The Three Women

by Valerie Keogh

  The Three Women

  Valerie Keogh

  Copyright © 2020 Valerie Keogh

  The right of Valerie Keogh to be identified as the Author of the Work has been asserted by her in

  accordance to the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988.

  First published in 2020 by Bloodhound Books

  Apart from any use permitted under UK copyright law, this publication may only be

  reproduced, stored, or transmitted, in any form, or by any means, with prior permission in

  writing of the publisher or, in the case of reprographic production, in accordance with the

  terms of licences issued by the Copyright Licensing Agency.

  All characters in this publication are fictitious and any resemblance to real persons, living

  or dead, is purely coincidental.

  www.bloodhoundbooks.com

  Print ISBN 978-1-913419-32-5

  Contents

  Also by Valerie Keogh

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Chapter 33

  Chapter 34

  Chapter 35

  Chapter 36

  Chapter 37

  Epilogue

  Acknowledgements

  A note from the publisher

  Love crime, thriller and mystery books?

  You will also enjoy:

  Also by Valerie Keogh

  The Dublin Murder Mysteries

  No Simple Death

  No Obvious Cause

  For all the amazing, wonderful women in my life:

  sisters and friends

  Friendship between women is different than friendship between men. It’s my women friends that keep starch in my spine, and without them, I don’t know where I would be. Jane Fonda

  A seasoned woman is spicy. She has been marinated in life experiences. Like a complex wine, she can be alternately sweet, tart, sparkling, mellow. She is both maternal and playful. Assured, alluring, and resourceful. She is less likely to have an agenda than a young woman—no biological clock tick-tocking beside her lover’s bed, no campaign to lead him to the altar, no rescue fantasies. The seasoned woman knows who she is. She could be any one of us, as long as she is committed to living fully and passionately in the second half of her life, despite failures and false starts. Gail Sheehy

  1

  2020

  Beth Anderson looked at the two women she’d known most of her life and sighed. If only they’d never met. If only she hadn’t decided to go to the university bookshop that particular day, if she’d said no to joining Joanne for coffee, or if Megan hadn’t chosen that day to have her lunch in the same café. But it had all happened, and in meeting, their fate was sealed.

  They were standing hand in hand, only a few inches from the edge of the cliff, Beth in the middle, Joanne to her left, Megan on her right. There was nothing to hear but the wind that whistled in their ears and the thundering crash of waves breaking against rocks at the base of the cliffs far below. A sudden gust blew Joanne’s long blonde hair across Beth’s eyes, the wet tendrils blinding her for a moment until another stronger gust swept the hair away. Rain washed her cheeks, taking with it the tears that gathered and fell in quick succession. Her hands were wet and slippery; she felt the hold on her friends’ hands loosening and tightened her grip.

  The next step? There was only one thing to do, wasn’t there? After all the secrets and lies, there was nothing left for any of them here. Beth looked at each of her friends, at their rain-soaked almost-calm faces, and smiled. ‘Still time to change our minds,’ she said, immediately feeling their hands clasp hers tightly. Nobody was letting go. Nobody was having second thoughts.

  ‘Okay!’ she shouted, her voice carrying on the wind.

  And as one, the three friends took a final step forward.

  2

  1997

  Beth Anderson had never been to London apart from a flying visit with her mother a few years before to see the sights. Applying to the City University of London had been her choice; her mother had wanted her to go to the nearer University of Bristol, but their relationship was such that whatever her mother had suggested, Beth would have done something else.

  Universities with their grand lecture halls, solemn professors and mind-boggling expectations could be intimidating places, especially for those with wide-eyed optimism and little experience. Some students make quick friendships for survival, an anchor in the busy chaotic world, holding on tightly until, little by little, they find their feet. Then they migrate to more like-minded or sometimes more fun friends. Others, more self-sufficient, keep to themselves, making friends by accident rather than design. Beth was of the more self-sufficient type.

  A freckled mousey-haired woman, she wasn’t at all intimidated by her new surroundings and looked around with keen eyes that missed nothing. She had student accommodation in Shoreditch. A tiny studio with a small bathroom, and a kitchenette. It was on the second floor, the window looking out on the busy street below and the ugly office buildings opposite. Beth, who’d shared a bedroom in the family home in Somerset with a much younger sister, wasn’t put off by its small dimensions or the unexciting view. It was all hers, and she loved it.

  Without any clear idea of a future career, she’d chosen to study criminology and, two weeks into the degree course, she was finding the subject fascinating and the lectures, so far, interesting. But the reading list was long. She borrowed some books from the library but others, ones she’d like to keep for future reference, she needed to buy. After lectures on Friday of the second week, she headed to the campus bookshop armed with her list. It was a massive place with rows of shelves stretching from floor to ceiling. She found five of the books she’d wanted almost immediately and eventually located the final one. At five feet six, she was tall enough to reach most of the shelves but not the top one where the book she wanted was sitting tantalisingly out of reach. There were steps available. She’d seen one somewhere and was looking around trying to remember where it was when a student who’d been checking books on a lower shelf, stood up and grinned at her.

