Dark Room

*4*

WEDNESDAY, 22ND JUNE, 53 LANSING ROAD, SALISBURY-8:05 p.m.

The young man was in no hurry to get up. He lay on the bed, his limbs sprawled in satiated contentment upon the rumpled bedclothes, watching the woman button her blouse in front of the mirror. Her reflected eyes stared warily back at him. Despite his airs and graces, and his liberal use of "please" and "thank you," she knew exactly what she was dealing with here, and it terrified her. She'd seen every type there was to see-or thought she had-but this one was in a class of his own. This one was mad.

"You'll have to go now," she said, trying to hide her nervousness. "I've another customer due in a minute."

"So? Tell him to go away. I'll pay you double."

"I can't do that, love. He's a regular."

"You're lying," he said lazily.

"No, love, honestly." She forced a smile to her sore lips. "Look, I've really enjoyed this. It's years since I've come with a client. You wouldn't believe that, would you? A pro like me and it takes a man like you to give her something to remember." She offered her raddled face to the mirror and applied eyeliner to her lids, watching him carefully while she did it. "But it's a tough old world and I need my income just like any other girl. If I tell him to bugger off, he won't come again"-she gave a wretched giggle-"in every sense of the word. Know what I mean? So do us a favor, love, and leave me to my regular. He's not a patch on you, and that's God's honest truth, but he pays me weekly and he pays me handsome. Okay?"

"Did I really make you come?"

"Sure you did, love."

"You fat slag," he said, surging off the bed with terrifying speed and hooking his arm about her neck. "It'd take a bloody bulldozer to make an impression on you." He levered his arm closed. "I hate slags who lie to me. Tell me you're a lying whore."

But she'd been on the game long enough to learn that you never told psychopaths the truth. She reached for his penis instead and set about rearousing him, knowing that if she came out of this alive, she'd be lucky. So far, his only real pleasure had been to beat her about the face while he reached his climax, and she knew he was going to do it again.

As he twisted his hand in her hair and yanked her backwards onto the bed, she had time to reflect on the awful irony of it all. She was so used to servicing old and inadequate men that when the voice on the phone had translated itself into an Adonis at her door, she couldn't believe her luck. God, but she was a stupid bitch!

THE NIGHTINGALE CLINIC, SALISBURY-8:20 P.M.

The phone rang beside Jinx's bed, setting her nerves jangling with its insistent summons to a world outside that she wasn't sure she was ready to face. She was tempted to leave it, until it occurred to her that it might be an internal call. If you don't answer it, said the voice of paranoia inside her head, then a little black mark will go down in a book somewhere and your mental equilibrium will be called into question. She lifted the receiver and held it against her ear on the pillow. "Jinx Kingsley," she said guardedly.

"Thank God," said a man's voice. "I've had the devil's own job trying to find you. It's Josh Hennessey. I finally got through to your stepmother, who gave me this number. She says you're okay to talk but that you've lost bits of your memory."

"Josh Hennessey?" she echoed in surprise. "As in Harris and Hennessey? You sound so close. Where are you?"

He gave a rumble of laughter at the other end. ' 'The very same, except that it's all Hennessey at the moment and remarkably little Harris. She's buggered off to France and left me nursing the office. I'm in a call box in Piccadilly." He paused briefly and she heard the sound of traffic in the background. "I'm damn glad the memory loss doesn't extend to your mates. There's a few of us eating our hearts out over this." He paused again. "We were really sorry to hear about your accident, Jinx, but your stepma says you're progressing well."

She smiled weakly. Typical Josh, she thought. Always "we," and never "I." "I'm not sure I'd agree with her. I feel like something the dog threw up. I suppose you know about Leo and Meg?"

He didn't say anything.

"It's all right, you don't have to spare my feelings. Matter of fact, I'm quite glad Leo found a good home." Was she telling the truth? "They're welcome to each other."

"Well, if it's of any consolation to you, I can't see it lasting. You know Meg and her brief enthusiasms. She'll have some French guy in tow by the time she comes back, and poor old Leo will be on the scrap heap along with all the others. She's a two-timing bitch, Jinx. I've always said so."

Liar, she thought. You adore her. "She hasn't changed just because Leo prefers her to me," she said. "I don't bear any grudges, so why should you?"

He cleared his throat. "How are you coping after the-well, you know."

"You mean my suicide attempt? I don't remember it, so I'm fine."

There was a short silence.

