Chapter Twenty-One
Peter had been lying in wait for me. With my windpipe under pressure there was no way I could fight him as he forced me towards the metal staircase to the flat.
As he pushed me at the first step, I could smell the strong scent of carbolic soap as the rough hair of his strong forearm rubbed under my chin. I could barely make the steps, my knees were only just working and my thighs shaking.
‘Ups-a-daisy,’ said Peter, kneeing me sharply in the back of the leg.
‘You know the police know all about you. You can’t get away with this,’ I said, my teeth gritted so that the betraying tremor in my voice didn’t escape.
‘Can’t get away with what?’ he answered his voice pleasant and reasonable, remonstrating with me for my deplorable manners. ‘That’s no way to greet a guest, not very friendly at all.’ He tutted and shook his head. ‘You should have invited me in. Shall we start again?’
We reached the kitchen and he let go and shoved me in.
‘This is the part where you invite me in.’
‘I’d rather you left.’ I tried to sound firm. It didn’t work, my voice came out weak and wobbly.
His lips twisted unpleasantly and I caught a fleeting something in his eyes.
‘No can do. It’s Emily I’m here to see but I see she’s out. So I’ll just have to wait. In the meantime, you’re in the way.’
What the hell did that mean?
‘I can leave,’ I said stupidly, never believing for a moment he’d agree.
‘I think not. Don’t worry, you won’t be in the way while I wait.’
‘But Emily’s gone,’ I said urgently, wondering whether telling him this was a good idea or not.
‘Really?’ Peter cocked his head, an amused smile on his face.
‘No seriously, she’s moved out.’
He laughed politely. ‘What since yesterday? I don’t think so.’
‘But—’
‘Enough!’ he shouted his face darkening. I jumped at the change in mood. He stepped forward menacingly and grabbed my arm.
‘This way,’ he snarled and pulled me through to the lounge.
Once in the other room, he picked up a rucksack from the top of the stairs, headed straight over to the dining table and pulled out a chair. He had it all planned.
‘Sit,’ he said, thrusting a knee into my stomach forcing me to sit down. ‘Don’t move or I’ll kill you.’ He was calm again. Digging carefully into the bag, he produced a Stanley knife with a flourish. His dark eyes never left my face.
My stomach dropped with a horrible loop-the-loop, falling-away sensation. The hairs on my forearms rose, jumping to attention like iron filings to a magnet and my thighs were doing a jig all by themselves.
With a sly smile he pulled out a roll of silver tape. My stomach calmed for a second. Was that what the blade was for? I’d been so afraid he would use it on me. With every loop of tape, he became more confident and positively chatty.
‘I hate to say this, but it’s not you I’m interested in.’ He sneered. ‘Sorry, you just don’t tempt me. Now, Emily, on the other hand. She’s all woman.’ A scowl crossed his face and his expression hardened. ‘Unfortunately, she needs teaching a little lesson but no matter, she will learn.’
Admiring the Formula One track of tape that wound round my wrists and forearms, securing me to the chair, Peter walked round me poking the tape, before putting one last strip firmly over my mouth.
He gave a little skip and sat down on the sofa.
Then, crossing one leg over his knee, he sat there flicking through one of Emily’s magazines as if he were waiting for a doctor’s appointment.
* * *
The minutes ticked by on the clock on the wall. The right side of my face was pulsing with pain, my hip bone ached and my feet were gradually going numb.
Emily was never going to come. Daniel would probably come and go.
He’d give up when I didn’t answer the door or my mobile.
My phone had rung several times in the last forty-five minutes.
Every time Peter grinned matily at me. At the second call he mocked, ‘Want me to get that for you?’ and after the fourth, ‘Popular, aren’t you?
’ before carrying on flicking through his magazine.
Daniel was bound to drive off in disgust at being stood up. And what about Barney? Had one of the calls been from him, or maybe Kate, or Bill or Mum?
The straight edge of the tape was cutting into my nose, sharp and uncomfortable, making me sniff. I tried hard not to. The last thing I wanted was for Peter to think I was crying.
Now that my heart had slowed, I felt calmer but painful pins and needles were taking over my feet. To take my mind off them, I studied Peter. What if I needed a wee? Would he let me? No chance. He’d leave me to do it right here and sit in my own puddle.
He didn’t know that Emily had gone for good but he was ready for the long haul. Judging by the controlled calm of his approach, he was very good at waiting.
As marauding maniacs went, he looked like a twenty-five-watt version instead of the thousand-watt Hollywood-neon variety. No maniacal gleam in his eye. No inarticulate mutterings or frothing at the mouth. He looked totally nondescript. Harmless even.
