TouchStone for ever (The Story of Us Trilogy) (34 page)

“Don’t share your
thoughts with me, Beth. Not those kinds of thoughts. I need to read
his
.
When you say those things I can’t concentrate.”

“I’m sorry. I just
was sat there watching you and I felt that way.”

He rearranges my
hair. “Look. This guy means business. He won’t back off and I don’t want to
give him the wrong impression. “I must keep my mind on him, not you, baby …
later, but not now. Do you understand?”

I understand those
three little words better than he knows but give nothing away.  I simply nod,
remove the gloss from his lips with my forefinger and straighten his shirt and
tie. “There you are, all handsome and tidy again.”

He runs his thumb
along my bottom lip, removing gloss that he been spread below it, grips my hand
firmly and presses it against his lips. “Let’s face the music.”

When we return, D. I.
Bowker is helping himself to another cup of coffee. “I hope it’s okay.” He
holds his mug aloft.

“Of course. We had
some unfinished business to attend to concerning purchases we made in Hong
Kong. Please continue.” Ayden returns to the sofa, pursing his lips between his
finger and thumb, feeling the texture of my gloss. He looks sideways at me but
I look away. I have no intention of becoming a distraction again.

“So, where were we?”
He consults his scribbles. “Am I right in thinking you and Miss. Richards knew
each other prior to the purchase of this house?”

I’m startled by his
directness. He knows something.

Ayden is quick to put
him right. “Yes, as I’m sure you’ve already worked out, we were both orphans
and we spent time together at Bright Hill, a children’s residential home in
Hove.”

What?

“Yes, I have a note
of that. But she was there for only a short period of time. Can you tell me
why? There is no record of her being adopted until years later, as far as I can
see.” He flips over another page.

“She was moved
because she was being sexually abused by two men at Bright Hill. They caused a
commotion one night which drew attention to them, but I believe they pursued
her to her new home and continued to rape her for some time after.”

I hold my right hand
to my mouth.

Why are you telling
him this?

He already knows.

 “I’m sorry to hear
that.” Indicating his disgust, he purses his lips and shakes his head. “And may
I ask how you came upon this information, Mr. Stone?”

Ayden prefaces his
response with a laboured sigh. “She told me before the car crashed. She became
very distressed. As a child, she thought I would come and rescue her, but I was
too young and I couldn’t find her; not even later on when I employed the
services of a private investigator. We didn’t meet again until I came to buy
this house.”

“Mmm … and how does
Mrs. Stone fit into all of this?” He fixes an unnerving eye on me.

Me?

Ayden reaches over to
stroke my hair. “Beth came with her father to Bright Hill. He was doing volunteer
work, painting and decorating, that kind of thing. While she was there I took
care of her; we became inseparable. I fell in love with her. In fact I never
stopped loving her.” His words fall from his mouth like petals that float
softly through the air and settle silently around us. I close my eyes and
picture my beautiful boy.

He clears his throat
and explains further, “Our paths crossed by chance one day when I went to her
school to give a speech to students. I recognised her instantly - and the rest
is history, as they say.”

D. I. Bowker’s mouth
twitches. “So you were childhood sweethearts?”

“We were,” Ayden
confesses. “Do you find that amusing?”

He shakes his head as
if he’s been caught sniggering during a sermon. “Not at all. My wife and I were
childhood sweethearts. We met at junior school and were never parted … until a
year ago, that is. She died of breast cancer.”

I lean over and place
a compassionate hand on his knee. “My mother did too.”

He bows his head, as
if acknowledging her passing with a moment’s silence. “It was a sad day, but we
have a daughter and she has all her mother’s qualities. So I have been blessed
in that respect.”

“That
is
a
blessing,” I agree, nodding and offering a comforting smile.

He closes one small
notepad and opens another. “Now to you Mrs. Stone. Tell me about you and Mr.
Rizler at Cambridge. He must have given you quite a scare to force you to
change your name and to hide yourself away for all those years…”

He knows everything!

I nod in agreement,
as this seems to be our day for confessions, I prepare to explain. ”He tried to
rape me in my final year at Cambridge. He and two other men grabbed me one
night in a car park and they only stopped because a man came out to walk his
dog. A light came on, they ran away and forgot about it. But not Mr. Rizler. He
had my possessions and found out where I lived. He called and even broke into
my room once. I’m sure he stole a couple of things. Underwear most likely.”

“I see. So when you
had the break-in at Elm Gardens, it was him?”

“Yes,” I admit,
regretfully.

“But you didn’t tell
me at the time, even though I had my suspicions you knew the assailant. Why was
that?”

I should say because
Ayden told me not to but I won’t. “I didn’t want my past to come back to haunt
me. Ayden and I had become very close and this sort of thing would have sullied
his reputation and mine. Besides, I thought that would be the end of it. I was
wrong of course.” I scoff at my naïveté.

“Yes you were. He had
been looking for you for some time. There were pictures of you going back to
your university days. He had them pinned up on his wall like a shrine. He only
tore them down when he became deranged and desperate. He took chances.
Thankfully, Mr. Stone was on hand to rescue you.”

I reach for Ayden’s
hand. “Yes … he was.”

Seeming unconvinced
about something he scratches at the stubble on his chin with his fingertips and
takes a noisy slurp of tea.

“Is there anything
else we can help you with?” Ayden asks, prompting him to share his thoughts
with both of us.

“Yes. Two things.
What do you know of Miss. Richards’s involvement with Mr. Rizler?”

The question stumps
us: we’re shrugging shoulders and shaking our heads.

“We had no idea they
knew each other,“ I confess. “Did they?”

