He walked beside her as she set off smartly along Euston Road. ‘Please, did I say something wrong tonight?’
‘You’re making this very difficult.’
‘I cannot allow this, Rosie.’
‘Hector, I’m not your property.’
This had a startling effect. He flung up his arms as if in surrender. ‘Forgive me. I should never have said such things. You are Antonia’s friend. You come specially to my house to cook a nice meal for me. What disgusting manners I have!’
They’d reached a street corner and had to stop for the traffic. Some people standing there had picked up Hector’s last remark and turned round. He must have seemed comical making an exhibition of himself in his expensive overcoat and porkpie hat. Rose didn’t find it amusing.
She made a sideward step and tried to give the impression she was unaccompanied. Hector didn’t move. He simply raised his voice. ‘Please forgive me. Allow me to be a gentleman and drive you safe home.’
She looked to right and left, hoping to God that the underground sign was somewhere about. An elderly couple had joined the group at the curb. The woman was trying to prompt Rose by nodding and smiling.
Hector was oblivious of his audience. ‘Don’t go down the tube, Rosie.’
It was like an echo of the old tear-jerking ballad ‘Don’t go down the mine, Daddy’. Ludicrous. This could only get more embarrassing. He wouldn’t give up. And she didn’t want it to end in a blazing row.
She spun around. ‘All right. Which way is the car?’
After all, she’d made her point. He could be in no doubt now that she wanted him to remain at arm’s length.
During the drive to Oldfield Gardens Hector behaved impeccably. He was charming and witty. He talked glowingly of the curry she had promised him the next day and how in order to put his mind at rest he planned to lock the toilet door and hide the key. She took it in good part and said she could think of dozens of ways of disposing of a curry and some of them were very messy indeed, so he’d better leave the toilet open and trust his luck and hers.
‘This your street, Rosie?’
‘Yes, don’t you remember? The house at the end, opposite the hoarding.’
He drew in and braked.
She turned and leaned back slightly in the same movement to keep her face out of range. ‘Thank you. It was a splendid meal.’
‘Only second best.’
‘Perhaps.’
‘We’ll find out tomorrow, eh?’
‘If you’re still willing to risk it. Hector...?’
‘Yes?’
‘There is still some meat in the fridge. You won’t use any, will you?’
‘You think I want to cook a midnight feast? Without anyone to share?’
‘I just wanted to mention it.’
He laughed softly. ‘Rosie, believe me, I don’t touch nothing.’
She opened the car door, profoundly relieved at getting home without incident. On an impulse she reached out and put her hand over his, squeezing his fingers slightly. ‘Tomorrow, then.’
19
That night Rose had an inspiration. A stunning solution to all the problems. She was certain it would work.
To tell it right, the idea didn’t come in a blinding flash. She came to it through a process that started the moment she left Hector.
Her first thought after watching the Bentley turn in the road and sweep out of Oldfield Gardens was that she’d made a perfect fool of herself. She should never have squeezed his hand like some schoolgirl on a blind date.
She closed her front door and leaned against it with her hands clasped against the back of her neck and her eyes pressed shut and played the scene in her mind again, trying to see it from Hector’s point of view. He could have taken the gesture as what it was, a clumsy attempt to show she had his welfare at heart in spite of the hard time she’d given him. Or, more alarmingly, as a promise of passion. How she wished she hadn’t added that, ‘Tomorrow, then.’
Maybe he’d already dismissed the whole thing from his mind.
She considered this a moment and discovered that it wasn’t the comfort it should have been. Deep down, she hoped he hadn’t treated the incident as unimportant. For all Hector’s hair-raising remarks, he was a stimulating companion. And he gave you his total attention.
How Antonia could contemplate killing him was beyond belief. There was no question that she meant to do it. She’d got the death certificate ready. She’d talked about having him cremated. He was doomed. He might have been dying in agony at this minute if he’d eaten that curry.
Rose started to shake. She went through to the kitchen and opened the larder and saw the space on the shelf where the brandy had been. She gave a moan as she remembered smashing the bottle.
A cigarette, then. She found the packet and her lighter and sat at the kitchen table taking quick, shallow puffs, unable any longer to shut out the horror of what was happening.
No wonder she was in a state. She was poleaxed by the conviction that she had come so close to poisoning Hector. And angry at her own stupidity and Antonia’s deceit. Above all, she was frightened.
If Hector had died and his murder had been discovered, Antonia, up in Manchester, would have had a convincing alibi. The prime suspect would have been Rose herself.
She winced, as if the pain were physical. As a schemer Antonia was in a class of her own. She had planned from the beginning to use her. There was a price to be paid for Barry’s death. It was naïve in the extreme to suppose the favour could be repaid by cooking a few meals for Hector. He was down to be murdered.
‘Not by me,’ she said aloud. ‘There was never any suggestion of that. Never.’
Antonia seemed to think nothing of killing people. She’d pushed Barry under the train without turning a hair. She’d contrived to have Hector poisoned while she went to visit her mother. And — Rose shuddered as she remembered — she’d talked of waiting for Hector’s first wife to die — by drowning. At the time it had seemed incomprehensible. Not now.
Pull yourself together and be positive, Rose told herself. How stupid of Antonia to think that the answer to every problem is murder. Hector’s only offence is that he won’t give her a divorce. Surely they can end their unhappy marriage in some other way?
She drew more deeply on the cigarette.
Then the inspiration dawned.
If Hector won’t give Antonia a divorce because he’s a Roman Catholic, why shouldn’t she divorce him? If he’s the guilty party Antonia can take her case to court and win. She can have a share of his fortune, which she’s after, and she’ll be free to marry Vic.
Above all, Hector’s life will be saved.
Her mouth went dry as she pursued the idea. On what grounds could Antonia divorce him? Cruelty? That won’t wash. Desertion? Definitely not. Insanity? No. Failure to consummate? Unlikely.
That left adultery. Antonia had brushed aside the possibility of other women. ‘No vultures circling overhead. I’d know.’
In that case Hector has to be persuaded to take a lover.
Rose plunged a hand into her hair and gripped it hard at the roots.
It has to be me.
I can’t, she thought. Jesus Christ, it’s only three weeks since my husband died. I’m a widow. I don’t love Hector. I’ve met him on three occasions. I’ve never been so embarrassed as when he made that pass at me in the kitchen and ended up calling me a fusspot. I don’t find him attractive.
Do I?
No use questioning my motives. Suddenly to be taken out for a meal after five years of being ignored is quite head-turning, but that doesn’t come into it. I wouldn’t dream of going to bed with Hector. Not unless everything altered and made it possible, anyway. And then not for many months...