Strange Children

by Kate Charles

Genres: Action & Adventure; Mystery

Synopsis

Married to the perfect man, and with a baby on the way, motherless Tessa looks forward to getting to know her new mother-in-law. But before that can happen, Linda Nicholls is murdered, and Tessa is determined to find out why. Her quest for answers plunges her into a nightmare world of secrets, where nothing is as it seems, and her own life - and the life of her unborn child - are in danger...

Release date: November 30, 2012

Publisher: Sphere

Print pages: 404

Sample

They met at a wedding, or more accurately at a wedding reception. That they were seated next to each other at the reception was deliberate, a bad joke on the part of the bride and groom. And it seemed that everyone else at the table was in on the joke, for they were observed covertly and with some interest.

Characteristically, it was Rob who spoke first, shortly after they’d sat down and before the first course was served. ‘You’re not a friend of the bride?’

Tessa, not meeting his eyes, shook her head a shade too emphatically for disinterest or a neutral denial. ‘No. I’m not,’ she said in a soft, flat voice.

‘A friend of the groom, then,’ he surmised.

She clamped her mouth together to keep her lower lip from trembling, but he continued to regard her with interest and seemed to expect some sort of response from her. ‘Not any longer,’ she managed at last, toying with the stem of her champagne glass. It was still mostly full; Tessa had no appetite for champagne on this occasion.

‘Then why are you here?’ Rob persevered.

Still she kept her head averted, like some great drooping flower in desperate need of watering. ‘I had to come. I had to see for myself, to be sure …’ Her voice tailed off.

Rob might have turned away then, might have entered into a light-hearted conversation with the pretty brunette in the flame-coloured dress on his left. But he was in no mood for lighthearted conversation himself, and so he persisted. ‘Tell me,’ he said. ‘Surely it’s not so bad as all that.’

His voice was gently teasing, and it was the gentleness in it that captured her attention at last; she raised her head and looked at him for the first time.

He was good-looking, her mind registered with detachment: handsome in a long-jawed English sort of way. Like a somewhat overgrown public-school boy. Black hair, straight and thick, parted off-centre and falling artistically over his brow; eyes of a deep and penetrating blue. Lean face, prominent cheekbones. Like a young Rupert Everett, she thought. Not like Ian; he looked nothing at all like Ian. At the moment that was very much in his favour.

She would tell him, she decided. ‘Ian,’ she tried to say, but the name stuck in her throat. ‘The groom,’ she said instead. ‘He’s … We used to …’

Comprehension widened his eyes. ‘You and Ian.’

The table fell quiet, as everyone strained to hear what would come next. But the hush was unnatural and couldn’t last; the brunette turned to the man on her left, speaking in a bright voice, and the rest of the table followed suit.

Rob’s gaze hadn’t left Tessa’s face, as he searched out the pain that was revealed there. ‘They’ve done this on purpose, you know,’ he told her quietly.

‘What?’

‘They’ve seated us together. Bastards,’ he added viciously, swivelling his head to look towards the top table where bride and groom reigned in splendour. But when he turned back to Tessa, he was smiling.

‘I don’t understand.’

‘Their idea of a joke, I suppose.’ Rob’s mouth twisted. ‘Don’t you see? We’re the rejects.’

*

Rob and Amanda had met at work, a classic office romance. As neither had any other attachment at the time, it was straightforward.

They encountered one another in the lift on a regular basis; Rob couldn’t help noticing the striking redhead, always dressed in dark suits and laden down with a massive briefcase. At first he contented himself with making brief eye contact and smiling at her; when he realised that the smile she returned held interest, he told her his name. After that they chatted between floors on an almost daily basis, and one day he asked her to join him for a drink after work, at a watering hole popular with young City professionals.

The relationship progressed fairly rapidly. They went out for a few meals, went to the cinema once or twice, slept together.

The latter, in particular, was more than satisfactory, so after a few months they moved in together. More accurately, Amanda moved in with Rob. She had been living in a tiny studio flat which was convenient for work but not really suitable for a young woman on her way up – and that Amanda certainly was. A true yuppie, she made no secret of her ambitions to rise within the company.

Rob owned a house. It was not a large house, nor was it in a fashionable part of London, but Islington was even then on its ascendency towards trendiness, and the house was more than adequate for two people, with good tube connections into the City.

