‘I’ve been trying not to ask about Carlos. Where is he now?’
‘Back in Rio, doing the bossa nova with a guy half my age. I’m determined to fall for a woman next time, older, and preferably someone docile.’
‘Poor thing, I know you adored him.’ I reach across the table to hold his hand.
‘He broke my heart into smithereens. I’m over it now, but victims sometimes attack a partner after a break-up, don’t they? Tommy’s been at cracking point for weeks.’
‘Let’s pay him a visit.’
‘Is that wise, Vee? It’s a police matter.’
‘I’ve got a few innocent questions. He won’t pull a gun on us, will he?’
My curiosity about Amanda has grown stronger after two glasses of champagne. Phillip and I don’t bother with coffee before setting off for the Rothmores’ villa in my buggy, a ten-minute ride away. The alcohol and the company have lifted my spirits. I feel like a tropical version of Miss Marple as we drive up to one of Mustique’s loveliest properties. Sunset House has stood at the top of the island’s tallest hill since the sixties. It’s built in French country style, in pale stone, with cobalt-blue shutters and a lush garden, full of exotic orchids and lilies. The scale of the building is modest, considering the Rothmores’ immense banking fortune, but they have the best views. When I stand on the terrace, the entire Caribbean coast of Mustique unrolls before me, from Endeavour Bay down to Old Plantation.
I can sense that something’s changed as we approach the villa. The shutters are closed, and no one appears when Phillip rings the doorbell, which is a surprise. Villa owners employ small teams of staff all year round to maintain their properties, yet the place appears deserted. It strikes me again that families like the Rothmores enjoy an extraordinary degree of safety on Mustique. Their UK home must be guarded round the clock, but the island operates on trust. There’s an unspoken agreement that everyone is safe, because no one needs to steal, or commit violence. Something isn’t right now, though.
‘The house feels ghostly,’ Phillip says.
My friend is peering through a window into a kitchen that seems to have been lifted straight from an interiors magazine, with a circular table and miles of glittering surfaces, but no sign of recent use. I can tell he’s enjoying himself, playing the part of a famous cat burglar, with imaginary cameras rolling. He manages to prise open one of the downstairs windows, without causing damage, but my champagne-fuelled bravado is wearing thin.
‘We can’t just break in, Phil.’
‘Don’t be boring; it was your idea in the first place. You’re slim enough to wriggle through the gap.’
I’m still grumbling when he boosts me onto the window ledge, but now that my curiosity has been raised, I’m keen to know the truth. The adventure makes me feel young again, my sense of adventure alive and kicking. Once I’m inside the kitchen I unlock the back door for Phillip, who grins like an overexcited schoolboy. We agree to search the ground floor first, for any hint that Tommy could have harmed his ex-girlfriend.
We both know the house well, because we’ve attended many birthday parties, suppers and celebrations thrown by the Rothmores, but it looks different today. The rooms are replete with shadows, dust sheets covering the antique sofas. The French theme continues in the dining room, which also carries evidence of my friend Nicky Haslam’s excellent taste. I feel almost certain the Rothmores employed him to source their bespoke furniture, the lines elegant and simple. It dawns on me that the reason for Tommy’s absence could be straightforward: maybe he’s staying with a friend while he gets over his heartbreak. Many villa owners have gone home, but some of their grown-up children always stay behind, in no hurry to resume their everyday lives.
‘God almighty,’ Phillip mutters. ‘Is that an original Picasso?’
‘I think so, yes.’
We gaze at an abstract portrait of a woman’s face, her features dissected then reassembled in vivid blues and reds.
‘It’s beautiful, whoever painted it, but where are the staff?’
‘Maybe they’re taking a day off.’
There’s no sign of criminal activity on the ground floor. The place seems to have been shut down completely, as if the Rothmores have no intention of returning. I get the same feeling when we explore upstairs. The spacious bedrooms look like a deluxe hotel, bathrooms glistening with cleanliness. I can’t understand why the young man has left no trace of himself behind. I’m standing in the corridor when footsteps echo through the stairwell, and Phillip’s heard them too. He emerges from one of the bedrooms with a panicked look on his face.
