The Victim Read online

  No. Not the police. For most of her adult life, she’d tried to avoid any unnecessary form filling. Anything that might draw attention to herself. It wasn’t worth it. Not this time.

  ‘Maybe later,’ she said.

  Ellie gave her a worried look. ‘Are you sure you’re OK, Mum?’

  ‘Fine.’ She mustered a smile. Didn’t parents always have to be strong? Wasn’t it part of their job description? But as she freshened up her make-up (thank goodness she hadn’t left her new Yves Saint Laurent lipstick in her bag), Georgie felt as though she’d been mentally violated. Someone had picked up her car keys and somehow found their way back to the house.

  No one had broken in and taken anything – both she and Ellie had done a good search of paintings and silver – but it was, to put it mildly, unnerving.

  But the missing phone really upset her. When you were freelance, contacts were gold dust. It had nearly all her numbers! How was she going to get hold of her clients without it?

  ‘Idiot,’ she told herself crossly.

  Meanwhile, Sam was in a meeting. Nothing new there. Be reasonable, she told herself, driving to his office. There might or might not be an economic upturn in the country’s finances – depending on which paper you read – but financial advisors had to be sharper than ever. ‘There are a lot of wealthy people still about,’ her husband would often say. ‘But they’re also aware that there are far more consultants hoping to make them even richer.’

  Wasn’t this one of the reasons she had gone out to work? It might have started out as pin money but now her contribution was an important part of the mortgage repayments. They were both working too hard, Georgie told herself as (miraculously) she found a space in the ‘Free after 6 p.m.’ parking zone. Not for the first time she wished they had stayed put abroad. Life had seemed easier there. More money. A maid. A busy social life to block out the past …

  That’s why it was a good idea to take Sam by surprise tonight. Go out for a two-for-one Italian so they could talk. Much as she loved having Ellie come to stay, there were times when they needed some time alone. And this was one of them, especially after an unnerving experience like this.

  ‘Sam’s meetings should be over by 7.30,’ his secretary had told her.

  So here she was. Just in time from the look of things. There was her husband, walking briskly down the stairs, blue tie slightly dishevelled round his neck; mobile phone in his hand, texting as he went. As always, his dark looks were almost a mirror image of his daughter’s. Both were stubborn too but with huge reservoirs of love and compassion – sometimes at unexpected times. Georgie had often wondered if it was their similarities which made each so impatient of the other.

  ‘Hi!’ There was a happy-surprised look on his face. ‘I was just letting you know I was on my way home.’

  He waved the phone in front of her as if she needed confirmation. Rather touching, really, even though it was Sam who was the needy one in the emotional department – despite the way he tried to hide it. Even though his mother was dead now, she’d had left her mark, not the least because she’d packed him off to boarding school at the age of eight. ‘I never really knew her,’ he kept saying after her death. ‘You can’t have a relationship with someone if you don’t know who they are deep down.’

  His words had made Georgie shiver.

  Now, pushing that memory impatiently to one side, she took her husband’s arm. ‘Something really weird happened today. I tried to call you but … Well, I thought we’d have dinner on our own to talk about it. Is that all right?’

  His voice tightened. ‘Ellie’s back?’

  She nodded. Ironically, she got on better with her step-daughter than her husband did. Friends joked that it was normally the other way round. Perhaps it was because she was a woman. Or maybe it was because she …

  No. Don’t go there.

  ‘What kind of weird?’ Sam’s question thankfully diverted her. ‘Ellie hasn’t done anything stupid again, has she?’

  Already, Georgie was beginning to wish she’d kept all this to herself. Unlike her, Sam wasn’t so keen to accept that his daughter had finally turned the corner. ‘No. it’s not her. In fact, I was beginning to wonder if it was me. But it can’t be, because of the garage receipt …’

  They were approaching the Italian now. Music was spilling out and couples were going in, arm in arm. Others were living normal lives where their cars hadn’t disappeared and reappeared. A tantalising smell of garlic reached out to them as they pushed open the door.

  ‘What are you talking about?’

  ‘I’ll explain.’ For the second time that day, Georgie found herself shaking. ‘When we’re sitting down.’

