Cambridge Blue - Alison Bruce [86]
‘You do the kitchen.’ This time she spoke clearly and he recognized the voice as Victoria Nugent’s.
‘OK,’ a man replied.
Goodhew could now see nothing, so he half closed his eyes and just listened. She was wearing stilettos and she moved with short steps that echoed on the bare boards. He heard the curtains open and shafts of moonlight slipped into the wardrobe. Not good. Then her shadow fell across the crack between the doors and he knew she was about to open them.
Victoria had spent a giddy afternoon riding on an adrenalin surge. She had made a mistake – no – it had been an oversight. But now she had a plan. In her mind’s eye she’d visualized every move. Especially the finale.
As they entered Lorna’s flat, she realized she was rushing up the stairs too quickly and checked herself. She had to be convincing. She would fail if she let her motives become transparent.
He followed, more heavy-footed, less enthusiastic. But that would change.
‘Where will it be?’ he asked.
‘I don’t know.’ She led the way across the living room; she knew the route, even in the dark. She made straight for the bedroom, but turned back to him at the doorway. ‘I’ll start in the bedroom.’
He stopped in his tracks, not sure what she was expecting him to do.
‘You do the kitchen.’
Her heart thumped, but she didn’t allow herself to think about how dangerous it all was. It was good that he seemed more nervous than her, even though she had no doubt that she could easily lead him where he didn’t want to go.
She crossed to the window, the curtains rasping as they were hauled back on their tracks. That was better, she could see the room properly now, without turning on the light.
She knew she still had at least a few minutes while he poked around in the kitchen units.
Directly across from her was the room’s only wardrobe, which would be the logical place to start. She opened the doors simultaneously, then, without even a glance inside she made a point of slamming them. Then she equally loudly opened and closed the chest of drawers.
Finally, she retrieved a tissue from her sleeve and lay down on one side of the bed. She kept the tissue pressed to her lips and did her best to feign emotional exhaustion. She was no great actress, but firmly believed that people noticed only what they chose to.
It didn’t take him more than a few minutes to search the kitchen, then he came to find her. He stopped in the doorway and nodded towards the open curtains. ‘Someone may see us,’ he said. Then he looked at her. ‘What’s wrong?’
‘You didn’t find it, did you?’ Her voice was thick with emotion. ‘It’s not here either.’
He stepped further into the room, but stopped halfway towards the bed. ‘Where will it be?’ he demanded.
‘I don’t know. Most of her stuff has gone.’
‘Perhaps the police have it then?’
This was good. ‘Do you think I hadn’t considered that?’ She raised her voice just enough to threaten hysteria, then sighed and raised both hands with a ‘just hang on’ gesture. ‘I’m sorry, I know it’s not your fault. But, Bryn, I don’t know what I’d do if anyone saw it.’
‘Why would that be so bad?’
She bit back the urge to scream. He was so thick. Even this simple fictitious scenario was beyond him. If she’d really lost her private diary in Lorna’s flat, why would she need to spell out that she didn’t want every Tom, Dick and Plod poring over its steamy pages?
Did Bryn really think she was that brazen regarding her personal life?
Her voice trembled with irritation as she spoke, but she was sure he would merely interpret it as raw emotion. ‘If they found out, I just don’t know what I’d do.’
Her body sagged and she buried her face in her hands. He was quick to sit down beside her. ‘It’ll be OK,’ he whispered. She reached out and found his hand, then pulled him nearer. She felt his arm slip round her shoulder and she nestled closer still. She shivered and her skin tingled against the silky fabric of her blouse.
A minute of silence passed.
‘I bet you miss her,’ she said.
‘I didn’t really know her.’
‘But you were sleeping with her.’
‘You