Kelly out, watching appreciatively as she walked ahead of him, searching through her bag for her key. The writer enjoyed the gentle sway of her hips as she walked, the muscles in her calves tensing slightly with each step she took, perched on her backless high heels.
He followed her.
Her flat was, as he’d expected it to be both spotlessly clean and impeccably neat. At her bidding he seated himself in one of the big armchairs which flanked the electric fire. Kelly passed through into the kitchen and Blake heard water running as she filled a kettle.
She returned a moment later, crossing to the window to close the curtains.
Then she flicked on the record player, dropping a disc onto the turntable.
‘Do you mind some music?’ she asked.
“Not at all,’ he said.
The sound of Simon and Garfunkel flowed softly from the speakers.
‘Coffee won’t be a minute,’ she told him, seating herself in the armchair opposite and, as she did so, she found once again that her gaze was drawn to the writer.
is this your own place?’ Blake asked.
it will be eventually,’ Kelly told him. in another twenty years time probably.’ She shrugged. ‘By the time I’m an old, withered spinster at least I’ll own my own flat.’
Blake smiled.
i don’t think there’s much chance of you becoming an old withered spinster, Kelly,’ he said.
‘My mother keeps asking me why I’m not married yet.
Why I’m not knee deep in wet nappies and babies.’ Kelly smiled. ‘Parents love the idea of grandchildren until they actually have them. Then they complain because it makes them feel old.’ Kelly felt a warm thrill run through her as she relaxed in the chair, feeling quite happy to let Blake look at her, to examine her with his eyes. Every so often she would see them flicker behind the dark screen of his glasses.
‘Are you sensitive to light, David?’ she asked him. i mean, the dark glasses.’
She pointed to them.
‘Slightly,’ he said, i suppose that’s what comes of squinting over a typewriter for five years.’
The kettle began to whistle. Kelly got to her feet and walked back into the kitchen, returning a moment later with two steaming mugs of coffee, one of which she handed to Blake. Then, she kicked off her shoes and, this time, sat on the floor in front of him, legs drawn up to one side of her.
‘Kelly, I don’t want to pry,’ Blake began. ‘But you said there were things about Vernon which you didn’t understand. What did you mean?’
She sucked in a weary breath and lowered her gaze momentarily.
‘From what you told me at the pub, I can’t see any reason to suspect that Dr Vernon’s up to something, especially not anything as sinister as you seem to think,’ said Blake. ‘What reasons would he have?’
‘David,’ she said, trying to keep her voice calm. ‘I was responsible for what happened to Maurice Grant. What I did was wrong. It broke the rules of the Institute. The authorities could have closed the place. That Institute is Vernon’s pride and joy. He could have lost it because of me and yet he didn’t so much as give me a warning or suspend me.’ She decided to put down her mug.
instead, he protected me when he had every right to dismiss me on the spot.
Then, when I got back from France, he wanted to know everything that happened and he kept my report.’
Blake sat forward in his chair.
‘You make Vernon sound like a monster when all he tried to do was help you,’
he said.
‘He’s hiding something, David,’ she said, angrily. ‘John Fraser knew what it was. That’s why he was killed.’
‘Who’s Fraser?’
She explained as much as she knew about the events of the last two days.
‘But if Fraser was killed in a car crash, how could Vernon be involved?’ the writer wanted to know. ‘It was an accident, surely?’
‘He knew about Vernon’s secret.’
Another heavy silence descended, finally broken by Blake.
‘I don’t see how you can suspect Vernon of being involved in Fraser’s death,’
he said.
‘David, he won’t let anyone come between him and this research.’
‘Does that include you?’ Blake asked, cryptically.
It was at that point that the phone rang.
For long moments neither of them moved as the strident ringing filled the room. Then, finally, Kelly got to her feet and walked across to the phone, lifting the receiver tentatively, wondering why she felt so apprehensive.
Blake watched her, noticing the hesitancy in her movements.
‘Hello,’ she said.
No answer.
‘Hello,’ she repeated, looking across at Blake as if seeking reassurance.
Words suddenly came gushing forth from the caller at the other end, some of which she didn’t understand. Not merely due to the speed with which they were uttered but because they were in French.
‘Who is this?’ she asked, holding the phone away from her for a second as a particularly loud crackle of static broke up the line. ‘Hello. Can you hear me? Who’s speaking?’
‘Kelly. It’s Michel Lasalle.’
She relaxed slightly.
‘Listen to me, you must listen,’ he blurted, and Kelly was more than aware of the high-pitched desperation in his voice. His breathing was harsh and irregular, as if he’d been running for a long time. ‘I saw Madelaine,’ he told her, his voice cracking. ‘I saw her.’
‘You had a nightmare, Michel, it’s understandable …’
He interrupted.
‘No, I touched her, felt her,’ he insisted.
‘It was a nightmare,’ she repeated.
‘No. Joubert saw her too.’
Kelly frowned.
‘What do you mean? How was he involved?’ she wanted to know. She felt the tension returning to her muscles.
‘He was there, with me,’ the Frenchman continued, panting loudly. He babbled something in French then laughed dryly. A sound which sent a shiver down Kelly’s spine. ‘He watched me making love to her. She felt cold in my arms but it didn’t matter, she is still mine. I still want her.’
Kelly tried to speak but couldn’t.
‘Joubert has not forgiven me,’ the Frenchman said, softly. ‘I don’t think he ever will.’
‘Forgiven you for what?’ Kelly wanted to know.
‘Writing that article.’
‘Did he speak to you?’ she asked, wondering whether or not she should humour the distraught man.
‘He is always there, Kelly. Always. Watching.’
An uneasy silence fell, broken only by the gentle hiss of static burbling in the lines.
‘Michel, are you still there?’ Kelly finally said.
Silence.
‘Michel, answer me.’
She heard a click and realized that he’d hung up. For long seconds she stared at the receiver then slowly replaced it.
‘What was it?’ Blake asked, seeing the concern on her face.
