“So, just to be absolutely clear, you’re not receiving any nuisance or malicious calls?”
“No.”
“Any electronic communications?”
“No.”
“And you’re not being followed?”
“No. Well, I don’t think so.” Laura caught a whiff of boredom, disengagement, emanating from the policewoman as she shut her notebook and alarm bells started to ring.
“I’ve told you, she’s not harassingme,not directly anyway.”
“Laura, we’ve contacted both Marianne Parker and Julie Sawyer and neither wishes to pursue anything about the alleged communications. In fact, Mrs. Parker says that she believes the letter came from you, and Ms. Sawyer denies receiving a puppy or any kind of animal in the post.”
“She’s a well-known actress. She doesn’t want the publicity, that’s all. But it happened!”
“Do you have proof?”
“Well, of course not, but . . . what about Cherry? Have you spoken to her?”
“There’s nothing to speak to her about, as there’s no complaint.”
Laura leaned forward in her seat. “No, you can’t do this.... You can’t ignore everything I’ve told you. Shethreatenedme. . . .”
“I’m afraid there’s nothing we can do.”
“Christ, what do I have to do to make you take me seriously?” she exploded.
Neither of them answered at first. Laura swallowed the hard lump in her throat.
The policewoman spoke: “Laura, we are taking you seriously. We just have to follow the proper channels.”
She mustn’t get hysterical, but this—these people, she wasrelyingon them. “Please. I don’t know what else to do.”
The policewoman showed a note of sympathy. “If you do start to receive any unwelcome communication, then this might be useful.” She put a leaflet for the National Stalking Helpline on the coffee table. Two minutes later, they left.
Weary, Laura cleared away the cups and saw the Florentine had gone. He must have swiped it on the way out. She sat down heavily on the sofa. Abandoned. Alone. The creeping fear that now permeated every time she was left with her thoughts started up again. She knew Cherry had picked the cocker spaniel deliberately because of the dog Laura had owned as a child. The puppy was as much for her as for her actress. What else had she said, revealed many months ago in front of this girl? She’d never remember, never know, unless Cherry decided to remind her.
Laura’s life suddenly felt very unstable; it could be picked apart, interrupted. She’d gone into the office earlier that day and looked around for missing papers, cast contact lists, locking some documents away and shredding some others. Then she’d deleted some e-mails, things she wouldn’t like other people reading. She’d wondered if Cherry could break into her e-mail account, her company server. These things were probably in the realm of a computer-savvy kid—look at that young boy who hacked into the pentagon computer system. She’d quickly contacted her IT company and they’d tried to reassure her, but she’d insisted on a higher level of security. The sense she was being followed had intensified. When she’d left her office to hail a cab, she’d stopped at a shop window, pretending to look in, then turned her head sharply to see if anyone was watching her.
Laura quickly got up from the sofa, double-checked she’d bolted the front door on her way to the kitchen. Her mind was still full of the puppy. Who in her right mind would send a dead animal to someone? It was then she realized Cherry must have killed it herself or packaged it alive. In horror, she stopped still, a chill running down her spine. Cherry had no fear of anything, ofbeing caught. There seemed no limit to what she was prepared to do. She was ruthless and her revenge was palpable. Nothing tempered her; nothing could stop her. She seemed to have no moral boundaries and her brain was lightning quick, devious, and imaginative. She’d made sure that none of it could be traced back to her.
Laura was suddenly afraid for what was left. What else did she care about that Cherry was planning to take from her? Her mind went off in all directions, spasming from one horror to the next. She reached for the phone. She couldn’t call Daniel or Howard. It had to be Isabella.
48
Tuesday, November 3
LAURA FOLLOWED ISABELLA INTO HER KITCHEN AND STOOD THEREnervously, knowing she didn’t have long as Isabella had to leave for the Cotswolds later that afternoon. When she’d phoned, it had been a bit awkward between them. They hadn’t spoken since she’d gone over to apologize. And then Isabella had said she was going away—for what seemed to Laura to be a very long week. The thought of another seven days of being imprisoned in her house, fearful of every knock on the door and every lonely night, her mind turning somersaults as it tried to work out the unknown, was too much to bear. She’d begged to come over.
“Cup of tea? Or something stronger? I can’t as I’m driving.”
“How is your mother?”
“Complaining that the doctors are trying to kill her, but at least she’s taking her medication. George has had enough and it’s my turn to babysit. Then my darling brother can take over again, especially seeing as he only lives next door, albeit a Range Rover ride away, and I don’t believe for one second his trip to Strasbourg is ‘crucial to his election success.’ So, Builders? Mint? Chamomile?”
“Yes, please.”
