The Merchant's House by Kate Ellis

Author:Kate Ellis [Ellis, Kate]
Language: nld
Format: epub
Published: 2011-12-01T10:11:20+00:00

Rachel looked out of the car window as they drove through Morbay and thought how the place had changed.

In her childhood the resort was the very pinnacle of respectability: retired colonels; tea dances among the potted palms; high–class shops; young families consuming ice cream while seated in municipal deckchairs on the beach below the ornamental gardens. She had been brought there as a treat. Parts of the town still retained the aura of bygone prosperity: the white villas perched above the town, one of them the home of Karen Giordino, were still leafy and desirable. But the town itself, Rachel noted, was showing signs of wear, like an elderly lady wearing too much makeup. The purveyors of luxury goods in the main street by the marina were slowly being replaced by amusement arcades. Hoteliers, hit by hard times, were accepting guests from the DSS rather than the rosy–cheeked young families of yesteryear. Gangs of youths roamed the streets in and out of season. The Drug Squad kept a careful eye on the place. It was not how Rachel remembered it.

She asked herself why she had allowed Steve to drive, knowing perfectly well it wasn’t one of his talents. She told him as much. ‘Your driving’s bloody lethal. I’ll make sure I come with Sergeant Peterson next time.’

‘Fancy him, do you? Is it true what they say about black men?’ Steve leered unpleasantly and put his hand on her knee.

Rachel hit the offending hand hard with her fist and turned on him, furious. ‘I’ve had enough of you, Steve. You’re getting as bad as Harry bloody Marchbank.’

‘Good copper, Harry Marchbank,’ said Steve with a smile.

‘He was an ignorant pig, Steve. And you’d better not follow his example or Gerry Heffernan’ll have you back on the streets handing out parking tickets. Understand?’

Steve was silenced for a few moments, but he knew he had touched a nerve. Maybe Rachel did fancy Wesley Peterson. It was a situation that would need watching.

The address they had been given was on a fairly respectable side of town. Rows of Victorian semis, only a few divided into flats, stood each side of Albert Road. Number 33 had two bells. Rachel rang the bottom one. There was no answer, so she worked her way up.

The door was answered by an elderly lady, still sprightly, with sharp blue eyes. Rachel thought that here was a good witness: nothing much would get past her. She asked if a Sharon Carteret lived there.

‘There was a young lady on the bottom floor. She introduced herself as Sharon, but she didn’t say her second name. They don’t nowadays, do they? She seemed a nice girl – quiet.’

‘Did she live alone?’

‘Dear me, no. She had a husband … and a little boy. Very sweet he was. Such a shame they didn’t stay long. I did offer to baby–sit, you know. Won’t you come in? I’ll pop the kettle on.’

Rachel was longing for a cup of tea, Steve for something stronger, but he’d make do. They followed the lady, who had introduced herself as Mrs Willis, up the stairs.

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