"Good. Well, listen, the reason I phoned is that I've been trying to get hold of Meg for the last eight days and I'm getting zilch response from her answering machine. She swore on her sainted granny's grave that she'd call in for her messages every day, but if she's doing it, then she sure as hell isn't replying to any of them, and I'm going slowly apeshit with all the work that's piling up. I've tried her brother and a few of her other friends to see if they know where she and Leo went, but they're as much in the dark as I am. You're my last hope, Jinx. Have you any ideas at all how I can contact her? Believe me, I wouldn't ask if I wasn't desperate. I've got a sodding contract here that needs her signature and I need to fax it through posthaste." He gave an angry grunt. "I tell you, the way I feel at the moment, I could wring her neck. And Leo's, too."

Jinx jabbed her fingers against the vein above her eye that was pounding and rushing like a swollen river. A strangely murky image had floated into her mind as he spoke, a meaningless dark negative that relayed nothing to her at all except an intense frustration. She sought to hold on to it but, like a drowning man, it slipped away and left her cheated. "Well, if it's France," she said slowly, "then they've probably gone to Leo's house in Brittany, but I'm afraid I can't remember the phone number, Josh, and I doubt he's got a fax either."

"That doesn't matter. Do you know the address?"

She dug deep into her memory. "I think so. It's Les Hirondelles, rue St. Jacques, Trinite-sur-mer."

"You're a brick, Jinx. Remind me to take you out to dinner one day."

She gave a shaky laugh. "It's a date," she told him. "Assuming I can remember to remind you." She paused. "Did you really want Meg's address?"

He avoided an answer. "I could come and see you at the weekend," he suggested. "Or are you hibernating?"

"Sort of," she said, unsure if she wanted to see anyone. "I'm vegetating."

"Is that a yes or a no?"

The vein above her eye throbbed mercilessly. "It's a yes. I'd love to see you," she lied.

THE NIGHTINGALE CLINIC-8:30 P.M.

For fifteen minutes paranoia held Jinx's hand. Ten times she had reached it out towards the telephone on the bedside table and ten times she had withdrawn it again. Her nerve had abandoned her along with her memory. She was afraid of eavesdroppers listening in. And what could she say that wouldn't sound foolish? At eight-thirty, as credits rolled on the television in the corner, she muted the sound, seized the telephone with sudden decision, and dialed a number.

"Hello," said a brisk voice that belied its eighty-three years.

"Colonel Clancey?"

"Yes."

"It's Jinx Kingsley. I wondered-are you busy or can I talk to you for a moment?"

"My dear girl, of course you can talk. How are you?"

"Fine. You?"

"Worried," he said. "Damned worried, if I'm honest. I feel responsible, Jinx. Daphne, too. We should have done more. Hold on a minute while I close the door. Bloody television's going full blast. Usual old rubbish, of course, but Daphne likes it." She heard the receiver clatter onto their hall table, followed by the slam of a door and the distant yapping of Goebbels, their mild-mannered Yorkshire terrier. "You still there?" he barked a moment or two later.

She felt tears of affection pricking at the back of her eyelids. He made himself out to be so much more ferocious than his funny little dog, and, in her mind, he was always Colonel Goebbels and the dog was Clancey. "Yes. It's nice to hear you." She paused a moment, wondering what to say. "How's Goebbels?" She wondered why they'd called their dog Goebbels. Was it something she knew and had forgotten, or was it something she had simply accepted as she had accepted all their other eccentricities?

"Flea-ridden as usual. Daphne gave him a bath and he's looking like a mohair sweater. Absurd creature."

She wondered if he was referring to the dog or to his wife. "I'm worried about my plants," she said, seeking neutral territory and remembering the Clanceys had her spare key. "Would it be an awful bore for you or Mrs. C to water them for me?"

"We go in every day, Jinx. Assumed it's what you'd want. Plants are fine, bit of cleaning up done. It's all ready for you as soon as you're well enough to come home."

"That's very kind. Thank you."

"Least we could do in the circumstances."

There was an awkward pause while she sought for something more to say. "Let me give you my phone number. I'm at the Nightingale Clinic in Salisbury." She squinted at the dial. "I don't know the code but the number's two-two-one-four-two-zero. Just in case anything unexpected crops up."

"Got it," he told her. "And you say you're fine. Glad to hear it. Looking after you all right then, are they?"

"Yes."

"Well, you sound cheerful enough."

Another awkward pause. They spoke together.

"Best be going then-"

"Colonel-''

"Yes?"

"Please don't go, not yet." She rushed her words. "My stepmother said you rescued me from my garage. Is that true? She said I had the car engine running and you found me before I could-well-finish myself off."