  ‘There are some advantages in being so tall,’ she said, and stretching an arm up, tapped a book. ‘Is it this one?’

  ‘Yes, thanks.’ Taking the book from her, Beth smiled in return. ‘I thought I was tall.’

  ‘Ha, you’re just a little bit of a thing. I’m five eleven. Now that’s tall.’ Her accent was cut-glass London, the kind of accent Beth associated with old movies where everyone spoke received pronunciation English, and dialects were frowned upon. It was the kind of accent that immediately put Beth on the defensive. She smiled her thanks and went to move away, stopping when the woman reached out a beautifully manicured nail and tapped the pile of books Beth was carrying.

  ‘What are you reading?’ she asked. ‘That’s a lot of books.’

  Beth responded to the friendly smile and the warmth in her eyes. She hadn’t realised until that moment how much she missed
the friends she’d left behind. ‘Criminology,’ she said, aware as never before of her Somerset brogue and suddenly conscious of her tracksuit trousers and baggy sweatshirt. It had seemed okay that morning, but looking at the tall elegant woman in front of her, with her dungarees, dangling earrings and long blonde hair tumbling around her shoulders, Beth felt as if she’d wandered in off her parents’ farm. She shuffled the books in her arms, once again ready to leave.

  ‘Oh, that must be interesting. I’m reading Media Studies and Sociology. Not nearly as interesting as I’d hoped, so far anyway. I’m Joanne Marsden. You’re a first year?’

  Slightly taken aback by Joanne’s almost overpowering friendliness, Beth nodded. ‘Yes, I am. Beth Anderson. Nice to meet you.’

  ‘Me too! You free for a coffee?’

  Overwhelmed and extremely flattered that Joanne wanted to have coffee with her, how could she say no? ‘Yes, I suppose,’ she said, trying for casual and checking her watch. She’d nothing else planned, nothing to do. Since she’d started lectures, almost two weeks earlier, she’d gone straight back to Shoreditch every day. Maybe it was time to see what university life had to offer.

  Beth followed Joanne to the desk where they both paid for their books, she for the six she’d chosen, gulping when told the cost, and Joanne for the two slim volumes she held. They strolled together to the nearest café, and it didn’t take long for the two women to discover they shared a similar sense of humour and the same ability to spot the ridiculous or extraordinary. In a London university, there was lots of opportunity for both, from weirdly phrased posters promoting various associations to colourfully dressed students who walked around with a confidence Beth envied.

  One of three campus cafés, the one they walked into was a vast bustling space, floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking a pedestrianised area where tall maples gave shade in summer. It was noisy with chatter and too-loud background music, and jammed with people, sitting, moving about, standing. Most of the tables were full, many with students hammering away on the keyboards of neat laptops. There was little space between tables and Joanne and Beth negotiated the minefield of extended legs and carelessly placed bags and rucksacks as they hurried to one of the few remaining vacant tables. Dropping their heavy bags on the floor, they sat down.

  ‘I’ll get them,’ Joanne said, jumping up almost immediately. ‘What’ll you have?’

  Beth wanted to say a cup of tea, it’s what she’d usually have had, but even in her head, it sounded so boring. ‘A cappuccino,’ she said, ‘with lots of chocolate on top.’ Joanne nodded and headed to join the long slow-moving queue. Careful not to be caught staring, Beth watched her shuffle forward, moving rhythmically to the blaring music as if she were on her own, blonde hair swinging, head bouncing. Admiring Joanne’s careless self-confidence, Beth ran a hand through her long mousey brown hair and wondered how much it would cost to get highlights. Probably more than she could afford.

  That night, she’d have a look at the few clothes she had and see if she could look a bit more like her new friend. She was amused at how quickly Joanne’s appearance had influenced her, but she wasn’t dismissing it. Learn what you can from whomever you can, was one of her father’s favourite maxims. As she continued her surreptitious assessment, Beth remembered the charity shop she’d seen on the walk home. It might be worth calling in. She didn’t have much in spare funds, but maybe a few quid would buy her some clothes that would help add that certain something. Perhaps she could bring Joanne along to give her some advice. She might like the idea of being Professor Higgins to her Eliza Doolittle. Beth’s smile broadened. It was turning out to be an unexpectedly good day.

  It was a few minutes before Joanne arrived back with the coffees, a cup in each hand, holding them with exaggerated caution over the heads of students she passed on her way. ‘Here you go,’ she said, placing one in front of Beth before taking her seat.

  They both sipped silently for a moment, letting the cheerful sounds of the café roll over them. Beth wanted to know everything about her new friend but, waited, preferring to allow her to begin the conversation.

