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  "No, of course you're not. We checked out your alibi and it's solid; we just have to cover all avenues, that's all," Isabel said, trying to allay Rebecca's fear.

  "So I was a suspect?" she asked.

  "Look Rebecca, I will be honest with you. The nature of the crime seems to be a personal one. For example, if it was a random mugging, why weren't any of her personal belongings taken? Secondly, muggers don't generally get into arguments with their victims, especially in broad daylight. That would involve face-to-face contact, which would mean the victim would be able to give a better description of their attacker." Rebecca shook her head in disbelief.

  "But it may have just been someone looking for trouble, not necessarily a mugging."

  "Yes, that may be the case," Isabel agreed, "but like I said, we are looking at all avenues. I was going over your notes this morning and something struck me as not being quite right. You said she was on her way to a meeting with a prospective gallery owner at London Bridge at ten a.m."

  Rebecca nodded in agreement.

  "So it seems strange that she would be in another part of London when she should have been at her meeting."

  Through all the stress over the past week, this anomaly had not even occurred to Rebecca. How could she have overlooked such a major part of the story? It was obvious to Rebecca that she must have been meeting someone, but whom? Why hadn't she told Rebecca? Now she understood why the police thought the attack was personal. She also was beginning to believe it.

  Isabel could see the confusion on Rebecca's face and the realisation that something wasn't quite right.

  "Did you check to see if she even had a meeting with the gallery owner?" Rebecca asked, even though she didn't want to hear the answer. She couldn't bear to hear that Genevieve had lied and was keeping secrets from her.

  "Yes, we checked and the owner confirmed that their meeting was scheduled for ten that morning, but Genevieve had called him to put the appointment forward an hour." They both looked at each other as if they were thinking the same thing. "Obviously something happened from the time she left you to make her change her plans," Isabel said. She took the last sip of her tea and stood up to leave. "I'm sorry if this has come as a shock to you, but I think it's imperative that we're singing from the same song sheet if we're to get anywhere with this case. If you could let me have a list of friends and acquaintances that have been in contact with Ms Simmons, I would appreciate it."

  Rebecca stood up to walk Isabel to the door.

  "I'll make a list and drop it off at the station before I catch my flight," Rebecca said, opening the door.

  "That would be great if it's no trouble, and thank-you for your cooperation," Isabel responded with a smile, indicating their first meeting was well and truly forgotten. She left Rebecca with mental images of Genevieve and an attacker — someone they probably both knew.

  CHAPTER 8

  INSTEAD OF RETURNING home by plane, Rebecca decided to travel by Eurostar from Paris to London. She loved the feel of the high-speed train whizzing through countryside with barely time to glimpse the landscape. She sat alone in the first-class compartment, her papers spread across the table as she worked to finish her latest assignment. Her thoughts were frequently turning to Genevieve, hoping there would be a breakthrough on her condition and finding her attacker. She forced herself to concentrate solely on her work and was so engrossed in it, she only realised that they had arrived in London when an announcement was made thanking passengers for their custom. Rebecca hurriedly gathered her bag and other belongings together and headed off the train where she was engulfed by the hordes of fellow passengers streaming their way to the exit. Before she left the station she stopped at a small florist shop on the concourse and bought a large bouquet of white lilies — Genevieve's favourite. She took a taxi from the train station straight to the hospital, determined to put Genevieve's parents in their place.

  Rebecca passed through the hospital corridors and entered Genevieve's ward. She went directly to her room and knocked gently on the door. When there was no reply, she slowly pushed open the door to find the room empty. At first glance nothing seemed out of the ordinary. She assumed Genevieve must have gone to the bathroom, but it was as she took in the area surrounding the bed that panic struck. All of her belongings were gone!

  Looking at the neatly made bed, she realised it had not been slept in, nor recently been in use. Before she even had time to think, a voice behind her said, "Can I help you?" She spun around to face a nurse she had not seen before.

