The Victim Page 6

  Something softened in the other woman’s face. ‘Why don’t you sit down and tell me about it?’

  Every now and then, Georgie’s clients amazed her. Sometimes it was when they came up with an incredible idea themselves. All too often, it was when they insisted on a scheme that was so horrible – like leopard-print walls – that she didn’t want to put her name to it. Occasionally, it was when a seemingly-pleasant woman became thoroughly nasty (like the one who had refused to pay her bill because ‘on reflection’ it was too high – even though it had been agreed at the beginning.) And sometimes, it was because an initially haughty client began to thaw.

  This transformation, however, was almost incredible. The Hon. Mrs R-R sat and listened sympathetically as Georgie recounted the extraordinary events of the last week. ‘It’s frightening what people can do with computers,’ she shuddered. ‘I found that someone set up a direct debit in my name last year. Don’t ask me how. I didn’t find it for months because I don’t always check my statements.’

  Looking around at the paintings on the walls, Georgie could see why. The Lowry above the fireplace, her client had already mentioned, was an original. Clearly, Mrs R-R didn’t need to worry financially.

  ‘I presume you’ve told the police.’

  ‘Apparently it’s a matter for my bank.’

  ‘What about the car theft?’

  She flushed. ‘I haven’t reported it, to be honest. My husband thinks … he thinks it might have been a personal matter.’

  Mrs R-R frowned. ‘What do you mean?’

  If there was one thing Georgie shied clear of, it was sharing her family problems with clients. But she’d already gone too far. ‘Our daughter – my stepdaughter – has had a history of … well … emotional problems.’

  There was a shrill peal of laughter. ‘Mental illness? I know all about that. Trust me.’

  Then her eyes hardened and suddenly Mrs R-R was back to the woman she’d been a few minutes ago. ‘Look, I don’t normally give people second chances.’

  Georgie could believe it.

  ‘But I’m prepared to make an exception in your case.’ She got out her iPad. ‘We’ll make another appointment for a week today. Same time.’

  She spoke as if assuming this was convenient for Georgie’s diary too. In fact, it clashed with another client, but she’d just have to change that. ‘Let’s hope you come up with something a little better than this, shall we?’

  The Hon. Mrs R-R cast a disparaging look at the plans in Georgie’s hands. ‘Otherwise, I don’t think it’s going to be possible to do business. Do you?’

  Georgie found herself agreeing like a naughty school girl.

  ‘Now let me show you out.’

  This time, she took her through another corridor, one which she hadn’t shown her before. It was lined with watercolours on either side: vibrant pictures with bold strokes. ‘They’re lovely,’ Georgie exclaimed. Such a change, she almost added, from the cream everywhere else.

  ‘You think so?’ Mrs R-R raised those eyebrows again. ‘I used to be an art student.’

  ‘You painted these?’ Georgie was stunned. It was hard to equate this woman with bland tastes with someone who had the vision and courage to create these landscapes: quintessentially English with those fields of buttercups you could almost pick out of the canvases.

  Her client stared at her, unflinching, as if daring her to voice her thoughts. ‘It was a long time ago. Part of my therapy, so to speak.’

  A long time ago. Part of my therapy. The words played in Georgie’s mind over and over again as she drove home. It had been a long time since she’d felt as insecure as she did now. How frighteningly easy it was to forget. Twenty-two years ago, her life could have ended. Surely her family would forgive her if they knew the truth … Then Sam’s face swam into her mind. Strong. Successful. Expecting others to be the same.

  Maybe not.

  They were all so welcoming! Well, most of them.

  ‘I had to get away from home,’ she’d explained on the bus when one of the boys, Joly – which was short for Jolyon apparently – asked why she was travelling alone.

  Georgina had nodded sympathetically. ‘I get that all right. Not that I’ve got a home any more.’

  ‘Fuck off,’ said one of the girls. ‘You’ve got three to choose from.’

  Joly put a protective arm around Georgina, even though he was driving. ‘You know what she means.’

  Was this anything to do with her new friend’s parents being dead? She didn’t like to ask.

  ‘Where do you come from, Georgie?’ asked Georgina, turning round to face her.

