The Therapist(80)

‘Ben?’

‘From Redwoods.’

‘But you changed all the locks, so the keys he gave you wouldn’t work anyway.’

‘I changed the locks on the front door, but not on the French windows. It didn’t seem worth it.’

Alarm bells clang in my head. ‘So,’ I say slowly. ‘How do you know that Ben didn’t keep back a key for the French windows?’

‘Why would he do that?’

‘If the only logical way someone could get into the house is through the French windows, someone else must have a key, because the two that we know about are both here, I just checked.’

‘Don’t tell me – you think Ben kept one back and has been breaking into the house.’ I can hear the resignation in his voice.

‘Don’t sound so sceptical. I’m only thinking that because he came here yesterday.’

‘What – Ben did?’

‘Yes.’

‘Why?’

‘He said he was in the area and wanted to introduce himself.’

‘Maybe he was just being nice.’

‘Or maybe he had an ulterior motive. He sort of hinted that he wanted to come in and see the work we had done upstairs.’

‘You didn’t let him in, did you?’

‘No, I told him to come back when you were here. It seemed a bit strange and then, last night, I was in the sitting room and I heard a noise in the kitchen. There’s no sign of a breakin or anything and nothing is missing. But now I’m wondering – what if it was Ben?’

‘That’s a huge jump to make. I mean – what would his motive be, if nothing is missing?’

‘Maybe he knew Nina—’

‘No.’ Leo’s voice is firm and for a moment I think he’s telling me that he knows Ben didn’t know Nina.

‘But what if he sold Nina and Oliver the house?’

‘Alice. This has got to stop.’

‘What?’

‘Your obsession with this murder. It’s bad enough that you’ve suspected me and almost every one of our neighbours of having been involved. But when you start accusing our estate agent, when you don’t even know if he knew Nina – it can’t go on.’

‘I’m not going to stop until I know who’s been creeping around the house at night,’ I say fiercely. ‘Because somebody has.’

‘Then find proof. If you have proof, we can phone the police. But we need proof. We can’t just tell them that we think somebody has broken in, they’ll laugh at us. So, until you find something missing, or something that isn’t as it should be, we can’t do anything.’ He pauses. ‘I’m going to come back, Alice. You shouldn’t be there on your own.’

‘It’s alright, I’m leaving. I’m going back to Harlestone.’

‘When?’ His relief is evident.

‘Today, at the end of the afternoon. I’ve got lunch with Eve, so I’ll leave after. You can move back in tomorrow.’

‘I’m really sorry it’s come to this,’ he says quietly.

My eyes fill with tears. ‘So am I.’





Forty


I find two suitcases in the garage and start filling them with the clothes I have in the study, then head upstairs, because I need some jeans and jumpers to get me through the next few weeks. My jumpers are still scattered on the floor from when I fell off the chair. It’s bad enough that I accused Leo of leaving a ponytail of blond hair in the wardrobe, thank goodness I didn’t accuse him of hiding inside it. But somebody did and they were here the day I saw the face at the window, I smelt their aftershave. I thought it was Leo’s, because he has several different ones and I don’t always recognise them.

The thought of someone being in the wardrobe, watching me, when I was looking for Leo behind the bathroom door, makes me feel sick with retrospective fright. And what about the day after our party, when Leo had thought there was someone in the bedroom? The next morning, I had found my shoes pushed to one side so had there been someone hiding in the wardrobe that night too?

‘For God’s sake, Alice, get a grip!’ I say the words aloud, trying to make myself see sense. Nobody in their right mind would hide in a wardrobe if people are sleeping close by. The only thing I’m sure of is that someone has been coming to the house. What does he do when he’s here, other than drape strands of hair for me to find? Are there other signs I’ve missed?

I sit down on the bed, remembering the things that have never quite added up, like the time I couldn’t find my white sundress before it suddenly turned up, a couple of days later, smelling fresh and clean. But no-one would sneak into a house, take a dress, wash it and put it back in the wardrobe. Not unless they wanted to see how much they could get away with before anyone really noticed.

My mind continues its processing. I take out my phone, call Leo again. He’ll be at work now but this is urgent.

‘I know this is a really stupid question but after the party, did you wash my white sundress for me?’

‘Er – no.’

‘And the cards we got from everyone, that I put on the mantelpiece in the sitting room. Did you put them lying flat, for a joke?’

‘No.’

‘OK. So did you leave a white rose for me on the window sill by the front door?’