The Dead Wife

by Sue Fortin

  She had ordered the camera online and, although a little sceptical at first, she had been impressed with it when it had arrived. It was a super-small camera which actually looked like a TV remote control. She had practised with it during the week, setting it up in her own bedroom at home. It was so simple to use that all Camilla would have to do was press the red button and the device would start to record. As far as Owen would know, it was just another remote control. With any luck he’d be too interested in Camilla to bother with his surroundings.

  Elizabeth lined everything up and pressed the red button to check it was working. She sat on the bed and rolled around to make sure the whole of the bed was in shot and then returned to the device, pressing the yellow button to switch it off. Then, lifting it up, she turned it over and slid what looked like a battery cover off, which was in fact a tiny screen where she could replay the recording. Yes, it was working, and in fact it not only got the bed in shot, but most of the room to either side as well. She was very happy with her purchase. She replaced it on the writing desk and smoothed out the bed. Oh, she was enjoying herself.

  Several minutes later Elizabeth settled herself down in the window of a small café, from where she had a good view of the main street. The hotel where she had set up the supposed meeting with Owen was almost opposite. Taking out a newspaper and ordering a sandwich and a coffee, she pretended to read while keeping an eye on the hotel. Soon after, Camilla came and joined her at the table.

  ‘I’m glad you turned up,’ said Elizabeth.

  ‘Why wouldn’t I? It’s a job. We had an agreement,’ said Camilla simply. ‘And besides, I want to stitch that mean bastard up nearly as much as you do.’

  Camilla was wearing a jersey wrap-over dress which revealed quite a lot of cleavage and clung seductively to her hips. A pair of high-heeled natural-toned shoes added at least another four inches to her height, and her blonde hair had been curled into big waves which she had scooped to one side of her neck, trailing over her shoulder. Her make-up was light apart from her lipstick, which was pillar-box red, accentuating her full lips. She looked sophisticated and extremely sexy.

  ‘Owen is going to love you,’ said Elizabeth.

  ‘Let’s hope so. Have you got the room key?’

  Elizabeth slid the key card across the table. ‘Room 54 on the first floor. It overlooks the street, just up there. Second window from the left.’ She pointed to the building opposite. ‘When you’re in the room, close the curtains and I’ll know everything is going to plan.’

  ‘I’ll ring you once the deed has been done. Don’t worry if I take a little longer than expected. I might actually enjoy this one.’

  Elizabeth raised her eyebrows at her partner in crime. ‘It’s up to you, but I’m paying a flat rate, not by the minute.’

  Camilla laughed. ‘I’ll bear that in mind.’

  ‘Oh, look, there he is,’ said Elizabeth. Both women looked across the road as Owen Sinclair walked along the pavement and entered the hotel.

  Camilla gathered up the key card and her handbag. ‘Right, I’d better get to work.’

  Elizabeth ordered herself another coffee and, waiting patiently, eyed the hotel window across the street. Within ten minutes, a text-message alert sounded from her phone. It was a pay-as-you-go cheap disposable one that she had bought for this. She didn’t want Camilla to have her usual phone number. She read the message on the screen.

  Having a drink with O.

  Excellent. So far, so good. Elizabeth called up the fake email account she had created and sent an email to Owen, apologising that the fictitious client wouldn’t be able to make their appointment today and would call later. That should clear the way for Owen to spend some time with Camilla now.

  Elizabeth felt like she had been sitting there for ages and there was still no sign that Camilla had persuaded Owen to go up to the hotel room with her. She toyed with the phone. Should she send Camilla a message and ask her what was going on, or would that ruin Camilla’s game? She decided to give it another half an hour. If Camilla hadn’t got Owen upstairs by then, the chances were it wasn’t going to happen.

  Finally, her patience was rewarded as she saw the figure of Camilla come to the window of the hotel room. She appeared to pause for a moment before reaching out and taking a curtain in each hand, then drew them together.

  OMG! It was actually working. Owen had fallen for Camilla’s charms!