The arrangement suited them both very well. Very quickly they stopped going out – admitting to one another that they both loathed the cinema – and settled down into a routine. Amanda, on a fast management track, worked much longer hours than Rob did, often not returning home until late in the evening, but this didn’t bother him; he preferred, in fact, to spend his free time alone, in the room of his house which he had turned into his sanctuary. This was his computer room, equipped with the latest state-of-the-art computer hardware and loaded with the most up-to-date software. He could happily spend hours there, playing extended and complex simulation games and ‘surfing the Net’.

When, eventually, Amanda would return home, he would manage to tear himself away from his computer, and they would share a meal. Needless to say, Amanda was not in the least interested in the trappings of domesticity, and cooking was not even a word in her vocabulary. Rob could cook if he had to, but he didn’t often bother: there were so many convenient take-away places – Chinese, Indian, pizza, kebabs, chicken – in the Holloway Road, and a Marks and Spencer as well, where tasty and nutritious meals were available in abundance, ready to be popped into the microwave. Amanda could, at a pinch, handle the microwave.

And then to bed. That was what made the relationship worthwhile, what kept it going for over six years. They were wonderful together in bed, and the excitement never palled. Amanda, insatiable, found Rob an inventive lover, and he was constantly aroused by her desire for him.

Marriage wasn’t an issue, at least as far as Amanda was concerned. There was no reason why they should marry, she often said. There was no question of them having children – babies were not part of her life plan, now or ever. That included Rob, who knew better than to expect Amanda to baby him.

Just occasionally, Rob raised the subject of marriage – the idea of a permanent and legal attachment to a compatible sex partner appealed to him. But such suggestions were always firmly quashed by Amanda.

They never argued; they didn’t have rows. Perhaps Rob knew that it would be a waste of time: Amanda would always have her way in the end, so why bother? At any rate, it wasn’t his style. On those rare occasions when their wishes were in conflict, Rob would retreat to his computer room and shut the door; even Amanda knew better than to violate the sanctity of his private hideaway.

And so they went on for six years and a few months, in a settled routine which was comfortable and satisfactory for both of them.

Until the day that Amanda announced that she was going to marry Ian.

Tessa had known Ian for ever, or at least it seemed that way. They’d met at school, at the local comprehensive in the town where Tessa’s father was the vicar of the parish church. She couldn’t remember a time when she didn’t think that Ian was the handsomest, the most vital and fascinating person in the world.

Unfortunately Ian had not, from the beginning, reciprocated those feelings. Not that he thought much about Tessa at all in those early days. He was a popular boy at school: sporty, well-built, good-looking. And Tessa was – well, she was just there. Quiet, shy, academic. Her nose always stuck in a book, and without anyone who could be called a friend. A solitary girl, too tall, and habitually hunched over to minimise her height. Colourless, with pale hair and pale skin; her best feature was a pair of large grey eyes. Not, in short, the sort of girl that Ian would take any notice of.

But she noticed Ian. In the classroom, moving about the school, laughing with his friends, on the rugby field and the cricket pitch. He lived a few streets away from the vicarage, and sometimes Tessa would follow him home. The first time had been an accident; she just happened to be leaving at the same time as he did. But after that she waited, hanging about the school gates until he emerged, usually surrounded by a crowd of friends; then she would skulk home behind him, hunching over even more than usual in an effort to be inconspicuous.

Ian’s friends began to tease him about the pale shadow who trailed his steps; that was when he first became aware of Tessa’s existence. His feelings towards her at that time were chiefly scornful, dismissive, with a pinch of pity mixed in. He was flattered, of course, but Ian was used to being admired by his fellows, and in any case he liked to be the one who made the running.

They ended up at the same university, perhaps by chance and perhaps not. Ian’s popularity continued; there were scores of girls who fancied him, and he had his pick of the lot.

But Tessa was there as well, in the background, adoring him silently and from afar.

And then one day he spoke to her. They were in the library, where Tessa was reading a book, all the while aware with every fibre of her being that he was in the same room. Ian needed to find a particular book for one of his lectures, and as there was no librarian in evidence, he stopped by the table where Tessa sat and asked her to help him to locate his book. She found it for him straight away, and moved by some sentiment of gratitude, he invited her to join him for coffee.

