Worst Fears by Fay Weldon Read Free Book Online Page A

afternoon.”
    “Thank God for that. At least you’ll have someone there to keep you company.”
    “You called me at five-thirty on Sunday morning,” said Alexandra. “I was there by Sunday lunchtime. In that time you called the police, the doctor, me, Vilna, and the ambulance, and you cleaned my house from top to bottom, and washed my sheets.”
    “I didn’t do any cleaning,” said Abbie. “I just changed the sheets and ran the old ones through the washing machine. If you run a residential language school it gets to be second nature. If in doubt change the sheets and serve food. Joke?” Alexandra laughed a little. “That’s better,” said Abbie.
    “Then who did the cleaning?” asked Alexandra. “Theresa’s still away. It wasn’t her.”
    “I expect Ned did. He’s not hopeless. You hadn’t been home since the previous Tuesday.”
    “He doesn’t vacuum under beds if it means moving two suitcases. Sorry, delete doesn’t. Insert was not accustomed to.”
    “Vilna might have done it,” said Abbie, ignoring Alexandra’s joke. “During the morning Vilna may have run round with the vacuum and the duster. People behave oddly when there’s a body in the house.”
    “Abbie, that’s my body,” said Alexandra, and began to choke and cry. “And this is my house. I don’t want strangers like Vilna and Jenny Linden making free with it.”
    “Oh God,” said Abbie. “I ought to be with you. I’m coming over. The Japanese girl will just have to do without me.” She put the phone down.
    Alexandra went to the door and looked round. The photographer had gone; there was no sign of Jenny Linden. Flowers dozed in the sun. There was the gentlest of breezes. There were broad beans on the tall pole pyramids which needed picking. She’d try and do it this evening. Ned fretted if the pods stayed on the plants long enough to become stringy. She lived in a beautiful house, in a beautiful place. She was a widow.
    She called the Eddon Gurney police station to say not to bother to send anyone up; everything was now quiet. They were relieved because they were understaffed; they’d take it off their list of calls; they expressed their sorrow about her husband’s death. Ned Ludd was such a loss to the community. Would she be staying in the house? “Of course,” she said.
    They’d thought she might be selling, moving up to London altogether, to the bright lights. Wouldn’t have much time for slow country folk and their country ways. What was to keep her in the countryside now? Alexandra resisted the temptation to say if they talked less they might have got someone over earlier to chase the photographer out of her garden, but it is never wise to rile the police so she said, with truth, how much she loved the area, how after twelve years The Cottage felt like home; now that her husband had died she would need more than ever the support of the community, and so forth, and they said call if there was any trouble and they’d be up at once. To let them know.
    Abbie called Alexandra to say she couldn’t come over. Now a young
    Gulf Arab boy had bitten into a plum and got stung on the tongue by a wasp, and though there seemed no swelling they’d thought it best to call the doctor.
    Alexandra suggested that Arthur cut down the plum tree.
    “Abbie,” she asked. “There are still some things you haven’t told me. Jenny Linden was in the house on Sunday morning. Did she just turn up, or what? Or did you call her too?”
    “Of course I didn’t call her. She was outside the house when I arrived,” said Abbie. “In the front, behind the privet hedge. Kind of lurking. Ned once told me she’d do that, in the very early mornings. Sometimes when he let Diamond out first thing Jenny Linden would be there, and she and Diamond would go off for a walk together. Well, it saved Ned walking the dog himself, didn’t it?”
    “You mean Ned used her? She was obsessed with him and he used her? To walk Diamond?”
    “It’s not so bad