A Fatal Night Page 2

  Although she loved them dearly, they could be a bit of a handful sometimes. Her best friend Frances told her she’d spoilt them rotten, but what did Frances know? Her own kids didn’t like her one little bit! At least Juliet was fond of her, and Jasper adored her. So what if they had a reputation for being a little wild? When she was young, she’d been a bit reckless too. That was what youth was for – to enjoy.

  She met her satisfied reflection in the normal-sized mirror over the sink and regarded her face hopefully. Even without her make-up she didn’t look her true age, she was sure. Everybody said so! Having the fair skin that came with red hair helped, but she leaned forward closer to the mirror to check for crow’s feet either side of her eyes and found none. Well, not obvious ones, anyway.

  She’d been barely out of nappies before she’d learned that her jade-green eyes were her best feature, along with the dark red (definitely not ginger) hair, which she kept stubbornly long, even now. Who said it was girlish? With long hair you could do wonderful things – French pleats, chignons, all sorts. Only middle-aged women who couldn’t be bothered to make the effort anymore cut their hair short, and she was definitely not that over the hill yet.

  Pleased to see that the cold cream she smoothed on her face every night seemed to be working, she tied up her long hair into a topknot to keep it dry and ran the taps for a hot bath, happily contemplating the glorious evening to come.

  And most of all, thinking of Terry – tall, dark, good-looking Terry. Terry – who was more than ten years her junior.

  But really, what did that matter in this day and age? she mused. Angry with herself for thinking negative thoughts about their age difference yet again, she poured her favourite, prohibitively expensive, jasmine-scented bath salts into the water, and after slipping off her peach satin negligee, sank with a sigh of bliss into the scented water.

  The hairdresser was coming at four, and would be putting up her hair in a delightfully ‘messy’ chignon that left attractive curls ‘straggling’ around her ears and neck. The very latest thing – she’d seen the style in a magazine from France that autumn. Her newest dress, acquired from Harrods earlier in the month just for the occasion, hung waiting for her in the wardrobe. The cleaners would arrive soon and make sure that her house, a fine, gracious five-bedroom, white-stuccoed mansion in a desirable leafy street just off the bottom end of Banbury Road, was spic and span and sparkling.

  Her late husband had been a whizz with investments and stocks and shares and all that sort of thing, and had left her very well off indeed, not only with sizeable bank accounts, but also with a steady and regular income that barely touched the sides of her capital. Bless him.

  She frowned uneasily and pushed the thought of George away. She’d loved him and been a good wife to him, given him the twins and entertained his business friends over the years, even though she’d found them mind-numbingly boring. So she really had nothing to feel guilty about. And he had been gone for nearly five years now. A woman who was still young and had much of her life ahead of her couldn’t mourn and live alone forever, could she?

  And Terry was so nice. She was sure that George would have approved of him. Of course, George had been born to well-off parents, as had she, so he might have raised his eyebrows a bit that Terry was, to some extent, a self-made man; but George was no snob, and he’d always admired get-up-and-go. And Terry was part-owner in a thriving and glamorous business!

  No, she was sure she had nothing to reproach herself for, no matter what others might think! She shook her head, again angry with herself for letting negative thoughts invade her happy mood. She must let nothing spoil this special time. Today was going to be a great day – she just knew it! It was the last day of the old year, and 1963, which started tomorrow, was going to be just wonderful. Especially if, as she thought he might, Terry finally plucked up the courage to ask her to marry him.

  She didn’t think she was fooling herself to hope for a proper engagement ring soon. It wasn’t as if they didn’t have an ‘understanding’, after all. They’d been seeing each other for nearly a year now. And she wore the lovely gold heart-shaped pendant that he’d given her for her birthday all the time. Surely that was a big enough hint about how she felt? But if not, then tonight she’d be sure to encourage him even more – leave him in no doubt whatsoever that she was ready for him to get down on one knee. It would be so romantic – with snowflakes falling outside and the bells ringing out for a brand-new year and everything …

  She sighed and reached for a sponge, absently rubbing it down her pale, slightly freckled arms. Of course, she knew why he might have felt reluctant to ask her before now. Her children, the scamps, were at times barely civil to him. But they were teenagers still, as she’d pointed out to him time and time again, and everyone knew that teenagers could be a bit emotional and trying. They would change once they’d had their twentieth birthday and began to act like grown-ups. And if they didn’t … well, indulgent mother though she usually was, she knew how to put her foot down if she really needed to, Millie thought, with a tightening of her lips and giving a cross little shrug.

