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That decided her. She couldn’t live in this state of fear and uncertainty. She had to find out where Roger Keats was and what he was planning.
‘Alright, ask your friend to track him down, Sean,’ she said.
‘Wise decision. It’s always better to face your demons.’
Plaintively, Harriet said, ‘How about filling me in on all this?’
Annie looked at her, then at Sean, her blue eyes pleading. ‘Would you tell her, Sean? I’ll go and start cooking. Stay for dinner, won’t you? There are plenty of eggs. You do like omelette?’
‘Love them. Thanks, I’d love to stay.’
She went out and began getting the salad together first, making a fresh low-calorie dressing with a dribble of walnut oil and white wine vinegar mixed with a touch of mustard. She tossed a crisp salad in it and set it aside while she reached for the china hen in which she kept her eggs.
Her arm brushed her handbag and it fell on the floor. A small white box tumbled out; she blinked in surprise, then remembered Derek giving it to her.
She had forgotten it until that moment. Curiously she opened the box and stared in shock.
Inside on a bed of tissue paper nestled a baby’s bootee with a splash of red across the foot. Annie touched it with one finger and then looked at her fingertip. It was faintly sticky. Blood, Annie thought, her ears ringing with shock. It’s blood. There was a card in the box too, one word printed on it in capital letters.
REMEMBER.
6
In the sitting-room, Sean and Harriet were talking in low-voices, keeping a wary ear open for Annie coming back.
‘I’m seriously worried about her, Sean. She’s looking ill. I’m not imagining it, am I? Strained and edgy, and as if she’s on the verge of tears half the time. It’s something to do with Derek, isn’t it?’
‘I know she asked me to tell you, but I think she should do it, I think she needs to talk.’ He broke off, getting up hurriedly as they both heard a crash from the kitchen. ‘What the hell was that?’
He ran out with Harriet hard on his heels as he burst into the kitchen.
Annie lay on the floor on her face, one arm flung out, the other crumpled under her.
Sean threw a look around the room, as if checking that there was nobody else there, nothing else out of place, but apart from Annie and a fallen chair there was nothing odd, so he went down on his knees beside her and turned her head without turning her body.
Her eyes were shut, but her lids were flickering, her lashes moving against her cheek.
Brushing the hair back from her face, Sean studied her, a hand on her throat, feeling for a pulse.
‘She’s not dead.’ It wasn’t so much a statement as a question, and Harriet had gone pale with shock.
‘No, but her heartbeat is very slow. She’s fainted, I think. Get me some water, Harriet. I’ll try to bring her round.’
Harriet ran the kitchen cold tap, found a glass in a cupboard, filled it and brought it Sean, who had gently turned Annie round on to her back.
It was as he did so that he first saw the bootee; it lay under her body, where it had dropped from her hand.
‘Christ!’ grunted Sean and at the same time Harriet saw the bootee with the stain of blood soaking into it and took a startled breath.
‘How weird – what’s that doing there? A baby’s bootee? Don’t tell me she’s pregnant, I couldn’t be that unlucky. Halfway through the series and with all the scripts written and Annie in every one of them!’
She watched Sean lift Annie, an arm around her shoulders, supporting her, while he held the glass of water to her lips.
‘Is that wine she’s spilt on the bootee?’
Sean didn’t answer; he was too intent on Annie, who had begun to splutter as the water trickled down her throat.
Opening her eyes, she looked up, right at him, her face white and blank.