Tessa accepted. And though in her imagination she had carried on countless scintillating conversations with Ian, on every topic under the sun, she found herself tongue-tied at the critical moment.

It didn’t matter. Ian was quite capable of delivering a monologue, and he discovered that he rather enjoyed doing so with such an appreciative audience. Tessa hung on his every word, rapt with adoration.

Ian had only just broken up with his latest girlfriend. In a generous moment, he asked Tessa to accompany him to a party in place of the ex-girlfriend.

At the party he met another girl, the girlfriend of one of his mates, someone more exciting than Tessa. But excitement wasn’t always what a chap needed – even a chap like Ian – and after that relationship ended, he found himself ringing Tessa and telling her about it, encouraging her sympathy for his solitary state.

She invited him to her lodgings for a home-cooked meal. He accepted that, and everything else she had to offer to him, until someone else came along a few weeks later.

It became a pattern. Ian would have an intense and usually short-lived relationship with someone, and then he would come back to Tessa until he found someone else.

For Tessa it wasn’t the most satisfactory arrangement in the world, perhaps, but it was enough. To know that Ian would always return to her meant everything. One day, she told herself, he would come to his senses, would realise that she was right for him all along, that no one could love him as she did, or lavish devotion upon him as she always had done.

During their second year at university, Ian had a particularly intense fling with the daughter of an earl; he moved in exalted company, ignored his studies, skipped his lectures. And failed his exams just at the time that the affair fizzled out.

Tessa hadn’t seen him for weeks when he turned up on her doorstep, feeling extremely sorry for himself. Their reunion was a blissful one for her; this time, she was sure, he would stay.

But Ian had other ideas in the wake of his failure. University wasn’t for him, he now decided. What he’d always wanted was to be a policeman, and he certainly didn’t need a degree to do that. So he left university, got an entry-level post with the Metropolitan Police, and moved to London.

Tessa went with him. It would have been unthinkable not to do so, when he needed her so badly. Her own studies weren’t important when weighed against Ian’s needs, she told herself.

It was good at first, and lasted longer than any of their previous reunions. Tessa found a job, bought a flat, cosseted Ian and looked after his every need.

Then he met a sparky young WPC, and moved out. This absence, too, was longer than any to date, but eventually he returned. The pattern continued for years: he might be away from Tessa, with another woman, for weeks or even months, but she knew that he would always be back.

Until the day she learned that Ian was going to marry Amanda.

He didn’t even have the decency to tell her face to face; she discovered the horrible truth when she opened the wedding invitation which he had so thoughtfully sent to her.

The prawn cocktail arrived and was served with due ceremony. ‘I’m called Rob, by the way,’ Tessa’s companion said quietly as their inquisitive tablemates tucked into the mounds of soft pink.

She moistened her lips and swallowed, offering him a tremulous smile. ‘Tessa.’

‘A pretty name. Tell me about yourself, Tessa.’

‘There’s not much to tell.’ She stuck her miniaturised spoon into the prawns – pink shrouded in pinkness – but knew that she was incapable of eating; as she twisted the spoon round she could hear in her head her father’s sharp voice: Don’t play with your food, Tessa.

Inspired, perhaps, by that image, she began to recite the bare bones of her life. ‘My father is a vicar,’ she said. ‘My mother is … dead. I work at an advertising agency in London, as a copy writer.’ And sit up straight, continued her father’s voice in her head. Be proud of your height.

Tessa straightened her back, deliberately. For a woman she was exceptionally tall: slender and striking, when she wasn’t trying so hard to be self-effacing. Her finely textured pale blonde hair was worn short, and ruffled out round her head like feathers, or dandelion down. Today she was wearing, in complete variance with her mood, a turquoise slip dress which complemented her pale colouring and showed off her slim body and her long legs. The dress had been her one gesture of defiance, bought specially for the occasion, and she wasn’t at all sure that it hadn’t been a mistake.

She couldn’t think of anything else to say about herself, not without mentioning Ian. And she would not mention him, not now. ‘And that’s about it,’ she said. ‘Tell me about you,’ she added with some effort, and it seemed important to finish with his name, ‘Rob.’