  It felt slightly voyeuristic even imagining what stage Camilla and Owen were at, but Elizabeth couldn’t think of anything else. She was desperate to get her hands on that recording – not that she was looking forward to seeing Owen having sex, but the consequences of his actions were her ticket to getting her hands on some of the money for the land.

  It was another forty-five minutes before she got a further text message from Camilla to say the deed had been done and Owen was just leaving. Elizabeth sat tight, monitoring the door, and sure enough, a few minutes later Owen exited the building. She watched him head off down the street and shortly afterwards Elizabeth left the coffee shop and went over to the hotel.

  Camilla let her into the room. The window was open, but Elizabeth was sure she could still detect the faint smell of bodies and sex. She looked over at the writing table, where Camilla had made a cup of tea. She was a very cool customer, that was for sure. She passed the camera over to Elizabeth.

  ‘There you go. Hope it’s come out. Although if it hasn’t, Owen did leave me his number. It seems he quite likes me.’

  ‘Really? And will you call him?’

  ‘Not if I don’t have to. I mean, I’m sorry he’s cheating on you but he’s really not my type.’

  Elizabeth had to remind herself that she’d told Camilla she was married to Owen. ‘Cheating bastard,’ she said as she opened the back of the device and pressed play.

  Sure enough, there were Camilla and Owen entering the room. Owen hadn’t wasted any time in getting himself comfortable on the bed. Elizabeth inwardly winced as she watched Camilla go over to him and within a few minutes they were both naked and writhing around. Camilla was either very good at her job or genuinely enjoying herself. She glanced at Camilla with a raised eyebrow as she saw Camilla perform oral sex on Owen.

  Camilla looked over her shoulder. ‘Ah, yes. That was just a teaser. I did think I’d stop there but then I thought he really needed to have sex so he couldn’t worm his way out of it. I hope you don’t mind.’

  ‘Mind? Of course not. I’ve got the cheating bastard now.’ Elizabeth continued to watch, feeling decidedly uncomfortable, but she needed to see it all so she could blackmail him properly. ‘It’s a bit awkward watching,’ she admitted.

  ‘Do you want me to fast-forward to the sex bit?’ asked Camilla. She took the device from Elizabeth and returned it to her a few moments later.

  Elizabeth watched the recording and there was Owen, first lying down while Camilla was on top and then flipping her over and thrusting away at her. Her stomach gave a little turn of disgust as she had a full view of his white arse bobbing up and down.

  Elizabeth switched the recording off and put the device safely into her bag. She couldn’t help feeling rather seedy and wanting to wash her hands. Instead, she took out an envelope, which she passed to Camilla.

  ‘Two hundred and fifty bonus for you,’ she said.

  Camilla looked inside the envelope and slipped it into her bag. ‘Nice doing business with you,’ she said. ‘Let me know if you need me again. Here’s my number.’

  Elizabeth shouldn’t have been surprised that Camilla had her own business card, but the white card with Camilla’s name and phone number in gold lettering was every bit as sophisticated as she was.

  ‘Thank you. I’ll keep that in mind,’ said Elizabeth.

  She waited in the room after Camilla had left and played out in her mind how she was going to take great pleasure in blackmailing Owen with this recording. First, though, she needed to make sure she took multiple copies and kept them safe. If Owen t
ried anything clever, as he had with her phone that time, then she’d be ready for him. She leaned back in the chair and smiled. She really was enjoying herself.

  Chapter Eighteen

  Lodge 174, Conmere,

  Saturday, 11 May, 5 p.m.

  Dry-slope skiing, Steph decided, wasn’t really her thing, and after falling over four times she’d given it up as a bad idea. Now, as she showered, she inspected her body for any grazing or bruising, of which there appeared to be none, thankfully. As Steph washed, she couldn’t help thinking about what had happened that morning. If anyone had said to her she would be on the brink of having fast and lustful sex in a bird hide with Harry Sinclair, she would have either laughed in their face or been totally mortified. She let the water run over her body as she thought of Harry Sinclair – she really should be careful. It probably wouldn’t be her best move to become involved in some sort of relationship with him, not when she was trying to find out what happened to his wife. However, a small voice in the back of her head was quietly reminding her that becoming involved with Harry Sinclair might be an advantage when it came to finding out more about Elizabeth and what had happened here two years ago.

