Who is Sarah Lawson: A Captivating Psychological Thriller Read online

  “Thanks a bunch.”

  She seemed genuinely pleased, although whether it was because of the money or the compliment Owen wasn’t sure. Andy Lawson picked up a bracelet. “I’ll take this. Then I only have the presents to buy for the kids.” He turned to Owen. “You think this is kosher?”

  “I do; it’s unique.” He winked at the girl. “Worth twenty of anyone’s money, at least. In fact I know someone in Cardiff who’d love to sell this stuff.”

  Lawson sighed as he handed her the note. “I can see I’m being stitched up here but what the heck!”

  Owen picked up one of the business cards from the counter. “I’ll pass this to my friend, he’ll give you a call, I’m sure.”

  They were starting to move away when a row over the price of goods for sale on a nearby market stall started a fight between a burly man with a stud in his nose and the stallholder. Owen and Lawson intervened, their combined strength managing to restrain the man who mouthed a couple of obscenities, pulled away and rushed off into the crowd.

  “Look, I don’t know about you but I think I need a stiff drink. What d’you say?” Andy Lawson asked whilst dusting off the arm of his jacket.

  “ I’m with you on that one.”

  They walked towards a wine bar as two opera singers began to sing the love duet from La Boheme. Sitting at a table watching the performers as Rudolfo kissed Mimi’s hand, Owen became uncomfortably aware that he knew very little of Sarah Lawson except the conflicting bits of information that had reached him over the past few days. Now, with her brother sitting opposite him, would seem to be the best time to clear up a few misconceptions but somehow he couldn’t bring himself to mention her name.

  Chapter 43

  His meeting with Harry Lincoln had gone better than he’d expected. Owen had agreed to send him an outline of some of the ideas he was planning for his paintings, which should be ready for a showing sometime later in the year. Lincoln wanted a few representative samples of his work and was willing to place five or six canvases in a prominent position in his gallery.

  He arrived home at seven o’clock on Sunday evening to find that there were three messages on his answer phone. The first was from Rowena saying she hoped that everything was going well for him in London and that because of the time difference she was leaving a message, as she wouldn’t be able to speak to him until the following afternoon. The sound of her voice made him long for the weeks to pass until they could be together.

  The second call was from a contact of his who worked in The Orchard Gallery in Bloomsbury. It seemed he’d heard that Owen was set to break into the American market and The Orchard would be happy to showcase a representative collection of his paintings and would be grateful if he could contact him as soon as possible to discuss the matter. Owen smiled ‘breaking into the American market’ was a slight exaggeration but one which he intended to capitalise on at every opportunity. He wasn’t sure how Mark Furnish would take the news. His smile faltered as he listened to his final message and heard Sarah’s voice.

  “Owen, it’s me, Sarah, I just wanted to wish you all the best for your meeting with Harry Lincoln. I’m going to be busy for a day or two, things are a bit hectic in work at the moment so I don’t think I’ll be able to see you until Friday. I know you wanted to take me out for a meal but I thought perhaps we could stay in. There are a couple of new recipes I’d like to try out on someone soon and it looks like you’re in line to be my guinea pig. See you at half seven on Friday then.”

  Owen walked into the kitchen and made a cup of strong black coffee. His hands were shaking. The message from Sarah had rattled him. It was the sort of message Rowena might have left. From where had she got the idea that he wanted to meet her during the week? In addition to which her suggestion that they spend Friday evening at her flat was beginning to sound way too cosy for his liking. He was in a difficult position. He couldn’t just stand her up again; after all, it was he who had suggested taking her out. He’d have to make an excuse – tell her he couldn’t make it. Whilst he was arguing the pros and cons and making no headway with either, the telephone rang.

  “Sorry to bother you again. It’s Sarah. Just wanted you to know that I’ve spent the weekend stocking up my fridge for next Friday, as I won’t have time to shop mid-week. Everything’s organised, menu all planned but then I suddenly thought what if you’re allergic to oysters? You’re not are you, Owen?”

