DECOY (Kindle Single) (4 page)

‘That’s nice,’ Kate felt obliged to say. She was more interested in Thursday, which was tomorrow. ‘And where is the warehouse?’

‘Just a few miles from here, outside Kennington. The pub Geoffrey goes to is the Signet, down near the river. At least, that’s what he tells me he does.’

Kate stood. ‘Thank you for your time, Mrs Hawkins. I think I have everything I need. I’ll be in touch.’

Six

It was seven-eighteen
the following evening when Kate rolled her little Nissan to a halt on the gravel in the car park at the rear of the Signet Inn and slotted in between a silver Porsche 911 and a Range Rover Vogue. The Nissan’s exhaust was rattling worse than ever and sounded as if it might drop off at any second. When the embarrassing noise died away, she could hear the burble of the river, and the buzz of conversation from the beer garden. It had been a hot day and the parasols were still shading the tables at which mostly young couples were enjoying the warmth of the evening. Across the car park was a shiny black Mercedes Benz the size of a canal barge. Kate recalled what Julie Hawkins had said about not liking to drive her husband’s Mercedes because it was too big and long.

The pub was old whitewashed stone with all the usual creeping plants and leaded windows and rustic accoutrements, like the cartwheel against one wall. Kate walked round to the entrance, getting into her mindset. She’d put some thought into how to dress for this. Not too overtly sexy, but alluring enough to catch the eye of a middle-aged guy who was bored with his wife. She’d raided a couple of charity shops that morning and found a navy skirt that stopped a little above the knee, and a red sleeveless top that she left unbuttoned far down enough to be interesting. She was wearing Hayley’s necklace and the same red heels that had blistered her feet for the Wheatley job. Her last purchase of the morning had been a swanky new digital sound recorder that was in the lightweight cloth bag over her shoulder. Ready for action.

Inside, the pub was decked out in the same kind of olde-worlde decor. Heavy oak beams, cracked with age. Lots of brass. Wood panelling around the walls, framed prints of pike, salmon and trout. About a million different kinds of real ale on offer at the bar, and above it a stuffed badger with glassy eyes that followed her as she walked in.

Geoffrey Hawkins was sitting alone at a corner table in the restaurant area. He was wearing a suit and tie, and had a leather briefcase at his feet. The table was set for dinner for one: neatly arranged cutlery, folded red napkin, pepper mill and salt cellar, matching flowery coasters for his plate and his glass. The glass contained sparkling water, recently poured, the bubbles still rising, a lemon slice floating delicately on the surface. He’d made space on the table for the large hardback book he was leafing through. Its cover was angled upwards enough to make out the title:
Miller’s Antiques Handbook and Price Guide 2014-2015
. It didn’t seem particularly exciting to him. As he laconically flipped the pages he took a sip of water. Like Kev before him, he looked a little chubbier than in the photo his wife had given Kate. Too many dinners out at the Signet Inn, maybe.

The dining area was only thinly occupied that evening, and the table next to his was empty. Kate checked for a reserved sign, didn’t see one, took a seat with an easy eyes-front view of her target and casually picked up the little menu from its plastic holder. Soon afterwards, a very pretty dark-haired waitress of about eighteen, wearing tight jeans and a low-cut top, arrived with a pleasant smile to take Kate’s order. Kate asked for a prawn salad, and would have opted for a glass of white wine if she hadn’t been on duty and driving. She followed Geoffrey Hawkins’ example and ordered sparkling water, and the waitress wrote it down and asked if she wanted ice and lemon with that, and then disappeared towards the kitchen with another smile.

Nice girl, Kate thought. A minute later, she reappeared from the swinging kitchen doors carrying a steaming plate of what looked like homemade steak pie and a heaped bowl of chips. She took them over to Geoffrey Hawkins’ table and he moved the book a little to give her room to set them down. The chips looked like enough for three people. No wonder Geoffrey was getting fat. He thanked the pretty waitress in a gruff, expressionless kind of way. Watching discreetly, Kate wondered if he was going to look down her top as she served him, or give her rear end the once-over as she swayed off in her tight jeans. But he barely glanced at her. More interested in the price of old furniture and the mountain of steaming pub grub in front of him.

