فصل 16

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

The stalker

Francesca was watching television that evening, when she heard a text arrive on her phone. Thinking it would be Tom, she immediately opened the message.

‘Sorry if I frightened you!’ she read. ‘For a moment I was afraid you might crash! Best of luck with the rest of your lessons. Doug’

Francesca didn’t know what to do with herself for the rest of the evening. She wanted to scream out loud. The man was hunting her, following her around, keeping at a safe distance, but making sure she knew he was there all the time. There was a word for what he was doing - the man was stalking her; he was a stalker. It was the same word in Italian.

She felt a great knot of anger growing in her chest. What did he want? Somehow it seemed to her that Doug was no longer interested in her for sex, it was as though things had gone beyond that desire. Now what he wanted was to make her suffer as much as he could. Wasn’t that the point of the message? ‘Sorry if I frightened you’ meant just the opposite. He wasn’t wishing her good luck with her lessons. Doug was determined to scare her to death.

Lying in bed that night, Francesca tried to decide what she could do. The idea of going to the police was out of the question. What would she tell them? That the man had put his hand on her knee and touched her a couple of times? What else had he done? He didn’t even have her money any more. There had been a couple of angry phone calls, she ‘thought she’d seen his car outside the house, and now he’d flown up alongside her. Even the text message could be read as nothing more than cheerful good wishes. The police would laugh at her, and yet she knew Doug was stalking her.

So, what about telling someone else: for instance, telling Tom or Mrs Thompson what was going on? How would that help? What could they do? What if she told Tom the whole story? How would he react? She knew he’d do everything he could - she could picture him bravely marching up to the Fastwings hangar and getting into a fight with Doug. Although she liked the idea of a courageous Tom coming to her rescue, it wasn’t something she could ever accept. Francesca always fought her own battles and she didn’t let others take her place. By the time she finally fell asleep, Francesca had decided that if she was going to stay in England, the only thing to do was to go and see Doug herself.

The next morning, once she’d taken the children to school, Francesca took the bus straight up to the airfield. She didn’t tell Tom she was coming - indeed, she didn’t even call in at the Flying Start office. Instead she went straight to Fastwings.

Outside the entrance, she paused for a moment or two and tried to calm her nerves. Then, before she could change her mind, she went directly inside and down the small corridor to the Fastwings office.

As soon as she reached it, she could see through the glass door that Doug wasn’t there. A strange sense of anti-climax ran through her. Having prepared herself so bravely for meeting up with him, it seemed doubly cruel that it should all be for nothing.

She didn’t know what to do. She couldn’t wait long: she had jobs to do at home for Mrs Thompson that morning.

She was still trying to decide how long to wait, when a strange feeling made her turn round. Doug was standing there, only a couple of metres behind her. He was holding a large hammer. Francesca felt very frightened.

‘Well, well, this is a surprise,’ Doug said, with a look of slight amusement. Then, seeing Francesca’s expression, he gave a small wave with the hammer. ‘It’s all right, just a problem with the hangar door. Nothing for you to worry about,’ he said. ‘Just yet…’ he added, giving a short laugh.

Francesca tried not to lose her nerve. ‘I’d like to talk to you for a minute,’ she said.

‘Of course, come into the office. Is it just you or have you got your lawyer with you?’ he asked with heavy sarcasm.

Francesca ignored the remark. She didn’t want to go inside, but there seemed little choice. Swallowing hard, she followed Doug through into the office. As she did so, she caught a faint smell of alcohol in the atmosphere. Had he been drinking? The thought frightened her even more. He dropped the hammer on his desk and gestured to her to sit down. Francesca wanted to remain standing, but Doug was already sitting behind his desk with his feet on the table. She sat on the edge of the sofa opposite, trying not to look directly at him. There was a weird look in his eyes.

‘So, have you got fed up with Flying Start?’ Doug asked with a curling lip. ‘Or has lover boy tried to push his luck too far?’ he added, then smiled with satisfaction at Francesca’s shock.

