So; had the paper fallen out into the road or in her bag? Maybe it had been in her bag and had become tangled in the other clothes. Yes, yes, and then she hadn’t noticed it when it fell out and Dolly had found it. That was it, that’s what had happened.

Why then did it have a water stain in the corner and a strange brown smear across one side?

She screwed the thing up and took it with her into the kitchen. She didn’t need it now and it wasn’t important and so it was dropped into the bin. The accident had been horrible. It wasn’t something she wanted to think about now or ever but it would have been nice to know how he had fared, the broken and unconscious rider.

Why was it that every time she moved forward something seemed to pop up to take her one step back and mar her pleasure? Damn it, the paper was nothing, just a strange little mystery and not worthy of a moment’s thought.

She poured another glass of wine and settled back on the settee to lose herself in the rich sounds of saxophone and piano.

Too much wine, too much emotion and it was time for bed. She checked the doors and dragged herself upstairs. Tomorrow was forecast to be bright and sunny and so she would go to the beach and remind herself that she was supposed to be on holiday. Time was running out and she must make the most of these last few days.

The waxing moon peeped through the tree tops and so she left the curtains open. The morning sun would waken her but that was fine as she wanted to fill her day with pleasure.

When the puzzles and memories tried to push in she cast them aside. She went on her mental journey to the desert island. Walking on white sand under swaying palms beside an azure ocean. The gentle rush of waves on the beach both real and virtual lulled her to sleep…

It was fear that woke her although it took a while to register. Music played somewhere softly in the darkness.

The moon washed the space with silver light. For a moment Pauline lay in the warm bed puzzled by the frizzle of nerves.

The smoky note of a saxophone drifted into the room.

As she slid her legs from under the duvet goose pimples prickled her bare arms. She realised that she was holding her breath and so gave herself a moment to breathe and to listen and assess.

Slowly she crossed the carpet and reached a hand to the half-closed door. The music swelled and faded waves of it wafting up the stairs enticing, puzzling and drawing her onwards in spite of herself.

She took the few steps across the landing and peered over the balustrade. The front door was closed, the living room door was open. There was the source of the sounds.

She gulped, her throat had dried and her stomach quivered with nerves. She looked back, it would be wisest to return to the safety of the bedroom, lock the door and ring the police on her mobile. Yet fear of embarrassment, a disinclination to cause a fuss, maybe even some curiosity; whatever it was something carried her quietly down the wooden staircase.

She crept along the hall and stood outside the lounge listening. The music still played, otherwise all was quiet save for the click of the hot water boiler which suddenly chimed in and caused her to gasp with shock.

She pushed open the door and stepped into the room. A figure sat in the easy chair by the window, backlit by the faint glow from the lamp in the farm gateway. A dark silhouette; his hands on the arms of the chair his feet planted flat on the floor. A shadow statue.

She took another step and his eyes opened and gleamed in the dimness. It wasn’t Jim and despite what she had come to assume this wasn’t George either.

Chapter 18

Shaking fingers clutched at her pyjama top, knuckles gleaming bone white. Tears of fear and panic swam in her eyes as Pauline hissed at the figure. Her voice hitched and caught as she struggled for control. “I’m not going back. I don’t care what he’s said, what he’s told you. I won’t go back. You can’t make me, he can’t make me.” She sobbed into the continuing silence.

For long moments the dark shape didn’t move, he simply sat four square in the armchair and then she saw his fingers stretch and flex. She backed away towards the door. She must run.

The voice stopped her. “Sit down. Sit down now.”

“I’ve called the police. They’ll be here any minute.” In response to her desperate lie the man simply raised his hand and turned her little phone in his fingers. He pressed the button causing the tiny screen to light up and shook his head. He had been into her bedroom while she slept. He had stepped beside her bed and taken the phone from her cabinet.

She couldn’t breathe.

“No, you didn’t. Sit down there.” He pointed to the settee. She wouldn’t sit, wouldn’t be ordered around. Never again, she had left all that behind.

“No. Get out. Tell him that I am not coming back no matter what and tell him to leave me alone.”

He moved too quickly. Out of the chair, across the room. He reached the corner where she was backing into the hall. He leaned behind her and slammed the heavy wooden door, and in the same move grabbed her arm and dragged her to the settee. He half threw, half pushed her into the soft cushions.

A deep pain in her upper arm begged for relief. She rubbed at it as she drew her legs up curling defensively in the corner of the seat. “Please, don’t hurt me. There’s no need for you to hurt me. I don’t know what he told you but he’s a brute and a bully. I had to get away. Whatever he paid you I’ll give you double. Just leave me alone and tell him you couldn’t find me. Please, please!” The begging faded to a whimper as the tall man stood looking down at her. It was too dark to see his expression but his stance, the clenched fists and bunched shoulders quieted her.

“Right. That’s better. Now listen to me. I will go away and you’ll never see me again. I will leave you alone and I won’t hurt you. All you have to do is give me them.”

Pauline shook her head. “I don’t know what you mean. I haven’t got anything. I left everything. He can have it all I don’t want anything more than I have here. I didn’t take anything. I’m going to France…” The feeble final, desperate sentence died on her lips.

He held out his hand palm upward as if to receive some gift. “Give me them now and I will go. This can be over very quickly. Now I know you’re a clever girl. Very clever. In fact, I’m impressed.” He gave a short nod. “I am very impressed you covered your tracks so well and you didn’t have a lot of time. A quick thinker, I like that and because I am so impressed I’m willing to finish this quickly. Now stop snivelling and just give me what’s mine.”

“I… what’s yours? I don’t know what you mean!” She was shaking her head, tears streamed down her face. She wiped her nose on the back of her hand and choked on a sob. She was terrified and out of her depth.

He crouched in front of her. One hand on the arm of the settee and the other on the seat close to her leg. She could feel his breath on her face and see the glimmer of moisture in his eyes. He leaned even closer as she pushed herself back into the cushions.

“I am trying to make this easy for you girl. I’ve had quite a time finding you. Giving the police a fake phone number and a duff address was all very clever. Thinking on your feet, but it didn’t work. Oh they gave them to me alright when I begged.” He adopted a high pitched whining tone. “Oh officer you must tell me who she is. She’s my guardian angel! You must let me talk to her, I have to thank her. I want to send flowers and give her back her jacket. But then in the end it didn’t matter because you had left me that nice little note in your pocket hadn’t you?” Pauline drew in a gasp of air.

“George didn’t send you?” The frown that ran across his forehead answered the question as clearly as any words. “Who are you?” Of course she knew who he was but none of it made any sense. If he was the motor cyclist, then why was he angry? “You’re the man from the road aren’t you? the accident. I thought you were in hospital?”