  “Er, no, but look here, Sarah. I…” He didn’t know how to finish his sentence. He’d been about to make an excuse but the thought of her sitting alone in her flat eating a meal she’d cooked especially for him made him lose his nerve. “No, I’m not allergic to oysters but I don’t want you to go to so much trouble, we can always eat out.”

  “Oh, that’s alright then. No trouble, it’s my pleasure. By the way, did your meeting go well?”

  “Yes thanks. Oh and I met your brother, in Covent Garden.”

  “Got to go, my mobile’s ringing,” She replied leaving him wondering why he hadn’t heard the sound of a ring tone in the background.

  He wasn’t looking forward to Friday night; in fact he was dreading it. He decided that this was going to be the last time; he would put a stop to any further meetings between them. It was obvious that Sarah was looking for more than he could give from their relationship. As Friday approached he wished he’d never suggested that they should meet.

  She opened the door to him with a flourish. “Bang on time, do come in.” She stood aside and held out her hand. “Give me your coat and go and sit in the warm; the temperature has really dropped. They said on the news that we’re due to have the bad weather that’s been hitting the States.”

  Owen sat in an armchair, purposely avoiding the sofa where he’d spent the night. She handed him a glass.

  “Champagne?”

  “Really? Are we celebrating something?”

  “Do we need a reason? OK, let’s think of one then. I know, let’s celebrate our friendship.”

  He took the glass she’d filled for him and with every sip felt like a man digging his own grave. Sarah didn’t seem to notice his discomfort; she flitted between the kitchen and living room, chatting easily and not giving him the least reason to think that there was anything more sinister behind her invitation.

  The meal was delicious and although conversation flowed easily, he still found it difficult to relax. She made no reference to his meeting with her brother, in fact Owen realised that during other conversations the subject of her family had never been raised. He knew very little of her background and what he did know was clouded in a mist of conjecture and misinformation. But he kept telling himself that none of it mattered; he didn’t need to see her again after tonight.

  To be fair, she made the best of the evening. She’d been a perfect host and had gone out of her way to ensure that his glass was filled, the food was to his liking and the atmosphere was light and welcoming. Under other circumstances he would have relaxed and enjoyed himself but this was going to be the last time, he was determined of that. However, a niggling feeling at the back of his mind wouldn’t go away. As he gave her a perfunctory kiss on the cheek and thanked her for the evening, he realised what had been bothering him. He was certain that she wouldn’t let him go without a fight and the thought terrified him.

  Chapter 44

  In the taxi, Owen breathed a sigh of relief. That was the end of it; it was over. But he could still feel her fingers stroking his face as he’d thanked her for the evening and planted a brotherly air-kiss on her cheek before leaving. He could also still smell her perfume on his clothes, it was Mischief, Rowena’s favourite, and he wondered whether that was by pure coincidence or something more. She hadn’t made a fuss either, when he’d said that he and Rowena were in the throes of planning their wedding and he hoped she’d understand and that it would be impossible for him to meet her again.

  He slept fitfully that night, his dreams plagued by a woman, who was a mixture of both Sarah and Rowena
dragging him towards a bed of quicksand. He awoke with relief, showered the worst of the dream away and was sitting in his kitchen watching the early morning news when the telephone rang.

  “Hello, Owen, I’m sorry to ring you so early old man.” It was Duncan Jones. “I think you ought to come down to Fallow’s End right away. There’s been a fire; it’s your cottage I’m afraid.”

  Driving to the coast Owen put all thoughts of Sarah Lawson out of his mind. If she had some sort of crush on him, she’d soon get the message that he wasn’t interested. He’d left a text message on Rowena’s phone to let her know that he wouldn’t be home to take her call but would ring later; he didn’t mention the fire, just said he was visiting Megan and Duncan and thought he might stay over for a day or two. Duncan was waiting for him in the Anchor. He wanted to show him the damage personally and thought it might be a good idea if Owen had a drink before they made their way to the cottage.

