La Femme Read online

  “It’s past midnight and I would like to get to bed,” I said, leaning forward a little. “Nevertheless, you have aroused my interest. You must need something very badly to be here under such circumstances, and I cannot believe that it’s just money.”

  “Oh, I have plenty of money, doctor,” Angela said. “The problem is, I’m not going to get the chance to enjoy any of it if you don’t help me.”

  “Let me guess.” It was all starting to become clear. “You have procured for yourself a considerable sum of money by illegal means, but you were seen in the act. Would I be correct so far?” Angela nodded. “And as well as that, you were witnessed doing something so appalling that you need the services of a plastic surgeon to alter your appearance. Otherwise it’s life imprisonment for sure.”

  “I killed a policeman,” she said. The gun was down by her side, now. “He’d shot my partner… my lover, actually, and before I knew what was happening I’d fired back. The cop didn’t have a chance.”

  “And therefore neither will you once the authorities catch up with you,” I said, rubbing my hands. It was chilly in the room despite the fire. “I presume I’m right?”

  The girl took a step forward, that pleading look in her eyes again, the one that for all I knew had tricked a hundred men before me. “I just need you to change my looks a little,” she said. “Just enough that I can’t be matched up with any eyewitness accounts. You can do that, can’t you? And I’ll pay. My car’s hidden just off your driveway. The money’s still in the boot. If you help me I can make sure we both come out of this rich.”

  From my comfortable antique leather chair I raised my hands and looked around me. “Do I look as if I need your money?” I said.

  Angela gave me a cold look. “I’m sure you could use a little more, doctor.”

  I dropped the warmth from my tones in response. “Perhaps,” I said, “although there are other things I value more.”

  “Like your life, you mean?” She raised the gun. “Don’t think I won’t use this, doctor. After all, I have killed already today. I might just be getting the taste for it.”

  I waved away her threat. “I can see the only way I’m going to be able to get rid of you is to accede to your wishes. But before I can tell you how much I can change your face, I need to have a good look at it.”

  She took two steps forward, and kneeled in front of me.

  “No, no no,” I was already getting to my feet. “The light in here is terrible. You’ll have to come to my operating theatre.”

  For the first time I saw real fear in her eyes, and dare I say it gave me a twinge of pleasure.

  “You have an operating theatre here?”

  I nodded. “Of course. For my richest private patients who prefer not to attend a hospital. I can’t do everything up there, but it’s extensively equipped for the performing of a number of procedures.” I held out my hand. “So if you would be kind enough to accompany me? And for goodness’ sake put that gun away. I’m sure you can get to it quickly enough should the need arise. Which it isn’t going to.”

  She seemed happy with that, tucking the pistol into the back of her black skirt as she got to her feet with my assistance.

  We left the study and ascended the broad staircase to the first floor.

  “Which one is the operating theatre?” Angela asked, viewing the heavy oak doors that led off the corridor, two on either side.

  “None,” I replied. “These are bedrooms. My place of work is further up.”

  A narrower staircase took us up to the next level. I could feel Angela shivering beside me as I slid the key into the locked door.

  People are always impressed by my operating theatre, and the young lady with me was no exception. She followed me inside, and, once I had switched on the main lights, it was all she could do not to stare open-mouthed at what lay before her.

  “When I was younger I always dreamed of having my own place of work,” I explained. “Preferably at the top of a large country house. The glass ceiling allows me to operate using daylight when the sun is shining, but I had the floodlights installed for when the weather turns gloomy.”

  “Or when you have to operate at night,” Angela breathed, still taking in the ice-white walls and the glass cabinets of instruments that gleamed silver in the artificial light.

  And, of course, the operating table.

  “If you’d like to jump up,” I said, gesturing to it, “you’ll find it’s extremely comfortable. Then I can have a really good look at you.”

  She drew back from my outstretched hand. “You’re not going to do anything right away, are you?” she said.

  “Goodness me, no!” I replied. “I’ll examine you now, explain what I think I can do, and then it will be up to you to decide if you wish to proceed.”

  Once she was on the table, a bright light on her upturned face, I noticed something very interesting.

  “You’ve had plastic surgery before.” I was tracing the fine scar that had been expertly concealed behind her left ear.

  “Did I say I hadn’t?” Angela replied.

  “It would have been worth pointing out.” I examined her face more closely with a magnifying glass. “Your eyelids have been tightened, your nose has been altered, and your cheekbones have undergone a serious amount of reconstruction.”

  “It took him several hours,” she said as I checked beneath her chin. Her hyoid bone had been shortened as well.

  “You mean David Harcourt?” I checked her face for a reaction and was suitably rewarded. “I should be able to recognise his work.” I shone a torch on her brow and checked how slack her scalp was. “After all, I trained him.”

  Satisfied that I now knew what I had to work with, I took a step back.

  “Now,” I said, “seeing as this isn’t the first time you’ve had plastic surgery I’m guessing that neither is this the first time you’ve needed someone to get you out of trouble.”

  The gun was pointing at me again as Angela gave me a very becoming pout.

