Once everyone had shaken hands they sat down, and the inspector addressed Robert. ‘It’s my understanding that you and your late wife were separated, Mr Dunley. That’s correct, isn’t it?’
‘It is. For five years, a little more, actually.’
‘And was it an amicable separation?’
‘Yes, Inspector, it was. We’d married young and we’d grown apart –’ Robert cut himself off abruptly, suddenly remembering Francis’s advice: don’t volunteer anything; only tell them what they need to know; just answer the questions and that’s all. Please keep your trap shut the rest of the time had been Francis’s last admonition to him.
‘You work at Deravenels as the Chief Operating Officer. That is your position isn’t it?’
Robert inclined his head, studying Colin Lawson, whom he figured to be in his early forties. Nice looking, well spoken, and just as Alicia had said, he was a gentleman.
‘And you’ve held this position for how long, Mr Dunley?’
‘Since 1996, Inspector Lawson.’
‘That is when Miss Turner took over the company, isn’t it?’
‘Yes, it is.’
‘But you have worked for the company for many years, haven’t you?’
‘Off and on, at the London office and abroad.’
‘In fact, you are following in the footsteps of your father and grandfather, aren’t you?’
‘That’s perfectly true, yes.’
‘And so you’ve known Miss Turner for a long time, have you not?’
Robert understood where the inspector was leading him, and he decided that he would have to ignore Francis’s advice on this particular matter. His relationship with Elizabeth was a well-known fact, documented by many magazines and newspapers and for quite some time now. Leaning back in the chair, feeling perfectly relaxed, Robert now volunteered, ‘Elizabeth and I have known each other since we were eight years old, Inspector Lawson. We were childhood friends, and also when we were growing up. So the answer is, yes, I have known her for a very long time.’
‘When did you last see your late wife, Mr Dunley?’ Lawson gave Robert a long stare.
‘It was in August. On the sixth, I believe. I suggested that I drive down to discuss our divorce, and Amy agreed.’
‘I understand. As you just said, your separation had been amicable, so therefore your divorce was going to be amicable, too? Am I correct in thinking this?’
‘Yes, you are. It was friendly on every level.’
‘And so you came to a satisfactory agreement with Mrs Dunley? There were no problems?’
‘No, Inspector, there were no problems at all regarding the divorce. My wife and I had agreed to it, and we were working with Mr Forrest regarding a settlement as well as alimony.’
‘And you never quarrelled about the divorce or the settlement?’ the policeman probed, albeit gently.
‘Certainly not. And if you’ve heard otherwise it’s not true.’ Robert glanced at Anthony. ‘I think you can bear me out on that point, can’t you?’
Anthony nodded and said emphatically, ‘Mr Dunley is telling you the truth, Inspector Lawson. There was no disharmony between the Dunleys about their divorce, none at all. Nor was there any during their long separation. I knew Mrs Dunley well, as did my wife, and she was absolutely content with her way of life in the country, here in Cirencester. I think everyone who knew her will bear me out on that. And anyone who might suggest otherwise would be … lying.’
‘Thank you, Mr Forrest, for clarifying that again.’
Robert said, ‘Inspector Lawson, when Mr Forrest rang me this afternoon he said that Mrs Dunley broke her neck when she fell. That is correct, isn’t it?’
‘Yes, it is, sir. There were other injuries. She had a deep cut on her head and bruises on her body.’
‘Would those injuries be due to her falling down the stairs? Which is my understanding of the way she died. By falling.’
‘They might be, yes,’ the inspector agreed.
‘When we spoke on the phone earlier, you said you would tell me where my late wife’s body is when we met here this evening.’
‘I did indeed, and her body is at the mortuary, Mr Dunley, with the medical examiner. You can view her body tomorrow.’
‘I wish to do that. I’m making the assumption there will be an inquest,’ Robert now said, giving the policeman a hard penetrating stare. ‘I was wondering when it would take place?’
‘I’m not quite sure of that at the moment, Mr Dunley. But within the week. That would be normal given the circumstances and providing all the evidence has been pulled together.’
