‘Oh, yes. It’ll be so exciting. I’ve never been to England. And I can’t wait to see Rosemary again. I miss her so much. I’ll be so glad when we’re together again. I’m not used to being here on my own.’

  ‘You have no family nearby?’

  ‘No. Rosemary’s my only family now.’

  ‘Oh, right. Well, you’re very lucky – the both of you – with the friendship you have. It must be good to know there’s always somebody fighting your corner. I reckon Rosemary’s going to need all the support she can get – a time like this.’

  ‘I guess so. Oh, I so want it to go right, Kurt. It’s got to work out for her. It’s just got to.’

  ‘Well, with you along, I’m sure it will.’

  ‘Well, I do what I can.’ She sighed. ‘I can’t wait for Wednesday to get here.’

  *

  Standing at the window of her room at Evergreens, Rosemary gazed out over the shrubbery and lawns of the formal gardens. Most of the other residents of the house would be downstairs in the lounge, she supposed. She had no desire to mix with them. If everything went to schedule, Carrie would be flying in and arriving at the cottage today, so there ought to be a phone call from her pretty soon. She sighed with pleasure at the thought, though there was still the sobering knowledge that she had two weeks to go before she’d be out of this place. Two weeks of no smoking, no alcohol, no meat, no sugar – no anything that might possibly make life bearable. And with nothing to do but take walks in the fresh air, watch television, use her iPad, study her songs (in silence, of course), read, or talk to the other residents, she felt sometimes she might just go off her head. If she could only have a cigarette, and a drink…

  Interrupting her thoughts came the ringing of the telephone. She picked up the receiver and a moment later heard the reassuringly familiar tones of Carrie’s voice.

  ‘Hi, Rosie!’ Carrie couldn’t keep the sound of excitement out of her voice.

  ‘Hello, darling. I was just thinking about you.’

  ‘How are you?’

  ‘Well – apart from going out of my tiny mind with boredom. Other than that I’m okay. Are you calling from the cottage?’

  ‘Yes – on my cellphone. There’s no landline telephone connected here yet.’

  ‘That sounds like the England I used to know.’

  ‘But I hope we’ll have it installed by the time you get here. I told the phone company it’s essential.’

  ‘It certainly is.’ Rosemary gave a groan. ‘I don’t mind telling you this place is purgatory. I don’t know how I’m going to stand another two weeks of it.’

  ‘You will,’ Carrie said. ‘You just hang in there.’

  *

  After shopping for groceries, Carrie headed back to the cottage in Holly Lane. The hired Corolla moved like a dream, though she wondered whether she’d ever get used to driving on the left side of the road. Still, the traffic around here was light, and, she assured herself, she’d be fine after a little more experience.

  Placed conveniently for the M4 motorway, the village of Ashton Heath was situated at the foot of the Chilterns. On first entering the village after the drive from the airport, Carrie had been captivated by its appearance. Even on a cold, dreary winter’s afternoon it had held a charm that surprised her. It owned not only a village green, but a pond with ducks. And there too was a small, quaint village school.

  The cottage, Lavender Thatch, had once been two adjoining farm cottages, but with careful development had become a single, more spacious dwelling. Carrie had loved it from the moment she had seen it, and had lost no time in getting to work, cleaning and polishing. The place was fully furnished – even down to the piano that had been brought in and newly tuned. It had only needed a woman’s touch, and she was an expert there.

  *

  At Evergreens, Rosemary stood before the mirror looking at the slim figure reflected there, and in spite of the hell she had suffered at the place, she had to admit that it had been worth it. Her body looked almost youthful again. The flabby roll around her midriff had gone and she stood slim and straight as a girl. In addition, the scars on her face were fading more with every day. No lines, no wrinkles anywhere. And who said botox and collagen weren’t blessings from God. The only thing she needed now, she thought as she gazed at the dull roots of her hair, was a visit to a good hairdresser. But she’d get that fixed soon – on her first day out. She’d do some shopping, too. Just four days to go.