‘Hide!’ he whispers.
‘Don’t be silly. It’ll be Tommy; let’s say we’re looking for his mother.’
‘That’s an outright lie. You’ll get us arrested, Vee.’
‘Relax and follow my lead, darling,’ I tell him.
Princess Margaret taught me never to admit defeat. If circumstances go against you, keep your head up and smile. I make sure to keep my chin raised and look delighted as I march downstairs to face the music.
11
NILE IS SURPRISED that the Rothmores’ kitchen door has been left ajar, but it makes sense when footsteps rattle overhead. Tommy must be at home, or the villa’s staff are working on the floor above. He’s shocked when Lady Veronica hurries down the central stairs, wearing a beaming smile, followed by a handsome grey-haired man of around her own age.
‘What are you doing here, Lady Vee?’ Nile asks.
‘I was hoping to see Tommy Rothmore. His parents are close friends, but he hasn’t been answering the phone.’
‘So you let yourselves in?’
She blinks the question away. ‘Have you met Phillip Everard?’
Nile shakes the man’s hand as the penny drops. The guy’s an actor from some old films and more recently in TV adverts, but he’s never met him in the flesh. The guy looks fit as a fiddle, but less confident in real life. Nile grew up on an island where famous musicians, politicians and royalty are two a penny, but it’s still disconcerting to eyeball a big star up close for the first time, particularly when he’s in breach of the law.
‘Good to meet you, sir. I’ve enjoyed many of your movies.’
The actor’s face brightens. ‘That’s so kind, thank you.’
‘Now could you both step outside for a minute, please?’
Nile is gentle when he warns the pair not to take the law into their own hands. If they have concerns about fellow islanders, they should call him first. Phillip Everard has the grace to look contrite, but Lady Vee observes him through cool eyes that never miss a trick. He’s steering a difficult course between upholding the law and respecting a woman whose generosity has improved his life immeasurably. She peers up at him from under the brim of her straw hat.
‘Forgive us, Solomon, but this isn’t just about Amanda. Someone’s been leaving threats on Lily’s boat. I won’t let that continue.’
The policeman is surprised by the change in his patron’s behaviour. Until now she’s seemed gentle to the core, a refined British aristocrat, her fierce spirit well hidden. Lady Vee’s hands are bunched at her sides, like she intends to fight for Lily Calder’s safety, even though he got the distinct impression the young woman could defend herself.
‘Why don’t we sit down and talk about this calmly?’ Nile suggests.
They shelter from the sun under a gazebo by the pool.
‘We all want Ms Fortini found,’ he says. ‘I need your inside knowledge of the villa owners’ lives; you have their trust, but I need to stay in charge. If my boss on St Vincent hears about this conversation, I’ll be suspended.’
‘We’ll be discreet, don’t worry, both of us are keen to help.’ Lady Vee nods at him, her actor friend murmuring his agreement. ‘All we know so far is that Amanda’s still missing, and we’ve searched the Rothmores’ house. It looks like Tommy hasn’t been back for ages.’
‘He fired his domestic staff three days ago, according to the villa next door.�
��
Everard’s face brightens. ‘What about the summerhouse? I can see it over there, through the bushes. It’s the one place we haven’t searched.’
They all rise to their feet in unison, and Nile feels a trace of panic. Searching the Aqua Dream is his top priority, but the warrant still hasn’t arrived and now he’s being dragged off course. Lady Vee and Phillip Everard make unlikely recruits, dressed in their immaculate clothes. But they have the one thing he lacks: the trust of every millionaire on Mustique. Nile still believes that the answer to Amanda Fortini’s disappearance may lie on the yacht that’s still floating on the horizon, or one of the island’s biggest speedboats, if he could only unlock the puzzle.
Nile leads the way across the lawn to the summerhouse. The wooden structure is almost concealed by overgrown passion flowers, elephant palms and jasmine. When he glances over his shoulder, Lady Vee is following at a sedate pace, taking care not to dirty her clothes. Her manner has gentled again, now that she’s got her way. Nile can’t yet decide whether he’s made an excellent decision or a bad mistake.
