up - but you can see why I trusted her, can’t you?”
“What happened when you got to where you were going?”
Rachel sighed. “I wish I could tell you where it was and describe the house, but I can’t. I have a vague impression of shingles on the front of the house and a fir tree - well, a sort of Christmas tree - but that’s all. I didn’t look, I didn’t know then that I’d have to remember. Vicky unlocked the front door and we went inside, and she called out ‘Caroline!’ as if Caroline was somewhere getting ready or something. My God, she was such a good actress I’d have sworn I heard Caroline answer.” Rachel looked at her mother. “Can I have a drink of water?”
Rosemary Holmes shot out of her chair, happy to obey any commands now she had her daughter back. Karen watched with carefully disguised disapproval as Rosemary came running back with a tall glass that, had ice in it and a bottle of Pettier.
Taking it without a word of thanks, Rachel tipped the ice into an ashtray and filled the glass with water. “I’ll go on now, shall I?”
“If you please,” said Wexford.
“Vicky asked me to sit down and I did, and she offered me a drink and I said yes, which was a big mistake, but I didn’t know that.”
“How a big mistake?” Karen asked.
“She put something in it. She must have . . .”
“Oh, Rachel!” It was a wail from Rosemary Holmes, a cry of anguish.
“I’ve told you they didn’t do anything to me!” Rachel was almost shouting. “Not what you mean, anyway. There’s no need to make a fuss.” She seemed to notice the effect her rage was having on the two police officers, their quiet awareness that might cover disapproval, and she lowered her voice. “I asked for vodka with tonic or lemonade or whatever, and she brought it. She wouldn’t have anything herself because she’d be driving Caroline and me to the Rotten Carrot. Oh, yes, I’d told her where we were going, she wasn’t a thought reader, My drink tasted like a normal vodka and tonic, and it didn’t have any weird effects, not at first.
“I did start wondering why Caroline was taking so long, as I must have been there ten minutes. We were sup posed to be at the Rotten Carrot by eight-thirty and it was past that. Vicky offered me another drink - ‘Freshen your glass?’ was what she said - but I wouldn’t, I was starting to feel a bit woozy And then this man came into the room. At first I thought he must be Caroline’s brother, though he’d have been old for that. He was maybe thirty, a small, thin guy with weird eyes.”
“What does weird mean?”
For a moment Karen thought Rachel was going to shout at her to consult a dictionary so contemptuous was her glance, but she only gave one of her impatient sighs. “Strange,” she said, “piercing but sort of dull. Like stones. He had rather a high voice and he didn’t look at you while he was talking.” She drank some of her sparkling water and set the glass down. “And after that I don’t remember, I don’t remember what happened till the middle of the next day, the middle of Sunday.”
“Oh, Rachel!” exclaimed Rosemary Holmes once more.
“Oh, Rachel,” her daughter mocked. “I’ve told you, I know I wasn’t . . . touched. What Granny would call ‘interfrred with.’ “She looked at Wexford as if she would include him in the Granny category. “I was lying on a bed and Vicky - I’m sure it was Vicky and not him - had taken off my jeans and my sweater. I was in my top and bra and pants, and nobody’d done anything else to me. Right? Is that clear? Vicky brought me a cup of tea and said to get up and have a bath and dress.” Rachel hesitated. “So I did. I mean, I argued, I said where was I and to take me home, but when I saw there was no way of getting out - she’d locked me in and wouldn’t let me out till I’d had a bath - I just did it. I suppose I thought
“What happened when you got to where you were going?”
Rachel sighed. “I wish I could tell you where it was and describe the house, but I can’t. I have a vague impression of shingles on the front of the house and a fir tree - well, a sort of Christmas tree - but that’s all. I didn’t look, I didn’t know then that I’d have to remember. Vicky unlocked the front door and we went inside, and she called out ‘Caroline!’ as if Caroline was somewhere getting ready or something. My God, she was such a good actress I’d have sworn I heard Caroline answer.” Rachel looked at her mother. “Can I have a drink of water?”
Rosemary Holmes shot out of her chair, happy to obey any commands now she had her daughter back. Karen watched with carefully disguised disapproval as Rosemary came running back with a tall glass that, had ice in it and a bottle of Pettier.
Taking it without a word of thanks, Rachel tipped the ice into an ashtray and filled the glass with water. “I’ll go on now, shall I?”
“If you please,” said Wexford.
“Vicky asked me to sit down and I did, and she offered me a drink and I said yes, which was a big mistake, but I didn’t know that.”
“How a big mistake?” Karen asked.
“She put something in it. She must have . . .”
“Oh, Rachel!” It was a wail from Rosemary Holmes, a cry of anguish.
“I’ve told you they didn’t do anything to me!” Rachel was almost shouting. “Not what you mean, anyway. There’s no need to make a fuss.” She seemed to notice the effect her rage was having on the two police officers, their quiet awareness that might cover disapproval, and she lowered her voice. “I asked for vodka with tonic or lemonade or whatever, and she brought it. She wouldn’t have anything herself because she’d be driving Caroline and me to the Rotten Carrot. Oh, yes, I’d told her where we were going, she wasn’t a thought reader, My drink tasted like a normal vodka and tonic, and it didn’t have any weird effects, not at first.
“I did start wondering why Caroline was taking so long, as I must have been there ten minutes. We were sup posed to be at the Rotten Carrot by eight-thirty and it was past that. Vicky offered me another drink - ‘Freshen your glass?’ was what she said - but I wouldn’t, I was starting to feel a bit woozy And then this man came into the room. At first I thought he must be Caroline’s brother, though he’d have been old for that. He was maybe thirty, a small, thin guy with weird eyes.”
“What does weird mean?”
For a moment Karen thought Rachel was going to shout at her to consult a dictionary so contemptuous was her glance, but she only gave one of her impatient sighs. “Strange,” she said, “piercing but sort of dull. Like stones. He had rather a high voice and he didn’t look at you while he was talking.” She drank some of her sparkling water and set the glass down. “And after that I don’t remember, I don’t remember what happened till the middle of the next day, the middle of Sunday.”
“Oh, Rachel!” exclaimed Rosemary Holmes once more.
“Oh, Rachel,” her daughter mocked. “I’ve told you, I know I wasn’t . . . touched. What Granny would call ‘interfrred with.’ “She looked at Wexford as if she would include him in the Granny category. “I was lying on a bed and Vicky - I’m sure it was Vicky and not him - had taken off my jeans and my sweater. I was in my top and bra and pants, and nobody’d done anything else to me. Right? Is that clear? Vicky brought me a cup of tea and said to get up and have a bath and dress.” Rachel hesitated. “So I did. I mean, I argued, I said where was I and to take me home, but when I saw there was no way of getting out - she’d locked me in and wouldn’t let me out till I’d had a bath - I just did it. I suppose I thought
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