Evidence Withheld: A story of intrigue, heartache and despair

coincidental.

Chapter One

It was pouring with rain as the evening closed in and a man wearing a raincoat and trilby was standing in the doorway of an old closed down off-licence. The windows of the shop had been boarded up and had attracted a great deal of graffiti.

Water was running along the street and as the passing cars sliced their way through the downpour, they splashed the frontage of the buildings.

It was eight-o-clock on a cold December evening and dark figures could be seen scurrying along the pavement under umbrellas, attempting to avoid the cascading water falling from the overflowing overhead gutters. Lightning constantly lit up the sky, each flash being followed by a rumble of thunder.

The man in the doorway decided that he should brave the storm and make a move as there was no sign of an end to the deluge; in fact it appeared to be getting worse by the minute. He therefore left the shop doorway and walked quickly down the street where, after about two hundred yards, he noticed a public house.

He opened the door and went in.

It was dark and eerie inside and he realised that the electricity supply must have failed due to the storm and could see that the main bar area was lit up with a number of candles placed on the surrounding tables. It suddenly occurred to him as to why the evening had seemed particularly black; the street lights were also out.

In the corner of the room, which doubled as an entrance hall, a log fire was burning in an open inglenook fireplace, which produced a flickering light, projecting a ghostly feeling.

The barman, who was middle aged and well dressed and was presumably the landlord, greeted him saying Good evening Sir, what can I get you? I’m afraid that cooked food and draught beer is off at the moment.

Taking off his hat and raincoat the man replied I’ll have a large scotch please. His accent was slightly West Country. After paying for his drink he went over near the fire and sat at an adjacent table in order to attempt to dry off.

There were only a few people in the pub and the absence of any background music contributed to the lack of atmosphere.

As he looked around the room he could see a few men sitting on their own at tables. An elderly woman was sitting on a stool in the shade at the end of the bar and he was surprised that he hadn’t noticed her when he first entered the pub.

As he took a sip of his drink he noticed that a pretty woman, in her early thirties, was approaching his table. He then spotted a carrier bag on one of the other chairs at the table and suddenly realised that the woman must have already been sitting at the table prior to his arrival and was returning from the ladies room.

I’m sorry he said, rising from his seat, I didn’t realise... It’s OK she replied, sit down, you look as if you need to dry out."

If you’re sure he said, sitting back down.

I got caught out he continued, I came out without an umbrella, not realising that it would be this bad.

Far to go? she asked.

I’m afraid so he replied, I was heading for the station. I need to catch a train to London.

They’re not running exclaimed the old woman sitting at the bar, trees fallen on the line someone said.

That’s right added the man behind the bar. You won’t be going far tonight, but we do rooms here if you’re stuck; I’ll get one ready if you want.

The pretty woman sitting opposite said You could do a lot worse, the only accommodation would be at a couple of hotels outside the town. They would certainly be more expensive and you would have to endure another soaking to get there.

She wasn’t sure whether she should have referred to the possible cost difference as such a comment could have offended the man. After all, he could have been a multi-millionaire for all she knew.

But she realised that he probably wasn’t.

Although he looked clean and tidy, apart from being rather wet, his clothes looked anything but expensive. The shirt he was wearing appeared to have been well ironed but had a cheap looking collar which matched a well worn plain grey tie. His shoes looked quite old but had obviously been well polished and had resisted the rain. His light grey suit was quite crumpled and was failing to hold the creases in the damp atmosphere.

He had a kind face and from his initial gesture to move when he realised that she had been at the table first, was certainly well mannered

She placed his age at around forty and decided that he must have been employed as some kind of salesman, as he carried with him a small briefcase, or sample case.

You’re not from round here? she asked.

Before the man could answer, a mobile phone rang out, the sound of the ringing coming from the woman’s handbag. She took out the phone and answered. Where have you got to? she asked, I’ve been here some time. She listened attentively, occasionally acknowledging the caller.