‘I understand. And will it be held here in Cirencester?’
‘There is no Coroner’s Court in Cirencester. It will have to be held in Cheltenham, Mr Dunley. Now, just a couple of other questions. When is the last time you were in contact with your wife? Did you see her again after August the sixth?’
‘No, I didn’t. But we did speak on the phone. Several times in the last few weeks. I don’t have the exact dates in my head.’
‘In August or September?’
‘I spoke to Amy in late August, and the first or second day of September.’
‘And there were still no problems between you? All was harmonious.’ Lawson sat back, studying him.
‘Yes, Inspector Lawson, it was.’ Robert frowned, seemed puzzled. ‘Are you suggesting otherwise? Or is someone else suggesting that there were problems between us regarding the divorce or the money?’
‘No, no, Mr Dunley, no one is suggesting anything of the sort.’ Colin Lawson stood up, and so did Sergeant Fuller who had been silent the entire time.
‘Do you think that Mrs Dunley might have been despondent about the divorce?’ the sergeant now asked.
Robert was not only startled to hear him speak, but also taken aback by the question. ‘No, I’m sure she wasn’t,’ he managed to say. ‘Why?’
‘It suddenly occurred to me that she might have thrown herself down the stairs, not fallen at all. That it was suicide and not an accident.’
‘She wasn’t despondent at all!’ Alicia Forrest exclaimed, infuriated by this sudden suggestion, walking closer to the group of men. ‘I knew her extremely well, and she was perfectly normal.’
‘I understand, Mrs Forrest,’ Sergeant Fuller said.
The two police officers thanked them and finally took their leave, after Inspector Lawson had told Robert he would be in touch about the inquest.
Alicia showed them out and went to the kitchen to check on supper.
Anthony walked over to the drinks table once they were alone, saying as he did, ‘What we all need is a bloody stiff drink! What would you like, Robert, Ambrose?’
‘A glass of white wine, please, Anthony,’ Robert responded and walked over to join his friend.
Ambrose said, ‘I’ll have the same,’ and followed in his brother’s wake, saying in a truly puzzled tone, ‘What the hell was all that about anyway?’
As he poured the Chablis into three large crystal goblets, Anthony answered him. ‘It was a bit of a fishing trip, in my opinion. On the other hand, I think that Connie Mellor might have said something about Amy not being a happy woman. I’m not absolutely certain of that, mind you. But she made an odd remark to me, weeks ago now, regarding the divorce, and she just might have said something similar to Lawson. She’s always been a bit of a busybody. I know he was over at the house earlier today, and spoke to Connie.’
‘What was the remark she made to you, Anthony?’ Robert took the glass of wine from him, and held his friend’s gaze.
‘Connie’s remark to me was that she didn’t think Amy was happy about divorcing you, that she enjoyed being Mrs Robert Dunley and that she’d only agreed because you’d pressured her. Connie said Amy told her she wanted to please you, because she still loved you even though you didn’t love her.’
‘What utter bloody codswallop that is!’ Robert exclaimed angrily, his face flushing. ‘First of all, I never pressured Amy ev
er, and secondly, she didn’t want to please me at all. What Amy wanted was money. She told me she had every intention of buying a flat either in Paris, the south of France, or somewhere fun. That was the way she put it. Furthermore, she didn’t still love me, as Connie claimed she’d said.’
‘I believe you, Robert, honestly I do. I told Connie at the time that she was barking up the wrong tree. But, you know, she may well have repeated those words to Lawson. Cheers.’ He clinked his glass to Robert’s, as did Ambrose.
The three men ambled over to the sofa and chairs clustered around a coffee table, and sat down. There was a short silence between them, as they sipped their glasses of white wine, and relaxed.
Suddenly Robert exclaimed, ‘I couldn’t believe it when Fuller finally spoke out. And I am absolutely positive that Amy did not throw herself down the stairs. She wasn’t the suicidal type.’
Ambrose, who had been reflective for the last few minutes now said, ‘You’re forgetting something, Robert. Amy and her love of high-heeled shoes, her Manolo Blahniks and Jimmy Choos in particular. She fell down those stairs. It was an accident, I’m as positive as you.’