  ‘Yorkshire.’ She spoke abruptly, looking out through the window at the fields and shacks with their tin roofs. Don’t ask me any more, she wanted to say. That’s why I’m here. To leave that behind.

  But Georgina seemed interested. ‘Do you have any brothers or sisters?’

  ‘No.’ What was this? Twenty questions? Nice as she was, this girl was too pushy. Or was it because she herself was simply being too sensitive?

  ‘Changing the subject,’ said one of the other boys – who, rather flatteringly, seemed to keep looking at her – ‘what are we going to call you? We’ve already got one Georgina. And Georgie’s too similar.’

  ‘We’ll manage,’ said Georgina, flicking back her blonde hair and winking conspiratorially. She’d have given anything to have such an easy confidence! On the face of it they might look alike, but Georgina’s self-assurance and beautiful skin (if only she could get rid of those spots on her own chin), not to mention her perfect teeth (hers had an annoying gap right in the middle) that made her stand out. So too did her clothes: that wrap-around skirt and halter-neck top was so much more feminine than her own homemade shorts and top.

  As for Joly, he was drop-dead gorgeous, like a young Robert Redford with that blond, floppy fringe, easy confidence, and beautiful manners (‘After you’). If he wasn’t so way out of her league – and clearly ‘taken’ – Georgie would have been completely smitten. As he wasn’t, she felt quite relaxed when speaking to him.

  ‘We’ll manage?’ repeated the thin-nosed girl, with a sarcastic sniff. ‘There we go again. You have to be in charge, don’t you?’

  ‘Vanda,’ said Joly sharply, looking round and glaring.

  Vanda and Joly? What kind of names were these? She’d never heard anything like them before. Her old school mates would have had a field day. She wished Joly would keep his eyes on the road, too. The drivers here were crazy. Just look at that car haring past them – and the bike with a whole family on it, complete with a pig in the woman’s arms.

  ‘I think Georgie and Georgina will do just fine,’ said Joly, firmly. He screeched to a halt. ‘What do you think of your new home?’

  For a minute, Georgie could hardly breathe. Instead, she just stared at the impossibly white beach and the incredible blue sea stretching away like a silk counterpane with sparkling silver lights. What colours! You could almost touch the textures …

  Between the beach and the sea was a row of tents. ‘They’re quite comfortable,’ said Georgina, noticing her expression.

  ‘Especially if you have someone to snuggle up to,’ added Joly, pulling her towards him.

  It was clear the two were an item. She only hoped the boy with those staring eyes didn’t presume they would be too. There was something about him that freaked her out.

  ‘It’s great,’ she said, forcing herself to sound more confident than she felt.

  ‘You can share with me if you like,’ said the girl with the thin nose and lumpy ankles.

  ‘Thanks.’ For a moment, she’d been afraid it was going to be a mixed tent. They seemed just the kind of teenagers who’d do that kind of thing. For heaven’s sake. She was beginning to sound like her mother.

  ‘Or you could share with me,’ said the boy who’d been staring.

  Georgie smiled, trying to suggest she was taking it as the joke it was surely meant to be.

  But hi
s hand brushed hers. ‘I mean it.’

  He did too! Georgie’s skin crawled. ‘Actually, I’d rather stick to the arrangements I’ve just made.’

  As she spoke, Georgie was aware she sounded prudish but the girl with lumpy ankles snorted. ‘That’s telling you, Jonathan.’

  The boy gave her a meaningful look. ‘Pity.’

  Once more, Georgie shivered. Still, she told herself, following the others out of the van, wasn’t this the adventure she’d wanted?

  This is an adventure, she told herself, jumping off the van. Wasn’t that exactly what she wanted?

  NINE

  The thing is that everyone has a past. Even posh people. I can see from the screen in front of me that I’m dealing with one of these, right now. She’s got friends with names you don’t get round here.

  As for the sums of money, I’m quite surprised. All that just for giving people advice on how to decorate their homes? I looked her up, got to admit. I don’t normally do that but for some reason, this woman intrigued me.

  Quite a looker, actually. Gorgeous Georgie. You can say that again. I’ve always had a thing for blondes. Still, she must need her head looking at if she’s going to put her picture up for any mad man to drool over. I’m constantly surprised by how naïve people are about that kind of thing.