  No matter what, she wouldn’t let them spoil things for her tonight. They would just have to be made to understand that, whilst they had been her whole life, especially since George had passed away, they couldn’t be the centre of her universe forever. Soon they would marry themselves, and move away, and she would need someone in her life. Did they expect her to be lonely forever? she would demand of them. Well, did they?

  For once, she would put herself first. No matter what anyone thought. And her snide friends could go hang as well! She gave a gurgle of delight at the thought of Frances’s face when she flashed her new engagement ring at their next lunch at the Randolph!

  With a smile, Millie Vander leaned her head back against the rim of the tub, and sighed.

  Tonight was going to be magical. She was going to make sure of it.

  Chapter 3

  The first guests for Mrs Millicent Vander’s New Year’s Eve party arrived at her door promptly at eight o’clock.

  Millie didn’t mind. It would never have occurred to either of the Wainwrights to be fashionably late, and she’d been prepared for that. They’d been her next-door neighbours for all her married life, and she knew their little ways. Not the most sophisticated of people, either of them, but you couldn’t have a party and not invite your immediate neighbours, could you? It wasn’t polite.

  She showed them straight into the large living room, where tables groaned with food. There, she poured Mary her favourite ‘snowball’ – inwardly wondering how anyone could actually like advocaat – whilst merely drifting a hand towards the help-yourself bar rife with spirits, indicating that Mary’s husband was to pour his own. William, like George, preferred brandy or cognac to mixed drinks – and like George, he liked to pour his own measures. George had always thought she’d never realised how much he consumed that way! Bless him.

  After a quarter of an hour of rather dull chat, others began to arrive, and Millie relaxed slightly. In spite of the weather, the vast majority of her guests were within walking distance of her home, and those who weren’t had found various means of getting to her, regaling her with jokes about skis, snowshoes and a farmer’s tractor.

  She laughed gaily, circulating, flirting, showing off her new dress and keeping glasses topped up, her eyes always on the lookout for one guest in particular.

  *

  He came just after nine-thirty.

  Jasper Vander was the first to spot him, and swore softly under his breath. At only five-feet-six, Jasper often cursed his mother’s small frame, wishing that he’d inherited his father’s more manly five-feet-ten-inch stature instead. All through school he’d suffered jibes of ‘shorty’ and ‘pipsqueak’ and the chip on his shoulder was fast growing to boulder size.

  Some of the more prescient adults who had been a part of his life might have wondered if his lack of inches was responsible for his rather nasty personali
ty, but most people preferred not to contemplate him at all, and simply avoided him whenever possible.

  Only his mother and his twin loved him. A fact that worried Jasper not one whit. He was clever, handsome and funny, and (best of all) came from money. Any one of those advantages would have been more than enough to enable him to carve a comfortable place for himself in the world that he was happy with.

  He’d been head boy at school, (indulging in a few nasty tricks and using his old noggin had secured him that position of power), and captain of the cricket team, having a slender, graceful form that was almost balletic. And what he might have lacked in actual sporting talent, he’d more than made up for in aggression.

  He was also quite a success with the opposite sex, having inherited his father’s black hair (not his mother’s awful red mop) along with the late George Vander’s large grey eyes and handsome, square-jawed face. He wore clothes very well, and spent almost as much on them as his mother did.

  A sharp and funny wit earned him both approbation and condemnation in almost equal measure (depending on his audience) and he regarded either reaction as a victory.