  The waiter found them their usual table by the window. Normally she loved this position, looking out into the high street. Windsea was a busy market town, justly deserving of its reputation for Regency buildings on the sea front which hadn’t been ruined by the developers. But tonight, even the sight of a hen party walking past – complete with giggling girls wearing pink sashes and not much else – couldn’t divert her.

  Briefly, she explained what happened.

  Sam’s face looked as though she’d just run out to join the hen party. ‘Someone must have taken the car. Someone who knew you’d parked it there.’ He put his head in his hands. ‘You do know what that means, don’t you?’

  ‘No.’ Georgie’s voice was firm as if trying to convince herself. ‘I don’t think I do.’

  ‘But she’s got a spare key.’

  ‘She lost it. Remember?’

  It had been the one blip last month. Ellie had asked if she could borrow the car and come back, having ‘dropped it somewhere’. It could have happened to anyone, Georgie had argued in her daughter’s defence.

  ‘So she said.’

  ‘But why would she do that?’

  ‘To make trouble? Remember what the consultant said. Cannabis can sometimes do that. Tip you over the edge. Make you act unpredictably.’

  ‘But she’s clean now.’

  ‘Are you sure?’

  ‘Yes. Besides, Nick says that …’

  Sam put down his pasta fork. ‘Nick would say anything to defend Ellie.’

  It was true. Nick – as blonde as Ellie was dark – had always adored his big sister. When the ambulance had come that awful night, it had been him who had refused to let her go, screaming until he’d been allowed to follow in the car with them. Only later did Georgie discover that Ellie had persuaded Nick to hide her stash in his wardrobe.

  Sam had never forgiven her for that. Maybe that’s why he couldn’t accept her ‘change of heart’ now.

  ‘I honestly don’t think it was her,’ said Georgie slowly, pushing her salade niçoise away. Suddenly she wasn’t hungry. Maybe this wasn’t such a good idea after all.

  ‘Then we’ll agree to disagree. But we’ll need to keep a sharp eye on her.’

  Georgie nodded reluctantly.

  Then he sat back as if making a conscious effort. ‘Tell me about your new client.’

  Grateful for the change in subject, she told him about the aloof Hon. Mrs R-R. ‘Are you on first-name terms with the husband?’

  ‘Sure.’ Sam looked as though that was a daft question. ‘Maybe she’s lacking confidence. In my opinion, people like that want to keep a distance from others.’

  Georgie spluttered into her green tea. ‘I don’t think so. In fact …’

  ‘We’re getting married in the morning!’

  ‘Great.’ Sam put down his coffee. ‘Looks like the hen party lot are coming in to finish off their celebrations.’

  ‘Finish off!’ The chubby brunette with the silver and white ‘BRIDE’ sash, ruffled his hair in response. ‘We’re just starting, mate.’

  Georgie couldn’t help giggling. Sam could be extremely traditional. It was one of the reasons she’d been attracted to him. The sight of a blowsy brunette with a chest that had to be at least a 38 DD almost – but not quite – distracted her from the mystery o
f the car and the keys.

  ‘I’ll pay,’ she offered.

  That was the nice thing about earning. It made her feel more independent to be able to settle the bill every now and then. Rather naughtily leaving her husband to the attention of the hen party, she made her way to the counter.

  ‘Sorry, Madam.’ The manager frowned at the screen. ‘Your card has been declined.’

  Georgie felt a cold chill running down her back as she looked at the ‘Payment Refused’ notice.

  ‘It can’t have been. There’s plenty in the account. In fact, I only used it this morning at the garage. Can we try again?’ She keyed in the number, wondering if she’d got it wrong the first time.

  PAYMENT REFUSED.

  ‘Do you have another card?’

  ‘No. It’s all right. I’ll ask my husband.’

  Slowly she returned to the table. Sam appeared to be more relaxed now, even asking the bride how long she’d known her ‘intended’ as he put it.

  ‘Darling.’ She touched him on the sleeve. ‘There seems to be a bit of a problem …’

  Ten minutes later, they marched back to the car; Sam, his mouth set in a tight line while Georgie’s fingers flew across the phone. Thank heavens for telephone banking. Option one for a balance. There had to be a mistake. Maybe the machine wasn’t working. Maybe …

  ‘You are £1,300 in debit,’ announced the automatic voice.

