The Therapist(57)

‘I feel fine here now.’

‘Right.’

There isn’t anything particular in his voice but I don’t like that a tiny part of him might be thinking that I got over my squeamishness a bit too quickly.

‘Sometimes, something bad happens and then something worse comes along – like someone you trust lying to you – and the first thing doesn’t seem so bad after all,’ I say.

He sighs. ‘What did you want to speak to me about?’

‘Nina.’

‘Your sister?’

Is he doing it on purpose? ‘No, Nina Maxwell. Did you know her?’

‘No.’ He sounds puzzled.

‘OK, so did you ever meet her?’

‘Isn’t that the same thing?’

‘The woman you were talking to in Harlestone one day, the blond woman who supposedly asked you what it was like to live in the village. Was it Nina?’

‘What? No. Why would you think it was Nina Maxwell?’

‘Did you have an affair with her?’

‘Who?’

‘Nina.’

‘Are you serious?’ Now he’s angry. ‘For God’s sake, Alice, where has this come from? You really think that I had an affair with Nina Maxwell? I didn’t even know her!’

‘Then who was the woman who came to Harlestone? And don’t tell me she was someone who wanted to know what it was like to live in the village.’

‘Alright.’ There’s a pause. ‘She was one of the clients I told you about, who were harassing me.’

‘Why was she harassing you?’

His voice becomes cold. ‘I’m not going to explain my business dealings over the phone. Anyway, I’m glad you called. I need to get something from my study – is it alright if I come over?’

‘What, tonight?’

‘Yes, now.’

‘Aren’t you in Birmingham?’

‘No, I had to be in London today.’

‘Alright.’

‘I’ll see you in half-an-hour.’

He cuts the call and I stand with my mobile in my hand, thinking over the conversation we just had. There was something off about his request to come over. He tried to make it sound as if it had been in his plans all along, but it came across as a spur-of-the-moment decision, brought on by my mention of Nina. Besides, if he needed to come over, he would have phoned me to ask, not waited until I phoned him. Worry gnaws away at me. What if he had known Nina?

It’s only a week since I last saw Leo but he looks like someone I used to know, not because he hasn’t shaved for a couple of days but because of the awkwardness between us. He’s taken off his jacket and left it in the hall, as if he’s expecting to stay for a while. It makes me feel that I should offer him a drink but I don’t really want to.

‘Hi,’ he says.

‘Hi.’

He waits and when I don’t say anything more, he shrugs. ‘I’ll go and get what I need, then.’

‘OK.’

He returns to the hall, and I hear him rustling in his jacket. Moving quietly to the door, I see him go upstairs, two steps at a time, his wallet in his hand. A moment later, there’s the familiar screech of one of the drawers in the filing cabinet being pulled open. So, he keeps the key to the cabinet in his wallet.

In his wallet. Why not in the drawer of his desk, or on top of the filing cabinet, where it would be easily accessible? Are his client files really so important that he doesn’t want anyone, including me, to be able to get to them? Or is he hiding something there, something that the little key, taped to the underside of his drawer, would open?

A few minutes later, he runs down the stairs, fumbles with his jacket, then comes into the kitchen, a couple of files under his arm.

‘Did you forget to take them when you came over on Saturday?’ I ask.

He puts them down on the table. ‘What do you mean?’

‘The files. Why didn’t you take them with you when you were here on Saturday?’

‘I was with Ginny and Mark on Saturday.’

‘Yes, but you came here first, I saw you in the study. And then, as soon as you saw me crossing the square you left.’

He shakes his head. ‘Not me.’

‘I saw you, Leo!’

‘Alice, it wasn’t me, I swear.’

‘Where were you when you phoned me?’

‘At Ginny and Mark’s, in my bedroom.’ He frowns. ‘Are you saying you saw someone in the house?’

I think back to the blur of a face I’d seen at the window. I don’t want to believe that I scared myself into thinking there was someone in the house when it was only the late-September sunshine casting its glow on the upstairs window.

‘I thought I saw someone in your study, but maybe I was mistaken.’

‘Did you check the house?’

‘Yes, and everything was fine.’ I decide not to mention the faint smell of aftershave in the bedroom. He’s only been gone a week, it’s not surprising that there are still traces of him. And maybe I knocked the photo of us over when I was hoovering, and hadn’t noticed. ‘But if you could check the windows, I’d be grateful.’

‘Sure.’

He starts to head off and I feel mean not offering him a drink.