Roses Are Red - Miranda Rijks Page 0,86

and return to bed. It isn’t my alarm that wakes me, but the slamming of a car door. I sit bolt upright in bed. And then I hear keys in the front door and the beep of the alarm being switched off. I throw on an old jumper and a pair of old jeans and hurry out onto the landing.

‘Patrick?’ I say.

Footsteps, and then he appears at the bottom of the stairs.

‘Oh my God!’ I exclaim, my hand rushing to my mouth. ‘What’s happened?’ I rush downstairs, barefoot.

He looks as if he’s been caught in a brawl. There is a cut on his forehead, and he has bruising down one cheek.

I reach up to touch his cheek, but he takes a step backwards. ‘Sorry. It hurts,’ he says, grimacing. ‘It probably looks worse than it is.’

‘What happened?’

‘Had a car accident.’

My heart sinks. Patrick was driving my car.

‘I’m sorry, love. It only just happened.’ He leans back against the wall, his head resting on a framed antique map, his eyes briefly closed. ‘I was driving back from the station.’ He opens his eyes and turns away from me. ‘I’d got an early train back especially to be here to look after you. Everything was fine, the trains were on time. The car seemed to be driving normally out of Horsham and on the A24, but when I got onto the back road – you know that really tight bend, just after the humpback bridge – well, I braked as normal and nothing fucking happened! The brakes failed. The car ploughed into the hedge.’

‘My God,’ I say. ‘Was anyone else hurt?’

‘Nope. Just me.’ He turns to face me and takes a step closer. ‘When was the car last serviced, Lydia?’

For a moment, I can’t think. Is he implying that somehow this was my fault? That’s what his tone of voice suggests. ‘Um… February. No, it was June. That was the month we bought the car. The business bought it. It’s still under warranty. There’s no way the brakes would just fail, surely?’

He places his hands on my shoulders. ‘That’s exactly what I thought. It’s a top-of-the-range, quality car. I hate to tell you this, but I think the brakes were tampered with.’

‘What!’ I shiver.

‘It’s the only explanation, Lydia. The car was parked by the station, left alone for over twenty-four hours. Anyone could have done something to it.’

‘But you parked in the station car park, didn’t you? There’s bound to be CCTV there.’

He growls, runs his fingers through his hair, and then winces as he touches his sore head. ‘That’s the frustrating thing. The car park was full, so I had to park it a couple of streets away. I haven’t been back to check, obviously, but I doubt there was CCTV.’

‘What do the police say?’

‘Nothing as of yet. They took a statement; they’re organising for the car to be towed. They said they’ll check the CCTV.’

‘I’m so sorry, Lydia. Your car will be out of action for a while. I can’t believe this has happened. Two accidents in such a short time. I’ve never had an accident before. Never!’

‘Don’t worry, it’s only a car,’ I say, grabbing his hand. ‘The most important thing is that you’re safe.’

‘I am. The trouble is, I don’t think you are.’

I freeze.

‘I think the brakes were tampered with on purpose. Ajay quite probably followed me to the station or he saw the car per chance, and either he played around with the brakes, or he paid someone to do it. Would he be capable of such a thing?’

I shake my head. ‘I don’t know. He’s very mechanically and electrically minded, so probably. But tamper with brakes! He’d be sent to jail for murder for doing something like that.’

‘Come on, let’s sit down.’ Patrick gently pulls me towards the kitchen. ‘I need a whiskey, and it looks like you could do with one, too. You’re as pale as a sheet.’

‘I can’t. I need to collect the children from school, and besides, I’m dosed up on Lemsip.’

He pours himself one and makes me a cup of tea. When we’re both sitting at the table, he says, ‘If Ajay was snooping around here last night as you suggested, he would have seen my car parked out the front and assumed it was me who was at home. Does your car have a tracker?’

‘Yes.’ And then it dawns on me. Ajay kept all the details of our company cars: his, mine and a couple of our other senior managers. It