White Lies (9 page)

“What?” Jimmy did a perfect sit-up, the stomach muscles taut against his shirt as he came upright. “What am I looking at? Eyelets? What are they for?”

“Bondage.” Meinwen resisted the temptation to lick her lips, though she couldn’t help salivating and just hoped he didn’t notice. “All sorts of bondage. You could tie off wrists and ankles to individual eyelets, attach hooks or clips to them or lace the lot with a truck load of rope and bind someone to the bed with corset lacings.” She looked up. “Look! There’s a recently filled hole in the ceiling. I bet there was a winch in the loft when your brother lived here.”

“A winch?” Jimmy held out a hand in a ‘stop’ gesture. “No, don’t tell me. I don’t want to know.”

Meinwen stared hard at the walls. “There are plastered-over holes, too. I bet he had fetish gear all over the place.”

“Fetish gear?”

“Whips, restraints, crosses. That sort of thing.”

“The mind boggles.”

“Not just the mind.” Meinwen closed her eyes, imagining the room decked out as a sado-masochist’s wet dream. “I bet his other place is out of this world.”

Jimmy stood up and crossed to the door. “Are we done here then?”

“I suppose.” Meinwen took a last look, her gaze lingering on the bed with its rows of bondage eyelets. She imagined Jimmy naked, tied to the bed with only his cock free. She pushed the thought away and followed Jimmy into the hall. She took a few paces to the small room built over the stairs. “What’s this?”

Jimmy stayed at the other end of the landing, next to the stairs. “That was Faye’s.” His voice died as she opened the door. An old bed and a picture of a girl with a horse. She looked to be about six.

“Your sister?”

“Yes. She died when we were kids. She ran across the road and ended up in a tree forty yards away. They said it was an accident but nobody was ever blamed for it. It happened up by the park.” He pursed his lips. “Funny. People said it was safer in them days but it wasn’t. Not for her.”

“Did you witness it?”

Jimmy shook his head. “John did. He was supposed to be looking after her but was showing off to his mates, doing chin-ups on the bus shelter.” He swallowed and looked away. “She never knew what hit her, they said. Died instantly. Wouldn’t have felt it.”

“I’m sorry.” Meinwen moved around the landing to squeeze his arm. “She looked to be a lovely little girl.” She pressed the picture into his hands. “She deserves more than to be shut away, though. Find somewhere for her downstairs among the living.”

“Yeah.” Jimmy gave her a thin-lipped smile. “You’re right. There’s just me now. No need to worry about John’s guilt any more.” He traced the girl’s face with his fingertip. “You can stay with me now, Faye.”

“Was she cremated or buried?”

“She’s buried in St. Pity’s, next to Mam and Dad.” He looked up, tears glistening at the corners of his eyes. “And John soon, I suppose.” He took a deep breath, blinking several times. “Are we finished up here?”

“Yes, I think so. If you ever sell up, give me the option of buying the bed, won’t you?”

“If you like. I don’t know how you’d get it out, mind. I bet it was built in situ.”

“That’s okay. I know someone with a big tool.”

Jimmy laughed, turning off the lights in his old room and the bathroom before following her down. “Another cup of tea, or should we get off?”

“What time is it?” Meinwen pulled out her mobile but Jimmy responded with “ten past three” before she’d even unlocked the keypad.

“Best get off, then. I’ll ring for a taxi. Chervil Court is right over the other side of town. It’ll take an age to walk.”

“With any luck we’ll find John’s car at the other place. I could drive you home.”

“Not without insurance, you won’t. You’re on parole, aren’t you?”

“Yeah. You’re right. Not that insurance ever bothered me before.”

“If you go back inside, there won’t be much I can do for your brother.” Meinwen dialed a number, holding her hand up to stifle another reply from Jimmy. “Hello? I’d like to book a taxi from fifteen Ashgate Road to Chervil Court please. As soon as possible.” She listened to the reply and put the phone away. “It’ll be here in five minutes.”

“Mind if I have a cigarette while we wait?”

Meinwen shrugged. “It’s your house. You can do what you like.” She picked up her bag from the floor next to the table. “I’ll just go outside, though. I don’t care for it.”

“Oh. Right. Of course, sorry.” Jimmy picked up his coat. “I’ll go outside, you stay in the dry. I’ll give you a shout if the taxi comes.”

“Okay. Thanks.” She sat again while he picked up John’s keys and phone, his own phone and his pouch of tobacco and lighter.

“I’ll see you outside in a minute. Just pull the door shut when you come out, will you?”

She waited until the door had closed and opened her phone again. She dialed a number she hadn’t had occasion to use in a couple of years, biting her lip while it rang, remembering the phone on the hall table, polished daily.

“The Godwin Residence.”

“Oh, er...Hello.” Meinwen couldn’t believe how much her heart was pounding over such a simple matter of a telephone call. “May I speak to Master Richard Godwin, please?” She made an emphasis on the word “Master,” thus displaying her knowledge of the underlying management of the household.

“I’m afraid the master is away at present. May I direct you to another member of the house?”

“Oh.” Meinwen felt crushed. She hadn’t anticipated Richard might be away. “When will he be back?”

“He’s expected later this evening. Would you like to leave a message?”

“Actually, I’d like to speak to him about quite a serious matter. Is Nicole Fielding still his personal secretary?”

“I’m afraid not. Nicole left to pursue a different career last year. May I help? I now handle all of Master’s appointments.”