  "Yes," she replied fighting to keep her voice calm and level. "I'm looking for Genevieve Simmons; she was in this room a couple of days ago."

  "Ah, yes," the nurse said smiling. "Ms Simmons was discharged into the care of her parents." Rebecca tensed at the word "parents." She was stunned by the news. Her hand tightened around the stems of the flowers, gripping them as if her life depended on it. She had to gulp as she struggled to get her words out.

  "When did she leave?"

  "Yesterday," the nurse replied cheerfully, oblivious to what that meant for Rebecca. "Her parents and fiancé were over the moon." Rebecca gave a bitter laugh.

  "I bet they were."

  * * *

  Genevieve thought Chester Road was a quiet and moderately expensive-looking cul-de-sac as the car she was travelling in came to a halt outside a neat two-storey house with yellow chrysanthemums close-banked around it as high as the ground floor windows.

  "We're home, love," her mum said breezily. All the car's occupants were in high spirits — Paul especially. He had held her hand throughout the long journey from London to Surrey. She didn't feel comfortable with this gesture but felt obliged to let him, as he was her fiancé after all. He smiled at her several times as if to reassure her, but it did nothing to abate the uneasiness she felt about the whole situation. Standing outside the car looking at the house, she willed herself to feel something about it — this was where she had grown up, but nothing felt familiar. Not the large oak tree that stood outside the house, nor the large house itself. Paul and her father, Eddie, collected her suitcase from the car boot whilst Genevieve's mum looped arms with her and literally dragged her along the pathway and up the four steps toward the front door. She felt sorry for this woman who said she was her mother, as she was falling over herself to please her. Genevieve felt slightly guilty that she had absolutely no recollection of her own mother.

  Entering the house, a large crystal chandelier illuminated the dark, panelled passage way. The atmosphere felt very masculine. Each of the rooms her mother showed her had the same theme and feeling — large, overbearing furniture, heavy dark curtains. It made her feel claustrophobic. Had her mother not lived there she would have been certain the house was inhabited by a lone male. The one place that did reflect a feminine touch was the kitchen. Light floral curtains adorned the windows and the walls were painted sunlight yellow. The natural coloured floorboards were covered with a colourful Persian rug.

  "I think I'll go straight to bed," she said, kissing her mother on her cheek. "I'm feeling exhausted."

  "Okay love, I'll show you where everything is." Genevieve followed her mother out of the bright homely kitchen just as Eddie and Paul walked through the door.

  "I'm going to have an early night, thanks for everything," she said, not pausing to stop, as though they were strangers. She followed her mother up the dark winding staircase.

  "Here we are," her mum said brightly, fussing with the bed sheet and then the curtains before the bellowing voice of Eddie calling her echoed up the stairs and startled her. "Well, I'll leave you to settle in," she said, quickly moving away from the window. "Have a good night's sleep and I'll see you in the morning."

  Genevieve waited until she heard the sound of her mother's footsteps reach the bottom of the staircase before she relaxed and flung herself onto the single bed, bouncing upon impact. Looking around the bland, magnolia-coloured room with the sparse wooden furniture, she wondered about the girl who h
ad lived there and what her dreams and inspirations had been. And she felt an ineffable sense of loss and loneliness as she thought of trying to adapt to a world that had suddenly turned itself upside down.

  * * *

  Rebecca called Peter on his mobile phone and asked him to pick her up from the hospital; he was there within fifteen minutes.

  "Where to?" he asked as she climbed into the car.

  "Surrey — Genevieve's parents house." She gave him the address from her notebook and he typed it into the satnav. They headed off toward the M3, driving for several miles in silence before Peter finally spoke.

  "Have you thought about what you're going to do if she doesn't get her memory back?" he asked, looking straight ahead, not wanting to see her face. He knew she must have thought about it, being the practical person that she was, but he was also aware of how much she loved Genevieve and didn't think she'd be able to let her go. It would have been better had she died than for Rebecca to go through this torture. At least with death you can get some form of closure, he thought to himself.

