Hell Hath No Fury Read Online Free PDF Page B

bringing Maureen out of her reverie.
    â€˜I’m sorry! I didn’t hear you call out the number,’ she apologized. She scrabbled the map out of the way so that the plump, smiling woman, wearing a pink overall over her black skirt and white blouse, could set down the plate of food she was holding.
    The woman laughed. ‘That’s because I didn’t bother to shout it out. Not many in yet so I knew it must be for you.’ She handed Maureen cutlery wrapped in a pink serviette. ‘We don’t get busy until one o’clock. Then it’s all go for a while. All the business people come in then, you see.’
    â€˜Yes. Yes, of course.’ Maureen folded up the map. ‘This looks very nice.’
    â€˜Hope you enjoy it.’
    Maureen tucked in. For a few minutes she forgot the purpose of her visit, forgot the plan that had been forming in her mind ever since she’d walked into the newsagent’s and recognized Sandy Franklin.
    She was halfway through her meal when the barmaid came back to ask if everything was alright.
    â€˜Yes, fine! The omelette is delicious.’
    She watched the woman go back to the bar. She was about thirty-five, and Maureen wondered if they’d been at school together. Rather funny if we were and neither of us remembers the other, she thought wryly.
    She was still thinking about it when Sandy Franklin walked in. She felt a moment’s panic in case he recognized her as one of his customers earlier in the day.
    So what if he does! He doesn’t know who I am or he would have mentioned it in the shop, she reminded herself.
    Rubbing his bony hands together, he strode up to the bar, a huge grin on his freckled face. The woman who had brought her food was standing on the pub side of the bar, and Sandy grabbed her round the waist, making her squeal.
    â€˜Pint of the best, Fred,’ he ordered the owner, his arm still encircling the woman’s waist.
    â€˜Well, let’s have Peggy back this side of the bar, and then she’ll pull it for you.’
    â€˜She can do that without going behind the bar,’ Sandy guffawed. His hand slid down over the woman’s buttocks before she could move away.
    Maureen’s mouth tightened. Sandy Franklin hadn’t changed. Not one iota. She shuddered as his laugh rang out, coarse, obscene. She sensed the embarrassment the woman was feeling, and anger against Sandy Franklin flamed up inside her. It was almost as if once again she was being pushed down on to the floor in the filthy hut, and in the background was that awful braying guffaw.
    She pushed aside the unfinished omelette, her appetite gone. She took a gulp of wine, but it tasted as sour as the bile that had risen in her throat. She needed a coffee.
    She was trembling so much that she was afraid to stand up to go and order one. Anyway, there was only one counter in the lounge bar, and Sandy Franklin was still dominating it.
    The realization that she’d have to walk past the bar to get out of the pub filled her with dread. It would mean walking so close to Sandy Franklin that she could touch him. Or he could touch her!
    The feeling of being soiled and dirty, which she’d experienced when she’d been raped, came flooding back. Her palms felt moist, and there were beads of perspiration dampening her brow.
    She felt vengeful, filled with a raw impulse to lash out at Sandy Franklin: to inflict some terrible, irrevocable damage, an injury that would remain with him for the rest of his life.
    Not just Sandy Franklin, either! She wanted the others to suffer too. Mentally as well as physically; the same as she had done all these years.
    Her day was ruined. Now, all she wanted to do was to go home to Dutton. Bolt the door of her flat in Windermere Mews. Barricade herself in.
    All her plans had turned sour. She wasn’t going to lay any ghosts by coming to Benbury, she thought ruefully; she’d only resurrected them!

FOUR
    J ohn Moorhouse