The Therapist by B.A. Paris

Eighteen

Anxiety presses down as I close the front door behind me. Had Lorna really whispered Don’t trust anyone when she’d leaned into me, or had I imagined it?

I must have imagined it because why would she have felt the need to whisper when she was alone in the house? She had told me that Edward was out. I try and recall what I was saying before she whispered in my ear. I’d been talking about Will and Eve, and I think I mentioned Maria and Tamsin, and then Leo. She couldn’t have been warning me about Leo, she doesn’t even know him. Had she meant Will and Eve? Maybe she had heard me chatting to Will before she opened the door. Unless she meant Maria, or Tamsin. Or no-one at all, because she hadn’t whispered anything.

I’m on my way up to Leo’s study to watch for Edward walking back across the square, because I can’t believe that Lorna would have lied to me about being on her own in the house, when there’s a ring on the bell. Retracing my steps, I open the door and see Tamsin standing there, her hands pushed into the pockets of a brown leather jacket.

‘Oh, hi Tamsin,’ I say, surprised. ‘How are you? Do you want to come in?’

She shakes her head. ‘No thanks. I just want to say that I don’t think you should be upsetting Lorna by bringing up the murder again.’

My cheeks burn. ‘I was only trying to find out a little more about Nina.’

‘Why?’

‘Well, I—’

‘Why do you want to know more about Nina?’ she interrupts. ‘Didn’t we tell you enough yesterday at lunch? What more could Lorna tell you about her than we, her friends, already have?’

‘I – I was just trying to help,’ I stammer. ‘Lorna said she was glad to be able to talk about Nina.’

‘Bullshit.’ I flinch at the animosity in her voice. ‘Look, I understand that it must have been a shock to find out about the murder,’ she goes on. ‘And I have no idea what that reporter’s motive was in contacting you. But you’re going to do more harm than good if you start sticking your nose into things that don’t concern you. You don’t want to start alienating yourself, especially if you decide to stay here.’ Turning her back on me, she walks down the drive without saying goodbye.

My face burning at Tamsin’s unjustified aggressiveness, I run upstairs to Leo’s study and watch from the window as she walks across the square to her house. Maybe it’s the truth behind her words that stings. I had upset Lorna. Losing Oliver must have been like losing her son all over again, but somehow worse, because she had been the one to pull the trigger. As she’d sat there, twisting her hands in her lap, I’d felt the weight of her guilt. But I don’t like being threatened and Tamsin’s visit had felt like a threat. How did she know I was asking Lorna about Nina anyway? Did she see me coming out of her house and make an educated guess?

There’s still no sign of Edward. I scan the other houses and see Tim standing at the upstairs window of number 9, also watching the square. Even though I’m doing the same thing, it makes me uncomfortable to see him there. Ten minutes pass, then fifteen. A movement to the left catches my eye – Lorna and Edward’s garage door swinging upwards and outwards. I look down and see Edward, his green gardening shoes on his feet, walking down the drive towards their wheelie bin. I watch as he takes hold of the handle and pulls it slowly back up the drive and into the garage. So, he wasn’t out, as Lorna had said. Unless – her actual words had been ‘Edward isn’t here’. I had taken that to mean he was out; but maybe all she had meant was that he wasn’t there in the house with her, but in the garden.

When Leo comes home, he asks me if I want something to eat. Still upset by Tamsin’s visit, and worried about Lorna’s warning – if that’s what it was – I’m not hungry. I sit at the table and follow him with my eyes as he walks from cooker to fridge and back again, silently asking Who are you really, Leo? How come I didn’t know that you would ever lie to me? And more importantly – why have you got a key taped to the underside of your drawer? What is it that you’re hiding from me?

‘We’ve been invited to Maria’s tomorrow evening for supper,’ I say, breaking the silence.

He turns from the cooker. ‘Are you sure you want me to come?’

He sounds as if he wants the answer to be no.

‘It will look strange if you don’t.’

‘If you prefer to go without me, I can always say I’m ill.’

For a moment, I wonder if I should tell Maria we can’t go. I can barely act normally around Leo and I don’t want the awkwardness between us to spoil the evening. Also, Tamsin will be there. But I want to get to know the other couples – and I’ll be doing Leo a favour if I cancel. Everyone will understand if things are a bit fraught, given that he didn’t tell me about the murder.