  "Yes, I have thought about it, but I can't afford to be thinking too much into the future at the moment... I'm just playing it by ear and seeing where it goes."

  Peter let the subject drop. Rebecca turned her attention to the scenery that flowed past the window, admiring the trees stretching tall against the sky. They didn't speak again until they arrived at Genevieve's parent's house.

  "Would you like me to come with you for support?" he asked, already undoing his seatbelt. She looked at him gratefully.

  "No, it's best I do this by myself." She eased out of the car feeling a false sense of bravado. Her heart was racing, her thoughts scrambled and she didn't know what she was going to say when the door opened, but that didn't stop her legs from marching forward to the house. She walked up the pathway and hesitated for a few seconds before bringing the knocker down onto the door twice. She heard muffled noises in the passage, then the door opened and Paul stood there like a guard dog. Rebecca half expected him to bark.

  "I thought we had made ourselves perfectly clear to you," he said in a low, threatening tone.

  "Paul, please don't do this," Rebecca pleaded. "What do you think is going to happen when Genie remembers? You can't make me disappear; I'll still love her."

  "Not if I can help it," he spat at her. "You talk of love... If you loved her, you would leave her to lead the life she was meant to lead — a decent one, with me. All this fucking love crap..." He was cut off in mid-sentence as Eddie yanked the door fully open and walked straight up to Rebecca, his six-foot-five-inch frame towering over her with fierce fire in his eyes.

  "Now you listen to me. You turn round and walk through that gate and don't you ever come back here again!" His face was crimson red and two veins bulged dangerously in his neck. He bent down and whispered viciously in her ear, "Now fuck off while you still have the chance."

  Rebecca stood rigid, the menace of his aggression freezing her to the spot. He was like a caged animal just waiting to be unleashed and she did not want to be his victim.

  "I believe you've made your point, don't you?" Peter said, walking up the path with a sprightliness more appropriate to a man half his age. He stopped when he reached Rebecca's side. Eddie didn't reply; he simply stared at them both with hostile eyes.

  "This is not the last you'll be seeing of me," Rebecca said looking directly into his eyes, feeling a little more confident with Peter by her side, "threats or no threats." With that they both turned away and walked back to the car. Her hands were shaking and adrenaline coursed through her veins. Peter thought his heart was going to pack in right there and then. Sitting safely in the car again Rebecca's hands curled into two tight fists. Her face turned red as her previous feelings of fear turned to anger.

  "Can you believe that animal?" she asked fiercely.

  Peter could only sit there in silence, too stunned to speak. Sweat trickled down the inside of his shirt collar. He couldn't believe that a grown man would behave like that to a woman. She was no threat to him — not physically, anyway. Finally finding his voice he said determinedly, "Rebecca, I honestly think it's best you stay away from those people." He turned in his seat to face her, perspiration covering his forehead. "I can't imagine how hard this is for you, but you need to leave it alone." His voice shook, betraying the emotional state he was in. He recognised that these were not people who could be reasoned with and he was genuinely afraid for her.

  He turned back to face the front, started the engine, and slowly drew away from the kerb and the house that bore everything he detested about life. The drive home was in total silence, Rebecca was obviously shaken by the incident and Peter knew she needed time to think.

  Arriving back in London, Rebecca promised Peter that she was fine and was going straight to bed. Convinced she was telling the truth, he dropped her off at her apartment block.

  Instead of going straight into the bedroom she shared with Genevieve, she detoured into Genevieve's work studio. The room was exactly how she had left it that fateful morning. Feeling drained, Rebecca lay on the sofa she had lain on so many times before — just watching Genevieve work, sometimes into the early hours of the morning. She ached for her and tears pricked the back of her eyes like tiny needles, but none fell. Eventually she slept and dreamed of Genevieve. She awoke with a gasp. Looking through the open blind, Rebecca could see it was early morning. She sat up slowly, trying to shake off the last tendrils of the dream world. She stood up and smoothed her clothes down. After casting one more look around Genevieve's room, she took a deep breath, opened the door and walked through it into a world where the Genevieve she had once known no longer existed.