His voice grew gruff with emotion. "Don't you remember?"

"No." She swallowed painfully. "I'm really sorry, but I don't. I don't remember anything-at least, not since I left to stay with my parents two weeks ago. Is Leo really not there anymore? I don't know who else to ask-and I'm so, so sorry if it's embarrassing but I do need to be sure. They keep telling me-things that don't make sense. They say I've got amnesia-that I got drunk and tried to kill myself. But I just-oh God-" She clamped her hand over her mouth because tears were flooding her throat. Hang up, you stupid woman.

"There, there." said his comforting elderly voice, "no need for embarrassment. Good Lord, I've had six-foot-tall men weep on my shoulder before now. Clear answers, eh, that's what you want. Your stepmother's a nice enough woman, I expect, but, if she's anything like Daphne, she'll have managed to confuse the message somehow. Not that I know all that much," he warned. "Never been one to poke my nose in where it's not wanted, as you know."

"Quite. Best sort of neighbor always." Odd, she thought, how she picked up his shorthand when she spoke to him. Perhaps everyone did.

"Leo's been gone over a week, Jinx. Left the night you came home from Hampshire. Hope it's not an impertinence, but I'd say you're well shot of him. Never did like the cut of his jib much. You were far too good for him. Funny thing is, I spoke to you on the Saturday and you didn't turn a hair. 'The bastard's jilted me, Colonel,' you said, 'and the only bugger is he beat me to it.' " He chortled at the memory. "And then, on the Sunday, there you were in your garage with the engine running. Fact is, it was Goebbels spotted something was up. Parked himself in front of your garage door and barked his little head off." He paused for a moment, and she could picture him fluffing his mustache and squaring his shoulders. "Upshot was, pulled you out PDQ and got some fresh air into you. Should have done more, though. Called a doctor, got a friend round. Rather upset about that to tell you the truth."

"I wish you wouldn't be. Did I say anything? I mean-explain or something." Her fingers tightened involuntarily around the handset. "I just don't believe-well, you know. Not over Leo."

"Matter of fact, I agree with you. Personally, thought it was an accident, garage doors slammed after you started the engine, that sort of thing. Not as though you had a hose pipe attached to the exhaust, is it? Truth is, you weren't feeling too clever afterwards, not surprising in the circumstances. But you can't have been in there very long. Back to normal in no time, cracking jokes and telling Daphne not to fuss. Even made a phone call to some friends you were off to see. The old girl was all for a doctor but you wouldn't have it. 'I'm perfectly all right, Mrs. C,' you said, 'and if I don't get going I'll be late.' Worst thing was, thought you were going to squash poor Goebbels, the way you hugged and petted him." He gave a gravelly laugh. "Hah! You said dogs were the only things worth having in your bed from then on."

She dabbed at her cheeks. "Then why does Betty think I was trying to kill myself?'' Her voice was remarkably steady.

"On the principle that one swallow doesn't make a summer but two probably do, dear girl. Dare say it's our fault. Bobbies turned up a week ago, telling us you'd driven your car at a wall in what looked like a deliberate attempt at suicide, and did we know of any other attempts? So Daphne piped up about the garage and how you promised you'd be more careful in future, then told them what a rat Leo had been, and hey presto, conclusions being drawn all over the place. Silly old woman,'' he said fondly. "Practically gaga though, let's face it, and awfully worried about you. Matter of fact, I did try to stem the breach by pointing out you weren't the type, but I might have been banging my head against the proverbial wall for all the good it did." He cleared his throat. "Must say, Jinx, talking to you now, more inclined than ever to think it's all nonsense. Never struck me as the type to throw in the towel."

She couldn't speak for a moment. "Thank you," she managed. "I don't think I am either. Will you give Mrs. C and Goebbels a hug from me?"

"Certainly will. Coming home soon, I trust."

"I'd like to but I'm bandaged to the hilt at the moment. You should see me, Colonel. I look like Boris Karloff in The Mummy.''

"Hah!" he harrumphed again. "Kept your sense of humor, I see. Visitors keeping you chirpy, daresay."

"No," she said honestly. "It's talking to you that's cheered me up. Thank you for getting me out of my car. I'll ring you the minute I'm demobbed and give you my ETA."

"We'll be waiting for you, dear girl. Meanwhile chin up and best foot forward, eh?"

"Will do. Good-bye, Colonel."