One point for Geoffrey Hawkins. Maybe this was going to be the easiest seven hundred and fifty quid Kate had ever made.

The target shifted things around on his table so that he could lay the book flat next to his plate and go on reading while he ate. Kate could see the upside-down colour images of old tables, chairs and sideboards. Riveting stuff. Not taking his eyes off them, he forked a lump of pie into his mouth, chewed mechanically for a few moments and then washed it down with a gulp of water. He went on like that for several minutes, slowly demolishing the pie and chips while leafing through a few more pages. It was like watching a large grazing animal at work.

The waitress brought Kate’s salad and drink. At least now she had something to toy with while waiting for the right moment and figuring out how she was going to catch his eye. The sign for the toilets pointed to a door beyond, and she thought about walking past his table to go to the ladies’, accidentally dropping something as she went by and trying to gain his attention that way. She could suddenly lose an earring and watch him leap into chivalrous action to help her retrieve it. But Geoffrey Hawkins didn’t seem quite the chivalrous type.

Finally, Kate took a deep breath, leaned forwards over her plate and said, ‘Excuse me?’

He didn’t catch it right away, so she repeated it. He glanced up at her in surprise.

She smiled as warmly as she could. ‘I’m so sorry to interrupt your meal. But I couldn’t help but notice the book you’re reading.’

Make-or-break time. Either he was going to be pissed off and ignore her, or he wasn’t.

‘Yes?’ he said, expressionlessly. Hard to tell which way he would swing.

She smiled again. ‘You see, I’ve just bought this cottage outside Enstone – that’s near Chipping Norton—’

‘I know where Enstone is.’ Same flat tone. All the warmth of an iguana.

‘—and I hardly have a stick of furniture to put in it. I’ve just moved to the area, about to start a job in Oxford.’ She hoped she wasn’t piling it on too much. While she was talking, she moved her hand inside the cloth shoulder bag ready to activate her recorder in case the conversation got interesting. ‘Are you in the antiques trade? Could you recommend a good place locally? I don’t know much about all that stuff, but it’s an old cottage and modern furniture won’t suit it.’ She paused. ‘I’m sorry if I’m disturbing you,’ she said again, hearing something approaching desperation in her own voice and almost wincing at the sound of it. Great.

The reptilian coldness didn’t melt from his eyes as he stared at her for a few more moments. Then he said, ‘I’m having my dinner. Do you mind?’

Just great.

Geoffrey Hawkins returned to his food and his book.

Kate felt herself blush. She shrank back in her seat, feeling suddenly a foot high and wishing she could hit the ‘back’ button, reset time and erase what had just happened. But back buttons were a rare luxury in life, like second chances. She knew very well that she’d just blown her opening gambit, and with it any hope of approaching him again without just throwing herself at him like an idiot.

Geoffrey flicked a page. Apparently guided by a heat-seeking targeting system his fork lanced down, speared a chip and brought it back up to his mouth. It was as if she didn’t exist at all. The food was disappearing rapidly off his plate. Kate’s was still full. There was nothing wrong with the prawn salad but she couldn’t do anything but rearrange it.

Soon afterwards, Geoffrey munched his final chip, mopped up the last bit of gravy with the last bit of pie crust and called to the passing waitress for his bill. It came, he paid, he put his book inside his briefcase, he got up and left. He walked past Kate’s table without as much as a glance.

Kate sat there alone with her prawn salad. The word that kept coming back to her was
shit
. Shit, shit, shitshitshit. Talk about a screw-up. Talk about inexperience. There she’d been, thinking how easy this was going to be. Money for old rope. ‘Some jobs aren’t as straightforward as you think they’re going to be.’ Megan had warned her on the phone.

No kidding.

There was no way she could go back to Julie Hawkins with such flimsy evidence. Nor could she think of a way to try again. What was she supposed to do, follow the guy? Hang around his shop, hoping he wouldn’t recognise her and twig what was happening or take her for some kind of loony stalker and call the police?

Kate realised that she’d have to abandon the case. That was seven hundred and fifty pounds she’d paid into the bank that morning that she’d now have to withdraw and return to the client. Three-quarters of a grand that wouldn’t be going towards Charlie’s treatment.

The prawn salad was looking even less appetising now. Kate finished the mineral water, then asked for the bill and left.