I take out my phone. ‘I’ll call Maria and tell her to expect both of us.’

‘Lovely,’ Maria says, when I tell her we’re free.

‘Can I bring anything?’ I ask.

‘Not at all. Is 7 p.m. alright for you?’

‘It’s perfect.’

I hang up. ‘It’s at seven,’ I tell Leo.

‘Great,’ he says, trying to inject enthusiasm into his voice.

He doesn’t try to make small-talk while he eats his dinner, just reads the news on his phone, a glass of full-bodied red wine in his hand. I don’t know whether to be offended or relieved.

‘I saw Lorna today,’ I say.

‘How is she?’

‘Still upset about letting someone in to The Circle on Saturday evening. I told her that I’d only just found out about Nina,’ I add, unable to stop myself from having a dig.

He takes a sip of wine. ‘Right.’

‘We talked about Nina and she told me that Nina had had an affair. So now I’m thinking that maybe it wasn’t her husband who killed her but the person she was having an affair with.’

His glass slips from his hand and crashes onto the table. Wine seeps across the wood, like blood from a wound. For a moment, we both stare at it, seemingly mesmerised. Then he leaps to his feet, grabs a tea-towel from the side and begins dabbing at the table while I move the glass out of the way.

‘Sorry,’ he says. ‘My hand slipped.’

I frown at the mess the wine has made, then pick up his glass and stand it on its base again. ‘No harm done.’

‘I don’t think it’s a good idea to gossip about the dead,’ he says, kneeling to mop up the wine that has spilt onto the floor. I stare at the back of his head, noticing for the first time that his hair is thinning on top. Flashes of pink skin show through as he begins to rub vigorously at the floorboards.

‘Lorna wasn’t gossiping, I asked her to tell me about Nina,’ I say.

He balls the tea-towel, walks over to the sink and puts it down on the side. Turning on the tap, he rinses his hands. ‘Why?’

‘Because I want to know about the woman whose house I’m living in.’

‘Only because she was murdered,’ he says. ‘If she hadn’t been, you wouldn’t have been curious about her.’

I glare at his back. ‘So, Leo, how was it for you when Ben told you that a young woman had been murdered in the house you wanted to buy? Weren’t you curious? Didn’t you ask any questions about her, not even ask who she was?’

He reaches for a clean towel and turns. ‘No, I don’t think I did,’ he says, drying his hands carefully. ‘If I remember rightly, it was Ben who volunteered her name.’

‘And you didn’t google her to find out what had happened? You were that disinterested?’

‘I wasn’t disinterested. I recognised her name and I knew what had happened, I remembered the case. Anyone would have remembered it, it was well-documented at the time, in the press, in the papers.’

‘Yet there was never any mention of her having an affair.’

He puts the towel down, comes back to the table. ‘Maybe she didn’t have one. Maybe it was just a rumour.’

‘No,’ I say. ‘She admitted it to Lorna.’ I go to refill his glass but he shakes his head.

‘That must be why her husband murdered her, then. He found out she’d been cheating on him and killed her in a fit of jealousy.’

‘Maybe. Unless it was the other man who killed her.’

He frowns. He seems on edge, but then he’s never enjoyed listening to gossip. ‘Why do you say that?’

‘Because, according to Lorna, Nina was going to tell him that it was over. And because everyone says that Oliver was the nicest man you could ever wish to meet.’

‘Everyone?’ He pounces on the word.

‘The people here! His friends and neighbours.’

Leo picks up his near-empty wine glass and drains it. ‘If there had been anything suspicious to find, I think the police would have found it.’ He pushes away from the table. ‘I’ve got work to do. I’ll see you later.’

I listen as he goes upstairs and into his study. A moment later, I hear the screech of metal on metal and I know that sound, it’s one of the drawers in the filing cabinet being pulled open. So, the key to unlock it was up there somewhere. Unless – I go out to the hall. His bag is no longer by the front door and his jacket has gone from where he usually hangs it on the newel post. Maybe he carries the key around with him. But why would he do that? His client files can’t be that confidential, can they?