The policeman’s concerns about breaking the investigation protocol are forgotten when he reaches the summerhouse. It looks like the place has been burgled. The door has been kicked off its hinges, and someone has been on the rampage, the garden furniture in pieces. There’s a mattress against the wall, covered by a crumpled sheet, and whisky bottles littered around. Tommy Rothmore’s relationship ending seems to have triggered a meltdown.
‘The poor boy,’ Lady Vee murmurs.
She’s removed her hat, like she’s paying respects at a graveside, and the wooden building does have a deathly feel. The knot inside the detective’s stomach tightens as his shoes crunch over fragments of bamboo furniture. He comes to a halt when he sees half a dozen large photos of Amanda Fortini displayed on the far wall, each one daubed with red paint, like the graffiti on Lily Calder’s boat. The girl’s features have been erased, with a few swipes of a paintbrush.
12
I REMEMBER TOMMY Rothmore as a boy, splashing around in the pool with Lily and her pals, or chasing them down to the beach. He was a quiet, courteous child even then, bright enough to understand his role in a world-famous banking dynasty. His manner hasn’t changed over the years, always quiet and thoughtful, instead of party-loving like many of his peers. I saw him six months ago, suddenly a good-looking young bachelor, with Amanda Fortini on his arm. The match surprised me, but his seriousness seemed the perfect foil for her fun-loving nature. It’s hard to believe he could fall so far, in such a short time. Someone has wasted a great deal of energy in the summerhouse, destroying it from the inside, but not Tommy, surely? Phillip seems upset by the devastation too: his gaze is sober when he studies the ruined photos on the wall, which isn’t surprising, so I take pity on him, saying there’s no need to stay. Solomon asks him a couple of questions about the last time he used his motorboat, which languishes in the harbour for months, then my friend hurries away, as if chaos were an infectious disease.
Solomon Nile is busy taking photos of the devastation with his phone, his approach meticulous. I feel some regret over backing him into a corner, but not enough to change my mind. While Lily is in danger I must stay at the heart of his investigation by any means possible. I stand by the door, surveying the mess of ruined furniture and the dusty sheets someone has been using for a bed. It’s possible that Tommy has nothing to do with Amanda’s absence. He could be staying with a friend, but his options are limited, now so many people have flown home. I’m still wondering where the young man could be when Nile appears at my side.
‘I need to see Sacha Milburn. She’s visited Tommy recently, but she’s not answering her phone.’
I stare up at him. ‘I know exactly where she’ll be, we can use my buggy.’
‘Thanks, but I’ve got this under control.’
‘Have you, Solomon? You need my contacts, remember.’
Nile folds his arms across his chest like he’s bracing himself for a hard blow. ‘Okay, but just this once, Lady Vee, then please promise to go home.’
I offer a smile, instead of giving my word, then tell him that Sacha Milburn will be at Firefly. The younger crowd go there for early drinks, come rain or shine. Nile still looks disgruntled when we drive south from the villa, cutting through the island’s centre.
I can see more evidence that Mustique is changing as we pass the revamped medical centre. It looks like a pair of upmarket bungalows, with the surgery on one side, a small ward, and a couple of private rooms, in case anyone falls ill before the first flight out. The sports ground has a new pavilion, and even the stables have expanded to accommodate more horses. The place looks idyllic today, with three Arab mares grazing in the paddock, waiting for someone to take them for a gallop across Rutland Bay.
Solomon makes a quiet companion, happy to let long silences develop. He’s probably thinking of questions for Sacha Milburn. My spirits lift when I catch sight of Firefly, the hotel nestled among coconut palms, with a direct view down to Britannia Bay. I’ve always loved its relaxed atmosphere. It has just seven guest rooms so Patrick’s Bar is never too busy, and the staff serve perfect martinis. I’m crossing my fingers that Tommy Rothmore will be there with his pals, but the veranda appears deserted when we arrive.
‘Do you come here much, Solomon?’ I ask.
‘Never.’