Jinx cut the line but held the receiver to her chest for several minutes, as if by doing so, she could maintain the link with him, for the comfort that the conversation had given her was all too ephemeral. Depression swept in behind it like an engulfing tide when it occurred to her that of all the people she knew, the only one she had felt able to telephone was a man whose first name she was too shy to use. Had she felt as lonely as this a week ago? Could she have done it? God help her if she had.

"Your brother's come to see you, Miss Kingsley," said a black nurse, pushing wide the half-open door. "I've told him ten minutes. Visitors out by nine o'clock, that's the rule, but as it's your brother and he's come all the way from Fordingbridge, well ... just so long as you don't make too much noise." She noticed Jinx's pallor suddenly and clicked her tongue anxiously. "Are you all right, my lovely? You look as if you've seen a ghost."

"I'm fine."

"Okay," she said cheerfully. "Not too much noise then, or my job will be on the line."

Miles, exuding his usual boyish charm, took the nurse's hand in his and smiled into her face. "I really appreciate this, Amy. Thank you."

Her dark skin blushed. "That's all right. I'd best be getting back to the desk." She withdrew her fingers from his with clear reluctance and closed the door behind her.

"God," he said, flopping into the armchair, "she really thought I fancied her." He eyed Jinx. "Ma tells me you're back in the land of the living, so I thought I'd come and check for myself. You look bloody awful, but I expect you know that."

She reached for her cigarettes. "I'd hate to disappoint you, Miles."

"She says you can't remember anything since the fourth. Is that true?"

She didn't answer.

"Which means it is." He giggled suddenly. "So you don't remember the week you spent at the Hall."

She eyed him coldly as she felt for her lighter.

"You borrowed two hundred quid off me that week, Jinxy, and I want it back."

"Bog off, Miles."

He grinned. "You sound pretty on the ball to me. So what's with this amnesia crap? You trying to get yourself off the hook with Dad?"

"What hook?"

"Whatever it is you've done that you shouldn't have done."

"I don't know what you're talking about."

He shrugged indifferently. "Then why did you try to top yourself? Dad's been worse than usual this week. You might have thought of that before you started playing silly buggers."

She ignored him and lit a cigarette.

"Are you going to talk to me, or have I wasted my time coming here?"

"I doubt you've wasted your time," she said evenly, "as I imagine seeing me was the last thing on your list." She was watching his face, saw the flash of intense amusement in his eyes, and knew she was right. "You must be mad," she continued. "Adam wasn't bluffing when he said you'd be out on your ear the next time. Why on earth do you do it?"

"You think you know everything, don't you?"

"When it comes to you, Miles, I do."

He grinned. "Okay, then it gives me a buzz. Come on, Jinxy, a couple of hands of poker in a hotel bedroom, it's hardly major gambling. And who's going to tell Dad anyway? You certainly won't and neither will I." He giggled again. "I scored"-he tapped his jacket pocket-"so no lectures, all right? I'm not planning to run up any more debts. The old bastard's made it clear enough he won't bail me out again."

He was more hyped up than usual, she thought, and wondered how much he'd won. She changed the subject. "How's Fergus?"

"About as pissed off as I am. A couple of days ago, Dad reduced him to tears. You know what my guess is-the worm'll turn when Dad least expects it and then it'll be your precious Adam who gets the thrashing." He was fidgeting with the lapels of his jacket, brushing them, smoothing them. "Why did you do it? He hates you now, hates us, hates everyone. Poor old Ma most of all."

Jinx lay back and stared at the ceiling. "You know as well as I do what the solution is," she said.

"Oh God, not more bloody lectures. Anyone would think you were forty-four, not thirty-four." He raised his voice to a falsetto, mimicking her. " 'You're old enough to stand on your own two feet, Miles. You can't expect your mother to give you Porsches all your life. It's time to move out, find your own place, start a family.' "

"I don't understand why you don't want to."

"Because Dad refuses to ante up, that's why. You know the score. If we want to live in reasonable comfort, we stay at home where he can keep his eye on us. If we want out, we do it the hard way and graft for ourselves."

"Then welcome to the human race," she said scathingly. "What the hell do you think the rest of us do?"

His voice rose again, but this time in anger. "You damn well never had to graft. You stepped straight into Russell's money without lifting a finger. Jesus, you're so bloody patronizing. 'Welcome to the human race, Miles.' You piss me off, Jinx, you really do."