  Her house is nice too. I took a virtual guided tour from when it had been on the market. Of course it should have been taken down years ago, but there are ways of finding these things. It’s another giveaway, just like the picture. Might as well slap a notice on your house, saying Burgle me!

  Made me take a look around my own place, in fact. Gorgeous Georgie might not be too impressed by the patch of damp on the ceiling. I would get the council in but I’m not meant to be here at all. The flat belongs to my boss.

  Ask no questions. It’s one of the first rules of the game.

  Rules are made to be broken, sometimes. ‘What do you want me to do next?’ I emailed after I’d given him the information he wanted.

  I’m still waiting.

  Meanwhile, the missus wants me to go out and get a takeaway. The kids fancy Chinese. You look surprised. Thieves – or rather organised criminals – have families too, you know. They do ordinary things. They do weekly shops at supermarkets and pay like anyone else.

  But inside, all the time, we think differently. How can we trick someone? How can we siphon off their funds without them knowing?

  Just as well you can’t see inside our heads.

  Not like the way I can see inside your bank account. Or know what your middle name is on your passport.

  Scared? You should be. Nowadays, nothing is safe. Least of all, your own identity.

  TEN

  It had been two weeks since this nightmare started. And still there was no end to it.

  ‘There has to be something you can do,’ demanded Sam in the car on the way over to dinner with friends.

  He’d said this several times already, as if repetition might somehow sort it all out. Georgie drummed her nails on the steering wheel impatiently. (She’d agreed, as usual, to drive since she was the one who’d given up drink years ago. ‘A long story,’ she would tell anyone who enquired, before changing the subject.)

  ‘I’ve told you. There isn’t. The police don’t want to get involved with YouTube. They say it’s nothing to do with them. And the computer man has shown me how to lodge a complaint with the administrators.’

  ‘But surely they must be able to stop it?’

  ‘It takes time, apparently.’

  Sam’s mouth tightened. ‘And meanwhile, anyone Googling your name comes up with a picture of you wielding a feather duster and wearing very little.’

  The barrage of questions had made her stall at the lights. ‘I don’t like it any more than you.’

  There was a snort. ‘Well, you don’t seem that upset about it.’

  There was a crunch as she went into third instead of first. She hadn’t done that, Georgie told herself crossly, since she was learning to drive. ‘Of course I’m upset. But I’m more upset about the fact that someone has hacked into my clients’ accounts. Jo isn’t speaking to me at the moment.’

  ‘And remind me what the police are doing about that one?’

  ‘Looking into it,’ she replied tightly. In the end, she’d had to file a police report to satisfy the credit card companies. It had been easier than she’d thought. Too easy. Supposing they put two and two together …

  ‘At least they haven’t taken any money from your other accounts.’

  ‘In a way, it would be better if they had.’

  Sam shot her a sideways look which she sensed, rather than saw. Georgie was fastidious about keeping her eyes on the road when driving.

  ‘Why?’ he replied, incredulously.

  ‘Because it looks as though I’m guilty.’ She signalled left into Tudor Drive, where they were due in five minutes’ time. ‘Don’t you see? If I’m the only one who’s not losing money – apart from that one bank transaction – it looks as though I’m behind it. Apparently, credit card thieves usually try to buy things two or three times in quick succession before anyone gets onto it.’

  She took a deep breath. ‘From the way the security people spoke, they seemed suspicious it was only used once. I got the feeling they thought I engineered it somehow. And they didn’t like the fact that my name was spelt with a “J” instead of a “G”. They made me feel it was my fault.’

  ‘Didn’t you check?’

  The implied criticism stung.

  ‘No, all right? I know I should have done but you don’t expect banks to get it wrong, do you?’

  She’d stopped now, outside a handsome, detached Edwardian house. It had been the views they’d bought it for, her friend Pippa had once said – that wonderful sight of the sea. Sam’s eyes were bright now with apprehension. ‘They’ll sort it out. They have to.’

  ‘Maybe. Maybe not. She leaned her head on the steering wheel. If only life could work like the tide; in and out with a reassuring, soothing clockwork pattern. ‘The thing is, this is a world we know nothing about.’

