he had
seen? Why had he come back? And why there and not to Rillington Place,
which had been the graveyard for so many dead women? Why not was
pretty obvious. He wouldn't know the place after what they'd done to it,
his three-story Victorian house and all the others like it razed to the
ground. All those smart new rows, the trees and the cheerful atmosphere
would have put him off ever returning. He could have gone to the place in
Oxford Gardens where his first victim, Ruth Fuerst, had had a room. She
was the one whose leg bone they had found propping up the fence in
Reggie's garden. Or to that of his second, Muriel Eady, who had lived in
Putney. But St.Blaise House was nearer and unchanged. He would like
that, a house just the same as it had been in the forties and fifties. He'd
feel comfortable there, and besides, he still had unfinished business to
attend to.
She was old now but he wasn't. He was the same age as when they'd
hanged him and would always be. What more likely than that he had
come back to find old Chawcer and take her back with him to wherever
he came from?
Don't think like that, stop it, Mix said to himself as he climbed the fiftytwo stairs, you'll frighten yourself to death.
Chapter 5
In her house in Campden Hill Square, Nerissa Nash was getting ready to
go to her parents' for supper. If it had been her mum alone she was going
to see, say when her dad was at work, she would have put on jeans and
boots and an old jumper under her sheepskin. But her dad liked to see
her dressed up, he took such pride in her.
Though she had no idea of this, her life was one they didn't begin to
understand. If not everyone could lead it, she supposed everyone would
want to. It was bounded by the body and the face, hair--lots of it on the
head and none anywhereelse--clothes, cosmetics, aids to beauty,
homoeopathy, workouts, massage, sparkling water, lettuce, vitamin
supplements, alternative medicine, astrology and having her fortune told,
the images and activities of other celebrities, her mum and dad and her
brothers and sisters. Of music she knew very little, of painting, books,
opera, ballet, scientific advances, and politics she knew nothing and
wasn't interested in them. Taking part in fashion shows, she had visited
all the major capitals of the world and seen of them only the studios and
changing rooms of designers, the insides of clubs and gyms, the
premises of masseurs, and her own face in the mirrors of cosmeticians.
But for one lack in her life, she was extremely happy.
From both parents, somewhere in the genes, she had inherited a sunny
disposition, a faculty for enjoying simple pleasures,and a kindly nature.
People said of her that Nerissa would do anything to help a friend.
Almost everything she did she enjoyed. Especially delightful was sitting
at her huge dressingtable, a white cotton cape covering her Versace
trouser suit,her long hair looped back, making up her face. On the CD
player Johnny Cash was singing her favorite song, loved by her because
it was her dad's preference over all others, the one about the teenage
queen, prettiest girl they'd ever seen, she who loved the boy next door,
who worked at the candy store. Nerissa identified with this successful
beauty in most respects.
Her dad liked her hair hanging loose, so she left it that way. If only it
had been cold, she could have worn her new fake fur that was made to
look like Arctic fox. No real fur for her, she loved animals too much. The
very thought made her shudder. But no, it had better be something thin
and silky. Dropping the cape on the floor, she inadvertently swept off the
dressing table the lid of a pot and three earrings. What should she take
her parents? She should have bought something but she'd been working
out most of the day and hadn't got around to it. Nevermind. Two bottles
of champagne came out of the drinks cupboard and a jar of cocktail
sticks fell out, scattering everywhere.
seen? Why had he come back? And why there and not to Rillington Place,
which had been the graveyard for so many dead women? Why not was
pretty obvious. He wouldn't know the place after what they'd done to it,
his three-story Victorian house and all the others like it razed to the
ground. All those smart new rows, the trees and the cheerful atmosphere
would have put him off ever returning. He could have gone to the place in
Oxford Gardens where his first victim, Ruth Fuerst, had had a room. She
was the one whose leg bone they had found propping up the fence in
Reggie's garden. Or to that of his second, Muriel Eady, who had lived in
Putney. But St.Blaise House was nearer and unchanged. He would like
that, a house just the same as it had been in the forties and fifties. He'd
feel comfortable there, and besides, he still had unfinished business to
attend to.
She was old now but he wasn't. He was the same age as when they'd
hanged him and would always be. What more likely than that he had
come back to find old Chawcer and take her back with him to wherever
he came from?
Don't think like that, stop it, Mix said to himself as he climbed the fiftytwo stairs, you'll frighten yourself to death.
Chapter 5
In her house in Campden Hill Square, Nerissa Nash was getting ready to
go to her parents' for supper. If it had been her mum alone she was going
to see, say when her dad was at work, she would have put on jeans and
boots and an old jumper under her sheepskin. But her dad liked to see
her dressed up, he took such pride in her.
Though she had no idea of this, her life was one they didn't begin to
understand. If not everyone could lead it, she supposed everyone would
want to. It was bounded by the body and the face, hair--lots of it on the
head and none anywhereelse--clothes, cosmetics, aids to beauty,
homoeopathy, workouts, massage, sparkling water, lettuce, vitamin
supplements, alternative medicine, astrology and having her fortune told,
the images and activities of other celebrities, her mum and dad and her
brothers and sisters. Of music she knew very little, of painting, books,
opera, ballet, scientific advances, and politics she knew nothing and
wasn't interested in them. Taking part in fashion shows, she had visited
all the major capitals of the world and seen of them only the studios and
changing rooms of designers, the insides of clubs and gyms, the
premises of masseurs, and her own face in the mirrors of cosmeticians.
But for one lack in her life, she was extremely happy.
From both parents, somewhere in the genes, she had inherited a sunny
disposition, a faculty for enjoying simple pleasures,and a kindly nature.
People said of her that Nerissa would do anything to help a friend.
Almost everything she did she enjoyed. Especially delightful was sitting
at her huge dressingtable, a white cotton cape covering her Versace
trouser suit,her long hair looped back, making up her face. On the CD
player Johnny Cash was singing her favorite song, loved by her because
it was her dad's preference over all others, the one about the teenage
queen, prettiest girl they'd ever seen, she who loved the boy next door,
who worked at the candy store. Nerissa identified with this successful
beauty in most respects.
Her dad liked her hair hanging loose, so she left it that way. If only it
had been cold, she could have worn her new fake fur that was made to
look like Arctic fox. No real fur for her, she loved animals too much. The
very thought made her shudder. But no, it had better be something thin
and silky. Dropping the cape on the floor, she inadvertently swept off the
dressing table the lid of a pot and three earrings. What should she take
her parents? She should have bought something but she'd been working
out most of the day and hadn't got around to it. Nevermind. Two bottles
of champagne came out of the drinks cupboard and a jar of cocktail
sticks fell out, scattering everywhere.
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