The Cornish Guest House (27 page)

‘Pat?’ No reply.

Liz froze. ‘Are you there?’ Then, forgetting coat or shoes, she tore up the quiet street and hammered on her neighbour’s door, letting herself in with the key that she kept for emergencies. Her heart was pumping furiously as she hurtled into the front room, to find Pat sprawled and unconscious on the carpet in front of the window, her right arm twisted at a strange angle and blood trickling from the corner of her mouth.

For a moment Liz thought she was dead, but bending down she felt for a pulse in her wrist that confirmed she was still breathing. Grabbing the phone that was lying at Pat’s side, Liz dialled 999 and cradled her friend’s head on her lap, smoothing her white hair, the deep lines on her forehead, while she waited for the ambulance to arrive. She didn’t dare move her, scared of causing further damage, but whispered gently again and again, as much to reassure herself as anything, ‘They’re coming now, they’re on their way. You’re going to be all right.’

Pat stirred and moaned as the paramedics examined and moved her carefully into the ambulance. It seemed that she’d broken her poor arm badly. She was clearly in a lot of pain and Liz went with her on the journey to hospital, talking to her in a low voice and stroking her hand, though the old woman was bewildered and scarcely knew what was happening.

It was only when Pat was being wheeled into Casualty that Liz was able to ring Robert and ask him to collect Rosie from the cinema, as well as alert the police to the fraudulent call.

‘I’ve no idea how long I’ll be,’ she told him. ‘I’ll keep in touch. You know,’ she went on, thinking of Pat’s broken bones, her kind heart, the way she’d do anything for anyone, ‘I hate those people. I don’t know how they can live with themselves. If I bumped into them in the street, I swear I’d strangle them with my bare hands.’

*

That evening, Loveday sat in the corner of The Lobster Pot, sipping a Bacardi and Coke and waiting for the others to show up. She loved having her weekends free, particularly Saturday nights. They’d always been very busy at A Winkle In Time and although there was usually some house party or other going on afterwards, it wasn’t the same. She’d arrive tired and sweaty in her waitressing clothes, smelling of fish, garlic, herbs, wine and all the other fancy ingredients that went into the dishes. Whereas today she’d risen at noon and mooched about listening to music, calling friends, munching on crisps and toast, having a long bath and spending hours getting ready.

She fiddled with her phone for a while, playing Candy Crush Saga and avoiding Barbara’s son Aiden’s eye. He was quite a bit older than her, and they’d had a brief romance until she’d grown tired of his frequent trips to Launceston to see his kids. Truth to tell, she wasn’t that keen on his Morris dancing either. Looking back, she’d been a bit of a cow, dumping him by text. Awkward. But she had been less mature back then. Now she was sure she’d handle it better.

Barbara sashayed over to take her empty glass. ‘Top-up?’ she asked, smiling. A widow in her fifties, Barbara wasn’t the type to bear grudges. In any case, Aiden had a new girlfriend, an estate agent from Lostwithiel, who was closer to him in age and far more suitable. He was still annoyed with Loveday, she could tell, but he wasn’t exactly dying of a broken heart.

Tony and Felipe strolled in, wearing V-neck sweaters in different colours and matching white Converse trainers. They waved at Loveday and ordered drinks from Aiden at the bar before settling down at a table on the other side. It was 6.30 p.m., still early, and the place wouldn’t start filling up for half an hour or so. Loveday hoped her friends would hurry so that she wouldn’t have fight off customers wanting the seats that she’d bagged. She knew what it was like.

When Barbara returned, she handed Loveday her drink before pulling up a chair. She was dressed to the nines in a scarlet frock, cut low at the front, high black heels and big, gold earrings. Her blonde hair didn’t move, thanks to quantities of lacquer; if you lit a match she’d go up in flames.

‘Isn’t it awful about Pat?’ she said, wiping water from the bottom of the glass off the table with a cloth and shaking her head.

Loveday, who had no idea what she was talking about, listened quietly while the older woman filled her in. Pat, she said, was at that very moment undergoing a nasty operation to pin the broken bones in her arm back together. Surgeons could work wonders nowadays but, given Pat’s age, even the general anaesthetic was a risk.

‘Liz said she was in awful pain, poor thing, very distressed. Seems she was the victim of a telephone scam.’