She felt defeated and morose as she walked out to the car park. The silver Porsche had gone. She was approaching the Nissan, getting out her keys, when she suddenly noticed that the big black Mercedes was still there.

And that Geoffrey Hawkins was standing next to it. Looking at her.

Seven

Kate froze rigid
and stared back at him. Before she could move or speak, he was walking over towards her. Alarm flashed through her mind. Why was he waiting for her? Had he sussed her out? Was she that obvious? Had his wife gone and spilled the beans?

But as he approached, Kate saw there was a softer look in his eyes. He smiled. ‘Please excuse me. I hope I didn’t frighten you. You see, I wanted to apologise. For before, I mean. I was terribly rude to you.’

‘No—’

He raised a hand. ‘Really, I was, and I can’t apologise enough. I’ve had rather a stressful day, and I took it out on you. No excuses. I only hope you can forgive my behaviour.’

Kate realised that this was the second chance she’d thought she would never get. The lost seven hundred and fifty pounds mentally reappeared in her bank account with a little ‘
ping!
’. ‘Not at all,’ she replied, giving him the warmest smile she could manage. ‘It’s me who should be apologising for breaking in on you like that. Just that when I saw your book, I thought—’

‘You thought right, actually. As it happens, I am in the antiques trade. If I can help, or advise in any way, I’d be delighted. If you still want me to, that is.’ He stuck out his hand. ‘My name’s Geoffrey. Geoffrey Hawkins.’

‘I’m Helen, Kate said, shaking hands. ‘Helen Brown. And yes, of course I’d appreciate any help I can get. Thank you so much.’

‘It’s the least I can do.’ He hesitated. ‘Look, I know it’s late, but if you wanted to see some furniture and if you have time, I could even take you to my showroom.’

‘You mean right now?’ she asked, smiling.
Bingo.

‘If you like. It’s not far from here. You could follow me in your car.’

‘That would be perfect for me. The sooner I don’t have to live in an empty cottage, the better.’

‘I hope you don’t think I’m giving you the hard sell. No obligation. You might get some ideas from looking at my stock. In any case, I have items to suit all budgets.’

‘That sounds wonderful,’ she said.
If only you knew.

She still could hardly believe her luck as she followed the Mercedes out of the Signet Inn’s car park. The plan was right back on track. For now, she couldn’t decide whether it was her money he was interested in, or something else. If he went for the bait, she had him. If not, all she had to do was feign interest in a couple of sticks of furniture, say she’d think about it, and disappear. Either way, it was in the bag.

The Mercedes led her away from the village of Kennington and along a twisty country road. He was taking it slow in the powerful car, careful not to leave her behind or force her to drive too fast. She was following happily along when she heard the thump from underneath her car, followed by a nasty grinding sound that turned into a throaty rattle. Her engine suddenly sounded like a Sherman tank.

‘Shit!’ Kate pulled over to the verge, turned on her hazard lights. Ahead, the Mercedes slowed, pulled in and then reversed back down the road. Geoffrey Hawkins got out.

‘Is something wrong?’ he said, approaching as she stepped out of the Nissan.

Kate didn’t need to look to see what the problem was. ‘Bloody exhaust pipe. It’s been playing up for ages.’

He glanced underneath the car and frowned. ‘It’s hanging right off, I’m afraid. Looks like you’ll have to call out the breakdown service.’

‘Hell.’ Kate didn’t want to miss her chance. The timing couldn’t have been worse.

‘What do you want to do?’ he asked, concerned.

‘Do you mind awfully giving me a lift to your warehouse?’

He smiled. ‘Of course. You can call them from there, and I’ll bring you back here in time to meet them.’

The last time the Nissan had let her down like this, the RAC hadn’t turned up for three hours. She’d told Hayley she’d be back by ten. ‘Sod it, I’ll call them in the morning. I don’t think anyone’s going to steal it, and good luck to them if they do.’

‘I think that’s sensible,’ he said. ‘You don’t really want to be hanging around alone out here. I’ll gladly drive you home afterwards. Enstone, wasn’t it?’

Not such a good idea. ‘I couldn’t ask you to take me all that way,’ she said sweetly. ‘If you could just drop me off at a bus stop, that’ll be fine. I can make my own way back, no problem.’

