Up Close and Personal (28 page)

‘They’ve got a special relationship those two, haven’t they?’

‘I guess,’ Dante said. ‘I know Nathan’s experience in the hotel trade has been invaluable to Juliet; she’s obviously grateful to him.’

Orla gave a little snort. ‘
Gratitude
– is that what you think it is?’

Dante’s eyes snapped open. ‘What else would it be?’

She shook her head quickly. ‘It’s nothing, honestly … just me thinking out loud.’

‘No, come on, tell me what you’re thinking,’ Dante demanded.

‘Well,’ she said slowly. ‘I was just wondering if maybe Juliet and my brother might have had a little thing together … before
you
came on the scene, obviously.’

Dante stared at her in shock. ‘You’re kidding?’

‘No, I really think there’s a good possibility,’ she said, passing the spliff back to him. ‘I’ve seen the way they act around each other.’

‘What way’s that?’

‘Like they’ve got a special bond, something that goes way beyond any professional relationship. Come on, you must’ve noticed it.’

Dante frowned. ‘They’re pretty friendly, I guess,’ he said. ‘But as for getting it on together … I can’t see it; he’s not her type.’

‘Maybe not, but perhaps she was feeling vulnerable. She must’ve had some very low moments after her husband died. Perhaps Nathan was there when she needed a shoulder to cry on.’

‘No way,’ Dante said. ‘If they’d had a fling, Juliet would’ve told me about it.’

Orla batted her eyelashes. ‘
Would
she?’

He handed the spliff back to her. ‘Yeah … at least I think she would.’

‘But if she told you she’d have to sack Nathan.’ She lifted the spliff to her mouth. ‘And maybe she likes having him around.’

Dante felt the bile rise in his mouth. The idea of Juliet having an affair with Nathan made him sick to his stomach. ‘Has Nathan said something to you about this – anything, even a hint?’

‘God no,’ she said. ‘Nathan and I don’t have that sort of a relationship. He’s a closed book when it comes to his emotions. In any case, he’s very professional. If they did have an affair, I’m quite sure he wouldn’t want it to get in
the way of his career. He loves working at Ashwicke; he’d be devastated if he ever had to leave.’ She held what was left of the spliff out to him. ‘Do you want to finish this off?’

He took a final drag and flicked the butt into the bushes. ‘Come on, let’s get going.’

Dante’s head was spinning as he set off down the golf club’s shrub-lined drive – not just because of the spliff, but because of the idea Orla had planted in his head. The thought of Nathan touching Juliet’s naked flesh was almost too much to bear.

They didn’t speak much in the car. When they stopped at the traffic lights on the high street, Dante turned to Orla. Her eyes were half closed and she was slouched low in the seat, her feather headdress now lying at a strange lopsided angle.

‘What number Newman Street?’ he asked her.

‘Forty-two,’ she mumbled.

A couple of minutes later, he felt her head lolling against his shoulder. He could smell her apple-scented shampoo and feel her soft hair brushing against his jaw. He didn’t try to wake her.

Soon, he was pulling up outside a handsome Victorian building with decorative shingles and a stained-glass panel above the door. ‘Hey,’ he said, giving Orla a gentle nudge. ‘We’re here.’

She stirred and twisted her face so that she was looking up at him. ‘Sorry,’ she said. ‘I didn’t mean to fall asleep on you.’

‘That’s okay,’ he said. Her chin was still on his shoulder. Their faces were inches apart. He could see a faint
scattering of freckles across the bridge of her nose and the tiny scar above her left eyebrow.

She pulled back from him, as if she were embarrassed.

‘Your place looks pretty nice,’ he said as she fumbled with her seatbelt.

‘Yeah, it’s not bad.’

‘I’ve heard rentals in Loxwood are expensive.’

‘They’re bloody extortionate. Nathan found this place for me. He’s subsidising my rent too, just till I get my first pay packet.’

‘That’s kind of him,’ Dante said flatly.

She smiled. ‘See, he’s not all bad.’

She opened the car door and climbed out. ‘Well, thanks for the lift. I guess I’ll see you at work on Monday.’

‘Yep, I guess you will.’

She went to slam the door, but at the last minute she caught it and stuck her head back inside the car. ‘I’ve got a bottle of Glenmorangie indoors. I might have a quick nightcap before I turn in. You’re welcome to join me.’

