by Sue Fortin
‘It was too quick for me to see anyone inside. They went down that way. I think it was one of those big four-wheel-drive cars. It was black.’
God, it sounded all too familiar, thought Steph with a shudder. ‘Number plate?’ she asked but with little hope.
The neighbour shook her head. ‘Sorry. Is Wendy all right?’
‘Yes. Fortunately, we were in the conservatory. Maybe it was just kids messing around,’ said Steph, not wanting to alarm the neighbour too much.
‘Could have been. There’s the footpath just along there. Kids could have run off or been on pushbikes.’
‘Thanks anyway,’ said Steph. ‘I’d better get back and help Mum.’
When Steph went back into the living room, her mother was already picking up shards of glass and dropping them into a cardboard box.
‘I just spoke to your neighbour. She heard the window smash but didn’t see anyone. Although she did say a 4x4 car drove off as she looked out of the door. A black one.’
‘That doesn’t narrow it down. No plate number, I take it?’
‘No. Do you think it was a deliberate attack or just kids?’
Wendy stood up and looked at her daughter. ‘What do you think?’
‘I don’t know; that’s why I’m asking.’
‘Put it this way, it’s a bit of a coincidence – you turn up interested in the Elizabeth Sinclair death, and while you’re here, quizzing me about stuff from the past, I get a brick through the window.’ Wendy shook her head. ‘I suggest you quit that job and get yourself back down to Brighton sharpish and forget you ever heard the name Elizabeth Sinclair.’
‘Mum, stop!’ Steph was surprised by the command in her voice and it seemed her mother was too. Wendy blinked a couple of times but remained silent. Steph played to the advantage. ‘I need to know exactly what happened. I can’t leave this alone, especially not now.’
Steph waited while Wendy appraised her for what seemed like the longest time. Wendy let out a resigned sigh. ‘There’s not really much I can tell you; I told you I’m still bound by the Official Secrets Act.’ She held up her hand to silence Steph’s anticipated objection. ‘I’ve never asked much, if anything, of you, Steph. I’ve never demanded anything of you, not as an adult, but this one time, I am. Please stay away from all this. Don’t go stirring up things concerning Elizabeth Sinclair’s death.’
Steph let out an exasperated huff. She really thought for a moment there Wendy was going to open up. For fuck’s sake! A bubble of anger shot through her. ‘Are you telling me Elizabeth’s death wasn’t an accident?’
‘There are some questions you shouldn’t ask.’
‘There are things I can’t leave alone.’ Steph’s temper finally snapped.
‘If you pursue this, if you take the Sinclair family down, it won’t end there. It will be like a pebble being thrown into the water. The ripples will reach wider than you can imagine and touch people you least expect them to.’
‘You’re doing it again! Stop talking in riddles!’ Steph’s voice rose, her temper finally getting the better of her as her words came out unchecked. ‘Are you protecting someone? Oh, God … it’s you. You’re protecting yourself.’
‘Get a bloody grip,’ spat Wendy, her own temper being let off the leash. ‘I’m protecting other people. There are folk in this community who depend on the Sinclairs for their livelihoods. Without the Sinclairs buying in local produce, half the businesses round here would fold. You will do more harm than good.’
‘But what about the truth?’ insisted Steph. ‘As a police officer that’s your duty, first and foremost.’
Wendy broke eye contact and looked down at her shoes, before lifting her head and reconnecting with Steph’s gaze. ‘When Rob told you I was asked to leave, he was telling the truth. I can’t go into detail about why exactly but it was to do with Elizabeth Sinclair’s death – the investigation.’
For the first time Steph could see not so much a chink, but a fault line in her mother’s tough exterior. ‘What did you do?’ she asked, her tone softer.
‘It wasn’t so much what I did, but what I didn’t.’
‘Mum, please … tell me.’
The fault line closed up. ‘Look, all you need to know is that Elizabeth’s death was an accident. It was recorded as such. The verdict was sound. It was what everyone wanted.’
