by Susan Moody
‘She sounds like the kind of possessive mother who’d have hated any woman her son fell for,’ I said. Did I sound aggressive? I certainly felt aggressive.
Sam looked at me in surprise. I didn’t care. So far, I wasn’t entirely buying into this sob story.
‘And then,’ Bob said, staring coldly in my direction, ‘Dexter died, and Dante thought that was it, the two of them would be able to be together openly. But that wasn’t Amy’s plan at all. Once she’d got her share of Dexter’s money – or at least as much of it as she could get her claws on – she dumped him.’
‘La Belle Dame Sans Merci,’ I said.
‘Dante couldn’t hack it. First his brother. Then his girlfriend. And then, as he discovered later, his PhD thesis. Four years’ work just gone.’
‘So he killed himself.’
‘Hanged himself from a cross-beam in his Village apartment, while the bitch went back to England,’ continued Bob, ‘and then eventually produced the Masaccio book as though it was her own work. My poor Mercy. It was just too much. She was already … well, unhinged, by Dante’s death. But I never dreamed she would …’ He shook his head.
‘I almost feel sorry for her,’ Sam said. I hoped he was being sarcastic.
‘I don’t,’ I said. ‘She killed Helena Drummond without the slightest compunction.’
‘And when she didn’t succeed the first time, she tried again. And again,’
‘The strange thing is how similar her background and attitudes were to Amy’s,’ added Fliss. ‘Both of them from lowly backgrounds. Both ending up married to rich men—’
‘I knew there was something off about that necklace and the bollocks about the great-grandfather …’
‘I had it made for her,’ Bob said, sighing. ‘Copied it from the portrait, which she liked to pass off as a family heirloom. As soon as she saw it, Amy said she wanted it, so Dante took it from his mother’s jewellery chest and gave it to her. I believe she was wearing it when … when my poor wife killed her.’
‘Where did the motorbike come from?’
‘It had been Dante’s. She loved it. Rode it all over the place. Fast. I think it was a way of letting off some of her feelings.’
‘You can understand her grief and rage, I suppose.’ Fliss emptied her coffee cup. ‘It’s all rather sad, isn’t it?’ She stood. ‘I must go.’
‘At least she’s at peace.’ Bob stood up too. ‘Thank you for listening.’ He fixed his gaze on me. ‘And I’m sorry, Alex. I truly am.’
I tried to smile at him, but my mouth simply wouldn’t turn upwards. There was no way he and I would be working together on – what had he called them? – must-have books for the luxury crowd. But at least the offer from Cliff Nichols was still on the table.
When they’d gone, Sam held out his arms and I stepped into them. Tension flowed away from me. It was such a relief to relax against his chest, and know that the ball was now in someone else’s court.