Someone is watching you, Mrs Johnson

Nicky spotted the car on the final morning of their holiday. It was parked outside the hotel, a dark green Sunbeam Rapier just like the one that had been Mr Satterthwaite’s pride and joy twenty years ago.

Then she noticed its number plate and that got her thinking, all over again, about the very last time she’d seen him.

Jack Satterthwaite had been an unassuming neighbour, content to prune his roses, polish his beloved Sunbeam and occasionally pass the time of day.

His much younger wife, Celia, wasn’t quite so self-effacing. Always eager to demonstrate her superiority, she’d been especially assiduous in correcting the teenage Nicky’s grammar and pronunciation.

“You know, Nicola,” she’d say while Mimi, her miniature poodle, tried to worry Nicky’s feet through the gap at the bottom of the fence, “how we speak is so important. As soon as we open our mouths, we give ourselves away.”

At which point Jack would amble into view, secateurs in hand, and tip his cap.

“How do, lass,” he’d say, ruining the effect, and Celia’s mouth would become a thin, disapproving line.

It was during the Easter holidays, not long before her GCSES, that Nicky popped round to the Satterthwaites’ one morning to retrieve a parcel. Scenting an opportunity to attack her ankles, Mimi scrabbled at the hall door, opening it wide enough to reveal an unexpected figure seated in Celia’s lounge.

Nicky blinked.

“Hello, Mr Johnson.”

Celia tittered.

“Dear me, you’re not in Ronnie’s class, are you? We will have to be on our best behaviour!”

“Ronnie” looked rather flushed but, then again, it didn’t take much to make Mr Johnson go red in the face. He was one of the worst-tempered teachers at her school, and Nicky went home feeling thoroughly depressed at the idea of him turning up next door on a regular basis.

But there was another surprise in store.

“Guess what?” said Mum over tea a couple of weeks later. “The neighbours are leaving the country!”

Dad looked up.“jack’s emigrating?”

“Moving to Spain in June. Apparently that teacher of our Nicky’s is an old friend of theirs and he’s helping them organise everything. Mimi’s got to go into quarantine.”

The Satterthwaites were due to depart on the Sunday before Nicky’s first exam, and her gran happened to be taken ill the same day.

“You’re sure you’ll be all right on your own, love?” said Mum as she poured coffee into a flask in preparation for the long drive to Scotland.“you wouldn’t rather stay with one of your friends?”

“I’m sixteen, Mum,” said Nicky, rolling her eyes as if the prospect of spending a whole night alone in the house, for the first time, didn’t worry her in the slightest.

The evening passed uneventfully enough, though the phone made her jump when it rang – it was only Mum, of course, checking she was OK.

After doing some revision, she switched the TV on briefly but the only thing worth watching was the sort of creepy horror film probably best avoided in the circumstances. She’d decided to sleep in her parents’ room overlooking the street so that if a burglar did break in at the back, she’d be in a better position to call for help.

Once the lights were out, Nicky lay rigid, scarcely daring to breathe in case she missed the sound of a door being opened downstairs or a stealthy footstep on the landing. When voices suddenly spoke close by, she sat bolt upright.

Suppose they wanted to bump him off? They would never have a better opportunity

“Did you say the Bartons were away?”

“Yes, but let’s not wake the rest of the neighbours.”

The Satterthwaites must be on the point of leaving – funny, she’d assumed they’d already gone. Mr Johnson, she knew, had agreed to buy the Sunbeam Rapier and was driving them to the airport.

Nicky reached the window just as he and Celia emerged, supporting an inert Jack between them.

“There you go, old chap.”the teacher sounded unnaturally jovial. “You have a nice lie down and sleep it off.”

Seconds later, the Sunbeam turned out of the Satterthwaites’ drive for the very last time and proceeded sedately down the avenue towards the main road.

When the sound of its engine had faded, Nicky climbed back into bed. It wasn’t the possibility of a break-in that kept her awake now, but the thought of Jack being bundled into that car.

She went on thinking about it until black gave way to grey and the first birds began to twitter among his roses.

Mr Johnson was trying to make out Jack was drunk,” Nicky reflected,“but I didn’t believe that for a second.”

After breakfast at their hotel, she and Andy had headed for the empty coffee lounge and she’d told him the full story.

“Celebrating their last night in the country?” her husband suggested but Nicky shook her head.

“My dad used to say being married to Celia would have driven any other man to drink, but Jack was practically teetotal. What if it was his dead body on the back seat that night?”

“Did you tell your parents about what you’d seen?” Andy asked.

“Yes, but they just laughed and told me I had too much imagination. I kept expecting something to come to light but it never did. New people moved in next door and everything went on as usual.”

“And Mr Johnson?” “Didn’t return to school after the summer holidays,” said Nicky triumphantly.“and I just know they were having an affair – Celia was so arch when I called round that day.”

“I suppose if they had wanted to bump Jack off,” said Andy slowly,“they’d never get a better opportunity. People would simply assume he and Celia had gone abroad as planned. But why are you so sure it’s the same car?”

“The number plate,” said Nicky. “NJB – it was me, wasn’t it, before we got married? Nicola Jane Barton.”

“So – do a bit of snooping, see how much you can find out. It’s what you’re good at, after all,” he added drily.

You couldn’t tell me which guest that fabulous Sunbeam Rapier belongs to, could you?” asked Nicky. “My husband’s absolutely mad about classic cars.”

The middle-aged receptionist smiled.

“Funny you should ask,” she said, lowering her voice.“she’s got the same name as that actress in Brief Encounter. Even talks like her.” The receptionist affected a clipped, upper-class accent by way of illustration. “mind you, I’d hazard a guess she’s actually from your neck of the woods, up north somewhere. Certain words always give people away, don’t they?”

“You mean she’s called Celia?” said Nicky, her heart thudding. “Not Celia Satterthwaite, by any chance?”

The woman looked at her as if she was a little slow on the uptake.

“No, love. Like I said, same as the film star. Celia Johnson. You’re probably a bit too young to have heard of her.”

“It could be perfectly innocent,” reasoned Andy.“if Jack died in Spain, Celia might easily come home and marry their old friend.”

But Nicky kept picturing Mr Satterthwaite tipping his cap at her and smiling. She wished she could believe he’d met a peaceful end abroad, but the suspicion that had first occurred to her twenty years ago was growing steadily more insistent.

“I’m not sure what more we can do now, love,” said Andy. “You’re back at work tomorrow, remember.”

“I know.” Nicky hesitated. “listen, you finish packing. I’ll hang about down here a bit longer. I’ve a feeling that if I could meet her face to face, I’d know one way or the other.”

She went back to the desk and paid the bill, taking her time over it. Finally, she was rewarded.

“Ooh, Mrs Johnson,” exclaimed the receptionist.“this lady was asking about your car.”

For the first time in twenty years Nicky found herself looking into Celia’s eyes.

“Oh, my goodness,” she exclaimed.“i thought I recognised that Sunbeam Rapier! It’s Mrs Satterthwaite, isn’t it?”

“I beg your pardon?”

“I’m Nicky Barton – we used to live next door to you before you moved to Spain. I’ve often wondered what happened to you and your husband and Mimi after I waved you off that night. Not that you’d have noticed me, of course, it was so late. You’ll never believe this, but I’m a Detective Inspector now! Fancy a coffee so we can catch up? Celia?”

But the former Mrs Satterthwaite had fainted.

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