The Elephant Girl (Choc Lit) (32 page)

It was like trying to find the proverbial needle in a haystack.

There’d been no calls on Sunday and so far Monday was proving to be uneventful, other than the fact that Ruth had come to the office, which had only happened once in the three weeks Helen had worked there. She thought back to last Monday, when Ruth had seemed almost approving of Helen standing up to Letitia. Where did Ruth’s loyalties really lie? It was time to find out.

The front office was empty, the secretary out to lunch maybe. Steeling herself for a possible confrontation, Helen put her hand on the door to Ruth’s office, but stopped at the sound of a high-pitched voice, bordering on the hysterical.

Ruth.

‘You just can’t wait to get rid of her, can you? So you can get your hands on her shares.’

‘Don’t be ridiculous,’ retorted Letitia, in her characteristic low voice. ‘Those shares would be divided between you, me and Helen. It won’t make any difference to Mother other than giving her the rest she needs, and the three of us will have more power on the board.’

‘Yes. Helen,’ Ruth spat. ‘What made
you
take her under your wing?’

‘That’s what Mother wanted. You see, I
do
listen to her. Besides, she works hard.’

Helen half-snorted at that. The aunts could say what they liked about her; she had Aggie’s affection, and that was enough. She thought of barging right in, if only for the satisfaction of seeing their red-faced shame, but something held her back.

Listen and learn.

‘That’s all you ever think about,’ Ruth complained. ‘Money, shares, the company. It’s like a stuck record.’

‘If you’d shouldered your part of the burden when we needed an extra pair of hands, things might’ve turned out differently. But oh no, you had to go off and try and have babies, spending a fortune only for them to tell you that your ovaries are shrivelled up like dried prunes.’

There was a shocked gasp from Ruth, and she was silent for a moment. Despite her resentment, Helen couldn’t help feeling sympathetic.

‘You can be so cruel sometimes. You always know exactly where to stick the knife, don’t you?’

‘I’m just being realistic, Ruthie. And to think, there was a ready-made child you could’ve had,’ Letitia added. ‘Too bad that didn’t work out.’

Didn’t work out? Helen stiffened. What did that mean? Had Ruth wanted her and not been allowed? But who hadn’t allowed it, the law or Aggie? It tallied with what her grandmother had said about wanting to keep her away from Arseni. As a blood relation he would have had a claim, but Ruth wouldn’t.

Letitia sighed exasperatedly. ‘But why don’t we put it behind us for now? I do think it’s best for Mother to go into a nursing home. I worry about her mental capabilities, and the daily care is really too much for Mrs Sanders. She’s told me so on a couple of occasions.’

Hah, thought Helen, still just outside the door. From what she’d witnessed of the nurse’s engagement, it had seemed like a pretty cushy job to her.

‘There’s nothing wrong with her mind,’ Ruth snapped. ‘Her disability is physical. Mrs Sanders stays, and we engage a male nurse to do the heavy lifting.’

‘You’re not thinking straight. If she stays for now, six months later we’ll be faced with the same problem. By then she may have donated her shares to a cat society or something equally eccentric.’

‘Maybe thinking straight isn’t my strongest point, but I know for a fact that Mother would prefer to stay in her own home for as long as possible. And even if she’s in a nursing home, she’ll still have her solicitor to look after her financial affairs, so you may whistle for those shares all you like!’

‘Despite your low opinion of me I just want to make sure she isn’t being exploited. This Sweetman character …’ Letitia paused, ‘well, he’s hardly our kind, is he? Who knows what sort of hold he has over her? Their association never made sense to me.’

‘Maybe I’ll ask Helen what she thinks,’ said Ruth.

‘Helen? She has nothing to do with this.’

‘She should do. Mother is very fond of her, you know. I could probably persuade her to be on my side in this.’

Letitia scoffed. ‘I doubt it. Not after the way you let her down. You could’ve been her new mummy but you didn’t want a child that wasn’t perfect. You didn’t even try to make her love you.’

‘I never said—’

‘Not only that, but she was the child of the woman who slept with your husband. Admit it, you couldn’t even bear to look at her. You’d have made a terrible parent!’

Helen stifled her horror with her hand. She’d heard enough. Trembling and battling with a sudden headache, she tiptoed backwards and left as quietly as she had come.