The detective’s clever gaze is busy assessing the tropical gardens and manmade waterfalls outside, and suddenly I witness the place with fresh eyes. The empty buckets on the bar are waiting to be filled with champagne that costs three hundred dollars a bottle, an ornate chandelier hanging in the dining area, the tables set with pristine white napkins. I’m about to ask a waiter if Sacha Milburn has visited recently when Nile taps my arm.
‘That’s her at the back, isn’t it?’
I catch sight of the young woman alone at a table, recognising her shock of auburn hair. She comes from a family of famous bohemians, her mother a successful milliner and her father a lifestyle guru, always penning self-help guides on how to gain inner peace. Sacha is scribbling in a journal with such fierce concentration, she doesn’t see us arrive. The young woman reacts with shock when I call her name; I notice that her notebook has a vivid red cover that matches her pen. She quickly squirrels them away in her bag and appears edgy as we approach her table. Sacha is no longer the jolly child who played with Lily and Amanda all summer long; I remember her mother saying she had a crisis of confidence at university. It can’t be easy having such stylish, successful parents, overshadowing your endeavours. Her hair is badly cut, freckles littered across her skin, her grey sundress so anonymous it almost renders her invisible. It’s a shame she takes so little care with her appearance; just a few small changes would turn her into a Pre-Raphaelite beauty.
‘Welcome back, Vee,’ she mumbles. ‘It’s great to see you.’
‘You too, Sacha. Can we join you? This is my friend DS Solomon Nile. He’s just been appointed as the island’s new police officer.’
The young woman gives an awkward smile. ‘Thank goodness, someone to keep us on the straight and narrow at last.’
‘How have you been, darling?’ I ask.
‘I meant to fly back to the UK sooner, but I’m staying for Lily’s party. The villa feels weird without my family filling the place with noise.’
‘Come and join us any time, Sacha. You know Lily adores seeing you.’
She gives me a grateful smile, then turns to Solomon. ‘Are you enjoying your new job?’
‘It’s keeping me busy right now, Ms Milburn. I’m trying to find Amanda Fortini.’
Sacha’s face blanks. ‘We haven’t spent much time together lately. I don’t have a clue where she is, I’m afraid.’
‘How about Tommy Rothmore? He’s missing too.’
‘That’s more of a worry,’ she murmurs. ‘He’s taken things so badly.’
‘How do you mean?’ Nile asks.
‘Tommy’s been a mess sinc
e Amanda dumped him. He was my first boyfriend, years ago. A lot of water’s passed under the bridge since then, but I still want the best for him. I tried to persuade him to see Pastor Boakye. I’m not religious but talking to him has helped me and lots of other people here; I thought Tommy might benefit too, but when I suggested it he flew off the handle.’
‘When was this?’
‘Saturday afternoon, I haven’t seen him since. He yelled at me to leave him alone.’
‘Do you know why he and Amanda split up?’
‘She’s treated him badly from day one. I don’t understand why people let her get away with it,’ Milburn says, scowling with disapproval. ‘Tommy’s so conscientious about all the charities he funds, there’s little time for his private life. Amanda’s too spoiled to support him; she felt neglected and went looking for someone else. She wouldn’t say who, even though she and Tommy were together over a year. That’s unforgivable, isn’t it? He’s so upset, anyone near him is in the firing line.’
‘Has he threatened you physically?’ I ask.
‘I was afraid to stay. He was smashing up furniture, and he’d hit one of his staff earlier. The rest resigned on the spot.’
‘Did you consider calling the police?’
‘It seemed disloyal when Tommy’s suffering so badly.’
I reach for the girl’s hand. ‘None of this is your fault, darling. We just need to find him. He mustn’t hurt himself, or Amanda.’
‘I’ve tried to protect him, but it didn’t work.’ Sacha’s expression fiercens suddenly. ‘Amanda never deserved him. If she’s come to grief, it’s her own fault.’
‘Why’s that?’ Nile asks.
‘I see everything that goes on here. Tommy had nothing to do with her disappearing. She’s been running off to Lovell at night, by herself.’
Murder On Mustique Page 7