‘Well, if you’re sure.’

It was settled. Full of gratitude, and not all of it faked, Kate got her bag from her car, locked it up and then walked with Geoffrey to his. Quite the gentleman, he opened up the front passenger door for her and ushered her inside. Stepping from the Nissan into the Mercedes was like going from a rundown council flat to a royal palace. Acres of plush leather and gleaming wood veneer. The door closed with a soft clunk. As he walked around to the driver’s side, she discreetly slipped a hand inside her bag on her lap and turned on the sound recorder.

The car glided smoothly away, leaving her stricken Nissan behind. The wooded road wound on, trees zipping past. Baroque music played quietly on the stereo. Handel, or Haydn, or Bach. Kate couldn’t tell them apart.

‘Lucky I ran into you,’ she said. ‘It could have happened anywhere.’

‘What brought you out this way?’ he asked.

She was ready for the question. ‘I was supposed to meet up with one of my new work colleagues. Looks like I got the wrong pub. I tried calling her, but she’s not answering.’

He chuckled. ‘Bad luck. What is it you do?’

‘I work up at the hospital.’

‘A doctor?’

What a flatterer. ‘Just an administrator,’ she said.

‘So how are you settling into your new home? Apart from the lack of furniture, that is.’

‘It’s such a lovely area.’ She was beginning to wish her cover story wasn’t so elaborate. She’d never even been to Enstone. One hard question might sink her.

‘Yes, it is. Great place to bring up kids.’

‘Oh, I’m on my own. No kids.’ It made Kate feel guilty to say it. As if she was betraying Charlie somehow by pretending he didn’t exist. ‘What about you?’ she asked. ‘Are you married? Children?’

He glanced quickly over at her. ‘No. I’m single, too.’

Whoops. One point down for Geoffrey Hawkins. The big, black, dirty lie was stored on the digital hard drive inside her bag, waiting to be used as evidence against him. Wait until Julie heard that one.

A little further up the road, Geoffrey nonchalantly flipped his indicator and turned left through a narrow gap in the trees. The Mercedes bumped along a track that seemed to be taking them into woodland. ‘Is your warehouse up here?’ she asked.

They were a hundred yards deeper into the thickening woods before he replied. ‘I thought, as we’re not in a hurry, we might stop for a drink first.’

Kate said nothing. She looked out of the window at the encircling trees and felt a chill of tension.

Geoffrey stopped the car and turned to smile at her. ‘What do you say? I have a bottle of champagne in the cooler.’

I’m afraid we have nothing alcoholic in the house
, Julie Hawkins had said. Grape juice. Lemonade. Sparkling water with dinner. Now champagne, all of a sudden, whipped out of nowhere like the hidden cache of a secret raver.

‘Just drive around with that on the off chance, do you?’

He shrugged. ‘Whatever.’

‘Well, sorry. I don’t drink.’

‘Really? That’s a shame. Then we could just talk.’

‘I thought we were supposed to look at furniture.’

‘Later.’

‘I should really be getting on.’

‘Why the rush all of a sudden?’ He paused. ‘You’re very attractive. You know that? I suppose you must hear it from a lot of men. Come on, have a drink.’

And with that, Kate’s job was done. He’d stepped over the line.

There was only one problem. Kate hadn’t counted on being stranded alone in the middle of the woods, miles from her broken-down car.

Geoffrey leaned a little closer. He reached across and put his hand on her thigh. She could feel its clammy warmth through the material of her skirt.

‘Don’t do that!’

‘Come on. It’s just a bit of fun.’ He didn’t take the hand away.

‘Enough! Right, that’s it. I’m out of here.’ She swung open the heavy door and clambered out, clutching her bag. The woodland ground was spongy underfoot. Her shoe heels sank into soft earth and moss, making her feel unsteady. Geoffrey Hawkins was already getting out of his side of the car.

‘Come on, Helen. Look, I’m sorry, all right? It was a mistake. I just couldn’t help myself.’

She had what she needed. Now it was time to get away from him. Even if she had no idea where the hell she was. She’d just have to manage. The road was out of sight behind a curve in the track. As she began walking that way, he moved around the back of the car to head her off. ‘Please,’ he said. ‘Be reasonable. I’ll take you to see the warehouse.’

