,” I said at last, wearily, “I understand.”
***
When he'd gone, promising to call me, I sat on the remnants of my sofa for a long time without doing anything other than thinking. I hadn't recognised the two men who were responsible for my new line in interior decor. It certainly wasn't anyone who I'd met, or they would have known that in this case Charlie wasn't a man's name. So who were they and, more importantly, who had sent them?
I thought, briefly, about calling the police, but decided against it, for a number of reasons. I tried to tell myself that my reluctance to involve the authorities had nothing to do with the men's threats, but I'm not entirely sure I believed me.
In any case, what did I tell them about Terry's computer? I was pretty sure it had been nicked from the New Adelphi, which meant I'd been handling stolen goods. And the last time our paths had crossed they'd as good as accused me of beating up the two boys at the club. Somehow, I couldn't see my current predicament interesting them greatly, especially after the desultory response they'd made to Ailsa's call from the Lodge.
Shelseley. The name almost made me start. I'd just assumed the prowler there had some link with the residents. An ex-husband or boyfriend maybe. That it was just coincidence he'd first appeared right after Terry had given me the lap-top. Was there a connection there?
I turned this idea over a few times, then dismissed it. The men who'd come after me were too professional to go in for such half-hearted scare tactics. They knew what they wanted, and they'd gone straight for it.
I'd had time to conduct a quick search, and discovered the lap-top had definitely gone. Either the Scouser had come back for it, or the smoker had hopped away with it under his arm.
If that was the case, if my manic burglars were solely connected with Terry's damned computer, and they hadn't been trailing me round to Shelseley, then how the hell had they known where to look for it?
I remembered the smoker's words. What last time? I thought of Susie, and shivered, trying to push the sudden irrational fear out of my mind.
It wasn't the same man, I told myself. It couldn't be the same man. I closed my eyes with the effort of forcing a return to calm, and order. I would not let myself be terrified by what had happened.
People lock themselves away, turn their homes into fortresses when the possible risk simply doesn't demand such precautions. Their own sense of panic imprisons them. Marks them out to be victims. If I let myself become incapacitated with fright, I was halfway lost before I began.
I dredged up enough energy to stir myself off the sofa, climbing stiffly to my feet. Despite my resolution not to be scared into retreat, my first action was to sort out the busted lock on the front door. I rang a local firm who said they were stacked out, but promised to be round at four that afternoon.
I tried Terry's mobile number again, but it was still switched off, and his home number rang out without reply. I couldn't face starting on the clearing up, and I didn't want to sit around and mope all day. Besides, I needed to do something about my mobility. I stuffed some surviving clean clothes into my tank bag and headed out.
I pulled the front door closed behind me and left it at that. Everything of value I owned appeared to have been trashed anyway. I didn't think any opportunist burglar could do anything more than had been done already. Maybe they'd even tidy things up a bit.
The Suzuki was reassuringly familiar as I cruised out along the quay, even if riding it made me wince. My back and shoulders felt as though they were wired tight, and every pothole and undulation in the road surface jerked the breath from my lungs.
I needed time to think, and some mindless activity to keep the rest of me occupied while I was doing it. I rode round the one-way system and up to the gym I use. It was once a dubious auto salvage yard, but that went by the wayside years ago. The graffiti-decorated corrugated iron fencing that used to keep the guard dogs in is still up, though. It tends to discourage the posers, but the hard-core of people who go there to train don't do it for the image.
I sometimes do a bit of work for the owner, a strapping German whose real name had been lost in the mists of time. For as long as I'd known him, I'd never heard anyone call him anything but Attila.
He was into body building of serious proportions, and was constantly being offered doorman jobs. This was despite the fact he was as soft as they came. He confided to me once in a reflective moment that he actually fainted at the sight of blood.
I hadn't been in to the gym for ages, and was feeling guilty about it. Right now, it was the nearest place I could think of that had a decent steam room.
I spent the next two hours sweating. The first hour it was caused by trying painfully to force some flexibility back into my screaming muscles. The second it was brought on by the eucalyptus-scented wet heat from the sauna.
As I sat, wrapped in a towel and dripping, I had time to consider what had occurred with Marc. I've always been attracted to bad boys, and he definitely had that air about him. Physically, we were certainly compatible.
The only thing that bothered me was that I'd thought he would be more aloof with his one-night stands. The last response I'd expected from him was to cling. He was good company, but that didn't mean I wanted commitment from him. Did it?
I shook my head, feeling the sweat drop from my hair. There was no way I was going to open up on an emotional level. Not to Marc. Not to anyone. Not again.
I comforted myself with the thought that his base of operations was Manchester. He'd soon be itching to get back there. I was never going to be more than a mildly interesting diversion for him.
Which was OK, because that's all he was to me.
Afterwards, I stood in the shower, letting the water run as hot as I could stand it. I didn't think I was kidding myself by claiming I definitely felt easier. I dressed again and walked – OK, hobbled – out to say goodbye to Attila.
“You want to go and get yourself a decent massage,” he told me, eyeing my stiff movements critically, like a vet watching a horse trot up that's severely lame all round.
A picture of Tris and his array of soothing essential oils popped into my mind so suddenly I'm amazed a lightbulb didn't blink on over the top of my head.
I borrowed Attila's phone and called Shelseley. Tris, bless him, said he could slot me into his schedule right away, if I could get there inside a quarter of an hour.
“No problem,” I said gratefully. As I put the phone down I silently blessed the bike's ability to slide through town traffic.
***
In fact, it took me less than ten minutes to get to the Lodge. Tris was already in the drawing room, sitting reading a faded little book. When I stuck my head round the door he closed its fragile covers with great care and went to return it to its place on the shelves.
