Sue for Mercy - Veronica Heley Page 0,19

an extravagant, never-to-be-forgotten meal.

I never did forget that night, but not because of the meal, which we hardly touched. The “slight risk” which Charles had taken when he moved in with me turned out to be unjustifiable; or that was how Charles put it afterwards. He certainly hadn’t bargained for Mr. and Mrs. Julian Brenner’s descent on me when I was alone and unprepared for them.

I was mixing mayonnaise when the door-bell rang. There was a telephone-operated lock on the front door downstairs, and I thought Charles must have mislaid his keys for once. Sparing a glance at the chicken joints cooking in the oven, I sped to the phone.

“It’s me!” said a man’s voice plaintively. I thought Charles must have caught a cold, because his voice sounded higher than usual, but it didn’t occur to me that it wasn’t Charles at all. I released the door catch, and returned to the kitchen.

“Did you remember the wine?” I asked, as I heard the door of my flat open. Usually Charles came to give me a hug even before he took off his coat, but this time he didn’t. I turned to see a tall, thin, flaxen-haired man usher an equally strange woman into my flat. He was wearing an expensive black overcoat, tinted glasses and a malicious smile. I didn’t like the look of her, either. She was like Rita, only more so. She was slim and dark, her trouser suit would have cost me a month’s salary, she had had her hair coiffured by a master, and her make-up had been copied straight from the cover of Vogue. A red scarf would have suited her well. I stood there with a wooden spoon in one hand, my hair hanging down my back, wearing a two-piece jersey suit which had seen better days, and with next to no make-up on. I knew that this woman and I had nothing in common, even before she opened her mouth.

“Miss Stephens?” asked the man. “Miss Sue Stephens?”

I nodded. These must be the people who had visited Charles in hospital, and who had been responsible for his injuries; the ones Charles had not wanted me to meet.

“You don’t know us, I’m afraid, but I’ve been hearing a fair amount about you, from a mutual acquaintance.”

I didn’t like to think that Charles had talked to them about me.

“Yes?” I asked, and was proud to see how steady my hand was as I put down my spoon, washed and dried my hands, and went to join them.

“Mr. Bessiter,” said the fair man. “A charming lad — so helpful — don’t you agree, Bianca? Oh, this is my wife, Bianca. I’m Julian Brenner, a friend of Charles.”

And with that he adjusted his trousers at the knee and sat down in my best chair. Bianca Brenner tested the mantelpiece for dust — there wasn’t any — and perched on the edge of the table.

“Not quite what our Charles is used to,” she said. I suppose she thought that speaking in throaty tones made her sound seductive. She looked round my home, not missing the chip off the jug on the sideboard, or the stain on the carpet where I’d spilt some ink. Her eyes dissected the couch and identified it as a bed under its coverlet and cushions. Her raised eyebrows dismissed my home, and me, as ludicrously inadequate.

“I’m afraid Charles isn’t here,” I said. “Perhaps you’d care to leave a message for him...”

“We’ll wait,” said Julian.

“We were just as anxious to make your acquaintance as to see Charles,” said Bianca, whom I was beginning to dislike intensely. An enormous diamond solitaire glinted on her left hand, and on her right wrist she had an exclusively designed bracelet which screamed “Cartier” at me. The pair of them moved in a smooth aura of money. At the back of my mind I had always known that Charles did, too, but when he was with me the difference in our life styles had not worried me. Now it began to do so.

“Perhaps you can settle a little argument for us,” said Bianca. “Did Charles tell you about his fiancée or not? I thought he wouldn’t have done so, but my husband is quite sure he would have done.”

“I’m sorry,” I said, which was quite idiotic of me. If I could have just dropped down in a faint, it would have been the perfect way to end a horrible conversation, but I wasn’t the fainting type, and no matter how much