As the minutes ticked by, Peter got more comfortable. He even went and helped himself to a bottle of red wine and two glasses. Pouring a glass, he raised it in a silent toast and with a sly smile took an appreciative gulp.
‘A very good year this one,’ he said, smirking at me. The fact that he’d got the glasses and wine so quickly showed he knew his way around the flat. Just how many times had he pawed through our things?
My shoulders, forced back, had passed through the screaming stage and were now numb and tense. I never would have believed how uncomfortable it could be forced to stay in one position for such a long time.
Worst of all was the knowledge that no one was coming. Self-pity crowded in. No one would miss me until work tomorrow, even then they might just wonder why I hadn’t phoned in. How long would it take for someone to notice? As a silent tear escaped, I turned my head, so that Peter couldn’t see it.
* * *
Peter snapped to attention upon hearing the scratch and chink of a key in the front door. And so did I. It was the last sound I was expecting. The only person with one of our new keys was Emily. It couldn’t be her, could it?
Peter turned and smiled. ‘She’s home,’ he grinned.
For the first time, I could see the shine of saliva on his lips.
He put his fingers over his lips as if to say ‘sh’ and giggled conspiratorially. I could see the anticipation in the sudden tension in his shoulders.
To my absolute amazement and total confusion, Emily issued a very loud and surprisingly chirpy, ‘Hi, Olivia.’ She carried on quickly, almost booming the words. ‘You’ll never guess who I bumped into. I knew you’d be dying to see him, so I invited him round. He’s coming in ten minutes.’
What on earth was she on about?
‘Yes, Olivia. Barney. Your cousin.’
Peter’s face was watchful now. As was mine. I knew who Barney was. What was she trying to tell me? Did she know that Peter was here? Was that why she’d come back?
Peter had stooped to pour a second glass of wine. Then he stood waiting for her to appear over the balustrade, Stanley knife clenched in hand.
She was still shouting, talking absolute nonsense, especially given our last conversation. ‘Blimey, Olivia, have you gone deaf. I’m home. God, I had a horrendous journey on the tube. You’ve no idea how awful it was. I was so pleased to see Barney.’
Finally I heard her pound up the steps. She was making a hell of a racket. Was that also something coming from the direction of the kitchen? And why, with all that noise, hadn’t I heard the front door slam?
At last Emily appeared. Her eyes widened as she let out a stunned gasp when she saw me trussed up. If I hadn’t been watching her so carefully, I’d have missed the quick dart of her eyes away down the corridor to the kitchen. My heart rose for a second. Was the cavalry on its way?
Peter smiled as he picked up the second glass of wine and went over to Emily as if this was entirely normal.
‘Emily, my darling. Thought you’d never get here.’
‘You!’ she said theatrically, swallowing nervously.
‘Yes. Waiting for you. I knew you’d be here eventually.’ He shot me a look of distaste before smiling at her. He looked like a lovesick puppy. ‘I’ve been waiting a long time. Come, sit down. I’ve got you a glass of wine.’
‘Er,’ stuttered Emily. ‘Look Peter, I . . .’ Her voice was loud again. She looked wildly at me. I gave my shoulders a fatalistic shrug. There was no point looking at me.
‘You haven’t been very nice to me, Emily.’ He waved the Stanley knife at her. ‘Those emails. Not kind. I thought you were different.’
Emily’s eyes caught mine again and frowned in thought for a second. There was a perceptible lift to her spine.
‘Do you know Peter? You’re right. I wasn’t very nice, was I? But Olivia had nothing to do with that. Do you think you could undo her?’
Peter gave me a dismissive look. ‘No, she’s not been very nice to me.’
That was rich but I thought that giving him the evil eye at this point might not help my cause.
‘I’m sure if you let her go, we could sort everything out.’
She went over to him, stomping over making a lot of noise, staunchly ignoring the knife and took the glass of wine and sat down at the other end of the sofa. She smiled at him.
‘Those emails. I was having a really bad week and I took it out on you. I shouldn’t have. I’m sorry. Email isn’t good.’
It was an amazing performance. Emily was trying hard and from Peter’s body language, I thought he might just be buying it. He put down the knife on the table.
The whole time I’d been listening carefully.
There had to be some reason for Emily’s noisy entrance and subsequent shouting and reference to Barney.
So when I saw Barney’s head peep around the stairs, my whole body slumped back against the chair.
Thank God. How I managed not to beam at his reassuring wink, I’ll never know.