  *

  Wrapped warmly against the February wind, Carrie once again wandered over the wide area of the cottage garden at the rear of the building. It would be beautiful in summer, with the trees in leaf and the flowers making a blaze of colour. Even now delicate snowdrops were nodding their heads alongside the mauve and yellow crocuses. She had the feeling that she belonged. In a warm, sunlit vision she saw herself sitting in the garden, flowers and birdsong all around her. And why not? There was no reason why they shouldn’t return here from time to time. She’d have to talk to Rosie about it.

  Briefly, she found her thoughts returning to the house on the Hudson, now all locked up and being watched over by a kindly neighbour who would keep an eye on the place and get in touch should the need arise. Carrie realised that she didn’t really miss the house. She would be quite happy here, she thought. A memory of the cat came back to her. Poor Kitty – he would be missing her. But the same kindly neighbour had promised to look after him. He wouldn’t starve.

  *

  That evening she made herself comfortable in front of the television. She had been delighted to discover that quite a few old American movies were shown on the English networks – and now, in her comfortable fireside chair with its rose-patterned cover, she sat watching Leave Her to Heaven. It was a wonderful film. And that Gene Tierney character was something else. Particularly that scene on the lake when she sat in the dinghy waiting for the boy to drown – and all in silence; not a note of background music to detract from the drama. Oh, but how could anyone be so cruel?

  The film was coming to its climax when the knock sounded at the door. Her first reaction was one of annoyance at being disturbed at such a critical moment. Her second was one of fear. Who on earth knew she was here? Memories of New York muggings and burglaries came rushing back. Her hand shaking a little, she took up the poker from the fireplace and moved stealthily out into the narrow hall. The knock came again, followed by a voice.

  ‘Hello? Is there anyone in?’

  A look of relief broke across her features as she recognised the voice. In another moment she had the door open.

  ‘Kurt – what are you doing here?’

  His smile was laconic. ‘I was invited, or have you forgotten?’

  ‘But – we weren’t expecting you till next week. Rosemary’s still away. I’m on my own. She’s not due to get here till tomorrow.’

  He smiled. ‘Does that mean you’re going to send me away?’

  ‘What? No, of course not.’ She gave a little laugh. ‘Come on in.’

  ‘Okay – just let me go pay off the cab.’

  Carrie waited while he paid the cab-driver, and the vehicle set off back down the drive, then she stood aside as Kurt picked up his two bags and stepped into the hall. She indicated a spot for them, then led the way into the living room. A moment later the television was clicked off.

  ‘Aw, I spoiled your movie for you,’ Kurt said.

  ‘Oh, no, that doesn’t matter,’ Carrie said. She felt a little shy in his presence. ‘Sit down. You’d probably like a drink, would you?’

  ‘Thanks.’ He took a seat on the sofa. ‘Could you manage a vodka-tonic maybe?’

  ‘Yes, we can do that.’ She went away to the kitchen and returned a couple of minutes later with his drink. He thanked her, took a sip, gave an appreciative nod and looked around him.

  ‘Carrie, this place is really nice.’

  ‘Oh, I think so too,’ she said. ‘I could stay here for ever.’

  ‘I wanted to call you when I got in, but I didn’t have your cellphone number, and the operator told me there was no phone connected here at the house.’

  ‘No, I know,’ Carrie said. ‘It’s darned inconvenient, but they assure me it’ll be all done next week.’

  He nodded, gave a sigh of pleasure and leaned back, stretching out his long legs. ‘God, that’s better,’ he said. ‘I came here straight from the airport, and let me tell you, it’s so good to relax after all that travelling.’

  *

  Rosemary boarded the train, found a suitable compartment, deposited her bags and sat down. She was alone apart from an elderly man who sat in the far corner, absorbed in his newspaper. In her own corner seat she snuggled down. She had left Evergreens a day earlier than scheduled. Faced with breakfast that morning, she had suddenly decided that she couldn’t take another day of it. And what the hell, one day wasn’t going to make any difference.

  The train was moving. Easing off her shoes, she drew her feet up beneath her on the seat. Her shoes were new, as were her dress and coat. All bought that day in one wonderful shopping spree in the West End. She had been to a hairdresser, too. From her purse she took a small mirror and looked into it, admiring the soft, blonde waves and her perfectly made-up face. Silently she urged the train to go faster; she was on her way at last, and impatient for progress.