Dante shook his head. ‘Thanks for the offer, but I’d better get home. It’s been a long night.’

‘Of course. Sorry, I forgot you’ve been working like a dog all evening. It was silly of me to even suggest it. Oh, and listen – that stuff I said earlier, about Juliet and Nathan …’ She licked her lips. ‘Just forget it, okay? I always talk shit when I’m stoned.’

A moment later, she was slamming the car door and walking unsteadily up the path that led to her house. Dante watched her, waiting until she was safely inside. It was only when he got home that he realized she’d left her fur wrap behind.

*

On the other side of Loxwood, Nicole was staring at the shadows on her bedroom ceiling. Usually she sank into an exhausted sleep the minute her head hit the pillow, but she’d lain in bed for two hours now, tossing and turning. Sighing, she shucked off the duvet and swung her legs over the side of the bed, pushing her feet into the shabby sheepskin-lined slippers that Connor was forever threatening to chuck into the bin. A hot, milky drink. That should do the trick, she told herself.

Downstairs in the kitchen, she made herself a mug of hot chocolate, adding a forbidden squirt of aerosol cream. Then she wandered from room to room, the mug pressed to her chest, so she could feel its comforting warmth. It felt strange being alone in the house and not altogether pleasant. Drawn by some invisible thread, Nicole found herself pushing open the door of her husband’s tiny home office. It was somewhere she rarely ventured, and a place where, just lately, Connor had been spending increasing amounts of time. Now, as she sat in his executive chair, looking at all his things neatly lined up on the desk, Nicole found herself wondering precisely how and when they’d managed to grow so far apart. All at once she heard a beep emanating from the depths of the desk. Frowning, she tried the drawer, but it was locked – an indication, no doubt, that it held confidential paperwork Connor wanted to keep away from their cleaner’s prying eyes. She scanned his desk, looking for the key, and eventually found it nestling beside some paper clips in the antique ink well she’d bought him for Christmas.

The drawer unlocked, she discovered that the beep had
come from Connor’s mobile phone. Nicole smiled: so he wasn’t ignoring her; he’d just forgotten to take his phone to Cardiff. She glanced at the screen: nine missed calls, eight of them from her. She’d better check who the other caller was, just in case it was something urgent. Then she could phone her husband at the hotel first thing and let him know.

Connor had recently upgraded his phone and Nicole wasn’t familiar with all its functions. As she pressed keys at random, a photo of Tilly popped up. Nicole smiled. It had been taken hours after their daughter was born: she looked tiny and so cute in her white cotton sleepsuit. Eager to see what other photos Connor had saved, she began scrolling through them. There was one of her in her dressing gown, wrapping up presents on Christmas Eve, and a picture her mother had taken of all three of them in the park. Suddenly an image Nicole had never seen before appeared on the screen: two people dressed in animal costumes, a fox and a rabbit. The fox was holding the phone at arm’s length in order to take the picture. Nicole was nonplussed. She and Connor hadn’t attended any fancy-dress parties recently. She pressed the key again. The next photo made her cry out in shock. It had clearly been taken in some sort of woodland. A mouse – or rather a person dressed as a mouse – was on its knees. In the creature’s mouth was an erect penis. Its owner’s face was out of shot but the matted reddish fur at the base of the erect appendage suggested it was the fox.

Nicole swallowed hard. She felt as if she had a stone inside her stomach. It was hard and unyielding and it made
her feel quite nauseous. Despite this, she forced herself to scroll through another half dozen similar images. When the picture show was over, she knew exactly what she had to do.

20

Connor was whistling softly as he prepared for his morning surgery. It was a week since the doctor had returned from Cardiff and he was in a good mood. At lunchtime, he was meeting Zoe. She’d told him to bring his stethoscope and a pair of latex gloves, so he could well imagine what the filthy minx had in mind. He glanced at the wall clock: eight fifteen. His first patient would be arriving soon. He had just started to clear his desk of paperwork when he heard a loud shriek. Frowning, he turned his head towards the open door. ‘Carol, is everything all right?’ he called out.

The receptionist didn’t answer straight away. A moment later she appeared at the door. She looked rather flushed and she was holding a copy of the
Loxwood Weekly Chronicle
. A copy was delivered to the surgery for the waiting room every week, together with a selection of women’s magazines. ‘There’s something in here I think you ought to see,’ she said.