‘I work with computers.’ He conveyed a spoonful of glistening prawns to his mouth. ‘IT.’

‘That sounds boring,’ Tessa said without thinking, before she could stop herself, then widened her eyes in horror at her gaffe.

He seemed amused rather than offended. ‘Not at all. I love it. Computers are … predictable. By and large. Not like people.’

At that statement, both of them turned, drawn by an irresistible urge, to look towards the top table, where the bride and groom were spooning prawns into each other’s mouth and laughing uproariously.

‘I met Amanda at work,’ Rob said, though he hadn’t really intended to mention Amanda.

Amanda. She looked incredibly beautiful, thought Tessa. Of course, all brides were meant to look beautiful, but Amanda’s beauty wouldn’t be removed with the confection of a wedding dress, as was the case with so many others. She was a redhead of the rich coppery sort, with thick glossy curls piled on her head and escaping in artful tendrils beside her cheeks. Her complexion was creamy, enhanced by the ivory of her gown. And she was petite, small of stature but with voluptuous breasts, all too evident in the décolletage of creamy lace and pearls. In the receiving line, when it had been Tessa’s turn to shake the bride’s hand, she’d towered over the tiny Amanda, feeling gawky, giraffe-like, monstrous in the presence of such miniature perfection.

The wedding was the first time she’d glimpsed Amanda, and the need to see her was the main reason that Tessa had come, in spite of her instincts. All Tessa had really wanted to do today was to curl up in a foetal ball in her bed, but she was driven to see the woman that Ian had chosen, the woman for whom he’d left her for the final time.

And the reality of Amanda was even worse than Tessa had feared. It would have been bad enough if she’d been vaguely like Tessa only prettier, but she couldn’t have been more unlike Tessa in every way. She certainly didn’t need to ask herself what Ian could see in a woman like Amanda when he could have married her instead; it was all too obvious what he’d seen in her.

Tessa knew that other people considered her foolish – a doormat, a victim – for continuing to take Ian back, time after time. But it was a deliberate choice to do so. One day, she’d always felt sure, he would realise that she was the one who could make him happy. After all, the good times, when they were together, were very good indeed – enough and more to make up for the times in between. And the fact of the matter was that she loved Ian, with all of his failings, and she wanted him, on whatever terms she could have him.

But he had married Amanda. That was the thing that hurt. Not just that it meant he wouldn’t be coming back to Tessa, not ever again, but that he had married her. Made a lifetime commitment to her, to have and to hold. From this day forward. Words from the marriage service, so recently performed, echoed painfully in Tessa’s head. Marriage was not to be undertaken ‘unadvisedly, lightly, or wantonly’. And it was ‘ordained for the procreation of children.’

Amanda would have Ian’s children. That, perhaps, was the most painful thing of all. The one thing Tessa yearned to give him, after she had given him everything else that she could possibly offer.

But he hadn’t wanted that.

Tessa had turned thirty that year, and her biological clock had gone into overdrive. She wanted to marry Ian, and she wanted to bear his child.

When, during their last long extended period together, she’d approached the subject, tentatively, Ian had laughed. Marriage was not for him, he’d said. And as for children – forget it. ‘Can you imagine me as a father?’ he’d said with disbelief.

She could. But he had married Amanda, and now it was Amanda who would give him babies.

From their exalted position at the top table, Amanda and Ian smugly surveyed the guests: their friends and relations who had been gathered together in this place at such short notice.

The wedding had been arranged with what some might consider unseemly speed. Ian, in the clueless way of bridegrooms, took it all for granted, not realising the frantic machinations that had taken place behind the scenes; having landed him, Amanda was going to take no chances that he might slip off her hook, so she gave him very little time to do so. Ordinarily, the wedding venue, a posh country house hotel in Hertfordshire, was booked up at least a year in advance, but Amanda’s father, an influential solicitor in nearby Harpenden, had managed to pull a few strings, and here they were.