  “That bad, is it?” Owen asked.

  “It’s not good. No one noticed until the fire was well underway, it’s a bit far down the lane for anyone to see it clearly from the village, as you know. But apparently Arthur Conroy was walking his dog across the dunes and noticed the smoke.”

  “I see.”

  Duncan hadn’t been exaggerating; the cottage was little more than a shell, the thick stonewalls of the original structure being all that remained intact. The roof had collapsed and the wooden veranda reduced to a pile of charcoal. Owen ran his fingers through his hair. “Thank God for insurance – this will take some re-building. Luckily I’d removed the canvases. I wonder what started it?” He walked the perimeter in hope of enlightenment.

  Duncan frowned. “I had a word with Gordon Thomas.”

  “Who?”

  “Chief Fire Officer Thomas. He said that there would have to be a formal enquiry but he suspected arson.”

  “Good grief. Who would want to burn this place down? What on earth would be the point? I’m not aware of having ruffled anyone’s feathers locally.”

  Duncan stroked his chin. “We may never know the reason – apparently arsonists are a breed apart. They do it for the thrill, I understand. But there have been no Welsh language activists in this part since the seventies.” He put a hand on Owen’s shoulder. “You’ll stay with us?”

  “I’d be grateful - thanks. I’ll need to sort out this lot and have a word with the fire officer but I promise it won’t be for more than a day or two.”

  “Stay as long as you like. We’ll be glad to have you. Megan is always restless when a book has been completed. I think she’s tied up today, someone from the publishing house is coming down to pick up the last batch of proofs but after that she’s as free as a bird. Anyway, when you’ve finished here come over to the house.”

  Duncan told him that the fire officers had made a thorough sweep of the interior earlier but the area was still cordoned off. The upstairs, where his studio had been, no longer existed. The charred mass at his feet bore no resemblance to anything he could identify.

  The sky was beginning to cloud over as Owen drove back into the village and took the road leading to the main fire station on the outskirts of the nearest town. Gareg Wen was too small and insignificant to warrant a fire service of its own, especially as the main depot was less than five miles away.

  Chief Fire Officer Thomas stood up as Owen entered his office.

  “Mr Madoc, what a business,” he said indicating a chair. “Sit down, please.”

  “Duncan Jones told me that you suspect arson.” Owen came straight to the point.

  The man hesitated. “In my experience of such things, at first sight, yes, but you must understand the lab has to give us the results before I can confirm it.”

  “I understand. But surely you must have some idea?” Owen raised his eyebrows. “Just give me your opinion, off the record of course.”

  Gordon Thomas gave a wry smile. “It’s my considered opinion that there is no doubt someone started the fire up at your place, Mr Madoc. As you say, I’ve been around a long time, I recognise the signs. Is there anyone you can think of who might have had a reason to commit such a crime?”

  “I’ve been trying to think of an answer to that one on my way over here but I’m at a loss to know why anyone would do such a thing.”

  “Once we can confirm our suspicions we’ll be handing the details over to the police and when they’ve finished their enquiries you should be free to plan re-building in tandem with your Insurance Company. That is of course once they’ve established the fact that you were in no way to blame for starting the fire.”

  “That’s not difficult as I was in London at the time,” Owen replied.

  “Got an alibi all ready I see, Mr Madoc?” Gordon Thomas quipped as he opened the door.

  Leaving the Fire Station Owen suddenly realised that the only person who could provide him with an alibi was Sarah Lawson.

  Chapter 45

  Entering the public bar of the Anchor, Owen was greeted by an avalanche of sympathy. The landlord had a pint waiting for him on the bar and the vicar told him that the church was always open should he need to talk things over with his maker. Duncan beckoned Owen to join him. “How did things go with Gordon?”

  Sitting alongside Duncan on a bar stool Owen outlined his discussion with the Fire Chief.”