“Oh, yes, please then. I need to see him as a matter of urgency.”

“I can fit you in tomorrow? Eleven o’clock?”

“That would be lovely. Thank you.”

“I’ll pencil you in. What name is it?”

“Meinwen Jones. We’re old acquaintances.”

The woman on the other end lost all her aloofness, her voice becoming warm and familiar. “Oh! Manny, darling. It’s Jennifer, from the vicarage?”

“Of course. How lovely.” Meinwen smiled as she recalled the outspoken author of several erotic novels. “How’s the writing going?”

“Rather well, actually. Richard’s quite strict about how much novel writing I do. I’m more productive than I ever was and of course, now I get to do some proper research.”

Meinwen chuckled, imagining just what kind of research Jennifer was doing, since her genre was erotica. “I’m glad it’s going well. We’ll have to meet up for a coffee one of these days.”

“I’d love to. You can tell me all about the witchcraft you’ve been doing and the gossip about the Women’s Guild. I get Thursday afternoons off at the moment.”

“That would be splendid. Look, I have to go. I’ve got a taxi waiting. I’ll try to say hello tomorrow when I come.”

“Spiffing. I’ll let Richard know.”

“Great. Thank you, Jennifer.”

“Okay. Byses.”

Meinwen disconnected the call with the smile still on her face. It was odd to think of her prim and proper friend succumbing to the carnal desires of the flesh. The death of Jennifer’s brother had made the world of difference to her outlook on the concept of morality and sin.

A rap on the door startled her from her reverie. Jimmy. “The taxi’s here.”

Meinwen raised her voice as she stood. “Coming.” She slung her bag over her shoulder and plucked her umbrella from the sink. At the door she turned, went back to the table and slipped John’s gold ring into her pocket.

Chapter 7

The taxi took them all the way to Chervil Court in under fifteen minutes. Meinwen felt slightly guilty about her shop as they passed the Shambles. She’d already arranged another appointment tomorrow which entailed leaving the shop closed all morning–even if she went in she’d have to leave again at ten to get to the Larches on time and she could barely remember the last time she had a customer before ten. That was the trouble having a mainly pagan clientele. They generally stayed up with the moon.

Chervil Court was a group of maisonettes all facing a central park and recreational area. Forty years had done a lot to change it from the model housing the planners had visualized. The maisonettes were pleasant enough when they were built but had d fallen into disrepair and vandalism when the Conservative council had sold them off in the eighties. In the last decade they’d been bought as owner-occupied and gradually modernized and decorated.

The communal gardens had suffered in the meantime. When the council-employed caretaker had been made redundant, the gardens had become a focal point for the nineties drug scene, forcing the local authority to bulldoze the lot and replant it as a large piece of grass surrounded by road. The flats were served by two bus stops, their dimly lit shelters providing business premises for prostitutes and drug dealers in easy reach of their clients.

At one end of the crescent was a patchwork of different curtains in the windows, several varieties of music drifting from open ones. “Looks like a thriving student population.” Meinwen nudged her traveling companion with her elbow. “Your luck could be in, there.”

“Nah.” Jimmy shook his head. “Not me. Too old to be courting students.”

“I wasn’t thinking about courting them.”

“What number is it?” The taxi driver slowed when he turned into the road.

Meinwen leaned forward. “Number eight, please.”

“Number eight.” He sped up until he reached the penultimate block and pulled over, clicking off the meter. “Four fifty please.”

“Here.” Meinwen gave him a fiver. “Keep the change.”

“Thank you very much. Should I wait?”

“No. We’ll be fine, thanks.” She opened the door and climbed out, followed by Jimmy. “Flat five should be on the top floor, I suppose.”

“Three floors, so yes.” Jimmy looked up at the building as the taxi roared away. “I wonder if there’s a penthouse level.”

“Why? Would you put in an offer?”

“I don’t have to really, do I? With John dead all this goes to me.”

“Unless you killed him, of course.”

“I was in prison at the time. I doubt you could get a better alibi.”

“I suppose not.” Meinwen tapped him on the arm. “Come on. Lets go look at your new property then. You did remember the keys?”

“Sure.” Jimmy pulled the fob out of his trouser pocket and held it up. “Ready and waiting.”

“Right then.” She marched up the path to the communal front door, barely sparing a glance at the scrubby bushes struggling to grow amongst the beer cans and broken bottles on what passed for soil. “Open up then, squire.”

Jimmy fumbled with the keys, trying both unfamiliar ones before giving up in disgust. “This is pointless. We must have the wrong address.”

“Or the wrong keys.” Meinwen glanced at the building number. “This is number eight. Let me try.”

Jimmy gave her the keys but despite trying them all–even the key for Ashgate Road which she knew was wrong–she got no further than Jimmy. She rang the bell for flat one.

“Hello?”

“Oh, hello. My name is Meinwen Jones. We’re the new owners of flat five but we can’t seem to get in.”

“New owners? What happened to the lovely man who lived there before?”

“He died, I’m afraid. I have his brother with me.” She nudged Jimmy.

“Oh, hello.” He waved at the intercom. “James Fenstone, but if you’re good you can call me Jimmy.”

“Good? I’m bloody marvelous.” She laughed to herself for a moment. “The outer lock is an electronic gizmo. You have to wave your key fob at it.”

Meinwen tried and was rewarded by the click of the lock as it sprang open. “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome, dear.” The intercom went silent.