‘The press is going to have a field day with this,’ Cecil said, staring across the dinner table at Francis, and then turning to Elizabeth seated next to him on the banquette. ‘And you both know it. You’d better prepare yourself for it, Elizabeth, steel yourself.’
‘They’ll certainly create a few sensational headlines,’ Elizabeth agreed. ‘I can just see them now … and they’ll trash Robin, and me as well. It’s going to be another scandal. But there’s nothing much we can do about it. We just have to grin and bear it. And rise above it.’
Francis took a sip of champagne, and looked from Cecil to Elizabeth. ‘If the police make any suggestion at all that Amy Robson Dunley’s death was somehow suspicious, then there will be headlines. Damaging headlines. But fortunately we’re surrounded by lawyers.’
Neither Elizabeth nor Cecil said anything. Like Francis, they sat silently savouring their champagne. Elizabeth focused on the wall opposite. It was filled with beautiful dog pictures, many of them old, all of different shapes and sizes. Mark Birley, the owner of Mark’s Club in Charles Street where they were dining, had been an avid collector for years. And the watercolours and oils of all kinds of dogs were a unique feature of the club that everyone loved.
Tearing her eyes away from the wall of paintings, Elizabeth focused her gaze on Francis. ‘You can’t possibly think that someone, i.e. the police, will try and pin Amy’s death on Robin, do you?’
‘They can’t do that if there’s no evidence of foul play, and I’m sure there isn’t. Try not to worry, Elizabeth. In a few days all of this will blow over.’
‘I hope so.’ She pursed her lips. ‘Somebody in the press might try to insinuate that Robin had Amy killed so that he could marry me. But, of course, the two of you know how little their divorce mattered, because I don’t want to get married.’
‘No one can write anything like that,’ Cecil assured her. ‘There are such things as libel laws in this country, you know. And Francis is right, not only are the two of us lawyers, but we are indeed swamped with them at Deravenels. Just keep a low profile, and don’t go rushing down to Cirencester. Promise me that, Elizabeth.’
‘I promise. Anyway, Robin doesn’t want me around at the moment. He thinks it’s better we don’t see each other for the time being.’
‘A wise man,’ Cecil said, and silently thanked God that he was.
THIRTY-SIX
Robin had nothing to do with Amy Robson Dunley’s death in any way whatsoever, and neither did I. We are not murderers nor instigators of murder, but there are those who are envious of us and jealous, and out to get us both, who put about nasty and untrue stories, muttered with a knowing certainty behind our backs.
Chinese whispers, how I hate them. And they have been rampant ever since Amy’s unexpected and tragic death became public knowledge. She died on the eighth: it was in the newspapers on the ninth, and they have not stopped printing stories ever since. But the press are careful not to libel us; the stories are all built on speculation and vague, and Francis says they won’t stop until the matter is finally put to rest. That will be after the inquest. It is to be held at the Coroner’s Court in Cheltenham this coming Monday, and I can’t wait for it to be over and done with. It was supposed to be this Friday, but got moved to Monday the twenty-first because of some scheduling problem to do with the court. I am not worried. I have no reason to be. There are only two possible verdicts. Accidental death, sometimes called death by misadventure, or suicide. Robin insists Amy would not take her own life, and certainly not by throwing herself down a flight of stairs. Others insist the same thing, say she was in good health and good spirits. And I must believe Alicia Forrest and her husband Anthony. Both of them are squeaky clean, renowned for their good character and respected for their honesty. No one would ever doubt them because of their extraordinary reputation.
Alicia told me herself that she was positive Amy was not ill with any fatal disease, and that she was happy and carefree two days before her death. I am not worried about Robin. He has done nothing wrong, and the police have not brought any charges. As we all know, there is no evidence of any wrongdoing by anybody.
