The Scarlet Web, Chapter One

CHAPTER ONE
Acle, Norfolk
Shelley Summers stared as the gardener swept the autumn foliage from her rear lawn, leaving it looking neat and tidy. She should be grateful for his efforts, indeed she was, but her mind was in a vacuum, her eyes saw only an innocent girl at the mercy of a callous man, a scene vividly, tortuously playing itself out, in her mind.
Turning away with a shudder she walked to the kitchen table, where a copy of the "Norfolk Informer lay open on page five:
"SEXUAL ASSAULT CHARGE FAILS -ATTACKER GOES FREE.
A thirty year old Norwich man was today acquitted at Norwich Crown
Court of sexually molesting a teenage girl from the city, who cannot
be named. Irregularities in the pocket book of the arresting officer, (it
is believed that some of the notes were overwritten) have lead to the
case being dismissed by the judge, Justice Barrington - Willson Q.C.
Case dismissed because of an irrelevancy. Another bastard off the hook. It made her blood boil.
The phone rang and she reached for it, 'Shelley Summers -'
'Oh Shelley dear -'
She sighed at the sound of her editor's voice, fingering her long blonde hair in irritation, she knew what was coming.
'I hate to spring this on you love, but unless you've arranged anything I'd rather like your attention at this afternoon's meeting.'
'What time?' she asked, drumming her fingers impatiently on the newspaper.
'Two thirty dear, on the dot.'
'I'll be there,' she said, replacing the receiver. Shelley had been features writer for "Saffron, a leading women's magazine for the past three years and was used to such incursions into her free time. These meetings weren't obligatory, tending to be
informal, but nonetheless were well attended; the staff knew that management appreciated full participation.
She took a cursory glance at the clock, despite that, the journey from her eighteenth century cottage in Acle, Norfolk, to Canning Town in London's East End wasn't exactly welcome at short notice. There were things she'd intended to get to grips with, now they'd have to be put on hold. That was frustrating. She glanced again at the newspaper article, her attention magnetically drawn to it, then taking a pair of scissors from the kitchen drawer she snipped carefully around it, placing the cutting in a lower drawer. She closed the patio doors, giving the gardener a brief nod of acknowledgement, before preparing for the journey.
Shelley knew it seemed strange to some; that she should choose to live so far from civilisation, the hub of the newspaper world, but at this point her career and her personal interests parted company. Notwithstanding the demands of her profession, she didn't like the city streets, they were dirty and not unlike a lot of people who inhabited them. They were claustrophobic and filled her with disgust. She'd come increasingly to find, during her thirty years, she needed as much distance as she could reasonably get from the filth, and Acle fitted the bill just fine.
The journey to Canning Town took marginally less than two hours, (Shelley never one to show reluctance when it came to pressing down on the accelerator), during which time she reflected on the characters likely to be attending Saffron's hastily convened meeting. For the most part they were a nondescript lot, though she'd formed a close association with Carly Simpson, crime reporter to Saffron's sister magazine, "Standpoint, and it was not inconceivable Carly would attend given half a chance. Shelley found it difficult to adjust in company for any length of time, she was not a social animal, circumstances had pre-determined this, but Carly's lively, easy going manner had soon won her over. Thus, Carly was one of the few people she felt comfortable with.
Then came the thin end of the wedge. Ted Foreman. She found him loathsome, he'd go for anything in a skirt: He'd tried it on with her once, she'd felt his hand up her dress but had snatched his fingers and using the strength that several years circuit training had given her she'd brought him to his knees. She hadn't said a word, there was too much loathing, too much contempt locked inside, to enable her to do that. Still, she'd contented herself with the knowledge that he was unlikely to try anything like that again for a while. In fact, the food and wine expert had since given her a wide berth.
Rain had begun to sprinkle on the narrow East End streets as she approached the Saffron offices at around two p.m. The earlier, bright autumn sunshine had given way to a weather front from the west, as grabbing her coat she hurried into a five storey building which also housed several other periodical magazines, governed by parent company, "Combined News.
Foreman was the first person she encountered and she swept past receiving barely a nod of acknowledgement but was content with that. She sprinted vigorously up the stairs, avoiding the available lift to the uppermost floor, whereupon she entered the editor's glass partitioned office without knocking. It wasn't a habit of hers.
* * *
Mary Todd had just completed a phone call as Shelley entered. She lowered her spectacles, allowing a mild look of annoyance to show itself to the blonde.
'Shelley dear, I do think you might announce your arrival.'
'You mean knock,' Shelley said bluntly, seating herself without invitation.
'Precisely.' Todd gazed at Shelley Summers, such a beautiful woman, she thought, and yet such an offhand approach. Despite the expertise and flair Shelley had exhibited in her work, it was a surprise the woman's attitude hadn't landed her in serious trouble before now, but she harboured an uneasy feeling it might be just a
matter of time.
Nonetheless a smile crossed the older woman's face as she removed an article from her desk drawer, 'I'm pleased you're a little early, it gives me the opportunity to
compliment you on your latest piece.' Sipping her tea from an ageing cup she read through it again, 'You know the quality of your work is impressive.'
Shelley focused on her editor, there was emphasis on the word "work. She thought Mary was taking a dig at her attitude. It wouldn't be the first time.
'Meaning my approach isn't.'