‘Poor old Rob and your Tessa seem to be getting on together,’ Amanda pointed out with a malicious smile. Seating them together had been her idea, but Ian had agreed that it was a splendid one, a good joke. Now, feeling vaguely guilty about it, he wasn’t so sure. He was fond of Tessa, in his way: she was a good kid, a real brick. She’d always been good to him, had never reproached him when he’d strayed, like most women would have done. And they’d had some good times together, there was no doubt about it. At times he had thought he would probably settle down with Tessa eventually. It was only just at the end, when she’d started nagging him about getting married, that he’d known he had to get out. Not just marriage, but babies, for Chrissakes. Tessa wanted a bloody baby. That was the last straw.

And then he’d met Amanda. He turned and looked at her now with dazzled pride. His prize, his wife.

They had met just a few months ago, in the line of duty for Ian. Amanda, leaving work late one evening after an extended working day, had been mugged on her way to her car. Ian, responding to the call, had been the police officer to whom she had given the account of her frightening ordeal.

He remembered her now as she had been when he had first seen her: not triumphant in her wedding dress, but terrified and vulnerable, her eyes enormous with shock, a scratch on her cheek where she’d been shoved to the pavement. Ian had felt protective, had wanted to catch the bastard who had done this to her and break his neck.

Of course, the mugger had never been caught. But Ian found that he couldn’t get the beautiful victim out of his mind. He had her phone number amongst the paperwork. One day, when Tessa’s ruminations about a baby were really getting to him, he rang Amanda at work and invited her out for a drink.

She’d said no at first, and again the second time he rang her. She was living with someone, she told him. Not available. But something in her voice gave him hope. He persisted, and eventually she agreed to meet him after work for a drink. Just a drink, nothing more, she emphasised.

They had their drink, and that was it. A week later, when he was finally able to persuade her to repeat the experience, things progressed no farther. A drink, and then she was off home to Rob.

Ian knew that he was good-looking, well-built and attractive to women. He was not used to women who found his charms resistible, and the more Amanda resisted, the more determined he was to break down her resistance. For weeks he tried to get her into bed, and for weeks she held him at arm’s length. She would see him occasionally, yes, but that was it.

He was obsessed by her, maddened, inflamed with desire for her. Unattainable, she was all he wanted.

And then it had all happened with such dizzying speed. She had finally gone to bed with him – at the flat of an accommodating friend, one unforgettable afternoon – and it had been beyond his wildest dreams. The next thing Ian knew, they were looking in jewellery shop windows at engagement rings, and scarcely more than a few short weeks later here they were, the solitaire sapphire which matched her eyes joined by a gold band to signify that she was his wife.

His wife. Ian didn’t quite know how it had happened, but at the moment, smiling at her, stroking her wrist in a proprietorial way, he considered himself the luckiest man on earth.

‘Do you think it will last?’ The brunette in the red dress, who happened to be a cousin of Ian’s, was in the ladies’ room, re-applying her scarlet lipstick. The meal had been consumed, from prawn cocktails through veal cordon bleu to brandy-snap baskets with strawberries; soon it would be time for speeches, toasts, cutting of the wedding cake, and dancing. She addressed her question to the woman next to her at the long mirror, a blonde dressed as a bridesmaid, who was teasing her careful coiffure into shape with her fingers.

It was the sort of remark, flippant and cynical, that one made at weddings. But the blonde considered it seriously, tilting her head to one side and meeting the other woman’s eyes in the mirror, though they had been strangers till that moment. ‘Well, that depends,’ she said. ‘If Amanda really wants it to, it will.’ She was, in fact, Amanda’s oldest friend; they’d grown up together in Harpenden, and she knew Amanda probably better than anyone did. She understood, for instance, that her own pale leaf-green bridesmaid’s dress had been chosen by Amanda with the utmost care, in a colour flattering as a backdrop to Amanda though unbecoming to its wearer, and cut in a simple style that posed no danger of upstaging the bride.

‘What do you mean?’

The reply was succinct, and delivered with a knowing smile. ‘Amanda always gets what she wants. She always has.’

‘And Amanda wanted Ian?’ the brunette extrapolated.

‘She got him, didn’t she?’

The brunette leaned closer to the mirror and inspected her lipstick minutely, pursing her lips, then licking them. ‘Now, that’s interesting,’ she said to her own reflection. ‘Because I’ve known Ian all my life, and he’s only interested in things that he can’t have.’ She capped the tube of lipstick and dropped it into her tiny bag, then turned to her companion. ‘I remember when we were kids, he always wanted my toys. I had a stuffed dog once,’ she recalled. ‘He fancied it and wanted me to give it to him. He was desperate to have that dog – he begged, he cried, and finally he gave me all his pocket money in return for it. And as soon as he had it, he lost interest. He played with it for about ten minutes, then left it out in the rain, and never gave it another thought.’

