Guilty Love (Completed)

Chapter Twenty'Five

She was shaking so much that it was hard to start the engine, get the car moving. Ritchie still held on to the door, his face close the window, although she didn't look, couldn't bear to look. She drove off with him hanging on, calling her, but as the car picked up speed he let go and she put her foot down and shot round the corner.

She had to get away before he could get into his own car and follow her. She didn't want him to know where she was going. Only the police knew, and they had assured Aunt Ella that they would not give her new address to Ritchie's lawyers. All communication with her would be through her own lawyers. She turned another corner and lost herself in the maze of little streets before she could be sure Ritchie wasn't close behind her. She drew up by the kerb and sat there for five minutes, shaking so violently that she was afraid she might crash if she drove again for a while. Only when she had stopped trembling did she start the car again. She kept looking into her driving mirror, watching the road behind her, but there was no sign of Ritchie's car. She had lost him.

She wished she could believe she had lost him forever, but she still had to go through the trial. At least he couldn't get to her then, he would be in the dock, and there would be too many other people around. But she would still see him, and even if she didn't look at him she would feel him there, in the same room, breathing the same air. It would be torture.

   Nearly three years later, on a fine spring morning, Linzi was sitting at a desk in the corner of the antiques shop where she worked, watching two American customers who, from what she overheard them saying to each other, had just visited Stratford and were on their way back to Warwick Castle. While they browsed Linzi was polishing some of the silver from a display case, a soothing job she enjoyed.

"Hey, look at this, Ralphy," the wife said eagerly, holding up a Victorian fairing. "Cute," he agreed, warily balancing the little China ornament on his large palm, then he looked at the price tag. His eyebrows shot up. "But it's pricey! Especially as it's so small." "But Ralphy, that's the best thing about it, it'll be so easy to pack!" "I guess it will." He agreed and turned to ask Linzi, "What are these things called, miss?"

"A bridal fairing," Linzi promptly told him, walking over to join them. "They sold them at fairs in Victorian times, people gave them to brides as wedding presents."
"Victorian, huh?" The husband surveyed the China solemnly. "Can you tell me when it was made, exactly?"
"1871," Linzi supplied. "We have some others, as you see, but this is the oldest one we have. That's why it's the most expensive."
"Trust my wife to pick the most expensive one," complained the husband.
"She got good taste," Linzi said, and the wife grinned at her conspiratorially.
"Right. You tell him! Is this locally made, by the way?"
"No, these fairings were all made in Germany, not England, actually." Honesty compelled her to admit this, although she was afraid that might make them decide not to buy if they were looking for a locally made souvenir.

The young man's tanned face did alter, but only to light up with real enthusiasm. "No kidding? Well, what do you know? My ancestors came from Germany. We're going there next. Whereabouts in Germany was this made?" Linzi gave him a brief talk on the subject of the German factory, which was not a famous as some others, and after listening attentively he nodded. "We'll have it." He pulled out a credit card from his wallet. "I guess you take this?" "We certainly do," Linzi said gaily, delighted to have made the sale. Five minutes later she saw the Americans to the door, intending to lock up for lunch as soon as they had gone. "Enjoy the rest of your visit," she said as they walked away. She was about to go back into the shop when another car driving past swerved violently and almost hit a van coming in the other direction. The squeal of tyres made Linzi and the Americans look round and stare, then Linzi turned pale with shock as she recognised the face of the driver.

Hurriedly closing the door of the shop, she locked and bolted it, and drew down the blind. She snacthed up her handbag from a drawer in the desk, and headed for the back of the shop, meaning to escape through the rear garden and go off to lunch. Before she could, however, somebody began banging on the door.

"Linzi, Linzi...., let me in! It's Megan!"

She hesitated, torn between a desire to run and the realisation that if she did Megan would probably just come back some other time. Slowly, she turned and went back, unbolted the door, opened it. Megan hadn't changed an inch in three years. They looked at each other in silence for a moment, then Megan said, "When I saw you it was such a shock, I almost ran into a van coming towards me! It's suprising I recognised you, though! Oh, Linzi, you're very thin, you've lost lots of weight, haven't you? And you're very pale."

"I'm okay, really. How are you Megan?" Linzi huskily murmured. "How's Ted?"
"Ted's fine, we both are!"
"And the children?" asked Linzi, doggedly trying to keep her from mentioning Ritchie.
"They're fine too. Oh, Linzi...."
"They must have grown a lot," Linzi said, trying to sound normal and only aware of the shakiness of her voice.
"Kids do that, keep on growing. I sometimes think I do nothing but buy them new shoes." Megan said, then she groaned and gave Linzi a wry little grimace. "Oh, this is ridiculous! We can't talk on the doorstep. Look, can I come in and talk, or will you come out and have a bite of lunch with me? You probably know somewhere around here where we can eat, a pub, if nothing else."

What could Linzi do but agree? They went to the public house down the street - the Yew Tree. Built in the seventeenth century, it's ceilings were low, it's red-tiled floor had sunk, the windows were tiny and you hit your head on a beam every time you walked through a doorway. The saloon bar was crowded and gloomy, of very irregular size and shape, but they did offer a pretty good ploughman's plate which both Megan and Linzi ordered. It came quickly, large chunks of homemade pickles, a couple of tomatoes and some lettuce topped with a spring onion. "Looks good," Megan said, lifting her glass of local cider to her lips. "Do you come here for lunch every day? They seemed to know you."

"I usually eat sandwiches in the back of the shop, but I do sometimes eat here," admitted Linzi, breaking off a piece of cheese and crumbling it on her plate with nervous fingers. "What are you doing around here, Megan? Have you been visiting Stratford? Is Ted with you?"

"No, Ted's back home with the kids. I've been staying with my younger sister, she just had her second baby and I've been looking after her little girl, Tracy, until Jenny's up and about again. She lives in Warwick, just down the road from here. My brother-in-law has taken Tracy to see her mum, in the hospital, so I came out for a drive to get some fresh air and look at the countryside. I couldn't believe my eyes when I saw you in that shop doorway. How long have you been working here?"

"Ever since I left the north. The shop belongs to my godmother, I live in the flat above it."
"You've been here all along?" Said Megan, cutting her cheese into bite-sized pieces. "We wondered where you'd gone. Ritchie kept asking if anyone had seen you."

The name hit Linzi like a blow. She had been expecting Megan to mention him, but even so hearing his name did something drastic to her heartbeat. "I suppose you and Ted kept in touch with...., with him?" she murmured huskily. "How..., how is he?" Megan gave her a frowning look, visibly hesitated, then burst out, "I don't know if I ought to warn you, but....., Linzi, he may be coming out any day now."

"What?" Linzi's delicate oval face turned chalk-white. In spite of everything that had happened to her she still looked much younger than she was, because of her long, straight, fine hair and childlike build. Thinner than ever, with small, high breasts and narrow hips, she wore jeans and a T-shirt, a stranger might have taken her for a teenager if he passed her in the street. In fact, she was now twenty-seven and a closer look would have revealed the shadows in her blue eyes, the fine lines around eyes and mouth which pain had etched into her skin.