  “So this isn’t the first time I’ve been a bad girl,” she said. “But that was just over a year ago and my skin should be back to its youthful pliable self by now. I’ve certainly been using moisturiser like it’s going out of style.”

  “About a year ago?” I rubbed my chin, deep in thought. I gave the girl’s face one last check, conscious of the gun pressing against my side as I did so, and then I nodded.

  “I can certainly do something for you,” I said. “By the time I’m finished I can guarantee you’ll look different.”

  Angela visibly relaxed. “Thank God,” she said. “Please do whatever you can. I don’t need to be an oil painting, I just need to look different to this.”

  “Of course.” I wheeled over a canister of nitrous oxide and was about to apply the face mask when she stopped me.

  “Oh no, doctor,” she said. “You’re not putting me out.”

  “It’s just to dull the pain,” I said, “you won’t be able to keep still without it.”

  Angela was having none of it. “I’m staying awake for this. You can use local anaesthetic, just like Harcourt did.”

  “It will still hurt,” I said. “Quite a lot.”

  “Then I’ll have to grin and bear it quite a lot, won’t I?” she said.

  “You will,” I said, too tired to argue as I filled a syringe and fitted a large needle.

  To give Angela her due, she only screamed twice, but by the time her face was being bandaged she had passed out. I left her on the operating table to sleep as I went downstairs. There were things I needed to tend to.

  *

  The police called round early the next morning. Before retiring for the night I had carried Angela from the operating table to the small recovery room I have adjacent to my theatre. She was still sound asleep and, following the sedative I had administered, I knew she would remain so for several hours yet. I had also taken the opportunity to divest her of her firearm and lock the door. Rather than being part of her
plan, she was now part of mine.

  The constable who knocked on my door was a young fresh-faced chap called Tate. Once he had confirmed my identity his sergeant, the older and considerably more world-weary Sergeant Blaydon took over.

  “We’re very sorry to bother you, Dr Kelland,” he said. “But we’re just checking door to door to see if anyone’s seen or heard anything strange hereabouts in the last twelve hours or so.”

  I shook my head. “I’m afraid I’ve been asleep for most of that, sergeant,” I said, not needing to fake the yawn that came unbidden right at that moment. “What’s the matter?”

  The two policemen exchanged glances.

  “We’ve been given to understand that a dangerous criminal may be at large, sir,” said Blaydon eventually. “They were involved in a robbery, and were last seen headed this way. We also believe them to be armed.”

  “Oh my goodness.” I did my best to look shocked. “What does this man look like?”

  “It’s not a man sir,” said Blaydon, showing me a picture of someone who now hardly resembled the girl upstairs in my recovery room. “Have you by any chance seen this woman?”

  I made a show of examining the photograph carefully before shaking my head.

  “We’re also asking everyone to make sure their houses are secure as we believe she may still be in the area, sir,” said Tate.

  “What gives you that idea?” I was curious to learn what else they might know.

  “There was a murder in Pensham village last night sir,” said Blaydon. “Sharon Francis, on her way home from tending bar at The Coach and Horses.”

  “Someone on foot did her in a right treat,” said Tate before his superior could stop him. “She was almost unrecognisable when we found her.”

  “The footprints double back this way, sir,” said Blaydon, “which is why we’re combing the area. You will be careful won’t you, sir?”

  “I certainly will, sergeant,” I said. “And thank you. I promise to let you know the moment I see anything suspicious.”

  “Thank you sir,” said Tate. “We’ll leave you to your business now.”

  And what very important business it was. Once the police had left, I made my way down to the cellar to ensure that all was prepared. There was a certain amount of excitement at this, and it was all I could do to keep calm. Eventually, though, everything was ready. I checked my watch.

  She should be waking up around now, I thought.

  *

  My calculations were almost exact. Within five minutes of my arriving at Angela’s bedside she was stirring into groggy wakefulness. She looked at me through the slit I had left in the bandages for her eyes and mumbled something.

  “You’ll have to wait until I remove these before I can hear you,” I explained, taking out a pair of scissors and commencing to snip at the pieces of tape tethering the soft material.

  I had to keep pushing her hands away as she tried to assist me. It was important that the dressings were taken down in a specific way, and I did not want her ruining all my work of the previous night.

  Eventually, we found ourselves face to face.

  “Be careful about speaking,” I warned as she tried to talk, “or indeed making any violent movement. I’ve used almost invisible sutures, but there’s still a reasonable amount of swelling that will take a while to settle down.”

  She reached tentative fingertips to her face.

  “None of that either,” I said, pushing her hands back down to her sides. “No poking or prodding until doctor says – understand?”

  “Can I see?” Her voice was a whisper filtered through swollen lips.

  “Of course,” I took the hand mirror from my pocket and held it up to her face. “What do you think?”

  I gave her a moment to take everything in before continuing.

  “You’ll notice how I’ve fleshed out the cheekbones and made your face much rounder overall,” I said. “I’ve recessed the chin, lowered your eyebrows slightly and brought them closer together. You’re not as attractive as you once were, I’ll admit, but you also look very different. Which, I am sure you will agree, was the point of the endeavour.”

  The woman who looked nothing like she had when she arrived last night stared at her reflection. A single tear welled up in one eye.