  In the warm glow of her newfound confidence she pictured ahead the comfort of the cottage and Carrie’s welcome. Behind her – and growing more distant with every second – lay the clinic and the frustrating boredom of the health farm. Even further away was the house on the Hudson.

  For the tenth time she went over her plans for the weeks ahead. As soon as Kurt arrived he would get together the musicians for the orchestra, and she could start rehearsing with them. In the meantime she and Carrie must get on with the publicity, arrange some press interviews and book time with a good photographer. She had no fear of the camera now.

  In the window-glass, darkly, she saw a young-looking woman reflected, slim, almost beautiful. She smiled at her, and the woman in the glass smiled back.

  *

  Michael Mitchell, ignoring the work on his desk, reread the letter he had just written. Then, lips pursed, his eyes moved from the letter to the hand that held it. Although the dressing had been removed, the evidence of Carrie’s vengeance – the scars from the fork – was clearly visible.

  When he had folded the letter he enclosed inside it a photograph. On an envelope he wrote the address of the house in Nyack, the house where he had visited Rosemary on the evening of her party. Then, with a final glance at the wound on his hand, he licked the envelope’s flap and pressed it down. If revenge and humiliation was the name of the game, then two could play as well as one.

  ……FIFTEEN

  A chill wind was blowing from the hills, but inside the cottage it was warm.

  The soft glow of the lamps was complemented by the flames of the fire that crackled in the hearth. Standing by the piano, Carrie watched as Kurt added another log to the blaze and pushed it into place with the tip of the coal shovel. Earlier she had prepared dinner for the two of them, after which she had made coffee. They had spoken very little of the forthcoming concert, and as for Rosemary’s dismissal of Douglas, no mention of it was made; it was as if the subject was consciously avoided. Their conversation staying on safer ground, they spoke of their journeys from New York, and the general horrors and inconveniences of aircraft travel in the present day. Kurt spoke of London, with which he was familiar, and Carrie of her time so far in the little Berkshire village.

  As Kurt replaced the shovel in the hearth, Carrie picked up a file of papers from the top of the piano. ‘The new material you sent,’ she said, ‘it all got here safely, you’ll be glad to know.’ She opened the file and took out some music manuscript paper. ‘And these two songs you’ve written for Rosie – I’ve had a look at them. She’s going to be crazy about them.’ She held out the written score of one of the songs. ‘This one – ‘Am I Home?’, she said, ‘you wrote it for Rosemary’s opening number, right?’

  ‘That was the idea.’

  ‘It’s perfect. Just perfect. I’d love to hear it.’

  ‘What, now?

  ‘Oh, yes. Please.’

  He chuckled. ‘God, I’m no singer. Besides, I think I’ve had a bit too much to drink. Why don’t you have a go at it? You couldn’t do any worse.’

  ‘Oh, no…’ she demurred, ‘I can’t, really.’

  ‘Sure you can,’ he said. ‘Come on.’

  She shook her head. ‘No, really. I don’t sing any more. I used to, but not any more. You sing it – please, Kurt…’

  ‘Okay,’ he said with a sigh, ‘but don’t say you weren’t warned.’ He drained his glass and moved to the piano. As he sat on the bench, Carrie said, ‘Oh, and let me record it, d’you mind?’

  ‘What?’

  ‘You don’t mind, do you?’ she said. ‘I have this little cassette recorder here. It’s out of the ark, but it does the job.’ As she spoke she placed the recorder on the table beside the piano, checked the tape inside and then pressed the record button. ‘There we go.’

  Kurt gave a nod. Putting his hands to the keys, he played the opening chords and began to sing.

  *

  ‘Here we are, ma’am.’ With his words the driver brought the cab to a halt at the entrance to the driveway. ‘This be okay?’ he said. ‘Or I can pull in if you want.’

  ‘No, it’s fine. I can manage.’ Rosemary opened the door and got out. As the man deposited her bags beside the gatepost she counted out the fare.