Steph tamped down the urge to scream in frustration at Wendy’s refusal to tell her anything meaningful. ‘You say it’s what everyone wanted, but does that include Sonia Lomas? I don’t think so. She wants the truth, not just some convenient half-truth that’s been created.’ The words came out in a flurry of infuriation which only served to rile Wendy.
‘You’ve got your priorities wrong. You’re more concerned about Sonia Lomas than you are for your own mother.’
‘Sonia Lomas loved her daughter without compromise or condition. She deserves loyalty. She deserves to know the truth.’ Tears stung the back of Steph’s eyes and she blinked furiously. She was not going to cry in front of Wendy, no matter how much the truth in her own words hurt her.
‘And I don’t? Is that what you’re saying?’ demanded Wendy.
‘I would say, how could you be so cold and unfeeling? But actually it’s no surprise,’ continued Steph, rejection spurring her on. ‘It’s how you’ve always been – detached and devoid of empathy. You don’t get Sonia Lomas because you don’t get that real feeling of love and emotion.’ For a moment, Steph took comfort in the shocked and – dare she say? – hurt look on her mother’s face. It was a small victory; she’d actually broken through that hard exterior and the fault line had once again opened.
‘That’s not true.’ Wendy’s voice was low but forceful. ‘You have no idea how much I sacrificed for you or how much I …’ The sentence died on her lips.
‘Go on, say it … You can’t, can you? You’ve never been able to say you love me.’
Wendy jerked her head ever so slightly as if fending off a physical blow. ‘Actions speak louder than words,’ she said stiffly.
‘Yeah, well, you need to work on that.’ Steph grabbed her bag and marched out of the house. It wasn’t until she was driving away that she let the tears fall unchecked.
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Conmere, Tuesday, 14 May, 6.20 a.m.
Steph woke the next morning before her alarm went off and let out a groan as she went to sit up. Her head was throbbing. She’d had an awful night’s sleep, her mind suddenly awake at midnight, wanting to replay the unnerving events of the last couple of days. Car accidents, broken glass, the Sinclair family, the notebook and images of Elizabeth and Wendy all mingled with each other and made no sense whatsoever. It was certainly a reflection of her state of mind, she thought, tentatively standing up. She was bound to have some paracetamol or suchlike in her bag and hoped it would do the job of shifting her headache. It was a shame she didn’t have anything that would shift the anxiety that had pitched up in her stomach last night.
She felt a pang of guilt as she remembered her parting words to her mum yesterday. Steph should have kept her mouth shut; there was no taking them back now, she thought as the image of Wendy’s hurt expression hovered in front of her. Steph had been hurt and she’d made sure Wendy felt the pain too.
Swallowing down the two tablets with a glass of water, Steph sat on the edge of the bed and allowed her mind to gently sift through what she knew, or didn’t know, about Elizabeth and what had happened then and now. She was still missing pieces of the puzzle. She had lots of clues but no way of fitting them together to see the big picture.
Her heart gave a flutter as she went over the car incident. She and Sonia had come very close to a serious accident or worse. They were both very lucky not to be in hospital right now. And as for the window-smashing incident – had that been aimed at Steph or her mother? Were the two episodes connected? Her gut instinct was telling her they had to be related. It was too much of a coincidence for them not to be and they were definitely linked
with the notebook which, by default, meant it all had something to do with Elizabeth’s death. She was rattling someone, that was for sure.
Much as it unnerved her, she knew she wasn’t going to give up now. She refused to be frightened off.
Conmere, Tuesday, 14 May, 10 a.m.
Steph climbed the grand staircase at Conmere House, trying to act casual and carrying a pile of clean towels in her arms. If anyone were to stop her, she’d say she was putting the towels out in the guest rooms.
She hadn’t spoken to Wendy since their argument. A couple of times she had picked up her mobile to ring her but hadn’t quite had the nerve to do so. Steph was still angry at Wendy’s unwillingness to help but she could get over that; what was worse was the rejection she felt. Wendy was still keeping her at a distance, just as she always had. A couple of times yesterday Steph had thought she was getting through to her mother, tapping into some sort of feeling or emotion, but each time Wendy had closed her down and it hurt massively.