  “That’s because of the disfiguring scar isn’t it? The gouge that runs through your right eyebrow, down your cheek and to the corner of your mouth? In time you’ll come to thank me for it, you know. Instead of being a beautiful girl on the run you are now the proud owner of what the police call a Distinguishing Feature.” I sat back a little to behold my handiwork. “No one is looking for someone like you,” I said. “You have effectively escaped your pursuers – congratulations!”

  Angela did not seem quite so delighted with the result. She reached out with shaking hands and gripped my shoulders.

  “Change… it… back,” she said.

  “Change it?” I tutted. “Oh my goodness me, no. I can’t do that. To do even more plastic surgery now, on top of all that you’ve had, both past and present, would be risky. Very risky indeed. Plus you need to rest, and the equipment I need for such radical restructuring is kept downstairs in a room I reserve for my very special complex cases.”

  “I don’t care,” she mumbled, the tears flowing freely now. “I’ll take my chances. Change it back.”

  I pretended to consider this for a moment, before nodding.

  “I’m afraid I’ll have to double my fee,” I said, as gently as possible.

  It was only at that point that she remembered the gun.

  “It’s no good looking for that dangerous thing,” I said. “I’ve put it well out of harm’s way so nothing silly happens. Do you feel strong enough to walk?”

  She did, which was just as well as it would have been a long way to carry her. I helped her down the narrow steps to the first floor, and then she was able to descend the broad staircase to the ground by herself. She frowned as I opened a heavy oak door beneath the staircase, beyond which lay blackness.

  “I’m sorry,” I explained, “when I said the room is downstairs I meant under the house. There was no room up here for such an elaborate setup and so I had the old wine cellars converted.” I flicked a switch to reveal a plushly carpeted stairwell leading down. “Come on,” I said, betraying a sense of irritation, “it’s time to get this sorted out.”

  Angela tentatively followed me. The brow of her newly disfigured face was creased with concern and it was causing some degree of bleeding from the left lateral edge. I didn’t feel it was worth mentioning.

  At the bottom we came to another door, which I had to unlock with a heavy iron key. It swung inwards, the room beyond swallowed by blackness.

  “Step inside,” I said matter-of-factly, “and I’ll find the light switch.”

  Whether or not she trusted me I have no idea, but I had counted on her being far too desperate to turn back now, and I was right. Angela took a step inside, and then another, as I followed her in.

  “The floor’s made of stone,” she managed to say.

  “Of course it is,” I replied as I lit the oil lamp I had left inside the door. “It makes it easier to clean.”

  The glow from the lamp revealed little, but it was enough for her to see the dripping stone walls, flickering with shadows cast by the flame. She took a step back and her foot slid on the straw that had been scattered there.

  “What is this?” she said.

  “Ah, now,” I said, holding the lamp up higher and ignoring, for the moment, the scuffling noise from behind her, “in order to explain that I need to show you something.”

  It was then that I took the photograph from my pocket, the one of my poor dead wife that I had seen fit to conceal when Angela had barged her way into my study.

  “Do you recognise her?” I said.

  Angela peered at the picture.

  “It’s me,” she said before correcting herself. “It’s my face.”

  I shook
my head. “It is not you,” I said. “This is my wife. She was killed in an accident a year ago by a hit and run driver. The police said the car was being used to escape the scene of a crime. She didn’t die straight away, and she was left with that terrible facial scar I’ve seen fit to give you as well. Now I’m not saying you were involved, although fate sometimes has an interesting way of causing such coincidences to occur. Nevertheless, if she was not killed by you, she was killed by someone like you. That is good enough for me.” There was a noise like a chain being rattled somewhere behind us, accompanied by the dull grunt of a tethered animal. “And,” I said after an appropriate pause, “I’m sure it will be good enough for our son Raymond as well.”

  Angela tried to get past me but by now I had dropped the photograph and the gun was in its place. “I’m afraid you can’t leave,” I said. “You see, when I said we had no children to speak of, it’s only because Raymond was our guilty little secret. The boy we could tell no one about or he would have been taken away from us. His mother would never have permitted that. She loved him too much. And he loved her.”

  There was a louder grunt from behind Angela, but I kept the gun trained on her and she didn’t move.

  “I’ve often thought that all he needs to calm him down is to have someone to replace her,” I explained. “Other women just don’t seem to make him happy. I’ve been researching it extensively. I tried again yesterday, but he didn’t like the poor girl I brought him from the village at all. So when you turned up last night, right after I’d taken care of disposing of her body, how could I not take advantage of the opportunity to give him back his mother?” I took two steps back. Angela tried to follow, but I fired a shot close to her foot, just to show I meant business.

  “I’ll leave you the lamp so you can acquainted,” I said, “and I’ll be back at lunchtime to see how the two of you are getting on. All he wants is a cuddle or two. And if he’s naughty just use your ‘don’t mess with me’ voice. The one you used on me last night. It should work like a charm.”

  I closed and locked the door to the sound of muffled grunts and a long, drawn-out scream. That wasn’t how to behave in front of my son. That wasn’t the way at all.