  Now, though, he was feeling not at all sanguine as he noted Terrence Parker’s arrival with a narrowing of his eyes and a snort that he hid by taking a sip from his cocktail glass. It contained something blue and was the latest fad, which he thought appropriate, since it tasted just like paraffin.

  He watched as his twin also followed the latest arrival with her eyes. Juliet’s red-painted lips twisted into a predatory smile that made her brother almost laugh out loud. He could always count on good ol’ Jules to help him take down his prey.

  *

  Terry Parker headed into the noisy, crowded room of partygoers with an easy smile on his face. He had eyes only for the hostess, watching the moment she spotted him and came towards him at once, her eyes lighting up with gratifying pleasure.

  ‘Terry! I was beginning to worry you couldn’t make it! Is the weather still frightful? It was snowing again last time I looked. I hope you didn’t come in one of those death traps of yours,’ she teased.

  Terry smiled. ‘I left the E-type Jag in the garage, I promise,’ he said. Which was true enough. ‘I brought a beast of a Riley instead. Old, ugly as sin, but heavy and reliable as a tank. Satisfied?’

  ‘Very,’ Millie said, taking his arm and leading him to the bar. On the record player Elvis Presley’s number-one hit ‘Return to Sender’ was playing at its loudest setting. ‘Have a drink. Do you want that latest cocktail, or a glass of my best port?’

  *

  Millie Vander’s resentful children were not the only ones watching the discreet lovers that night.

  Patsy Arles also watched them avidly. At eighteen, Patsy looked perhaps slightly younger, a fact that often caused her serious resentment. She blamed it on her long, curly, ginger-blonde hair, but her heart-shaped face and big blue-grey eyes didn’t help. She often thought that she looked more like a puppy dog begging for treats than a mature, slinky femme fatale, intent on breaking hearts.

  Her icons were the glamorous and often scandalous actresses of the golden Hollywood era – Myrna Loy, Rita Hayworth, and, of course, now Marilyn.

  She’d left school three years before, where she’d always had a serious crush on Juliet Vander, who, at just one year older, seemed to the adoring Patsy to be the epitome of everything that she herself was not. Stunning black hair, flashing cat-green eyes, tiny shapely figure and a knowing way that seemed to radiate out, making everyone turn their heads to look at her as she walked past. Not only that, she had family money, a vinegar tongue that could reduce teenage boys to jelly at will, and a reputation for playing with fire. Not that she ever got caught out by the school authorities, of course.

  Juliet was the girl everyone wanted to know and, of course, she didn’t look at you twice. Aloof, curiously friendless, Juliet was queen!

  So Patsy couldn’t believe her luck when, out of the blue, Juliet had sought her out and invited her to her mother’s swanky party this evening. Everyone knew that Mrs Vander threw the best parties in north Oxford, Patsy mused now, almost swelling with pride at being here, in the Vanders’ mansion. Her own mother did her best to keep up appearances, but she simply didn’t have Mrs Vander’s elan. Or social contacts. In fact, she had only managed to get Patsy into the same prestigious school as Juliet by the skin of her teeth – and a lucky win on the Premium Bonds!

  Not that Patsy had been able to take advantage of that piece of good luck and do well at the school – unlike Juliet, who passed all her exams with a sneer and no revision at all. Patsy knew she wasn’t the brightest button in the box. Still, Patsy thought happily, hugging her secret joy to herself like a precious diamond, none of that mattered now. She was here, at this fabulous party, and Juliet Vander, Juliet Vander of all people, had confided in her and drawn her into a real adventure. Just like her heroines on the silver screen, here was danger, excitement, romance, and thrills. At last, she could say goodbye to her boring, mundane life. Because, once she’d done the favour asked of her, and become Juliet’s best friend, who knew what the future could hold?

  She only hoped she didn’t fluff it! It sounded simple enough. A bit … well, risqué as their French teacher would have said, but not really difficult. Just as long as she held her nerve …

  She watched Terry Parker nervously but avidly. She knew how much Juliet despised him, of course – she and Jasper had made it clear just what the jumped-up little Lothario (Jasper’s description) was up to, and she had to agree it was a bit thick! Cosying up to Mrs Vander like that, who was heaps older than him, just to worm his way into her life so that he could marry her for her fortune!