Todd opened her mouth to speak and closed it again without an utterance, merely raising her brows. Shelley's features on travel contained a wealth of information on the history and geography of her selected area that was interesting and informative. It was finely balanced to capture and retain the interest of the reader, not boring them with too many facts and figures. As a result, her articles were warmly received by subscribers, but there was an ardour in the woman's writing that intrigued her. It intrigued her because the fervour, the flourish that she displayed so openly in print, was noticeably lacking in her own character. Many times she'd asked herself what lay behind the lovely, but austere mask that Shelley wore, what existed within the confines of her mind that seemed to divide her world in two. An aura seemed to surround her that suggested a lack of affection for any living thing. And the rare smiles she gave were just as enigmatic; they were captivating, spreading like lightning across her face, and yet all the while you sensed the warmth that spread from them would be frozen by the coldness which seemed to lie beneath.
Todd replaced her cup on the saucer. She'd spent too long searching for the right words in reply, and now, the slight raise of the eyebrows in an otherwise impassive face hinted Shelley's impatience.
'Your approach, as you call it, isn't my concern,' she said with resignation in her tone. 'It's the quality of your work that counts, and that, as always, is impressive. My
dear if the readers are happy then so am I, but just remember that nobody's the worse for a few friends.'
'I'll bear it in mind,' Shelley said, the tone of her reply giving Todd not the slightest confidence that her words would be heeded.
She'd been about to leave when there was a sharp rap on the office door and Carly Simpson poked her head through, 'Oh Mary, just to say that Judy phoned, she'll be late for the meeting. She tried to call you direct but you were engaged.'
'Did she say why?' Todd frowned, this wasn't the first time.
'No, I'm afraid not.' Carly hovered in the doorway, 'Am I eligible for this meeting, Mary?'
Todd nodded her approval with a wry smile, she'd expected as much, and for the first time she noted a measure of interest on Shelley's face at the intervention of the crime reporter.
Shelley had swung round in the swivel chair, so that she was directly facing the newcomer, 'So Carly Simpson, what wordly secrets do you expect to be unearthed?'
The east ender cackled with laughter, Shelley managed a smile, her remark hadn't really been that funny, but one thing about Carly was her laughter. She'd always thought a crime reporter would be much more serious in nature.
'Now, now,' Carly said, 'I've enough work of my own to be going on with, but then you know I don't like to miss out on anything.' She raked a long finger over Shelley's shoulder, 'Hey, you might like to see my latest article before it goes to press, we've got a few minutes.'
Shelley shrugged, 'Sure. Anything special about it?'
For a second Shelley thought Carly's eyes darkened a touch, the smile had certainly faded, but she'd turned quickly away with a nod of deference to Mary Todd. Shelley jumped to her feet and followed her out the door, making no such gesture.
Todd watched them go, a shake of the head at Shelley's manner, but still she had
to smile. So different those two, Carly, tall, dark haired, all bustle and hustling gait, all arms and elbows, and then the fair haired Shelley, with her controlled stride, effortless and elegant, no unnecessary movements whatsoever. Todd was not immune to gossip, she knew Shelley was regarded as cold and detached, and she certainly exuded those questionable qualities, but still, she had her doubts. Driven, no doubt, by the fact that she had a basic fondness for the woman.
Todd got to her feet and closed the door that Shelley had left open.
* * *
Carly sifted haphazardly through the chaotic looking drawers, finally producing four foolscap of paper. She thrust them towards Shelley, 'Here, take a look at this -'
Shelley took the documents with a patent look of disinterest, but as she read through them she frowned, feeling the tension bubbling within her, feeling her blood rising. Her grip tightened on the papers, 'It's really becoming that bad, is it?'
'Afraid so,' Carly sighed, and practically prising the article from Shelley's grip, she knotted her brow. 'Sexual assaults have hit an all time peak. Take these two cases, over the past week - one woman, the police think probably a prostitute, physically abused, mauled and left for dead, and right on its heels this -' she bent low so that the hem of her tiny black dress all but exposed her buttocks; Shelley looked away, showing off her long legs was one thing but she wondered whether Carly realised the extent to which she was displaying the rear of her anatomy. She thought of Ted Foreman.
Finally Carly produced a photograph from her beanstalk tray, 'Here, look at this, - a waitress, just an ordinary girl working in a night club trying to earn a living, then on her way home stalked, sexually molested and beaten up, the picture tells its own story.'
But Carly's words had faded out as the grim picture took hold. Shelley's grip on it became so intense that her hand shook.
'Shelley, Shelley are you okay?'
'What?' But Shelley's senses whirled about her like dust mites in a storm. She was dimly aware of Carly shaking her, but she saw distant visions in her mind, distant and yet distinct, like a clear view through a tunnel.
'Here, sit down.' She became aware of Carly's arm around her shoulders and then she was through the tunnel. She shook her head, held it in her hands. 'What? yes I'm
fine. I'm sorry, something struck me for a minute, it's probably just the air in here. Air conditioning isn't all it's cracked up to be. Listen, do you mind if I photocopy your article?'
'As long as you remember who's got copyright,' Carly said, smiling, 'here, let me do it, you're as white as a sheet.'
'No its okay, I'm fine now, I can manage.' Shelley made her way across to the photocopier, aware that Carly was a protecting step behind. 'Listen, perhaps what you need is a stiff drink afterwards. I'm seeing a policeman, Chief Inspector Mike Eveson in the "Bird in Hand after the meeting to see if I can prise out more information on this.'
Shelley collected the printed item from the photocopier tray, 'I suppose I could come, although -' she felt awkward, a bit like playing gooseberry, 'I mean I wouldn't want to be getting in your way, three's a crowd if you get my gist.'
Carly giggled. 'It's not like that, though he is rather nice, sometimes I wish-' she halted, blushing.
'Go on,' Shelley smiled at her friend, 'Don't keep me in suspense.'
'No no, it's nothing. Just that I suppose I wish he'd lighten up a bit. He's so serious.'
'Ah, so there is something there.'
'I've told you no.' And this time Carly wasn't laughing.