And then there was Harry, someone else she’d fallen out with, but this time there was no feeling of anger or hurt, just one of regret. Despite this, she still couldn’t see how she would be able to tell him the truth about why she was here. She should have told him when she’d had the chance.
She reached the top of the stairs, the red carpet soft under her feet, and walked along the main corridor, stopping at Elizabeth’s room. Checking no one was about, she turned the porcelain handle gently. There was no resistance and the door opened with ease. Steph entered the room, closing the door behind her.
There was a small gap in the curtains and the morning sunlight cut through the tall Georgian windows, casting a mosaic of rainbow colours onto the floor. She drew in a breath as a small pang of jealousy nudged at her. She didn’t like to think of Elizabeth and Harry sharing this room. She eyed the bed accusingly while simultaneously scolding herself for her reaction. She had no right to feel jealous of a dead woman, least of all Harry’s wife.
Placing the towels on the bed, Steph walked over to the dresser and opened the first drawer. Inside were three cosmetics bags. Steph took each one out and had a quick look at the contents. Elizabeth sure liked her make-up and none of it was cheap stuff, as far as Steph could see. She replaced the bags and opened the second drawer. This contained another bag, but slightly bigger than the others. A quick look informed her it was full of hairbrushes, curling tongs and straighteners.
On top of the dresser was a shoebox. Steph carefully lifted the lid and was surprised to see it was full of perfume bottles. Some appeared to be hardly used, while others were obviously favourites. It seemed odd that all of Elizabeth’s belongings had been packed away. Steph wondered who had done this. For some reason, she didn’t think it had been Harry. She was sure he would have given more attention and care to his wife’s things.
Steph moved on to the wardrobe. There was a small key in the lock which turned with ease, and the mahogany door opened without protest. A dusty smell of lavender mothballs and traces of expensive perfume filtered out. Chanel No 5, if she wasn’t mistaken. There had been a small bottle of it in the shoebox.
Steph wasn’t surprised to see the wardrobe stuffed with what she assumed was Elizabeth’s clothing. She ran her fingertips across the fabrics – cottons, silks, velvets, cords – creating a kaleidoscope of textures and colours. Numerous shoeboxes were stacked at the bottom of the wardrobe, some larger than others which probably contained boots, Steph decided. She knelt down and lifted the lid of one of the boxes. Inside was a cloth bag, and when Steph looked further she could see it contained a pair of nude-coloured shoes with a bright red insole and bright red sole and heel. She replaced the lid and stood up.
‘What secrets you could tell if only you could speak,’ she whispered at the clothing as her gaze lingered on them. A brightly coloured winter coat hanging from the rail, squashed at the end, caught her attention. Steph managed to pull it out from the other clothing. It looked beautiful. It was made of silk and the fabric was handprinted with dragonflies. It had an oriental look to it. Steph adored dragonflies and this coat looked exquisite. She had a sudden and overwhelming desire to try the coat on, just to see how it felt being Elizabeth Sinclair for a moment.
She slipped it from the hanger and slid her arms into the sleeves, pulling it across her chest. It was a little tight and she guessed that Elizabeth Sinclair had been a smaller size than she was, at least across the bust anyway.
There was a full-length mirror at the side of the bed and Steph couldn’t help admiring the coat. She felt glamorous and chic – was that what Elizabeth had wanted to feel? She remembered Sonia saying how they’d come from nothing and Elizabeth’s ambition was for wealth and success. In just this one item of clothing, Steph could feel that achievement, but had that been enough for Elizabeth? Had she wanted more and had that led to her death?
Steph slid her hands into the pockets and twirled around, admiring the coat from all angles. It was then she felt a hole in the lining of the right-hand pocket. She wiggled her fingers – yes, it was actually quite a big hole. Steph held the coat open and inspected the lilac silk lining. The pockets were sewn between the outer fabric and the inner fabric. As the light of the sun shone onto the lining it highlighted something small and rectangular inside the coat that must have fallen through the hole in the pocket. With a bit of dexterity Steph managed to pull it out back through the pocket.