  Well, not if they could help it! Patsy was determined not to let Juliet down. They would beat him at his own game! She felt almost like Grace Kelly in a Hitchcock film.

  Patsy saw her quarry smile at Mrs Vander, and almost squirmed in embarrassment for Juliet as Juliet’s mother smiled back. Mind you, she thought wistfully, she couldn’t really blame Mrs Vander. He was very good-looking, not that she’d ever dare say so to Juliet or Jasper! Over six feet, she thought, if only by an inch or so. (She did so like tall men, perhaps because she was five-feet-ten herself. It was so embarrassing having to look down to meet a boy’s eyes …) And with all that lush dark hair and melting dark-brown eyes … Oh my!

  She pulled herself up with a start, and turned away. She mustn’t be caught staring at him. Juliet would be angry with her if she gave anything away.

  But later, once all the bells had chimed for midnight and the party broke up, she would do what she had come here for. Her heart thumped in trepidation, and she quickly swallowed back her anxiety. Nothing would go wrong, she reassured herself. They’d planned it all out – Juliet, Jasper and herself. And Jasper, like his twin, was so clever. They’d gone over and over it, until they were sure that Patsy knew it all off by heart. And she did – she really did! She knew just what she had to do … And it was so exciting and wonderful and very daring. Even maybe a little dangerous …

  For a moment, eighteen-year-old Patsy Arles felt a frisson of fear snake through her, and a small voice at the back somewhere far away hissed at her that she was in way over her head.

  But then she caught Juliet’s eye, and saw her nod at her with a small secret smile, and her heart swelled with pride. She pushed the small voice away. It would probably turn out to be easy as anything after all, and she was worrying for nothing.

  Besides, Grace Kelly wouldn’t be such a rabbit, would she?

  *

  Just before eleven o’clock a gate-crasher made an unobtrusive entrance and ate some canapés happily, enjoyed a very nice glass of expensive French wine, and circulated amiably, earning friends here, there and everywhere.

  Millie Vander was perhaps the only one, at first, to be puzzled by the newcomer, for she had no idea exactly who the stranger was. But she was, naturally, far too polite to enquire. No doubt one of her guests had invited someone to
come along and had simply forgotten – or been too embarrassed or tipsy – to admit it to their hostess.

  Besides, it would be utterly déclassé to make a scene about a mere gate-crasher, Millie knew. In this modern new age, weren’t parties deemed to be something of a failure if they didn’t attract some scandalous behaviour?

  *

  If Patsy Arles was suffering from nerves and a surfeit of hot blood, the other woman who watched Terry Parker so thoughtfully that night was as cold as the snow that was falling outside, and felt perfectly calm.

  She felt only slight distaste as their clearly enamoured hostess laid a hand possessively on his arm, and carefully sipped from her champagne cocktail before whispering something into his attentive ear.

  She thought that Terry Parker seemed to be enjoying himself. So alive, and contemplating a happy future, spending the silly woman’s fortune …

  Her mind drifted to other, darker, things … and brooded.

  *

  As midnight inevitably drew nearer, the noisy party grew ever more boisterous. And when the countdown finally began, everyone stood around, most holding hands and lifting their arms up and down in time with the chanting. ‘Eight,’ they called merrily, ‘seven, six, five …’

  The twins, Juliet and Jasper, whispered together in a corner. The ‘star guest’ – a local celebrity artist – had clearly drunk just a little too much, but ever the lady, she held her liquor well. She had once, famously, drunk Dalí (or was it somebody almost as famous?) under the table somewhere in Budapest. (Or was it Luxembourg?)

  Most people were feeling pleasantly hazy. Everyone present considered the party to be a great triumph. The food had been wonderful, the drinks copious and varied, and the records had been just the right mix of big band, jazz, and the modern stuff that was so popular with teenagers nowadays.