  Conmere, Saturday, 11 May, 7 p.m.

  Steph took extra care with her appearance that night and was thankful she’d packed the LBD rather than another pair of trousers. She certainly felt much more feminine than she had last night.

  Walking over to the main house, she kept an eye out for Harry, half expecting him to meet her at some point, and couldn’t help feeling a little disappointed when she arrived in the dining hall and he was nowhere to be seen.

  This evening she was at a different table with different guests who didn’t appear to be local but were from further afield. Steph tried to concentrate on the various conversations but her gaze kept wandering, trying to seek out Harry. It wasn’t until right on 7.30, when the food was being brought out, that she saw him slip into the room. He looked over in her direction immediately and she assumed he must have checked out the seating plan beforehand. He gave a nod and a small smile, which sent her stomach into a spin but for all the wrong reasons.

  There was something different in his face tonight. The smile was there but there was no warmth with it, and his eyes didn’t sparkle as they had earlier that day. She looked down at her glass, embarrassed that she had expected anything else. She’d made a fool of herself earlier, that was certain. She was so bloody stupid sometimes. He was probably after a different conquest tonight. She could feel the burn of embarrassment in her face. She would just have to play it cool and not show that it bothered her.

  As she looked up with what she hoped was more composure, she was surprised to see the maître d’ at her side.

  ‘Excuse me, Miss Durham?’ he said. ‘I’m very sorry but there has been some mistake with the seating plan this evening.’

  ‘What?’ Steph looked at the man in bewilderment.

  The maître d’ placed his hand on the back of her chair and indicated for her to leave her seat. ‘If you could come with me, please.’ He looked at the other guests. ‘Would you please excuse Miss Durham?’

  Steph looked apologetically at the other table guests and rose from her seat before following the maître d’ through the tables. To her surprise, he led her straight to Harry’s table and sat her next to him.

  ‘Thank you, Antonio,’ said Harry. He smiled at Steph, and this time his expression seemed a little warmer. ‘Sorry about that. They were supposed to change the seating plan earlier. Let me get you some wine.’

  ‘It’s a very nice surprise,’ replied Steph.

  Harry leaned in towards her. ‘You look stunning. I love the LBD.’

  ‘Is the right response,’ said Steph. Her stomach gave another jump but this time for the opposite reason. However, she warned herself not to get carried away. ‘How was your afternoon?’ she asked, changing the subject to safer ground.

  ‘Don’t ask,’ said Harry. ‘A bit crap, if I’m honest.’

  ‘Oh, sorry.’ She’d put her foot in it now and the tension from his body was undeniable.

  ‘How did the skiing go?’

  ‘Don’t ask,’ she said, echoing his earlier reply.

  ‘That good, huh?’

  ‘Nothing to do with facilities,’ she added quickly. ‘More a case of my mind being more capable than my body.’

  Harry gave an indistinguishable grunt but said nothing more. They sat in silence for a moment and Steph was beginning to wish he’d never brought her over. It was obvious he didn’t really want her there. Or did he? She felt confused. So many mixed messages were coming from him. Sod it, she’d just have to ask.

  ‘Look, Harry, please don’t feel you’re under any obligation with me just because of what happened this morning,’ she said in hushed tones. ‘I’m not going to go to pieces or have a hissy fit or anything like that. I’m a grown woman and I can take it. In fact, I’d sooner you were honest with me, rather than feel sorry for me or awkward for yourself.’

  Concern entered his eyes. ‘What? God, no. Don’t think that,’ he said hastily in a low but insistent voice. ‘I’m sorry, I’m just a bit preoccupied with work. I didn’t mean to seem off with you. That’s the last thing I want to do.’ He held her gaze with his own.