He was blocking the path. She wasn’t about to get back in the car. She started towards the trees, stumbling over the soft ground.

‘Where are you going? Don’t be stupid, Helen. I’ve apologised. I’ll do it again. I’m sorry. There. Happy? Now come back to the car.’

‘Stay away from me,’ she shouted. ‘I’ll find my own way back.’

‘You’re crazy. You’ll get lost.’

‘I’ll take my chances.’

As Kate stumbled deeper into the woods, she was thinking he was right, she was mad. Where did she think she was going like this? The undergrowth was thick and the ground it covered badly uneven. She lost her footing, almost fell and went staggering into a patch of brambles that snagged her clothes like barbed wire. She swore and tried to wrench herself free.

He was following. She could hear his steps crackling twigs behind her. ‘Helen!’ he called out. ‘Come on back. Please. You’re acting like a child. Don’t be like this. I’ll take you straight home to Enstone.’

She ripped herself away from the clutch of the brambles and heard cloth tear. It must be her skirt, but she didn’t care about it any more than she did about the thorns that raked her bare legs. Stumbling on, she saw the parting in the trees up ahead. Maybe they hadn’t come so far from the road after all. She hurried towards the gap. Tripped and nearly went flying headlong, somehow stayed upright and kept going, convinced she could hear his footsteps striding fast through the undergrowth behind her.

Kate burst through the gap in the trees. Almost too late, she saw the evening sun sparkling on the water. With a gasp, she skidded to a halt in the long grass at the river’s edge and somehow managed to avoid plunging straight in.

The burbling of a motor caught her attention. A river narrowboat was slowly tacking along close to the bank. People! And heading her way!

‘Everything okay, miss?’ A cheerful-looking fat man with a grey beard and a pipe was manning the boat’s tiller.

‘I’m lost,’ she called back.

The man cut the engine, twisted the tiller and brought the narrowboat in closer to the edge. Its side brushed through the reeds, the low deck almost level with the bank and bumping gently against the land to slow the boat’s momentum through the water. Rippling reflections dappled the hull. The boat was colourfully painted and had the name ‘Evie Connor’ on its side. With the pipe still clenched in his teeth, he bent down and called through a hatchway, ‘Nell!’

Nell appeared moments later, a large rosy-cheeked woman with a headscarf. ‘I’m lost,’ Kate repeated to her. ‘Can you help me?’

‘Come on board,’ the woman said, waving her towards the boat. ‘Mind you don’t fall in.’

Kate took off her shoes and gingerly stepped through the rushes onto the gently rocking narrowboat. Only then did she glance back at the gap in the trees.

Geoffrey was gone. He might have given up and returned to the car. Or else he might still be there, watching from the shadows of the woods.

The boat’s owners were Les and Nelly, a kindly retired couple who spent their summers cruising the river. Les restarted the motor and shoved off while Nelly fussed over Kate. ‘Your legs, they’re all scratched. Come below and I’ll put some disinfectant on them.’

The story Kate told while Nelly dabbed her with some stinging kind of lotion – that she’d been out for a walk and managed to lose her way in the woods – sounded ludicrous to her. Like anyone would go for a woodland stroll in a short skirt and high heels. But Nelly had obviously seen stranger things along the river, because she just nodded and seemed to accept it. ‘We can drop you at the lock,’ she offered. ‘There’s a bus stop five minutes down the road from there.’ Kate thanked her profusely and said that would be absolutely fantastic.

Relief was flooding through her, mingled with anger. Both at that creep of an antiques dealer, and at herself for having walked into another compromising situation against her better judgement. Still, she’d have the final laugh when she handed the incriminating recording to Julie Hawkins.

Here it is, she thought, reaching into her bag. It was worth it in the end.

Her fingers poked through a long rip in the material. Her heart jolted in panic. Her hairbrush was still there. Her lipstick and eyeshadow. But the sound recorder was gone. So were her phone and her purse.

Had they fallen in the river?

No, they hadn’t. Numb shock hit her as she remembered. Struggling to free herself from the brambles. The tearing of cloth. It hadn’t been her skirt.

Her purse containing her ID. Her real name. Her home address. Her keys and her business cards. And the recording of her conversation with Geoffrey Hawkins.

They were still back there in the woods.