Loveday’s ears pricked, she wanted to know all the details, and Barbara described how the ‘so-called police’ had offered to transfer Pat’s savings into a special, safe account. ‘Looks like she’s lost the lot. It was the fright that made her collapse.’

The temperature in the room seemed to drop and Loveday felt a bit woozy. Transferring victims’ money into a special, safe account was her job, and the words that had been used to Pat sounded like the ones that she’d been told to say. She gave herself a mental shake and almost laughed. It had probably been Ahmed on the phone – or even Luke – busy with their investigation!

‘Her money’s fine!’ she cried. ‘She can have it back whenever she wants, she just needs to ring the number they gave her.’

Barbara looked at her strangely. ‘Robert spoke to the
real
police. They said it’s been happening all over, same story exactly. There’s no “safe account”. The cash disappears as fast as you can click your fingers and when you try to ring the number it’s dead, the phone’s been chucked away. I’m afraid the money’s gone. To be honest, though, that’s the least of our worries. Money can be replaced – but Pat can’t.’

Loveday thought of the new mobile phone that she was given every time she went to the office, which she’d never thought to question, of Tabitha’s strange reaction to the Porsche and of Luke’s frightening treatment of her. To be honest, Loveday hadn’t felt quite the same since; she’d been more guarded around him, though he didn’t seem to have noticed. Her chest tightened as Pat’s words flashed through her mind: ‘Sounds like he’s up to something,’ she’d warned. ‘If you ask me, men don’t go buying their wives expensive gifts like that unless they’ve something to hide.’

Her hands started trembling and she tucked them under the table so that Barbara wouldn’t see. She felt confused and didn’t like the path down which her thoughts were leading her. Pat was like another grannie. She was part of Tremarnock; you couldn’t imagine a time when she wouldn’t be there. Now the old woman was frightened and in pain.

‘Liz said he called himself Detective Constable James Burgess,’ Barbara informed her. ‘Scum.’

Loveday felt sick. That was one of the names Ahmed used. She knew because the old people quoted it back when they got through to her. Her thoughts turned to all the elderly men and women that she’d spoken to at HM Financial Services. Luke had taught her to be gentle and reassuring but firm, too, because it was in their interests to do as she said.

‘Don’t worry, your savings will be quite secure,’ she’d insisted, taking care to call them ‘Mr’ or ‘Mrs’, unless they gave her permission to use their first names. Ahmed and Sam always shut their doors so that she couldn’t hear what they were saying. And those lists of names and numbers that she’d compiled so willingly and handed over, complete with ages, addresses, credit ratings. Luke had told her to concentrate on Devon and keep well away from Tremarnock. She hadn’t asked why. ‘It’s an ill bird that fouls its own nest’, that was one of Pat’s sayings. Maybe Ahmed had slipped up.

She’d thought she’d been helping to protect the old people. She could taste acid in her mouth and tried to tell herself that she was being silly, adding two and two together to make five.

‘She will be all right, won’t she?’ she asked Barbara desperately, attempting to disguise the crack in her voice.

‘We just don’t know, to be honest. Fingers crossed.’

She must have noticed Loveday’s eyes pooling with tears because she touched her hand, which made her want to cry even more. ‘I’m sorry to be the bearer of such bad news. She’s old, you see, and the arm’s very badly broken.’

Loveday found herself gripping the edge of the table. Might Pat
die
? What’s more, if the police were on the case maybe she, Loveday, would go to prison. The voices around her faded in and out.

‘Are you all right?’ Barbara asked suddenly, signalling to Aiden at the bar for assistance. ‘You’ve gone as white as a sheet.’

Loveday could feel the sweat on the palms of her hands and upper lip; she had to get out. She pushed back her chair and stood up shakily, pausing just long enough to ask Barbara to pass a message to her friends that she was feeling ill and had gone home.

‘Let Aiden walk with you at least,’ Barbara called after her, but she was too late. Loveday had already stumbled from the pub, not caring about the stares. She hurried up South Street, past the familiar houses and shops, past Rick and his girlfriend, coming from Market Square, past Jenny Lambert and her dog, and across Humble Hill. All the while her brain was in overdrive, trying to work out what to do.

Talk to Robert and Liz – and Jesse, too. Of course! They’d go together to the police and sort everything out. And once Pat was better, Loveday would pay her and all the others back. She’d save her money, every last penny, for however long it took – the next fifty years if necessary. For a moment she almost laughed with relief.