  ‘Where are you living?’ Joanne asked eventually, leaning closer to be heard over the surrounding din. She used her spoon to scoop out the foam that remained from her cappuccino and put it into her mouth with an unselfconscious action.

  ‘Shoreditch student accommodation,’ Beth said, eyeing the contents of her cup and wondering if she could get away with doing the same. Afraid of looking foolish, she decided against. ‘Just a small studio.’

  Joanne dropped her spoon onto the saucer. ‘Me too! What floor?’

  ‘Second.’ She supposed it wasn’t necessarily a coincidence. Shoreditch had the most student accommodation available, but still, it was pretty amazing. ‘You?’

  ‘Third. I would have loved a bigger studio, one of those on the top floor but the parents said they were coughing up enough.’

  Curious, Beth asked, ‘But you’re from London, aren’t you?’

  ‘Yes, my beloved parents had a lovely home in Kensington,’ Joanne tossed her hair back, ‘but they sold it and retired to a villa in Portugal where Pops plays golf all day and Mums continues her attempt to preserve her youth by pickling herself in gin.’

  Taken aback by this acerbic description of Joanne’s parents, Beth wisely changed the subject. ‘You’ll have lots of friends in London, I suppose.’

  ‘Some. Most went to Oxbridge, of course.’

  Beth was about to ask why she hadn’t gone there when an almighty clatter and shouts of outrage caused them both to turn in alarm.

  ‘Oh dear.’ Joanne craned to watch the drama unfold.

  A student, carrying a tray laden with food, had somehow got her foot caught in a bag on the floor, stumbled and sent everything flying. A plate sailed, sending food in every direction, liquid of some sort landed in another student’s lap causing her to jump up squealing, and what looked like a cream cake bounced off someone else’s shoulder before landing with a squelch on the floor. For a moment, there was pandemonium. A short dumpy woman, cheeks scarlet with embarrassment, was trying to extricate her foot from the strap while at the same time pick up her tray and apologise.

  ‘Oh, the poor thing,’ Joanne said with quick sympathy, jumping up and hurrying to help.

  Beth, who had been ready to giggle at the chaos, stood to follow her, stopping first to put both of their bags on the chairs. She pushed them under the table for safety and glared at those sitting nearby as if to warn against touching them. Only then did she cross the café to join Joanne where several victims were still wiping hummus from their clothes and picking salad from their hair. Their assailant holding the empty tray, muttered sorry, sorry as she made ineffective attempts to clean up the mess while some of the students made loud and pointed remarks about her clumsiness.

  Joanne glared at them, took the tray from her and handed it to Beth. ‘Go get her some more lunch, will you?’ She didn’t wait for an answer. Turning, she put a hand on the woman’s elbow and led her towards their table. ‘Come on, sit with us,’ she said gently.

  Beth looked at the tray in her hand, not knowing whether to be annoyed at the cavalier treatment or impressed by the way Joanne had sorted out the situation so quickly. Turning back to the students who were still muttering, Beth swept bits of food that had landed on their table onto the tray, picked up the plate, retrieved the glass that someone else was holding out to her and then took the tray and dumped it on a tall rack.

  She headed to the food counter and minutes later, was on her way back with a laden tray held high in both hands, stopping on her way to have a brief word with the students who were still scowling and shooting dirty glances towards where Joanne and the visibly trembling woman sat.

  Reaching them, Beth smiled down at her. ‘I got you hummus and salad, but I wasn’t sure what you were drinking, so I got some water and tea for all of us,’ she said, unloading and taking the third seat. ‘I’m Beth, by the way.’

  Ta
ken aback by their kindness and generosity, the woman stuttered. ‘T… T… Thanks b… b… but you didn’t need to do this!’

  ‘You need your lunch,’ Joanne said simply, throwing a grateful smile towards Beth. ‘What’s your name?’

  ‘M… Megan,’ the woman said, pulling the plate towards her. She took a deep steadying breath before saying, in an accent Beth couldn’t place, ‘Really, you’ve been so nice. I’m a clumsy fool and don’t blame them for being annoyed.’ She waved a hand towards where the victims of her disaster sat, relieved to see they’d stopped glaring at her and were, in fact, packing up their belongings and preparing to leave.

  ‘What did you say to them?’ Joanne asked, noticing that the students were avoiding looking their way as they hurriedly left.

  Beth grinned. ‘I told them that if they hadn’t spread out all over the floor like a particularly nasty fungus, Megan here wouldn’t have tripped and that really they should be paying for her lunch. I guess they weren’t willing to cough up.’

  ‘Brilliant,’ Megan said with a smile, and picked up her fork.

  Beth and Joanne drank their tea while Megan ate, making small talk about lectures and the university in general. ‘So, what are you studying?’ Beth asked when Megan had finished eating. She was strangely fascinated by the rather dumpy little woman with the prominent crooked teeth and heavy-framed glasses.