Francesca was taken completely off guard. How had he found out about her and Tom? Had someone told him?

‘Oh yes,’ Doug went on, ‘I know all about you and Tom Brennan. You should find somewhere more private, Francesca. Really - climbing all over one another in his Ford Focus! I thought you’d have more style than that. And with a loser like him! Honestly, Francesca!’ He grinned once again. ‘Anyway, I didn’t mean to spoil your visit with cheap insults about your boyfriend. Perhaps you’ve come to apologise?’

Francesca felt sick for a moment. When she’d decided to come and see Doug, she’d imagined the meeting quite differently. She’d imagined marching into his office and making her speech confidently, without fear, in a sensible adult manner. But Doug had caught her by surprise. He must have been in Brabazon Road one night when Tom had taken her home. He must have been spying on them for ages. The idea filled her with fresh anger.

‘Me? Apologise! I shall never apologise to you,’ she began, trying to keep control of her voice. ‘I came to tell you to leave me alone.’

Doug gave a small frown. ‘I’m sorry, Francesca,’ he said, ‘I don’t think I quite understand.’

Francesca closed her eyes. How had it come to this? Did she really deserve this misery? All she wanted was to learn to fly. ‘You’re stalking me,’ she said quietly. ‘I know you are. You’ve been following me in your car; now you’re following me in your plane.’

Doug gave a look of astonishment. It was pure acting, Francesca knew it was. Even Doug seemed to know it wasn’t convincing.

Pushing back against his chair, he put his hands together behind his head.

‘I’m sorry, Francesca, but I can’t believe what I’m hearing,’ he said. ‘Are you really accusing me of stalking you, just because I happened to be flying over Beccles at the same time as you a couple of days ago? Do we men have to keep out of the air every time Francesca Bartolli takes to the skies?’

Francesca tried to keep herself calm. ‘But you were! You were stalking me!’ she exclaimed. ‘I’ve seen your car outside my house in Brabazon Road and you’ve just admitted seeing Tom and me in his car! You’re following me around and spying on me! Why are you doing this? What do you want from me?’

Doug watched Francesca for a little while, all the time the same cruel smile playing at his lips. Then, with the amusement dying on his face, he slowly took his feet from the desk and sat forward with a cold bitter expression.

‘I don’t want anything from you, Francesca,’ he said. ‘OK, it might have been nice if you’d been more… how shall I put it… friendly? Indeed, I might have reduced your flying fees even more if you had!’ He gave a strange laugh at the idea for a moment, and Francesca wondered again if he’d been drinking. Then he immediately grew serious again. ‘But that time has long gone, my dear. Now I get a kick from just seeing the terror on your face.’

He paused, watching Francesca with cold lifeless eyes. Francesca was reminded of a snake.

‘So you admit that you’ve been stalking me!’ she said desperately.

Doug continued staring at her. ‘I admit nothing. If you think I’ve been stalking you, then prove it,’ he said, his voice getting louder. ‘Now, get out of my office before I call the police. I haven’t got time for this!’

As he said that, Doug picked up the hammer he had left on the desk and smashed it down as hard as possible on the wood. There was a tremendous crash and part of the desk cracked, sending a tray spinning to the floor.

‘Didn’t you hear me?’ Doug shouted, his eyes wild with madness. ‘I told you to get out! Don’t you understand the English language?’

Francesca froze. The man was completely out of control. He was drunk. She rushed for the door. As she left the office, she looked back to see Doug getting up from his chair, the hammer still gripped tightly in his hand.

She ran down the corridor and out into the open air in genuine fear of her life. She didn’t stop shaking until she was safely on the bus home. There, as she sat hiding her face in her hands, a little old lady asked her if she was feeling all right.

‘Yes, I think so,’ Francesca answered. Then, realising it was a bit of an odd reply, she added, ‘I nearly got myself killed a minute ago - when I was crossing the road.’