On the stairs she met the secretary clutching a greasy sandwich bag. ‘Can I help you?’

‘No.’

Screw them both, she thought.

Screw them
all.

She collected her rucksack and jacket from the staff room, then stormed out the front, baffling the security guard. She had to get away. Away from the aunts and their poisonous, complex relationship. Aggie who manipulated them all like a giant toad in her nest, Arseni and his cloying attention.

Away from Fay and the feelings of wanting revenge, which hung over her like a dark cloud. From the doubts which sucked all the energy out of her.

Everything which stopped her having a normal, proper life.

In her bag she had what she needed: money, phone, medication, the picture of her parents. The rest could come. She would jump on a train out of London, to Scotland maybe, and leave it all behind. Start again.

She was halfway to Kings Cross station when she realised this meant leaving Jason too.

This is no good, she thought, as she stood outside the imposing entrance to R & D again. She’d overheard enough to cause her immense pain, but she owed it to Ruth, and to herself, to get the whole story. The danger of eavesdropping was that it gave you only half the picture.

Thoughts of Jason had cooled her anger, like a glass of milk on an ulcerated stomach. He wouldn’t just walk off. He would stay and get to the bottom of things, do what was right, not for himself but for others. He could have thrown her out of the house when he discovered the truth about her, but he didn’t. She admired him for that.

More than anything, it was the idea of never seeing him again which had stopped her from beginning a new life in the Outer Hebrides. She’d run away once before, and it hadn’t solved anything. This time she wouldn’t.

‘Thought you’d got the sack the way you took off earlier,’ said the security guard.

‘No, not the sack,’ she replied, and clomped up the stairs to the offices again.

Neither of the aunts were there, the secretary informed her. ‘But Mrs Partridge will be back soon. You can wait in her office.’

Helen sent her a questioning look.

‘I know about the family connection,’ she added. Was it Helen’s imagination, or was she just a bit less sniffy?

‘Thanks.’

Ruth’s office was as richly furnished as Letitia’s. Gleaming desk, Persian rug, grandfather clock, a hideous but expensive onyx globe in the corner. It was also completely devoid of anything personal, not even a magazine to read, probably because Ruth was rarely here. Helen dropped down into a shiny leather sofa to wait for her. After half an hour Ruth still hadn’t returned, and when she stuck her head out of the door, the secretary’s station was empty and her computer switched off.

Helen debated with herself whether to continue waiting or maybe catch Ruth another day, except she had no idea when Ruth would be in the office again. Then she spotted her aunt’s handbag on the floor beside the desk, and decided to snoop. She had no reason to, other than feeling bloody-minded. And, she had to admit, a hope that Ruth would come back and say … well, something. Anything to take away the feeling that nobody could be bothered with her. That she was nothing but a nuisance.

But there was nothing interesting in Ruth’s handbag, so she tried the desk drawers instead. There had to be something personal somewhere. Even though it was an office, it wasn’t right that there was so little life in it.

But the desk drawers contained only stationary. She was thinking about turning on her aunt’s computer when her eyes fell on the grandfather clock. It was one of those longcase clocks with a pendulum and weights, the kind that would tick so loudly the sound would fill the office. Except this one was either broken or hadn’t been wound in a while, because it wasn’t ticking.

On impulse she opened the door to the pendulum casing. Nothing looked broken, but then again, she wasn’t an expert on clocks. Then she noticed something at the bottom, reached down, and pulled out a bundle wrapped in chamois leather.

The parcel was long and thin, heavier at one end than the other, and she unwrapped it carefully.

Inside was one of the missing paper knives.

Her head spun. Which knife was it? Her mother would never have given it to Ruth, certainly not after the vitriol Ruth had spouted about Mimi earlier, which meant either way she’d stolen it. But from Mimi or Fay?

Her headache grew, became a steady thumping in her skull. She needed to lie down, but was damned if she was going to do that here – she might wake up with a paper knife in her own throat.

The sound of the phone ringing in the secretary’s office reminded her that the door might be opened at any moment, so she closed the clock again and put the knife in her rucksack. She was back in the secretary’s front office just as Ruth appeared at the top of the stairs.

‘Did you want something?’