Then something that Luke had said came back to her and she staggered, as if she’d been hit: the scammers were very dangerous, they’d go to great lengths not be caught. ‘I don’t want to scare you, but you must understand that idle talk could put not just you but your friends and family at risk, too.’

She started to run as fast as she could up the alley that separated the gardens in her street from the ones that backed on to them, cutting her arms and face on the twigs and spiky brambles and knocking down wheelie bins. Her hands trembled as she rammed her key in the lock and lurched into the house, slamming the door shut behind her. Then she turned off her mobile, and climbed, in all her clothes, under the duvet, covering her head completely so that all she could hear was the thumping of her own anxious heart.

*

It was a complex operation to put Pat’s arm back together, involving wires, screws, rods and metal plates. Afterwards, the surgeon declared it a success, but pointed out that they weren’t out of the woods yet. There was always a danger that the arm would become infected or refuse to heal properly, and Pat was going to need lots of care.

‘It’ll take a good few months to get better and she’ll need plenty of rest,’ he warned Liz, who was there with Pat’s favourite niece, Emily, when Pat came out of Theatre. ‘She can’t use the arm for while, so she’ll be in hospital for at least a week and she’ll need someone to look after her when she goes home.’

Word spread fast and soon everyone wanted to know what they could do to help, and Liz became the main point of contact. Before long, Barbara, Jean, Tony, Felipe, Esme, Rick and all the rest were taking it in turns to visit Pat in hospital and keep up her spirits. She was in bandages, uncomfortable and looking very frail, but she appreciated the company, though she did miss home.

‘I’ve never been away so long,’ she said sadly, and Liz promised that she’d water her pots and keep everything clean and tidy.

Emily said she could stay with her aunt for the first week after she left hospital, but after that she’d have to return to her husband, who was in poor health himself. In between her own hospital trips Liz drew up a rota to ensure that her friend wouldn’t be on her own for more than an hour or two once she was discharged, and all her meals would be provided. Even the young ones offered to help: Nathan and his girlfriend Annie, Ryan, Jesse and the boys at A Winkle In Time. After all, everyone adored Pat. Only Loveday failed to volunteer, which was peculiar, given that the pair were very fond of each other.

However, Liz was so busy that for several days she scarcely had time to think, then on Thursday morning, before he left for the restaurant, Robert told her he’d heard from Jesse that Loveday was ill and hadn’t been to work.

‘Flu, I think,’ he said. ‘She’s been in bed for days and still isn’t right. I said she should see a doctor, don’t you think?’

Liz was puzzled. Normally Robert’s niece would phone or drop by almost every day. Either that or they’d bump into each other in the shops or street. Loveday tended to wear her heart on her sleeve and would share even the slightest problem, yet now she’d gone completely quiet. It was most unusual.

Liz decided to postpone seeing Pat and check on Loveday at the flat instead. She rang the bell and rapped on the door several times but there was no answer, and, thinking that the girl might be sleeping, she went away and came back in the early evening.

When there was still no reply, Liz became increasingly concerned and shouted through the letterbox, ‘It’s me. I’m going to fetch Jesse. Are you all right?’

She put her ear to the door, thinking she could detect movement, and sure enough soon Loveday herself appeared on the step in a pink dressing gown and grubby white slippers.

‘Why didn’t you answer?’ Liz asked, confused, and the girl scowled.

‘I’m sick, didn’t Jesse tell you? I’ve been in bed all week. I can’t talk to anyone.’

She was so rude that for a moment Liz was tempted to turn round and go home, until she reminded herself that she was unwell.

‘Can I get you anything? Food? Medicine? Something to read?’

Loveday shook her head and replied, Greta Garbo-ish, ‘I want to be alone.’

She looked pale, it was true, but flu wasn’t the end of the world. Liz thought of poor Pat, stuck in hospital after a shock that could have killed her, and felt her sympathy ebb away.

‘Have you heard about Pat?’ she asked, expecting some acknowledgment, a question at least, to find out how she was doing.

‘I don’t want to talk about it,’ snapped Loveday.

As soon as Liz left, Loveday padded upstairs and sat on the end of her unmade bed, her head in her hands. She’d wanted nothing more than to tell Liz everything, but she mustn’t, and it had been the same with Jesse. All week long he’d been so thoughtful, bringing her cups of tea, offering her massages, but she’d given him the cold shoulder and turned away.