The blonde was quick on the uptake. ‘That is interesting,’ she agreed, looking at the other woman with raised eyebrows. ‘So I suppose the answer to your question is: wait and see.’

Tessa found talking to Rob surprisingly easy. He was a good listener, and she told him a great deal more about her relationship with Ian than she had intended. He told her about himself, as well: about his job, and his computers, and his life with Amanda. Though his delivery was unemotional, the muscles of his face very much under control, empathetic Tessa glimpsed behind that controlled mask a vulnerability which made her like him rather more than she had expected to. By the time they reached the end of the meal, she felt as if she had known him for a long time.

Now it was time for the speeches and the toasts: the groom’s toast to the bridesmaids, the best man’s tribute to the bride, and the bride’s father’s encomium to the happy couple. Tessa knew that these would be difficult for her to listen to, and thought about leaving at that point, but realised that her departure would be marked. During the final toast, at one particularly fulsome phrase delivered by the jowly red-complexioned man who was Amanda’s father, Rob caught her eye with a wink and she felt oddly cheered. After all, she thought, he was suffering too, and if he could put a brave face on it, so could she.

The cake was cut with due ceremony, and the band tuned up for the first dance. Later there would be a disco, stretching late into the night, with loud music and strobe lights, but for now there was a traditional live combo, primed to play the old favourites. Amanda and Ian glided on to the dance floor, the tall muscular groom and his petite red-haired bride. The long lace train of her dress was looped to her wrist; she had shed her veil, and she looked exquisite. Ian smiled down at his bride, his prize, as though all the treasure of the world was there in his arms.

Rob watched the lone pair on the dance floor, his face devoid of emotion. Then he turned to Tessa abruptly. ‘Come on – let’s join them.’

She stared at him, uncomprehending.

‘I’m asking you to dance with me, Tessa.’

She shrank back. ‘But we can’t, Rob. The first dance is just for the bride and groom.’

For just a second she saw a flash of some strong emotion cross his face, to be instantly replaced by the controlled mask. ‘Bugger the bride and groom,’ he said in a soft voice that nonetheless carried to the people at their table and beyond. His eyes locked with Tessa’s, challenging her.

Something of the spirit of defiance that had led her to buy the turquoise dress surged in her unexpectedly. Tessa straightened her shoulders and rose from the table, giving Rob her hand. ‘Bugger the bride and groom,’ she repeated, head held high, as he led her on to the dance floor.

As a gesture it was magnificent, and if Rob’s idea had been to get attention, he succeeded splendidly. Everyone was talking about them, and those who had been unaware of their mutual status as the rejected ones were soon filled in by others.

They made a very striking couple on the dance floor, well matched in height: Rob was as tall as Ian, which is to say just a shade taller than Tessa, and his slim frame was more suited to dancing than Ian’s muscularity was. Inspired by Rob’s confidence as a dancer, Tessa forgot to be self-conscious and self-effacing; instead of hunching over she stood straight. The turquoise dress showed off her figure and her colouring to great advantage, and the contrast between the two heads of hair – hers pale and feathery, his smooth and dark – was remarkable, and pleasing. Altogether, people agreed, they made a most handsome pair. And how appropriate, how fitting that they should.

Tessa felt, as she danced with Rob, as if she were another person; it was as though the real Tessa were sitting on the sidelines, watching this other woman whirling about the dance floor with such aplomb. It was a strange feeling, of being disembodied, and unlike anything she had ever experienced before.

And for that brief time, dancing with Rob, she knew herself to be happy. The realisation astonished her.

Too soon, though, the band departed and the DJ arrived for the disco. The lights were dimmed, the coloured strobe lights began flashing, and the music screeched out of the gargantuan speakers at ear-splitting volume. Tessa’s euphoria was immediately replaced by a pounding headache.

Now, she thought, was the time to leave. She had stayed a respectable length of time, and now could make her escape under the cover of darkness and perhap