‘I was just leaving.’

Ruth made a face which might have been a smile, and her features softened. ‘You don’t have to, you know. Leave, I mean.’

‘Perhaps it was better if I did.’

‘Why don’t you come in?’ Ruth went back into her office. Helen shrugged and followed her, watching as her aunt opened the onyx globe which housed a small bar and poured herself a gin. ‘Would you like a drink?’

Despite there being nothing personal in Ruth’s office, the bar was well-stocked, Helen noted. Funny how drinks were a requirement for some people in their working environment.

‘I’m all right. But thanks.’

Her aunt closed the globe again and turned, tumbler in hand. ‘I’d like to try and make things better between us. I think we got off on the wrong foot when I saw you at Mother’s.’

‘There’s an understatement,’ Helen muttered.

‘I’m just not sure where to start. Perhaps we should get some questions out of the way first. I imagine you must have plenty.’

‘I’d like to know more about my mother. What she was like and all that. Your relationship.’
And
why you’re in possession of her paper knife, she nearly said, but decided to keep that to herself for the time being. There had to be a way of using it to her advantage.

‘My sister often tells me I need to clear my conscience,’ said Ruth. ‘So I’ll be frank. You may not want to hear this, but I’m going to say it anyway. Please don’t judge me too harshly. I was so jealous of your mum. She was beautiful and successful, knew what she wanted. And she was a mother. She had Aggie’s ear, and not many people can lay claim to that. Cantankerous old bat.’ This time her grimace definitely was a smile, a rueful one. ‘Whatever she touched, it turned to gold. I really resented her.’

‘But it didn’t,’ Helen protested. ‘It wasn’t all gold and jewels and half the kingdom. Her husband died very young, and her child – me – has epilepsy. I can drop dead at any time, did you know that? “Sudden death in epilepsy”, they call it. How’s that for happy ever after?’

‘I see all that now, but back then, I had a
thing
about your mother. An obsession I suppose. And then there was that nonsense with Jeremy.’

‘Aggie called your ex-husband a “disaster”.’

‘Mother says the strangest things sometimes.’

‘Was he unfaithful to you? With my mother?’

Ruth sighed, then nodded.

‘When your father died, she needed a shoulder to cry on. She could’ve taken her pick of men, but for some reason she chose my husband.’

‘Well, she wasn’t very likely to cry on yours,’ said Helen, ‘if you resented her so much.’

‘I suppose not,’ Ruth replied mildly. ‘Turned out it had been going on for a while. Since around the time she got pregnant with you.’

Helen’s head jerked up as the possible implications hit her.

‘Your father was being treated for leukaemia before you were born,’ Ruth continued. ‘Cancer drugs are known for causing infertility. I thought you might be Jeremy’s child, because you were so blonde. It completely knocked me sideways. We’d been trying for so long, you see.’

‘Is that why you murdered her?’

Ruth gasped, and the gin went down the wrong way. Coughing violently, she turned puce as she heaved for breath, and tears sprang into her eyes from the discomfort. Helen crossed her arms and did nothing to help her.

Go on, choke on it, she thought. Just like my mother choked on her own blood.

‘I didn’t kill your mother!’ Ruth wheezed when she got her breath back. ‘What a preposterous idea. I might be an old soak, but … Good heavens! I was about to say that for a
while
I thought you were his child, but later I knew I was wrong. Your features are very much like Dmitri’s. Although—’ She stopped abruptly.

‘Although what?’

Ruth lifted her glass to take another sip, thought better of it, and put the crystal tumbler down on the desk where it made a ring on the polished wood. ‘Your father was seriously ill and receiving treatment. At that time, twenty-six years ago, IVF wasn’t readily available, if it even existed. Your parents could’ve arranged for his sperm to be frozen and kept, but whether they did that or not, I don’t know, your mother didn’t tell me. If they didn’t, he’s unlikely to be your biological parent.’

‘Then who is?’

Ruth sent her a tired look. ‘Do you really need to ask? Your uncle, of course. And that didn’t sit well with Letitia because
she
had her eyes on him.’

Because her headache was getting worse, Helen took a taxi home rather than the tube. The journey passed in a daze. Either Ruth had killed her mother in a crime of passion, or the murder weapon was still missing.