“Yes. From telephone
records and further investigations, it would appear they were in cahoots with
one another: quite the team, in fact.” He seems pleased with himself. Maybe
it’s his choice of words or the fact he thinks he’s actually telling us
something we don’t know.

“We had no idea,” Ayden
says, sounding rather unconvincing.

“Well, it is becoming
clearer the deeper I dig but, I suspect she was using Mr. Rizler to – if you
would excuse me Mrs. Stone – to get rid of you.”

“My God!”

“She had her sights
on you, Mr. Stone and did not respond well to your rejection.” He places down
notebook number two on his knees. “That would explain her behaviour when she
discovered you were married to your childhood sweetheart, I think.”

I interrupt him with
a question. “How did she know? Ayden was careful never to mention it for that
very reason.”

“I visited her
apartment and saw photographs scattered on the floor. She had pieced it
together. One photograph was of you as children, one of you taken by Mr. Rizler
and one torn from the newspaper article announcing your engagement.  I suspect
it was this discovery that subsequently resulted in her being an inebriated
passenger in Mr. Harrison’s car.”

“She took the wheel,”
Ayden asserts. “There was nothing I could do.”

D.I. Bowker takes a
breath and eyes Ayden reflectively, preparing to make some kind of declaration.
“But you did manage to take control of the car after she was seen leaning
across and grappling with the wheel. It was the car that appeared to slow then
pick-up speed that sent you spinning and careening down the embankment. You
were in no way responsible for the death of Elise Richards. Eye witnesses and
forensic evidence has proven that beyond a doubt.”

Feigning relief,
Ayden bows his head.

I reach for his hand.
“You couldn’t save her, Ayden.”

“I believe she’s
correct, Mr. Stone. We have apprehended the driver of the vehicle responsible
for her death, but he claims to have no recollection of the collision. Once
again, we have forensic evidence that would suggest otherwise, but a far as
you’re concerned, the case is closed.”

“Thank God!” I
exclaim, clutching my breast with my free hand.

With that case
solved, he focuses his attention on me. “And the same goes for you Mrs. Stone.
After looking into your case very thoroughly, I have come to the conclusion
that Mr. Rizler came with intentions of raping and killing you that day in your
classroom or even taking you to Elm Gardens where he had equipment assembled
two floors above your apartment.”

For the second time I
cover my mouth. “Just the thought of him being that close terrifies me. I can’t
believe there are people like that out there.”

He gives me a solemn
look of condolence. “I’m afraid so. The world is populated by monsters it
seems, Mrs. Stone.” All three notebooks are stuffed into his breast pocket,
creating an unsightly bulge, but he’s not a man to waste time picking out
clothes, fussing over shoe polish or matching ties. As Ayden pointed out, ‘he
means business.’

“Now all that remains
is for me to write this up formally and to trace the two male employees at
Bright Hill 22 years ago. That shouldn’t be too difficult.” The sofa creaks as
he stands. “I think that’s everything …” He pauses, realising something
significant.

“Did you forget
something?” I ask, tipping my head and waiting for his reply.

“Only this.” He pulls
a folded envelope out of his other breast pocket.

“What is it?” Ayden
asks, as if he doesn’t know.

“It’s a letter
addressed to you from Miss. Richards. It was in her safe deposit box at the
bank.“ He fastens his jacket and prepares to leave. “I believe she wanted you
to have it.”

Utterly perplexed,
Ayden takes it. “Thank you. Do you know what’s inside?”

D. I. Bowker faces
him head-on until they are positioned like two book ends on either side of the
coffee table. He seems to be thinking through his reply. “I have no idea, Mr.
Stone.” He mitigates what appears to be a lie with a smile. “I’ll forward a
copy of my reports to your solicitor for your information. If there’s anything
I’ve missed or you want to add, please feel free to call me on this number.” He
slides a card across the glass topped coffee table.

I scoot off to fetch
his raincoat and, when I return, Ayden is showing him out.

“Don’t forget this.”
I fold it over his arm.”

“Thank you.” He
reaches for my hand. “Mrs. Stone, it was a pleasure meeting you. May you have
many trouble-free years ahead.”

I chuckle quietly,
noticing the gentleness lurking behind his fierce stare. “I hope so and I hope
we’ll meet again under happier circumstances.”

“I hope so too. Good
morning to you.”

I watch them get into
the lift and descend. My head is crammed with information; there’s so much I
didn’t know, and so much I was blissfully unaware of.

When Ayden steps from
the lift he is positively radiant. “Well, that went better than I expected.”

“You said he was a
man of good moral standing. He is.”

He’s grinning. “Did I
say that?”

“You did.” I gather
up the mugs and float past him.

He appears behind me.
“Is there anything you want to ask me? Anything he left out that you’re curious
about?”

I continue to rinse
out the cups. There
is
one thing. I turn to face him directly. “Did you
know about all that? Mr. Rizler and his fixation with me? That I was in danger
of being found?”

“I watched over you
after your attack, Beth. You were never in danger. Until …” he thinks carefully
about his choice of words.

“Until?”

“Until you were
reunited with … me.” He lifts a playful brow.

I huff at the
thought. “By
you
, you mean Ayden? How so?”

He answers with a
nod. “As I explained before, I can’t control destiny, only interfere with it
temporarily. You were bound to come together sooner or later.”

I give him a puzzled
look. “So we could have met before we did at my school? You interfered and saw
to it that we didn’t?” I throw down the tea-towel. “What gave you the right to
do that?”

“I have no need of
rights
.
It was my choice.”

He doesn’t
understand. “You had no right to choose whether or not we should meet!”