  ‘Anything I can help you with?’ asked Steph, aware of the relief at his words and yet scolding herself at the same time for being such a pushover.

  He looked as if he was really considering what she’d said and that he wanted to say something, but in the end he just smiled at her. ‘I’m sure you’re quite capable of solving my work-related problems, but I wouldn’t bore you with the details.’

  At that moment the waiters appeared with the starters. ‘I’m a good listener,’ she said. ‘If you ever want to sound off or get something off your chest, then I’m your girl.’ It was intended as a subtle signpost, that Harry could talk to her about anything – including Elizabeth – but she couldn’t deny that it was first and foremost meant out of genuine concern.

  ‘Thank you,’ he said, with a sincerity Steph hadn’t heard before. ‘Actually, before I forget, I meant to ask you if you need accommodation for the week – that’s assuming you still want to work here?’

  ‘Absolutely. I can’t afford to turn down that sort of offer,’ said Steph, suddenly anxious that she might not only lose another source of income for the week but she might also lose a line of enquiry. And another week with Harry, came a little voice at the back of her mind. ‘And yes, if I could stay here at the resort, that would be really handy.’

  ‘That’s not a problem, although I have to confess the staff accommodation isn’t anywhere near as upmarket as your lodge.’ He looked more serious again. ‘I just didn’t know if you wanted to stay with your mum at all? You did say she lived nearby.’

  ‘I’m not that desperate,’ said Steph. ‘We get on better when we’re not under each other’s feet.’ She didn’t add that she wanted to keep as much distance as she could between the Sinclair family and her mother, in all senses of the word.

  ‘Was it different when your dad was still alive?’

  She considered his question. It seemed an odd sort of thing to ask and something she hadn’t ever really thought about before. ‘It was different when my dad was at home. We had a lot in common. If I’m honest, Mum was probably a bit of a bystander and I don’t think that helped strengthen any sort of bond between us.’

  ‘What did your dad do? For work?’

  Again, a slightly off-kilter question, but she reasoned it was the sort of thing you asked someone when you were getting to know them. She took a sip of her drink to buy some time and settle the little flutter of unease in her stomach. ‘He was a builder, but he retired early because of a bad back. He was too young to sit around and do nothing, so he used to spend most of his time running around for other people. He was always taking someone to hospital or to the shops or to the airport. All for free. He said he liked the company and it helped other people by s
aving them the taxi fare.’ Something made her hold back on confessing her dad had worked for Max Sinclair. She wasn’t yet ready to reveal to Harry all her connections to his family in case it put him on his guard.

  ‘That was very generous of him.’

  Steph smiled fondly at the memory. ‘That was the type of man he was. Always trying to help someone else. When he died there was very little incentive for me to return home. Most holidays I managed to wrangle an invite to one of my friends’ houses. It was better than sitting at home alone while Mum was at work.’

  She felt an unexpected lump hit her throat as she thought of her dad. She hated the way grief could take her by surprise, often at the most awkward moments. She looked down at her hands and then up across the room, trying to prevent the tears from pooling in her eyes.

  ‘Hey, I’m sorry,’ said Harry. He reached out and squeezed her hand. ‘I didn’t mean to upset you.’

  Steph ran the tip of her finger under each eye and forced a smile. ‘It’s OK. Not sure where that came from. I’m usually quite good at keeping it together.’

  ‘Do you want to get some fresh air?’

  ‘No. Honestly, I’ll be OK.’ She poked at her starter some more and then, feeling her appetite dwindle, placed her fork on the side of the plate. Forcing a brighter tone to her voice, she changed the subject. ‘What time did you want to come over in the morning to see the pictures? I’ve been through the set this afternoon and uploaded some of the better ones to my laptop.’

  ‘I was rather hoping I could see them tonight,’ said Harry under his breath as the waiter appeared to clear their plates.

  Steph smiled and thanked the waiter as he took her plate away. She could read the subtext and, if she was honest, she was flattered and excited by the idea of sleeping with Harry. ‘Tonight? Sounds like a good idea.’