  CHAPTER 9

  ELSIE STOOD OVER Genevieve's bed, watching her only daughter sleeping peacefully. She said a prayer to any divinity who might be listening to watch over and guide her daughter to the right path.

  If only I'd listened to my parents, I wouldn't have had to go through what I did. She was still angry after all these years about how easily she'd let herself be duped into going down the wrong path. But thankfully, God had now intervened before Genevieve could make the same mistake.

  She shuddered as she recalled the first time she'd met Nancy.

  It was her first day at university and she had seen her at the fresher's ball. Like Elsie, Nancy stood alone, her small frame dwarfed by bulky clothing and big boots as though the armour would somehow protect her. Sensing that she was as shy and timid as herself, Elsie boldly approached, desperate to make a friend. She'd been at the university for two weeks and while everyone else seemed to have made lots of friends, she hadn't yet made any.

  "Manic here, isn't it?" she said, her tone warm and friendly. Nancy nodded and looked down at the floor, refusing to meet her eyes. "What are you studying?" Elsie asked, trying to cajole her into a conversation.

  "English literature."

  "Me too. Perhaps we can sit together and help each other settle in?" Nancy lifted her head up and looked straight into Elsie's eyes.

  "I'd like that."

  Nancy was a quiet, unassuming young woman who would shy away from making a fuss or confrontation. She had a strong sense of morality and her caring nature shone from within her. It wasn't long before they had formed a strong bond with one another. The following year they were sharing a room together in the student halls, but then things suddenly began to change.

  Previously, Nancy had always wanted to spend time with Elsie, but now she would go out in the evening and not return until the early hours of the morning. Elsie, feeling hurt and lonely, was determined to get to the bottom of why her friend had changed so much. One night she confronted her.

  "It's not you, it's me," Nancy kept saying.

  "What do you mean it's you? Why is our friendship suffering if it's you that's the problem and not me?"

  "You wouldn't understand."

  "Well, try me," Elsie had pleaded.

  After much persuasion, Nancy told Elsie that she
was having difficulty understanding her sexuality. At first Elsie couldn't quite grasp what her friend was trying to tell her.

  "Elsie, I think I'm a lesbian!" Nancy finally blurted out. Elsie was stunned.

  "What do you mean you think you're a lesbian? Either you are or you aren't."

  "Okay, then I am," she replied confidently. Elsie looked at her as if she were seeing her for the first time. Gone was the meek, frightened girl she had met a year ago. In her place was a confident young woman who was ready to take the world by storm.

  Feeling confused, Elsie held her head in her hands.

  "So where have you been going all these nights?" she asked, dreading the answer.

  "I've met other women at a bar who are like me," she said excitedly. "Oh Elsie, if only you would meet them — they're so... free, so... gay!" and she laughed at the unintended pun.

  Elsie didn't think this situation was anything to be laughing about. In fact, she felt quite disgusted. The very thought of homosexuality went against everything she had ever been taught about the rights and wrongs of the world. She thought she had found a decent friend — but obviously she was wrong.

  "You hate me now, don't you?" Nancy asked, her mood soured by Elsie's refusal to look at her. "That's why I didn't want to tell you — I knew you would hate me." Silence echoed through the room. "Well, say something, will you? Say you find me disgusting, say you want to change rooms, just say something."

  Elsie had to think very carefully; she knew whatever she said next could be the end of their friendship. All she could manage were a few feeble words.

  "I think we should get some sleep and talk about this in the morning." She'd lain in her bed fully clothed and unable to sleep, thinking that Satan had the soul of her friend. She avoided talking to Nancy the next morning by leaving before she woke up. When she returned from class later that evening she found Nancy packing her suitcase. Panic set in when Elsie realised she was going to lose her only friend.