  But she couldn’t be. She was more than that in credit!

  ‘Overdrawn?’ demanded Sam grimly.

  She nodded.

  ‘By how much?’

  She told him numbly. ‘My purse. I told you. It was in my bag in the boot of the car.’

  ‘Ring the police.’

  ‘No. Not yet. If we do …’

  ‘If we do, she’ll get her just deserts.’

  She. She. Sam had been unable to use his daughter’s name when they’d gone through all that stuff before. Would he feel the same about her one day, when – if – he knew more about her?

  No. That could never happen.

  Georgie began to flounder desperately. ‘You don’t know for definite that Ellie used the card.’

  She stressed his daughter’s name deliberately, watching him wince. ‘Yes I do. At least put a stop on the bloody thing or she’ll try and get more money out of you.’

  ‘It can’t be her.’ Hot tears stung her eyes. ‘Ellie told me to report this to the police. If she was behind it, she wouldn’t have suggested that.’

  Sam stood by her car, his hands on her shoulders, his eyes heavy with sorrow. ‘Please, Georgie. When are you going to face the truth? Ellie banked on you thinking that way. She’s taking the piss out of us. Always has done. And always will. It’s about time we got tough again. Don’t you think?’

  Maybe he was right. Maybe …

  Then it hit her. If her daughter had taken her card and her phone, what else had she taken? She always carried so much in her bag. Little things as well as big. It would be so easy for something to go missing without her realising.

  ‘What are you doing?’ Sam watched, shocked, as she tipped the contents onto the pavement, sifting her way through them. It had to be there. It had to.

  ‘What are you looking for?’

  ‘It doesn’t matter.’ Panic made her spit out the words. Her hands were shaking now. She couldn’t live without it. She just couldn’t. It had been with her through thick and thin. Never would she find another. Never would she find the person who had given it to her all those years ago.

  A couple walking past stared at her as she went through everything one more time, to check it hadn’t got caught up with something else. ‘For pity’s sake, Georgie. Tell me what’s gone missing.’

  How could she?

  ‘Nothing,’ she said fighting back the tears. ‘I thought I’d mislaid something. That’s all.’

  ‘You’re upset.’ He laid a hand on her arm. ‘It’s no wonder. Come on. Let’s go home.’

  Mechanically, she allowed him to help her onto the passenger seat. But all she could think about was her shell. The pink and white shell which was no longer in her bag.

  WINDSEA GAZETTE

  Fifteen-year-old ‘joy-rider from good home’ cautioned after breaking into car.

  Judge warns that he won’t be so ‘lenient’ if there’s a second offence.

  FOUR

  ‘I didn’t do it,’ protested Ellie, rubbing her eyes.

  She’d been asleep when they’d got back from the restaurant and even though Sam had been all for waking her up and demanding ‘an explanation’, Georgie persuaded him against it. Instead, she’d spent hours on the phone trying to cancel all her cards. She still hadn’t sorted out everything. Why hadn’t she written her passwords down instead of storing them on her missing phone? Thank goodness they were in code.

  Nor was she certain (a fear she kept to herself) that all the store cards were there. There were so many of them. John Lewis, House of Fraser … She should have had them insured by one of those financial services, like her friend Jo who ran a ‘shabby chic’ antique shop in town.

  By the time she finally got to bed, Georgie was exhausted. When she woke, it was to the sound of her daughter and husband arguing in the kitchen.

  ‘I didn’t do it,’ repeated Ellie. ‘Why would I bother trekking out to one of Mum’s stupid clients and nicking the car, just to use her credit card? If I wanted to do that, I’d just use it, wouldn’t I? It’s not as though she bothers to hide her stuff. As for the phone, I’ve got my own. I don’t need hers.’

  Georgie stood at the bottom of the stairs, listening. Stupid clients? That hurt. So did the ‘hers’ bit. So impersonal. So cold after everything she’d done.

  ‘Because you made it look as though there’d been a theft.’ Sam’s voice was steadily furious.