OK, see you then she said finally, switching off the phone and returning it to her bag.

It’s worse than I thought she said. Most of the roads to the town are flooded and nobody can get through.

Who was that? said the man. Husband? boyfriend?

No she said, a work colleague. I arranged to meet her here for a drink to discuss our next move. We are members of the local amateur dramatic society and we are about to start rehearsals for a new production. We are a very democratic lot and our next venture will be put to the vote.

She rummaged in her bag and brought out a programme with the title ‘evidence withheld’ on the front cover. This play was our last production she said. "I played the part of the deserted wife whose husband fled with her best friend, only for them to die together in a terrible road accident.

She is accused of tampering with his car and there are lots of twists and turns in the plot."

That all sounds rather gruesome said the man, smiling. Don’t you do any Gilbert and Sullivan; I was once in The Meccado as a small boy, but only a walk on part.

Can’t sing she said. None of us can.

Suddenly the sounds of music filled the room as the barman placed a radio on the bar. It was no doubt a battery operated unit and it sounded like a CD that was being played.

The man was looking through the programme he had been given and was studying the cast list.

Is this you? he asked, pointing to the list.

Yes she said, Mrs Jessica Plumpton.

"So your name is Jane Harcourt? he said.

That’s me she replied.

Would you believe we share the same surname he said. I’m John Harcourt.

He reached across and lightly shook her hand.

Quite a coincidence he said.

And Harcourt isn’t a particularly common name she added.

Although she wasn’t exactly an introvert, due mainly to her experience on the amateur stage, she was surprised at finding herself discussing her life and interests with a complete stranger. After all, they had only met a few minutes ago but she felt completely at ease with him.

Is it your work that brings you to these parts? she asked.

It’s a long story he said. I called to look up an old friend who lived in the town for years but it was a wasted journey as it seems he moved on some years ago. Are you from East Grinstead?

Yes she said, I’ve lived around here for about ten years. I moved down from Cheshire after getting married, but I split from my husband some time ago. I now live with a teenage son and two cats.

She folded the programme up and slotted it back in her bag. You married John? she asked boldly.

Same position as you he replied. I was married but that ended seven years ago. There was a pause, as if he intended to provide some explanation but he stopped talking and looked across the room, his eyes appearing to well up.

I’m sorry she said, I didn’t mean to pry. It’s nothing to do with me; I shouldn’t be so nosy.

It’s alright he said, It just surprises me that we have only just met by chance and here we are exchanging details of one another.

He stood up and picked up his glass.

Let me get you a drink he said, tipping back his glass and finishing off the last drop.

I’ll have an orange juice please she replied.

John went to the bar and ordered the two drinks. He had never felt so relaxed in anyone’s company before and was wondering whether or not he was being too forward with this girl that he had only just met.

He glanced over at her from the bar where he was standing and could see her looking inside the carrier bag on the chair beside her. She looked really pretty. She had a slim figure and the light from the fire flickered on her golden hair.

He handed over the money for the drinks and said to the barman I will take you up on the offer of a room, if that’s alright.

Fine came the reply. I’ll arrange for some sandwiches for your supper; ham OK?

Great said John, and returned to his table. Placing the drinks on the table he sat down.

How long is the train journey to London? John Asked.

About fifty minutes replied Jane. You don’t know this area then? she asked.

Afraid not he said, I think it’s the first time I’ve ever been to this town. I came to the races some years ago, just a few miles up the road in Lingfield but I came in a friend’s car and cannot really remember the route.

Jane glanced at the briefcase at the side of John’s feet and said "my friend and I play a game of guessing what strangers do for a living and what their circumstances in life are. I would guess that you are involved in some kind of sales; am I right?

Or you can tell me to mind my own business."

Her last statement brought a smile to her face which made her look even prettier, whilst at the same time showing that she had an impish streak.

John appeared hesitant to reply, and then said "I suppose I may as well tell you the whole story, with which you will be either shocked or intrigued.

Firstly, you couldn’t be