Chapter 5

Ingrid:

Pretty stupid, I suppose, but after a couple of weeks, I was getting restless and thinking I wanted to get back to work. There’d been no sign or sound of Damian; perhaps he’d gone for good.

It seemed to me that Wendy was interested in Olaf, and since I wasn’t, not that way, perhaps it made sense to get out of the way a bit. Besides, I enjoyed the ride to and from work with Charles Harrison. I started back to work.

A couple of weeks without any sign of Damian, and I lapsed into a false sense of security, thinking he’d gone, sensibly getting out of the way of the law. Meanwhile, Wendy was a ... I can’t say ‘regular’ visitor, as her work patterns were so erratic as to make any sort of regular socialising impossible, but we’d see her two or three times a fortnight, I suppose. At least, I say we’d see her...

Oh, and the watch. Olaf got a fancy watch and insisted I wear it. For myself, I didn’t know everything it would do, or, in fact, anything about how to use it except to read the time. But it seemed important to him, so I wore it and otherwise forgot about it. He got one for Tim, too, though I couldn’t see why. Tim, of course, thought it was wonderful.

Olaf Andersen:

I was by now used to having Ingrid and Tim around. It was, I suppose, like having a sister and nephew. I was not used to the regular visits from Wendy. Ingrid gradually relaxed, but I didn’t. Damian was still out there. If he had any sense he would be far away and probably wearing a different identity; someone else’s problem, in fact. But I was far from convinced he did have any sense. He’d had one go at Ingrid already and frankly, any man who would treat a woman the way he had couldn’t be said to have any sense. At least, not any morality. I got hold of a couple of smart watches, Apple. If Ingrid or Tim were abducted – I thought Tim might be taken as leverage – they would form some insurance.

It was just as well I did. Ingrid didn’t understand the device and wasn’t really interested, but that didn’t matter. The expense was completely justified when the vital signs monitor indicated that she was unconscious. A police patrol found Mister Harrison’s car with a broken driver’s side window smashed, himself unconscious in the driver’s seat, and Ingrid nowhere to be found. Thanks to the watch, though, she could be tracked. Don’t think that I wasn’t worried. Until Ingrid’s abductor was picked up near Berwick on Tweed I couldn’t relax. Even then, Ingrid was doped up, and needed hospital care until she recovered. It was some time after that before she was quite herself again and she needed more counselling. Charles Harrison, also, was in hospital, facing neurosurgery, for a sub-dural haematoma.

Damian Clark was arrested and held in custody with several serious charges on top of the original ones. I was happy – if sorry for Charles Harrison – but happy that Clark was out of circulation and that Ingrid would, in time, be okay.

I was on the periphery of all that, and pleased to be so, my only contribution being the insistence that Ingrid wear that watch. She returned to The Mews, but stayed only long enough to freshen up before begging a ride to the Royal to visit Charles. I reassured her that Tim would be fine. Indeed, when I collected him from school and told him where she was, he just nodded. Later, he commented with a shrug, “She really likes him.”

As I understand it, it isn’t possible to open the skull and invade the membranes enclosing the brain without doing some damage. Obviously, if there’s some bleeding putting pressure on the brain, it’s necessary to do something. Charles had his op, and the pressure was relieved, but he was, for a while, suffering from something like a mild stroke. The doctors expected him to make a full recovery, but while he was in hospital Ingrid spent as much time as possible by his side. Tim and I, well, we got on with our lives.

During this time I was surprised by a visit from Claire, Wendy’s sister. That was in the morning, just about coffee time. She made a joke about timing her visit perfectly. So I made coffee for both of us and found some Jaffa cakes – if you’re not familiar with Jaffa cakes, they’re a sort of biscuit with orange jelly covered with chocolate. I’m not fond of them, but Ingrid (and Wendy) love them. I think it’s a lady thing, but I could be wrong. Anyway, I put a plate of Jaffa cakes – and one of chocolate digestives for me – and she laughed. “You certainly know the way to a girl’s heart! Jaffa cakes!”

We sat in the lounge with our coffee and biscuits, silent until the coffee was half gone.

“I wanted to have a word with you,” she said.

“Oh?” I expect I sounded puzzled. I was.

“My sister ... appearances to the contrary, and despite her job and training ... is quite shy and lacks confidence in herself.”

“Really? I wouldn’t have thought it.”

Claire was silent for a few minutes, then continued, “Neither she nor I are exactly prepossessing. I was very lucky to meet my husband, who appreciates me, and we’re very happy together.” She was silent again and sipped her coffee.

“I like her a lot,” I admitted. “I enjoyed our outing to the steam fair. But, well, I’m ... rather shy myself.”

She nodded. “I can see that. I just wanted to encourage ... not that I want to interfere with either of you ... to encourage you to think whether maybe you might like...”

“To see if there’s a future in a relationship between us?”

She smiled and nodded. “I can honestly say that she won’t beat you up if you ask her for a date.” She chuckled. “Further comment ... none.”

We finished our snack and she left to go to her job, leaving me thinking seriously.

My cogitations were interrupted at lunchtime by the weather forecast – a storm building over the Atlantic, bringing strong winds and heavy rain. The Met office issued an amber warning for wind and rain, and the Environment Agency issued a series of flood warnings.

It’s inevitable, I suppose, that people will build on flood-plains. I mean, ‘flood plains’. You’d think that maybe people would associate the term with the possibility of flooding, but that didn’t prevent the small settlements associated with river crossings and confluences growing into towns and then cities. Quite regularly – say, every five or ten years or so – under the right weather conditions, rivers burst their banks. Flood defences really only channel the water further down the way and, anyway, can’t be built high enough for the really bad times. Sluice gates and other equipment have been known to fail.

Now, I wasn’t personally worried. The village and the manor estate are built on higher ground courtesy of retreating glaciers at the end of the last ice-age. None of our trees were large enough, or close enough to The Mews to offer a threat in the case of gales, and I am selfish enough not to worry about other less secure places. Sorry, and all that.

Charles was sent home. Ingrid collected some clothes and went to stay with him as he needed some help. I thought maybe I was seeing something developing there, but I can’t say I was bothered.

Anyway, time passed. I don’t know why bad weather often seems to come overnight. But Tim and I woke up on Saturday morning to gloom, howling wind and torrential rain.

First priority was a substantial breakfast; sausages, baked beans, toast. Coffee for me, of course, orange juice for Tim. That out of the way, I went to light the wood stove. It’s completely unnecessary, honestly. I have an excellent central-heating system (at least, as long as there isn’t a power cut, when the gas boiler won’t work). But I’ve always liked a living fire when the weather is bad and with the conditions we were facing a bit of brightness and warmth was welcome. Okay, it was still, officially, summer, but what the hell.

I discouraged Tim from his visit to the Vicarage to see his mother – a phone call sufficed as she told him anyway to stay home until the rain stopped. The walls are thick, the loft insulated, windows double-glazed, but the wind was still audible, as was the rain hitting the windows. Tim was subdued – he really loves his mum – but philosophical, if that word can be applied to a nearly seven-year-old child. I had to do some work, but Tim enjoyed playing with my old Meccano and Lego, despite how bent and battered the former is.