But I miss my dearest love, my dearest friend. And I know he misses me. We speak on the phone several times a day, and that helps, but I am lonely and a little lost without his loving presence, his jokes and his laughter, his caring nature. He is miles away in Kent, staying at Stonehurst Farm, at Grace Rose’s suggestion. And here I am at my beloved Ravenscar. Cecil and Francis both thought we should do separate disappearing acts to escape the pestering of the press. And so we did. We put the whole of England between us. ‘Nothing by half measures, that’s you,’ Robin said to me when I told him where I was going and why, explaining that I didn’t want to be too near him in case I broke my word and rushed to see him. I had promised Cecil Williams I would play it cool, and I am doing that.
I still haven’t changed my mind about marriage. I aim to have my freedom … my tune is the same … I’ve been singing it for years. Amy’s sudden death changes nothing for me. Robin is now free to marry. I am not. And why is that? I’ve sometimes asked myself that over the last few days. The answer is simple … I don’t wish to take that step.
It’s Thursday the seventeenth today, I see from my engagement book, only a few days now until the inquest. And when it is over Robin will join me here in Yorkshire. Merry wanted to come with me to keep me company, but I prefer to be alone. Also, as I explained to her, I need her to remain in London, manning my office. Robin has a companion with him at Stonehurst Farm, his cousin Thomas Blunte. Thomas is a trusted relative and has spent most of his life looking after the Dunleys in some way or other, and in the most caring way. A good man whom Robin trusts and also enjoys being with. I am pleased he has company.
There have been more stories in the newspapers today, not really damaging but irritating. I’ll be relieved when all this dies down. I marvel sometimes that such a grand edifice has been built on nothing but uninformed gossip …
Elizabeth walked along the beach below the cliffs, enjoying the fresh air. It was one of those extraordinary September days; the sky was brilliantly blue and unstained, the sun warm, the air balmy … an Indian summer day, the kind she had always loved. A rare kind of day for Yorkshire. All too often on this coastline the sun fled and dark clouds blew in to mar the sky, and the sharp wind off the North Sea cooled the air.
That had not happened this afternoon, and Elizabeth walked on, enjoying the beauty of the empty beach, the sense of freedom she experienced here on her land.
At one moment, she lifted her head and looked up at the brilliant sky, shading her eyes with her hand. The kittiwakes who lived in their nests on the sides of the cliffs wheeled and turned against the clear blue vaulted backdrop, their cries shrill on the air. Those beautiful birds had been here for centuries, just as her ancestors
had. For over eight hundred years Deravenels had lived at Ravenscar. Before that beautiful Elizabethan manor house had been built there had been another house … All that remained of that one now was the ruined stronghold standing above her on the edge of the cliffs. She could see it in the distance, and instantly thought then of all those Deravenels who had gone before, and for whom she had always had a certain partiality. She had been attracted to them for as long as she could remember.
She and Grace Rose were the last of the Deravenel line. Suddenly her thoughts went to Richard Deravenel, and all that she had learned about him from Grace Rose. He had been blamed for a crime … the disappearance of his two little nephews, and their possible deaths. Yet Grace Rose believed in his innocence to this very day. Another mystery that no one could ever possibly solve.
And Amy’s death would always be a mystery to some, whatever the verdict of the Coroner’s Court next week. There were people who thrived on the theory of conspiracy … it was like manna to them. Who murdered Marilyn Monroe? Assassinated John F. Kennedy? Murdered Princess Diana? Whodidit?whodidit?whodidit? She could hear those frantic voices in her head, screaming the words, non-stop, and then the constant why?why?why? Amy would become another cult figure, wouldn’t she? No matter what the coroner decided, there would always be a hint of suspicion about Robert Dunley and his lover, Elizabeth Deravenel Turner. She sighed under her breath, knowing there was nothing she could ever do about that … She was a Deravenel and scandal and rumour dogged them.
Francis Walsington sat with Cecil Williams in a booth at Wilton’s, their favourite fish restaurant in Jermyn Street. As he slid his small fork under the fat Colchester oyster he said softly, ‘I really do think I must go down to Cheltenham, Cecil. As an observer. And Robert just might need me.’
Being Elizabeth Page 30