Dishonourable Intent. Anne Mather
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anger. ‘For pity’s sake, Fran, why haven’t you reported him to the police?’
‘I have.’ She drew a trembling breath. ‘There’s nothing they can do.’
‘Don’t be ridiculous! Of course there’s something they can do. They can arrest the man. If he’s giving you a hard time, that’s all the proof they need.’
‘No, it’s not.’ Francesca’s shoulders drooped. ‘Being—pestered by someone doesn’t constitute a felony. In any case, they don’t know who he is.’
‘You haven’t told them?’
‘I don’t know who it is,’ she retorted huskily. ‘He—I—he’s too clever to let them catch him in the act.’
Will stared at her. ‘In the act of what?’ His stomach tightened. ‘Has he touched you?’
‘Not yet,’ answered Francesca in an uneven tone. ‘I’ve told you, we’ve never met But—I think he’s tried to break into my flat.’ Her abhorrence was apparent. “That’s when I knew I had to get away.’
Will sank back against the squashy upholstery, disbelief warring with a growing sense of outrage. It couldn’t be true, he told himself. Francesca was lying; she had to be. It was inconceivable that her life was in any kind of danger.
Swallowing the bile that had gathered at the back of his throat, he regarded her steadily. ‘Perhaps you ought to tell me how long this has been going on,’ he suggested, propping one booted foot beside the tray, and she nodded.
‘Yes.’ She moistened her lips. ‘Well—about six months, I suppose, altogether. To begin with, I didn’t know what was going. an.’
Will breathed deeply. ‘Six months!’ he said. ‘So long?’
‘Well, according to the police, a stalker can take years before he approaches his victim. To begin with, he gets his kicks from watching them without them knowing what’s going on.’
Will blew back the hair from his forehead. Despite himself, he was responding to the frankness of her tone. If she was lying, she was making a bloody good job of it. And if she wasn’t—His lips tightened. Frustration didn’t even begin to cover how he felt.
‘Go on,’ he said, not trusting himself to make any constructive comment, and, resting her arms along her thighs, she shredded the tissue she was holding as she continued.
‘At first—at first I thought I was imagining it. As you probably know, I’m still working for Teniko, and just recently—within the last year, that is—my hours have been changed. Sometimes, I start later in the morning, but I don’t get home until later in the evening.’
‘Why?’
She flushed. ‘Because—because I’ve been promoted. And Teniko have moved their head office to California, which means we often have satellite conferences in the evening.’
‘In the evening?’ Will knew it wasn’t important, and he was perfectly aware why the meetings would be so late. But he needed a little time to come to terms with this, and talking about normal things, like her working hours, enabled him to get some perspective.
‘It’s morning in San Francisco,’ Francesca explained, answering him anyway. ‘We’re presently involved in developing some new computer software, and as the virtual reality market is a very competitive field our meetings are always confidential.’
‘I don’t want to hear about your job,’ said Will shortly, and he was annoyed to hear the irritation in his voice. He didn’t want her to think he cared a damn what she was doing with her life, but at the same time he didn’t want her to think he was bitter either. He wiped his expression clean of any emotion before asking evenly, ‘Are you saying you’re alone when you leave the building?’
Francesca nodded. ‘Sometimes. At least, there are very few other commuters about. The rush hour’s over, you see. Most people have already left their offices. And—and it’s much easier to follow someone if they’re not tied up in a crowd.’
‘Easier for you to see them, too,’ Will commented, not at all convinced by that argument.
‘Only if they want to be seen,’ said Francesca. moistening her lips. ‘I don’t always see him, but I know that he’s there.’
‘I see.’ Will watched the way she pulled out another tissue and proceeded to shred it, also. ‘So—this man, whoever he is, follows you.’ He made an impatient sound. ‘You’re saying the police can’t do anything about that?’
Francesca sniffed. ‘I’m not sure they even believe me.’
‘Why not?’
‘Because they’ve never seen him.’ She swallowed. ‘He’s very clever, Will. Sometimes—sometimes I used to think I was going mad.’
Will breathed deeply. He wanted to dismiss what she was saying. He wanted to tell her he didn’t believe her either, and leave her to deal with her own life. But he couldn’t. Truth to tell, the strongest urge he had was to vault across the carved chest, with its tray of tea and sandwiches, and go and comfort her. To pull her into his arms and tell her not to worry; he would handle it.
Instead, he scooped up a couple of the smoked salmon sandwiches Mrs Harvey had prepared for Francesca’s supper, and ate them. He was suddenly fiendishly hungry. Probably because he’d eaten so little at Mulberry Court. He refused to countenance any other explanation for his hunger, despite the connotations. He was not eating to compensate for any other need.
‘It’s true,’ she said, evidently deciding that this tackling of the food signalled a certain scepticism on his part. ‘I always know when he’s following me. It’s a funny feeling—a kind of sixth sense a woman has. Only—’ she scrubbed at her cheeks again ‘—there’s nothing remotely funny about it.’
‘And that’s all he does? Follow you?’
‘He did.’
‘Has anyone else seen him?’
‘Only my landlady.’ She hesitated. ‘She was in the flat one evening, when I saw him standing outside the building. He was wearing one of those black hoods at the time. I couldn’t see his face.’
‘So how did you know it was him?’
‘Because I recognised the way he was dressed.’ She gazed at him frantically. ‘He always wears a hooded jacket. One of those brushed cotton jackets, I think it is. that people wear for jogging.’
‘Perhaps he is a jogger?’
The look she gave him was bleak. ‘He follows me, Will. Don’t you understand? He enjoys frightening me. I’ve taken books out of the library to try and understand what he gets out of it. It’s the element of uncertainty—of fear—that gives him the most pleasure.’
Will hesitated. ‘The night you saw him—outside your apartment, you said—didn’t you call the police then?’
‘What would have been the use? There’s no law that says a man can’t stand in the street. I’ve even started using my car for work, instead of getting the bus. But he always knows where to find me.’
Will knew an almost uncontrollable sense of fury, a raw anger that simmered in his gut. He didn’t want to be, but he could feel himself being drawn into this. He might not want her as his wife any longer, but he was damned if he was going to let her be terrified to death by some pervert.
‘Eventually—eventually, I started getting phone calls,’ she went on, her voice growing thinner. ‘You know the sort of thing—starting off with heavy breathing and progressing from there. I bought an answering machine, in the hope that that would stop him, but it didn’t. When I came home some evenings, there were maybe half a dozen of his messages waiting on the tape.’
Will swore. ‘The police must have taken notice of you