Connor took the newspaper from her outstretched hand. ‘What is it?’

Carol stared at the floor. ‘Page ten,’ she said. Then, without elaborating further, she turned and hurried away.

Connor spread the newspaper out on his desk. The
Chronicle
rarely contained anything to interest him. Its news stories generally focused on mundane local concerns, like road closures or the length of the queue at the post office.
He turned to page ten. The main story was about a wheelie bin being set on fire. He scratched his nose. Surely this couldn’t be what had made Carol cry out in shock. Then his eye alighted on the gossip column on the right-hand side of the page. Penned by an anonymous source, it usually contained items about fly-tipping and local councillors receiving backhanders, the perpetrators’ identities only thinly veiled. This week’s lead item was rather more titillating.

FUR BETTER OR WORSE

Forget dogging and swinging – a new sex craze called ‘furring’ is sweeping Loxwood. The bizarre practice sees participants – known as ‘furverts’ – don animal costumes and meet in woodlands for … well, you can probably guess the rest. Mrs Jayne Crisp, owner of the Make Believe fancy-dress hire shop in Henley Street admitted: ‘I do wonder where my costumes go sometimes. Some of the fur suits come back in a terrible state, covered in mud and leaves. The seams are often ripped too.’

The
Chronicle
has it on very good authority that a certain local GP is an ardent fan of furring. What’s more, the married father-of-one, who opened a swanky new surgery in the town centre five months ago, doesn’t go on his nocturnal adventures alone. His partner in crime just happens to be one of his patients. The pair also spent last weekend together at a hotel in Cardiff. Something tells us they weren’t just checking each other’s blood pressure.

By the time he’d finished reading, Connor was hot with horror. He hadn’t been named, but the clues were there. Anyone with half a brain would be able to work out he was the GP in question. He reached for the phone; his lunch date with Zoe would have to wait. He had much more pressing matters to attend to.

The doctor’s heart was in his mouth as he drove the short distance home. He’d asked Carol to reschedule his patients. She hadn’t asked him why; the answer was obvious.

He found Nicole sitting at the kitchen table, spooning something brown and mushy into Tilly’s eager mouth.

‘Hello,’ she said as he came in through the back door. ‘Did you forget something?’

Connor began to breathe a little more easily. It looked as if the paper boy hadn’t arrived with their copy of the
Chronicle
. Nicole would find out about the story eventually, but at least he would be able to forewarn her and quite possibly talk his way out of it.

‘Erm, yeah … I mean, no,’ he said.

Nicole stared at him. Her expression was blank. ‘Which one is it?’

‘It’s
no
. I came back because there was something I wanted to talk to you about.’

‘Oh? It must be urgent if you’ve abandoned your patients.’

‘It is.’ Connor took a seat at the table. ‘The thing is, Nicole …’ He ran a hand through his hair as he struggled to find the words. ‘I’ve done something rather stupid.’

‘I know,’ Nicole said, wiping Tilly’s mouth with the corner of her bib.

Connor’s Adam’s apple bobbed up and down. ‘You do?’

She reached under the highchair and pulled out a copy of the
Chronicle
.

His heart sank. ‘Nic, listen, I can explain.’ He reached out to her, but she ducked her head away from his hand.

‘I’m listening.’ Her tone was icy.

Connor took a deep breath and launched into the defence he’d hastily concocted in the car. ‘It’s lies, all of it,’ he told her. ‘A lot of people in Loxwood are jealous of my success. Somebody’s obviously gone to the paper with a frankly ludicrous story about me, and the
Chronicle
has lapped it up without bothering to check the facts. I’m going to sue them for libel; they haven’t got a shred of evidence.’

‘Oh yes, they have.’

Connor blinked hard. ‘What?’

‘Photographs, receipts, mobile-phone bills … I think you’ll find the editor of the
Chronicle
has quite a damning dossier in his possession. You can sue them if you like, but in the face of such overwhelming evidence I doubt you’d even find a lawyer willing to represent you.’

Connor felt the blood drain out of his face. ‘What photographs?’

‘Why, the ones on your phone, darling,’ said Nicole, shuddering as she recalled a particularly explicit image which showed Connor in his fox costume mounting an unusually submissive squirrel.