It was some sort of business card – white, plain on one side and on the other, written in gold, was the name Camilla and underneath it a phone number. The card was bordered with a rose in the corner and an elegant scroll of gold around the edge. It looked as though it were a place card for a wedding, and if it hadn’t been for the phone number Steph would probably have dismissed it as such. After all, the coat was gorgeous enough to wear to a wedding. Something about the card was bothering her, but she couldn’t quite pin down the thought.
‘Steph! Stephanie!’
The sound of her name being called made Steph whirl round in a panic. It was Pru.
Steph hastily shrugged off the coat. Her hand was shaking as she slipped it onto the coat hanger. She didn’t have time to do the buttons back up or to squeeze it in at the end of the wardrobe where she’d found it.
‘Have you seen Steph anywhere?’
Pru’s voice was right outside the door.
Steph had no idea who Pru was talking to, but as quietly as possible she closed the wardrobe door. She was about to turn the key when she saw the door handle move.
She leapt away from the wardrobe and snatched up the towels before turning around to face the door just as it opened.
‘What are you doing in here?’ Pru’s voice was harsh. Her eyes bored into Steph’s.
Steph swallowed hard. ‘I was just bringing these towels up to one of the rooms, but I think I’ve got my bearings all wrong.’
‘You’re not supposed to be in here,’ said Pru, her gaze now touring the bedroom and coming to settle back on Steph.
‘I’m sorry. I was just thinking I’d got it wrong.’
‘Why didn’t you answer me when I called you?’
‘I only just heard you. I was about to come out.’
Pru opened the door wide and stood to one side. ‘Well, don’t come in here again. This was Elizabeth’s room and Harry would be furious if he knew you’d been in here.’
‘I honestly didn’t realise,’ said Steph, hoping her nerves at being caught would be read as nerves for being told off. ‘I’d hate to make him angry. It was a genuine mistake. It must be very difficult for you all.’
Pru’s face softened and she let out the smallest of sighs. ‘It is. Such a beautiful young woman in her prime. Harry was devastated. We all were. I know it probably sounds a cliché, but she was the daughter I never had.’
‘I really am sorry for the intrusion.’
‘That’s enough now.’ Dominic’s voice interrupted their conversation and he too stepped into the room. ‘We don’t need to dw
ell on Elizabeth’s death. Come on, Mum.’ He put his hand on his mother’s shoulder and steered her towards the hallway.
Steph followed and Dominic closed the door behind them.
‘What did you want me for?’ Steph asked Pru.
‘Oh, yes. I wanted you to get the Daffodil Room ready. We’ve had a last-minute booking from one of the travel companies who are very influential in the industry. I want it perfect for when they arrive.’ She looked at her watch. ‘Which is in two hours.’
‘Leave it with me. I’ll do it straight away,’ reassured Steph.
‘Thank you.’ Pru paused. ‘I’m sorry if I sounded cross just now.’
‘It’s fine. I’m sorry. I got muddled up with the rooms. My fault,’ replied Steph.
‘Right, I must get on. Come and find me or Dominic when the room is ready, just so we can give it a quick once-over. I’ll be in my study.’
As Steph watched Pru disappear, she was aware Dominic was still standing next to her. She turned and went to step past him but he caught her arm.
‘Can I have a word?’ he said.
Steph looked down at his fingers wrapped around her forearm. She looked back up at him and although she was unnerved she wasn’t going to let him know that. ‘Would you mind not holding on to my arm?’
Dominic looked down at his hand, and for a moment Steph wasn’t sure if he was actually going to let go, but then he unfurled his fingers and released her arm. ‘My mother is a very dignified woman and far too polite to tell you herself, so I’ll do it.’
Steph didn’t like the look in Dominic’s eye and the way he was standing so close to her; the only way she could move would be to lean back over the banisters. ‘I am really sorry about going into the room,’ she said. ‘I did apologise to your mother.’
‘I heard. You may be able to pull the wool over her eyes, but I’m not so easy going, in case you hadn’t realised.’ He narrowed his eyes. ‘Stay out of that room. Got it?’
Steph gulped. ‘Yes. Got it,’ she managed to say.