  ‘But …’

  ‘Yes?’

  ‘No need to snap.’

  ‘I’m not.’

  ‘Yes you are.’

  ‘That’s because I’m tense.’

  ‘Clearly.’

  Their raised voices made a passing dog walker stop and look.

  ‘What were you going to say just now?’ she demanded, aware she sounded totally unlike herself.

  Sam shrugged. ‘It doesn’t matter.’

  ‘Yes it does.’

  ‘OK, then. It does look odd, doesn’t it? The car. Apparently parked outside your client’s one minute and then back at home the next. You don’t think … I mean you have been working very hard recently … and you have been worried about money …’

  ‘Sam!’ She swung round to face him. ‘First you blame Ellie. And now you think I’ve been trying to swindle my own clients.’

  He refused to face her. ‘No, but …’

  ‘You do, don’t you? For all we know, it might have been the joyriders in the local paper.’

  Jumping out of the car, she slammed the door behind her and began walking towards their hosts’ drive, leaving Sam to follow.

  ‘It couldn’t have been me. It couldn’t have been,’ she kept repeating in her head. Yet, wasn’t she angry because Sam’s words had hit a nerve? Supposing she’d never driven the car to Mrs R-R’s in the first place. What if she’d got a taxi – which would explain why the car hadn’t been moved. And supposing she had used the credit card herself …

  No. That was crazy. Then again, wasn’t that what she’d been like after Nick’s birth? Post-baby blues, they’d called it. All she knew was that she never wanted to go through that again. That inability to think or act clearly …

  Exactly what was happening now.

  ‘Georgie!’ The door swung open. Pippa, the first friend she had made after moving here, gave her a bri
ef hug. ‘How are you?’

  She stepped back as if to appraise her. Georgie suddenly wondered if her black evening trousers were too smart for her friend’s jeans and floaty top. A casual supper, she’d said. That was the thing about being a reasonably fresh newcomer (after five years, she was still on the fringes). You were never entirely certain of the rules. Then again, hadn’t that been the case for most of her life?

  ‘Fine, thanks,’ she said, conscious of Sam coming up the path behind her.

  Pippa gave her another hug. ‘No, I mean how are you really?’

  So she’d heard about Jo. Why did that not surprise her? Anything different was immediately latched on as gossip around here.

  ‘Sam! Lovely to see you too. Come on in.’

  She ushered them through the beautiful hall, studded with school photographs of the children, and into the drawing room where a small group hovered, glasses in hand. There was the smell of something delicious in the air – fish pie, perhaps? One of the advantages of living so near to the sea was the harbour shop.

  ‘I’m afraid there are only six of us tonight. Jo and her husband were meant to be coming but they had to cancel,’ added Pippa, blushing. So her old friend didn’t want to be in the same room as her, Georgie realised with a pang.

  Instantly, her mind went off on a tangent (surely her friend must realise it wasn’t her fault) before realising that Pippa was saying something else.

  ‘… would like you to meet Lyndsey Green, who’s just moved into the area?’

  Georgie glanced up at the woman she’d been introduced to. She was wafer-thin with short, red hair – the thin type that revealed the odd patch of scalp. There was something familiar about her.

  ‘Haven’t we met somewhere before?’ asked the woman curiously. A cold shiver of sweat went down Georgie’s back as she took in the white skin and freckles.

  ‘I don’t think so.’

  ‘I’m sure we have,’ insisted the woman. ‘You look very like a friend of mine who I grew up with. Georgie. Georgie Smith.’

  It couldn’t be. That was impossible. Taking a deep breath, she tried to concentrate on the pale turquoise wallpaper behind her hostess’ back. She’d helped her choose it a year or so ago. Maybe now if she focussed on the pretty swirls and soft pink shadows that brought out the colour of the shades, she could block out the memories. Lyndsey, whom she’d hung around the local park with, talking about how they couldn’t wait to get out of this place. Lyndsey whose parents wouldn’t let her go on a gap year – ‘I’d love to go’ – and had gone straight to uni instead. Lyndsey, who hated being ‘a ginger’. Lyndsey who had thought, along with everyone else, that she had just lost touch …