The Beachcomber. Josephine CoxЧитать онлайн книгу.
the doorbell rang. ‘Oh, now what?’
Slipping and sliding, she struggled out of the bath, grabbing a towel to wrap round her nakedness. It was her neighbour. ‘There’s a telephone call for you. Says it’s urgent,’ he told her. Dripping wet and disappointed, Kathy pulled on a dressing gown, went back downstairs and took up the phone. ‘Hi, Maggie.’ She couldn’t resist a tease. ‘Don’t tell me you’ve changed your mind about painting the bathroom walls?’
‘It’s not Maggie. It’s me … Samantha. We need to talk.’
The familiar voice of her older sister instantly darkened Kathy’s mood. ‘What do you want?’ She must want something, Kathy thought. It was the only time her sister ever called her.
‘It’s Mother.’
‘What’s she up to now?’ Kathy’s mother was a law unto herself, though she hardly ever did anything that might hurt her darling Samantha.
Now, though, Samantha sounded anxious. ‘It’s best if you come over,’ she suggested hopefully. ‘She’s about to do something very silly.’
‘Such as what?’ Kathy no longer had much patience with her mother’s selfish antics.
‘Please, Kathy. Come over. I can’t talk about it on the phone.’
‘What … right now?’
‘Please! I’ve tried talking to her, but she won’t listen.’
‘Good God, Sam! If she won’t listen to you, she’s hardly likely to listen to me, is she?’
‘If you don’t help me, I won’t be responsible for my actions. I mean it!’
Kathy had never heard her sister so frantic. ‘Where are you now?’
‘At Mother’s house.’
‘Does she know you’ve asked me to come over?’
‘She wants you to. Be quick as you can. I just can’t deal with it.’
Kathy was intrigued. ‘All right. I’ll be there soon as I can. Now if you don’t mind … I’m soaked through and catching my death of cold.’
When a moment later she replaced the receiver, Kathy leant for a minute on the wall by the telephone. ‘What the devil are they up to now?’ There was no telling with those two … one was every bit as devious as the other.
Back in the flat, she quickly dried herself off. After pulling on clean underwear, she then slipped on a pretty blue blouse, together with a calf-length dark skirt, which she thought made the best of her not-so-slim legs. Lastly, she pushed her tiny feet into a pair of smart brown shoes with a slender heel. A quick brush of her shoulder-length brown hair, a dab of lipstick, and she was ready; though a casual, passing glance in the mirror made her pause. ‘Just look at yourself, Kathy Wilson! It’s time you did something worthwhile with your miserable life … you’re losing your figure – as if you ever had one in the first place …’ She gave a long, sorry sigh. ‘You’ve got to take a hold of yourself before it’s too late.’
Disillusioned, she turned away. ‘It’s time you stopped pretending. You’re in your mid-thirties and you’ve lost your way.’ It was a sobering thought.
Before leaving she gave Maggie a call. ‘I’ll try not to be late,’ she promised, ‘but Samantha just rang. Apparently Mother’s up to her antics again.’
There was a pause before Maggie asked what the problem was.
‘I don’t know,’ Kathy confessed. ‘Samantha wouldn’t say over the phone, but it sounds like trouble! I should let her stew in her own juice, but she was frantic. I’d best go and see what’s happened. Like I say, I’ll try and get to you on time, but if I’m not there by ten past eight, go on without me and I’ll catch up.’
Maggie was none too pleased, but agreed, with one reservation. ‘I don’t like going on without you, so I’ll give it a good half-hour.’
‘Okay.’ Kathy had a bad feeling about getting involved in whatever was happening between her mother and sister. ‘I’ll be as quick as I can,’ she vowed. ‘Maybe Samantha’s got it all wrong.’ Somehow though, she didn’t think so.
When Kathy reached her mother’s house, the dark mood was still on her. Even as she clambered off the bus, she was unsure about being here at all. It didn’t feel right. It never did. But her instincts told her there was something going on that she should know about. So, putting all her doubts aside, she strode determinedly down the street.
A pretty four-bedroomed place, her parents’ house was in a nice part of Kensington, situated in a tree-lined road where the houses sat well back amongst beautifully tended gardens; though if Kathy’s memory served her right, her mother had never lifted one finger to the soil. Her father, Robert, was the one who had loved the garden, but since he’d been gone her mother had paid a man to come along once a week to tend and maintain the grounds.
Approaching the house, Kathy took a minute to consider if she was doing the right thing. She came to a halt, her troubled gaze looking towards the house. She felt small and insignificant. She had lived in this house with her parents for many years – some of them good, some of them not so good. Her mother was a formidable woman; not the easiest creature in the world to get on with.
For one heart-stopping minute as she glanced towards the house, she could see her father standing on the doorstep, waving a welcome, his smile enveloping her like sunshine after rain.
In that moment of deep emotion, she turned away. Suddenly, to face her mother now seemed too much of an ordeal.
‘Kathy!’ Samantha had been watching for her.
Kathy looked up. Having seen her turn away, Samantha had opened the window and shouted. It was enough. Reluctantly, Kathy started towards the house.
As she approached the front door it was flung open by a woman in her late thirties, tall, slim and with her dark hair swept up in a handsome swirl. ‘I’m glad you didn’t go away,’ she said accusingly. ‘I’ve done the best I can but she’s impossible. I hope you can talk some sense into her!’
Propelling Kathy into the living room, she deposited her before the hostile stare of the older woman. ‘Speak to her, Kathy. Tell her she’s being selfish.’ Digging Kathy in the back, Samantha urged, ‘Go on, Kathy! She won’t listen to a word I say.’
‘I probably won’t listen to you either, Kathy my dear, but I suppose you might as well have your say.’ Her mother’s sharp brown eyes rested curiously on Kathy’s upturned face. ‘Whatever you have to say won’t make the slightest difference.’
Out of the same mould as Samantha, Irene was taller and slimmer than Kathy. With her smooth auburn locks, bobbed by the most expensive hairdresser in town, and those exquisitely painted brown eyes, she was unnervingly attractive. Her fingers dripped with expensive jewellery, bought by Kathy’s father over many years. She was magnificent yet intimidating: a woman you either admired or avoided. Bathed in a cloud of perfume, she had style and confidence, and today was no different. Dressed in a smart light-brown two-piece with straight skirt and fitted jacket, she was obviously ready to go out.
Kathy’s thoughts were of Maggie and how she had promised to be as quick as she could. ‘I don’t know what’s going on here,’ she said, ‘and to tell you the truth I don’t really care. I only came because Samantha was frantic … she said that I should get over here right away.’ Seeing her mother in all her glory, made Kathy feel foolish. ‘The way she was going on, I thought you might be about to kill yourself!’
Irene laughed out loud. ‘Really? And you came to rescue me, is that it?’
When she trained her brown eyes on you as she did now on Kathy, there was something chilling about her manner; some fearful coldness that froze your heart. ‘All the same, it’s as well you’re here.’
Kathy