  ‘You just can’t trust me, can you?’ There was the sound of something being dumped on the table. A plate, perhaps? Hopefully not from her bone china set. Not that this mattered in the grand scheme of things.

  ‘Just because of that one incident …’

  ‘One incident? You used my card to buy a grand’s worth of drugs.’

  This time it was the dishwasher lid that was being slammed shut. ‘I paid you back, didn’t I? And I’m clean now.’

  There was a snort of disbelief. ‘So you say …’

  That was enough.

  ‘Please. Both of you.’

  They turned towards her. Same dark looks. Same defensive expressions. For the first time in a long while, Georgie felt like the outsider. What had Ellie’s mother been like, she had often wondered. What had really made her give up her child? Was it because no one listened to her either? Was it because she was fed up of keeping the peace? Or was it because, as she’d said, she just hadn’t been able to cope?

  Pretending to be calmer than she felt, Georgie put the kettle on and reached up into the duck-blue Smallbone cupboard for a new packet of ground coffee beans. The rich smell from the packet helped calm her. No wonder people became addicted. Not just to coffee but other substances too …

  ‘We don’t know anything at this stage but …’

  ‘Have you rung the police like I told you to?’ Sam’s terse voice, rode over hers in his deep, assured, public school accent.

  ‘No. I told you. There’s no need. I’ve cancelled my cards. The police can’t do any more.’

  ‘But that doesn’t explain the car being “hijacked”.’ Her husband’s eyes were flashing at Ellie’s. ‘If she’s telling the truth, it means that someone else took it, so the police need to be informed.’

  ‘If I’m telling the truth?’ Ellie squealed.

  ‘Did you take anything at all?’ asked Georgie in a low voice.

  ‘No, Mum. I told you.’

  There was a thud on the mat, making the dog jump off the rocking chair as he did every day when the papers arrived. No one took any notice.

  If ever there was an opportune time for the phone to go, this was it. Georgie dive
d for the landline with relief. At barely 7 a.m., this had to be reasonably urgent. ‘Yes. This is Georgina Hamilton speaking. Yes, I’m happy to run through security checks.’

  ‘Is that the bank?’ demanded Sam.

  ‘Not ours,’ she hissed, waving at him to be silent so she could hear. ‘Mine.’

  Apart from their joint account, she had another, purely for work. (Sam did the same.) It would, her accountant had explained, make it easier to keep track on business payments. It was this one which had been used to withdraw the money.

  Walking into the sitting room for some peace – the two of them had kicked off again – Georgie sat down on the ornately carved Chinese sofa which she’d shipped back from Hong Kong and ran through the usual polite interrogation.

  Date of birth. Mother’s maiden name. Fourth letter of her password. Why hadn’t she kept the same one for each card? On the third attempt, she got it right.

  ‘Thank you, Georgina, you have passed your security check.’

  The voice made it sound as though she had flown through an exam. But the uninvited familiar use of her full name stung in view of the argument raging next door. Was it any surprise she was feeling tetchy? ‘Actually, it’s Mrs Hamilton if you don’t mind.’

  Instantly she was reminded of the Hon. Mrs R-R yesterday. Perhaps she’d been wrong to expect her client to welcome her on the same level. Boundaries had to be set. The kitchen voices rose again. Providing they were fair.

  With one ear on the argument in the kitchen and the other on the voice at the other end, Georgie found it hard to concentrate. ‘Gather you cancelled your card at 11.05 last night … Unfortunately withdrawals made before you did so … Name on card doesn’t exactly match our records … Georgina spelt with a ‘J’ …’

  What? Jumping up, she dashed over to the Victorian roll-top desk in the bay window where she kept receipts. There it was. Last month’s full statement. At the top was her name. Jeorgina …

  ‘Someone’s made a mistake,’ she gabbled into the phone. ‘Yes. I’ll check the card.’

  Where was it? Tearing up the stairs to the bedroom, she grabbed her bag, flinging out cards from the purse. Costa; Network Rail; Oyster for rare trips to London; Waterstones credit voucher … here it was. Sparkling new with her signature freshly written on the back.