  ‘You want some help with your things?’ he asked.

  ‘No, I’ll be okay.’ She had seen that there was a light in the cottage window. After paying him she closed her purse and picked up her bags. Then, while the cab made off into the night, she started up the drive. Everything of the scene about her was strange, and she hurried through the cold wind towards the porch. Reaching it, she put down her bags and tried the door handle. To her relief the door swung open easily and silently.

  Stepping gingerly into the gloom of the little hall, she was met by the sound of a piano and a man’s voice, singing. It was coming from the room on her right, the door to which was a few inches ajar. She was about to push the door open when the music came to a stop. Then came the voice again, and now it was speaking her name.

  ‘So,’ said the voice, ‘what time are you expecting Rosemary tomorrow?’

  It was Kurt’s voice. Her action frozen, hand arrested as it reached out to the door, she stood still, listening. Then came Carrie’s voice: ‘Sometime in the afternoon, I guess. She’ll let me know.’

  ‘You sure it’s okay for me to stay over?’

  ‘Oh, of course. She’d want you to.’

  Creeping forward a step, Rosemary peered through the gap into the softly-lit room. She could see the two of them, Carrie standing beside the piano, Kurt sitting on the bench. With their backs to the door the two were unaware of her presence.

  ‘Oh, Kurt,’ Carrie said, ‘Rosemary’s going to be so pleased to see you. And now you’re here we can really get on with things. And there’s no time to lose – as she keeps reminding me.’

  ‘Well, she’s right,’ Kurt said with an ironic smile. Then he added in a more sombre tone, ‘And she did everything without Douglas, is that right?’

  ‘Yes – that’s right.’

  ‘Amazing.’

  ‘Just goes to show,’ Carrie said, ‘what you can do if you put your mind to it.’

  ‘Right,’ he said. ‘Though I don’t mind telling you, it came as a bit of a shock – her showing him the door the way she did. I wasn’t prepared for that. And I know damn well Doug wasn’t. That showed me a side of Rosemary I didn’t know.’ He sighed. ‘Anyway, it’s water under the bridge now, I guess.’ He paused. ‘Who did she get, by the way, to replace him? Am I allowed to ask?’

  ‘What?’

  ‘To back her. Who did she get to back her?’

  ‘She’s never told you?’ Carrie sounded surprised.

  ‘Not a word. And Doug sure as hell doesn’t know. He couldn’t even make a guess. I know he’d pretty well covered the field. But try as he might, he couldn’t find anybody to put up the money. So, who’s done it? Doug’ll be fascinated to know.’

  After a moment’s hesitation Carrie said: ‘We did.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘We did. We’ve put up the money.’

  ‘You’re telling me you did it?’ Kurt’s tone was incredulous.

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Rosemary’s put up her own money?’

  ‘Well – not exactly,’ Carrie said. ‘I did it. It’s me.’

  ‘You? Carrie, you’re telling me you’re staking her in this? You’ve put up the money for it all?’

  ‘That’s right.’

  ‘Well, what do you know!’ He gave a short laugh. ‘You’re a dark horse, you are. So you’re paying for it all – the theatre, me, the publicity, the band – everything. Everything?’

  ‘Yes – everything. And we’re hoping to get the show recorded, too.’

  ‘My God.’ He gave a little whistle. ‘Well, I just hope you know what you’re doing.’

  ‘Yes,’ she said quickly, ‘of course we do.’

  ‘I’m sorry,’ he said, ‘no offence. It’s just come as a bit of a surprise.’

  ‘Listen,’ she said, ‘it’s not the first time it’s been done, you know. There’ve been those singers who’ve hired Carnegie Hall. And Rosie was telling me about a British singer who did it here – way back in the early seventies. Apparently she hired the London Palladium, all on her own, and it was packed to the rafters, the seats selling out within hours. It can be done. And we’re going to do it too.’

  ‘Well – I wish you luck.’ He got up, stepped to the coffee table and poured more brandy. He took a swallow from the glass, then said, ‘Yeah, I wish you luck. Truly I do. And you’re certainly gonna need it. I just hope to God you’re not throwing your money away.’