She was dog-tired. Why didn't the nurse come back to rescue her? She stubbed out her cigarette and turned to look at him. "Surely anything has to be better than letting Adam treat you like dirt. When did he last beat you?" There was something wrong with him, she thought. He was like an addict waiting for a fix, twitched, unable to sit still, fidgeting, fingering, eyes overbright. Oh God, not drugs ... not drugs... But as she fell asleep, she was thinking that yes, of course it was drugs, because self-indulgence was the one thing Miles was good at. If nothing else, his father had taught him that.

ODSTOCK HOSPITAL, SALISBURY-9:00 P.M.

The emergency room doctor was barely out of medical school and nothing in his training had prepared him for this. He smiled tentatively at the woman in the cubicle. It was worse than the elephant man, he was thinking, as he took his place beside the nurse whose hand the wretched woman was clutching. Her face was so swollen that she looked barely recognizable as a human being. She had given her name as Mrs. Hale. "You've been in the wars," he said vacuously.

"My husband-belt-" she croaked through lips that could hardly move.

He looked at the bruising on her throat where the marks of someone's fingers were clearly visible. "Is it just your face that's been hurt?"

She shook her head and, with a pathetic gesture of apology, raised her skirt and revealed knickers saturated with blood. "He"-tears squeezed between her swollen lids-"cut me."

Three hours later, a sympathetic policewoman tried to persuade her to make a statement before she was transferred to the operating room for surgery to her rectum. "Look, Mrs. Hale, we know your husband didn't do this. We've checked and he's currently serving eighteen months in Winchester for handling stolen property. We also know you're on the game, so the chances are that the animal responsible was one of your customers. Now, we're not interested in how you make your money. We're only interested in stopping this bastard doing the same thing to some other poor girl. Will you help us?''

She shook her head.

"But he could kill next time. Do you want that on your conscience? All we need is a description."

A faint laugh croaked in her throat. "Do me a favor, love."

"You've got two factured cheekbones, severe bruising of the throat and larynx, a dislocated wrist, and internal bleeding from having a hairbrush rammed up your back passage," said the policewoman brutally. "You're lucky to be alive. The next woman he attacks may not be so lucky."

"Too right. It'll be yours bloody truly if I open my mouth. He swore he'd come back." She closed her eyes. "The hospital shouldn't have called you. I never gave them leave, and I'm not pressing no charges."

"Will you think about it at least?"

"No point. You'll never pin it on him and I'm not running scared for the rest of my life."

"Why won't we pin it on him?"

She gave another croak of laughter. "Because it'll be my word against his, love, and I'm a fat old slag and he's little Lord Fauntleroy."

THURSDAY, 23RD JUNE, THE NIGHTINGALE CLINIC-3:30 A.M

As he did every night at about this time, the security guard emerged from the front door of the Nightingale Clinic and strolled towards a bench on the moonlit lawn. It was a little treat he gave himself halfway through his shift, a quiet smoke away from the nagging lectures of the nursing staff. He wiped the seat with a large handkerchief, then lowered himself with a sigh of contentment. As he fished his cigarettes from his jacket pocket he had the distinct impression that someone was behind him. Startled, he glanced round, then lumbered awkwardly to his feet and went to investigate the trees bordering the driveway. There was no one there, but he couldn't rid himself of a sense that he was being watched.

He was a phlegmatic man, and put the experience down to the cheese he'd eaten at supper. As his wife always said, too much cheese wasn't good for anyone. But he didn't linger over his smoke that night.

Jane Kingsley was floating in dark water, eyes open, straining for the sunlight that dappled the surface above her. She wanted to swim, but the desire was all in her mind and she was too weary to make it happen. A terrible hand was upon her, pulling her down to the weeds below-insistent, persuasive, compelling. She opened her mouth to let death in...

She burst out of sleep in a threshing frenzy, sweat pouring down her back. She was drowning ... Oh Jesus, sweet Jesus, somebody help her! The moon beamed through a gap in her curtains, lighting a path through the room. Where was she? She didn't know this place. She stared in terror from one dark shadow to the other until she saw the lilies beside her, gleaming white and pure against the black of the carnations. Memory returned. Jane was her mother ... she was Jinx ... Jane was her mother ... she was Jinx...

With shaking fingers, she switched on her bedside light and looked on things she recognized-the door to the bathroom, television in the corner, mirror against the wall, armchair, flowers-but it was a long time before the thudding of her heart slowed. She slid slowly down between the sheets again, as rigid and wide-eyed as a painted wooden doll, and tried to stem the fear that grew inside her. But it was a vain attempt because she couldn't put a name to what she was afraid of.

Two miles away, in another hospital bed, her terror had its haunting echo in the battered face of a prostitute who had supped with the devil.