  “Good God, he wasn’t serious about you providing an alibi, I hope.”

  “No, but it looks like I’ll have to provide one for the police, once they’ve established that the fire was started deliberately.”

  “But what would be the point of you torching your own place?”

  “For the insurance, I suppose. It’s been done before.”

  “Have you eaten?” Duncan picked up a menu from the bar.

  “No.”

  “Right then let’s join the vicar and make an afternoon of it. He was just telling me about a fishing trip he’s organising along the coast.”

  The rest of the afternoon passed in convivial company until the landlord decided he’d had enough of them. “Off home with you all now lads, me and my missus need to put our feet up for an hour or two before the tea time crowd arrive.”

  Duncan grinned. “He always makes the same crack knowing the tea time crowd is likely to be just us and the post mistress.”

  Outside, Owen realised he’d had far too many beers to drive. “I’ll leave my car here and walk over the fields to your place.”

  “As you like, I’ll meet you later, there’s a book I have to pick up from the vicarage first.”

  Walking down the lane to a stile that led into the fields bordering the cliff path, Owen heard the sound of a car approaching. Flattening his body against the hedge, he felt the twigs dig into his back. He held his breath, somehow knowing that it would be her. When she drew level with him she stared straight ahead, not acknowledging his presence and he was left with his hand half raised in greeting. Feeling like a fool, he watched the car disappear in the distance and was certain she was watching him in her rear view mirror. What was she doing in Gareg Wen? Had she followed him? He considered the possibilities but managed somehow to avoid the obvious.

  Megan was in the garden when he arrived. “I saw you crossing the fields. You’ve just missed Sarah, she came down to pick up my proofs.”

  “I thought it was her car. Duncan’s stopped off at the vicarage.”

  “I know, he’s just phoned. When those two get together time stands still. Come in out of the cold and I’ll put the kettle on.”

  Sitting opposite him at the kitchen table cradling a mug of tea, Megan said, “I was so sorry to hear about your cottage. Duncan told me Gordon thinks it’s arson?”

  “Looks like it.” Owen lifted his mug to his lips. “Yes, well, I expect he also told you that I might be called upon to produce an alibi for myself.”

  “Ridiculous.”

  “Quite,” Owen agreed.

  “Can you?”

  “Provide and alibi? Yes.” He frowned. “Bit tricky
. I was with Sarah actually. She’d invited me to her flat for a meal.”

  “What’s tricky about that? She’ll confirm it and that will be that. Or are you worried about Rowena finding out where you spent the evening?”

  “It’s not that. You see, I made it more than plain to Sarah that I wouldn’t be seeing her again, even as a friend. The thing is. I’ve begun to suspect that she might be making more of our relationship than it actually is.

  “Really?”

  “Why do I get the impression you don’t agree?”

  “None of my business.”

  “Megan?”

  She hesitated before replying. “Well, let’s put it this way. The night you both stayed over after my party there was only one set of sheets that needed washing. But, as I said before, it’s none of my business.”

  Owen shook his head. “I know what it looks like but I can assure you, as far as I’m aware, nothing happened – I was too rat-arsed, to coin a phrase.”

  Megan stood up and walked to the window. “Sarah’s such a vulnerable creature, Owen; I wouldn’t like to see her hurt.”

  “That’s just the point. It’s why I had to make things clear to her, once I realised that she was making more of it.”

  The front door slammed in the wind as Duncan blew in bringing with him a selection of dead leaves and caked mud.

  “Put those boots in the outhouse at once, Duncan Jones,” Megan said, then turning to Owen added, “the man’s incorrigible.”

  The topic of conversation had been diverted by Duncan’s sudden arrival and Owen was grateful for the intrusion.

  The following day the local police force arrived in the shape of constable Bryn Williams. Megan and Owen were sitting in the room where the party had been held, which now seemed like a lifetime away.

  “How’s Jean, Bryn? Tell her to give me a call. The book’s finished and I’m ready for a bit of female conversation.”